"Pipe him aboard, Horatio." The freshly made Lieutenant applied himself, endeavoring to maintain his salute as the landlubber marched aboard, till his face turned red with effort of producing the thin, piercing shriek of 'welcome'.

Two Horatios on one ship, 'The Ineffable', was perhaps too many, but both their sires had seemed equally fond of Macauleys' "How Horatio Had Held the Bridge." The defense of the Roman River Tiber, etched into their hearts. Such is the stuff of the reading of soldiers. But both Horatios turned seaward...a life on the briny wave...salt-tack biscuits, and weeviled potatoes, and grog, the diet, with dreams of plunder, and retiring into the country much later in life...and buy a plump wife, and a couple of hunters. And of course, horses.

Richard Sharpe saluted the white faced, drained of blood now, midshipman, as the ceremony was completed. Young Nelson gave a hand in greeting, and the war-weary captain, returned his grasp, with a manly handclasp.

"Thank you, midshipman, I thought that you sailor types looked down on us Army types. Nice to be made a proper fuss of..."

"Oh, sir your adventures are legendary. You're a hero to many a midshipman. Begging your pardon...I didn't mean to be so informal...you'll be wanting to see the Captain..." Horatio Nelson, with his tight fitted breeches, his uniform jacket a trifle too big, and the slope of his hat a little adrift to aft, escorted his prize to the Captain, who stood behind the wheel, feet apace, hands folded behind his back, staring eternally toward the sea.

"Captain Richard Sharpe, SIR!" And Nelson saluted, crisply and quickly, shooting his arm down to his side. The captain was a tall man...and as he turned, Richard could see the thirty year old, 'youngest captain in the King's Navee', as the scurrilous song has it.

Horatio Hornblower slowly turned and eyed the man who's name had become a legend in the army...much as Horatio's own had in the navy. Thanks to those cheap novelettes, that were published back in Blighty.

"So you're Sharpe, eh...harumph...you will join me at my table...at dinner...you will tell me our orders... Midshipman? You may serve us...and keep your ears pricked...if Captain Sharpe requires aught...you jump, BOY! You hear me?"

"Yes, Sir!.." said the younger Horatio.

"Well, show the good captain his quarters....jump, BOY!"

"This way, begging your pardon...Captain Sharpe, this way."

They marched down from the wheel, down to the deck, to the forr'ard, down the stairs to the quarters reserved for honoured guests and occasional prisoners.

"I've never slept in a hammock...Nelson, isn't it? Care to demonstrate how I'm supposed to get in it?" said a baffled Sharpe after his third defeat...in basic seamanship.

"Here sir, let me help you..put your boot between my locked hands..it's like riding a horse...you'll get the hang....and upp..." Sharpe got in the hammock, and immediately fell over the other side and landed on a sprawling Nelson.....

"Captain SHARPE! "a voice bellowed from a silhouette at the doorway.

"Sorry, Captain..." said a bewildered midshipman...

"Haven't got me sea legs yet Captain Hornblower...young Nelson was just helping me out...it weren't his fault..."

"Harumph..." blustered Hornblower. "I'll see you in my cabin...wear your uniform, if you please... Mister Nelson, you will help our guest... Do you understand? But, maintain 'Ship's discipline... You hear me BOY! Harumph...." and he strode off, up the stairway up to the deck, and felt the warm breezes as the 'Ineffable' took to sea.

Sharpe, still below, had stripped to the waist, his torso burned by the sun to the colour of brass. He held the tin bowl, while Nelson shaved him.

"I don't think I need another scar, midshipman...don't be nervous...but I'll have to steady meself on yer leg...these waves are bouncing...and if I shaved myself..think that the blood might set off a bout of seasickness in yer..."

He liked teasing the young man. Put him in a dress and Mr. Horatio Nelson would make quite a fetching damsel...skin as soft as a young mother's.

The scraping blade, took some of the blue from Sharpe's strong jaw, and trunk-like throat. Horatio squeezed the captain's nostrils up as he shaved the hairs on the soldier's upper lip. And the cheeks, that were somewhat sunken...and Horatio looked in the dark shadows around the brilliant green eyes, where he could see himself reflected. All the while he felt Sharpe's rugged hand gripping firm to the back of the Midshipman's thigh, to maintain balance.

"Come now, lad. Hand me a towel... Lets get off these gobs of soap suds... Think I'm as smooth as I'll ever get...and still keep me ears..."

He wrung the towel in the soap-bucket and wiped himself under his armpits, and over the rippling flesh of his stomach. He shoved the wet towel down the front of his britches, so everything down there too was ship-shaped and Bristol fashioned.

"Think you'll need a fresh shirt, sir...one of mine...it'll be a bit of a tight fit..."

"Thankee young Nelson. Yes, a bit of Froggy blood got on mine. Can you get it washed?"

"Of course, sir, but might I, beggin' your pardon, show it to the other midshipmen. Superstitious lot we sailors...but there's them that think that if they rub it, a bit of your courage might come off..."

"Don't believe all those stories, Mister Nelson. Like your great Hornblower, take them derring-do's with a pinch o' salt...I'm just a man...like any other. Nothing special..."

"But a man who's name is emblazoned with honour, duty and chivalry..."

"Aye, but just a man...for all that...."

Dinner was served. Some goat. And a soup that seemed to stare back. And...

"Harumph. Just oysters for you Sharpe? Not acquired the taste for snails? I remember my first one...Some Froggy had captured me...knowing the English aversion, fed me snails for a fortnight...tied up in an attic...Harumph..."

Captain Hornblower saw his guest smiling, and remembered that Sharpe too had his share of stories.

"You are to take me to Palsqua, below Cadiz... General Roquefort is garrisoned therein. Wellington thinks we can save three companies, if I get in and slit his throat...them's me orders..."

"It will take three days, we have good breezes...more wine Captain? Pour, BOY!"

"Yes, sir," said Midshipman Nelson, who, from a silver ormolu thin-necked spout, poured a thin stream of purple red wine into Sharpe's goblet.

"We sank a Frenchie schooner, just last week...We gave the Baroness and her maid back...but we kept the silver ware...spoils of war...harumph..."

Sharpe told a story. And Horatio Hornblower told one of his, and many more from each, and the younger Horatio kept pouring...though his jaw had almost fallen off as night descended.

Sharpe was quite tipsy. He hadn't relaxed so well in what seemed a lifetime.

"You'll have to help me, Horatio...ain't got me sea legs proper....can't have Lion-hearted Sharpe falling over a rope...and buried at sea...hold me waist, lad...time for shut eye. Thank you, Captain, for your generosity, and hospitality...once ye get over the taste, them snails ain't half-bad.."

"This way Captain Sharpe..harumph...sleep ye well..."

The young Midshipman took the drunken soldier up on deck. The cool air quite refreshing. The smell of the sea...it gets in the blood, and the first thing it does, is make you home sick....

Sharpe threw up over the guard rail....but nothing came out...just a knotting pain in his stomach. Horatio, pulled him back and sat the soldier on a barrel. He's seen this before. There are men of the land, and men of the sea. He undid the Captain's buttons, and soothed his brow. The lad was an oasis in all that disturbing water... Sharpe clutched him tightly.

"Sorry, lad...must've been all them snails.."

"I know, sir...disgusting beasts aren't they..? You'll feel better soon...just sit calmly...take some deep breaths..."

"Told'ye I was naught but a man...they won't put this in a story...make me sound human..."

"You're all too human Sharpe...beggin your pardon..." And the midshipman, clamped a firm kiss on the soldier's mouth. It's the age old cure for seasickness as all old sailor's know.

The midshipman took off the soldier jacket.. and ripped the shirt he had loaned, and moved his tongue to Sharpe's breast...feeling the taught muscle with his fingertips, running them over the soldier's abdomen, and down the front...but pulled back, when he discovered that Sharpe wasn't hard.

"HARUMPH!", murmured the stranger, a cough, while Sharpe reassembled himself.

Midshipman Nelson, saluted.

"I think I'll see Captain Sharpe, to his hammock. You, boy, go make my bed, and climb in...we have unfinished snails to gnaw on ... Get below, now...."

"Yes, Sir."

"No wonder your stories are perhaps more well thumbed than mine..." smiled Captain Sharpe, who with Hornblower's assistance, got into the hammock, and slept like a log.

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