by Ragged Rose
by Ragged Rose
FEEDBACK to Ragged
Rose
"Mr. Wellard?"
Wellard lifted his head warily as he heard the boatswain's voice. Oh
God! What had he done now?
Matthews saw the fear on the boy's face. "It's all right, sir, I only
came to see that you were settled." He produced the jug. "I'm sorry
about this, but soonest over, soonest mended."
Wellard remembered the jug, and the pain of the brine it contained.
But somehow, he didn't care. How soon he had added the first set of
stripes to the second. How long would it be before there was a third,
he wondered idly. The laudanum the doctor had given him made it easier
to contemplate such things, he supposed. He felt as if he were
floating. Would that it were true, and he could be free of this place!
Matthews set the jug on the deck and pulled the cloths from his belt.
Gently he lifted the blanket away. Angry red stripes crisscrossed the
lad's buttocks, mixed with purple bruises. But the flesh was red, not
any more dangerous color. Small wonder with two beatings in so short a
time. He sighed. What had possessed the Captain to act so cruelly?
"We'll have ye right soon enough, sir," he said brightly. "Nothing
like brine from the harness cask to put you on the mend." He wet a
cloth and lay it gently across the welts. The second soon followed.
The brine on his backside cut through the lovely haze. It hurt, and he
whimpered with the pain. He turned over suddenly and flung himself
into Matthews's arms.
"Easy now, Mr. Wellard." Matthews held the boy close, knowing that
there was little else he could do for him now. It was a bad business
and no mistake. He'd seen the glint of madness in the Captain's eye
before, but this was the first time he'd seen him punish a man for
doing his duty. It was common knowledge that Sawyer expected much from
his officers and crew, but this went well beyond discipline. He was
purposely torturing a boy, was forcing others to do it for him, and
for no reason that Matthews could see. He held Wellard as he would any
suffering creature. For the moment, he was not an officer, but simply
a child in pain.
Wellard's fingers curled around his lapels, and he burrowed closer
into the comforting presence that held him. Just a little while to
rest here, and he could face the hell that had become his life. No
matter what he did he was damned, it seemed. Such a fortunate posting
turned to ashes. He let the laudanum drag him down into sleep.
When the taut body relaxed, Matthews gently disentangled himself and
lay the boy down in the cot. It had been kind of Mr. Hornblower to
give up his cabin to Mr. Wellard, but God only knew when he'd be
allowed to use it again. He covered the sleeping form with a blanket
and went on deck.
THE END
