The Eye of the Storm Chapter One Portsmouth Harbour December 1801 The change was tangible as Jonathan struggled through the entry port of the Indefatigable. There was an air of uncertainty, the crew somber as they worked away loading stores and provisions. Their faces were sullen, their manner quiet. Jonathan studied them closely and noticed that there were more than a few new faces. What had happened in their absence? "Something's up!" Behind him, Kerrison had clambered aboard and now stood frowning. He also sensed the difference. "We'd better report aboard," Jonathan spared Kerrison a quick smile before glancing towards the quarter deck to find Lionel Thockmorton watching him intently. Leaving his dunnage on the deck, Jonathan made his way aft, Kerrison at his heels. They announced themselves to Thockmorton who was currently Officer of the Watch. "Welcome aboard Gentlemen," Thockmorton said, clearly relishing his new authority. "Go below and report to Mr Bowles, Mr Kerrison. I am sure he has work for you." "Sir," Kerrison muttered, a little put out by his dismissal. Jonathan watched him leave then turned back to Lionel, waiting. "What's happened Lionel?" Jonathan asked warily. "The crew seem different. There are so many new faces. Did Captain Pellew pay half of them off?" Lionel bent closer, his voice pitched very low. "Worse that that, Jonathan. He took them with him to his new posting to the Impetioux." "What?" Jonathan stared at Lionel hoping he had misheard. "Captain Pellew was given command of the Impetioux and he took 50 of our best ratings with him" Thockmorton paused and licked his lips. "Mr Kennedy went with him also. He's left a letter for you in my keeping. Something private I imagine." "Who is the new captain," Jonathan asked absently, his mind on Archie, wondering if he would ever get used to him not being a part of the Indy. "His name is Captain Frost, however he is yet to report aboard. In the meantime Lieutenant Overton is in charge and he has left word that you are to report to him as soon as you come on board." "Lieutenant Overton wants to see me?" "Yes, it would seem so." Lionel said before dropping his eyes and moving away. "He's down in the captain's cabin. You had best hurry along. You don't want to start off on the wrong foot." Chapter Two A nightmare, that's what it must be. Jonathan bit the inside of his cheek as he descended the companionway in an attempt to wake himself. His heart was beating wildly. The Indy without Archie and Captain Pellew was almost unthinkable. The marine sentry announced him and Jonathan found himself standing before the captain's desk, staring at the casement window behind Overton's head. He stood like that for some time as Overton ignored him, calmly reading some correspondence, apparently oblivious to Jonathan's presence. Evidently Overton seemed to be making the most of his temporary position of authority before the new Captain came aboard. Slowly he raised his eyes and scrutinised Jonathan. "Mr Riley, welcome back. I trust you had a pleasant shore leave and have not returned carrying lice, liquor or the pox?" Jonathan blinked, shocked by Overton's forthrightness. Before he could answer the Lieutenant pressed on. "I wanted to have a word with you Mr Riley so that there will be no misunderstandings between us in the future. I may have misjudged you previously. I was concerned that Mr Kennedy may have been preying on your youth and naivet� however I realise now that I was wrong. Captain Pellew obviously holds Mr Kennedy in high esteem or he would not have moved heaven and earth to take him with him to his new posting." Overton paused, studying something out of the window and Jonathan let go his breath that he had been holding. Perhaps this interview was not going to be too bad after all. But suddenly Overton swung back, his finger pointing towards Jonathan. "It was YOU Mr Riley! You were trying to corrupt a fine young officer to your perverted ways. If I had one shred of proof I would have you up before a court martial. You were very careful to hide your black heart beneath your assumed innocence but I have seen through your subterfuge. I intend to report my suspicions to our new captain. If we were not already shorthanded and in desperate need of experienced Officers I would suggest that he refuse to have you aboard this ship!" Jonathan stared, white-faced, mouth dry. "Sir I..." "Be silent!" Overton stormed, his face a grimace of disgust. "You are here under sufferance Mr Riley. I intend to make every effort to be rid of you. In the mean time if you so much as breathe on one of your fellow midshipmen I will have you caned. Do you understand?" These last words were screamed so loudly that Jonathan suspected they must be audible on the quarter deck. "Yes sir," he murmured quietly, standing to attention. His hands were shaking at his side and he wondered if Overton had noticed. "Then get out of my sight!" Chapter Three Jonathan felt numb as he made his way along the gun deck. Overton's reactions were only to be expected. Captain Pellew's sympathetic understanding was the exception rather than the rule. Others would not have been so lenient when confronted with such behaviour. Despite Overton's overzealous observations, Jonathan could not deny that most of the accusations were founded in fact. He had been the one to pursue and seduce Archie. Their behaviour had been in strict defiance of Article 29. And if that was not damning enough, he had seduced Jack Kerrison as well. Suddenly the closeness he had shared with Jack this last week seemed sullied and dirty by Overton's condemnation. "Dear God," Jonathan sighed as he approached the midshipman's berth. He had to speak with Kerrison before he did anything else. He couldn't bear to be the cause of his friend coming under Overton's suspicion. He knocked lightly on the door to the mates' berth and waited. Pike the surgeon's mate opened the door and scowled when he saw who was waiting. "He want's you I dare say," Pike growled out over his shoulder to Kerrison who was lounging in his hammock. He turned back and sized Jonathan up as one would an intruder. Although not tall, Pike was thickset and beefy. He wore his blonde hair cut very short so that it almost stood upright on his head. His eyes looked small and he was missing several teeth. He was not a man to inspire confidence in the sick or injured. "Give us a while Pike," Kerrison said in a voice that allowed no refusal. Pike grunted and lumbered out the door, slamming it behind him. "Fancy a bit more of it already?" Kerrison smiled lazily and winked at Jonathan. "I was just trying to catch up on some of the sleep I missed because of you this last week." Jonathan couldn't return the smile. "Jack I've just come from seeing Lieutenant Overton." The mate swung out of his hammock and crossed to stand in front of Jonathan, concern on his face. "Overton? What'd he want with you?" "He warned me...said he was just waiting to get rid of me. He said he was going to tell the new Captain of his suspicions. He said I was the one ...the one responsible for...corrupting Archie!" Jonathan paused, his breath coming in short hard gasps as the full impact of Overton's words finally hit him. "I know it was me; that I chased Archie, but I never forced him, he gave in quickly enough...and I would never touch one of the mites! How could Overton think such a thing? They are just boys!" "Here, here, slow down. It's all right." Kerrison's strong arms provided a safe harbour, one that Jonathan eagerly sought. "You've done nothing wrong. Mr Kennedy is the one who should be held responsible for anything that went on between yer. He was older and he knew the ways of it. He knew the risks and should have made it his business to make sure you knew them too." "Oh Jack, what are we going to do? Overton's going to be watching me day and night." Jonathan snuffled into the strong chest. "Listen to me, I sound like a sniveling girl!" "Nothing wrong with sniveling girls," Jack replied, his familiar light banter providing comfort. "Overton's a bastard! Nothing more! We'll just be careful...very careful. I won't let you risk yourself, d'you understand?" Jonathan nodded knowing Kerrison was right. "Pike's been telling me the crew's not happy. They are angry that Pellew took some of them but not others. They see themselves as the dregs, the ones he didn't want. Then Overton filled the numbers not by pressing but by scouring the prison hulks for volunteers. Bloody useless most of them." Kerrison placed a gentle kiss on Jonathan's head and brought one hand up to play with his hair. Jonathan smiled at the now familiar gesture. "And it looks as if Pierce has deserted. He hasn't been seen for two days, not since Overton took him to task over the state of the compasses. Said they was dirty and that no one could read them. Stopped his grog ration as punishment. Mr Bowles was none to happy about Overton acting as if HE was the bloody new captain either and he made damned sure everyone knew it." Jonathan looked up to catch the hazel eyes and something flared between them. Their lips met in a passionate kiss before they released each other and parted. "It's going to be torture Jack," Jonathan moaned. "Not being able to hold you, to ..." "Fuck me?" Kerrison supplied with a grin. "Well yes, but that's not all," Jonathan replied. They stared at each other for a moment. "Yeah, bloody torture!" Kerrison muttered before he pulled Jonathan to him again. "But we'll find a way!"   Chapter Four "They're mine, give them back!" Jonathan had barely stepped into the midshipmen's berth before something light and flimsy came fluttering through the air and landed on his face. "What on earth?" He stopped suddenly and blinked in shock at what had been thrown at him; a pair of women's drawers, soft, lacey and smelling of something foreign. Jonathan looked aghast at the two young midshipmen, Pip Moseby and Charlie Witherspoon who were holding their sides laughing at his embarrassment. "WHAT are THESE!" he stammered out, groaning inwardly when he realised how foolish the question sounded. "Lady's drawers, Jonathan," Moseby explained proudly. "But she was no lady and she gave them to me as a souvenir." Moseby snatched the drawers from Jonathan's hands and held them to his nose inhaling deeply. "I'll never forget her!" "Lucky bastard!" Charlie Witherspoon declared with envy. "She wasn't even a whore and he didn't have to pay. Can you believe that Jonathan!" Jonathan smoothed his hair back and tried to hide his fluster by frowning. "This is all very exciting I am sure, but I doubt Mr Overton would approve of such behaviour down here." He turned to Moseby, "Get rid of them before they get you into trouble." Jonathan's advice started another fit of laughter. "They already got him into trouble, Jonathan" Witherspoon giggled conspiratorially. "She was married and Pip had to climb out of the upstairs window when her husband came home unexpectedly." "Married? How old was this woman Pip?" Jonathan asked, more than a little shocked by the fifteen year old midshipman's behaviour. "I didn't ask her but she said I reminded her of her son. That was right before she..." "Yes, there is no need to go into details." Jonathan interrupted quickly. The boy was getting to be as bad as Lionel! "I have heard quite enough, thank you Mr Moseby. Now I have things to do. Get rid of those...drawers and in the future behave yourself in a manner befitting a young gentleman!" Jonathan retraced his steps and closed the door firmly behind him. He stood in the dark passageway desperately trying to control his mirth. But the harmless horseplay and ribaldry that had once been the earmark of the middies berth was going to have to change or they would all be headed for disaster. Overton was obviously a strict disciplinarian who favoured corporal punishment, totally at odds with Pellew's methods. He'd already threatened Jonathan with a caning, but would he inflict such punishment on the younger midshipmen? And what of the new Captain, would he endorse Overton's methods? Jonathan hoped he would never find out. Chapter Five "I hear they debauched themselves from one side of Portsmouth Harbour to the other," Lionel Thockmorton confided, his eyes aglow with begrudging admiration. "There wasn't a brothel they didn't visit! Lord knows they must have spent every penny of their prize money. Lieutenant Hay finally went ashore to bring them back after a certain Admiral, whom I will not name, sent word that he had found Mr Moseby's breeches and hat, complete with his name sewn into the hat band, in his wife's bedroom. Apparently the good Lady claimed she had arranged to have them mended for the lad because he reminded her of their own son!" Jonathan laughed, although his dark mood had not completely lifted. "Our Mr Moseby seems to have a way with the ladies!" he admitted, thinking how much Moseby had changed from the mouse-like boy who had come aboard 18 months earlier. Lionel gave Jonathan a bemused look. "He's certainly growing up and I am NOT looking forward to the added competition each time we are in port!" Lionel switched his gaze to the lights of Portsmouth. "How was your leave Jonathan?" he asked quietly. "You must have been rather lonely without Mr Kennedy." "I wasn't alone." Jonathan confessed. "I had the company of Mr Kerrison." Jonathan watched as Lionel swung round, mouth open in shock and stood there, blinking and gasping like a beached trout. "Kerrison?" Lionel stuttered out, his voice sounding like a cannon blast in the still of the evening. Belatedly Jonathan remembered that Lionel was unawares of this latest change in his affairs. "Yes, Jack Kerrison, we are friends." "Good God Jonathan, he's little better than...what I mean is...he's so...common." Jonathan said nothing. Lionel's upper class prejudice was all too obvious and Jonathan knew that nothing he could say would change that. "I just hope that your...um...friendship...with Mr Kerrison is now finished, Jonathan. Such a liaison would do immeasurable harm to your career not to mention the risk to your neck!" Lionel shuffled his feet and stared at the deck. "It might be better if you did not make me privy to any more of your...personal affairs...Jonathan. I am acting Lieutenant and if we don't get a new lieutenant before we sail tomorrow then I will continue as such." "What are you saying Lionel?" Jonathan asked. Surely Lionel wasn't turning against him too? "What I am trying to say is that I have no wish to be placed in a position where I would have to lie to the captain to save your neck, Jonathan. We are friends, but you should not expect me to cover for you when you know your activities are in direct contravention of the articles of war. Do I make myself plain?" "Very plain Lionel," Jonathan spat. He was about to leave when Lionel pulled something from out of his pocket and held it towards Jonathan. "Here's the letter that Mr Kennedy left for you." Lionel held the letter a moment. "I can't help but wonder if this is all my fault, you know. I should never have encouraged you to pursue your...passion...for Mr Kennedy. It was wrong of me and I feel it my duty to rectify the matter." "Lionel this is not your fault, in fact it has nothing to do with you at all!" "Well what ever the reasons for it Jonathan, it is time for you to put aside your youthful flirtations..." "Youthful flirtations?" Jonathan interrupted, "Is that what you think this is?" "If you want me to be honest with you Jonathan, yes! Flying from one to the other like that, what else am I to presume? It's time you grew out of it and started behaving like a man!" "Lionel you have no right..." "I have every right, Jonathan. I am senior to you and, more than that I am your friend. I don't want to see you hang because you have an overactive imagination and a perverse curiosity. If I won't tell you the truth then who will!" Jonathan tucked Archie's letter angrily away in his pocket. "Then I should thank you I suppose, Mr Thockmorton. I will keep your...advice...in mind! Now if I may be excused I have a letter to read." Jonathan strode away across the main deck, hurt and bewildered. Belatedly he remembered that Lionel might have other reasons for his harsh word. He had forgotten that his friend had spent the week with his family celebrating his brother's marriage to the girl whom Lionel had supposedly loved. He felt a small pang of regret for he had not even inquired about Lionel's time with his family. At the companionway Jonathan stopped and looked back, wondering if he should try to make peace with Thockmorton. But the Acting Lieutenant's back was firmly to him and Jonathan's own feelings were still too raw. Angrily he turned away and went below. How could his whole world have changed so much in just a week? First Overton accusing him of perversion and now Lionel blaming it all on his youth. Jonathan rubbed his forehead and tried to think. Was there no one who understood? He reached into his pocket and touched Archie's letter. What would Archie's departing message be? Another chastisement, another bid to make him forget what was in his heart and conform to what society demanded of him? Surely not, for Archie was like himself. But things had changed and the Indy was under a different rule now. Archie had always been circumspect, well at least he was until Jonathan had momentarily turned his head aboard the Mistral. Even then, Archie had been quick to recover his senses. Jonathan made his way towards the middy's berth, letter in hand, almost afraid to read the words. Chapter Six My Dear Jonathan, I regret that I am unable to bid you farewell in person but I trust that you understand the unexpected nature of my departure. I am humbled by Captain Pellew's trust and admiration in requesting my inclusion as one of his Officers and I hope that I may live up to his expectation and bring honour to his name. I will always hold fond memories of our time together Jonathan and will keep your friendship close to my heart. I trust that when you think of me it will be with that same fondness and not regret. Please remember to exercise due care and be circumspect in all aspects of your daily life. You have the makings of a fine officer Jonathan, be mindful of your studies and always conduct yourself as a Gentleman. I look forward to our future meeting when I may once more embrace you as a friend and brother, Your affectionate friend, Archie Kennedy.   Jonathan read the letter with mixed feelings. It was formal as such a missive should be for if it was to fall into the wrong hands it could be used to condemn them both. Therefore it was up to Jonathan to read between the lines and look for any deeper meanings that Archie might have planted there. The warnings were plain and Jonathan bristled at the implied impropriety, thinking that Archie could also heed such advice. The more Jonathan thought about their time aboard the Mistral the more he knew they had both acted without due caution. Even his walk and swim with Kerrison had been unprofessional. He searched the neat script again, re-reading key words. Fondness, affection even the promise of an embrace might mean more than they suggested. Jonathan sighed and pushed the candle back into the middle of the table, before folding the letter and tucking it back into his pocket. What did it really matter anyway? He may never see Archie Kennedy again and even if he did Jonathan doubted he would be quite so quick to strike up their relationship. He had Kerrison now. That thought alone warmed his heart and made him forget the disappointments of the day. Kerrison, who was probably sitting just the other side of the thin partition that separated their berths; Kerrison, who even now might be thinking of him. "Would you like some Jonathan?" "What?" Jonathan started guiltily at Ned Grayson's inquiry. He stared at the boy a moment before seeing the offered plate piled high with delicacies. Grayson had returned to the Indy late that afternoon, weighed down with parting gifts from his parents and an assortment of items for the Middies mess. Moseby and Witherspoon had lost no time in rifling through the boxes and were currently working their way through a large fruitcake. "Would you like some fruit cake?" the youngest middy asked again, seating himself beside Jonathan and placing the plate in front of him. "This fruit cake was for Christmas," he confided in a whispered voice that shook slightly. "But I don't supposed it matters really. My mother was so upset when she heard I only had one weeks leave. She had so hoped I would be able to spend Christmas at home." Grayson sniffed rather noisily. "I've never been away from home for Christmas." The boy was on the verge of tears and Jonathan searched for something to say. "You'll be all right Ned, we can still celebrate Christmas here, can't we lads?" Moseby and Witherspoon nodded vigorously, their mouths too full to reply. Jonathan frowned and wondered if they had eaten at all during the last week? Perhaps they had not found time. As Jonathan placed Archie's letter into his sea chest he saw again his new clothes, pressed and folded and thought of his own mother. She would be alone at Christmas with only Mrs Sharpels for company as she had been these past years. It seemed strange that Jonathan had never thought of it in those terms before. Initially he had thought of the lack of fine food and gifts that would be missing, or the winter games that he could no longer play with his friends. He had never before imagined his mother alone in an empty house, depending on the charity of servants and neighbours to provide the family that she now longer had for comfort. "Oh mother," Jonathan sighed and pulled out a sheet of vellum that Kerrison had given him as a gift. Thankfully the drawing of his arse had been scratched off. He'd write to her and send it with the last dispatches in the morning. Perhaps it would be easier to convey his feelings on paper than it was in person. It was the least he could do.   Chapter Seven Captain Frost arrived the following morning, read himself in before the hastily assembled crew and straight away gave orders to prepare to sail on the ebbing tide. The Indy seemed impatient to be away, her new sails shone brilliant white as they billowed in the strong wind that was waiting for them outside of Portsmouth Harbour. There were anxious moments as the new members of the crew accustomed themselves to life on a pitching deck. Even some of the older hands found their new stations a challenge. They were short of experienced top men, many having gone with Pellew. Jonathan kept a careful eye on his division as they made sail, twice having to shout warnings to men unaccustomed to working the rigging. When they were under weigh and on course all hands were called again to the main deck and Captain Frost addressed the men formally. The officers and crew shuffled expectantly as they waited on their new Captain. What sort of a man would he turn out to be? Jonathan listened halfheartedly as Frost recited the articles of war and then added his own expectations. "We are on our way to Poole to meet with a troop convey and escort them to Bantry Bay. Although peace is currently being negotiated with the French one can not become reticent particularly when dealing with the Irish." A murmur passed through the ranks like a breeze through the rigging. Jonathan cautiously looked around suspecting that quite a few of the crew could claim an Irish heritage. "Once there we will join Admiral Mitchell's squadron until such time as we are called home. If peace is declared, we may all be ashore sooner than we think!" Again that murmur of disquiet. What was the Captain thinking? Surely it was imprudent at this time to suggest the possibility of the crew being paid off in the event of peace? Did Frost not understand that the majority of the men would be left without any means of support should they be put ashore? "And last, but not least, the grog ration will be cut in half until I see an improvement in sail making! The display as we left Portsmouth was appalling. They must still be laughing about it in our wake!" Jonathan dropped his eyes. Yes, it had been untidy, but to be expected when many of the men were unfamiliar with their tasks. Even HE knew that. Halving the grog ration was only going to alienate the men and cause a rift between those able and those not. It did not seem a good way to begin a cruise. As the crew were dismissed, the captain called the midshipmen to the quarterdeck and addressed them privately. "I hold high expectations for my young gentlemen," Frost began quietly. "You are the hope for the Navy's future, those who will one day replace us as Officers and Captains. As such it is only right that you conduct yourselves with that in mind. He gestured to the white patch on the collar of Grayson's blue coat. "There are those who will tell us that this white patch is all that remains of the white collar that once adorned your blue coats. The white collar that has long since vanished because it was impossible to keep clean. But I suggest to you that it is symbolic of something else." The midshipmen held their breath, hanging on Frost's words. Even Jonathan had to admit the man had a way of speaking. "Purity!" Frost hissed out suddenly. "Purity! And for those of you who seem to have forgotten that word, it means being without sin, being chaste and pure and INNOCENT!" Jonathan swallowed hard and tried to stop the blush that was rising in his face. He suspected he was not the only one made uncomfortable by the Captain's tirade. "The loss of purity leads to moral decay which in turn leads to the dereliction of duties! Such behaviour will not be tolerated aboard my ship for it spreads like the most insidious plague, corrupting all those it touches." Jonathan listened in stunned silence as the captain raved on, unsure of the exact basis for the Captain's apparent anger. His first thought was that Frost was referring to something sexual in nature, transgressions by either himself or Moseby and Witherspoon, but now it seemed that the captain's definition of purity encompassed much more. "There is but one way to keep at bay the threat of corruption Gentlemen and that is through punishment. Do not expect leniency if you transgress for I will not listen to tearful excuses or lies. It is my duty to ensure you maintain your innocence and I will do that by any means I have to hand. Dismissed!" Moseby and Witherspoon almost fell down the steps to the main deck and by the time they had reached the gun deck they were holding their sides with suppressed laughter. "What did he mean Jonathan," Grayson asked, a puzzled look in his clear blue eyes? "I didn't understand half of what he said." Grayson had only just turned fourteen. "Nor did I Neddy, but he was deadly serious." Jonathan threw a disgusted look at Moseby and Witherspoon who were now aping Frost's speech. "And you two would do well to take notice of the Captain's threat of punishment. I warned you before, didn't I." "OH Jonathan, he won't cane us! Captain Pellew never did such things." Charlie Witherspoon piped up confidently. Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Captain Frost is NOT Captain Pellew, Mr Witherspoon and you had better remember it." "Jonathan's right Charlie, our new Captain might do it," Pip Moseby declared. "That lady that I met in Portsmouth wanted to know if the Captain ever caned us. When I told her that he didn't, she seemed surprised." Moseby shrugged, "She said he was the exception rather than the rule." "Yes, right before she asked if she could...OWWW" Moseby hit Witherspoon in the stomach with his elbow, effectively silencing the younger man. "What woman? What did she do?" Grayson asked, eyes all wide and eager. Jonathan groaned.   Chapter Eight The following morning the first in what was to become a growing list of punishments was administered. The crew were assembled and the list of offenses read out. There was no leniency shown, no compassion for the fact the most of the men were new to their work or unsure of their duties. The charges were slight but the punishments severe. Jonathan was sickened by the cruelty. A charge, which under Captain Pellew would have merited a half dozen lashes, was given two. If Frost hoped to make an example of the first transgressors then he was successful. The crew, especially those new to the service, were shocked by the display. Even the old hands could be seen shaking their heads and muttering as the cleaned the blood from the deck afterwards. Throughout the day, the men were kept hard at their tasks, the bosun and his mates hovering like vultures looking for the smallest infractions to report. By the afternoon watch Lionel Thockmorton seemed to be the only person on board still smiling. He stood resplendent in a new blue Lieutenant's coat that he had purchased before returning aboard. "It is best to be prepared for any situation Jonathan," he explained as they waited on the main deck for the call to general quarters and gunnery practice. "I am due to sit my Lieutenants examination any time now and it was only to be expected that I might be asked to act as Lieutenant being the senior midshipman, so I took the opportunity to have this splendid coat made. If I had not done so I would now be forced to wear a cast of from Lieutenant Hay or worse still one that had belonged to a dead Lieutenant." Lionel shuddered and pursed his lips. "It would be simply unacceptable." A new lieutenant had not come aboard before sailing so Lionel would continue in his role as acting Lieutenant. Perhaps that fact alone accounted for Lionel's good humour. Jonathan smiled amiably, trying to forget their harsh words of yesterday. Lionel certainly appeared to have done so. "Did you learn much about Captain Frost?" Jonathan asked as they caught sight of their new captain on the quarter deck. "Not a thing, Jonathan." Lionel remarked airly, resisting Jonathan's invitation to gossip. The marine drummer began to beat the call to general quarters and men came streaming onto the deck from everywhere. "Well good luck," Lionel smiled as he hurried away to his station on the forecastle. "I think we might need it," Jonathan murmured to himself quietly. Gunnery practice was dismal. With so many new men making up the gun crews, loading, aiming and firing was slow and disorganised. They fired two rounds before the Captain ordered them to stop and had Lieutenant Overton call the midshipmen and Officers to the quarterdeck. "If that is how you usually treat the ratings it is no wonder there is a marked lack of discipline aboard this ship. Men like these will not respect you unless you beat it into them. Be prepared for some changes." Jonathan was aghast. Such tactics were against everything that he had learnt from Captain Pellew and Archie Kennedy. "Mr Overton, have the bosun issue starters to his mates and the midshipmen." In silence they returned to their stations on the quarter deck. Soon Sutcliffe the bosun and his mates were scurrying from station to station handing out the thick pieces of rope. Ned Grayson stared at the starter that was thrust into his hand and whispered to Jonathan, "Does the Captain want us to use these? On the men?" "Yes Neddy." Jonathan replied quietly, troubled by the look on Grayson's face. The boy seemed almost eager as he tested the starter by hitting it sharply on one of the guns. "This might make them take notice," Grayson declared, a gleam in his eye akin to malice. The second practice was no better than the first. If anything it was worse with the men flinching and cringing as they struggled to avoid punishment. Jonathan watched as Grayson lay about viciously with his starter, his small voice squeaking orders. "Use your starter Mr Riley! Don't wave it around like a lady's fan!" Overton shouted from the quarterdeck making Jonathan jump. The idea was abhorrent to Jonathan but he didn't want find out what his punishment would be if he disregarded the captain's orders. However Jonathan quickly discovered a different strategy. By raising his voice and berating the men verbally with a few choice curses and profanities throw in for good measure, he found that Overton did not scrutinise him quite so closely. This allowed him to use his starter more selectively. As he shouted and screamed at the hard driven ratings he flourished the starter, striking here and there, but making sure that the majority of his strikes hit the bulwark or the cannon itself. The noise was terrible, the men still flinched, but they were spared the physical pain and could continue with their work. One old gun captain, a seasoned veteran by the name of Hood, quickly realised what Jonathan was about, gave him a quiet nod of respect and leant his own voice to the tirade. Jonathan had no way of knowing if his methods would work, but after watching the actions of the bosun's mates, striking man after man with little apparent conscience, he wondered how bullying and beating a man could make him learn or work any faster. It did not seem logical. Slowly Jonathan saw a small improvement in the men under his direction and decided that perhaps his methods had merit. In time he would identify which, if any, of the men needed the starter, but for now he was content to give them the benefit of the doubt. At the end of the drill, the off duty men trundled below, silent and tired. Those on duty went about their business sullenly. By contrast Moseby and Grayson were clearly excited. "Did you see them jump Pip!" Grayson exclaimed, his eyes ablaze with a fever that Jonathan had not seen before. "The ratings won't dare ignore me now!" "It's about time they took some notice of us." Pip declared, strutting about. Why I had Gooding put on report just for staring back at me." Charles Witherspoon soon joined his friends on the main deck, hoping around as he waved a signals book in the air, boasting of how the Captain had appointed him signal midshipman in place of Lionel Thockmorton. "Mr Riley, a word if you please?" Jonathan spun around to find Lieutenant Hay addressing him. The Lieutenant walked to a quiet portion of the main deck and Jonathan followed dutifully. "No doubt you have just seen that our new Captain's expectations and methods are..." he paused as if searching for the right words. "Somewhat different to those of Captain Pellew." Again that pause and Jonathan detected a faint nervousness about the lieutenant that he had never seen before. "Captain Frost favours corporal punishment and that applies to the Young Gentlemen as well as the ratings. As senior middy, Mr Riley it might be prudent if you had a word to the youngsters about keeping out of trouble. I don't relish the thought of having to put one of them on report." "Aye Sir, I will see to it, Sir," Jonathan replied when it appeared that Hay was waiting for a response. He wondered if Overton had mentioned him to Hay but quickly dismissed that thought. The second Lieutenant seemed genuine in his concern. "You'd probably be considered too old for a caning Mr Riley, but the younger lads are the ones who will suffer. It's something I don't want to see happen." Hay squinted slightly, a frown creasing his otherwise smooth brow. "If we all pull together Mr Riley we will make the transition to the Captain's new ways without too much bother." He turned to look directly at Jonathan, his pale blue eyes still holding a hint of uncertainty. "And if you or any of the lads need advice, I am always approachable. Carry on." Chapter Nine Lieutenant Hay's discussion left Jonathan feeling even more uneasy, but he delayed speaking again to his fellow midshipmen. He watched them as they ate their supper during the first dog watch, still boasting and posturing about their performances on deck. Jonathan decided any further warnings could wait, thinking it would do little good at this time. He was troubled by the younger midshipmen's lack of concern and it left him feeling miserable. He left the berth as soon as he had finished eating, loudly announcing his intentions to go up on deck as he stood beside the partition that separated them from that of the mates. As anticipated, Jack Kerrison appeared on deck scant minutes later and the two men made their way forward. The forecastle was almost deserted with most of the hands still below having supper. They stood side by side, looking out at the waves, the stars slowly growing brighter above their heads whilst the waters below steadily darkened. Neither man spoke, content for the moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of companionship. It was Kerrison who finally broke the silence. "Nothing feels right." Jonathan waited a moment expecting Kerrison to go on, but the mate remained silent. "What to you mean, Jack? Is this about us?" "Bloody hell no," Kerrison, refuted quickly. "I mean the ship and the lads. It all feels wrong." Jonathan sighed and resisted the urge to lean against the strong shoulder beside him. "It's just the change; a new captain, a new crew. Of course it feels different. But we'll get used to it no doubt." "It will take some getting used to," the mate ranted. "I don't think much of our new Captain's methods." "Kerrison!" Jonathan blurted out, shocked by his friend's speech. "Jack be careful what you say. Talk like that could be considered mutinous." "Aye, but we're mates so I know I can say it safely to you." Kerrison winked and grinned. Jonathan's fears evaporated under the hot gaze. "He is very stern and strict," Jonathan continued trying to ignore the slow burn that Kerrison always ignited so easily in him. "I'm not sure such methods work best with the men." "Yer right there! It's good to see yer finally learned something," Kerrison winked again before adding, "About men." Jonathan grinned back, confident his face was well hidden to anyone but the mate by the descending darkness. "I learnt a lot from you Jack." Kerrison's hazel eyes flashed suddenly. "And I from you Missssster Rrrrrilllley," he purred leaning closer. "I wouldn't mind learning a bit more either." Jonathan felt a warm flush spread through him and centred on his groin. "Dare we risk it?" he asked breathlessly. "It's early yet. No one will be creeping around down below until much later. Come on, I know a few places we can try." Kerrison took hold of Jonathan's hand and led him towards the companion way. "Some things are worth the risk," Kerrison whispered, echoing words he had spoken long ago.   Chapter Ten "Oh Jack," Jonathan moaned and pushed himself harder against the mate's hand as it fumbled with the buttons on his breeches. They were in a section of the carpenter's walk, narrow and dark. The cold air that had raised goose bumps on Jonathan's skin just moments earlier was now warm and heavy from their breathing and exertions. He reached around and grabbed Kerrison's arse pulling it to him, grinding himself against Kerrison's groin, hardness to hardness. Kerrison leaned into the embrace, pushing Jonathan harder against the bulkhead, bruising his spine in an effort to get closer. Their mouths fought, breath coming hard and uneven, desperation evident in their every move. Suddenly the unmistakably echo of voices broke through their lust crazed embrace and they jumped apart, chests heaving, eyes wild. "That way!" Kerrison hissed indicating Jonathan to go forward as he wiped his lips and adjusted his breeches. "Go on, I'll keep 'em here if I have to." Jonathan stared at Jack for a moment then hurried away. It was useless to protest or voice his disappointment. Kerrison understood it all; understood in a way that Jonathan was only beginning to see. The danger was real. He tried to put aside his frustration as he made his way through the darkened labyrinth adjusting his shirt and coat, brushing his hair back into place, fixing the last button on his breeches. Once again he looked the image of a young gentleman, but desire still ran through him, hot and painful, refusing to be denied. Jonathan considered returning to the main deck, but the weather had worsened. A strong cold wind blew, carrying with it icy needles of spray. The chill air might help to tame his lust, but he'd be wet and miserable for the rest of the night. Reluctantly he went below again and made his way to the middy's berth with only the lonely promise of his own company to ease to his need. Chapter Eleven "Good God! What's going on here? Jonathan's horrified exclamation caused a renewed burst of drunken giggling from the assembled midshipmen. Moseby, Witherspoon and Grayson were all in various states of inebriation but where the two older midshipmen appeared to be only slightly ruffled by their excesses, Ned Grayson was lying sprawled on the table very, very drunk. More alarming however was the fact that the youngest middy was wearing nothing but his shirt and the pair ladies drawers that Moseby had souvenired in Portsmouth. Jonathan was speechless. Did the young fools not realise the dangers of such behaviour? "We're only having some fun Jonathan. Don't looked so shocked." Pip Moseby grinned and offered a bottle of something to Jonathan. "There's plenty left to share." Jonathan took the bottle and upended it onto the floor to a chorus of groans. "I don't know what you think you are doing," Jonathan indicated Grayson who was still on his back, giggling. "And I don't want to know! Behaviour such as this is foolish and dangerous! Surely you saw enough today to know what the captain might do?" There was silence except for a loud belch from Grayson. "What would happen if Neddy were discovered like that? What if we are called on deck? The weather is worsening, we may have to trim the sails before too long!" Jonathan ran his hands over his face and contemplated what to do. "Mr Moseby, go down to the galley and beg some coffee from the cook. You'd better see if you can find a bucket too. If Neddy's sick then YOU will be the one to clean it up." Moseby skittered out the door and Jonathan turned his attention to Witherspoon. "Get Neddy's clothes and help me get him out of those...things. Lord knows how you managed to get them on him in the first place?" Witherspoon blushed but chose not to elaborate and Jonathan inquired no further. Getting the drawers off Grayson was no easy task. Jonathan looked at the supine midshipmen, spread eagle on the table like a sacrificial virgin and suddenly felt uncomfortable, a matter only exasperated when Grayson looked up at him and said, "Give us a kiss, Jonathan?" Charlie Witherspoon dissolved into splutters of laughter. "Cor, wait till Pip hears about this!" "That will do, Mr Witherspoon," Jonathan grimaced. Carefully he loosened the drawstrings and attempted to slide the drawers down Grayson's hips. "Oh yes please Jonathan, give us a hand," the midshipman moaned and began squirming under Jonathan's hands. "My yard's so hard and it needs a good frigging." Jonathan pulled his hands away and took a step backwards, heart beating wildly, blood rushing to his face. "I'll do it for you Jonathan," Charlie Witherspoon declared eagerly almost tripping over Jonathan's feet as he sprang towards the table. "No you won't," Jonathan grabbed him by the shoulder and held him back. "There is no use making this any harder than it already is." Witherspoon spluttered again and Jonathan gave him a shake. "Let me think a moment." Jonathan looked at the slight figure on the table, the long slim legs partially covered in thin cotton which left very little to the imagination. Conflicting emotions stormed inside him, many of which were quite unexpected. Could his sudden surge of arousal be blamed solely on his aborted meeting with Kerrison earlier? Jonathan looked away. "I think we had better leave those...drawers on him and put his breeches on over the top. It might be safer that way." As he dressed the semiconscious midshipman, Jonathan felt a sense of disgust with himself. Perhaps Overton was right? Perhaps the younger middies were at risk in his presence? Moseby's arrival with a pot of coffee brought a welcome interruption to Jonathan's introspection. They took turns pouring it into the reluctant Grayson and finally tumbled the young midshipman into his hammock to sleep it off. As they sat on their sea chests sharing the last of the coffee, Jonathan spoke quietly. "What you did here tonight was very wrong. Not just getting drunk, although that is bad enough, but this other...business." He shook his head, suddenly feeling very tired. "I told you not to put them on him, Charlie!" Pip Moseby muttered. "Sometimes I wonder about you two!" Charlie Witherspoon blushed. "Neddy didn't mind. He thought it a great joke." "Charlie, do you understand what Article 29 is about? What it means?" Jonathan ventured softly. Witherspoon sucked in his bottom lip but remained silent. "If you and Neddy get caught, that is what they will charge you with. Do you understand?" "We're not Molly's!" Witherspoon turned to Moseby, his voice pleading. "You tell him Pip, tell Jonathan I'm not. I did it with plenty of whores in Portsmouth. You know that." "Yeah, but you do seem awfully fond of kissing Neddy too! Frankly, I don't like it!" Moseby conceded reluctantly. "I thought you'd be cured after...er...well our shore leave. But you were at it again..." "It never worried you before Pip?" Witherspoon sounded bewildered. "You'd just laugh at us, you thought it was great fun!" Jonathan felt sympathy for Witherspoon, remembering his own confusion at that age. He wished things were different so that he could speak privately to Witherspoon and offer some advice. For the moment however the young midshipman needed to know the dangers and that such behaviour might cost him his life. "Charlie, nothing else will matter if you and Ned should be caught together doing ANYTHING that could be considered...unnatural." Jonathan was reluctant to use the word, but he could think of no other way to make his point. Witherspoon's eyes filled with tears. Solemnly Jonathan looked from one anxious face to the other and prayed for wisdom. "Gentlemen, as friends and fellow midshipmen, it is our duty to watch out for one another and not to take advantage of anyone's weakness or youth. We should remind one another of this should we see someone failing. We should not encourage such things for our own humour. We have hard times ahead of us and it would be better to face them united rather than divided. Do you agree?" The two midshipmen nodded in agreement and Jonathan let go the breath he had been holding. "Good, then get rid of any more liquor you may have smuggled on board and let us get some sleep." Unfortunately Ned Grayson chose that moment to wake and vomit noisily over the side of his hammock. "Where's that bloody bucket Pip?" Jonathan asked, a little too lately. Chapter Twelve It was a good thing they had dressed Grayson in his breeches, Jonathan decided when the call for all hands was given later that night. The weather had worsened and the crew was called out to shorten sail. As the midshipmen struggled onto the pitching deck Jonathan kept a close eye on the youngest midshipman who was still swaying on his feet and looked likely to be sick again. "He's seasick Sir," Jonathan told Lieutenant Hay when he inquired after Grayson. "I'll go aloft for him." Jonathan was away up the main mast before Hay had a chance to reply. Soon Jonathan found himself soaked and freezing, his tarpaulin offering little protection from the driving rain. They were kept busy aloft for quite some time as more canvas was reefed as the storm worsened. Jonathan felt his fingers going numb as he wrestled with the ropes. It was dangerous work at the best of times, but in conditions like these, one slip would mean certain death. The sea took no sides, the elements had no favourites. Up top the men had to work together or they were all at risk. There were just enough seasoned men, experienced in the tops to compensate for the new hands. Jonathan watched the men as they lay out along the yard grateful to remain beside the main mast. It was encouraging to see the men rally together, the older hands helping and guiding those with less experience. Even trouble makers such as Miller whom Jonathan had long kept an eye on, could be seen helping his fellow hands in a way at odds with his character. Young Fowler was there too, making up the numbers no doubt. Although young, he had more experience than the older newcomers and he worked with a confidence that could only be envied. Jonathan smiled, for Kerrison had started that way. Finally they were called down and they descended, cold and stiff, to the deck. Jonathan made his way below again, only to find Kerrison waiting outside their berths. The mates brown hair hung in rats tails on his shoulders. In his hand was a flask. "Here have a sip of this. Yer lips are blue." Jonathan had a smart reply ready but settled for swallowing some mouthfuls of rum. "You were up there far longer than you should have been," Kerrison whispered, his breath warm against Jonathan's chilled skin. "That fool of a Captain didn't listen to Mr Bowles advice when he said to take in more bloody sail right from the beginning. He had to do things his way. He risked all your necks to try and prove a point. If yer ask me he doesn't know half of what he's doing! Bloody fool." "Jack," Jonathan whispered back, his voice sounding tired and strained. "You have to be careful about what you say." "Aye, I know," Kerrison's hand wiped some drips of water from Jonathan's face. "I was worried about you, that's all. What were you doing up there anyway? Isn't that Grayson's station?" "That's a story that will have to wait until tomorrow." Jonathan gave a tired smile as he suddenly remembered that Grayson had been wearing the lacy drawers under his breeches the entire time they were on deck. "I think you might find it rather amusing, Jack." Chapter Thirteen The incident with the ladies drawers was not seen in the same spirit by Ned Grayson. He spent the following day with his eyes downcast and blushing furiously every time he was addressed. He attempted to make an embarrassed apology to Jonathan but had fled the berth before Jonathan could respond. Matters between Grayson and Witherspoon however, seemed far more dismal. "They had words," Pip Moseby confided. "I don't think it was about the drawers either." Pip bit his lip and looked uncomfortable. "It was about...that other business. I don't really understand it, you know, but I think Neddy was angry when Charlie told him they had to stop." Moseby shrugged. "I don't know what they see in it Jonathan. They are different to you and I." Jonathan turned away in an effort to hide his own embarrassment. Despite the continuing bad weather, Captain Frost continued with gunnery practice, an exercise made even more difficult due to the constant rain. The gun crews muttered and cursed as the cannon refused to fire time and again. Even the veteran gun captains made no move to hide their astonishment when the Captain ordered they continue. This time floggings were handed out to the slowest gun crew. They were from Grayson's division. "A dozen lashes for each of those men. You are too light with them, Mr...what IS your name?." Frost bellowed from the quarterdeck. "Grayson, Sir." Ned stuttered, hands trembling so much that he was forced to hold the sides of his coat in an effort to keep them still. "If this happens again Mr Grayson, it will be a caning for you." Frost shouted, making no attempt to hide his anger. Grayson paled and seemed to shrink into himself in the face of this new threat. Surprisingly, however as they neared Poole the following day, Grayson seemed to shake off his depression. "Are you hoping for some time ashore in Poole, Neddy?" Jonathan asked gently. He doubted the Captain would allow it and feared that the younger midshipman would be sorely disappointed. "Oh no Jonathan, it's something else entirely." Grayson nodded towards the quarter deck where the Captain, Mr Bowles and Mr Overton stood formally as the ship entered the harbour. Jonathan frowned, made uneasy by the mischievous grin that was now covering Grayson's face. "What's taking you so long Mr Witherspoon? Make the signal if you please!" Jonathan looked back, straining to hear what was being said. Suddenly the captain's voice boomed from the quarter deck. "WHAT ARE THESE AND WHAT ARE THEY DOING ON MY QUARTERDECK?" Jonathan and half the crew to held their breaths wondering what had happened. An explanation was not long in coming. Lieutenant Overton strode to the quarter deck rail, "Who ever is responsible for putting these in the signal locker will be severely punished." In his hands were a pair of white lady's under drawers. "Oh God, Neddy. What ever possessed you to do such a thing?" Jonathan glared at the younger midshipman who shrugged and raised a pair of innocent blue eyes before replying, "He deserved it." There was no more time for discussion as the order was given for the sails to be taken in and the anchor let out. As he worked, Jonathan fretted over what would happen, his thoughts teaming as he imagined Grayson's fate. The boy was barely fourteen, young and foolish. There was a something about him that reminded Jonathan of Archie Kennedy. It was more than just the fair hair and blue eyes although Jonathan had decided earlier that the physical resemblance might perhaps account for his unexpected attraction to Grayson. Ned Grayson also had about him the same qualities of vulnerability that Archie had displayed; but would he show the same inner strength in times of crisis? Jonathan feared that Grayson would prove far more brittle. Chapter Fourteen With the Indefatigable safely riding at anchor and Captain Frost having seen to the business of the troop transports, the Midshipmen were asked to assemble on the quarter deck before the Captain and Lieutenant Overton. In Overton's hands was the offending article of underclothing. "Am I to assume that it was one of you Gentlemen who placed these in the signal locker?" Overton asked waving the under drawers vaguely in the air. "I can not imagine that Mr Witherspoon would do such a thing and bring punishment on himself. However I am sure he knows who the culprit is and nobly thinks that if he remains silent he will spare the transgressor his punishment. Sadly Mr Witherspoon is mistaken. He will be punished if the perpetrator does not come forth of his own volition." The midshipmen shuffled uncomfortably and Charles Witherspoon closed his eyes and swallowed. It looked as if he had been crying. "Very well then Gentlemen," Overton voice held a note of victory. "Since no one has come forward, it is the captain's directions that you shall all be caned. Pass the word for the Bosun." "Sir it was I." Jonathan blurted out even as the idea was still forming in his mind. "You Mr Riley?" Overton looked genuinely surprised. "Yes Sir, I'm sorry Sir." "But why Mr Riley? Surely you knew that a childish prank like that could only result in punishment." Jonathan spoke slowly, his eyes never leaving Overton. "Sir there have been aspersions cast upon my manhood and I felt that such a show would put the accuser in his place." The look on Overton's face that told Jonathan he had taken the bait. "Two dozen cuts of the cane, Mr Riley, " Overton's voice was pitched low with barely suppressed anger. "Sir?" It was Lieutenant Hay who spoke up, appealing to the Captain. "Surely Mr Riley would be considered too old for the cane Sir. It is usually kept for the younger Gentlemen. Perhaps another form of punishment would be considered more appropriate to his age?" Hay's words echoed Jonathan's own thoughts. He had expected to be given some other sort of punishment thereby saving Grayson and the others from a painful caning. His assumptions had been wrong. "He is not too old for it on MY ship, Mr Hay. Remember that!" Captain Frost hastily interrupted. "These young Gentlemen have been cosseted for far too long!" His glance swept across the trembling midshipman and came to rest on Charlie Witherspoon. "Mr Witherspoon shall have a dozen for his misguided loyalty." "Please Sir, it was my fault," Jonathan began as Witherspoon started sobbing in earnest. "I'll take his punishment as well." There was a flash of something in the Captain's eyes and the he stepped closer, his face a mask of anger. "Very well Mr Riley, since you seem to be so eager, you may have the extra dozen lashes, but Mr Witherspoon WILL STILL get his!" The Captain turned his back and walked away. "See to it Mr Sutcliffe." The Bosun ushered the two Midshipmen over to one of the 18lb guns. Although the Captain had not called the hands to witness the punishment most of the ratings were still on deck and Jonathan caught sight of men climbing the ratlines to get a better view of what was to come. Surely Frost would send the crew below before carrying out such punishment, Jonathan thought. But the Captain seemed content to let the men watch, their eager anticipation only adding to Jonathan's humiliation. "Shall I bring something to put under them Captain?" Sutcliffe inquired as he looked the Midshipmen up and down. "A mattress or such?" "Let them lie on their coats, Mr Sutcliffe, fitting since they have already brought dishonour upon them." "You first then Mr Riley, breeches down." "What?" Jonathan gasped, still in the process of folding his coat and waistcoat. "You heard me," Sutcliffe sneered, tapping his long rattan cane against Jonathan's hip. "Drop those fancy new breeches yer wearing and let's see what yer made of." Jonathan looked around the men assembled on the quarter deck hoping for some sort of reprieve. Captain Frost, dour and remote; Lieutenant Hay, his brow creased with concern; even Lionel Thockmorton looked paler and more serious. Pip Moseby's face was full of guilt and remorse. He mouthed the words 'I'm sorry' when Jonathan caught his eye. Ned Grayson, the one responsible for the whole sorry turn of events stood with his head bowed, tears running down his fair cheeks. Finally Jonathan met Lieutenant Overton's eyes. "Now Mr Riley! Drop your breeches or I will have Mr Sutcliffe remove then for you," he declared in a voice the broached no further discussion. Slowly Jonathan undid his breeches and let them fall to the deck. His new shirt was long enough to afford a moment more of modesty, but Jonathan knew this would not last. Once he was leaning over the gun, the damning evidence tattooed on is buttock would be visible to all. K...without a doubt Overton would take it to mean Kennedy, a connection that even Jonathan had not made until now. He strode to the back of the nearest gun and positioned himself so that he was facing the assembled men. Hopefully only Sutcliffe would be privy to his secret. Sutcliffe bent to tie his hands beneath the gun, then slowly raised Jonathan's shirt tail. "What's this then, Mr Riley A little memento of some lass somewhere?" Jonathan felt the tip of Sutcliffe's cane trace the lines of the tattoo, but said nothing. "Get on with it Mr Sutcliffe!" Overton demanded. Jonathan closed his eyes. Chapter Fifteen "One." Jonathan was not prepared for the pain. Despite his mother's eccentric ways, neither she, nor his father had ever resorted to physical punishment. He gasped and held his breath, waiting for the next strike. "Two." Again, the flashing sting came unexpectedly and Jonathan gasped louder as he tried to control himself. "Three." Jonathan tried to marshal his fear, to slow his breathing and control the panic that was threatening, but the relentless touch of the cane, the awkwardness and humiliation of his position and the constant knowledge that everyone was watching him, undermined all his efforts. "Ten." A whimper and Jonathan jammed his teeth together, biting his lip when he realised the sound had been audible. Suddenly he thought of Jack Kerrison. Was his friend watching? Could he hear the pitiful little whimpers that even know struggled to escape? "Twenty." There was blood in his mouth. Whether from his lips or his tongue, Jonathan was not sure, for he has bitten them both now in an effort to keep silent. "Thirty." Tears seeped unbidden from his closed eyes and ran down his face. His nose threatened to drip too and he sniffed loudly, hoping to be spared any further humiliation. Sniveling girl indeed; that's all he was. "Thirty six." The storm passed. Some one untied his hands and Jonathan stood slowly, his buttocks and legs smarting as he moved. The surgeon, Mr Hepplewhite threw a glance in his direction. "You'll live, Mr Riley. Get dressed, you're fit for duty. Jonathan bent and pulled up his breeches as quickly as he could, his abused flesh smarting in protest. "Stand with the others Mr Riley," Lieutenant Overton directed. "You can witness the next punishment." Walking was painful; he refused to meet anyone's eyes. He was only half conscious of Charlie Witherspoon being tied across the gun, only dimly aware of the boy's yelps of pain as Sutcliffe delivered his blows. Jonathan's thoughts had long since sunk inwards in an attempt to find a haven from his shame and pain. He heard Lieutenant Overton's words of dismissal and walked away eyes downcast. No one spoke. Chapter Sixteen He couldn't sit down! Jonathan stood in the middle of the midshipmen's berth taking deep breaths, trying to keep hold of his hard won control. He wanted desperately to lie down and let go of his emotions. He longed for the embrace of his hammock and the blanket of darkness to cover the tears he needed to shed. But the cabin boy had not yet hung their hammocks and behind him Charlie Witherspoon's sobs heralded the arrival of his berth mates. "Oh God, Jonathan, I didn't think he'd do it! Are you all right?" Pip Moseby, flushed and breathless, flapped around at his side. "I didn't put them there, I swear it. I would have owned up if I had." "It's all right Pip. I know it wasn't you," Jonathan replied, his voice tight with pain. "Well it wasn't MY fault," Ned Grayson wailed. "I was just getting back at Charlie for what he did to me!" The youngest midshipman sobbed loudly and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "It's your fault Jonathan!" he exclaimed suddenly, his voice rising in uncharacteristic anger. "It was all right before you started preaching about Article 29. You had to spoil all our fun and turn them all against me!" Grayson turned and made a dash for the doorway only to stop short when he found Jack Kerrison standing there, arms folded, face stern. "Here, stop this racket the lot of you. Do you want another round of it?" Kerrison asked, his voice hard. "Yer don't have a lick of sense amongst yer!" He added clearly disgusted with their behaviour. "The Captain wants someone to see to his gig. He's going ashore to see about the transports." "I'll go," volunteered Moseby. "Kerrison's right. Stop your noise Charlie, Jonathan got worse and he's not sniveling." This last was directed at Witherspoon, although it caused Jonathan to brush a surreptitious hand across his own eyes. As he passed, Moseby shot a hateful look at Grayson who retaliated by poking out his tongue. The gesture would have been comical if the look in Grayson's eyes had not been so cold. "Mr Riley," Kerrison began quietly. "Mr Pike said he has some salve that will stop yer...ah...legs blistering. It's next door in our cabin, come along with me." Jonathan stared at the mate, surprised at his daring, but Kerrison's face held only compassion and Jonathan followed. "Here." Kerrison held up a small dirty jar of something. "Horse liniment, Pike reckons it will help." Jonathan licked at his swollen lips but still couldn't speak. "Jonathan? Are you all right?" Kerrison's voice sounded strange and Jonathan forced himself to nod. "Lie down on the table, you look like yer about to drop." Once again Jonathan felt the urge to let go of his emotions but was unable to do so even now, especially now in Kerrison's presence. He stood there, poised on the point of breaking until Kerrison touched him gently on the arm. "Come on, lie down," Jonathan complied, laying himself face down on the table, his face hidden in his folded arms. "Let's get these off and see what the damage is." Kerrison's fingers began fumbling with the small tie on the back of Jonathan's breeches. "Don't." Jonathan's voice wobbled when he spoke, but Kerrison stopped immediately and came around to stand before him. "Shhh now, it's all right. I'll leave yer be. Just rest there." Again that strange quiet voice that was so unfamiliar. It was the kind of voice one would use with a small child or a woman. Jonathan did not find it comforting. "Here, what's this then? Supper on the table already, Kerrison?" The gruff voice of surgeon's mate Pike boomed from the doorway. "Shut the bloody door Pike and shut yer bloody mouth. The lads had enough already. He doesn't need your filthy talk too!" Kerrison spat back. "And what are you doing with my liniment? You been going through me things again Jack Kerrison?" Pike clomped across the cabin and glared at Kerrison. "I just borrowed it Joseph," Kerrison challenged. "The lad's in a bad way." "Hmmmph, he looks more faint than anything." Pike went rummaging through his sea chest and returned with a bottle. "This 'ill do him more good. A few swigs and he won't feel a thing." Jonathan raised his head slightly and stared at the proffered bottle. Kerrison rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Yer a bloody sot Pike! That bloody rot gut isn't going to fix his arse!" "Yer seem to be uncommonly concerned about the state of his arse Jack Kerrison! Now why would that be, do yer suppose?" "Yer got a filthy mind Pike. I'm concerned cause I know he's innocent and that he was covering up for that spiteful little bugger Grayson. Besides Frost's a bastard. It could be you or me next!" "Aye, I'll give yer that Kerrison." Pike agreed. He paused to take a sip from the bottle. "A bit of that liniment at night might help, Mr Riley," he suggested, speaking directly to Jonathan for the first time. "Sea water would be best thought. Bathe yer arse in saltwater. Especially if the skin is broken." He took another long swig. "But my best advice is to stay out of the captain's way. He'll kill some poor bastard before too long. You'll see." Chapter Seventeen Joseph Pike's words were almost prophetic. More floggings followed for the smallest infractions and it soon became apparent to every man on board that the captain was a stern and harsh disciplinarian. After one particularly brutal flogging where the seaman concerned was carried unconscious from the deck, Jonathan wondered why Hepplewhite the surgeon did not exercise his rights and intervene? Could the surgeon be afraid of their new captain also? Although far from dedicated to his vocation, Hepplewhite had never shown disregard for his patients. Was his newfound aloofness the surgeon's own attempt at self-preservation? "Pay attention gentlemen, it would appear that the Captain intends to pay us a visit." Mr Bowles dry remark roused Jonathan from his reverie. The midshipmen were assembled on the main deck for their usual navigation class with Mr Bowles. Jonathan rechecked his calculations making sure to keep his eyes down. Beside him Charlie Witherspoon began hastily rubbing at his blackboard, his chalk scratching noisily as he tried to correct his work. "Mr Grayson, perhaps you would be so good as to demonstrate your use of the sextant for the captain?" the master said as he moved in front of Witherspoon, effectively blocking the panicked midshipman from the captain's view. "Mr Kerrison will assist you." A loud thump and a clunk broke the already tense atmosphere. Several muffled curses were audible before Frost's voice interrupted. "What are you doing, Mr Grayson? You are nothing but a clumsy fool. Is that sextant damaged?" "He tripped me Sir. On purpose!" Jonathan jumped up, disregarding the flash of pain from his posterior and peeked past Bowles to see what had happened. His main fears were for Kerrison, but the mate was still several feet away from Grayson who was lying sprawled on the deck. "It was HIS fault Captain!" Grayon's finger was pointed towards a small figure sitting in the shadow of the stored hammocks mending rope. Ben Fowler. It was clear that Fowler was too far away to be the cause of Grayson's ignominious accident, a fact supported by Fowler's startled face. However the accusation had been made and the Captain pounced. "On your feet seaman!" Frost shouted. "Sergeant, have this man placed in irons. Striking an Officer is a serious offense." "What Sir? But I never..." Fowler began, his young voice bewildered, his face confused. "Silence! You are not given permission to speak. Take him away Sergeant. Put him in irons and I will decide his punishment later." As the hapless rating was led below a strained silence descended on deck. "Carry on Mr Grayson. I am eager to see you perform." Grayson scrambled up from the deck, the sextant apparently none the worse for wear. Even from a distance, Jonathan could see that the young midshipman's hands were shaking and his face was white from fear. But Jonathan's concern shifted suddenly as he caught sight of Jack Kerrison. The Mate's face was drawn into a mask of barely suppressed anger. His fists were clenched. But what surprised Jonathan most was that Kerrison's rage was not directed at their Captain, but towards Ned Grayson. Chapter Eighteen "He lied! The little bastard lied!" They were seated in the mate's berth, side by side on Kerrison's sea chest. "Fowler was no where near him. I saw it with my own eyes. He tripped over his own fancy little feet." Kerrison slammed his fist down on the table angrily. "Jack, Ned was scared. He was terrified that the Captain would punish him for dropping the sextant and order a caning." Jonathan explained. He had spent the first dog watch listening to Grayson's tearful explanations and could sympathize with the boy. "He's fourteen years old Jack. I don't think he meant to get Fowler into trouble deliberately. I don't think he thought at all." "And what about Ben Fowler?" Kerrison turned, eyes glaring. "He's not much older, yet he's not getting a caning. He's to be flogged tomorrow with the cat! Your Mr Grayson ought to do the right thing and speak up. He ought to tell the truth to the Captain before it's too late." Jonathan shook his head wearily. The same idea had occurred to him but he had quickly realized the reality of such an endeavour. "I doubt the Captain would listen Jack. He'd probably just order a caning for Ned and still flog Fowler anyway." "He's a quiet lad yer know, sort of...gentle," Kerrison said softly, "They used to call him Flower when he was younger, below decks that is. He never gets into trouble, never fights, although there's a few times that he should have." Jonathan watched as Kerrison spoke, a thousand questions running through his mind. He remembered what he had overheard about Fowler from Kerrison and Miller and how he had been shocked by what the young rating did below decks in the dark with others. Now, for the first time he wondered if Ben Fowler might be one of Kerrison's casual partners. The thought was like a splinter under his skin, pricking and painful. "Well perhaps YOU should have spoken up then." Jonathan's tone was rougher than he had intended. "You saw it happen and Fowler is obviously a friend of yours." "Me?" Kerrison's voice rose slightly, ignoring the casual jab. "As if the Captain would take any bloody notice of me. He'd probably have ME flogged for daring to contradict an officer!" Kerrison seemed to slump inwards, his shoulders hunching, his head hanging. "I've seen enough to know that I don't want to feel it first hand." He looked up at Jonathan again, his eyes partially hidden by a stray lock of hair. "I bet you'd think twice too before you took another's punishment now that you know what it's like." Jonathan had to agree; Kerrison was right.   Chapter Nineteen Jonathan had witnessed many floggings but never to someone so young. "Mr Overton tried to intervene," Lionel Thockmorton had informed Jonathan earlier as he supervised the raising of the grating. "He suggested to the Captain that Fowler was too young but the Captain would no be dissuaded." Lionel could not meet Jonathan's eyes as he spoke the next words. "It IS his right as Captain Jonathan, despite what the Naval Board recommends. He is doing nothing wrong and you had best remember that." Lionel's pale face and uncertain manner had made a lie of his declaration. Jonathan suspected there were few, if any on board who would support their Captain's decision. That Overton had been the one to speak out gave Jonathan gave Jonathan pause. He remembered what Archie had once said about Overton. Rather than condemning the Lieutenant, Archie had praised him for his vigilance. Could it be that Overton really DID care about the welfare of the younger members of the crew? Fowler was stripped and his thin body tied to the grating. He was about the same age as Pip and Charlie and Jonathan tried to imagine what it would be like to see one of the younger middies punished in such a manner. Watching Charlie Witherspoon's caning had been hard enough, but that had been minor compared to the brutal spectacle that unfolded before his eyes. Four dozen lashes was the Captain's punishment; considered server even for a grown man. When the first petals of blood burst forth on Fowler's skin, Jonathan had to look away. He steeled his features and stared past the pale white back now splashed with gore; stared hard at the grey sea that surged and foamed and hissed in seeming protest to the cruelty being inflicted above. After thirty lashes Fowler looked to be unconscious, his body wilted, held up only by the ropes around his hands and feet. Across the deck Surgeon's Mate Pike was speaking in low urgent whispers to his superior, but Hepplewhite silenced him with a gesture and a glare. The punishment continued. The wind was howling by the end of it, shrieking and whining through the rigging as if in a funeral dirge. Jonathan held his breath, remembering Pike's prophecy, surprised by his sudden superstition. But Fowler was still clinging to life, the bones in his thin chest still moving in ragged rhythm as he was carried below to be cared for by the surgeon. As the crew cleared away the grating, the waves began breaking onto the deck, washing away Fowler's blood as the men stood and watched. "Storm's coming," Kerrison whispered quietly as he passed Jonathan. Chapter Twenty By noon the sky was too overcast to see the sun and thunderheads gathered to the northeast. The convoy was already beginning to scatter before the winds and Captain Frost could be heard ranting and raving on the quarterdeck, cursing the masters of the transports for their lack of seamanship. The crew worked hard, up and down the rigging, taking in the sails then letting them out again as the Captain tried to round up the wayward convoy. More canvas would be set to chase a lone vessel only to be taken in again minutes later when the Indy began to yaw, the winds proving too strong for the heavy set of canvas. Kerrison came up during one of Jonathan's breaks on deck and looked him up and down. "You managing all right?" Jonathan was touched by his concern. "Yes, thank you Jack. A bit stiff, but that's all." Kerrison didn't rise to the attempted humour. He stood silently on the pitching deck, face grave as he looked at the men around him. His eyes came to rest on Ned Grayson. "It might do well to tell Mr Grayson to have an eye out. Accidents have a way of happening in conditions like these." "What?" Was Kerrison suggesting that something might befall Grayson? Something deliberate that would look like an accident? "Some of the lads are none too happy about what happened to Fowler. A thing like that can make a man... less than careful if you know what I mean." Kerrison's cryptic explanation did not satisfy Jonathan. "Do you mean to say that some of the men blame Ned for Fowler's punishment and that they want him dead because of it?" Jonathan whispered harshly. He looked over to where Ned Grayson stood, starter in one hand, holding tightly to the ratlines with the other, trying to keep his balance as waves rushed around his feet and wind tore at his hair and uniform. He looked so vulnerable and Jonathan felt again that strange surge of arousal that had troubled him before. "Who Jack? Which men?" Kerrison looked out to sea, refusing to meet Jonathan's gaze. The mate's hazel eyes seemed to take on the grey hue of the angry sea. "Don't know, it was just a feeling I had, that's all; a bit of scuttlebutt that I happened to overhear. You hear things like that all the time below decks. Most of them come to nothing." Kerrison turned back suddenly and smiled. "Don't worry so. I'm sure the little bastard will be fine." But Jonathan took Kerrison's veiled warning seriously and spent the next few hours anxiously watching Grayson, hovering near by whenever he could and even going aloft for him when possible. If Ned Grayson wondered at Jonathan's sudden generosity, he said nothing, happy to be spared the hazardous climb to the rigging. Jonathan knew that he would have to speak with Grayson soon, but felt a growing reluctance. There was something in Grayson's gaze now that disturbed Jonathan. It was more than his gratefulness towards Jonathan for taking his punishment, more than the touch of boyish hero worship that Jonathan had detected before. It was something that Jonathan didn't want to put a name to, something that conjured memories of Grayson drunk in the middies' berth and the things he had asked. It was also something that Jonathan found very hard to ignore. By the middle of the afternoon watch Jonathan was exhausted, his legs and buttocks painful, his fingers cold and stiff. Around him, the men of his division slumped on deck taking a few minutes respite until they were put to work again. "To the cross trees Fowler. Captain's orders!" Jonathan whirled around, as did most of the ratings nearby. Ben Fowler had just come on deck and stood silent, bare footed, shoulders drooping as he listened to Sutcliffe's orders. "And you are to stay there till you're called down. Understand?" Fowler nodded his head and began to climb, his movements, slow and stiff, echoed his pain. Jonathan watched in sympathy, almost wincing at the awkward motion. "He's not fit to be up there," came a muffled comment from behind. "The lad'll never make it," someone else replied. "Silence there! Check to see if those lines are still secured. Move your arses!" Jonathan bellowed and the group scurried away. But Jonathan turned back to watch as Fowler continued to climb the ratlines, buffeted by the wind, swaying precariously with the motion of the ship, until he reached the cross trees. It was then that the first drops of rain began to fall. Chapter Twenty-one By the first dog watch, the Indy could do little but run before the storm, lashed by the elements. The transports were soon lost to sight, blow wide and hidden by the falling night and blinding rain; their feeble lamps disappearing one by one until the Indy was alone once more. As the ship's bell sounded the end of his watch, Jonathan anticipated dry clothes below deck. Even the midshipmen's berth would feel warm after chill conditions above. But something plagued his mind; something that refused to be ignored. Ben Fowler was still atop the main mast and would probably remain there now for the night. Jonathan climbed down to the main deck, deserted except for a handful of ratings that huddled in the lee of the ship's cutter. He peered up through the rain, felt the sting of sleet strike his face, and tried to see to the top of the main mast. "You there, Gillies, take this up to Fowler and tell him to put it on." Jonathan took off his tarpaulin and held it out to the startled rating. "Is that an order sir?" Gillies asked hesitantly. "No disrespect meant Mr Riley, but I don't see as how the Cap'n would be too pleased, if yer take my meaning sir." He tugged at his forelock and bobbed his head. Gillies might well be right, Jonathan conceded, as he felt the rain soak through his uniform. It would be unfair for the seaman to share the blame for something that was not his responsibility. "Very well, Gillies, I'll take it myself. Mind my hat, if you please." Jonathan put on the tarpaulin again over his now sodden uniform and began the long and treacherous climb. Ben Fowler was crouched down between the two arms of the crosstrees, feet set on the topgallant shrouds, back against the mast. His arms were wrapped around himself in a desperate attempt to keep warm. "May I come down now Sir?" Fowler asked, his young voice shaking. "Not yet, Fowler. I'm sorry. The Captain hasn't sent the word." Once again Jonathan shed his tarpaulin, wrapping it around Fowler's narrow shoulders. "Put this on, it might help a little." Fowler looked up, his dark eyes full of confusion. "But Sir..." "Just do it, Fowler, that's an order. I will take full responsibility." Jonathan had to help the younger man into the heavy coat, his movements made stiff and awkward by the after effects of the flogging and the cold that was steadily seeping into his body. "Keep your hands tucked in and your feet if you can. Shelter your face too." It was the only advice that Jonathan had to offer and it seemed inadequate. Already the rain was starting to freeze where it clung to Fowler's hair. But Fowler smiled, grateful all the same. "Thank you Mr Riley and may God bless you for your kindness Sir." Chapter Twenty-two By the time he reached the Middies berth Jonathan's teeth were chattering from the cold. He lit a glim and rummaged quietly through his sea chest for something dry to wear, hoping not to wake the others. As he stood naked, drying himself carefully with a blanket, a soft snicker sounded behind him. Jonathan turned, the blanket clasped in front of him for modesty, to find three sets of eyes staring at him. "Sorry Jonathan," Pip Moseby began. "But we couldn't help but notice that K tattooed on yer...ah...well...where they caned you!" Jonathan felt the blood drain from his face. "It looks painful, Jonathan. The welts I mean." Charlie Witherspoon added. "I bet there's a story to tell, about that tattoo?" Pip continued, wide awake now and slipping out of his hammock to get a better look. "Not really, it was last shore leave and I was very drunk." Jonathan reached for his dry shirt and tugged it over his head. He looked up to catch Ned Grayson's blue eyes trailing up his legs. "It was a dare you see," Jonathan continued, turning away from the youngest midshipman and grabbing his breeches. "Her name was Kitty." There it was said. And as Jonathan listened to the laughs and the questions from his berth mates he felt a terrible remorse chill his heart. He had betrayed Jack Kerrison. Betrayed their love and their friendship; made their relationship look shameful by his denial. He pulled on his breeches hastily, covering again the only tangible expression of his feelings for Jack Kerrison. "Was she good Jonathan?" Grayson's eyes looked anything but innocent as he waited expectantly for the answer. "Yes, she was very good," was Jonathan's hollow reply. Chapter Twenty-three They brought Ben Fowler done at the start of the forenoon watch. Two ratings carried him to the deck and laid him before the Captain and First Officer. He was too weak to stand. "Take him below to Mr Hepplewhite" Overton murmured, his eyes never leaving the prostrate seaman. Nothing more was said, but Jonathan was not surprised when he was called to see Lieutenant Overton some time later. "You will be pleased to hear that Fowler will recover, mainly due to the fact that he was wearing your tarpaulin coat. Mr Hepplewhite is certain it is that which saved him from succumbing to exposure. As it stands the worse that will happen is that he may lose a few fingers and toes. He was frozen to the masthead when they found him." Overton looked away and Jonathan waited for what was to come. "Your actions were very noble Mr Riley and I can not find it my heart to call them misguided. However the Captain sees them as a breach of discipline, a deliberate attempt to undermine his orders. You will be punished on the quarterdeck at noon. Four dozen from the bosun's cane. Dismissed." The Officers and crew were assembled as before, but this time the Captain made a long speech about disregarding orders and seditious behaviour. Jonathan was only vaguely aware of his words. Once again he made sure that he faced his fellow officers as he lay across the gun, his coat folded beneath him. He ignored Sutcliffe's whispered taunts as he tied Jonathan's hands. In defiance he refused the piece of leather that Sutcliffe offered for him to clench between his teeth. As the first hit landed, Jonathan knew that had been a mistake. The pain was far worse this time; his flesh, still bruised and tender from the punishment a few days earlier. Pain washed over him in waves heralded by the swish of the cane, until Jonathan felt he was drowning beneath the relentless onslaught. "Blood Sir," Pikes voice, clear and pitched to carry broke through Jonathan's misery. "A little blood is to be expected. There is no need to stop, Captain," was Hepplewhite the surgeon's calm assurance. Jonathan hated Hepplewhite at that moment. Hated him with a passion. Was that the blood he could feel, the slow drips that ran down the backs of his thighs? Perhaps it was sweat for he felt fevered his mouth dry and bitter. Jonathan kept his lips parted so as not to bite them again; his teeth clenched and bared, breathing rapidly like a mad dog. The world went red, a hot sea of pain and nausea. Jonathan gave up the struggle. There were voices around him. Someone was pulling him upright, putting something to his lips. Water. He choked on it and opened his eyes. "Easy there. Yer right now, Mr Riley." Pike was beside him, one large arm holding him firmly. "Let me wrap this around yer. No point getting any more blood on yer breeches." Jonathan's head swayed and he leant against the gun while Pike wrapped a blanket around his waist. "Can yer walk? I'll take you down to the infirmary and clean yer up. Yer'll be all right in a minute." Around him, the quarterdeck had returned to normal. The midshipmen had been dismissed and had disappeared. The helmsman stood his station by the wheel. Beside him, Kerrison, master's mate of the watch stood white faced, his mouth drawn in a tight grimace. His eyes met Jonathan's and quickly looked away, but not before Jonathan had seen the sparkle of unshed tears. "Come gentlemen, dinner is waiting in my cabin." Captain Frost made his way to the companionway. Hepplewhite, Overton and Hay followed. No one looked his way. Jonathan watched them go and swore under his breath. "Bastards!" Chapter Twentyfour "I'm all right! Just leave me alone!" Jonathan held tight to the blanket and glared at Pike. "I'm gonna clean your sorry arse and make sure there's no rot setting in like I was told to do whether you fuckin' well want me to or not!" With a violent pull Pike tore the blanket from Jonathan's hands and threw it on the deck. "Now lay down there on yer belly on that table, just like yer did for Jack Kerrison." "Why you dirty minded..." "What?" Pike asked, taking Jonathan by the arm and pushing him towards the table. "You think I don't know what goes on between the two of you then? I know that K on yer arse stands for Kerrison." "You are sadly mistaken Mr Pike. I can't imagine where you got such an idea." Jonathan eased himself onto the table and lay flat; hoping that co-operation might stop Pike's speculations. "I heard it from Jack Kerrison's own lips, I did." Pike snickered. "He talks in his sleep." "He does no such thing!" Too late Jonathan saw the trap that Pike had set. With a groan, Jonathan buried his head in his folded arms and awaited Pike's condemnation. The surgeon's mate's next words were unexpected. "That was a kind thing yer did for young Fowler. And brave too. There's not many who would have dared it." Pike began washing Jonathan's smarting skin, his hand gentle despite the sting of the salt water. "I don't think this will scar, not if yer keep it clean and avoid another caning." "Are you right there Pike?" Hepplewhite's voice sounded behind them. "Mr Hay was a little concerned and thought I should check to see how young Mr Riley was doing." "He's fine Mr Hepplewhite sir. The wounds are not too deep." Pike strategically placed his wash cloth over Jonathan's tattoo. "Do yer want to take a look yerself Sir?" "No no, I'll leave it in your hands Pike. Carry on." They both waited until Hepplewhite was well away before speaking again. "Thank you," Jonathan offered, still unsure of Pike or his motives. "No point having the whole ship wondering what that fuckin' K stands for. I dare say half of 'em would think it was for Mr Kennedy. But some would think it favoured Jack Kerrison and then there would be hell to pay. The Captain would string both of yer up, court martial be damned." Pike sniffed and ran his bloodied hands through his hair to wipe them. "Jack Kerrison is a good bastard. I admire how far he's gone and I'd not like to see him brought low because he thinks more with his fuckin' prick than with his head." "Nor would I Mr Pike," Jonathan protested. "Yeah, Yeah, but yer do tend to act before yer think Mr Riley. Otherwise yer wouldn't have had two cannings now which yer didn't deserve." Pike offered a gap-toothed smile. "Thank you Mr Pike," Jonathan replied, trying to sound sincere. Pike covered him with a light sheet. "Rest there a while and let the cuts dry out and stop bleeding. I'll put some salve on them then. Do yer want a swig of rum?" Jonathan nodded and accepted a small dirty bottle which Pike had procured from the medicine cupboard. "Best thing for yer, if yer ask me!" Pike declared as he watched Jonathan sip it gingerly. "It'll heal bloody anything!" Chapter Twenty-five Pikes words regarding Kerrison and the trouble they might find themselves in had ample time to replay in Jonathan's head as he lay in the darkened infirmary. Surely Pike was wrong; the Captain could not hang them on rumour and supposition. He could however make their lives a living nightmare and use every opportunity to inflict punishment. Jonathan almost groaned when Kerrison stuck his head through the partition and seeing he was alone proceeded to enter. "Jack you shouldn't be here! You'll get into trouble." Kerrison ran his rough fingers gently down Jonathan's cheek. "I'd like to kill that bastard for what he did to you." "Jack!" Jonathan hissed. "Don't talk like that!" "Well I would and I'm not the only one! There's more than one man who'd slit his throat for what he's done to Fowler. Poor lad's back on duty! His fingers and toes are split and bleeding and he's expected to climb the rigging!" Kerrison clenched his fist, then slowly let go his anger. He turned to Jonathan again, deep concern showing in his hazel eyes. "How are you doing? All right?" "I'm sore and I'm bruised but Pike has assured me that I won't die." Jonathan's joke fell flat. Kerrison continued to stare at him, his eyes haunted as if he was reliving Jonathan's ordeal. "What's happening up top?" Jonathan asked quickly trying to change the subject. They'd both be sniveling at this rate. "Weather's worsening again. We only found half the transports. Frost's been chasing all over looking for them, but he'll not find them in weather like this. Mr Bowles reckons that the others have probably turned back which is what he advised Frost to do. The Captains of the remaining transports want to do the same. But of course Frost rejected that. He says his orders are to go to Bantry Bay and that's what he'll do. He'll bloody kill the lot of us in the process!" "And what are the whispers concerning Ned Grayson?" Jonathan asked. "Do the men still have it in for him?" Jonathan had also had time to worry about Grayson and what might befall the youngest middy whilst no one was watching over him. Kerrison narrowed his eyes. "I never said they had it in for him!" "No, but you implied it!" Jonathan pressed on. "I feel it my duty to watch out for him Jack. I'm worried about him." "Yer duty eh?" Kerrison asked, his eyes glinting with something Jonathan did not recognise. "Yer duty or is it something else? Yer seem to be awfully eager to take his punishment and stand up for the little bastard." "And what is that supposed to mean?" Jonathan asked, his voice rising sharply. "It's no different from you and Fowler! You seem to be rather fond of HIM! Just how close are you to him anyway?" "Jealous are yer, Misssssssterrrrr Rrrrriley?" Kerrison crooned, his voice low. "NO, are you jealous of Ned?" Jonathan retorted not quite ready to let go of his anger. "Yer bloody know I am!" Kerrison grabbed the back of Jonathan's neck and pulled him in for a rough hard kiss. "Yer mine! And that says yer are!" He pulled the sheet back to reveal his mark and gasped. Jonathan's tattoo was almost hidden by bruises and welts, many of which still oozed watery blood. Kerrison let the sheet drop and looked away. "I'm sorry." "It's all right Jack. We're both...angered by what has happened. We should try not to take it out on each other." Jonathan touched the rough hand that rested beside him. "I'm sorry too," "I want to thank you for what yer did for Fowler. He's calling you his guardian angel, yer know." Kerrison cracked a halfhearted smile. "I wouldn't have been so brave." "Yes you would have, Jack. Besides, I did it for you. I knew he was your friend." Kerrison smiled and tangled his fingers in Jonathan's hair. "That might have been one reason, but I know yer better." He smiled gently. "Even if I hadn't spoken to yer about Fowler yer still would have done it anyway." Kerrison leaned in again for a kiss. It was gentler this time. "I always said yer were soft, Mr Riley." Chapter Twenty-six "Did you know there was a mutiny in the Bantry Bay squadron?" Kerrison asked. They were standing at the crosstrees, enjoying a brief break in the weather. For all the pain it had cost Jonathan to climb there, he had wanted the peace and quiet that it offered. Of course Kerrison had followed once he had spotted Jonathan climbing. Now they stood together, watching the men below as they aired the sails from the sail locker or dried their clothes and hammocks trying to prevent mold and mildew. On the horizon loomed the threat of yet another storm. The sunshine would not last. "Mangles told me." Kerrison continued. "He was in the captain's gig when he went aboard those transports in Poole. News had come in just that morning." Kerrison pushed his hair from his eyes before continuing, obviously waiting for Jonathan to comment. "No idea what it was over, but the lads seem to have their own ideas." "Tell me, Jack. You are being far too evasive lately and I don't like it." Jonathan shifted uncomfortably easing his weight from one leg to the other. Since his caning yesterday he had found it almost impossible to find a position that did not hurt. Even the touch of his breeches was painful. "They reckon the Irish are rising and that the crews tried to join them. That's why we are escorting the troops; to quell the uprising." "I doubt it! Lionel told me they are just the regular garrison being changed. The Regiment had been in...South America somewhere. I can't remember what he said." Lionel Thockmorton's visit last night had consisted of a monologue of news and gossip, all of it light, at no time mentioning either Jonathan's punishment or the growing uneasiness that seemed to pervade the ship. "Doesn't matter, I suppose. Lord knows where the bloody transports are now." Kerrison grumbled. After the storms last night the remaining troop transports had been scattered completely. The Indefatigable herself had been blown off course and was currently sailing somewhere in the Atlantic. Jonathan had been assigned to light duties through the night, a small concession, but one he greatly welcomed. He had felt weak and shaken when he finally quit the infirmary and was thankful he did not have to go on deck during the storm. Come the morning watch, Hepplewhite had declared him fit for duty again and Jonathan had spent the morning supervising repair work. "There's murmurings below decks. Nothing specific, but the men are far from happy." Kerrison pointed north east to where the storm was building again. "The bloody weather isn't helping either." "Jack, is there anything you should tell me? Anything specific, I mean? If the men are planning something, then you should tell me." "And what would you do? Tell the captain?" Kerrison's question made Jonathan pause; the answer did not seem clear cut anymore. Jonathan answered Kerrison's question with one of his own. "Would you tell me Jack? If you did know something, would you tell me?" Kerrison looked long and hard into Jonathan's eyes, "If I knew anything for certain, I'd tell you. Yer have my word on that." "Well you'd be doing your duty then, wouldn't you," Jonathan concluded. "Just as I would do mine, I suppose." The storm that struck that evening lasted for four days. It battered the Indy, blowing her further off course. Men were lost overboard as Frost tried in vain to battle the elements. Two experienced top men, Jones and Allen, were lost from the rigging when Frost waited to long to take in the sails. Jonathan wondered how their loss would effect the volatile situation. Both had been good workers and had no doubt been a steadying influence on the crew. There were injuries as well; broken bones and dislocations, chills and fevers. Ben Fowler had two toes amputated when they started showing signs of infection. The constant savage motion of the ship had even the most seasoned sailors feeling queasy; a situation made worse by the cold soggy rations that became their daily fare. Water seeped in everywhere below decks; through hatches and air vents, on clothes and on bodies. The pumps worked around the clock but it did little to relieve the damp chill conditions. Everything was perpetually wet. Jonathan found mold growing in his sea chest. Through it all Frost kept up a steady stream of floggings often administered below decks if the weather was too bad. The sharp smell of blood seemed worse in the enclosed spaces below decks and hung in the air long afterwards. The sound of the cat striking flesh, of men's moans and cries echoed off the bulkheads. It was the stuff of nightmares.   Chapter Twenty-seven Then suddenly on Sunday morning, the rain stopped, the wind abated and the Indefatigable found herself alone on an empty sea. She rested, hardly moving in the unnatural stillness. Above, the sun was a dim shadow behind a layer of grey cloud. Those of the crew who were superstitious began whispering amongst themselves. Some took comfort in prayer, a few blessing themselves openly, more afraid of the eerie conditions than of announcing their papist allegiance. Others, who scorned both God and fate showed their practicality by airing their clothes and bedding, preferring to rely on themselves than wonder at providence. On the quarterdeck there was great discussion as the captain and Mr Bowles attempted to find their position. Their raised voices carried the length of the ship, indicating an argument was about to erupt. Lieutenant Overton was there too, trying to act as mediator. Jonathan climbed into the rigging to get a better view. In the midst of it all stood Pip Moseby, sextant at the ready, trying to keep a straight face despite the serious situation between his seniors. Moseby's natural effervescence seemed impossible to break. "Mr Riley." Jack Kerrison was standing at Jonathan's feet. "Yes Mr Kerrison?" he replied formally as he climbed back to the deck. There were working parties all over the deck and they could easily be overheard. Kerrison looked around, his eyes guarded, his manner hesitant. "I'm off to down to the hold with the quartermaster's mate and some of the marines to reorganize the stores. The captain reckons they are off balance." Kerrison's tone showed what he thought of that. He bent a little closer and pitched his voice low. "Be careful. Something's not right." Kerrison looked around again. "Come to my berth tonight and we can talk. I'll get rid of Pike for a while." Kerrison moved off. "Mr Kerrison?" Jonathan called after him, a strange uneasiness creeping up his spine. But Kerrison kept walking and disappeared down the main companionway. Jonathan looked around the deck. Everywhere men were going about their duties. Crewmen were replacing ropes, checking the mountings on the guns. Nothing seemed unusual. The sail maker was preparing to hoist new canvas, a job that Jonathan would assist with shortly. Perhaps it was the strange conditions that had made Kerrison uneasy? Jonathan looked up at the sky then down to the sea. Not a breath of wind touched his face. It was as if some invisible barrier surrounded them. Suddenly he remembered a butterfly he had caught as a child. He had brought it in to the kitchen and placed it on the table, upending a glass to trap it inside. He had watched as the butterfly fluttered and fluttered unable to get free. That's what it felt like; as if someone had surrounded them in glass, cutting them off from everything, watching to see what would happen. On the quarterdeck the voices rose again, bringing Jonathan back to reality. "NO Mr Bowles, we will NOT return home. We will continue on to Bantry Bay with or without the transports. Once there we will seek further orders from Admiral Mitchell. Do you understand me?" "Haul away there!" Lieutenant Hay's voice echoed from the forecastle where a new yard was being raised. "And what's more Mr Bowles..." The voices seemed unnaturally loud in the still conditions. "Almost ready Mr Riley. Lend a hand if you please." Jonathan turned to answer the sailmaker and the world shattered. His head exploded in a flash of pain and he fell to the deck, dazed. On the forecastle the spar crashed to the deck in a tangle of rigging and curses. Screams, cries and finally shots came from the quarterdeck as Jonathan struggled to stay conscious. He fought down the sickening nausea that came in the aftermath of the agony in his head and tried to push himself up with his hands. "Stay there Mr Riley sir, they'll only hit yer again." Jonathan focused on the dark drops of blood that were dripping onto the deck in front of him. His blood. His head was agony, his stomached churned. Slowly he turned his head enough to see a pair of feet at his side. One foot was wrapped in a grubby bandage. It was missing two toes. "Keep still Sir, I'd not like to see yer get hurt." Blood was now dripping into Jonathan eyes and he wiped it away, feeling his temple where he had been struck. Slowly his perception widened again and he heard the sounds of fighting; the clash of metal, feet running, another pistol shot. A scream, loud and long was cut off abruptly. A splash overboard. Something came tumbling down the stairs to the quarterdeck to land with a thud some distance away. "Pip!" Jonathan gasped. Moseby lay face down, a small pool of blood slowing spreading from beneath him. The fingers of his outstretched hand spasmed on the deck as if seeking purchase. Jonathan pushed himself to his knees and the world tilted around him. When his head steadied again he looked up at Fowler who held a belaying pin. It was clean. Fowler had not been his assailant. "Let me go to Mr Moseby. He's hurt badly." Fowler hesitated and looked around as if seeking someone. Finally he looked back at Jonathan and nodded. "But stay on yer hands and knees Mr Riley and don't try anything. I don't want to have to hit yer Sir." Moving was harder to do than Jonathan had anticipated. Every movement caused his stomach to rebel and his head to sway. He felt faint, light headed. Blood still dripped down his face. "Pip," he whispered when he reached Moseby's side. A faint moan was the only reply from the injured Midshipman. "Help me turn him over," Jonathan asked of Fowler who was still beside him. "Please." "Here! Leave him there! We'll throw him over the side when we finish with the rest of 'em." Jonathan looked up into the hardened eyes of Miller. He held a bloodied knife and a boarding ax and had a sword strapped to his waist. "Don't look so shocked Mr Riley. Surely you didn't think we'd be beaten," he boasted, a cruel grin on his face. He looked Jonathan up and down for a minute considering his fate. "You'll be handy to us. I want you alive. Take him down and lock him in one of the galley storerooms Ben." "NO!" Jonathan protested loudly. "Let me take Pip too. He's still alive and I won't let you throw him overboard. You'll have to kill me too." A slow smile creased Miller's weathered face. "Yer got guts Mr Riley. I'll give yer that. All right then, if yer can get him down there yer can take him." Miller looked Jonathan up and down again. "Yer did a good thing for young Ben here, and besides, I like yer hair!" Chapter Twenty-eight With the help of Ben Fowler, Jonathan managed to drag Pip Moseby below. The Midshipman's coat was covered in blood and it appeared he had been shot in the shoulder. As Jonathan laid him on the floor in the small, darkened storeroom, Moseby opened his eyes. "Jonathan, they killed the captain," he said weakly. Jonathan wiped the blood from his eyes again and tried to collect his thoughts. What had happened on deck? A mutiny? Who was behind it? Who was dead? He looked again at Moseby and his blood soaked clothes. Bandages, he needed bandages and water and...the surgeon. He needed Mr Hepplewhite. Jonathan licked his lips; he wasn't thinking logically. Of course the mutineers would not offer any assistance. They were prisoners. If only he could close his eyes and sleep for a while, he'd be able to think better then. "They stabbed Lieutenant Overton and threw him overboard." Moseby's weak voice roused Jonathan. "They were in the party who were working on the rigging. No one saw them until it was too late." Suddenly the door was thrown open and two more bodies were thrust into the storeroom; Witherspoon and Grayson, both unharmed. The latter promptly burst into tears. "Oh God, Jonathan, your head. Pip...Oh...God!" Witherspoon too was on the verge of panic. "You'll have to help me Charlie. Pip's in a bad way and I'm not thinking right. It's my head you see." Suddenly Jonathan thought of Jack Kerrison. Tears sprang to his eyes. What had happened to the Master's Mate? He dashed a hand angrily across his eyes and sat back against the bulkhead. "It's all right Jonathan. I'll help." To Jonathan's amazement Witherspoon rallied himself and began taking off his coat and waistcoat. He untied his neck kerchief and wrapped it around Jonathan's head. "That might stop the bleeding," he explained hesitantly. "And we can use my waistcoat on Pip." They both looked at Moseby who resembled a cadaver in the faint light of the storeroom. "What should we do?" Witherspoon asked? "Pray," Jonathan suggested as he started unbuttoning Moseby's blue coat.     An hour later their prayers were answered. As Jonathan leaned against the store room bulkhead trying to stop himself falling to sleep the key grated in the lock again and the door opened. Jack Kerrison and Joseph Pike were ushered in unceremoniously. Neither appeared to be injured although Pikes hands were bloodied as if he had been tending the wounded. "Help Pip," Jonathan murmured, his strength almost at an end. Moseby lay still, his head pillowed on Witherspoon's coat. "Shit, did you two try and take 'em on single handed?" Pike asked as he peered beneath the waistcoat they had used as a dressing. "Looks like they got the better of yer both." "Are you all right?" Kerrison knelt down and examined Jonathan. "You've been asking me that a lot lately, Mr Kerrison." The ghost of a smile flicked across Kerrison's eyes. "Well someone has got to look after yer." "Bloody ball's still in there," Pike declared, wiping his bloodied hands through his hair. "I need something to use to get it out. Is there anything in here?" "I don't think so," Witherspoon offered. "There are just stores; cheese, casks of flour and oats, some coffee that must belong to the Officers." On Jonathan's orders, both he and Grayson had searched their small prison. "It's very dark so we might have missed something," Grayson added in his small voice. Dark it was; indeed the only light was that which struggled in through two small air vents set high in the bulkhead. "I doubt they would leave us anything sharp or dangerous," Kerrison pointed out from where he crouched beside Jonathan. "Call 'em then. See if they'll bring me some instruments. We need some water and vinegar too and a slops bucket. I got to piss." "Do you think they'll listen Jack?" Jonathan asked. His head was still aching and his vision seemed to swim when he tried to look from side to side. "They might," Kerrison said, rising to his feet. "They need us. Some over excited bastard cut Hepplewhite's throat. Pike here is the only one aboard approaching a surgeon now." He gave a wry smile. "And as for me, well they are keen to get me to side with them. They have no one to sail the ship. Mr Bowles has refused. They locked him in the hold I think, hoping he will change his mind in the dark with the rats. They are too scared to kill him yet as there are so few of us who can navigate." "What happened to Lionel?" Jonathan asked. Things were slowly returning to him. "No idea. He wasn't on deck and I haven't seen him. Hay is dead, crushed by the spare. Sutcliffe and his mates too. They were never popular below decks." Kerrison began poking around the casks and bags and boxes. "Why didn't the marines do something?" Jonathan rubbed at his eyes, still sticky with blood. He wanted to wash his face. "Some tried, but they were the first group to be taken. There were over half of them down in the hold with me, moving those stores. The bastards locked the hatch on us!" "How do you know all this, Jack?" Kerrison paused in his investigations and looked back at Jonathan. "They told me; Miller and Watson and Kettle and Mangles. They brought me out of the hold and asked me to join them, to navigate for them. That's where I been, in the Captain's quarters! I told them no and so they brought me here with Pike when he finished tending their wounded." "Well I couldn't let poor bloody Seaton bleed to death, now could I?" Pike defended in case anyone present thought him a part of the mutiny. "I wouldn't do that to any man, not when I could help him, like! But I told 'em I wouldn't side with 'em, so they locked me in here with you poor bastards." "Why did they spare us?" Charlie Witherspoon asked. He was seated against a cask, Ned Grayson close at his side. Kerrison scratched his head as he considered the two youngest midshipmen. "Mr Riley was probably spared because might know some navigation and because a lot of the lads think a lot of what he did for Ben Fowler. But you two; I don't know? It might simply depend on who found yer. Not all men are fond of killing boys. How were you taken?" "We were in the middies berth," Witherspoon explained, his face taking on a deep flush. "Listen, there'll be one less Middy if someone doesn't do something soon," Pike interrupted. "That ball has got to come out. I need some things, bandages, sea water; some rum wouldn't go astray either. And I'm fit to burst for want of pissin'!" "Jack," Jonathan spoke up, the essence of a plan slowly forming in his head. "Jack perhaps you might be able to get some help, and even get us free! You could tell the mutineers you had changed your mind and that you would help them if they gave Mr Pike the medical supplies he needs. Then, when you are at liberty, you can release us and the other loyal men. We could retake the ship." Pike came over and stared into Jonathan's eyes then carefully unwound the crude bandage on his head. "You're not thinking straight Mr Riley. You've taken a blow to yer head and yer have a concussion." "If know that Mr Pike," Jonathan said irritably batting Pikes hands away as they continued to feel his head. "But we have to do something!" "Jonathan's right," Kerrison replied pacing the floor. "They'll not keep us for long. They'll kill us if we are of no use to them. And the longer the ships flounders here, the greater the chance of us all dying anyway!" Kerrison bit his lip, thinking. "It's three days until Christmas and they are bound to get into the spirits locker by then. They'll be so drunk that we just might stand a chance." Kerrison hunkered down on the other side of Jonathan. "Is he going to be all right?" The question was for Pike, and Jonathan felt irritated by Kerrison's disregard. "Of course I am all right, Jack." He pushed at Pike who was still peering at him. "Just leave me be! I just feel tired," "He's a bit addled, yer can tell by his manners." Pike spoke over the top of Jonathan's head to Kerrison. "But he should be all right if he keeps quiet for a bit. Need to keep him awake for a while too, just to have an eye to him." "You go see to Mr Moseby while I have a quiet word to Mr Riley," Kerrison directed. Pike rolled his eyes, scratched his nose and grunted before moving off. "I'm all right you know Jack!" Jonathan said again. "I'm more worried about you. Whatever you do, please be careful." "Course I will," Kerrison winked. "If I'm not careful I can't bloody well save you!" "Do whatever you have to Jack, to get us free. You're our only hope and it's our duty to try and retake the ship!" Jonathan tried to get up, but Kerrison took hold of his shoulders and held him down. "I should be doing something too Jack, but I feel so tired." "Just you stay quiet and don't fret about it, yer hear? I'll do whatever it takes, don't worry." They looked at each other, eyes saying things that they could not say aloud in the confines of the storeroom. Kerrison reached out and touched Jonathan's fingers with his own. "Don't give up hope, no matter what happens. I'll get yer out of this. I swear it to yer!" "I trust you Jack." One last smile, one cheeky wink and Kerrison was on his feet, rapping at the door with his fist, demanding to see Miller. Then he was gone, the door locked again, the room suddenly colder because of his absence. Jonathan shivered. Chapter Twenty-nine It was almost dark when Ben Fowler brought them water, food, grog, some surgical instruments, bandages and a slops bucket. "I'll need a lantern or at least a candle!" Pike declared, scowling at the boy. "I can't work in the bloody dark!" "That's all they'll let you have," Fowler told him. "Jack told me to tell yer to be grateful for it." He scurried out the door, locking it behind himself. "Shit!" Pike exclaimed, placing the bucket in one corner and emptying his bladder unselfconsciously. "They must think I'm a bloody barn owl." "Can't you wait until the morning when you can see a little better?" Jonathan asked. Outside the two vents, the sky was deep indigo. "No, the longer that ball stays in there, the more chance there is of the wound going putrid. There's bits of his shirt and coat in there too! I got to clean the whole thing out. Here, you two stop that!" Pike turned sharply on Grayson and Witherspoon who were sipping at the grog that had been left." "I'll need that! Good for washing the instruments. Don't drink it. Now all of you come over here and I'll tell yer what to do. You too Mr Riley, I'll help yer like." It fell to Jonathan to cradle Moseby's head on his lap as he sat propped against the bulkhead. Witherspoon and Grayson sat either side, holding the injured midshipman as he struggled under Pike's ministrations. It was a relief when Moseby finally passed out. Pike for his part did what Jonathan thought was impossible. He prodded and probed and found the ball in the darkness, washing the wound again and again with sea water and grog. Finally he bandaged Moseby's shoulder then his washed hands in the remaining sea water before running them through his short spiky hair. "Don't want to wipe them on me clothes! I only got one set," he explained when he noticed Jonathan's stare. "Easy to wash yer hair. That's why I keep it short. A bucket of sea water and it's all fine again." Jonathan doubted any amount of water would ever wash away the smell of Moseby's blood. It was everywhere in the small stuffy storeroom. Jonathan's stomach turned as he noticed new splashes staining his white breeches. "You should try to eat and drink something Mr Riley," Pike offered Jonathan a ships biscuit. "I feel a little ill," Jonathan said, not taking the food. "It's yer head, that's all. But yer doing real well so don't let it bother yer. At least yer not spewing yer guts up." Jonathan looked over to where Witherspoon and Grayson were seated once more together, nibbling on ship's biscuits. "You did well too Gentlemen," he said, hoping to ease some of the fear he saw in their faces. "I'm sure Pip will be all right now and in a few days we'll all be free. You'll see." Chapter Thirty By morning Pip Moseby had a fever. It slowly grew until the boy was delirious, his mind rambling, his skin hot and dry. Pike sat with him, pouring drops of grog into the semi conscious midshipman. He unwrapped the bandages, sniffed the wound, washed it again with more sea water, wiped his brow with a damp cloth, but all to no avail. The day wore on. "Better he go like this than linger on for days with gangrene," Pike said softly. The surgeons mate and Jonathan now sat either side of Moseby, the smell of stale sweat and blood, strong in their nostrils. The boy was murmuring a name over and over, Maria. "Who was she?" Pike asked "I don't know," Jonathan admitted. He could not accept the fact that Pip was going to die. Something would happen. Kerrison would come through yet! "It was that woman in Portsmouth, the lady." Charlie Witherspoon spoke up. He and Grayson had sat quietly for most of the day. There was little else to do. "He told me that he loved her and I laughed at him," Witherspoon's eyes filled with tears. Towards dusk, Moseby opened his fever-glazed eyes and looked up. Jonathan took his hand and held it gently. He looked hopefully at Pike thinking that Pip was rallying at last but Pike shook his head. "It was so good Jonathan, so much better than you made it out to be." Moseby's voice was a feeble whisper, faltering and weak. "Lionel was right though. He always said there was nothing better in life than a willing woman that you didn't have to pay." Pike grunted. "I had a bottle of fine Scotch whiskey once that came very close." Pip took a shallow breath. "But don't tell my mother I said that, Jonathan. If you see her will you tell her that I love her, please?" "Your mother Pip? Yes I'll tell her." "No Maria!" The young midshipman whispered anxiously. He squeezed Jonathan's hand as if to press home the point. "Tell her I love her." "You can tell her yourself, Pip, when we get back to Portsmouth." Jonathan's words fell on deaf ears for Moseby had slipped back into unconsciousness. Jonathan sat his vigil through the night, his own head still throbbing and painful, unable to sleep. Pike dozed beside them, waking every now and again to check on both his charges as he had the previous night. Across the small room, Witherspoon and Grayson slept curled together like two pups. There was no way to tell the time for the ship's bell had ceased to ring; the hour and half-hour glasses left idle. Somewhere on the morning side of midnight Pip Moseby breathed his last. Jonathan, still cradling Moseby's head, felt the body go still. He waited, unable to believe the finality. He felt the fire that had burned away Pip's life cool and die. Moseby's skin became cold. "Pike!" Jonathan's call roused the sleeping mate. "Do something!" Jonathan gripped Moseby's shoulders and shook him roughly as if to wake his friend. "Shhh now. He's at rest." Pike took hold of Jonathan's hands and held them away. "He's at rest. Don't fret yourself." Pike eased the body from Jonathan's lap and laid it on the floor, covering it with Moseby's discarded coat. Jonathan choked as he tried to stop the sobs that built in his throat aching to be let out. "Come on Mr Riley. Now's not the time to fall to pieces." Pike nodded towards the two sleeping midshipmen. "They look up to you and if you break down then they'll follow. I don't need three wailing midshipmen on me hands." "But what are we going to do Pike?" Jonathan asked, trying to master himself. He snuffled noisily fighting back his tears. "They'll throw Pip's body overboard in the morning when they find him. No service, no...dignity." Jonathan wiped at his eyes. Pike shrugged. "Don't make a lot of difference if yer ask me." "Well it does to me! Wake the others. We'll say a few words now before they take him. Maybe we can dress him in his shirt and coat again too," Witherspoon and Grayson were woken and fought their own battle against sorrow and tears. "Come now Gentlemen, Mr Moseby died bravely and would expect us to carry on the same way. Let us pay him our final respect." They did not dress Moseby in his blue Midshipman's coat for it was too stiff with blood. Instead Charley Witherspoon took off his own and put it on his dead friend in one final act of kindness. When all was ready, it fell to Jonathan to conduct their makeshift service. He'd heard many burials at sea, yet the proper words deserted him. He searched his memory for a bible passage but could only remember snatches from here and there. The Old Testament scrambled with lines from Shakespeare; storms and tempests and fires from heaven. Nothing seemed appropriate. He settled for something from his childhood; a prayer he had learnt from Jerusha Tyler, simple and beautiful; one which his mother had thought fitting for a small child to recite at night. The words were forever stamped on his soul. With a few small changes they were ideal. "Gentle Jesus meek and mild, Look upon your dearest child, Pity his simplicity, and suffer him to come to thee. Fain he would be brought to thee, Dearest God forbid it not, Give him dearest God a place, In the Kingdom of thy Grace."*   The other's listened, tears silently filling their eyes. As they echoed 'Amen' the first faint light of dawn lit the sky beyond the vents. It was Christmas Eve.   Note: *Charles Wesley 1742 This hymn, which Jonathan uses as a prayer was written by the brother of John Wesley, founder of the Methodists. I do not know if it was in general use in 1801, in fact I suspect it was used by Methodists only. BUT given what we know about Jonathan's mother, I suspect it is quite likely she may have heard Jerusha the maid and thought it acceptable and taught it to her son, regardless of it's origins. Chapter Thirty-one They took Pip Moseby's body when they brought the rations that morning, lugging it away as one would a sack of oats. "I want to speak with Jack Kerrison!" Jonathan demanded as he struggled up from the floor, head spinning as he tried to gain his feet. "Tell him I want to speak with him!" The outburst brought a gruff laugh from one of the seaman. "I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear that Mr Riley," the man declared before locking the door again. "You'll bloody get us all killed if yer go on like that!" Pike declared "Do yer want them to know you two are in this together?" Jonathan sat down again and rested his head on his knees. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking," he sighed. "I feel so...helpless." "Yer doing just fine, Mr Riley. How's yer head now?" Pike's big rough hands lifted Jonathan's face so he could stare into his eyes before feeling his forehead. Looking for fever, Jonathan surmised. "My head is a little better, but I feel faint when I stand up, as if the room is turning. I don't feel sick anymore." "Thank God for that then." Pike looked more relieved than Jonathan had imagined he would. Perhaps the surgeons mate had been worried about him after all? The day passed slowly. The Indefatigable was sailing south now from what Jonathan could determine by the angle of light coming through the vents. By her motion and progress Jonathan thought it unlikely that the mutineers had been able to replace the foremast. At this rate their supplies would run out long before they reached America. Sometime soon they would be forced to take on fresh water and supplies. Africa perhaps? Kerrison seemed to know that coastline well. Thoughts of Kerrison brought a flutter to Jonathan's stomach, but it had little to do with lust. It was an uneasy feeling, akin to fear, but not quite the same. Doubt, uncertainty? Surely by now Kerrison must have made some sort of plan to get them free. Why hadn't he come to speak with them? Maybe Pike was right. Maybe Jack did need to distance himself in order for his ruse to work. Tomorrow would be Christmas day, a day when Officers and Crew alike were known to indulge in an excess of drink. That the mutineers had so far avoided the lure of the spirits locker amazed Jonathan. The ringleaders were probably keeping it under lock and key whilst they got the ship into shape and moving again. But tomorrow the men would expect a day of rest and celebration. Jonathan would be ready.   Chapter Thirty-two "Mr Miller wants to see you Mr Grayson." A rough looking seaman by the name of Pickford leered at the startled Midshipman before grabbing Grayson by the arm and hauling him to his feet. "Come along nicely now then, Mr Miller has got something special planned for you." Grayson began to struggle. It was early in the afternoon watch on Christmas day, or thereabouts, by Jonathan's calculations. The noise of drunken revelry had been growing stronger and louder as the day wore on but the prisoners had been left in peace until now. Jonathan stood, staggering like a drunken man himself. "Unhand Mr Grayson. You are not taking him anywhere. That's an order!" Pickford and his companion Hart, one of the newly pressed men from the prison hulk, laughed loudly. "It don't look like yer in any position to be giving orders now Mr Riley," Pickford sneered as he pulled Grayson towards the door. Hart crossed to where Jonathan stood swaying. The blow was unexpected, Hart's big fist landing heavily in his stomach. Jonathan crumpled; the air forced from his lungs. He fell to the deck, doubled in pain, his head striking the planking with a thud. Ned Grayson began screaming, his voice loud and high until a backhand from Pickford silenced him. "Do something!" Jonathan gasped to Pike. He tried to sit up, but the room swam madly about him. "Keep quiet or you'll get us all killed." Pike knelt beside Jonathan and held his shoulders. "Stay down, for God's sake!" Charlie Witherspoon made a sudden lunge at Pickford who was still struggling with Grayson. He caught the crewman's arm and bit him whilst kicking him in the shins. Pickford yelped and Hart came to his rescue grabbing Witherspoon around the throat and squeezing until he boy let go. A final blow to Witherspoon's face sent him flying across the cabin, crashing into one of the casks. With one last vulgar oath Pickford and Hart dragged Grayson out the door. "Sit there and don't move," Pike ordered. "Yer knocked yer head again. Lord knows what yer done to yerself." He crossed to where Witherspoon lay dazed against the casks, moaning slightly. "Bloody lot of fools, that's what yer are!" "We should have stopped them taking Neddy!" Jonathan's anguish changed to anger. "We couldn't have stopped them!" Pike declared, just as angry. "But you don't understand! They might...they might..." Jonathan mind whirled as the overheard whisperings of Miller, the warnings from Kerrison and his own growing knowledge of the men below decks came together to form ugly pictures. Was Miller planning some act of revenge upon Grayson for his part in Fowler's flogging? Or was this a different matter, something far older and far more base. Jonathan hadn't forgotten what he had overheard in the hold; Miller had wanted Ned Grayson. "What might they do Jonathan?" Witherspoon's mouth and nose dripped blood. "Why do they want Neddy?" "Here sit still a minute while I straighten yer nose. That bastard broke it." Witherspoon gasped as Pike's large hands closed around his nose. Jonathan looked away. He heard Witherspoon's sharp intake of breath and muffled groan. "That's got it." Jonathan looked back to see Pike wiping his hands through his hair again, the sticky blood making the spikes stand even higher. "Jonathan, what's going to happen to Neddy? " Charlie asked again, his lips were beginning to swell and puff. A dark bruise was already visible on his pale face that was covered now with blood. "Will they kill him?" Jonathan saw the fear in Charlie's eyes and knew it was reflected in his own. "I don't know Charlie, I honestly don't know." Chapter Thirty-three They brought Ned Grayson back late that afternoon. They threw him in the door, the boy barely keeping his feet under the rough treatment. Grayson stood in the middle of the room for a moment, bruises visible on his face and at his wrists. His necktie was missing and more bruising could be seen around his neck. His hair was loose from it's queue and the buttons on his blue coat were done up all wrong. "Neddy, are you all right?" Jonathan asked gently, but Grayson did not answer. The youngest midshipman moved to sit in a dark corner, blank eyed and silent. He pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them with his arms. "Neddy?" Jonathan tried again but there was no response from Grayson. It was Charlie Witherspoon who crawled over to where Grayson sat and tried to slip his arm around Grayson's shoulders. The boy pulled away and shrank further back into the corner, whimpering. Witherspoon moved away slightly and looked askance at Jonathan, expecting answers. "Perhaps you should take a look at him?" Jonathan whispered quietly to Pike. The surgeon's mate shook his head. "Wouldn't do any good. Not hard to guess what's been done to him. The last thing the lads would want is me prodding and poking about. Best to leave him be." "But you'll have to make a report when we get home. You'll need evidence to support any charges." "I got evidence. You can see those bruises as well as I can. That's plenty of evidence to bring a charge of striking an Officer." "But not of..." Jonathan hesitated to say the word. "No and for his sake it would be best to make no mention of it. Would YOU want something like that to be linked to your name? The stares and whispers would follow you for yer whole career." "No I wouldn't," Jonathan replied suddenly thinking of Archie Kennedy. "Then leave it as striking," Pike advised. "The bastards will hang for it anyway." Jonathan slept fitfully that night. His head had started aching again and his stomach was painful where Hart had struck him. Throughout the night Ned Grayson was troubled by dreams, calling out and waking in fright. Charlie Witherspoon sat beside his friend trying to comfort him, but to no avail. Grayson ignored him, ignore them all, lost in his own private hell. He finally settled into fitful slumber after Pike made him drink what remained of their grog ration. Once Grayson was asleep Charlie Witherspoon moved to sit beside Jonathan. "What did they do to Neddy?" Witherspoon asked, through his swollen lips. "Has he said anything to you Charlie?" Jonathan asked, hoping to avoid any mention of his suspicions. "No, he hasn't spoken a word to me. He was crying in his sleep, saying things, but I couldn't make out what they were." "Pike says it is best to let him be for a while, Charlie. When he is ready he might tell us." "Do you think they...hurt him Jonathan? Do you think they might come back and take him again? Would they take one of us, next time?" Charlie's eyes filled with fear and tears that he fought to hold back. "I am so scared Jonathan!" Jonathan took a shaking breath and slipped his arm around Charlie's shoulders. "We are all scared Charlie, even Mr Pike." The surgeons mate was snoring noisily beside the slops bucket, oblivious to the world. "But we have to be strong and not show our fear. We have to be ready for when Kerrison sets us free." Charlie leaned his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Do you think he will Jonathan? Do you think he will manage it? I know he's your friend, I've see you talking together many times, but can you really trust him?" The words echoed the thoughts that had been plaguing Jonathan all day. "Yes, I trust him. I trust him with my life." "That K, the tattoo you have. It stands for Kerrison, doesn't it?" Jonathan felt his blood turn to ice. He looked down at the brown eyes that stared up from his shoulder. There was no condemnation or loathing there, simply acceptance and an innocent trust. "Yes, it does. That's how I know he I can trust him." "I won't tell Jonathan. I won't tell a soul. I give you my word." The words were heartfelt, sincere. "I know you wouldn't Charlie. Now try and get some sleep." "Can I stay here like this? I feel safer with you." Jonathan smiled into the darkness and made himself comfortable. Charlie Witherspoon was not the only one who needed reassurance that night.   Chapter Thirty-four "Something's happening! Wake up!" Pike's voice roused Jonathan from sleep. As he opened his eyes he realised he had overslept. The others were already awake and Pike and Witherspoon were peering out the air vents. "They must have sighted land or something. I heard them on deck before sending someone up the look out." Jonathan got to his feet unsteadily. "We couldn't have made land yet. Not according to my calculations. We are on the wrong heading." Pike moved away and Jonathan peered out at the endless blue green sea, empty except for white caps. "It could be a ship. It might be astern or starboard or..." Jonathan stopped as Ned Grayson quietly walked over. "Do you think they have come to rescue us?" he asked weakly. They were the first words Grayson had spoken. "Let's hope so Neddy," Jonathan replied, trying not to stare at the boy. "Have you had something to eat yet?" Grayson shook his head. "Come and have some breakfast with me then. I think I am getting my appetite back. You keep an eye out here Charlie. Let me know if you see anything or hear anything." Grayson followed Jonathan over to where their rations were waiting. More ships biscuit and a little grog. But there was also cheese. Pike had opened one of the rounds of cheese and they had been sharing it at each meal. "Neddy, this is very important so I want you to think before answering." Jonathan concentrated on his biscuit as he spoke. He didn't want to pressure Grayson, but there were things he had to know. "Did you see or hear anything yesterday that might help us get free?" For the longest time Grayson sat staring at his biscuit, breaking off crumbs with his fingernail. Finally he whispered, "Mr Thockmorton is alive." "He is? Did you see him?" Jonathan felt his spirits lift at the news that Lionel had survived. "No, Mr Kerrison told me to tell you." "Mr Kerrison gave you a message?" Jonathan asked, surprised that Grayson had not mentioned this before. Ned Grayson blinked and frowned, his fingers scratching furrows in the biscuit. "I don't really know. I overheard him talking about Mr Thockmorton. That was before.... Then after, when they were bringing me back, Mr Kerrison said to tell you, because you would understand. I think he meant about Mr Thockmorton." Jonathan put down his biscuit and pushed his hair back from his face. What could the message mean? Was Kerrison intending to release Lionel first? Or was the message simply meant to allay Jonathan's fears about his friend's fate? "Are you sure that's all Mr Kerrison said?" Ned Grayson dropped the biscuit and wrapped his arms around his chest. "I don't remember. Everything happened, and I don't remember." He rocked himself back and forward in a pathetic attempt at comfort. "It's all right Neddy. It doesn't matter." Jonathan slid closer to the boy pleased when Ned didn't shy away. "You are safe now Neddy. We won't let them hurt you again." "I can see it!" Charlie's voice squeaked with excitement. "As we crested that wave just now, we were high enough and I saw it. It's a British frigate!" Jonathan scrambled up. Too quickly for his much abused head. The room swayed as he hurried to the vent. "Where?" "North, north east, I think. She is under full sail. Smaller than us, a sixth rate I'd say." "Are you sure she is one of ours?" Jonathan scanned the waves, but found nothing. Charlie Witherspoon nodded vigorously. "She was flying our flag!" "Could be a ruse?" Pike suggested. "We'd not stand a chance if she was French or American. The main deck must resemble bedlam!" Jonathan said. Overhead there was a rumble. "They are running out the guns," Jonathan murmured to himself, then louder. "They are running out the guns! They are planning to ambush her, lure her in and then fire upon her. She won't stand a chance against the Indy's guns, even if they don't fire them all." At that moment the frigate appeared, bobbing up between the troughs, only to sink below view again. She was small, very small, and flying signal flags that Jonathan could not make out. "Can you read them Charlie? Do you remember any of them without your book?" "I...I think so. I studied it hard because I wanted the captain to be pleased. But I only saw them briefly. I think one said 'help'." "The poor bastards probably think they are coming to our aid! They'd be able to see the torn sails and broken spars. Probably think it was the storms and that we are adrift." Pike peered over Jonathan's shoulder trying to get a better look as the ship hove into sight again. "We have to warn them somehow." Jonathan declared, leaving the vent to Pike and looking around the storeroom. "We can't let them become a target for Miller and the mutineers." Jonathan thought of the carnage that the Indy's greater gun power would do to the deck of the smaller ship. His eyes fell on Pip Moseby's bloodstained coat that still lay discarded in a corner. "That's it! Pips coat, and my shirt! They are bloodstained and if we hang them out the vents they will be seen. Hopefully the Captain will be a least a little cautious at seeing such a sight." "Yer not a bad thinker when your heads not addled Mr Riley!" Pike declared with a gap-toothed grin. His gaze fell to Jonathan's breeches. "Those might be better than the shirt though. There's no doubt then that an Officer or young gentlemen has been bleeding something chronic. You wearing any drawers? I reckon we seen enough of your arse lately!" "Off course I am," Jonathan answered with a blush. "And my shirt is long enough to protect my modesty anyway, Mr Pike." Jonathan slid out of his breeches, the blood stains now dark and hard. "Don't put them out yet. We risk having someone on the Indy see them. We must wait a little. The mutineers won't dare fire until they are sure they will hit their target. They will want her in very close. They will have to keep the gun ports closed until the final moment."   Chapter Thirty-five The waiting was painful. As the Indy rolled with the swell, showing tantalizing glimpses of the smaller frigate sailing ever closer, Jonathan and his fellow captives tried to be patient. Overhead muffled voices drifted down to them with snatches of words or half-formed phrases. "She's close enough," Jonathan decided when the frigate was less than half a mile away. "Push these out the vents and hold them tight. We need to keep them there as long as we are able." Moseby's coat, looking more brown than blue, was pushed out one vent. Charlie Witherspoon held the cuff of one sleeve, tears on his eyes. Jonathan did the same with his breeches, securing the ties at the back to a small peg in the bulkhead, just below the vent. "They must see them," he murmured, peering past the white fabric that almost blocked the vent. "They might have their eyes on the quarter deck, trying to see who is left in command," Pike said with a frown. Of course! Jonathan's mind whirled at the new possibilities. If there were no Officer's visible on deck, the frigate might become suspicious. That meant the mutineers would either bring up some of the remaining Officers under close guard or take their uniforms and wear them themselves. As if in answer to Jonathan's pondering, the storeroom door opened. Ben Fowler, a pistol held firmly in his hand addressed Jonathan. "Mr Miller wants you on the quarter deck in yer coat, please Sir." The boy dropped his eyes to Jonathan's bare legs, a frown growing on his forehead. He looked up to the vents. "Here, what are you about there?" He began uncertainly. Jonathan jumped, seizing Fowler's hand, forcing the pistol aside and wrestling it from the boy's grip. It wasn't hard. Fowler's fingers still showed signs of their brush with exposure. "Stay silent Ben Fowler or I will shoot you." Jonathan pointed the pistol at the frightened boy, noting that it was indeed loaded. He wondered what might have happened if it had discharged whilst they were struggling, but quickly pushed that thought aside. "Close the door Pike, and stand guard. Tell me if you hear anyone coming." Jonathan turned his attention back to Fowler who now crouched on the deck in fear. A plan...he needed a plan. "Tell me where Mr Kerrison is, Fowler." "He's up on the quarter deck where he's been every day." Fowler looked like a frightened cur groveling on the deck. "Yer not going to kill me are yer Mr Riley?" He suddenly looked very young and frightened. Jonathan reminded himself that the boy was not much older than Witherspoon. "Not if you do as I say, Fowler. Now tell me where the others are locked up? The Officers and the loyal men?" "In the hold, some of them are in chains." "She's coming along side," Charlie Witherspoon interrupted. "Neddy, tie Fowler up with something. Those bandages will do." Grayson hesitated and Jonathan reached over to grab his arm, dragging the boy closer. "Now Neddy! We need your help!" "OH Jonathan..." Witherspoon's exclamation was cut short by the explosion. The sudden rush of air knocked Jonathan off his feet, the pistol flying from his hand, his head striking the deck again. Dust, splinters, sparks filled the air as the bulkhead of storeroom was blown away by round shot. The noise followed a split second, a deafening roar that vibrated through the deck almost deafening Jonathan where he lay dazed. He was dimly aware that the Indy's guns were firing, ragged and few. The other frigate fired again and the Indy shook from her broadside. Someone was screaming, on and on. Something was burning, the room was filling with heat and smoke. The crackle of flames made Jonathan scramble to his knees. Small splinters peppered his arm and side. He coughed and looked around. The storeroom was on fire, flames leaping around, licking at the deck, flowing across the kegs and stores. The bulkhead was gone and in the next Jonathan could see a gaping hole in the Indy's hull. "Jump!" It was Pike, a voice of reason through the smoke and flames. The Indy shook again from another broadside from the small frigate, higher this time, raking across her deck. "Jump overboard." Pike called again. Jonathan peered through the smoke and dust to see Pike holding something that smoldered and burned. Charlie Witherspoon, his hair on fire, his clothes alight. He was screaming. "On yer feet Mr Riley. Come on!" Even as he jumped through the hull into the waters below, Witherspoon still held tightly in his grasp, Pike's voice could be heard calling to Jonathan. "Yes," Jonathan shook off his confusion and fear. The Indy listed as he staggered to his feet, bumping into something. Ned Grayson, still standing and showing now outward sign of injury, his eyes transfixed as he stared at the flames that reached out towards him. Jonathan pulled him away. "Out Neddy, jump." He pushed Grayson through what remained of the burning bulkhead into the other storeroom and pulled him towards the breach in the hull. They paused on the edge. Below the sea churned, grey and angry. Suddenly Jonathan turned back. Fowler! The young crewman was huddle by the door, scratching to get out. His face was cut and bleeding from splinters. Jonathan grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to where Grayson still hesitated. "Jump, now!" "I can't swim," Fowler wailed. The heat at their backs grew stronger. "I can," shouted Jonathan and he gave them both a mighty push. Chapter Thirty-six They hit the water with a force that stole Jonathan's breath. It was cold, far colder than the surf on the African coast where he had cavorted in the waves with Jack Kerrison. But Jack had taught him how to swim. Jack Kerrison, who even now might be somewhere in the water swimming for dear life to safety. Jonathan kicked his feet and surfaced. His eyes stung, his throat stung, the waves splashed over him. When he looked up, the Indy and the other frigate loomed like huge sea monsters waiting to crush him. Around him debris from the Indy's hull littered the water. Grayson and Fowler? Jonathan caught a glint of pale gold hair streaming down through the murky depths. He took a deep breath and dived, opening his eyes to watch the golden threads slip away. He reached, snagged some, reached again took hold of another handful of hair and pulled. He dragged Grayson to the surface and rolled him, face down onto a piece of plank. The boy lay still, his lips blue, water streaming from his nose and mouth. "Don't die now!" Jonathan struck Grayson's back with a might thump. "Not now!" He shouted again. The boy spluttered, choked and vomited up sea water. Jonathan looked around again. Fowler was several yards away, floundering. His arms and legs were thrashing the water in an attempt to stay afloat. It was a battle the boy was losing. Weariness descended on Jonathan as he floated beside the plank. He wanted to rest his head on the wooden pillow and close his eyes. He was tired, too tired to do this. But something compelled him. Kerrison might be watching; Kerrison, who knew Ben Fowler and called him friend. How could he ever face Jack Kerrison again knowing he had let Fowler die? Jonathan struck out, his stroke weak and uncoordinated. His head was pounding in time to the waves, or was it the ship's guns? Were they still firing? There was a roaring in his ears; it must be the guns. Fowler grabbed onto him and they both sank, struggling and fighting with one another momentarily until Fowler let go. Jonathan caught the back of his jerkin and hauled him up. "Don't fight me...we'll both drown. Just trust me. Trust me." He struck out for the planking again, tugging Fowler behind him. The boy was no longer fighting; perhaps he was unconscious. Jonathan set his sights on the plank where Ned Grayson lay. Ned was watching him, his blue eyes wide with terror. Those blue eyes became a beacon for Jonathan as he fought fatigue and lightheadedness, no longer certain of what he was doing or why he was doing it, only conscious that he had to keep going...that he must not stop. Blue eyes drew him on. Ned's eyes. Archie's eyes. He reached the plank and floated, aware that Fowler had scrambled onto the makeshift raft beside Grayson. Blue eyes...watching, waiting. A hand reached out. Kerrison? Kerrison's eyes weren't blue. Jonathan looked down at the sea waiting to take him. Kerrison's eyes were like the sea, grey-green, changeable. Kerrison was waiting for him. The hand came closer, reaching, but Jonathan closed his eyes, too tired to take it. He slid beneath the waves. The End