Many of the offences found within the articles of war carry a maximum penalty of death, however, the wording indicates that the guilty party, 'shall suffer death, or such other punishment, as shall, according to the nature and degree of his offence, be inflicted upon him by the sentence of the court marshal.'
Article 36 of the Articles of War demands that those guilty of any crime not earlier detailed be punished, 'according to the laws and customs used at sea.'
In this fic, the judges of the court martial reach a more imaginative idea combining punishment and promotion. Our Lieutenants get their commands, but there is a price to pay.
Non-canon, if you don't like it don't read it, please review anyway!!
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The Jamaican sun made feeble attempts to penetrate the panelled courtroom in which the three defendants had just been brought, and who sat in oppressive silence awaiting the arrival of the judges who were to pronounce the sentence of the court martial. The previous afternoon, the evidence of Mr. Kennedy had caused outrage. Now, his death early that same morning cast grief amongst the survivors. For the three surviving Lieutenants of the Renown, for the first time all present in court, the sentence was by no means certain.
Meanwhile, a conference was taking place between the judges in another room.
Commodore Sir Edward Pellew raked his stern gaze across the calm visage of Black Charlie Hammond, taking in his last comment.
'So, Hammond, what had you in mind?'
There was warning in his tone. Despite Kennedy's testimony exonerating the remaining defendants, it was clear as day that the man had known that he was dying, and that the sentence of the court martial would not hang a man whom it could not guarantee would survive long enough to be brought to the scaffold. Kennedy had taken a calculated risk in accepting guilt, but visible punishment was needed, especially in the wake of the mutiny aboard the Hermione not so many years before.
Hammond smiled slightly.
'Well, I daresay hanging them all from the nearest yardarm would be too spectacular. Shame our scapegoat died before he could be hung…'
The mild mannered Collins cut in angrily;
'Kennedy was obviously lying to protect the others, they're all guilty!'
Hammond clearly agreed with him, Pellew reflected. He personally agreed that Kennedy had lied, but wasn't about to admit as much. Still, the charge of mutiny could still be levelled.
Hammond spoke up insistently:
'Still, they must be punished, make an example of them.'
Pellew closed his eyes and exhaled. Damned difficult Irishman.
Collins buttoned the collar of his waistcoat and reached for his coat.
'Well, we do need a clear outcome. Captain Sawyers good name has been preserved, so we may be lenient.'
Pellew snorted impatiently.
'What do you suggest, flog them and send them on their way?'
The comment was unusually caustic and he regretted it an instant later as the eyes of the three men met and held. Some minutes later, in silent agreement, they left to pass sentence.
* * * * *
The courtroom rose to its feet as the Commodore entered at a brisk pace, followed by the two Captains. As the defendants stood awaiting sentence, the rest of the court seated itself. Pellew laid down some papers before him and rapped on the table, signifying that the court was in session. He glanced a moment at the three men before him.
The elder, Buckland, appeared troubled but stoic, the jagged scar livid against his forehead. His hands hung at his sides, seemingly loose, but a muscle in his neck betrayed the tension. Pellew wondered what sort of a job the man would have made at command had he not been prey to Sawyers constant undermining of his every decision for the past few years. His was an unfortunate situation. Bush, standing beside him, stooped slightly, pale and gaunter than before, evidently troubled by his healing wound. Here was a somewhat cautious if able officer, again to be pitied. Hornblower stood near, rigidly at attention, his face set in a bleak mask, unreadable. Kennedy's death marked it deeply however.
Pellew cleared his throat and the defendants looked directly to him, stiffening their shoulders. Hornblower and Buckland looked almost eager, in a resigned sort of way. Bush resigned and pained.
'Officers of His Majesty's ship Renown, the sentence of this court martial has found that you will not be convicted of the crime of mutiny which was charged against you. However, you will be punished under article 36 of the Articles of War, to take place aboard HMS Renown at noon two days from now. Take them down!'
Pellew brought his gavel down and the court erupted in mixed joy and disbelief.
* * * * *
In the prison sickbay, Bush lay back on his bed, his breathing heavy, watched by the other two. Hornblower, upon seeing Kennedy's empty bed reverted to stony silence, radiating hurt. Buckland stood quietly, deep in thought. All were startled as the marines announced the arrival of the Commodore. After dismissing the marines, Pellew addressed the three quietly watching men.
'It has been decided that considering the circumstances of these sorry events, you three will be made an example of by way of punishment. However, you will subsequently be re-posted to different ships. Mister Hornblower!'
Hornblower met the Commodore's eyes, his posture stiff.
'The Gaditana has been renamed Retribution, and will be under your command as a trial posting.'
Three heads jerked, three expressions showing varying levels of disbelief. Hornblower nodded stiffly.
'Thank you, sir. And my punishment, sir?'
'Three dozen at the gratings before the crew, Mister Hornblower.'
Hornblower flinched but inclined his head.
'Sir.'
Pellew fixed on bush, who stood against the wall, still pale.
'Mister Bush will also join Retribution, as your First Lieutenant. Mister Bush, owing to your existing injuries, it was decided that you should receive two dozen, under supervision of Dr. Clive.'
Bush paled further but nodded also. The Commodore turned to regard Buckland, who waited silently.
'Mister Buckland, you will command the sloop Penitence for a period of three months after which I will review your fitness for command. As you were senior aboard Renown and owing to events, your sentence is six dozen at the gratings.'
There was an intake of breath from the other two as they stared at Buckland, who had gone from appearing calm, to disbelieving, to …was it relief? Could the man be glad that this was to be his sentence?!! Pellew himself almost cringed at it, yet Buckland appeared to accept it as deserved, standing tall with shoulders squared. With a few words, the Commodore left the three in silence.
* * * * *
Two days later the mist which had been present in the early morning had burned out to clear blue sky, and the crew of the Renown swarmed around the ship making repairs and carrying out general duties. She was due to leave a few days later and restocking had been underway during the morning watches. Now, as noon drew nearer, more sombre preparations were made.
Several hands under the supervision of a new midshipman set a grating on the quarterdeck and lashed it in place, another laid out the three red linen bags ominously nearby. Each contained a new cat, one for each man to be punished with. The tension rose high - it was unheard of that three commissioned lieutenants were to be flogged, and in front of the entire crew as if they were common seamen. There was no little speculation below decks as to who would cower first, though no one knew the details of the individual sentences.
A cry went up as a jollyboat was seen approaching and the sides manned by curious men, soon to be replaced with a smartly turned out side party as the boats occupants were recognized. And an illustrious boatload it was, carrying the Commodore, two captains, the three hapless lieutenants and the surgeon. Once all were piped aboard, Sir Edward Pellew called all hands to witness punishment.
What happened next all witnesses remembered for a long time. They had all served under the three officers, some happily, some resentfully, and they stood in silence.
'By the sentence of the court martial, Lieutenant Hornblower, three dozen.'
The Commodore did not raise his voice but was heard by everyone. Hornblower appeared grim, his angular face set as he stripped off coat, waistcoat and neck cloth, dropping them in a heap by his side and walking stiffly up to the gratings, pulling off his shirt as he did so. Many of the men noticed that the Gunner Hobbs quietly retrieved the clothing from the floor and folded it, earning a nod from Buckland who stood with Bush and several marines to one side. Collins and Hammond took up a disinterested position near Pellew and watched in seeming boredom as a sinewy sailor secured horn blowers wrists to the grating and looked to the Commodore to begin. The drum roll sounded, Hornblower set his jaw, and the blows began to fall. At first, he made little reaction, evidently determined not to disgrace himself. Gradually though, as more wounds appeared, he seemed to sag a little, and the men became restless, some evidently angry at the sentence. Little noises escaped him, little flecks of blood spattered the watching men. As the final blows fell, his eyes closed and he supported himself against the gratings in exhaustion as his wrists were released. Unbidden, Matthews ran forward, knuckling his forehead before assisting Hornblower back to where the other two awaited punishment. Hobbs appeared solicitous, as did Styles, though he was evidently watching the pale face of Bush, who had shed coat and necktie as he recognized his turn to be next.
Several minutes elapsed as a hand swabbed Hornblower's blood from gratings and deck.
'By the sentence of the court martial, Lieutenant Bush, two dozen.'
Pellew looked ill at ease, and Clive stood watchfully as a new cat was readied, his authority alone would stop the punishment before it reached two dozen, if the full punishment was to weaken his patient too dangerously.
Styles took charge of the discarded garments as Bush disrobed, and knuckled his forehead to him as Bush met Hornblower's pained gaze before proceeding to the gratings. A hand adjusted the ropes and the drum again rolled. The whole ship watched in unease as the punishment played out, even Hammond appeared slightly embarrassed at watching a wounded officer flogged. On the ninth lash, Bush sagged, hanging by the wrists, his breathing laboured. Clive stepped in, assessing his patient, before issuing a swift order which saw the lieutenant cut down by the sick berth hands, Styles amongst them, and taken to the shade by the guns, the concerned eyes of many men following him. A minute later, the eyes of the ship had focused on the First lieutenant, and whispering broke out only to be swiftly silenced. Buckland looked almost serene, though his jaw stiffened as he dropped his shirt onto the deck as sentence was pronounced.
'By the sentence of the court marshal, Lieutenant Buckland, six dozen.'
Now many men appeared doubly uneasy - this was a formidable sentence - and several times the had to be silenced as Buckland arranged his pigtail so that it hung off his back over one shoulder and allowed himself to be seized up to the gratings. Being a little taller than the others, his forehead rested against the top. A glance backward showed that his clothing remained in a heap on the deck. As the drum roll sounded, he closed his eyes briefly, but looked straight ahead as the drum roll ended abruptly, muscles held rigid. The first blow landed wetly, and he cursed in his mind wondering who and why had decided that he alone would be lashed with a cat soaked in seawater. Then he ceased to care, merely stood and counted the lashes in his mind. They burned, each new one teasing fresh nerve endings. At three dozen, they stopped, and he heard through his pain hazed mind the step of Dr. Clive approaching. His jaw stiffened. By now the men were quiet.
Clive approached swiftly and looked Buckland over. Sweat beaded his forehead and soaked his hairline, running down chest and arms into the waist of his trousers, which stained red along the back with blood. Their eyes met, and Buckland gave a tight jawed nod and slight grimace. Stepping away, Clive looked to Pellew and nodded, and a quiet signal set a new hand to work. This time wielded by a left handed man, the cuts criss-crossed those already there, tearing the skin in two directions. Buckland hissed ever so slightly, still braced with his forehead against the gratings with inclined head.
At five dozen, the ship was silent but for the swish of the cat, its snap long soaked in bloody wetness. The first lieutenant was unbelievably still standing immobile at the gratings, having shown no sign of weakness. In his mind, he was screaming in agony, but the watchers would not know this. Inconceivably, the officer some had thought spineless in the face of Captain Sawyer had more to him than met the eye.
'Six dozen sir.'
The hand lowered the whip to his side and looked to the Commodore, who nodded, and motioned that the lieutenant be cut down. Buckland heard the words in his hazy mind, and shook his head slightly, clearing his vision, though sweat running from his hair down his back stung the wounds there even worse. After a moment to steady himself, he turned and carefully crossed the deck, holding himself upright and willing not to faint, meeting eyes with all and yet none. The veins in his forearms and hands stood out, face streaked in the sweat which ran down his chest and stomach, yet his expression was composed, though pale. All eyes followed, their expressions mixed, many awed. In an odd gesture he met the disbelieving eyes of the crew, of Hornblower and Bush, of Clive, then turned stiffly to salute Pellew, who returned it in the deafening silence. A hand untied his neck cloth and offered it to Buckland, who took it with a look of thanks and wiped his face.
As the hands were dismissed, the silence broke, and Clive took charge of the three lieutenants, who found themselves in short order in their former quarters under attentive care, their wounds cleaned with cold salt water which stung like fire at fist before settling to a duller rhythmic throbbing. For several days they did not speak to one another, communicating with looks if at all. On the third day a stiff first lieutenant stood on the deck, his coat draped across his shoulders, watching through a telescope as a sloop was provisioned. And oddly enough, in half dressed, whipped and untidy disarray, his mind had settled into that of a captain at last. And glad of it.
END