Chapter Twelve

A cool wind blew across the deck of Indefatigable, stirring the shirts and hair of the men now gathering on her deck. Gray skies filled the horizon, and dampness seemed to cover everything. Unusual weather for this time of year, thought Horatio as he walked with Archie to the quarterdeck. Good sign or bad, I wonder.

"It appears the crowd is gathering," Archie said beside him, his voice quiet and small. He was smartly dressed in a clean, pressed uniform, his hair neatly brushed and pulled back in a queue. He showed no aftereffects of all the claret the two of them had consumed the night before, but he was grateful for the steadying effects of it nonetheless.

Horatio turned to him, noting the paleness of his friend's face. "You know it is required of all the men to be here, Archie," he said sympathetically. "The captain debated whether he should do this in private, but decided to do as you wished and grant you no favoritism. The crew will all stand witness."

Archie sighed as he looked around. "I know, Mr. Hornblower," he said. "This must be done as it was for Midshipman Bairnson, and for anyone else who has ever committed the sin of abandoning his station. I want no special treatment."

Lieutenant Bracegirdle came over to them, his normally cheerful face unsmiling and somber. "Good morn, gentlemen," he said, looking compassionately at Archie. "Though not quite so fair, I fear."

"No, Mr. Bracegirdle," Horatio answered. "An unpleasant day for us all, I think."

"Yes," Bracegirdle said sadly. "And now the captain arrives. If you gentlemen will excuse me?" He paused and looked back at Archie. "Be strong, Mr. Kennedy. You will endure this well, I have no doubt."

"Thank you, sir," said Archie softly, and Bracegirdle dipped his head in a small bow, then turned and stood before his captain.

"All is ready?" Pellew said, no hint of inflection in his voice.

"Aye, sir."

"Then turn the hands aft, and punishment shall commence."

Bracegirdle called over Midshipman Masters, and sent him to fetch the bos'uns mate to summon the men. The order was piped for all hands.

"All hands aft!" called Masters. "All men aft!"

A scarlet slice of marines fell into line on the poopdeck, muskets and side-arms to hand, while the midshipmen all gathered together under the break, along with the purser and Dr. Hepplewhite. The seamen fell in where ever they were able, with many of them hoisting themselves up into the masts, all the better to see what was happening.

Archie watched as Horatio and Lt. Bracegirdle joined the other lieutenants on the weather quarterdeck, standing beside Captain Pellew. His eyes met the captain's, and he drew himself up, standing straight and holding his shoulders back. He would show no fear, for this was something he deserved, something he had brought upon himself. The captain would know that he had learned his lesson.

Pellew's eyes held Archie's as he gave his first order. "Rig the gratings."

"Rig the gratings, aye!" said the carpenter, as he and his mates quickly dragged two wooden gratings aft. They laid down one of the gratings upon the deck, then secured the other one upright against the poop railing.

"Gratings rigged, sir!" called the carpenter as his crew retreated to their places.

"Mr. Kennedy, come forward," called the captain. Archie stepped forward and stood before him, his eyes still fixed on Pellew's face.

"Mr. Kennedy. You are charged with willful abandonment of your assigned station. Have you anything to say for yourself, sir?"

"I do not, sir," replied Archie evenly.

"Very well. Strip."

Archie removed his jacket and shirt and dropped them onto the deck, and turned to walk over to the gratings. Facing the upright grating, he held his hands up above his head.

"Seize him up," came Pellew's command, and the quartermasters roughly tied Archie's arms to the grating in front of him. The hard wood pressed against his chest, marking him with lines on front, as he soon would be marked in back.

"Seized up, sir!"

Captain Pellew turned to address the men, removing his hat as he did, all of the men following suit. "Mr. Kennedy is charged with violating the 26th article of the rules of war. This article states 'No person in or belonging to the fleet shall sleep upon his watch or negligently perform the duty imposed on him, or forsake his station," and here he looked straight at Archie, "upon pain of death or such other punishment as a court martial shall think fit to impose, and as the circumstances of the case shall require.' Mr. Kennedy's punishment shall be the execution of thirty-six lashes upon his being."

Horatio, wishing he could block out the rest of the events ahead, watched numbly as the bos'uns mate brought forth the red baize bag which contained the cat. He watched as Taylor, the mate, almost lovingly removed the red-handled cat 'o nine tails, and ran the tails through his fingers. Taylor greatly enjoyed this part of his job, or so Horatio suspected, for he was always more than happy to be the one to administer the lash. He would not hold back, not for anyone.

Horatio was slightly encouraged to note that Taylor held a reduced cat. Only five tails of smooth whipcord, something that was generally used on the younger men for flogging. It would not be so painful as a full-sized one, and yet would not result in Archie being diminished in the eyes of the men. He stole a glance at Pellew as the captain finished the reading of the Article of War, knowing that it must be the captain's order to use the reduced cat.

"Do your duty," Pellew said firmly. Taylor, grinning, advanced behind Archie.

Archie could hear the footsteps, and knew Taylor stood ready. He closed his eyes, willing himself to remain silent, to show no sign of weakness. The entire ship's company stood watching him, but strangely, it was only for Horatio and Captain Pellew that he wanted to remain strong. They both had faith in him, and he would not let either of them down.

He heard the whistling before he felt the lash, and he instinctively tightened his shoulders. When the blow came, his features twisted with pain, but he did not utter a sound.

"One," said Taylor loudly. He drew the cat back across the deck, and took a moment to untwine the tails. Horatio blanched as he saw blood - Archie's blood - from the cat stain Taylor's hand. Only one done.

The whistling came again, and Archie steeled himself. The cat fell lower this time, wrapping about his back and slashing across his ribs. A small cry came from his throat. It stung, like a dozen angry bees.

"Two."

And so it continued on for two dozen lashes, Archie holding up as best he could, knowing he had to appear strong in front of the men, or all would be lost. He would never be able to lead the men if they could not respect him, and they would never respect a man who could not bear three dozen lashes.

"Twenty-four."

Matthews and Styles, secure on the boom, exchanged a glance. Both had felt the lash on more than one occasion aboard ships other than Indefatigable, and they knew the pain Archie was experiencing right now. Both felt sorry for the lad, knowing him as they did, and knowing the even worse things he had endured in his short life.

"Twenty-five."

Oldroyd could scarce bear to be there. He'd never felt the cat himself, not even aboard Justinian, and he didn't know how anyone could bear it. He'd always liked Mr. Kennedy, always looked out for him when he could, but now he could do nothing, do nothing but watch as a man he respected, a man who had helped him face his fears on a bridge in France, bore the lash.

"Twenty-six."

Archie pressed harder against the grating in front of him, hoping the pain from that would distract him from the worse pain of the cat. Taylor's aim was true, crossing across the torn and bleeding flesh, and Archie could not contain the cry that issued from him.

"Twenty-seven."

Taylor smiled as he cleaned off the cat. Nice strips of skin were now missing from Mr. Kennedy's back, just the way he liked to see those officers. He loved his job, for this was the only time he was allowed to have the better of those who ordered him around. His favorite part was in between lashes, when he took his time cleaning off the cat, when the victim was dreading the next blow, never knowing when it would come - it was the best way for them to truly experience the pain. For the last half dozen, he would really put his back into it.

"Twenty-eight."

Malley poked Fuller in the side. "Ain't that just a purty sight? Kennedy ain't gonna last the whole three dozen, I'll wager."

"How much?" said Fuller with interest.

"Shut the bloody hell up," hissed Haversham. "You two are disgusting."

"Twenty-nine."

The pain was intense now, so bad Archie was scarce able to keep his feet. He sagged a bit, the ropes biting into his wrists, then forced himself to stand straight, dragging himself up by sheer willpower. He would not falter. He would not.

"Thirty."

Horatio heard the cry that escaped Archie, and his hands clenched. God, Taylor would kill him! He didn't remember Taylor being so vicious with Bairnson, but perhaps that was because he was too close to this situation, too close to Archie.

"Thirty-one."

A peculiar numbness began to surround Archie. He still felt the sting of the lash, but the very air around him seemed to be thick, and he was finding it extremely hard to breathe. He struggled to draw a breath, dropping his head back just as Taylor let fly the cat.

"Thirty-two."

The end of the lash caught Archie's now-exposed throat, wrapping briefly around it. The pain was excruciating as the tails bit into the tender skin, and he screamed in agony.

"Thirty-three."

Horatio felt his heart stop as Archie screamed, and he instinctively stepped forward. A gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder, stopping him, and he looked up to see the pale face of Lieutenant Bracegirdle.

"Easy, lad," whispered Bracegirdle. "It's almost finished."

"Thirty-four."

Whitney had been watching in horror the whole time. Tears filled his eyes as he heard Mr. Kennedy cry out yet again. It was his fault that his commanding officer was suffering so, for wasn't it Whitney who had knocked him unconscious? It didn't matter anymore to him what Mr. Kennedy did with Mr. Hornblower - he didn't deserve this. It would have been more merciful to let him hang for what he was.

"Thirty-five."

Hands. Where were these hands coming from? What were they doing to him? And that voice - who was it?

..."You've been a bad boy, Archie. Time for Jack to punish you. You'll learn, by god, you'll learn to do it my way..."

"Thirty-six."

Pain. Nothing in the world existed but pain. Archie did not even feel gentle hands untying his wrist, did not feel friendly arms ease him down to the deck. That voice echoed in his head. Jack.

"Horatio?" he whimpered. "Horatio?"

"It's all right, Archie," came Horatio's soothing voice as he brushed Archie's hair from his sweaty face. "I'm here. I'll always be here."

Time passed in a red haze of pain, but Archie was vaguely aware of making his way across the deck, past all the eyes of the men, and down into the hold. He slowly opened his eyes. He was back in sick berth, and the first thing he saw was Horatio's concerned face.

"Over?" he croaked. It hurt to talk. Why did it hurt to talk?

"Yes, Archie," Horatio soothed, his hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's all over. You did well, Archie. You did well."

"Passed out."

"Not until we got you down here to sick berth, Archie. You were very strong. It was well done."

"Hurts," Archie whispered, his eyes closed against the pain.

Horatio had to smile. "Well, yes, I imagine it does, Mr. Kennedy. Taylor is a brute with the cat, but you bore it very well. You certainly showed Malley."

Archie forced his eyes back open. "Malley?"

Still grinning, Horatio nodded. "Yes, indeed, Archie. He was taking bets that you wouldn't survive one dozen, much less three, but you did. You've made him a very poor man."

"Already was poor excuse for a man," mumbled Archie, his eyes closing again. "Against the articles, gambling. Flog him 'round the fleet, sir. Tired."

"Just a few more stitches here, Mr. Kennedy," said Doctor Hepplewhite, "and then I'll send you on your way. I doubt you'll be sleeping on your back for awhile, though."

Horatio waited while Hepplewhite finished cleaning and stitching Archie's wounds. Archie bore the pain stoically, finally beginning to perk up enough to ask Horatio for some food.

"Are you sure you want some, Archie?" Horatio teased. "You are not overly fond of the food from the ship's stores, you know."

"Well, it's certainly better than starving," Archie grumbled. "Do you suppose there is something for me to eat?"

Horatio chuckled. "I shall go fetch something, Archie, and take it to your cabin. That is, if Dr. Hepplewhite agrees you are all right to leave?"

"Certainly," said Hepplewhite, wiping his hands off on a rough towel. "Mr. Kennedy is just fine. I suggest the wounds be cleaned out periodically, so be certain to return here, and I will take care of it for you."

"Thank you, doctor," said Archie, stealing a glance at Horatio. "But if it is all right with you, I think that I would prefer that Mr. Hornblower change the dressing and clean the wounds in the privacy of my cabin. I do not care for the idea of any of the men possibly coming in here and seeing me like this."

"Very well, Mr. Kennedy," Hepplewhite said with no little surprise. "If that is what you would prefer, and of course, providing Mr. Hornblower agrees, then I can put forth no objection."

Horatio sketched a little bow. "It shall be my honor, Mr. Kennedy." He took Archie's arm, helping him off the bed, and the two of them left the sick berth, Dr. Hepplewhite watching them go. Interesting how the two of them still depended on each other, even with Kennedy's memory gone, he thought as he cleaned up the bloody bandages from the area. It's got to be the best possible medicine for the boy - no one knows him better than Hornblower, no one is better equipped to help him reacquire his memories. I just pray it happens soon.

Horatio helped Archie to settle into his room, and then he went to fetch some food for his friend. He returned to the cabin, to find Archie sitting up on the bed, leafing through his Shakespeare book.

"No, Archie," he said firmly as he closed the door behind him. "I refuse to listen to any more of that blasted Hamlet, especially whilst I am eating. Here. The cook kept one of the best slices of mutton for you. Now eat." He held the plate in front of Archie, who absently reached out and took it. Horatio sat next to Archie on the bed, and they both dug into the plates of food.

"Horatio?"

Horatio, surprised, looked at Archie. This was the first time he had addressed Horatio by his Christian name since the accident, except for immediately after the flogging, when he had been almost incoherent.

"Yes, Archie?" he said carefully.

"Do I know a Jack?"

Horatio froze, the forkful of mutton halfway to his mouth. What in the world had brought that up? Dropping the untasted mutton back to the plate, he said slowly, "Why do you ask that?"

Archie's wide blue eyes regarded him, but Horatio saw no fear, no real recognition there. "Near the end of the flogging, I heard a voice in my head, someone named Jack. It wasn't a voice I recognized, not from recently anyway, but I still felt as if I knew it, as if I knew him. He was saying that I had to learn how to do things his way, that he was going to punish me. Did something like that happen, or was I hallucinating?"

Trying to gain some time, Horatio rose to his feet, placing his still-full plate on top of Archie's sea chest. Dear god, of all the people for Archie to begin recovering his memory with, why did it have to be Jack Simpson?

"Horatio?"

Horatio turned back to face his friend. He couldn't lie and tell Archie he didn't know a Jack, but neither did he have to tell him the whole truth. Tiny steps, he counseled himself. One piece at a time.

"Yes, Archie, you did know a Jack."

Archie's face lit up. "Honestly? Then perhaps my memory is beginning to return! Tell me about him. Are we friends?"

Horatio snorted. "No, no one was friends with Jack Simpson. He was a midshipman aboard the ship we first served on together, Justinian. Do you remember her, do you remember Captain Keene? That's where you know Simpson from. He was senior in the mess, and he liked to rule over all the other midshipmen."

"Rule over," Archie mused. "I take it he ruled by force."

"Indeed he did, sir. If someone did not bow to him, he would beat them mercilessly, and try to break their spirit, not to mention how he would take the spirit rations and clean shirts of anyone he pleased. He was not a good man, Archie."

"So, he must have beaten me. That's why the flogging brought back his memory, why I could hear him so vividly in my head. Did he break my spirit?"

Oh, god, thought Horatio, panicked, as he looked frantically around the room. Now what do I do? Do I lie to him, do I tell him what Jack really did to him? He's not ready for that, not yet. I cannot do it. He turned back to Archie.

"Archie, I do not believe that anyone could break your spirit. Jack Simpson is dead and gone, and I believe we should focus on your remembering other, more pleasant people that you have met throughout our time together. Now there was an Army officer we knew, a Major Edrington. Stuffy chap, wore a bright red jacket and rode one of those infernal horses - does that sound familiar?"

Archie shook his head. "No, not at all. But Jack Simpson - even the name feels familiar. It's almost as if I remember him being here, being with us. There's something, Horatio, something that is right there, at the front of my brain, trying to get out. I know it has to do with Jack."

"Archie, please, let it go. Neither one of us cares to remember Jack and his beatings. How about Lieutenant - "

"Not beatings," Archie said, shaking his head, and Horatio's heart stopped. "Not beatings but something else, something different..." His brow was furrowed as he concentrated on bringing forth the memory, his eyes fixed on the blanket covering his bed.

"Perhaps it is the duel you remember. A foolish thing, but - "

"No." Archie's head shot up and his eyes met Horatio's. "Not a duel. An inquisition! That's it!" Archie stood up and paced around the tiny cabin, his excitement growing, his words tumbling over themselves. "He called it an inquisition, but it was more than that, more than just a beating. He would, he would..." He stopped and turned to face Horatio. "Dirty little secret. He wanted to find out everyone's dirty little secret, so he could own us, so he could lord over us. Horatio, I remember! I remember him sitting there, he was doing something, he was angry - it was you! You were newly arrived, and Jack wanted to find out your secret, but you, you wouldn't let him. He was angry. He yelled at me. But it was YOU who stood up to him! You fought, but Jack had you held down." Archie was pacing again, his energy barely contained in the small space. "He won, didn't he, though he never found out any secret. I reckon you didn't have one. And when the other two midshipmen took you off to sick berth, Jack, he, he came looking for me. He was so furious that he, he..." Archie's voice trailed off. "I don't remember what he did."

Finally able to breathe again, Horatio nodded at his friend. He knew what Jack had done to Archie that night to dispel his rage, though he had not known it at the time. He'd been too busy feeling sorry for himself and thinking on his own death, to notice how quiet and withdrawn his formerly ebullient friend had become. God, he'd been so blind. He'd been so wrapped up in himself that he had never noticed Archie falling apart before his very eyes.

"I think this is wonderful, Archie, that you are remembering so much. However, I think it best that you try not to force anything. Let it be for now, and tomorrow, we can try to help you remember other, more pleasant things. Perhaps our first days here aboard the Indy, when everything was young and new, and we were so excited to be aboard a frigate, with a famous captain. We can speak of Clayton, and tell tales of Lieutenant Eccleston and Lieutenant Chadd, or perhaps I can remind you of one or two of your sweethearts back in England."

"Sweethearts?" Archie asked curiously. "Do I have a special sweetheart?"

Horatio laughed, glad that Archie's attention was away from black Jack Simpson and his evil games. "Not one in particular, Archie, though there have been several. No one for quite awhile, though."

"Too bad," Archie sighed. "Maybe she could have helped me recall something more."

Feigning hurt, Horatio leaned back against the bulkhead. "You think some female could do better than I? Sir, I am insulted!"

Archie grinned as he retook his seat upon the bed. "No offense, Horatio, but I think it would be much more fun to explore my past with a soft, feminine figure at my side." He leaned back, grimacing as his back touched the bulkhead, and he immediately sat forward. "Ouch."

"Oh, Archie," Horatio said with compassion. "Is the pain so bad?"

"It's tolerable," Archie said slowly, "as long as I do not press it against anything." He motioned to a small bottle resting against his sea chest. "Dr. Hepplewhite gave me some laudanum, to help me sleep. Would you fetch it for me, please?"

Horatio rose to his feet, and returned to Archie's side with the drug. "Be careful how you use this, Archie," he said as Archie removed the cap and took a drink. "It can be quite dangerous if too much is taken."

Archie made a face as he replaced the cap on the bottle. "Who would want to take much of that? It's bloody awful, almost as bad as that watery gruel I ate."

Horatio laughed as he took the bottle and placed it back on the floor. "That is a good thing, Archie. That way you will not be tempted to overuse it." He stood over Archie's bed, looking down at his friend. "Why don't you get some rest, Mr. Kennedy. I'll check back on you later, but now I need to be on deck. Will you be all right?"

"I'll be fine, Horatio," Archie said with a yawn. "I think I shall sleep like the dead. Thank you for your assistance, sir. I much appreciate it."

"Anytime, Archie," Horatio said as he watched his friend drift off to sleep. "Anything I can do to help you through this..." He left the cabin, quietly closing the door behind him, and headed up on deck.