The Midshipman Prince (4 page)

      
On the main deck, in front of the captain, stood the Bosun’s Mate carrying a red bag and a burly fellow who Walker later learned was the ship’s master-at-arms. In between the two was a fellow who looked wretched.

      
“Captain,” began the master-at-arms, “two nights ago Ordinary Seaman James Hix was assigned duty on the fo’c’sle as a lookout during the mid-watch. At four bells he was found by the bosun’s mate of the watch, sitting on the deck, leaning against the starboard side long nine, dead asleep.”

      
“Hix, what have you to say for yourself,” the captain snapped.

      
Hix looked up at the captain with tears misting in his eyes. “Nuthin’, sor, other than I never done anythin’ like this afore and, I swear, I’ll never do it again. It’s just, I don’t know, Cap’n, I were just so tired that night.”

      
Hudson pursed his lips and looked around. “Are there any officers or warrant officers who wish to speak for this man?”

      
At first there was silence, then a young midshipman spoke up from the officers line.

      
“Sir, Hix is in my division. Basically, he’s a good seaman, sir—making steady progress toward being rated able; and, it’s true, he’s never had any previous problems.”

      
Hudson nodded to the officer, turned back to Hix, unfolded a large piece of printed parchment paper, and studied it for a few seconds.

      
“Seaman Hix, I read to you Article 26 of the Articles of War: ‘No person in or belonging to the fleet shall sleep upon his watch, or negligently perform the duty imposed on him, or forsake his station, upon pain of death, or such other punishment as a court martial shall think fit to impose, and as the circumstances of the case shall require.’

      
“Were you aware of this Article?”

      
“Yes, sor.”

      
“Do you know what it means?”

      
“Yes, sor.”

      
“And did you fall asleep on watch?”

      
“Yes, sor.”

      
“Hix, before I pronounce judgment I must ask you: do you understand that you have the right to a formal court martial?”

      
“Yes, sor.”

      
“And do you waive your right to that court martial? Do you except whatever my verdict might be?”

      
The man swallowed hard but replied, “Yes, sor.”

      
“Well then, there we have it. I have no choice but to find you guilty of willfully violating Article 26.”

      
The captain paused for a bit as he thought things over.

      
“In view of your record and since this is your first violation, I am NOT going to sentence you to death.”

      
Hix’s knees buckled, but he caught himself. Tears of gratitude filled his eyes. Walker was spellbound by the drama going on before him.

      
The captain continued: “However, through your negligence you placed this ship and all who sail on her in mortal danger. What you did simply cannot be countenanced. Not on this ship. Not on any ship. Accordingly, I hereby sentence you to 24 lashes.

      
“Bosun, seize him up and strip him.”

      
Hix was led to the hatch cover grating. His shirt was taken off, and he was tied, standing spread-eagled, to the grate. While this was going on, Captain Hudson had a chance to assess the tenor of the men.

      
Seamen in the Royal Navy were not well educated, but they had a very highly developed sense of fair play. Sometimes after a flogging has been ordered, a captain will hear the men muttering. If he does, he knows either he has the wrong man, or the punishment was too severe. Hudson, to his satisfaction, heard nothing. The men had confirmed his sentence with their silence, and “It’s fair. Hix has it coming” was their collective verdict.

      
“Seized up, sir.”

      
“Bosun, do your duty,” Hudson ordered.

      
The bosun reached into the red baize bag he was carrying, pulled out a wicked looking cat-of-nine tails, and shook them out. Walker could see the extra knots that were tied to the end of each of the tails.

      
He stepped back a couple of paces, freed his arm, and swung the flail with all his might, stepping into the swing like a cricket player driving a ball.

      
“WHAP!”

      
“One,” proclaimed the master-at-arms.

      
Walker stiffened, and his eyes grew wide. “What the hell,” he murmured.

      
“WHAP!”

      
“Two.”

      
“WHAP!” The bosun drove the flail again into Hix with all his might.

      
“Three.”

      
By the sixth blow, deep livid welts had formed across Hix’s back.
This is unbelievable,
thought Walker, deeply shocked yet unable to take his eyes off the scene.

      
By the tenth blow the skin had broken, and blood was running freely down to the man’s waist. By the sixteenth blow, blood was spattering in all directions with each strike of the flail. By the 24th and final blow, Walker thought he could see part of a backbone sticking out of the man’s shattered back. Walker was too stunned to speak.

      
After completion of the flogging, the Bosun walked over to the side of the ship and threw both the cat-of-nine tails and the red bag overboard. No ‘cat’ was ever used twice.

      
The men began quietly disbursing and Walker felt as if he were wandering in a fog. He found himself by the helm as the captain walked by. He started to say something but, for once in his life, he thought better of it. Just as the captain was turning away, they both heard a commotion behind them near the mainmast. One of the older men was grasping his chest.

      
“I... Oh, God!” He fell to his knees and then toppled on his side.

      
Walker rushed down the gangway ladder and pushed his way through the men who were just standing around the fallen man.

      
“Why don’t you
do
something,” Walker demanded.

      
“ Woss there ter do, sor? ‘e’s as good as dead,” replied one of them.

      
“But he’s not dead yet, is he?” exclaimed Walker.

      
Walker wasn’t sure he knew what to do either; but fragments of a long-ago conversation—probably while half drunk in some tavern—started to surface. It was something about...

      
He fell to his knees and rolled the man over on his back, felt for a pulse in his neck then listened for breathing. “Damn,” he exclaimed.

      
He shifted over a few feet and pounded the man’s chest once, hard. Then, placing his hands on each side of the old seaman’s rib cage, he started compressing it.

      
That was it. It was something about... if a man had a heart attack, you could bring him back from the dead by pressing hard on his rib cage. No one knew why.

      
Walker kept compressing and could feel himself getting very tired and dizzy when the man’s hand suddenly grabbed Walker’s arm. He rolled over on his side, coughed twice, and took a huge breath. In a few minutes, the man stood up and was led below.

      
Walker started back toward the quarterdeck, but there was no need to push his way through the crowd this time. It opened before him; a pathway of hard-bitten seamen with their eyes wide and mouths hung open in wonder.

      
He glanced up at the captain as he walked past.
What was that on his face? Curiosity? Amazement? Yes, both of those
, Walker thought,
and perhaps even a trace of fear.

* * *

      
The following day Walker was summoned aft to the captain’s cabin, which was, by far, the most spacious private room on the ship. Captain Hudson was seated behind a large table. Standing to his right was John Rooney and to Rooney’s right was First Lieutenant Smith.

      
“Have a seat, Mr. Walker,” the captain said.

      
“You present a bit of a problem to me and I don’t like that. I have enough problems running a 220-man frigate without having additional ones dropping in on me, it seems, out of the sky. Surely you can appreciate that.”

      
“Yes, I can,” Walker replied honestly.
 

      
“Accordingly, to simplify my life, as of this moment you are now a member of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. You have been pressed.”

      
“Pressed?” Walker shot bolt upright in his chair. “You can’t do that. I am a citizen of the United States of America and an officer in the United States Navy.”

      
“Really? Let’s examine those claims.

      
“You claim to be a citizen of the United States; but Mr. Walker, there
is
no United States. What you call a ‘country’ consists of a ragtag Army that has had its butt kicked from one end of the colonies to the other, and a collection of deluded old men that have decided to call themselves a ‘Congress.’

      
“There
is
no country, Mr. Walker, and there never will be. There are thirteen colonies—
British
colonies—and, if you are from one of them as you say, then you are a British subject and therefore may be pressed into service to your king.

      
“Then there’s your claim to being a naval officer. For two days now I’ve watched you wander around this ship like a child attending his first circus. You barely know the bow from the stern.”

      
“Sir, I am an officer in the...”

      
“Enough, Mr. Walker!” Hudson shouted as he banged his hand on the table.
 

      
Hudson paused for a moment. “Let’s say you have command of a ship, Mr. Walker. Suppose you are on a lee shore, and had neither room to veer or stay, nor any anchoring ground, how would you put the ship’s head round the other way? What would you do, sir?”

      
Walker was silent.

      
“Quickly, sir. You’re about to go aground! What would you DO?”

      
Walker remained silent.

      
Without removing his eyes from Walker, Hudson said, “Mr. Smith. Answer the question.”

      
Smith looked startled at being included in the discussion, but responded anyway. “Well, sir, first I would put my helm hard a-lee. When she comes head to wind, I’d raise the fore and main tacks directly, make a run with my weather braces, and lay all aback at once. Then I’d haul forward my lee-tacks and bowlines as far as I can, so the ship could fall round on her heel. When the mainsail begins to shiver; I would haul it up, fill my headsails, and shift the helm hard a-weather. When the wind finally comes on the other quarter, I’d haul on board the main-tack, and bring her close to the wind.”

      
“Mr. Walker that question, or one like it, is a standard one on our Lieutenant’s Exam. There isn’t an officer in the navy—in
our
navy, at least—that can’t answer it. No, you’re no officer, at least not a naval officer.

      
“On the other hand, you’re obviously not without education. You’re no gentleman as far as I am concerned; but you are not of the common rabble either.”

      
Hudson paused again as if thinking over for the last time what he was about to say.