Hornblower Hamstrung

In my dream I was a British Navy captain, of a sloop it seems; she was smaller than a frigate, of 26 guns only.

She was a capture from the French, nee "Princesse de Cleves," but now "Aurora."  She was tethered to a grimy dock on the Thames, roughly midway between London Bridge and the Observatory at Greenwich.  In fact, it was always so; in all my time as captain she never moved under her own power.  And yet, one bright spring morning I stood on her quarterdeck and peaked up at the sun through her forest of cordage, and all seemed right with the world on that day.

On another day, we were compelled to host a small group of dignitaries on board for dinner in our cramped quarters.  We were so short manned that I was left alone to polish the silver myself in advance of the repast.

The strangest thing.  The Navy permitted me to share my cabin, indeed to share my bunk, with a beautiful young woman -- Pamela Liffey from the North Country.  She was slender and blonde, and her disposition was fiery and headstrong.  I loved her, and yet she never let me embrace her in the dark.  It was like a game we played between us; I would reach out to her over and over, and each time she rebuffed me.

Thus I was, and became known throughout the Service as, an emblem of futility.  I was The Little Admiral in Lead, painted white and black, and blue.