The men were warming to him, William thought. The cold grey faces had lightened. And it was true that his uncle had made some notable captures. But how degrading, that this rabble could respond to one thing and one thing only – the thought of plunder.
When he next spoke, Captain Swift had changed his tone.
‘A glorious moment for all, I said, lads. But I was wrong. For two of the ship’s company, today is a day of villainy, ignominy and retribution. Before you, you see one of the shaved-head scum. The other is skulking below.’
A confused sound. Broad, his teeth chattering, attempted a smile. God help them, he thought, they don’t know what to think; whether to be on my side or his.
‘This villain, as no doubt you all know, tried to run last night. His chances of survival, had he got clear of the ship, were nil. But as you are all aware, to get clear of this ship is impossible. He was back on board, humbled in the eyes of man and God, within minutes. Now he will be humbled in the eyes of his shipmates.’
Another confused noise. A kind of grumble, perhaps of sympathy, mixed with a few jeers. Broad was too cold to care. He stared out over the tumbling grey seas.
‘There is one circumstance that saves this villain from a more proper punishment than a summary whipping,’ said Swift. ‘And it is this. While in the water, and probably quite by accident, this man saved a miserable youth bent on a far more dastardly act than even the act of desertion from one of His Majesty’s ships. That youth was bent on committing the vile and detestable sin of self-destruction. He was prevented, and now lies in the sick-bay close to the death which Providence denied him. When he recovers, lads, rest assured that a suitable punishment will be wrought upon him. Let no man think he can escape the wrath of God. Or of Daniel Swift.’
This blasphemy produced the expected laugh. It was a trick Swift had got many years before from his first commanding officer, a martinet called Hector Maxwell. He raised his hand.
‘Because of the fortunate, if accidental, circumstance of saving the worthless life of this puling youth, the man you see before you will receive only two dozen. Let not my lenience on this occasion lull you into the dream that all may expect such softness. Witness this punishment, my friends, and think upon it.’ He turned slightly.
‘Mr Allgood, will you be so good as to direct your men to lay them on? And Mr Allgood,’ he added in a voice of chilling penetration. ‘If they do not lay on with all their might and main, I would point out that others might like to do so on their own backs.’
Just before Jesse Broad received the first lash, a strange thing happened. A gap in the torn grey cloud appeared and the sun burst through. It was an autumn sun, and the wind remained icy, but it was a hot sun. Within seconds, almost, the decks and all upon them began to steam. A brilliant shaft of light struck Eastney beach. Jesse thought of home.
He rested his cheek against the hard grating and watched the dancing waters of the Solent. Beyond that shingle beach, with creaming foam breaking ceaselessly along it, lay the creeks, the woods, the hamlet where he had lived out his life. It was a community quite distinct from the life of Portsmouth, although only a few miles distant. They were a tightly knit, self-contained people whose life revolved round the mudflats, marshes, secret creeks and savage tides of Langstone Harbour. They considered themselves a people apart – protected by the difficult waters on one side, and the wild and marshy hinterland on the other.
He stared at the beach, waiting for the first lash, with a hollow sense of loss growing in his stomach. Only yesterday he was to have attended the christening service at the tiny old church with his wife. He thought of her in something like despair. They had been friends, lovers, for years. Now she was a lifetime away. Six or seven miles, and a lifetime.
‘Right then, my boys!’ boomed the boatswain. ‘You will start, Jefferies, and lay it on hard. Silence among the hands there!’
William watched fascinated as Jefferies, a loose-limbed, shambling man with protruding teeth, left the knot of boatswain’s mates. He had seen many floggings, but the sight
of the long cat, with its red baize handle and its strangely evil thongs, lumpy and wicked, always made his mouth go dry and his stomach flutter. The boatswain’s mate stood a moment, judging his distance, feeling the weight of the cat, getting the balance right. Steam rose in clouds as his hair and shoulders dried. His legs, from the knees downwards, disappeared into the vapour that rose from the deck, as though he were a ghost in a marsh. The whole ship’s company, silent, tense, dwindled into the same mist. Only Broad was clear of it, lashed tightly to the vertical grating, shadowed by the main rigging.
Knowing that the first blow was about to fall, Broad relaxed the muscles in his back as far as he could. He made sure his teeth were clear of his tongue, and moved his head a little way off the grating, to avoid banging it. Suddenly he thought of his ‘protection’, and almost smiled. Ah well, he had to think of something while the punishment took place. He began to concentrate.
The boatswain’s mate, grinning with the effort, swung the cat from far behind him in a low, howling arc. It ended in a solid bang, and a gasp from many mouths. William Bentley, biting his own lip, studied the motionless form of Jesse Broad. What he could see of the brown, handsome face was paling visibly before his eyes. It was as though someone was letting the blood flow out of his body. Bentley flicked his eyes to the man’s back. Not yet, at any rate.
There was a broad red swathe across the white, interspersed with livid patches, but the skin was unbroken.
Jesse Broad opened his eyes and looked at the beach again. The pain had surprised him, but he was not too worried by it. He was strong, and young, and healthy. Two dozen lashes, at this rate, would do him no great damage.
‘Mr Allgood,’ said Captain Swift, in a queer nasal voice of great menace. ‘That man is trifling with me. Do you hear, sir!’
Allgood, the glowering bull, walked up to his mate. He was head and shoulders over him, his huge belly thrusting forward. His eyes glowed.
‘Jefferies, you scum,’ he spat. ‘I told you to lay it on there. Now jump to it!’
A dew of sweat burst out on Jefferies’ brow. Depending on Swift’s whim he might have the whole two dozen to administer, or maybe as few as six. But each must be delivered with the whole of his strength. His face was impassive as he drew back his arm once more. Just before he took his swing Swift spoke again.
‘Let him draw blood with this stroke if you please, Mr Allgood.’
‘Aye aye sir.’
The mate’s face contorted with effort as he moved his shoulders and trunk round with all his power. The howl as the thongs parted the air was higher and louder. The slapping bang as they bit home was like an axe striking into thick timber. This time there was no gasp from the company. Jefferies jerked the cat savagely to free the thongs that had stuck to Jesse Broad’s back. Three bright strings of blood appeared. They grew rounder, glossier, then trickled like tears towards his belt.
‘You have just saved yourself a flogging,’ said Swift drily.
After sixteen more lashes, the blood had reached the deck, and a third boatswain’s mate was weakening. At a signal from the boatswain he was relieved by a fourth, who carefully cleared the nine thongs, one at a time, of the thick blood and conglomerated skin and flesh that clogged them. Broad’s back was a strange sight now, what could be seen of it through the moving mask of blood. Black at the edges, from blossoming bruises, still streaked in white where the lash had not yet bitten, purple and violet in other parts.