On Sentry Duty

Thompson's eyes were drawn straight to the grating, rigged againt the side of the ship. It looked innocent enough unless you knew its purpose, he suposed. He was standing at ease behind Chase, his bayonet out. He'd seen the look the seaman had given him. It was more for show than anything; he didn't think he'd yet seen anyone try to leg it from a flogging. And why would they? It'd be worse to have a court-martial sit; they could have you hanged. Or flogged round the fleet, if they were feeling particularly nasty that day.

Seamen began filing on deck. One or two Marines came with them, their red coats bright in the sunlight. Oxley came, carrying his drum carefully, tightening the skin and giving it an experimental tap or two.

Having put on his boots over stockings, breeches and waistcoat the lieutenant checked his neckcloth in his small shaving mirror, before picking up his sword belt and settling that across his shoulder. Next on top was his coat, and as he put on his white gloves he wondered whether De Guarde would have taken his 'advice' and so making all this paraphenalia for nothing, or whether the boy would remain obstinate. He thought that he had pehaps gotten through to the midshipman this morning; but then he also rememered the arrogance, and that it had been a while since the incident occured, and De Guarde may have pulled himself together enough to rally himself to his original plan, which would prove bad for both him and the crew.

With a sigh he placed his hat on his head, and headed up on deck.

The other midshipmen had been in the berth when Peter went back. He was glad of their presence, because it meant he did not have to face de Guarde. it was because of him that they were there, tidying their hair, putting on their uniform coats and collecting hats and dirks. Because de Guarde had ordered that one of the Terpsichore's crew be flogged. Had it just been a petulant reaction to being told off by the Captain? In which case, Peter had to accept some of the blame.

They filed on deck to line up with their divisions, Peter standing alongside Mr Mundy. He hoped that he would not disgrace himself, but the thought of it was already making him feel sick. The Marines had lined up, and, another blot of red, the two Army officers.

"I am advised that it is expected. Especially as we are Army. Civilians might be allowed to avoid it." It was distasteful, but it would also be interesting. Not the flogging - Edrington had seen enough of them in his years in the Army. But the way sentence was passed and carried out. The decision would be the Captain's just as it would be the Colonel's in the Army. What would Bolitho choose to do?

The Marines had waited to line up; their place was at the quaterdeck rail, but the quarterdeck was officially officers' territory. Brandeson was almost sober, for once, yet Quinn wasn't sure he liked him in this state.

He could see the prisoner, with Private Thompson standing behind him, bayonet drawn. The Marine looked almost more nervous than the prisoner. Oxley had finished messing around with his drum and came up the quarterdeck steps to stand beside Quinn.

What a load of bloody nonsense over nothing, Quinn thought, glancing at the midshipmen. And there was the one whose fault this all was. The youngster at the other end, Mister Yates, looked rather more apprenhesive.

Gathered in line with the other midshipmen he had not been particularly anxious about the spectacle itself. It hadn't been uncommon to witness a flogging aboard the Confidence. Sailors had often carried scars of more than one. His eyes accustomed to the gore of worse than a dozen, it phased him as much as seeing a speck of dirt on his coat. A good firm brush, and it would be gone.

He watched as people gathered, not because they would be curious about the sentence, nor for the delight of viewing another suffer under the cat, but because they so had to. A warning to all, who would dare to act in a manner that would go against the articles. Many supported such punishments and agreed to their effectiveness with claims, that should it not have been done, the men would be worse off. Some considered a different approach, which would in hopes, prevent the crime being committed.

With the corner of his eye he spotted the lieutenant and felt his heart grasped by subtle touch of fear. Yet it had not been allowed to spread no longer like a plague, which would consume his reason. He smiled, though a good act rather than feeling. Where was Mr. Yates? He spotted him at last. The rest of the faces he's barely found familiar now but saw they've all turned out proper for the occasion.

Watts and Rutland - the other boatswain's mate - had appeared beside the grating. Rutland was rolling his shirt sleeves up, his expression carefully neutral. It was all Chase could do not to groan. Of the two boatswain's mates, Rutland had the more merciless arm. Just his luck.

And there was the stuffy bastard himself. The one who had caused all this trouble. Chase kept his gaze fixed on the grating, determined not to look up at the boy. Not until the instant before he was led forward to be tied up. His expression calmly resolute, the topman waited for the recitation of the matching Articles of War.

Emerging on deck Leat saw that most had pretty much assembled before the bosun had even piped hands to witness punishment, which was not unexpected. Turning to take his place of the quarterdeck his eyes fell on De Guarde. The youth, sensing he was being watched turned to catch his eye, and the lieutenant swore he saw a flash of fear.

But then De Guarde smiled, and Leat knew what the boy had decided. The cursed little wretch... He fixed him with cold, blank stare for several moments before moving on to his place, going to stand beside Mr. Bush, and there await the captain.

It would be a dozen, it couldn't be more than that, and should be less. If there were any justice in the world, which there wasn't. But twelve strokes delivered by Rutland was not the same as twelve given by Colburn. Thompson knew Quinn was watching him, and dare not lean forward even an inch to reassure the seaman, who was looking a little bit more nervous.

From his place near the entry port, Branning could see the unlucky seaman who was to be flogged. Poor bastard. At least he was only getting a dozen. Branning gripped his musket tightly and sighed. At least he was well removed from the rest of the Marines' formation. He could only imagine how sour Corporal Johnson's mood must be.

Johnson himself was feeling particularly sour, though more because he wished it was that uppity midshipman awaiting the cut of the cat instead of Chase the topman. That bloody lad had better be careful how he trod. Johnson had no love for bullies or tyrants, though he was often accused of being both.

The lieutenant's gaze left De Guarde straining to keep his smile. A fist clenched tight under his cuff, the sole indicator of his struggle. His mouth felt dry, lips stiffly turned in place. A relaxed demanour perhaps only outwardly, but inside the boy was barely keeping composition. He had to tell himself once more that his decision was just and right, another time, that he had whole right and properness to demand it. The tension began to ease again, his eyes flashing a sure look to one of the Midshipmen watching. Do learn here, young lads. 'tis how it is done right!~ He thought to himself at the sight of his fellow young gentlemen.

A twinge of amusement was there at the sight of Mr. Yates, who must've been witness to his first ever flogging. Ofcourse with so little time aboard this ship, he wasn't surprised. Mentally, he took bets with himself, should the boy succumb to it or not. With that demanour the money was set on the first.

Thompson forced himself not to stare at De Guarde and found himself looking at Corporal Johnson instead. That wasn't a good idea, either. He switched his focus to the firebuckets hanging from the quarterdeck. At least they wouldn't get into a temper if you stared at them.

He thought everyone was on deck now, apart from the Captain.

(OOC - I'm for bed. See you tomorrow!)

Once the piping had begun, Bolitho had changed into his dress coat and placed his hat on his head, though he waited a few moments before leaving the cabin to join the rest of the crew assembling on deck. Once outside, he saw Chase already positioned at the grating, and the rest of the ship's crew gathered around to witness punishment. He glanced at De Guarde for a moment, thinking how smug the boy was surely feeling to be causing such distress for Chase. Well, guilty or innocent, it did not matter now. The punishment had to be carried out. A dozen lashes would be sufficient. Bolitho was certainly not going to give Chase a harsh sentence for something that he may not have even done. Looking towards Chase again, he ordered for him to be given an even dozen. No more.

[OOC: Good night!]

The captain had spoken. Twelve lashes it was. Chase was led forward and made to strip out of his shirt. Then Colburn and Rutland secured his wrists to the grating. He hissed at the tight pinch of the rope around his skin. It had to be tight though, to keep him from sagging to the deck.

"Ready!" Watts called out, as Rutland shook the long-tailed cat out of the baize bag. Only one outcome for it now, with the cat out and ready. Chase curled his hands into fists and waited. Rutland was a brute when it came to flogging so he was keen to have the man start and just lay it on without pause. Anything to get it over with.


OOC - G'night!

He peered across to Chase, expecting a sound to come from the man any moment now. A pleased look was on his face as he observed the first and second of the dozen lashings. Had he noticed the captain's eyes on him, perhaps he would have been less bashful in allowing his pride show. Any moment now, a sound. It had to come! Have the black guard learn his place! As he was righteously learning now. A lashing across his back would do him good, each single one of those. He didn't flinch a single time, nor would, with the punishment delievered. The sight did not phase him, the blood when come, less even to bother.

(OOC cut short a bit, but gotta sleep. good night and g'night to those left before!)

Peter found his eyes flickering from the man tied to the grating, to the face of de Guarde. He was pleased with himself - you could see that from the confident way he stared at the Captain. As he glanced away he was aware that de Guarde was in turn watching him - as the man shook out the ropes, Peter gripped his hands tightly. So. He had been determined not to look soft, but now there was more reason than just his pride. If he showed weakness, then de Guarde would never let him forget it. He didn't have to watch, just look straight ahead. But he couldn't block out the noises.

[OOC Goodnight. and sweet dreams!]

Bolitho was watching De Guarde, not Chase, as the lashing was administered. It was more than apparent that the boy was pleased with what he was witnessing, and that disturbed Bolitho greatly. How was he going to break this boy from his hard-handed ways when it seemed ingrained in his very being? He could only hope that the sailors would learn a lesson from poor Chase, and not antagonize the boy if they knew what was good for them.

[OOC: Good night! And with that, I'll be going off myself for now.]

He'd be damned if he cried out or even groaned. No sound, no grimace, nothing. Chase set his jaw rigidly and refused even to close his eyes as each blow came against his back. Such was his determination to let that damned midshipman draw no satisfaction from the flogging. Rutland was not sparing him in the slightest either.

"Ten!" Watts called out. A vein in Chase's neck was pulsing from the effort to keep his expression composed. His back hurt like hell but he was dead set on keeping any of it from showing. Pride was a powerful motivator indeed.

"Twelve!"

It was over.


OOC - G'night folks!

When the first stroke was lashed onto Cob's back, Billy was prepared. He stared soberly at his friend and at the long red stripe that had suddenly burst into bloom. But next to Billy, Jim Samuels jumped in surprise. He had been a tailor, not a seaman at all but had still been grabbed by the press gang, and this was his first voyage and the first flogging he'd witnessed. Billy had prepared him with a brief explanation, but the little man looked shocked and pale.

"Hang in there, Jim," Billy murmured quietly. "Not long now."

And then, at last, it was over.


[ooc - g'night, cob!]

You couldn't not look, Peter found. However much he tried to focus on the horizon, visible behind the men opposite, the thud of the lash brought his eyes round to watch the bloody stripes form. He swallowed, his mouth full of saliva. He couldn't see Chase's face, but if he did not cry out or writhe Peter was not going to be sick. He would not.

It was over. Someone brought up a pail of water, and there was a general relaxation as the sailors were dismissed. Pipes sounded. Peter's jaw ached but he was still aware of de Guarde, and of the Captain and Lieutenants watching the other boy.

A look of disappointment was faint in the boy's eyes. Chase hadn't made a single sound, his composition was so firm that it surprised even the young De Guarde. Not a single cry of pain, nor grunt of discomfort, nothing. The strikes were right proper though, he could not suspect foul play of gentle tapping. No, each and every one of them had been at strength as was painfully evident with the bloody stripes that stretched across the man's back.

Still Jacob Chase hadn't even grimaced. An act of defiance, in the young man's mind, but one he could do little about. Chase received his punishment and there could be nothing to add. A brief glance was spared to the captain. He didn't seem impressed with what he witnessed. But what had been more unnerving was the fact the captain was watching him. Had he been so, throughout the flogging? The youth averted his gaze quickly, only a tiny smile on his face. He lifted his chin.

Little Yates did not loose himself either. The young man must have had more in himself than he first believed. It was a strange way, but a glimpse in every direction had taught him a little about each of the men. Their expressions and reactions to what they've witnessed spoke about their character, not enough that he would know each by their way, but a deal.

He peered down again. There was the marine that he recognised. A stiff lipped one and then the other young chap that stood close to Chase. Ah, down further there was Billy Barrow. He'd known him allright, a lucky chap not to stand next in line to Chase! Beside him was a face he hadn't seen before, but the pale and rigid look and posture had the small boy grin. For a moment. This one was sure to know his place! Just look at him! What a pleasant sight.

He turned his attention finally on Chase. It was done and the man would be removed from the grating. But did he learn what this lesson had been here for? He hadn't even flinched when he should've! Well, he would not need long to wait for the man to show his face again. And then, he would know. He unclasped his hands from behind his back. As others made way to depart from the spectacle done, he too turned to follow suit.

It was over. Leat had done his duty and spoken out for Chase; had wished the captain to note that Chase was an honest, sober, competant, dutiful man who had never before (and here he had been very careful not to look at De Guarde) been brought upon a charge of insubordination. It was never expected to make any difference to the outcome of the sentance, but it made a difference; in that by speaking up publically for Chase the lieutenant had made it crystal clear to the men that not all the officers, if any, approved of this punishment.

As the men began to disperse Leat fixed his dark blue eyes on De Guarde again. The boy was looking smug, but he had just noticed that Captain Bolitho had been watching him and his expression faltered a little. He then turned to see that he was also under thescrutiny of the second lieutenant, and Leat gave the boy no quarter, making his own feelings on the matter perfectly clear to the boy.

He then calmly departed from the quarterdeck, heading below to follow the captain aft, and knocked on the great cabin door barely a few seconds after Bolitho himself had entered.

"Sir? May I have a word?"

It had been interesting, Edrington thought. Much swifter, but rather less brutal than the Army, where a man might be sentenced to a hundred lashes at a time. The young man who had made the complaint, who had demanded the punishment, had stood with a smug look on his face, a cat watching a mouse slowly die beneath its paw. If this was the sort of lesson he had learned in his previous commission it would have to be retaught soon, or the Terpsichore would begin to take its tone from him, rather than from its Captain.

It was important to uphold one's officers, but not in the face of justice. The men would not think the sentence any more fair, nor the young midshipman anything but a jumped up little tyrant, just because the Captain had upheld his demand for punishment. From the sound of Leat's words, the man was a good sailor, and clearly well liked. He turned to the Major.

His legs felt like half-melted tar and he worried that he wouldn't be able to support his own weight when Colburn and Rutland untied his wrists from the grating. But he had not uttered a sound or shown any sign of pain. That was victory enough.

The two boatswain's mates took good, supporting grips on Chase's arms after he was freed from the grating and helped him walk - his gait was stumbling and unsteady - below to the cockpit. The sawbones was waiting there, of course, with all his nasty tools and tinctures. Chase nodded absently when Donahue appeared with Chase's forgotten shirt. Good lad.

"Face-down on the table with you," the sawbones said, his sleeves already rolled up. Chase did as he was bid and braced himself for the impending treatment.

Lieutenant Brandeson blinked and stirred from his daze as the assembled crew began to disperse back to their duties. It was over at last? Good then. He glanced blearily toward the waiting lines of Marines and called out in a gravelly voice "Dismiss the guard, Sergeant."

There ended his interest in attending to his men. Brandeson turned his red-eyed gaze to the other officers at the deck rail. "That was rather a boring proceeding, I'm sure!"

Unseen by the lieutenant, Corporal Johnson bared his teeth briefly in a fierce, annoyed smirk. Leave it to Brandeson to shift all responsibility onto others. He glanced toward Sergeant Quinn and waited for him to give the appropriate orders. Quinn, at least, could be counted on to manage the detachment.