The Game Of Petty Spirits, Part Two
Sep. 23rd, 2015 04:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
barefoot_bardTitle: The Game Of Petty Spirits
Rating: M (Suitable for ages 16 and above)
Disclaimers: David Lakey is the creation ofsharpiefan. Tom Carter, Billy Ivey, Dan Tisdale, and Nancy Owens are mine. Most characters who appear are actual historical figures. All other characters belong their respective creators. Neither The Incredible Journey of Mary Bryant nor Banished are mine. No profit is being made from this story.
Story summary: The line between good and bad is often blurred, but two Marines with the First Fleet learn just how easily that blurring happens. Australia, 1788.
Author's Note: There are going to be historical and canon goofs in this. Most of them are probably intentional. I apologise for those that aren't.
They were going to flog a woman.
David Lakey tried not to fidget where he stood in the single rank of paraded Marines, but it was hard. Damned hard. Especially given the tension and resentment rolling off the gathered convicts. The A, C, and E men only had been assembled, but they were more than enough in number to make Lakey uneasy. If, of course, he was not already uneasy at the prospect of watching a woman suffer the lash.
Worse than all that was Major Ross. It was obvious to Lakey that Sergeant Timmins did not relish the duty of wielding the cat, even before he drew back to deliver the first stroke, but Major Ross took the prize. He was pacing the sand between the flogging post and the convicts, towering over them all even without his hat. And he was, clearly, not content to let this go on without a harsh rebuke. Lakey found himself resenting the officer's words and was sure the convicts did as well. All this simply because the poor lass had been found in one of the male convicts' huts and refused to name the man she'd been with.
"Convict women belong to my soldiers," Ross said in a hard, slow voice. "You do not go anywhere near a woman unless she's your wife. If she is not your wife, she belongs to my men. Two!"
An expressionless Timmins drew his arm back to lay on the second stroke.
"What manner of man are you, to stand and watch a woman flogged? What kind of coward does this? Three."
Nothing happened. Timmins stood fast, the cat resting on his shoulder. The third stroke had been ordered yet the sergeant did not move. Lakey found himself breathing sharply in. What was it that made Timmins defiant? Orders were orders, weren't they, whatever a man might feel about carrying them out. Even Lakey knew that and he was what the older Marines mostly-playfully called a Johnny Raw.
"Three," Major Ross repeated, turning toward Timmins in obvious impatience. "Lay it on, man."
Timmins did not budge. Even Captain Collins was watching him, but the sergeant held himself motionless. Despite himself, Lakey silently urged him to just get on with it. The sooner it was over, the better for all, no matter how unpleasant it was. Major Ross did not waste a moment in the face of Timmins' immobility. He strode across to the sergeant and all but spat some unheard words at him. Whatever they were, they made Captain Collins look sharply away and down.
Then the major pulled his pistol out of his sash and, cocking it, held it aimed squarely at Timmins' head. That needed no words. To his right, Tisdale stiffened just slightly and on his left, from the corner of his eye, Lakey saw Tom Carter's hand shift downward the barest bit on his ordered musket, his fingers curling a little more tightly around the barrel. For his part, Lakey felt frozen, barely able to process what his eyes were seeing. Insubordiation could not, of course, be tolerated but did it merit the immediate response of a threat of execution?
There was a long, long pause before Timmins turned his head to look down the pistol barrel. Then he took a half-step back, the cat sliding down off his shoulder as he drew back to deliver the third lash. The third lash that landed hard and elicited a cry from the poor lass shackled to the flogging post.
"You see the difference between my soldiers and scum such as you," the major went on coolly, tucking his pistol away as if nothing had happened. "No soldier would stand by and watch this happen. Four!"
Beside him, he heard Tisdale huff out a breath, and felt disgust begin to bubble in the pit of his stomach. Goading the convicts could not lead to anything good. Especially not if he used the Marines as an example - for had he not just forced Sergeant Timmins to carry on the flogging?
"Scum. Must. Not. Breed. Five."
The cat slashed across the woman's back and drew forth another cry. Lakey rocked very slightly back on his heels and wondered if he could stand watching another twenty strokes. The major's obvious interest in using this as an object lesson was as strange as it was unsettling and, thinking suddenly of the night the convicts had rioted, he thought he knew the real meaning behind Ross's remarks.
"On pain of death, you do not touch a woman. Six."
And it went on. If he kept his eyes on the stone-faced convict men, it was possible to avoid watching the cat's strands as they did their bloody work. Nothing could stop him hearing it, though. Or from hearing the unpreventable outbursts from the poor wretch at the flogging post. It went on until the last stroke, whereupon Timmins all but flung the cat down.
"The next man who is caught with a woman who is not his wife will be hanged," declared the major. "Let that be perfectly understood. Disperse them, Sergeant."
With that, the officers departed without a backward glance. It thus fell to Timmins to dismiss the Marines and put them straight to the chore of getting the convicts cleared off. Tom Carter was quick to move toward the flogging post, against which its first female victim was slumped, held up only by her wrists in the iron bars bolted solidly into either side of the post. A smirking Buckley took his time unlocking the irons, while the convicts were being herded away to receive their midday ration. Not quite knowing why, Lakey shouldered his musket and followed the Londoner.
"Hurry up, you wurfless slag," Carter snapped at Buckley, who finally got one of the hand irons open. He had, Lakey, realised suddenly, slung his musket so he could employ both hands to the job of supporting the woman's weight.
"You want her next, Carter? I have to tell you, she's not much - "
"Batten down your tongue, you filthy lubber," snapped Billy Ivey. "Have some respickt, if you even got any."
"Help me get her up, Lakey," Carter said, ignoring the red-faced Buckley. He'd surrendered his musket to Ivey and belatedly, Lakey did likewise. At least Buckley had freed the poor lass's wrists, so the two Marines could sling one arm across their shoulders and help her walk toward the hut that served as the colony's hospital. She didn't weigh much but her legs didn't seem strong enough to bear that weight. Lakey had never been flogged before so he didn't completely understand the toll such a punishment took on the human body. Fortunately, Carter did know, he quickly realised, for the Londoner suddenly stopped.
"Get an arm unner her knees an' lift her up, an' mind her back. Gently, gently."
Lakey hesitated. "Her back's all bloody, though - "
"Christ! Give over, I'll do it." Carter set his feet and, bending, shoved an arm under the woman's knees. He then straightened up, his left arm supporting her tattered back and his right arm, her legs. The rough wool of his coat sleeve scraped against the bleeding furrows, making her groan and prompting fresh tears down her already-tear-stained face. "Sorry, lass. Bear up. Won't be long. Sawbones'll sort you out 'fore you knows it."
Feeling embarrassed, Lakey could only watch as Carter set off toward the surgeon's hut, his gait careful but swift. That he'd said something wrong was clear but surely he couldn't be blamed for thinking of how long it would take to clean his coat if her blood soaked into the wool? He wasn't short on compassion but a man had to have limits. Didn't he?
"Lakey! Don't you have duties to see to?" Sergeant Ryan barked.
He started, surprised as he still was by a sergeant's ability to turn up out of nowhere. A grinning Billy Ivey shoved his musket at him as he trotted past and Lakey headed off to the river, where he'd previously been supervising the building of a fish-gutting shack. Somehow, he thought the prospect of watching the convicts at work would help him make sense of what had gone that morning.
Hopefully, anyway. He didn't want to find himself on the wrong side of his fellow Marines' goodwill. Well. Most of his fellow Marines. There were a few with whom he'd already decided to have as little to do with as he could manage.
The tramp of feet behind him made him glance back to see Buckley hastening toward him. "Lakey, you and I are going to keep an eye on the tree-cutting parties. Mister Clark's orders. Carter has to come too. Mister Clark was very plain about that."
Right. Lakey squashed a grimace as he nodded. Already, his resolution to avoid the men he disliked was being challenged and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Such was life, he told himself with a sigh as he headed toward the surgeon's hut to fetch Carter. He would do his best to stay clear of Carter and Buckley, since he was all but certain the two would come to a disagreement fairly quickly and that was something he wanted no part of.
~
The convicts already seemed to know what had happened during the flogging. Hell, they already knew what had happened after. The hate in their eyes made that inescapably obvious to him. He could not blame them. In their place, he'd hate him too. But that didn't change what had happened or the fact that he was still there to keep an eye on them as their gaoler. They all simply had to live with the arrangement and hope nothing happened to threaten the delicate balance of their little society.
On the upside, Major Ross's speech during the flogging meant, hopefully, that the blacksmith would not try anything with Nancy. Which of course didn't mean that Carter would stop being on the lookout for ways to get rid of the bastard. It simply needed doing, for the benefit of all. The benefit of all. What a notion out here. He remembered the shiver of absolute horror when the major had drawn his pistol on Sergeant Timmins. If that shot had been fired, Carter had been prepared to present his musket, but he couldn't say whether or not he could take that final fatal step of pulling the trigger. Shooting an officer was one of the ultimate sins. Even if that officer had just essentially committed murder.
It did go without saying that nobody much liked the major anyway. Small comfort as that was when he'd displayed his willingness to employ lethal force to achieve a questionable end. After he'd delivered the woman to the surgeon, it had become immediately apparent how the other convicts felt about her flogging. Mary Bryant, today without her young baby, had gone bustling past him without so much as a first glance, never mind a second, and the woman with her took care to spit on the hard-packed earth near Carter's feet as she too swept by. The disrespect could hardly be allowed but he had done nothing. He understood their feeling.
Just as he understood the resentment he'd sensed from the male convicts. Carter's gaze trailed over the stump-littered swath of forest in which the tree-cutters were working. Two score men with felling axes and hatchets against three Marines with muskets. The odds were hardly favourable. Yet they were more interested in their work than chancing their arm. Just as well. His eyes came to rest on Buckley and his jaw tightened. That was not a Marine but a swine.
"What are you starin' at?" Buckley demanded suddenly, frowning in his direction.
"I'm lookin' at a bucket of pig shit in a red coat, s'wot," Carter replied.
The jab made Buckley's ugly face redden. "You got no right to say that."
The short brown grass crunched faintly beneath Carter's shoes as he paced casually toward the other Marine. "Oh I fink I do. You shagged that lass, said's much yerself. That'n who belongs to sommody else an' all. Then you was 'appy's a dog wiv a bone when she got flogged. You ever been flogged, Buckley?"
"I've never done anythin' to get flogged for," was the smug response.
At that, Carter very nearly laughed. What a complete muppet. "I 'ave. God's my witness, I hope someday you take your turn under the lash. You'll cry worse'n a nipper. Know why? You's pig shit, Buckley. You can't even have a lass 'less you take one on the sly."
"Why not? She's a whore. Everybody shares whores. Especially here." Buckley smirked. "Even you, Carter. I seen you with that tart Nancy Owens. Hot after her, you are, I think. Shame. Sergeant Ryan tells me he's got a claim on her. You gonna come it all so holy when you gotta take a sergeant's leavings?"
His hand tightened around the barrel of his musket. The cheek of the bastard, to let Nancy's name pass his lips like that. "Funny you says that. I heard off Mister Clark that he finks you got a likin' for Mary Bryant. He weren't 'appy 'bout it. So I told him, aye, you was tryin' your luck wiv her an' all. 'Cept... a whisk like you ain't got a chance wiv any of the lasses here. Cor. I reckon you dry bobbed wiv that poor soul, din't you. You wot can't even wank proper."
For a second, he thought and hoped Buckley would swing, but the other Marine - he stopped quite short of thinking of him as a man - only quivered. "At least I had a woman here. Near's I've heard, you ain't had any luck. Even the filthest slut in this camp won't go with you, will they? S'pose that means you're unnatural." Something very like malice glinted in his eye. "Maybe I'll go around to see that Nancy Owens. Sergeant Ryan says she's a good'n - "
Carter's fist caught Buckley squarely on the side of the jaw. That shut him up rather neatly. Then, flinging his musket down, the Londoner sprang onto the stunned Buckley, who just managed to flick a hand out in his defence before Carter's weight brought them both down. Somebody shouted in surprise as the two Marines grappled in the dirt. Carter had grown up scrapping and was no slouch with his fists, but Buckley was flailing blindly at him, making it difficult to land a good punch on his stupid ugly mug so he settled for trying to choke the smugness out of the uuppity little swab.
"Get off him, Carter!"
"Tom, give over! Knock off there, mate! 'Vast scrappin'!"
"Oh let 'em fight, they's only lobsters!"
"Drag him back, 'fore he kills the bugger!"
Somebody had a grip on the back of his coat, dragging him bodily away even as he kicked blindly out at the squealing Buckley. All the convicts were gathered around to watch the spectacle, while Lakey and Billy Ivey did their best to haul Carter to a safe distance from his opponent.
"You lads lemme go, I'll fuckin' kill him. He needs it. C'mon - "
"Leave it, cully," Ivey soothed, effortlessly keeping Carter's arms pinioned. "Be easy! He ain't worth it, is he? Just a slabsided Dutch crank, him. C'mon, rest on yer oars an' it'll be all right."
"We'd best get him out of here. I think McCarthy's gone for an officer. He'll be the next one at the floggin' post, else."
Ivey mashed Carter's hat back onto his head and chuckled. "C'mon, Tom! I know where you gotta go. Got your landlegs back? Let's clap on some sail an' get outta here. I got his musket, cheers. No, mate, forget that lubber. C'mon now."
His temper was easing, however slowly. Carter let Ivey lead him away though his hands were still clenched tight into fists. There'd be other opportunities to whip Buckley like he deserved. Assuming of course that the officers didn't decide to flog the strength clean out of him. He did not realise where Ivey was leading him until they were outside Reverend Johnson's hut.
"Wot the Devil - "
"Stow it an' go in. If you're in here, the officers'll leave you be. Safe anchorage, like."
That was probably true, Carter allowed. He flexed his aching right hand then accepted his musket from Ivey. He had never been fond of chaplains. But it was hopefully as Ivey said. If he was with the reverend, the officers shouldn't come looking for him. There was little danger of reprisal for trying to beat some decency into Buckley. Well. Until they spotted him later, anyway.
"See you later, cuffin," said Ivey as he set off in his trademark rolling gait. He had never mastered the stiff-legged marching step. Shaking his head, Carter scratched at the tent flap. If nothing else, perhaps the reverend could advise him how to help Nancy Owens. And maybe even help him avoid a flogging for fighting with Buckley. Slim chance there but a lad could hope.
~
The women's huts. After the events of that morning, after Major Ross's speech, it seemed grossly inappropriate to be anywhere near them. Yet here he was, marching behind Dan Tisdale straight toward one of them, and both of them behind Sergeant Timmins. They had come to arrest a man.
That Tisdale loathed this duty had been clear from the moment Timmins had chosen him and Lakey for it. For his part, Lakey felt no resentment or regret. They had all heard the major's orders against consorting with the convict women. To him, there was no excuse for wilfully flaunting those orders not even a day after they had been made known. Disobedience had to be dealt with. Plain and simple.
Timmins led the way in, though he stepped aside to let Lakey and Tisdale affect the actual arrest. Their arrival was at once met with pleas and protests, but Lakey tuned it out. He had a duty to perform. The two Marines clicked the shackles around the man's wrists then pulled him along after them, dragging him away from his lover. The same woman who had been flogged that morning, Lakey had noted. Clearly neither of them had any consideration for the laws of the colony.
The convict offered no resistance as he was led to the little gaol. Nor did he speak. Just as well, in Lakey's opinion. He had little interest in hearing the useless protests from a man who had been caught doing wrong. It was still clear to thim that Tisdale was all but fidgeting with unhappiness about what they were doing. He contained himself until they had secured their prisoner in a cell and Sergeant Timmins took over the responsiblity of guarding him for that watch. Then, at a safe distance from the gaol, he let fly.
"Christ! If I ever gotta do that again, I'm shootin' meself in the foot. What a mess this'll be, all 'cause of a shortsighted law."
"But it's still the law," Lakey pointed out.
Tisdale scoffed. "Law! It's a travesty, it is, an' there's gonna be a man hanged for it. An' for why? So the governor can prove he ain't afraid to use the noose. That ain't rule of law, lad. Not in the least."
"So what is it, if it's not law?"
"It's selfishness, it is, paradin' like it's the law. The officers don't want us sharin' the unmarried women but I'll tell you, that'll only end bad. S'pose you ain't got any experience in garrisons so you don't know. You'll learn." The ex-soldier shook his head. "Go down the beach, the lads buildin' the gallows need an extra hand. I gotta report to the major 'bout this."
Selfishness? Lakey pondered this after Tisdale tramped off but he couldn't see it. The restriction on who could have the women made complete sense to him. If the convicts were allowed to consort with each other at will, they'd be less inclined to work, surely. It'd also mean fewer women for the Marines themselves. Major Ross, for all his lack of tact, had the right stance.
Shrugging, he shouldered his musket and went down to the beach where the gallows-building detail was hard at work. Most of the lads had shed their coats and kit, working with rolled up shirtsleeves - except of course for Billy Ivey, whose bare back stood out alongside his white-shirted comrades.
"Lakey! Just in time. C'mon, cully. We'll have this tub knocked together by eight bells, if you bears a hand!" Ivey waved cheerfully from the scaffold before going back to hammering nails into the wide planking.
The former seaman's enthusiasm made Lakey grin and his previous train of thought faded from prominence. He carefully added his musket to the rest, which were piled beside the heap of discarded coats, and stripped off his own coat. Carter was working busily up on the scaffold as well, he realised, though he wielded a hammer somewhat less energetically than the others.
"Is the major gonna have you flogged?" Lakey wanted to know, accepting a handsaw from Macdonald and going to work trimming the uneven ends of the scaffold's planks.
"Nope."
Ah. Well, that was good. From Carter's tone, he guessed it was not a subject to pursue so he didn't. Instead, he sawed away for a few minutes, listening to Ivey whistle Hangin' Johnny, which was an ironic tune to choose, considering. He glanced in Carter's direction presently and couldn't stop himself asking, "Why'd you do it?"
It took a few seconds before Carter looked up. "Do wot?"
"Belt Buckley."
"He deserved it. S'all." The Londoner kept hammering, shifting along the breadth of the scaffold as he pounded nails down flush. "But I ain't gettin' a check shirt for it, am I? So it don't matter."
"I guess." Lakey rapped the handle of the saw against the piece of timber he'd been sawing at and was rewarded by its coming loose with only a little bit of splintering. "Do they already have the gallows detail?"
"How the bloody hell should I know?"
He rolled his eyes. "You're the old salt, I thought," he replied, but dropped the subject. Obviously Carter's mood was still prickly and honestly, Lakey didn't much care to get into a verbal sparring match with the older Marine. He'd ask Sergeant Ryan after they were finished here. If there was still room on the detail, he would volunteer for it. To him, it seemed only natural since he'd arrested the prisoner in the first place. Why not see it through? Of course, he had to admit it'd be the first hanging he'd ever seen, which was perhaps the true reason for his interest.
"Officer!" Somebody hissed and Ivey at once stopped whistling, having moved on to Yarmouth Town.
Mister Clark approached out of the darkness, eyeing their progress critically. There was a scrape and stamp of shoe heels as the men came to attention and saluted, but the lieutenant barely nodded in acknowledgement.
"This will be finished by dawn?"
"Yes sir," Macdonald answered, being the nearest Marine. "We're nearly done now, sir."
"Good. Make sure it's sound and sturdy. Carry on."
"Sir."
It might be Lakey's imagination, but Mister Clark let his gaze rest on Carter for a second or two before turning away to walk off, just as casually as he'd approached. Something strange was going on there, he'd swear to it. But a glance at Carter showed that the Londoner had gone back to work hammering down nails and Lakey decided it was not worth asking about.
The rasp of saws and thudding of hammers went on into the night. By the time the moon was at its height, the gallows was complete and awaited the dawn.
Rating: M (Suitable for ages 16 and above)
Disclaimers: David Lakey is the creation of
sharpiefan. Tom Carter, Billy Ivey, Dan Tisdale, and Nancy Owens are mine. Most characters who appear are actual historical figures. All other characters belong their respective creators. Neither The Incredible Journey of Mary Bryant nor Banished are mine. No profit is being made from this story.Story summary: The line between good and bad is often blurred, but two Marines with the First Fleet learn just how easily that blurring happens. Australia, 1788.
Author's Note: There are going to be historical and canon goofs in this. Most of them are probably intentional. I apologise for those that aren't.
They were going to flog a woman.
David Lakey tried not to fidget where he stood in the single rank of paraded Marines, but it was hard. Damned hard. Especially given the tension and resentment rolling off the gathered convicts. The A, C, and E men only had been assembled, but they were more than enough in number to make Lakey uneasy. If, of course, he was not already uneasy at the prospect of watching a woman suffer the lash.
Worse than all that was Major Ross. It was obvious to Lakey that Sergeant Timmins did not relish the duty of wielding the cat, even before he drew back to deliver the first stroke, but Major Ross took the prize. He was pacing the sand between the flogging post and the convicts, towering over them all even without his hat. And he was, clearly, not content to let this go on without a harsh rebuke. Lakey found himself resenting the officer's words and was sure the convicts did as well. All this simply because the poor lass had been found in one of the male convicts' huts and refused to name the man she'd been with.
"Convict women belong to my soldiers," Ross said in a hard, slow voice. "You do not go anywhere near a woman unless she's your wife. If she is not your wife, she belongs to my men. Two!"
An expressionless Timmins drew his arm back to lay on the second stroke.
"What manner of man are you, to stand and watch a woman flogged? What kind of coward does this? Three."
Nothing happened. Timmins stood fast, the cat resting on his shoulder. The third stroke had been ordered yet the sergeant did not move. Lakey found himself breathing sharply in. What was it that made Timmins defiant? Orders were orders, weren't they, whatever a man might feel about carrying them out. Even Lakey knew that and he was what the older Marines mostly-playfully called a Johnny Raw.
"Three," Major Ross repeated, turning toward Timmins in obvious impatience. "Lay it on, man."
Timmins did not budge. Even Captain Collins was watching him, but the sergeant held himself motionless. Despite himself, Lakey silently urged him to just get on with it. The sooner it was over, the better for all, no matter how unpleasant it was. Major Ross did not waste a moment in the face of Timmins' immobility. He strode across to the sergeant and all but spat some unheard words at him. Whatever they were, they made Captain Collins look sharply away and down.
Then the major pulled his pistol out of his sash and, cocking it, held it aimed squarely at Timmins' head. That needed no words. To his right, Tisdale stiffened just slightly and on his left, from the corner of his eye, Lakey saw Tom Carter's hand shift downward the barest bit on his ordered musket, his fingers curling a little more tightly around the barrel. For his part, Lakey felt frozen, barely able to process what his eyes were seeing. Insubordiation could not, of course, be tolerated but did it merit the immediate response of a threat of execution?
There was a long, long pause before Timmins turned his head to look down the pistol barrel. Then he took a half-step back, the cat sliding down off his shoulder as he drew back to deliver the third lash. The third lash that landed hard and elicited a cry from the poor lass shackled to the flogging post.
"You see the difference between my soldiers and scum such as you," the major went on coolly, tucking his pistol away as if nothing had happened. "No soldier would stand by and watch this happen. Four!"
Beside him, he heard Tisdale huff out a breath, and felt disgust begin to bubble in the pit of his stomach. Goading the convicts could not lead to anything good. Especially not if he used the Marines as an example - for had he not just forced Sergeant Timmins to carry on the flogging?
"Scum. Must. Not. Breed. Five."
The cat slashed across the woman's back and drew forth another cry. Lakey rocked very slightly back on his heels and wondered if he could stand watching another twenty strokes. The major's obvious interest in using this as an object lesson was as strange as it was unsettling and, thinking suddenly of the night the convicts had rioted, he thought he knew the real meaning behind Ross's remarks.
"On pain of death, you do not touch a woman. Six."
And it went on. If he kept his eyes on the stone-faced convict men, it was possible to avoid watching the cat's strands as they did their bloody work. Nothing could stop him hearing it, though. Or from hearing the unpreventable outbursts from the poor wretch at the flogging post. It went on until the last stroke, whereupon Timmins all but flung the cat down.
"The next man who is caught with a woman who is not his wife will be hanged," declared the major. "Let that be perfectly understood. Disperse them, Sergeant."
With that, the officers departed without a backward glance. It thus fell to Timmins to dismiss the Marines and put them straight to the chore of getting the convicts cleared off. Tom Carter was quick to move toward the flogging post, against which its first female victim was slumped, held up only by her wrists in the iron bars bolted solidly into either side of the post. A smirking Buckley took his time unlocking the irons, while the convicts were being herded away to receive their midday ration. Not quite knowing why, Lakey shouldered his musket and followed the Londoner.
"Hurry up, you wurfless slag," Carter snapped at Buckley, who finally got one of the hand irons open. He had, Lakey, realised suddenly, slung his musket so he could employ both hands to the job of supporting the woman's weight.
"You want her next, Carter? I have to tell you, she's not much - "
"Batten down your tongue, you filthy lubber," snapped Billy Ivey. "Have some respickt, if you even got any."
"Help me get her up, Lakey," Carter said, ignoring the red-faced Buckley. He'd surrendered his musket to Ivey and belatedly, Lakey did likewise. At least Buckley had freed the poor lass's wrists, so the two Marines could sling one arm across their shoulders and help her walk toward the hut that served as the colony's hospital. She didn't weigh much but her legs didn't seem strong enough to bear that weight. Lakey had never been flogged before so he didn't completely understand the toll such a punishment took on the human body. Fortunately, Carter did know, he quickly realised, for the Londoner suddenly stopped.
"Get an arm unner her knees an' lift her up, an' mind her back. Gently, gently."
Lakey hesitated. "Her back's all bloody, though - "
"Christ! Give over, I'll do it." Carter set his feet and, bending, shoved an arm under the woman's knees. He then straightened up, his left arm supporting her tattered back and his right arm, her legs. The rough wool of his coat sleeve scraped against the bleeding furrows, making her groan and prompting fresh tears down her already-tear-stained face. "Sorry, lass. Bear up. Won't be long. Sawbones'll sort you out 'fore you knows it."
Feeling embarrassed, Lakey could only watch as Carter set off toward the surgeon's hut, his gait careful but swift. That he'd said something wrong was clear but surely he couldn't be blamed for thinking of how long it would take to clean his coat if her blood soaked into the wool? He wasn't short on compassion but a man had to have limits. Didn't he?
"Lakey! Don't you have duties to see to?" Sergeant Ryan barked.
He started, surprised as he still was by a sergeant's ability to turn up out of nowhere. A grinning Billy Ivey shoved his musket at him as he trotted past and Lakey headed off to the river, where he'd previously been supervising the building of a fish-gutting shack. Somehow, he thought the prospect of watching the convicts at work would help him make sense of what had gone that morning.
Hopefully, anyway. He didn't want to find himself on the wrong side of his fellow Marines' goodwill. Well. Most of his fellow Marines. There were a few with whom he'd already decided to have as little to do with as he could manage.
The tramp of feet behind him made him glance back to see Buckley hastening toward him. "Lakey, you and I are going to keep an eye on the tree-cutting parties. Mister Clark's orders. Carter has to come too. Mister Clark was very plain about that."
Right. Lakey squashed a grimace as he nodded. Already, his resolution to avoid the men he disliked was being challenged and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Such was life, he told himself with a sigh as he headed toward the surgeon's hut to fetch Carter. He would do his best to stay clear of Carter and Buckley, since he was all but certain the two would come to a disagreement fairly quickly and that was something he wanted no part of.
~
The convicts already seemed to know what had happened during the flogging. Hell, they already knew what had happened after. The hate in their eyes made that inescapably obvious to him. He could not blame them. In their place, he'd hate him too. But that didn't change what had happened or the fact that he was still there to keep an eye on them as their gaoler. They all simply had to live with the arrangement and hope nothing happened to threaten the delicate balance of their little society.
On the upside, Major Ross's speech during the flogging meant, hopefully, that the blacksmith would not try anything with Nancy. Which of course didn't mean that Carter would stop being on the lookout for ways to get rid of the bastard. It simply needed doing, for the benefit of all. The benefit of all. What a notion out here. He remembered the shiver of absolute horror when the major had drawn his pistol on Sergeant Timmins. If that shot had been fired, Carter had been prepared to present his musket, but he couldn't say whether or not he could take that final fatal step of pulling the trigger. Shooting an officer was one of the ultimate sins. Even if that officer had just essentially committed murder.
It did go without saying that nobody much liked the major anyway. Small comfort as that was when he'd displayed his willingness to employ lethal force to achieve a questionable end. After he'd delivered the woman to the surgeon, it had become immediately apparent how the other convicts felt about her flogging. Mary Bryant, today without her young baby, had gone bustling past him without so much as a first glance, never mind a second, and the woman with her took care to spit on the hard-packed earth near Carter's feet as she too swept by. The disrespect could hardly be allowed but he had done nothing. He understood their feeling.
Just as he understood the resentment he'd sensed from the male convicts. Carter's gaze trailed over the stump-littered swath of forest in which the tree-cutters were working. Two score men with felling axes and hatchets against three Marines with muskets. The odds were hardly favourable. Yet they were more interested in their work than chancing their arm. Just as well. His eyes came to rest on Buckley and his jaw tightened. That was not a Marine but a swine.
"What are you starin' at?" Buckley demanded suddenly, frowning in his direction.
"I'm lookin' at a bucket of pig shit in a red coat, s'wot," Carter replied.
The jab made Buckley's ugly face redden. "You got no right to say that."
The short brown grass crunched faintly beneath Carter's shoes as he paced casually toward the other Marine. "Oh I fink I do. You shagged that lass, said's much yerself. That'n who belongs to sommody else an' all. Then you was 'appy's a dog wiv a bone when she got flogged. You ever been flogged, Buckley?"
"I've never done anythin' to get flogged for," was the smug response.
At that, Carter very nearly laughed. What a complete muppet. "I 'ave. God's my witness, I hope someday you take your turn under the lash. You'll cry worse'n a nipper. Know why? You's pig shit, Buckley. You can't even have a lass 'less you take one on the sly."
"Why not? She's a whore. Everybody shares whores. Especially here." Buckley smirked. "Even you, Carter. I seen you with that tart Nancy Owens. Hot after her, you are, I think. Shame. Sergeant Ryan tells me he's got a claim on her. You gonna come it all so holy when you gotta take a sergeant's leavings?"
His hand tightened around the barrel of his musket. The cheek of the bastard, to let Nancy's name pass his lips like that. "Funny you says that. I heard off Mister Clark that he finks you got a likin' for Mary Bryant. He weren't 'appy 'bout it. So I told him, aye, you was tryin' your luck wiv her an' all. 'Cept... a whisk like you ain't got a chance wiv any of the lasses here. Cor. I reckon you dry bobbed wiv that poor soul, din't you. You wot can't even wank proper."
For a second, he thought and hoped Buckley would swing, but the other Marine - he stopped quite short of thinking of him as a man - only quivered. "At least I had a woman here. Near's I've heard, you ain't had any luck. Even the filthest slut in this camp won't go with you, will they? S'pose that means you're unnatural." Something very like malice glinted in his eye. "Maybe I'll go around to see that Nancy Owens. Sergeant Ryan says she's a good'n - "
Carter's fist caught Buckley squarely on the side of the jaw. That shut him up rather neatly. Then, flinging his musket down, the Londoner sprang onto the stunned Buckley, who just managed to flick a hand out in his defence before Carter's weight brought them both down. Somebody shouted in surprise as the two Marines grappled in the dirt. Carter had grown up scrapping and was no slouch with his fists, but Buckley was flailing blindly at him, making it difficult to land a good punch on his stupid ugly mug so he settled for trying to choke the smugness out of the uuppity little swab.
"Get off him, Carter!"
"Tom, give over! Knock off there, mate! 'Vast scrappin'!"
"Oh let 'em fight, they's only lobsters!"
"Drag him back, 'fore he kills the bugger!"
Somebody had a grip on the back of his coat, dragging him bodily away even as he kicked blindly out at the squealing Buckley. All the convicts were gathered around to watch the spectacle, while Lakey and Billy Ivey did their best to haul Carter to a safe distance from his opponent.
"You lads lemme go, I'll fuckin' kill him. He needs it. C'mon - "
"Leave it, cully," Ivey soothed, effortlessly keeping Carter's arms pinioned. "Be easy! He ain't worth it, is he? Just a slabsided Dutch crank, him. C'mon, rest on yer oars an' it'll be all right."
"We'd best get him out of here. I think McCarthy's gone for an officer. He'll be the next one at the floggin' post, else."
Ivey mashed Carter's hat back onto his head and chuckled. "C'mon, Tom! I know where you gotta go. Got your landlegs back? Let's clap on some sail an' get outta here. I got his musket, cheers. No, mate, forget that lubber. C'mon now."
His temper was easing, however slowly. Carter let Ivey lead him away though his hands were still clenched tight into fists. There'd be other opportunities to whip Buckley like he deserved. Assuming of course that the officers didn't decide to flog the strength clean out of him. He did not realise where Ivey was leading him until they were outside Reverend Johnson's hut.
"Wot the Devil - "
"Stow it an' go in. If you're in here, the officers'll leave you be. Safe anchorage, like."
That was probably true, Carter allowed. He flexed his aching right hand then accepted his musket from Ivey. He had never been fond of chaplains. But it was hopefully as Ivey said. If he was with the reverend, the officers shouldn't come looking for him. There was little danger of reprisal for trying to beat some decency into Buckley. Well. Until they spotted him later, anyway.
"See you later, cuffin," said Ivey as he set off in his trademark rolling gait. He had never mastered the stiff-legged marching step. Shaking his head, Carter scratched at the tent flap. If nothing else, perhaps the reverend could advise him how to help Nancy Owens. And maybe even help him avoid a flogging for fighting with Buckley. Slim chance there but a lad could hope.
~
The women's huts. After the events of that morning, after Major Ross's speech, it seemed grossly inappropriate to be anywhere near them. Yet here he was, marching behind Dan Tisdale straight toward one of them, and both of them behind Sergeant Timmins. They had come to arrest a man.
That Tisdale loathed this duty had been clear from the moment Timmins had chosen him and Lakey for it. For his part, Lakey felt no resentment or regret. They had all heard the major's orders against consorting with the convict women. To him, there was no excuse for wilfully flaunting those orders not even a day after they had been made known. Disobedience had to be dealt with. Plain and simple.
Timmins led the way in, though he stepped aside to let Lakey and Tisdale affect the actual arrest. Their arrival was at once met with pleas and protests, but Lakey tuned it out. He had a duty to perform. The two Marines clicked the shackles around the man's wrists then pulled him along after them, dragging him away from his lover. The same woman who had been flogged that morning, Lakey had noted. Clearly neither of them had any consideration for the laws of the colony.
The convict offered no resistance as he was led to the little gaol. Nor did he speak. Just as well, in Lakey's opinion. He had little interest in hearing the useless protests from a man who had been caught doing wrong. It was still clear to thim that Tisdale was all but fidgeting with unhappiness about what they were doing. He contained himself until they had secured their prisoner in a cell and Sergeant Timmins took over the responsiblity of guarding him for that watch. Then, at a safe distance from the gaol, he let fly.
"Christ! If I ever gotta do that again, I'm shootin' meself in the foot. What a mess this'll be, all 'cause of a shortsighted law."
"But it's still the law," Lakey pointed out.
Tisdale scoffed. "Law! It's a travesty, it is, an' there's gonna be a man hanged for it. An' for why? So the governor can prove he ain't afraid to use the noose. That ain't rule of law, lad. Not in the least."
"So what is it, if it's not law?"
"It's selfishness, it is, paradin' like it's the law. The officers don't want us sharin' the unmarried women but I'll tell you, that'll only end bad. S'pose you ain't got any experience in garrisons so you don't know. You'll learn." The ex-soldier shook his head. "Go down the beach, the lads buildin' the gallows need an extra hand. I gotta report to the major 'bout this."
Selfishness? Lakey pondered this after Tisdale tramped off but he couldn't see it. The restriction on who could have the women made complete sense to him. If the convicts were allowed to consort with each other at will, they'd be less inclined to work, surely. It'd also mean fewer women for the Marines themselves. Major Ross, for all his lack of tact, had the right stance.
Shrugging, he shouldered his musket and went down to the beach where the gallows-building detail was hard at work. Most of the lads had shed their coats and kit, working with rolled up shirtsleeves - except of course for Billy Ivey, whose bare back stood out alongside his white-shirted comrades.
"Lakey! Just in time. C'mon, cully. We'll have this tub knocked together by eight bells, if you bears a hand!" Ivey waved cheerfully from the scaffold before going back to hammering nails into the wide planking.
The former seaman's enthusiasm made Lakey grin and his previous train of thought faded from prominence. He carefully added his musket to the rest, which were piled beside the heap of discarded coats, and stripped off his own coat. Carter was working busily up on the scaffold as well, he realised, though he wielded a hammer somewhat less energetically than the others.
"Is the major gonna have you flogged?" Lakey wanted to know, accepting a handsaw from Macdonald and going to work trimming the uneven ends of the scaffold's planks.
"Nope."
Ah. Well, that was good. From Carter's tone, he guessed it was not a subject to pursue so he didn't. Instead, he sawed away for a few minutes, listening to Ivey whistle Hangin' Johnny, which was an ironic tune to choose, considering. He glanced in Carter's direction presently and couldn't stop himself asking, "Why'd you do it?"
It took a few seconds before Carter looked up. "Do wot?"
"Belt Buckley."
"He deserved it. S'all." The Londoner kept hammering, shifting along the breadth of the scaffold as he pounded nails down flush. "But I ain't gettin' a check shirt for it, am I? So it don't matter."
"I guess." Lakey rapped the handle of the saw against the piece of timber he'd been sawing at and was rewarded by its coming loose with only a little bit of splintering. "Do they already have the gallows detail?"
"How the bloody hell should I know?"
He rolled his eyes. "You're the old salt, I thought," he replied, but dropped the subject. Obviously Carter's mood was still prickly and honestly, Lakey didn't much care to get into a verbal sparring match with the older Marine. He'd ask Sergeant Ryan after they were finished here. If there was still room on the detail, he would volunteer for it. To him, it seemed only natural since he'd arrested the prisoner in the first place. Why not see it through? Of course, he had to admit it'd be the first hanging he'd ever seen, which was perhaps the true reason for his interest.
"Officer!" Somebody hissed and Ivey at once stopped whistling, having moved on to Yarmouth Town.
Mister Clark approached out of the darkness, eyeing their progress critically. There was a scrape and stamp of shoe heels as the men came to attention and saluted, but the lieutenant barely nodded in acknowledgement.
"This will be finished by dawn?"
"Yes sir," Macdonald answered, being the nearest Marine. "We're nearly done now, sir."
"Good. Make sure it's sound and sturdy. Carry on."
"Sir."
It might be Lakey's imagination, but Mister Clark let his gaze rest on Carter for a second or two before turning away to walk off, just as casually as he'd approached. Something strange was going on there, he'd swear to it. But a glance at Carter showed that the Londoner had gone back to work hammering down nails and Lakey decided it was not worth asking about.
The rasp of saws and thudding of hammers went on into the night. By the time the moon was at its height, the gallows was complete and awaited the dawn.