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    Mark Arbour
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Gunroom - Prologue. Prologue

October, 1791

 

The gleaming carriage rocked in the blowing wind, a testament to how well sprung it was. The carriage was painted blue, a blue with a hint of purple, a color cynics would say described the family itself, with its blue blood but virulent ambition, perhaps ambitious enough to aspire to the royal purple. For those who didn't know that this unique blue was the color of the earls of Bridgemont, a prominent family crest was splayed across the door in a style that managed to be both subdued and gaudy at the same time.

Inside the carriage, their posteriors cushioned by soft leather upholstery, sat the Fourth Earl of Bridgemont and his third son, a contrast if ever there was one. The earl, old and grizzled, his face lined with his years and the schemes that had propelled his family to greater fortune and influence; and his fifteen year old son, George, tall for his age, with blond hair, blue eyes, and smooth skin that had survived the ravages of smallpox unscathed.

The young man turned to his father, waiting for a dismissal, an acknowledgement, any show of emotion at all. He was to be disappointed this time. The Earl was not one to reveal anything to anyone. The young man, his mind full of the playfulness of youth, wondered briefly whether his father changed his expression even when he had an orgasm, and decided that he probably did not.

Then the Earl relented. “I'm sure you'll do well son. You have a good captain. Sir Evelyn has an excellent reputation, and he can guide your career. You must show him the same obedience and respect you have always shown me.” The young man stared at his father, amazed at the old man's openness.

“I won't let you down Father,” he said sincerely.

“The thought never crossed my mind,” the Earl said, briefly cracking a smile. It was difficult for him to remain impassive with George. George had always been his favorite son, the one who caused him no problems, who made every effort to please him, and who took up the flute solely because it was the Earl's favorite instrument. The young man had worked to master the game of whist, just to spend time with his father. The old man had never overtly noticed these efforts, but he had appreciated them, and the young man seemed to know this intuitively.

They shook hands and the old Earl briefly grasped the young man's hand with both of his, the only sign of physical affection he'd shown the young man. He pondered this decision, the decision to send his son to sea, and wondered if he'd made a glaring mistake. The Earldom, the title and land, not to mention a sizable chunk of money, would ultimately pass to his oldest son, Frederick, a heartless and calculating brute. The old Earl knew that Freddie would drive the family to new heights, even higher than he'd achieved, but at what cost to his tenants and retainers the Earl could hardly imagine.

He sighed. The alternative was worse. His second son, Albert, was dissolute and corrupt, even at the age of 18. The cost to maintain him in the army, to pay for his gambling debts and his whores, was prodigious. If Freddie died, Bertie would inherit the great estate, and he would squander everything within a generation. Of that the Earl was certain.

This son, his last one, George, was a different beast entirely. A kind young man, almost too kind, one that seemed unsuited for the arts of war. The Earl had briefly considered a career in the Church for the young man, but he couldn't abide clergymen himself, and the thought of delivering his youngest son into their clutches was too much to think of. They'd have loved him at the university, with his fine, almost pretty looks. They'd have buggered him every night. No, that was not to be the fate of his son.

Ironically, the decision to join the navy had ended up being made by George himself. He'd had a fascination with the sea since he was a small boy, and took every chance he could to get afloat, whether it was a rowboat, a ceremonial barge, or a simple skiff; he'd taken to the water like a fish. Still, the Earl had not been convinced, not until he'd seen the spark in the boy's eye, the spark that belied the constrained emotions, the spark that said he had deep feelings and emotions beneath his smooth outer veneer. That was the spark that swayed the Earl, the spark that told him the boy could kill if he needed to, that he could indeed be a warrior.

“I will write to you Father,” the young man said, his eyes watery.

“I would like that,” the Earl said, his eyes tearing as well. Time to end this painful goodbye. “There's the boat waiting to carry you off. Best to not be late.”

The young man nodded and hopped gracefully out of the carriage, his sea chest already waiting for him by the quay. A ship's boat approached, handled crisply despite the strong winds and rough waves, even here at the Nore. An incoherent shout and the oars shot out of the water and were seated in the boat, standing directly upright in perfect form, while the boat was guided smoothly against the stone jetty.

A lieutenant jumped out and strode toward the young man, stopping short to wait for his salute. The young man thankfully remembered it, and did it well, just in the nick of time. “You are George Granger?” the lieutenant asked, as if he couldn't believe this youth was the scion of a leading aristocratic family.

“Yes sir,” the youth stammered nervously.

“Very well. Marsh, stow that chest,” the lieutenant said, shouting to a seaman. Then the lieutenant briefly doffed his hat to the old Earl sitting inside the carriage, and motioned the young man into the boat.

The young man, with his misplaced sense of propriety, waited for his senior to enter first. The lieutenant hid a smile, remembering when he'd made the same mistake some seven years ago when he'd joined his first ship. “Junior officers in first and out last Mr. Granger,” he said in an almost friendly way, or at least as friendly as a lieutenant could be when speaking to a mere midshipman.

“Aye aye sir,” said the young man, spewing forth the navy's time-honored response to an order from a senior officer.

The lieutenant smiled to himself, wondering at what a coup the Captain had achieved with this acquisition. In one fell swoop, he'd repaid a favor to Lord Bridgemont and built a valuable political link to the boy's grandfather, the Admiral commanding in the West Indies. And the boy didn't seem all that daft either. The lieutenant didn't admit to himself that the boy had a beautiful face, with blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. He pretended to ignore the young man’s long, willowy body. The lieutenant didn't allow himself to acknowledge his thoughts about the boy's cute, bulging butt, nor did he permit himself to fantasize about how good it would feel to strip him down, bend him over, and plow into that ass with his throbbing cock. Maybe later, alone in his cabin, the lieutenant would allow himself that fantasy, but not now.

       

Copyright © 2011 Mark Arbour; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

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I love British history, especially from the last 1400's to early 1800's so this fits in my area perfectly. I can't wait to see how the blend of naval and court life both play out. There were quite a few quirks in the British navy and it's traditions, I love that you have taken time to pick at least some of them up...

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I´ve always loved history and been interested in British history. This should be just the thing for me to read and like :*)

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When I first read this I remember being hesitant as I am not necessarily a fan of historical fiction; the imagery and emotion evoked in this prologue hooked me immediately. Thanks.

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Embarking on a second reading.  I'm anticipating just as much enjoyment the second time around,  possibly more now that George is such a beloved character.  

I just realized only 9 years have passed for George since the story started. Nine impressively eventful years. 

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It is interesting to meet George for the first time here. A young man full of wonder and awe entering this new world. Little does he know the adventures which will await him. Danger, loss, sadness and fame all with moled him into the brave naval hero he will become.

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I follow some authors who follow you, so I decided to see what you are writing now.  I found Northern Exposure and started to read.  I got through one chapter and realised I knew the style of writing. One I liked. I thought I knew where I had read something like it and went to Castle Roland.  There I found you had written one of my favourite series, Drummer Boy.  Bonanza! However, since Northern Exposure is the latest, I decided to stop.  So I am starting with the first in this series and looking forward to many weeks of reading to catch up.  One of the great things about GA is the ability to tell the authors how much I enjoy their work, so expect a lot of feedback.  I usually read the comments of others and was very pleased to find that several were reading for the second and third time.  Impressive. Even more impressive was to read the prologue written many years before the Drummer Boy series and find the same excellent writing.  Thanks for all your wonderful work.  I am very happy with this Christmas gift I am sure you wrote just for me.:yes:😁

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I am embarking on another reread now and I am already smiling from the first chapter alone. I love your quip about the church: "They'd have buggered him every night. No, that was not to be the fate of his son."

Awesome introduction, this. :D

 

I hope your health keeps up and you are not overly handicapped by the current situation!

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You and I share a great love of British history. Whilst I am heartbroken at the death of our Queen, the nerd in me is eating up the unprecedented televised access to the accession of the monarch, and the pomp and cerimony that goes with it.

The state funeral, a week Monday, will be something neither you or I have ever seen, or will likely see again. I will grieve the loss of a great woman, a monarch with poise and grace, but will appreciate the occasion, the history in motion.

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3 hours ago, DragonFire said:

You and I share a great love of British history. Whilst I am heartbroken at the death of our Queen, the nerd in me is eating up the unprecedented televised access to the accession of the monarch, and the pomp and cerimony that goes with it.

The state funeral, a week Monday, will be something neither you or I have ever seen, or will likely see again. I will grieve the loss of a great woman, a monarch with poise and grace, but will appreciate the occasion, the history in motion.

Where the fuck have you been? 💖 So great to see you back in the “comments “. 

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Looking forward to an interesting read of men at sea for a time gone by.

Your remark about the Bridgemont Family, with three very different brothers, tells me there is more to be said. Great introduction, now onto the first chapter.

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It's difficult for us in modern times to conceive sending a boy off to war, but it was commonplace in this time. One had to grow up quickly, for even without war life expectancy wasn't long.

George has just been thrown into the deep end of the pool.

 

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1 hour ago, drpaladin said:

It's difficult for us in modern times to conceive sending a boy off to war, but it was commonplace in this time. One had to grow up quickly, for even without war life expectancy wasn't long.

George has just been thrown into the deep end of the pool.

 

So true.  He has it a lot easier than most did. 

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