quigonejinn

Bush's family had not wanted him to go to sea. He was the only son of his father, after all, the only boy in a batch of girls, and he also had the makings of a fine blacksmith -- still small, true, but even if he never grew very tall, he would be solidly built. He was good with his hands, enormously diligent, took instruction well. Had an uncanny knack, in fact, for spotting simple ways in which things might be improved, but he nevertheless insisted and campaigned for it, quietly, steadily, with an intensity that his aunt and uncle hadn't particularly imagined that he had.

Three months after his father finally died, his uncle was owed money by someone who knew a captain who was talked into setting aside for William a midshipman's spot on his Channel vessel.
Bush had been more or less been at sea ever after.
Bush was a hard, dedicated worker -- when he was home for three months while a newly empowered Bonaparte pretended at peace, he cleared the entire lot behind the Chichester cottage of not only all weeds, rocks, and shrub, but also the root vegetables that his second sister had laid in to get established in fall, as well as his oldest sister's rhubarb stocks.

After a lifetime at sea, he was unable to tell crops from weeds.
And he did it in the middle of coldest winter in Chichester in years.
"Ain't you ever thought about marrying, Mr. Bush?"
Bush liked his girls pretty and saucy. Beyond that, they tended to blur into indistinguishability -- blonde hair, brown hair, light-colored eyes, dark ones. It was all the same to him.
The closest that he came to ever marrying had been a period when he was twenty-one, and his ship paid off, and he was deadly bored while waiting for something to come in. He went back to Chichester for a few days to economize on living costs and met the daughter of his uncle's wife's brother. William remembered her in the most general sense as being very small, curly-haired and being one of a great number of identical siblings, and here she was, making giggling and smarting off at him with the full permission of her mother, his aunt, and all of his sisters.
The fact that he had only been on shore twice in almost twenty years of service was partially a testament to the intensity of the war and partially a testament to how good William, by that time, was at his job. He took the lieutenant's examination at twenty-six and spent the two weeks previous desperately trying to learn Neper's Pentagon, memorizing it until he could model it upside down with biscuit crumbs on the mess table, and still found that it slipped out of his head like water between fingers as soon as he tried to apply it.
He was so nervous about his lieutenant's examination, in fact, that he ended up feeling seasick and almost vomiting for the first time in almost a decade while they were on their way to the examination. When he came back from his lieutenant's examination, he was pale and white and tight-mouthed with exhaustion. His hat was crushed into bits under his arm, and as the surest sign of the torments that he had undergone, the ends of his his neck cloth were untucked and stuck out over his collar.

"What did they ask you, William?" It was the first question that the other midshipman shouted at him.

It took him a moment to process the words, and he was so exhausted that only the occaisional word could actually be made out. " -- tops'l -- shoals at six fathoms -- Dutch with half of her halyards gone -- "

A great round of cheers went up, then, and cut off the recitation of terms because they knew that he had passed -- there had never been any doubt, really, as long as the board had stuck to questions of seamanship. Bush knew it all, had seen it and done it or thought about it or dreamed about it to the extent, and it was well known that he positively delighted in being on deck during periods of dirty weather.

The only fear had been that the board would have asked him something to do with mathematics.
The romance with his cousin-in-law ended one snowy night when they were walking together. She wanted him to tell her that she was pretty, and he blurted out that he understood certain savages of the South Seas to be cannibals.
Even Bush recognized that there were certain luxuries that should be appreciated about life on land. The availability of fresh water, for one thing -- the Renown had come back into port after having been half-rations for water for the better part of three weeks because they had run into a winter storm and smashed a quarter of their water kegs. After paying-off, the first thing that Bush had done, despite being a sailor down to his soul, had been to pour most of a gallon of water down his throat. It was an undoubted luxury to have as much as he wanted, wheneverhe wanted.

It was a luxury, too, to have hot water every day for shaving, to sleep as many hours as he could bear to lie in bed, to get completely dry for the first time in the better part of a year, and to watch storms bang and bluster outside his window and know that there would, nevertheless, be hot food that night.

That time, the terrible, aching boredom did not, in fact, set in until he had been on shore for a full week.
Bush had not been with Hornblower when his children died -- he was still with the Hotspur doing convoy duty, and he heard about it only after they had put to sea for some days in the Lydia. There had been no time for talking while the Lydia was made ready to sail under sealed orders and on short notice; Bush had been watching Hornblower watch the young midshipmen with even more intensity than usual, but it had only come out after Bush inquired into the health of Maria.

He asked the polite question, and instead of saying that she was well or something of that nature, Horatio had answered by speaking about his children. It was a very brief speech, if two sentences strung together like that could be called a speech, and Bush was very glad that he had not asked earlier because a great stillness came over his captain then. In fact, Bush tried to express his sympathies, but for a very long time, the only sound in the cabin came from the slapping of waves against the stern and sides, of Horatio keeping a very hard grip on himself while, at the same time, denying that he was doing anything of the sort.
He killed his first man in a face-to-face boarding action when he was seventeen. He had been so mad for the fighting that he barely even remembered the incident, and the same went for the second man he killed that way, and the third, too. It took until he was twenty-two before he could remember the face of a man that he had killed after battle, and even then, it failed to stay with him very long.
No one had ever asked him the greatest difficulty or sacrifice that he ever made for his country -- when he was young, he did not frequent social circles where the conversation ran in such directions, and when he was old, the question would seem to have been answered for anyone who happened to take a downwards look in the general direction of Captain Bush's foot.
If anyone had asked him, though, Bush would, if he were in a lively, well-lubricated mood, have thought about it for a moment, then learning whist had been difficult.
If anyone had asked him, though, Bush would, if he were not in a lively or well-lubricated mood, have looked at them as if they had recently just escaped from Bedlam and, if that failed to disassuade them, he would have completely ignored the question.
Sheerness had been a trial, though. Bush remembers when the commission for the Nonesuch came through -- he had received it in his office, tiny, cramped, airless place that it was, and he had been sitting in his chair and had read the letter once, twice, four and five times before he really believed it was for him. He went so mad with joy, in fact, that he couldn't rememer anything that happened in the following week, though somehow, he must have gotten back to his lodgings and paid his quit-rent and packed up and on the first coach to the Downs.
Taking the Nonsuch out with Horatio had been the proudest, happiest moment of his life. There could be no doubt. There would, in fact, never be in any doubt.
Also a moment of pride: Horatio had gone back to England, sick and ill, and the Nonsuch was making her way south under new orders. A terrible storm blew down from north and east. It had not been long-lasting, but it had been astoundingly fierce for that time of the year even in those waters. The winds werestrong enough to make even a seventy-four like the Nonsuch tilt alarmingly onto its side; icy water that soaked and froze the ropes to the point that they were as stiff as spars, and Bush had stayed on deck for the whole of it.

He saw his ship through to light -- afternoon sun, by that point, glorious and amazingly golden -- breaking through the bank of clouds as they moved into calm coastal water, and he had been prouder in that moment than when the Nonsuch took her first prize a few weeks later.
Bush's father had not, in fact, been a blacksmith or a farrier or a wheelwright or anything of that sort -- by the time that Bush had been born, his father had failed to be useful in any capacity for a number of years, but when he was younger, Bush's father had been a merchant captain of solid reputation.

There had been no nautical gear in the house when he was growing up, and the old man had been discouraged from telling his only son any stories about the sea. Financial difficulties packed William off to his uncle's at an early age, and there had been even less talk about the sea there, but somehow, it had gotten into William. A glimpse of of officers in blue and gold walking, jingling with prize money and their swords, a lungful of sea air when he went with his uncle into Chichester with the cart. That was all it took, and by the time that the cart actually got down to the water's edge, when Bush saw the masts of the ships, it was over.

He was a blacksmith's boy, and he lived in settled land, so he had never seen more than a dozen trees standing together. That first glimpse of the port at Chichester, the crowded masts rising into the air, the sound of water against stones -- for Bush, at the age of eleven and too young to do anything but dream, a ship was already forest and sea, air and water and land. All the world rolled into a single shape.

There was never hope for any woman while that had hold of him.
When Horatio married for the second time, Cornwallis stood by him, and half the Admiralty filled out the ranks on Horatio's side of the church. The other half was at sea, but in the morning before the ceremony, when the captain who had given Horatio his first prize command sent a note, it was Bush read it out loud to Horatio, who had even dismissed Brown.

They were alone in the room, in fact. The door was locked, and Bush sat at the foot of the bed. Next to him, there were a pile of notes and express letters, all opened and read and turned out, whereas Horatio was somewhat further up, closer to the pillows, and even though Horatio was only wearing his shirt, it, alone, was fine enough for a whole suit.

Morning sun was pouring through the cutains. Linen, rather different from No. 8 canvas. Silk coverlet for the bed. Mahogany dresser set, badger-hair brush and shaving soap that barely required a drop of water before it lathered. Bush had watched Horatio be shaved earlier in the morning, and breakfast was over on the low table, still covered underneath silver.

"I will get you a command," Horatio said, sounding rather choked. He was sitting on the bed and paler than his white lace shirt. Slightly greener, too. The sash and star of a Knight were draped on a chair a little bit aways. "Half of the Admiralty and most of the Naval Office is here. If it is the last thing I do, Bush, I will get you back to sea."

Bush studied him for a moment -- Horatio met his gaze as steadily as could be expected -- and then reached over and, rather daring, squeezed Horatio's hand. He resisted the urge to stroke it as he had in that carriage on the way to Paris all those months ago, but he kept his hand there for a moment, palm-to-palm, with Horatio's.

And then he left, so that Horatio could get sick without shaming himself in front of another person and so that he, Bush himself, could take a breath and remaster himself. A little of it was because he was going to lose his best -- his only -- friend. He hardly knew what to do with himself in a house like this; even the footmen in front seemed to have more gilt in their uniforms than he did, and he had to fight down an almost instinctual urge to salute them. He had planned to hide himself away as soon as after the ceremony as he could, and the shame of that was bad enough.

The largest of it, though, the stomach-roiling, truly shaming and unmanning part that made the walls by the back stairway sway, however, nothing more than terror that he would never find his way out of Sheerness and back onto a ship again.
The night was murky, and it was made worse by the mist rising off the water. Sheets of it, clouds of the stuff. It made it so that the covered lantern at the foot of the boat was barely visible, and it was only by squinting and informed guesswork, that Bush could count six slits of light behind and trailing.

And now, there were glimmers of lights ahead. By both reckoning and the lights, there ought to be barges just around the bend, and Bush studied the mist for another moment to see if there might be anything else to be learned. When he saw that there was not, he bent low, took the covering off the signal lantern, and ordered his longboat to Caudebec.

Most of the Bush characterization and "Sheerness = Bush Hell" from

black_hound. And uh, you know that meme people are doing where they list the top 10 signs that a given fic is by them? I so have this obsession with writing listfic.

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From:

quigonejinn.livejournal.com

The period term was having a "queue buddy". Could it GET any gayer?

I die, I die, I die wondering who Bush's queue buddy was OMG. And now that I know the term for it, I did a little more digging and found the Horations thread on it (including your posts on the subject). If you do want to type up the details, though, I'd love to hear it. <3333333

Dockyards! Kalmar! :D

From:

black-hound.livejournal.com

I now completely understand the meaning of the term "Belay that" having done it from one end of the Kalmar Nyckel to the other and back again.

And never let me near a keyboard until I have at least 2309348234 cups of caffeine. Queue buddy comes out of the Rev War era and is associated with the army. So, too early, too army, & too much time for me reenacting the era & having it pollute everything else. *G*

Tie-mate is the Napoleonic navy equivalent. And yeah -- who WAS yanking on Mr. Bush's queue. *wants pictures*

I don't remember what I posted about it before, but I shall hold forth just because:

The word 'ribbon' you often see as 'ribband' and even more frequently the term 'tape' is used to refer to the wrapping. That is a product that comes from a tape loom and looked something like our modern grosgrain ribbon. It was generally twill woven (like your blue jeans) so that it would grip. And it was most likely silk. In the Rev War era the hair ribbands were part of what was referred to as the "small mounting", which is sort of the accessory shit associated with the uniform. I really don't know if that term travelled forward into the Napoleonic era.

The ratings would very often use eelskin soaked in brine as a wrapping.

Some of these officers had servants to do their queues, but there is no reason to even go there when talking about Bush.

Sometimes the queues were actually padded out with yarn or other materials if the hair was too thin. And it wasn't just a ponytail under there. You can't wrap that for shit. You need to braid the hair first. They would apply some sort of pomade to help control the hair and then plait it and wrap it.

The wrapping process isn't just winding round and round because that won't hold. You start at the back at the base of the queue and cross the two ends over the front, bring them to the back, cross them back there, bring them to the front, and away you go until you get up to the base of the skull.

I'm good with my hair and I can't do this myself and make it presentable. I always need someone else to wrap it for me.

The bow that you often see at the base of the skull is not part of the same tape or ribband that is used to wrap. It's a separate bit of ribbon.

There is a casualness in fic about these queues with men unwrapping them and rewrapping them all over the place. Really not so historically. They kept them wrapped until they started to get a bit messy, including sleeping on them. Especially naval officers who are on a watch system.

The Navy held onto the queue much longer than the army. Edrington's hair in the movie is really on the edge of OOC. I personally happen to think it's over the edge. Somewhere around 1812 *makes vague handwaving motion* the queues start disappearing in the navy as well, especially among the younger officers and the more fashion forward.

I think in the movies, there was a salient unspoken point being made by having Bush with a wrapped queue. Traditional navy all the way.

And circling back to the Rev War. HERE is a period woodcut of Coldstream Guards, IIRC, doing each other's hair.

From:

quigonejinn.livejournal.com

Jesus Lord God. I imagine that training for the Kalmar leaves you pretty sore, eh? Nevertheless, I am DISGUSTINGLY ENVIOUS. :/

And. By the way. I love you. OMG. A wrapped queue just seemsmore Bush-like and and and. <3 <3 <3 I'm glad that it's something I can take to be part of his canon personality.

If you don't mind, there are some other things that I've been trying to figure out (unsuccessfully) about the finer points of RN men's toiletry:

1. Does this thing about queues mean that in Bush's seachest, he's got a little packet of black ribands? Because, really, the notion of him shopping for bits of ribbon makes me giggle like the twentieth-century plebe fangirl that I am.

1a. Colors besides black? Do people vary? Do we get festive gift-wrapping around the holidays? XD

1b. What about the French? My history-book pictures of Napoleon as Emperor tend not to show him with, so I'm imagining that it wasn't v. fashionable w/Frogs around the time of, say, Flying Colours.

2. Am I correct in inferring from the woodcut that it's something that friends, particularly friends who live together, can casually do for each other without any sort of weirdness? So for, uh, total example and not because I've been obsessing about it for days now, Gerard could do for Bush while they're on the Sutherland or the Lydia without any fidgeting or worries about discipline?

3. Am I right to think that the major problems with trying to do your own queue are:

a. Getting the plait to start properly close to the base of your skull.
b. Getting the plait tight enough to hold for extended periods of time.
c. Wrapping evenly and tightly. It's going to be virtually impossible to reach over your shoulders to achieve even spacing between the layers and, also, to keep the crossing straight.

4. And to get into the really gruesome detalis: how are the ends of the wrapping riband held against the hair? Tucked in? knot? Any specific kind of knot?

5. If the queues start to disappear in the Navy around 1812, would it be reasonable for Horatio, when a captain, to have the little limp ponytail in the movies? Or would he go with the "short style" that I've been reading a little about? I mean, we know that he's not all that particular about his details of dress outside of having it be properly expensive and that he really tries to get dressed like OMFG fastwhoa. It seems to me like he'd jump on the chance to eliminate that from his routine even if it was fairly infrequent, but. Is that reasonable?

6. In one of the books, they mention that officers get a pint of water twice a week for shaving. This is not a whole hell of a lot of water, and I imagine that it'd either be reduced or wiped out entirely in times of scarcity. Am I right to think, then, that there was a lot of stubbly?

*pelts you with questions until you cry and regret ever commenting back*

From:

black-hound.livejournal.com

The Kalmar training is physically demanding, no question. I push around 800 pound artillery pieces during the Rev War season and I swing a Brown Bess that is almost as tall as I am, but the belaying stuff is highly repetitive and uses some muscle groups that I don't ordinarily push to these limits. So yeah, owie, in some places. *g* But being the dorky fangirl that I am I was all about imaging Bush bellowing "BELAY THAT LINE" and shit like that. *pathetic*

And I'm going back down on Sunday.

1. Bush will have some spare ribbons in his seachest. *g*

1a. Always black.

1b. The French set the style for short hair. During the French Revolution it became very fashionable and very political for men to chop off their hair as a sign of their rejection of the Ancien Regime. As interest in all things classical became popular, the short hair took hold among the fashionable. Even women cropped their hair.

2. As gay as that woodcut appears, it really was appropriate for particularly military men to assist each other with their hair. So there really would have been no serious weirdness if Bush had someone of inferior rank to help him with his queue, although I have doubts about it being another lieutenant. There's this weird hierarchy on ships and even though Gerard would be a subordinate by date of commission there still is a sort of dignity among all the lieutenants that spans across them almost globally which would be compromised by being Bush's hairboy. *g* It would have to be someone outside of the wardroom. But the overall premise is basically sound -- it's common coin of the era and wouldn't cause any real sort of weird fidgeting between the men involved.

And I'm still thinking about this because I'm having trouble actually deciding on who the queue wrapper would be. I'm gonna sleep on that one and see if I have an epiphany on the 'morrow. *g*

3. The plait needs to be tight. Getting it to hold really isn't a problem as it is going to be wrapped and that wrapping holds the braiding together. But yes, getting it wrapped evenly and tightly you just can't do over your own shoulders.

4. The end of the wrapping ribbon are tied off with a small overhand knot and any loose ends would be tucked into the wrapping.

5. I've always thought that given the first opportunity HH would chop his hair right off.

6. Not a lot of stubbly. The daily shave was a big deal even with a limited amount of water. Article 2 of the Articles of War prohibits uncleaness. It was a big catch-all term that was used to enforce dress and hygiene, but also appears in some of the court martials for sodomy as a euphemism for well, sodomy. *G*

*has no problem being pelted with questions*

From:

quigonejinn.livejournal.com

As the LJ name might suggest, I'm rather badly into SW (although, uh, I think it's all been temporarily subsumed into the OMFG BUSH OMFG HORATIO OMFG SHIPS THAT CREAK OMFG), and last semester, I had this prof who looked like Obi-Wan Kenobi in the prequels? And the subject matter was great enough, but I'd just get this immense kick out of pretend that it was, in fact, Obi-Wan giving me my lessons. ^_^

1b. So say that in the total hypothetical, Bush needs to replace his hair riband during the four month stay, he's not going to be able to just ask Horatio to ask one of the servants to casually pick one up on the next trip to the village? I'm sure they've got somethinmg that'll suffice, but he'll have to find something equivalent and make do with that until he gets back home, right?

And, additionally, should they have been worried that Bush's little queue would raise suspicions while they were trying to impersonate officers? I mean, I know it was only planned to be a brief impersonation (and they were pretending to be Dutch, too), but was the black-wrapped queue a v. distinctive British form of dress?

2. So there issome status differential associated with it. And I'm assuming from the phrasing of your answer that it's not something that could be solved by a you-do-me, I'll-do-for-you arrangement. And we know that Bush doesn't think a hell of a lot about most of the people that he commands.

*awaits your epiphany because she's damned if she knows*

6. So you get issued the water twice a week and it has to last you from issuing to issuing. Do you keep it in a little cask of your own, then?

And yes, I burn to know the most random things. I really am sorry for being like the most OMGZ newbie ever.