Day of the Flogging

"I'll make them stop," she explained through her gasping sobs. "I'll make them take me instead. Please! I'm so sorry!" Of course Williams blamed her. Everyone ought to blame her. But why would he not let her take her own punishment away from Gabe? "Please!"

The march had been delayed, for it seemed the 62nd had a punishment drill that morning and had obtained leave to carry it out.

Apart from the official witnesses of the regiment involved a flogging usually drew a few spectators with nothing better to do but watch proceedings from outside the square - and behind the back ranks of the 62nd Sergeant Hakeswill listened to each fall and toneless count of the lash with a hidden glee.

"Gotcha, grasshopper," he murmured to himself. "Gotcha."

There was so much to watch. The woman, who was being held by a redcoat in what looked more like a restraint than an embrace; the man who had just completed his turn with the cat, as white as the man being flogged; the slow trickle of blood; the Colonel, hands clasped behind his back, watching the point being made; the Riflemen, of both Companies, understanding at last...

He was sure his back was bloody by now. It had to be. And the strokes had all merged into each other and his back was on fire with the pain of it.

And he had lost count and didn't know where they had got to, and couldn't think any more, and was Maggie all right, and it hurt.

Williams shook her again. "Don't be daft, girl. They'll finish what they're doing to Cotton first. What do you think they'll do? Leave him hanging there while the Colonel holds another trial, with you in front of him? And how do you think he'd feel, knowing you'd done that? You'll get nothing out of them, never trust them, don't even think of it."

Surely that was forty, or had he lost count, talking to the girl?

He heard a woman's cry from the distance and shook his head with a faint sigh. Standing at the side of one of the horses he has spent his time with the animal, trying to ignore the repetitive sound of the cat slapping against raw flesh. The count had risen in the past few minutes, but it was still a long shot from it being over. That young rifleman must've been pain stricken to see one of his own kin' having his back flayed open.

He ran his hand along the horse's neck. The cries and weeping of the woman could nearly be heard up to where he was standing. THe poor wretch, she must be the lass of that man. Not a pleasant sight, that she is witnessing. He drew his fingers light against the horse's snout, rubbing the back of one gently across it a couple of times, with no fear of being bitten by the animal.

How many of those men felt sorry for Cotton and how many delighted in his pain?...There were always the two type of people. And often one got the other in trouble. With another faint sigh he rested against the horse's side, gazing at the curious look that the creature was giving him. He moved a bit further from the animal then and sat down. Another lash,.. and another.

She wouldn't let Williams prevent her from watching. Poor Gable's back was covered in ribbons of red. "Oh Gabe, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "So sorry."

He was proud of his man. He hadn't heard a sound apart from a soft gasp at the first stroke, and ragged breathing. But his back was covered in blood now, and he didn't know how much more Cotton could take.

Forty-five.

Forty-six.

Forty-eight. The man was taking it well - far better than many, and had not cried out, although his back was raw.

Enough was enough. The principle - God, what a cold thought! - had been established. Edrington stepped forward towards Captain Vickery.

He saw Edrington take a step towards him.

"Sir?"

Had the colonel read her thoughts? Was he going to call for her to take Cotton's place now?

"On my order, the punishment should be stopped now," he said. And looked towards Cotton, grimacing, before adding. "It is over."

Fifty.

Over?

"Stop!"

He looked back at Edrington. "My lord?"

"What is it? What's wrong? What did he say?" Maggie was suddenly very alert, touched by alarm that Cotton might be unconscious or dead.

The strokes kept on falling, and Hakeswill heard a woman's cry. Maggie Evans, pained at the sight of her man's suffering. It had not been all that Hakeswill had wanted - he had hoped that Cotton would have been accused outright of Padstowe's attack - but this was almost as good. This way Cotton lived to know he was not beyong the sergeant's reach, and would live in fear of him; of what he might do next, should he wish to follow this up.

He looked across to see the weeping Maggie being supported and restrained by a redcoat - he recognised Private Williams, and his face twitched with glee, a grin breaking over his lumpy face. So the Welsh was here to witness it too; to know what it was to cross him and that they had no protection from him. No snotty little captain with his clever little ways to stop what was only right and proper! He chuckled to himself. Oh yes, Williams had escaped once; but he would be watching his back from now on...

Fifty. And the colonel had called a halt. Hakeswill blinked. Surely he'd heard that wrong?

"Stop!"

That wasn't... right. That was nothing like two hundred.

Did the Colonel mean to bring him back for the rest later? Because he couldn't bear that. Much better to get it over now. But it hurt so much, he was probably dreaming anyway.

"What is it?" Maggie asked anxiously, looking up at Williams and across at the men at the triangle. Was it time for the Palmer brothers to switch? Was it some cruel method to prolong the pain?

"Take him down," Edrington said intended to carry to the whole regiment. "The rest of the punishment is - remitted, by my authority." He dropped his voice to speak to Vickery. "It was done well, Captain, and bravely borne. I hope we shall not have to do anything like this again."

"Oh." Maggie's breathing quickened as if she had been running for miles with the devil at her heels. And she watched them actually take him down. Was it truly over?

But then someone was cutting at the cords binding him to the triangle. He blinked to try to get his eyes to focus. Someone gently pulled him away and reached up to take the leather from his mouth. One more thing he had to do.

Walk.

Breathe and walk. One foot in front of the other, slowly, don't fall over.

"Thank you, sir. My lord." He needed a drink; his voice sounded as though he'd been screaming.

"Gabe," she whispered, pulling away from Williams.

It was silent. Strange. By the number of the lashes it should've lasted longer. Were they switching?

Still the silence continued. He could not right make out what was said. Did Cotton loose consciousness and they were waiting for the surgeon to revive him, so that they could continue? But no, the lass would've screamed right loudly if it was something like that. And there was no sound of her as well. He looked in the direction of the square.

Was it halted? Finished by a decision to spare the man? It wasn't the kind of practice he had known of the army. Surely ...

And still there was no sound of the cat striking.

There was nothing to say, but to nod an acknowledgement. Once he was away, in the care of the surgeon, and the triangle dismantled, he would order the regiment to dismiss. Breakfast, if any had been prepared, would be eaten on the march - he would have to make sure that the commanders were prepared to allow hungry men to snatch a bite to eat.

Williams looked round. They had taken Cotton down from the triangle - the Colonel's orders by the look of it. And it wasn't just that there was a new man with a cat - the whole thing was finished, the Colonel had remitted it.

He relaxed his grip. "They've stopped it - the Colonel's said it's enough, it's over. He'll be all right now. Fifty lashes - it's nothing. Truly, he'll be all right."

No. It was over. He could see the men slowly disperse, the curious souls first and then there would be those that had to remain by obligation untill dismissed.

"I'll see you.."Was murmured and he stood.
Poor sod. But it was over now, and so he would be taken care of by the surgeon and his lass. The woman that cried and screamed. She would surely have his pain be more easy to endure.