“Mr. Hollybrass,” he snapped.
Mr. Hollybrass, sweat running down his hot, red face, pulled the body close but then he paused and offered a look of appeal to Captain Jaggery.
The captain spat at Cranick’s body. “Over!” he insisted.
The first mate pushed the body through the gate opening. There was a splash. My stomach turned. I saw some of the sailors wince.
The captain spoke again. “Mr. Cranick was not a part of this ship,” he said. “His coming and going have nothing to do with us. They shall not even be entered in the log.
“Beyond all that you should know you are a very poor set of curs. It took only this girl”—he nodded up to me—«to unmask you.”
Sullen eyes turned toward me. Ashamed, I looked away, trying to stifle my tears.
“As for the rest,” the captain continued, “I ask only that one of you—your second in command if you have one—come forward and take his punishment. Then the voyage shall go on as before. Who shall it be?”
When no one spoke, the captain turned to me. “Miss Doyle, as our lady, I’ll give you the privilege. Which one of these men shall you choose?”
I gazed at him in horrified astonishment.
“Yes, you! Since it was you who uncovered this despicable plot, I give you the honor of ending it. Whom shall you pick to set an example?”
I could only shake my head.
“Come, come. Not so shy. You must have some favorite.”
“Please, sir,” I whispered. I gazed down on the crew, looking now like so many broken animals. “I don’t want ...”
“If you are too soft, I shall choose.”
“Captain Jaggery . . .”
I attempted to plead.
He contemplated the men. Then he said, “Mr. Zachariah, step forward.”
Chapter Eleven
Zachariah did not so much step forward as those about him shrank away. He stood there as alone as if he’d been marooned upon a Pacific isle. Though he did not lift his eyes he seemed nonetheless to sense his abandonment. Small, wrinkled man that he was, he appeared to have grown smaller.
“Mr. Zachariah,” the captain said. “Do you have any thing to say?”
Zachariah remained silent.
“You had best speak for yourself,” the captain taunted. “I doubt your friends will say a word in your defense. They are all cowards.” He paused as if waiting for some one to challenge him. When no one spoke, he nodded and said, “So much for your shipmates, Mr. Zachariah. So much for your round robin. Now, sir, I ask you again, have you anything to say on your own behalf?”
At first Zachariah stared dead ahead; then he shifted his gaze slightly. I was certain he was looking right at me now.
I tried to turn away but couldn’t. Instead, I stood gazing at him, eyes flooded with tears. Zachariah began to speak. “I . . . I have . . . been a sailor for more than forty years,” he said slowly. “There . . . have been hard captains and easy ones. But you, sir, have . . . have been the worst.
“No, I’ll not regret rising against you,” he continued in his halting way. “I can only wish I’d acted sooner. I forgive the girl. You used her. She did not know better. I forgive my mates too. They know where Captain Jaggery takes command . . . no . . . god signs on.”
“A pretty speech,” the captain said scornfully. “And as much a confession as anything I have ever heard. You may all note it in case anyone bothers to ask questions, though I shouldn’t think anyone will care.” He looked contemptuously over the rest of the crew. “Is there any jack among you that will second this black man’s slanders?”
No one spoke.
“Come now!” he baited them. “Who will be bold enough to say that Captain Andrew Jaggery is the worst master he’s ever served. Speak up! I’ll double the pay of the man who says yea!”
Though the glitter of hatred in their eyes was palpable enough, no one dared give voice to it. The captain had them that much cowed.
“Very well,” he said. “Mr. Hollybrass, string Mr. Zachariah up.”
The first mate hesitated.
“Mr. Hollybrass!”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the man mumbled. With a kind of shuffle he approached Zachariah, but then stood before the old man as if nerving himself. Finally he reached out. Zachariah stepped back but it was of no avail. The first mate caught him by the arm and led him back up the steps.
As I looked on, aware only that something terrible was about to happen, Mr. Hollybrass set Zachariah against the outer rail and stripped him of his jacket. The skin of the old man’s chest hung loose and wrinkled like a ragged burlap bag.
Mr. Hollybrass turned Zachariah so that he faced into the shrouds, then climbed up into these shrouds and with a piece of rope bound his hands, pulling him so that the old man was all but hanging from his wrists, just supporting himself on the tips of his bare toes.
Zachariah uttered no sound.
I turned to look at Captain Jaggery. Only then did I see that he had a whip in his hands, its four strands twitching like the tail of an angry cat. Where he got it I don’t know.
Feeling ill, I made to leave the deck.
“Miss Doyle!” the captain cried out. “You will remain.”
I stopped dead.
“You are needed as witness,” he informed me.
Now the captain held the whip out to his first mate. “Mr. Hollybrass,” he said, “he’s to have fifty lashes.”
Again Hollybrass hesitated, eyebrows arched in question. “Captain,” he said, “fifty lashes seem—”
“Fifty,” the captain insisted. “Start!”
Hollybrass grasped the whip. As he took his time squaring away behind Zachariah, I could see his hand flex nervously, his temples pulse.
“Quickly!” the captain demanded.
Hollybrass lifted his arm and cocked it. Once more he paused, took a deep breath, until, with what appeared to be the merest flick of his wrist, the whip shot forward; its tails hissed through the air and spat against Zachariah’s back. The moment they touched the old man’s skin four red welts appeared.
I felt I would faint.
“With strength, Mr. Hollybrass,” the captain urged. “With strength!”
Hollybrass cocked his arm. Again the wrist twisted.
The whip struck. Zachariah’s body gave a jerk. Four new red welt lines crossed the first.
“Captain Jaggery!” I cried out suddenly, as much surprised as anyone that I was doing so.
The captain, startled, turned to look at me.
“Please, sir,” I pleaded. “You mustn’t.”
For a moment the captain said nothing. His face had become very white. “Why mustn’t I?” he asked.
“It’s . . . it’s not . . . fair,” I stammered.
“Fair?” he echoed, his voice thick with derision. “Fair? These men meant to murder me and no doubt you, Miss Doyle, and you talk of fair? If it’s fairness you want, I could quote you chapter and line of the admiralty codes that say I’d serve justice best by shooting the cur.”
“Please, sir,” I said, tears running down my cheeks. “I shouldn’t have told you. I didn’t know. I’m sure Mr. Zachariah meant no harm. I’m sure he didn’t.”
“No harm, Miss Doyle?” The captain held up the round robin. “Surely they teach you better logic than that in school.”
“But I had no idea that . . .”
“Of course you had an idea!” the captain snapped, his voice rising so all could hear. “You came to me in shock and terror to inform me about what you’d seen. How right you were to do so. And right is what we do here. Proper order will be maintained.”