10 June; Defaulters

The grating was rigged, even before the boatswain and his mates reached for their gleaming silver calls to pipe All Hands Aft. There were two men to be seized up, having been sent the irons earlier that same watch for the offence of fighting. One had recently been at the grating on a similar charge, while the other had been fortunate to enjoy some time between floggings. Both were brought topside after the crew had assembled and made to strip out of their shirts.

A lone Marine stood behind the pair, his bayonet out, ready to intervene should either of the two seamen attempt to run. By the grating, one of the boatswain's mates was pulling the cat from its red baize bag. The appearance of the knotted strands meant floggings were unavoidable. Not that there had been any doubt of that, when the two combatants had been forcibly separated by Marines and hauled away. The only question was who would be the first to receive their punishment.

This was the first time that anyone had been brought to the grating because of Thompson, and it wasn't a feeling that the Marine relished. If he'd been a Private, he might have been able to... well, not to have seen it.

He surreptitiously pulled his jacket straight, and looked up at the Captain, splendid in his blue and gold. "It was one bell o' the forenoon watch when I seen Chase an' Seward havin' a set-to... fightin'," he corrected himself hastily. Bugger trying to do this with all the flowery words that officers used when bringing defaulters aft. "I tole 'em to stop only they wouldn't, sir. So I had 'em put in irons to bring to Defaulters, sir."

If only thay'd even made the pretence of stopping, Thompson could have carried on for'rard, and returned aft on the gundeck, letting them just get on with it - he was of the opinion that Seward needed the shit kicked out of him. And if they'd made the pretence, Thompson would have been able to say that they'd stopped, as far as he knew. What a bloody mess.

The sailor with the blacked eye cast a glare laden with hatred at the Marine. He felt himself to be thoroughly wronged in this whole mess, as he had been the one attacked. But to speak up now would be to invite more trouble and even Jonny Seward was not that stupid. He would take this flogging and bide his time until he could get back at Chase. The taller sailor stood beside him, his nose swollen and red, and with a thin trickle of fresh blood oozing slowly out of one nostril. That served him right, didn't it?

All eyes were on the quarterdeck. The officers lining the rail looked uncomfortably grave, which could not bode well for the two of them. Seward wished distantly that he could rub at his blacked eye, for it had started to itch in a most maddening way. The sooner this was all over with, the better. Chase was not the only one who needed to be sorted out, after all.

It happened. Seward deserved every bit of it of course. He deserved worse, but Cob Chase should not have been caught. He had joined the rest of the boys, gazing anxiously at the gathered officers, the men, marines and the two that would be punished for fighting.

While he was once to blame for Chase's flogging, he had wished fervently now, that he would not need to witness and have this one happen. It was clear wishes would not be answered however. Fighting was punishable, and so it would be. He glanced towards Thompson and listened to him making the report. He could not get past the irony. He sighed and took a step to the side, giving space to another of the boys.