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Alasdair
I’ve always loved serving Great Britain in her esteemed Navy. Even before I was promoted to captain, I took pride in my service and a job well done. My family was proud as well, though my mother was fearful for my safety, and my father would have preferred I come home to be groomed and polished for my future position as the Earl of Galloway. After my brother’s death, I should have done so, but I felt a distinct obligation to my country and my comrades, and I cannot deny the adventure and excitement of captaining a magnificent Navy ship is a powerful force.
Yet, from the moment I walked away from Ella, sleeping in her bed, sated and content, I have regretted the choice to continue my career in the Navy. It was gut-wrenching to leave her, painful in a way I didn’t know possible, my body filled with a fury that craved destruction. I was a stranger to myself, and the tension of keeping it in caused a nauseating pounding in my skull.
The long journey back to London and the ten days it took to gather my men and ready my ship was spent in a malaise. I want to be with Ella, to protect her, enjoy her new discoveries at Galloway, watch her face light in pure delight with each new experience. I want her to walk into my office and make my stomach swirl with youthful excitement like it does every time she enters. I want to watch her smile and giggle at the letters she receives from her cousin, Mary. I want to sleep with my head on her chest so I can hear her heartbeat and know she is alive and well. I want to kiss away the tears that well over when our pleasure is so intense. I never wanted to part from her and didn’t realize how much so until I was left with no other choice.
I made sure to write her a note before departing and left it on her vanity so she could find it easily in the morning. I wonder about her thoughts upon reading my words.
My Dearest Ella,
I feel a sense of disloyalty when I think about your sentiments on my unexpected call to service. You said it is my duty and that duty comes first. I certainly cannot disagree, and it is something I have lived by my entire adult life, but that was before I met you. That was before you enchanted me with your ethereal presence, beguiled me with your clever wit, charmed me with your breathtaking smile, and stole my heart with your passionate soul. Now my own heart says that my duty is to stand by your side, to protect you, to provide for you, to make sure you are happy and joyful every day, that you are pleasured and fully sated, that you are loved deeper and more completely than any man has ever loved another woman. Is this treason, my loyalty, now owned by you? It is of no mind, for only you and I will know the truth.
Rest assured, I will find victory for my king, for my country, and above all, for you.
I will write to you often, as you will constantly be on my mind. Instead of writing in return, keep a journal of our time apart so that I may enjoy your adventures with you when I return. The thought that one of your letters could be lost and never arrive weighs heavy on my heart.
Please know that I will bid you good morning every day when the sun rises in the east and good evening when it sets in the west. I will bid you good night just before I close my eyes, and I will speak the words of my heart…Lady Ella Stewart, I love you.
Your loving husband and humble servant,
Alasdair Stewart
“Pardon me, sir,” Lieutenant Harris interrupts my reverie. “I have correspondence from Admiral Nelson.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
I break the seal and find the distinct upright and somewhat unrefined script of Lord Nelson’s hand. After last year’s unfortunate battle wound and subsequent loss of his right arm, my dear friend is now forced to write with his left hand. Although I can see his technique is much improved over the past many months, there is still evidence that he struggles.
Fortunately, he has not lost his sense of humor.
Dear Sir,
I hope this letter finds you well and aboard ship, sailing in the direction of my fleet. Please accept my sincerest apologies for interrupting your honeymoon. However, I must point out the irony that ultimately, it was your father-in-law that requested I do so. Perhaps you did not make a proper impression with our esteemed Admiral of the Fleet.
Forgive me, I digress. I’ve been tracking the French for months. They took Malta, as I suspected they would, and I fear Egypt is next. Their mission is to disrupt trade with India, and if they are successful, it could be devastating for Great Britain.
I am heading back to port in Naples. We shall rendezvous there to replenish supplies and meet with the captains to finalize our strategy. The French will be most unhappy when we arrive.
Have a safe and swift journey, my friend.
Very Respectfully,
Admiral Horatio Nelson
I fold the letter and place it in my pocket, taking a moment to look out across the sea to the perfect line of the horizon. Weather and time permitting, I prefer to spend my time on deck where the air is fresh, and the stench of unwashed men isn’t thick in the air. So far, this journey has been blessed with blue skies and calm seas, a steady wind, and no distractions. Nevertheless, it is not where I want to be, and I need to find a way to get my head focused on the duty of captaining this vessel and making sure my part in assisting Nelson ensures victory.
Twelve days later, we arrive in port, and it is an impressive sight. Nelson’s fleet is amongst the multitude of merchant and privateer ships, creating a sea of masts and sails. I’ve always thought sailing ships were works of art; even as a boy, they fascinated me. But to see this number and variety in one place has always been a source of excitement and inspiration. It speaks of the power and ingenuity of man; the creativity of design, the desire to seek new worlds, to protect a nation, or gain wealth through the transport of goods. Once man was able to master the sea, the world became less vast, and progress advanced at a faster pace as the thoughts and ideas from other lands were easily shared. These ships are magnificent, and they articulate so much more than simply a vessel that sails across the oceans.
The noise aboard ship is louder now as we prepare to anchor; the echoing flap of collapsing sails, heavy ropes coiling on deck as the sails are lowered, and the mingling calls from the lieutenant’s orders on each deck. It all comes together to give me the motivation I’ve been desperately seeking.
“Sir! The men are readying the skiffs to sail ashore,” Lieutenant Harris bellows through the noise.
“Thank you, Harris.”
Within half an hour, we are rowing across the harbor to the docks where my transport awaits to take me to Nelson. Along the way, we approach his flagship,Vanguard, an impressive seventy-four gunship of the line.
Harris whistles through his teeth before saying, “That sure be a fine-looking vessel.”
