These men are about to Receive the Lash for Violations of Ship’s Articles and for the Unwise Behavior in which every man here participated. Including myself.
Let it be known and remembered by All here Assembled, that the Ultimate Responsibility for the folly that claimed the lives of Five of Our Crewmates, the Leg of Another, and which will leave Scars on almost a Score More, was mine. A captain is responsible for everything that happens on his Ship. The leader of an Expedition is doubly responsible. The fact that I allowed these plans to proceed without my Attention or Intervention was Criminal Negligence, and I will admit as much during my Inevitable Court-Martial… inevitable, that is, if we Survive and escape from the ice that Binds Us. These lashes — and more — should be mine and will be mine when falls the inevitable Punishment meted out by my superiors.
I glanced then at Captain Fitzjames. Certainly any Self-Blame that Captain Crozier would cast upon himself would also apply to the commander of Erebus, since it was he, not Crozier, who had overseen most of the Carnivale’s arrangements. Fitzjames’s face was impassive and Pale. His gaze seemed unfocused. His thoughts seemed elsewhere.
Until such a day of my own reckoning for Responsibility, Crozier concluded, we proceed with the Punishment of These Men, duly tried by Officers of HMSs Erebus and Terror and Found Guilty of Violation of the Ship’s Articles and of the Additional Crime of Endangering the lives of their Comrades. Boatswain Mate Johnson…
And here Thomas Johnson, large and Capable boatswain mate of HMS Terror, old Shipmate of Captain Crozier — having served five years in the South Polar Ice on Terror with him — stepped forward and nodded for the first man, Aylmore, to be tied to the Grate.
Bosun Johnson then laid out on a cask a leatherbound Box and unlatched its ornate brass snaps. Incongruously, the interior lining was of Red Velvet. Set into its Proper Receptacle in this Red Velvet Lining was the palm-darkened leather grip and folded Tails of the Cat.
While two Seamen bound Aylmore securely, Bosun’s Mate Johnson lifted out the Cat and tested it with a preparatory Flick of his thick Wrist. It was not a Motion done for Show but a true preparation for the Hideous Punishment to come. The nine leather tails — of which I had heard so many Shipboard Jokes — flicked out with distinct and Audible and terrible cracks. There were small Knots at the end of each tail.
Part of me could not believe that this was happening. It seemed impossible in this crowded, sweat-stinking Gloom of the Lower Deck, with the low Overhead Beams and Lumber and Gear hanging lower, that Johnson could possibly manage the Cat so as to effect any Punishment. I had heard the phrase “not Enough Room to Swing a Cat In” since I was a boy, but never had I Understood it until this Moment.
Execute the punishment for Mr. Aylmore, said Captain Crozier. The drums beat again briefly and stopped abruptly.
Johnson took a broad sideways stance, setting his feet like a Boxer in the Ring, then swung the Cat back, and then Forward in a Violent, Sudden but Smooth Sidearm Motion, the knotted Tails passing less than a Foot from the Front Ranks of Assembled Men.
The sound of the Cat’s tails striking Flesh is something I shall never Forget.
Aylmore screamed — a more Inhuman Sound, some said later, than the roar they had heard from the creature in the Ebony Room.
Crimson Stripes appeared immediately upon the man’s thin, pale back, and droplets of Blood spattered the faces of those men standing nearest the Grate, myself included.
ONE, counted Charles Frederick Des Voeux, who had assumed the duties of Erebus’s First Mate upon the death of Mate Robert Orme Sergeant in December. It was the Duty of both first mates to administer this punishment.
Aylmore screamed again even as the Cat was pulled back for another blow, almost certainly in horrid anticipation of Forty-nine More Lashes. I confess that I swayed on my feet… the Press of Unwashed Bodies, the Stink of Blood, the sense of Confinement in the Dim, Stinking Gloom of the Lower Deck, all making my head swim. Surely this was Hell. Nor was I out of it.
The Gunroom Steward passed out on the Ninth Lash. Captain Crozier gestured to me to ascertain that the flogged man was still breathing. He was. Normally, as I was made to understand later, a Second Mate would have thrown a Bucket of Water on the victim of punishment to revive him so that he must Fully Suffer the remaining lashes. But there was no Liquid Water on the Lower Deck of HMS Erebus that morning. All was frozen. Even the droplets of Bright Blood on Aylmore’s back appeared to be freezing into crimson pellets.
Aylmore stayed unconscious but the Punishment continued.
After Fifty Lashes, Aylmore was untied and carried Aft to Sir John’s former cabin, since the Great Cabin was still being used as the Sick Bay in the aftermath of the Carnivale injuries. There were Eight Men on cots in there, including David Leys, still unresponsive since the Thing’s attack on Mr. Blanky early in December.
I started to go aft to attend to Aylmore, but Captain Crozier silently gestured me back into the ranks. Evidently it was protocol for all crew members to witness the complete series of Floggings, even should Aylmore bleed to death due to my absence.
Magnus Manson was next. The huge man dwarfed the second mates tying him to the Grate. If the Giant had decided to Resist at that moment, I have Little Doubt that the ensuing Chaos and Carnage would have resembled New Year’s Eve’s mayhem in the Seven Coloured Compartments.
He did not resist. As far as I could tell, Boatswain’s Mate Johnson administered the endless Flogging with the same force and Severity as he had for Aylmore — no more, no less. Blood flew from the first Impact. Manson did not scream. He did something Infinitely Worse. From the first touch of the Lash, he wept like a child. He sobbed. But afterward he was able to walk between the two Seamen escorting him back to the Sick Bay, although — as always — Manson had to hunch over so that his head did not strike the Beams overhead. As he passed me, I noticed Strips of Flesh hanging loose on his back between the crisscrossed Scourging wounds of the Cat.
Hickey, the smallest of the three men being punished, barely made a sound during the long Administration of the Lashes. His narrow Back tore open more freely than had the flesh of the other two, but he did not cry out. Nor did he pass out. The diminutive Caulker’s Mate seemed to remove his mind to something beyond the Grate and Overhead Deck upon which his obviously angry glare was firmly fixed and his only reaction to the Terrible Flogging was a gasp for breath between each of the fifty lashes of the Cat.
He walked aft to the provisional Sick Bay without accepting help from the seamen on either side of him.
Captain Crozier announced that punishment had been duly meted out according to the Ship’s Articles and Dismissed the Company. Before going aft, I ran up on deck very briefly to watch the departure of the men from Terror. They went down the ice ramp from the ship and began their long walk back to the other ship in the dark — passing the scorched and partially melted area where the Carnivale Conflagration had taken place. Crozier and his primary officer, Lieutenant Little, brought up the rear. None of the more than forty men had said a word by the time they had disappeared beyond the small circle of light radiating from Erebus’s deck lanterns. Eight men remained as a sort of companion Guard to walk with Hickey and Manson when they were ready to be returned to Terror.