Jimmylegs
People think I enjoy causing pain. Manray does, an' he respects me fer it. He don't understand I pride meself on it, finding joy in me art. I can appreciate me own craftsmanship, can't I? That doesn't mean that I feel remorseful about doing it, though.
Because I don't.
That's one thing ye'd need ter understand. I don't feel nothing when I whip the men the Cap'n orders me ter. Nothing maybe but the warm feelin' of a task well accomplished, or maybe strong hate of the unlucky fellow who feels the sting of me cat.
The bloke usually deserves their punishment.
So- I'm the one meant to deliver it ter them all, an' I do a fine job of it. It grants me a position of authority on the ship, and they've all learned not to get in me way. I have a nasty temper.
But…there are those I get along with. Manray included. Mostly it's him, the mates, Ogilvey the main gunner an' Koleniko, the coxswain. As fer the rest of this sorry lot, I need only shoot 'em a heated glare and that will send them clawing their way up the mast, it will!
Heh, the new ones get on me bad side almost immediately, and shiver as I pass 'em by. I don't take pleasure in their fear, but I use it to me advantage nonetheless. I'm a cruel manner of man, but I don't love ter kill.
I do what I'm told, an' sometimes I'm told ter kill, or ter whip.
Save the mates, they all fear me bite when we play Liar's Dice. None's the happy one when I lose. Of course I can't use the cat on them without the Cap'n's orders, but he'll turn a blind eye to an occasionally scuffle…or brawl.
Still, I'm supposed ter keep order on this ship, so I can't let everyone run amuck like a bunch of barnyard hens fleeing the shadow of a hawk.
I'm the hawk, half the time. Maccus is the other half.
Few dare defy me, or look me in the eye. Some of 'em are weak like that. It be a rare occasion fer those ones ter be sentenced to the cat o'nine tails.
Bootstrap, the new man on board is the quiet type, like Old Haddy. He stays clear out of me way and does as he's meant to. He hardly needs to be flogged, and when the time arrives, as it inevitably does, I'm told the punishment should be light- he prolly' just was working too slow fer the Cap'n's fancy.
Everyone prolly' works too slow fer the Cap'n's fancy.
Then there's one man who receives his dues nigh ev'ry other day. Crash.
Crash is an idiot. A bumblin' idiot. The fool can't handle a blunderbuss without fumbling with it and letting it drop to the deck, firing into his own foot. It can't hurt him much, but he makes the Cap'n furiously angry. Even I shudder under his wrath. It's a thing ter be feared.
It's a surprise the Cap'n hasn't sent him yet down ter the brig, letting him just rot, or assimilate into the hull, like ol' Wyvern.
I hate Crash. Crash hates me.
Most of the crew hates me. Ah, but I get ter whip 'em all.
