Granted, Horatio hadn't spent much longer than a week or two ashore in nearly seven years. He hardly knew where to go, let alone what to do. He didn't want to go home -- his father was unwell with his eldest sister having gone to his side to nurse him or see him to a good death, his younger sister was in a governess's position with an earl somewhere in Shropshire, and his mother was in the grave, which was no help to him. He had no friends or relations to call upon and impose upon for months. And staying in Plymouth felt like the opposite of restful, constantly waiting and watching and hoping for signs of the Indy.
"Take my advice, Lieutenant," the surgeon told him. "Sanditon is entirely pleasant, and the sort there would take a great interest in a man coming up the ranks. You have stories about Trafalgar. If nothing else, you'll find yourself happily hosted in exchange for a few words about Admiral Nelson."
So Horatio endured the journey to Sanditon, and found a modest lodging house where he could hear the sea if he left his window open at night. It was easier to sleep with that noise. He wasn't used to the sounds of being on land, the rolling of carriages, the chatter of men and women coming and going, the cries of merchants and birds piercing the morning and the night watchmen calling the hours in the darkness. The sea was a constant, a kind of safety. There was irony in that, considering how well his midshipman career began. With the sum of back pay he had, and the bonus for bringing in the ship in tact, more or less, he could afford modest lodgings and plenty of books. And the landlady was a sailor's widow who took to him almost immediately, practically stuffing him with tea and soup the moment he arrived with his sea chest, his new cane, and his equally new limp. There was even a good doctor in town who could see to him if he had any troubles, wasn't that a comfort? The information came with wedges of cheese and piping hot hand pies, which didn't seem to end up on his tally. He supposed he would argue the principle of the thing when the time came to settle his accounts. Taking advantage of a widow's generosity seemed unthinkable.
It was a bright, clear afternoon when Horatio went down to the seaside to walk. Sand and pebbles were ideal for challenging his leg and putting the muscles to work. He didn't want to be sidelined any longer than he had to be. There wasn't enough money from his prize ship to retire, and his leg wasn't bad enough to merit retirement on that front. So he walked, determined to be in fit condition if the new peace broke, which in his heart, he was certain it would. It was just a matter of time. He did not like war, and liked it all the less for what it had done to Archie, to his other shipmates, and to himself. But Horatio believed in duty to king and country, and he had a duty to return to his ship as soon as he could. Which meant working diligently towards his recovery, and walking the beach, back and forth, refusing to let the leg pain slow him or interrupt the concertedly even rhythm of his boots on the shore, focusing on his breathing and the sound of the waves.