Prologue
Crack…
“Ahhh…”
The first cry of pain came at lash fifteen. Seaman Paul’s back had hardly healed from a previous flogging. It was raw and as red as beef before the present flogging had even started. His back was now a bloody mess. The bosun’s mate pulled the bloody tails of the cat between his fingers, untangling the knots as bits of flesh fell to the deck. Taking his time, the mate pulled back his arm, then like a striking snake the cat struck again. Turning muscle and flesh into a raw pulp that was now unrecognizable as a person’s back.
“Ahhh!!!”
Sixteen…
The seaman had done his best to uphold the honour of a jack tar by suffering his punishment in silence. But the pain was far too great. His screams were unnerving to both the officers and crew, who were being made to witness the cruel and unnecessary punishment of a good seaman.
Crack…
“Ahhh!!!”
Seventeen…
How much longer he could survive, more than one person wondered; pray God, he would lose consciousness soon.
***
HMS Foxfire, of twenty-eight guns, rose up and down with the gentle swell in the pre-dusk hour. Punishment usually took place at six bells in the forenoon watch, but Captain Brian, Butcher Brian as he was called by the crew, never let tradition keep him from letting the “cat out of the bag.”
The bosun’s mate had piped, “All hands to witness punishment.” With hats off, the sullen crew had moved lethargically aft, where the small detachment of solemn faced marines stood tall at attention with their muskets at their sides. They had seen too much of Butcher Brian’s savage ways to lift a finger, much less fire on anyone had they risen up in mutiny.
The officers were all present in full dress, sweltering under the hot Georgia sun. Swords hung at their sides as sweat ran down their faces and backs. They were as sick of the captain’s brutality as everyone else.
Norton, the first lieutenant, had tried to come to Paul’s aid. “Captain, Paul’s crime was minimal.”
“He cursed a petty officer,” Brian retorted.
“Who struck his back with a starter when it was still raw from a previous flogging,” Norton argued.
“He shouldn’t have been the last one,” Brian quipped.
“Twenty-four lashes for saying ‘damn you,’ Captain, is that not too severe? The bosun’s mate, realizing what he’d done, didn’t take offense.”
“But I heard it, Mr.Norton.”
Realizing he was getting nowhere with his argument, Norton changed tack. “Captain, we are carrying a fortune in gold and silver for the forces in Savannah. Cannot punishment wait until after we have safely unloaded our…our cargo?”
“Mr. Norton!” Brian snapped. “We are at the mouth of the Savannah River now, and waiting on the pilot. Our duty is all but complete. Do you think, sir, we have aught to fear? Is not the city under British control?”
“Aye, Captain, but these waters are still teeming with privateers. If the ship or the gold were to fall into enemy hands, sir…”
“Silence!” Brian roared, cutting Norton off, “enough, sir, I’ve had enough of your ninny ways. I thought better of you, Norton. Truthfully, I did.” Turning away from the seething lieutenant, Captain Brian ordered, “Strip.”
Two burly bosun’s mates tore the shirt from Paul’s back.
“Seize him up,” Brian barked another order.
The seaman’s hands were bound to a grating rigged for the flogging. Captain Brian then made a mockery of reading the article of war that covered Paul’s offense, ending with, “so forth and so on.”
The order was then given, “Bosun’s mate, do your duty.”
Brian was one of those captains who made sure he carried both a left-handed and right-handed bosun’s mate on board; so that when the cat was applied, the poor sod being punished would have a checkered back.
Twenty-four lashes were Brian’s minimum, with thirty-six not being uncommon. When the first dozen had been laid on, a new bosun’s mate laid on the next twelve; a new mate for each dozen. When the first bosun finished laying on his twelve, he picked up the red baize bag his cat went in and wiped the gore from his hands. The second bosun had just removed his cat from its bag when an excited cry was heard from the mainmast lookout.
“Deck thar! Deck thar! Boats approaching, sir, they’re almost on us.”
“Where away,” Norton shouted up.
“Close off the larboard bow, sir.”
“You waited long enough,” Norton replied in disgust.
“I’ve been calling down, sir, but couldn’t get anybody’s attention,” the anxious lookout responded.
Turning to the captain, Norton was cut off before he could speak.
“Relax, Norton,” the captain said. “It’s probably the pilot.”
“In more than one boat?” Norton asked.
“Most likely the guard boat with dispatches and some bumboatman trying to sell his wares before the others get a chance when we anchor.” Brian then ordered, “Continue the punishment.”
Again, the cat struck. Time after time the knots biting into the seaman’s back until there was not an inch of flesh that hadn’t been flayed open and now the white bone of the shoulder blade was plainly visible.
“Ahhh!!!”
The cries of anguish grew louder with every stroke until lash eighteen when there was no sound from the poor soul.
Crack…
Nineteen…
“Stop the punishment.” The command was from Cornish, the ship’s surgeon.
“What’s this?” Brian demanded. “You so easily countermand my orders,” the captain screamed.
“It’s Paul, sir. He’s made no cry with the last few lashes.”
“Very well,” Brian said, with a sigh. “See to him and let’s get on with it…hurry man.”
The surgeon made a quick examination of Paul, then turned to the nearest bosun’s mate and said, “Cut him down.”
Not believing his ears, Brian angrily shouted, spittle spraying as he spoke. “Damn you, sir, you go too far. I’ll have you under arrest. Continue punishment. Bosun’s mate, do your duty.”
“Go right ahead, Captain,” Cornish snapped. “Flog away as you will, but Paul will feel nothing. He’s died under the lash. Are you satisfied, you maniac? You’ve ruptured the man’s kidney. You murdered another fine seaman, Captain. I will personally see to it you answer for this one. Tell me, Captain, just how many fine seamen do you intend to butcher?”
A silence hung over the ship’s company. A long silence, in which time Brian’s skin turned ashen. The crew was in shock that someone would openly defy the captain. Suddenly heads appeared over the bulwarks.
A voice spoke out, “Thank you, Captain, for assembling your men and handing me such a rich prize without so much as a sentry’s challenge.”
Norton whirled around to the marines and crew shouting, “Repel boarders.”
The unmistakable sound of hammers being cocked cut short the order. A piercing cry was heard followed by the thud of a body falling to the deck. All eyes moved to the source of the sound. Captain Butcher Brian lay in a heap. Blood was pouring from around the knife sticking in his neck, staining the immaculate deck.
Seeing the look of accusation from Norton, the privateer’s captain quickly defended himself. “That was none of our doing, sir. I would look to your own crew for the culprit. But perhaps it’s best. Saves a lot of embarrassment and the trouble of a court martial.” Then with a salute the privateer said, “I am Captain Nathan Horne and I do hereby claim this ship…and ah…its cargo as a lawful prize of war. To show you I’m not a bloodthirsty devil such as your captain…previous captain, that is, I will give you, your officers, and any crew members who wish to accompany you free passage to Savannah. If you, sir, give your word of honour not to attempt to arm yourselves I will give you time to collect any personal belongings you may wish. I will also give you a brief statement discussing the state of the ship when we took it. It may come in handy should there be any legal proceedings.”
“Thank you, sir,” Norton mumbled. “You are most kind and thoughtful.” He took a breath and made to unbuckle his sword.
Seeing this, Horne shook his head. “No, you’ve gone through enough. I would not dishonor you by taking your sword.”
He then spoke to Foxfire’s crew at large. “I have given you all the freedom to make your way to Savannah via open boats. However, those of you who wish to remain aboard may do so and will be welcomed to serve our new nation. You will be treated fair and square, like a mate should be treated. The choice is yours, the boats…or to sea.”
The cheers that went up did not surprise Norton. After what Butcher Brian had put the crew through, it was a wonder that any of the men made their way into the boats.