"Bo'sun! Ten of your best!" The Bo'sun takes the Cat from its hook on the mast and stands to the side, ready to deliver.
I step forward.
"Sir, I must protest. This man is a member of my division. I have always found his work and his seamanship to be above reproach."
The Captain peers at me. "Is that so? Then give him twelve because of your mouth! Now!"
The Bo'sun swings and swings hard. He can do no less. Should it be seen that he is holding back, he, himself, would be lashed to the grating and one more willing to swing the Cat would do the job.
Yonkers stiffens. That's one. Then two. Three. He sags in his bonds. Four. Five. His back is red, now. Six. Seven. The welts on his back are now bleeding down into his trousers. Eight. Nine. Ten. Then my two added on. Eleven. I believe he is unconscious. Twelve.
It is over. I hear Georgie being sick beside me. No one moves.
"Take the slacker down," says the Captain. Two of Yonkers's mates go to him and cut him down and drag him off toward the fo'c'sle. They will take him down to the orlop and to the loblolly boy, and once again salve will be put on yet another bleeding and scarred back. This poor, unhappy crew...
The Captain seems extremely pleased with himself. "Getting back in fighting trim! Nothing like it for banishing softness and idleness." He may be feeling better this day, but I notice his tic still works.
He looks at me and the midshipmen standing there in a line and puts his finger by his brow and pretends that he has just had a great idea.
"But why should the common seamen have all the fun?" he asks. "Midshipmen! Line up at the foot of the mainmast! You, too, Lieutenant Faber, being only an acting lieutenant, and so late a midshipman yourself."
Uh-oh.
We assemble in a line on the quarterdeck. The Captain paces back and forth in front of us, looking us over. I can sense Georgie quivering by my side. The Captain stops in front of me. He smirks as he looks me up and down. I keep my eyes cased, my face without expression.
"Time to toughen up these soft lads," he says, poking me in the belly with his thumb. He turns and points up. "You will all race up to the main royal yard, touch it, and race back down. The last of you to reach the deck shall be bent over that cannon and get ten from the rod! Now advance to the mast!"
We break ranks and go and put our hands on the ratlines. I look at the others. Robin's eyes are full of fury. The others' eyes are full of fear, especially Georgie's, for he knows he's sure to be the loser, sure to be beaten, sure to cry like a baby in front of the crew. Robin looks at poor Georgie and then he looks at the Captain and he takes his hands off the ratlines and I just know he's going to do something rash.
I grab his arm and whisper, "Don't, Robin. I'll take care of this."
But he ain't listenin', I can tell. I feel him move toward the Captain and I tighten my grip. "Robin. If you catch the Captain's eye, you will be in trouble. I need you, Robin, I do, and I need you alive. You will do me no good in the ranks of the Heroic Dead!"
Robin looks at me and I push him back to the ratlines. "I have a plan. Let me handle this."
Before Robin can ask me what I mean to do, the Captain shouts, "Go!" and we leap up the lines.
I really put on the speed 'cause I want to make sure I am the first one back down and that everyone sees it. Up to the maintop, past the main, my hands and feet quick and sure on the ropes. There's the t'gallant yard and now the highest sail of all, the royal. I touch its yard and head back down.
I meet the boys coming up on my way down, and sure enough it's Georgie at the rear, looking ashen. I continue down to the maintop, swing out on the ratlines and slowly climb down till I am on the last rung and there I stay. Within a moment Robin hurtles past me to the deck. He stands there and looks up at me, his eyes hot, for he has suddenly realized what I intend to do. Then Tom goes past and is down, then Ned, and finally, huffing and puffing, comes little Georgie. An instant after Georgie's feet hit the deck, I drop lightly down.
I look my defiance in Captain Scroggs's furious face.
"You would mock me, bitch? Then get over that gun!"
"You would beat a little boy? And now a girl?" I say, my chin quivering in fear but up in the air.
"Sir," begins Mr. Pinkham, "please..."
The Captain ignores his first officer and swings his arm and catches me behind my neck and I go down. I get on my hands and knees and crawl toward the gun. I stagger to my feet and see that the Captain himself has taken the rod from the Bo'sun. I turn toward the gun.
As I lay myself across it, I hear a hum. Hmmmmmm. It grows louder and I realize that it is the men, or most of them anyway, giving the time-honored warning to a captain that mutiny is imminent if he doesn't change his ways. The sound is made deep in the throat, the lips not moving, so the object of the mutinous sound cannot tell who is doing it. When the Captain moves close to a man, that man stops doing it, only to pick it up again when the Captain moves away.
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm...
Captain Scroggs looks up at the men in the rigging and around at those standing about. "So, you mutinous dogs, you would warn me then? Well, let me warn you—you will stop that or I will pick four of you at random and hang you right now!"
The humming dies away. Thanks, anyway, mates.
The Captain looks about at his crew, and he smiles. "I thank you, men, for pointing out to me that there are much better uses for something like this," and he lays the rod lightly on my backside. "Much better uses."
He flings down the rod and steps over me and grabs my hair, pulling my face up to his. "Your punishment is going to have to be more private, I see. Report to my cabin at the beginning of the Evening Watch and we'll see about you then."
"Captain ..." The good Mr. Pinkham tries again.
"Mr. Pinkham!" roars the Captain. "You will pen a letter to the squadron commander telling him of the lamentable state of the masts on this ship. Upon completion of that, you will have the port lifeboat put down and you and Mr. Pelham and Mr. Harvey and Mr. Smythe will personally deliver that letter to Commodore Shawcross and attend upon him until he gives a reply. Do you understand me, Sir?"
Mr. Pinkham looks at me with sorrow in his eyes. He knows the Captain is sending all the regular officers off the ship so they cannot interfere with his plans for me.
"No dinner or rum ration for the crew tonight, and no breakfast, either!" snarls Captain Scroggs, and he lurches down to his cabin.
I go to the officers' quarters down on the gun deck, and I do not bother to knock as I go in. The time for politeness and manners is over. I find Mr. Pinkham seated at a table, writing. Mr. Pelham is at the same table and he is loading a gun. Mr. Smythe and Mr. Harvey are making themselves ready in a similar way. I go up to Mr. Pelham and lay my hand upon the gun and push its muzzle down.
"Nay, Sir, you cannot," I say. "Should you mutiny because of me, he would only have to deny that he had any such intentions to disprove your claim, and then you would be court-martialed and hanged and he would still be the Captain and he would dance on your graves, count on it. If you try this, and I'm sure the men will be with you, all of you will have trouble to the end of your days because of it. No, Sirs, I will not have that. Being taken against one's will in a shameful way is one thing—to be hanged and choked and killed is quite another. Believe me, I know. Now, go. I can take care of myself. Please, Mr. Pinkham, write the letter, and then go."
Mr. Pinkham looks up from his writing and gazes significantly at Mr. Pelham and the others. Mr. Pelham nods and then so do the other two officers and they all look at me. Mr. Pinkham is silent for a moment and then, in a firm and even voice he says, "I am not writing the letter the Captain wants me to write. I am writing an account of today's events. We have been keeping a log of the Captain's depredations, day by day, cruel event by cruel and heartless event. We have described the events in extreme detail and cited names and witnesses."
Mr. Pinkham's demeanor is no longer the deferential one he showed the Captain—his look is now one of steely resolve, as he goes on.
"We will leave in the boat, aye, but what we will be carrying to the Commodore is not the Captain's stupid complaint but this very log, the evidence that will put an end to his tyranny. We know"—and here he stumbles—"we know this thing today ... with you ... and what is going to happen tonight ... will be the final straw and he will be broken and dismissed. I hope that gives you ... some comfort."
Instantly, I see the wisdom of the plot. All of them, sent by the Captain, himself, to present the case against him.
Mr. Pelham rises. "All four of us are agreed. But"—he struggles with the words—"but we cannot just leave you to..."
"All five of us are agreed," I say, firmly. "If you rise up in arms against him now, all will suffer. No, it shall not be. Ridding this ship and the Service of that man is worth ... whatever it costs. Go, gentlemen, and Godspeed to you and your mission."
All of them rise to their feet as I turn and leave the gun room.
Later, the boat is put down and readied for the officers. I go to see them off.
Before getting in, Mr. Pinkham looks me full in the face and says, "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am," I say. "I know you to be a man of honor, Mr. Pinkham, and I thank you, Sir, for all you tried to do for me. It will be all right, you'll see."
He nods grimly and goes over the side. The other officers follow him down into the waiting boat and it pushes off. The sail is raised and soon they are out of sight.
I stand there watching them go. The Captain has surely cooked his own goose this time, I'm thinking, but a lot of good it's gonna do me. If I could just hold out for another day or two... but I know I ain't gonna be able to—not the way he's been up and roaring around today.
I think about things and I come to a decision. I take a deep breath, hold it, and then let it out and go looking for Robin Raeburne.
I find Robin and the other boys in the midshipmen's berth. Robin sits at the table with his fists clenched, his face red with helpless, impotent rage. Ned and Tom look worried. They know something is up, but they don't know quite what. They just know that something is going to happen to me.
Georgie says, "What's the matter, Jacky? You're just going to get a good dinner, is all, right?"
"Right, Georgie," I say, ruffling his hair and smiling at him. "Now you and Tom run along. Ned, haven't you got the watch? I've got to talk to Robin."
They leave, mystified and somehow wretched.
"I'm going to kill him," says Robin, after they are gone. He continues clenching and unclenching his fists and staring straight forward.
"No, you won't, Robin. You won't do any such thing. What you are going to do is come into my cabin." I reach out and take his hand and lead him into my little room. There is barely enough room for the two of us to stand. I close the door and turn around and say, "Kiss me, Robin, if it will please you."
Astounded, he does it and we hold the kiss for a long, long time. When our lips finally part, I say, "Undress yourself, Robin."
"What? Why ...," says Robin, confused.