Bound to Sarah Read online

  ‘Tommy, are ye awake, lad?’ he asked, giving him a little nudge. But Tommy just lay there on his stomach, facing into the partition that separated the berths. ‘Tommy, what’s the matter? Don’t ye feel well?’

  But still Joe got no reply. Then he heard the stifled sobs and could see Tommy’s body shaking as he cried quietly to himself. ‘Go away, Joe. Leave me alone.’

  Feeling rebuffed, but realising that something was wrong, Joe went back to his berth and told the others about Tommy and when Father McBride arrived, they looked to him for help. He went to see Tommy, who still had not moved and was ignoring enquiries from anyone who came near him, including Father McBride, who took it upon himself to call Surgeon Gibson to examine him for sickness. But Tommy did not want to be touched, or examined and kicked and punched when the doctor tried.

  He was removed to the hospital section, where he was left alone to calm down in the bed next to Pat, who at the time was still in there recovering from his flogging and he immediately faced away from him, ignoring all his attempts to find out what was wrong. But later Tommy allowed Surgeon Gibson to take a look at him. It was a slow process but gradually he became slightly more responsive. Surgeon Gibson rightly came to the conclusion that he had been sexually assaulted; he was scratched and bruised around the throat, where his abuser had put his hands to prevent him from screaming for help.

  For the next two days, Pat, despite his injuries, and Father McBride, tried desperately to get Tommy to eat and drink, or even just to talk. There was a good friendship growing between the two men and together they worked to coax Tommy back to health. In the privacy of the hospital section, he started to come round, and started to talk a little, as well as eat. It was only a matter of time before they would find out exactly what had happened, but they would be patient and wait until he volunteered the information. The time did finally come when Tommy, embarrassed and ashamed, told Pat and the priest how someone had climbed into his bunk at night and put his hands around his throat, strangling him, whispering that if he screamed he would kill him there and then. Tommy struggled to talk about it but they reassured him that it was the best thing to do. They would not tell a soul, if Tommy did not want them to. In a barely audible whisper, he told them that his attacker had sexually assaulted him, and afterwards threatened again to kill him if he told.

  The offender had tried his best to conceal his identity but Tommy had an idea who it was, but could not be sure. He said he would recognise his smell, but it was not feasible to go round smelling everyone on board. After a few moments of silent thought Pat came up with a plan – when he got out of the hospital section he would change bunks with Tommy after dark and wait for the offender to strike again. There were a number of potential suspects and his plan was the only way of catching the offender red handed. A meeting was called by the captain about the incident,

  ‘Such beastly behaviour will not be tolerated on board my ship. We must find out who is responsible and punish him severely,’ he said, thumping the table. ‘And here you are, Father McBride, still sympathising and wanting to improve conditions. Well, I will not hear another word of it.’

  ‘Maybe it was the conditions that these men are being held under that caused this incident in the first place, captain,’ retorted the priest.

  ‘Nonsense, Father,’ interrupted Flynn, who earlier in the voyage had chosen to turn a blind eye to just such an assault. ‘The buggery of a young boy is not caused by the lack of ventilation or lighting.’ This last comment brought a few sniggers amongst those present, but Father McBride grew furious at the interruption.

  ‘You have a black heart, Lieutenant Flynn! Do you not have so much as an ounce of sympathy for these poor souls?’

  ‘So are you defending the savage that carried out this inexcusable act, Father?’

  ‘I most certainly am not!’ blurted out the priest, furious at being deliberately misinterpreted. ‘How dare you even suggest such a thing?’ The priest’s blood was practically boiling with rage, and Flynn was enjoying his discomfiture.

  ‘Well, that’s what it sounds like to me.’

  ‘Lieutenant Flynn, you are positively incorrigible!’

  ‘You need to be careful that you don’t burst a blood vessel, Father.’

  Father McBride glared at Flynn before walking straight out of the captain’s quarters, slamming the door behind him. Seething with rage and disappointment at the outcome of the meeting, he headed back to his cabin. He was all for the punishment of the culprit, should he be found, but he suspected that the captain and Flynn did not much care if they got the right man or not. As long as someone got punished, it would be a deterrent to the rest. So it was left to the captain, Lieutenant Flynn and Surgeon Gibson to single out their victim.

  ‘I want someone punished for this, Flynn, so you had better find out who is responsible,’ announced the captain, brimming with confidence.

  ‘Indeed, sir, I’ll find him and he’ll be sorry he was ever born,’ said Flynn with a chilling look in his eye.

  Before he knew it, Tommy was more or less back to his old self again, but his trust in people would take a good while longer. Youth was on his side and he did his best to try to forget the iniquities of men. Meanwhile, Pat had been back in his own bunk for almost a week, his back a mass of encrusted scabs. The slightest movement would cause them to reopen and bleed again and he was in constant pain.

  Now poor Joe lay in the hospital with almost identical wounds, but his were only a few days old. He had been the unfortunate one to be singled out by Lieutenant Flynn, his close friendship with Tommy and his mental defect counting against him. It had fallen to Sergeant Jacobs to carry out his punishment, much to the disgust of many of the inmates. Tension down in the ‘tween decks was mounting, because most knew that Joe was innocent.

  The incident had made the prisoners suspicious of one another and resentful of the iron grip of the military. Joe was not responding to anyone, he just cried a lot, or mumbled to himself without making any sense. John and Charlie went to see him regularly, as did Father McBride, but Pat was still quite incapacitated himself and could only manage a few visits. It was an ideal time for Rawlins to claim his vengeance on Pat and he was acutely aware of it. After a visit to Joe, Pat was slowly making his way back to his berth with Charlie, when from behind, Rawlins gave him a powerful slap on the back. His shoulder blades shot together with the pain and he instantly fell to the floor with an agonising scream.

  ‘Alright, Roche? ‘ow’s ye back, lad?’ sneered Rawlins. Charlie was no fighter, but he turned on Rawlins with clenched fist, but hesitated at his size. Seeing his sidekick Harry the Cat next to him, Charlie punched him instead, knowing it would have better effect. Harry dropped to the floor, shortly followed by Charlie himself, as Rawlins effortlessly swung at his face with the back of his hand, sending his puny little body flying.

  ‘Break it up! Right now!’ shouted a sentry from the barricade.

  Rawlins eyed the guard with disappointed rage and slowly made his way back to his berth, followed by Harry, who gave Charlie a good kicking while he was still laid out on the floor. Pat’s back was now covered in blood, his wounds having reopened with the force of the blow. Charlie helped him back to his bed and removed his shirt to prevent it sticking to his back when the blood dried. It was obvious that he needed more time to recover, so Pat tried his best to stay out of Rawlins’ way for the time being.

  Joe’s mental state was a grave cause for concern to his pals. He was in a fixed trance and muttered incessantly to himself, making no sense at all. Pat, John and Charlie spent whatever time they could trying to perk him up and he seemed to be responding, but painfully slowly. Then, much to their delight, Joe spoke.

  ‘If me dad was ‘ere, ‘e’d box the lot of ‘em for doin’ that to me,’ he said sullenly.

  Father McBride was very relieved that he had pulled through such a trauma, knowing his mental capacity, but he had developed a tremendous fear of Lieutenant Flynn and Sergeant Jacobs
, shaking uncontrollably whenever they were near, and cowering at the thought of being hurt again. While he was still recovering, the real culprit was still hiding away unpunished, amongst the many figures in the shadows of the ‘tween decks. The four friends worked tirelessly to find out who was responsible for the assault on Tommy. They knew he had a fear of certain people on board, but on a ship full of rampant convicts, finding the real sinner was no easy task. Even if they did find out who was responsible, how could they prove it, and who would listen anyway?

  Pat still needed more time to recover in order to put his plan into action. Revenge filled his mind and he was mentally preparing himself for pay back day. He lay in his bunk day after day feeding his bitterness, his unfocused hatred festering until he could avenge his little pal. His thoughts naturally turned to his father and how he had mistreated himself and his mother. Then they turned to the feeling of utter despair he had experienced as he fought to stay alive on the battlefield, while his friends were being butchered in front of him. He thought about Lieutenant Flynn and how he callously abused his authority, knowing full well that those under his power could not do a thing about it. Pat tormented himself with such negative thoughts until he was psychologically ready for conflict. His back was healing well and that day when he would claim his sweet revenge was drawing close …and closer...

  The conspiracy had been going on for about three weeks. After dark, when everyone was settled in their bunks, Pat would quietly change places with Tommy, unsuspected by anyone. The rapist must have been keeping a low profile until everything was forgotten. Maybe he was afraid to risk it again, but Pat felt sure he would, sooner or later. By day, he would encourage Tommy to go about acting as if nothing had happened and he was happy to do so in order to lure the offender back to his bunk.

  Morning was just breaking on the horizon, and the prisoners woke up to find a body outside Tommy’s berth. The guards were alerted and came upon Ronnie Church, lying dead on the floor. With the removal and examination of the body, Surgeon Gibson could find no obvious cause of death, though he suspected murder. After consulting with the captain and officers, it was decided that, to prevent a murder enquiry and more punishment in an already unsettled ship, the surgeon would pass it off as a heart attack. Flynn, of course, disapproved. He had urged them to root out the murderer, even though there was no real evidence to say that it actually was murder. So Ronnie Church’s body was thrown overboard to the sharks and along with him went Tommy’s nightly anxieties.

  Joe was out of the hospital section and back in his bunk. He was in good company and Pat and the others did all they could to speed his recovery and protect him from the potential threat of Rawlins. Pat still had plans to sort out Rawlins’ bullying once and for all, but he was prepared to wait a little longer.

  While re-supplying at the Cape of Good Hope, Father McBride took it upon himself to go ashore and bring back some provisions, especially for Joe. He was delighted, thanking the priest for his little stash of fresh fruit, which he shared with Tommy. Things were settling down again between Pat and his friends, but it was not going to last. Pat still hankered after revenge, and he could not just stand by and watch his other inmates’ lives becoming more miserable because of Rawlins. He told the others of his plans and asked them to keep their eyes peeled for an opportunity for him to make his move.

  The convicts had been locked in for the night, as the cover of darkness was creeping over the sapphire sky and Lieutenant Flynn had taken to his cabin early in order to write a letter to his fiancée. It had been quite quiet over the last few days down in the prison section; only the odd inevitable argument between men cooped up together for hours on end. But Rawlins was on the prowl again in the darkness, another poor soul in his grip. John had noticed him first and alerted Pat with a quiet tap. Pat could just make out Rawlins in the feeble light, as he was bending over his victim with one hand tugging at his collar, the other drawn back in a fist, ready to strike, having yanked him up from his sleeping position on the floor. Pat knew he had to seize the opportunity. He bolted from his bed and quickly crept, like a lion to a gazelle, until he was close enough to strike the preoccupied villain. Harry the Cat was nowhere to be seen, so Pat lined up his target with ease, as John nudged Charlie and both looked on in nervous excitement.

  ‘Well well well! Ye mates aren’t ‘ere now, are they? So ye not quite so ‘ard …’ Rawlins was saying to his victim. Pat did not give him a chance to finish his threat, as his foot landed with full force between his legs. An ugly growl came bursting out of his mouth to replace his threatening words as he dropped his victim like a stone. The accuracy of Pat’s blow had been perfect. Rawlins dropped to the deck, rolling around in agony, leaving Pat free to start raining down a succession of thunderous blows. Then Rawlins’ victim joined in, rousing the whole prison section. It sparked off a frenzy and before the guards knew it, a full blown riot had broken out. They stuck their muskets through the barricade, threatening to shoot, but no one seemed to be listening and they didn’t know what to do next. One of the guards ran off to alert his commanders, while the other somehow managed to get himself caught in a headlock by one of the prisoners, pinning him to the grating with an arm around his throat, as another convict grabbed the keys from his belt.

  The noise of the riot soon alerted the other Marines in their quarters next to the prison, but by the time they had armed themselves, the prisoners were out. In fact, they had to barricade their door, to keep them out of their quarters, leaving the companionway as their only escape route.

  Lieutenant Flynn sat shirtless in his cabin at his desk, his braces hanging down at either side of his chair. He was about to start penning a letter, when he detected the sound of trouble in the ‘tween decks. He quickly grabbed his shirt, which lay on the bed, and taking his pistol, raced down to the main deck, barely even touching the ladder leading down from the quarterdeck. Meanwhile, the guard was banging with great urgency on Lieutenant Goldsmith’s door to alert him.

  Flynn promptly assembled three sentry guards and Sergeant Jacobs at a point about ten feet away from the companionway. Two guards knelt down and two stood behind, aiming their muskets at the entrance. Flynn stood at the side of the entrance, again about ten feet away. Though still with his shirt open and braces hanging at his knees, he took a firm grip of his pistol and stood ready to give the order to shoot. Just then the other sentry guard ran out of the companionway, on to the deck panicking and shouting ‘Mutiny!’ at the top of his voice. On seeing the well prepared guards in position and Flynn at their side, he quickly moved out of the way. Lieutenant Goldsmith, now fully aware of the situation, ran off to alert captain Hughes. Alarmed by the reports of mutiny, he ordered his wife to lock the cabin behind him, as he took his loaded pistol and prepared to leave. Looking pathetically timid for a man in command of a ship, he slowly made his way out of the door. He crept out on to the quarterdeck in the semi-darkness to find Flynn in full control of the situation. He relaxed somewhat and looked on with great admiration, only to be frightened out of his skin by Father McBride, who came from behind to ask what the problem was.

  ‘Can’t be sure, Father. It looks like an attempt at mutiny,’ murmured the captain, regaining some of his composure.

  In the meantime, two prisoners appeared from the hatchway, one wielding a musket. Behind them a horde of convicts, caught up in the excitement of the moment, were eager to escape the miserable conditions of the ‘tween decks, even if it was not to last. The companionway hatch was only wide enough for two people to fit through at one time. So at the foot of the ladder there was a crush of excited men, pumped with adrenaline, ready to burst out on to the main deck.

  ‘Fire!’ ordered Flynn.

  Two loud staccato blasts of musket fire from the two kneeling guards rang through the ship and out into the surrounding ocean. The two escapees fell dead, instantly blocking the hatchway. The two guards who had spent their rounds moved from their kneeling position to the back of the two standing guards,
then reloaded. The smell of gunpowder smoke spread over the main deck. Seconds later two more prisoners popped out, this time unarmed and desperately trying to push the dead weight of the corpses out of the way to clear the hatch.

  ‘Fire!’

  They too fell dead.

  There followed a moment of calm. On the quarter deck the captain and Father McBride looked on speechless. Then a curious head popped out of the hatch, peering over the bodies. From the side, Flynn aimed his pistol and put a bullet straight through the convict’s head. The body dropped down the ladder, showering those below with dark arterial blood, as it spurted from his shattered skull.

  The spontaneous act of mutiny was over in less than five minutes, with five prisoners lying dead. Father McBride had just witnessed what he considered to be cold-blooded murder. The mutiny certainly had to be quashed, but was so much bloodshed really necessary? As usual, Flynn had gone for the most brutal option first; his behaviour worse than any of the convicted felons on board, abusing his military authority and using it as an excuse for butchery. Captain Hughes did not agree. He seemed to be proud of Flynn and was treating him as a hero, having saved them all from certain slaughter at the hands of savages. Both the captain and Father McBride stood in silence, still watching from the railing of the quarterdeck as the situation was defused.

  ‘Now get back behind the barricade, or be shot!’ Flynn shouted down the companionway, and so the dejected prisoners slowly made their way back behind the barricade, stunned and sickened by the death of the five inmates.

  ‘They were unarmed, you stupid bastards!’ shouted one of them.

  ‘We’re not bloody animals, Flynn!’ shouted another.

  The mutiny had underlined the fact that there was no escape, only death could put an end to their hopeless plight They made their way back into the darkness in grim silence, all rebellion quashed under Flynn’s iron discipline. Meanwhile, Rawlins still lay unconscious, unaware of what had just taken place. He was removed from the prison to the hospital, where it was found that he had suffered several broken ribs, a broken jaw, kidney damage and severe bruising all over his body.