There was a great disparity between the numbers of men and f women in the ballroom. A large number of the men had resorted to the card rooms. Giles had little interest in cards and less in gambling. Surprisingly for one who would take huge, aggressive risks when faced with an enemy ship, he found that he disliked losing more than he liked winning in a situation where skill played only a small role. He noted that the young girls or ladies were usually closely chaperoned and discovered that his invitations to dance were not welcomed by the chaperones. However, many of the other women, even quite young ones, were unchaperoned and were more than happy to dance with him. As he surmised, these were married ladies whose husbands were absent or were otherwise engaged in the card rooms. They were attractive, vivacious and flirtatious. He was enjoying himself immensely.
A waltz was the dance that corresponded to his next entry on the Princess’s dance card. In the more intimate dance, there was no mistaking her lascivious movements. Their meaning was confirmed when she whispered to him towards the end of the dance, “Let’s find a private room. Better yet, why don’t you come with me to my palace, where we can be completely alone?”
Giles was totally taken aback by this suggestion. “Your Highness … Princess … your reputation! Surely our absence will be noted.”
“Pooh. Everyone does it. It is the French way and French customs are so much in fashion despite that vulgar upstart, Bonaparte, who calls himself an emperor. A modicum of discretion is all that is required. Let us leave now, quietly.”
Giles hardly knew what to do. As a midshipman or lieutenant, such an invitation was the stuff of ardent fantasies, but he had never before faced the actual opportunity. Much to his own surprise, when push came to shove he found he did not want to be seduced by the Princess. This feeling was heightened when she leaned close to him and he found that her breath reeked. He also noticed that her heavy application of perfume did not disguise odors that are more pungent. He would never have guessed it, but Daphne had clearly raised his requirements for romantic dalliance. Indeed, he realized that he really didn’t seriously want to be involved with anyone but his wife. Was he getting old? A year ago, before he had met Daphne, he would have jumped at the chance of being alone with a lovely young woman. Surely, it couldn’t be that, after Daphne, he would be settling for second best. Wasn’t it Admiral Nelson who was said to have remarked that east of Gibraltar all men were bachelors? That did not correspond to what he was now feeling. How the old Giles would have laughed uproariously if he had been told about the foolishness of the new husband. The new Giles was happy to leave the old Giles behind, though with some pangs of regret.
“Ah, Madam … Princess … Your Highness,” he stuttered wondering how to refuse her offer without giving too great offense. After all, he had no idea how important and influential she or her husband might be. His mission called for diplomacy. “Madam … I cannot, regrettably.”
“Of course, you can, Or are you like your countryman over there?” she inquired, nodding to where Sir Walcott was holding forth surrounded by a set of men whose interest in the latest fashions was on display.
“No…no…no, Madam. Ugh …ugh,” inspiration came to him then. “The problem is that I have to be available at a moment’s notice. Last night, some of my crew caused a most regrettable disturbance. It should not happen tonight, but it may and I must be available to deal with its consequences immediately if the problem does happen to repeat itself. I am afraid that being here as part of a diplomatic mission means that my time is not my own.”
The waltz had ended. Giles was escorting a clearly, highly annoyed Princess to her chair when a servant approached him. As if the gods were hand in glove with him, the man said to him in a low voice, “Sir, there has been a disturbance involving your ship and your presence is required urgently.”
Giles gathered Lieutenant Pirov and some of his officers together and set off to find his barge. Lieutenant Hendricks had left with Countess Donskaya and Midshipman Stewart had left with the same noblewoman as on the previous evening. He would just have to do without them for the moment.
On returning to Glaucus, Giles found a very angry Russian official and a dozen members of his crew huddled together, most of them showing signs of a very rough fight. He noted that the Russian guard on the quay had been doubled. The story emerged in steps. Lieutenant Correll, who had been taking the harbor watch, had no explanation as to how the culprits had been able to leave the ship and evade both Glaucus’s marines and the Russian guards. The first he knew of their absence was when the official, some sort of magistrate or captain of the city guard, had arrived with the miscreants. One of them had been bleeding from a knife wound. He was now being treated in the sick bay. The civic official – his actual position being beyond Lieutenant Pirov’s ability to translate – reported in the most aggressive tones that the gang from Glaucus had entered a tavern already somewhat inebriated and had assaulted both the barmaid and then the man who came to protect her. A general fight broke out, in which two Russians had been knifed, with serious wounds. Glaucus’s men had required troops to subdue them. The official expected them to receive severe punishment. He apparently was not concerned about recompense for the damage caused because the dive was a thorn in the side of the civic authorities.
Giles himself was seething with rage. The offenders had deliberately defied his orders and in doing so had besmirched the good name of his ship and of all their mess mates. Clearly, stopping their rum ration had not been a sufficient deterrent. He would have to resort to more severe punishments. He might as well start now.
“Throw them in the brig – in irons,” he said to the master-at-arms.” I’ll deal with them fully at two bells in the forenoon watch. Mr. Shearer, prepare the cats for use in their punishment.”
That was such an unusual order coming from Giles that the bosun stared at his captain for a few moment before answering, “Aye, aye, sir.”
Giles stepped close to the bosun. “Make them as light as you can, except for the one for Hawkins there.” He said sotto voce. Hawkins was the former servant of Sir Walcott who had been involved in the previous offense. “Make his cat more severe, but not knotted at the ends – that is only for thieves no matter how angry I am.”
Giles had trouble sleeping that night. He felt betrayed and was deeply disturbed that the crew, whom he had thought were behind him, had so blatantly flouted an order. Had he been naïve? Should he be like the other, “flogging” captains? He didn’t believe in flogging. He did not like to rule by threat of severe physical damage. In addition, even a mild flogging made a man unfit for duty for a while, and a severe one rendered him useless for an extended period.
After a tossing and turning for half an hour, Giles summoned Carstairs to his cabin.
“What is going on, Carstairs?”
“The ring leader is Hawkins sir. The others are not very bright and are easily led astray. Hawkins told them that they could easily stay out of trouble if they drank quietly and didn’t respond to any Russian slights. Soon after they entered the pub, he assaulted the barmaid, first trying to fondle her and then striking her when she resisted. When the barman tried to intervene, Hawkins punched him so hard that he knocked him out and may have broken his jaw. The other customers came to the barman’s aid and a general fight broke out. I am afraid our weak-minded crew
members thought that they had to stand up for their shipmate, even though he was clearly in the wrong. In the course of that, Hawkins pulled out a knife and stabbed one of the Russians. They also pulled knives and it was getting very ugly when the watch intervened.”
“I hate the mess that this Hawkins has got us into.”
“Can’t you get rid of him -- give him back to Sir Walcott or something?”
“No. We’re stuck with him.”
“Well, the rest of the crew do not like him. The other three we pressed from Sir Walcott are all right, but not Hawkins. All the officers know that he is bad news, but there isn’t much that they can
do about it.”
“I’ll be extra clear to the officers and the petty officers to be on the watch for any bullying or unnatural practices involving Hawkins, but it will have to be pretty decisively wrong to warrant hanging him. Make sure you let me know if there is more trouble.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Despite his broken night, Giles was up and dressed as usual before dawn. It was just as well that he was. At seven bells of the morning watch, a liveried messenger from the Admiralty arrived with a summons for Giles to appear for an audience with the Navy Minister at nine o’clock.
Giles dressed in his best uniform with his display sword; he used a cutlass when it came to boarding an enemy. He mounted the steps of the Admiralty at the appointed hour with Lieutenant Pirov and they were shown directly into the Minister’s room.
“Captain Giles,” said the Minister, “welcome. Lieutenant, you may leave us. Captain Giles, I am very unhappy about the behavior of your crew. I had expected better of you.”
This was said in a very loud voice before the door to his room was closed. Before Giles could reply, the minister winked at him and lowered his voice. “Most regrettable, though I suppose one cannot expect sailors not to get ashore if they can find a way. It does give me an excuse to see you in a way that would lead no one to surmise that our meeting is connected with secret negotiations. Before we get to that, I have to demand that your men, who did considerable damage and wounded several of our people, be punished. Visibly. I have heard that you are not a flogging captain, but seeing the culprits thrashed on your deck would go a long way to resolving things. A bit of blood would be good. You can expect that a crowd will gather behind our guards to witness the punishment.
“It would be a good idea, I think, if you returned to Kronstadt now. There is far less chance of your men getting into trouble when your ship is at anchor rather than moored to a quay. Ferthermore, Kronstadt is better able to deal with sailors who have come ashore for a drink. You, of course, can still participate in social engagements here if you want to. It is not a long boat ride. I don’t want to deprive society of your company. I have heard you have escaped the clutches of two of our sirens already, but I am sure that others would like to try their chance.”
Giles had not appreciated how efficient was the gossip network at the Court. He was now doubly glad that he had not taken up the offers that had been made to him.
The two men then discussed the terms of the agreement that Giles had presented earlier. The minister wanted some clarification that Giles supplied and asked that His Majesty’s Government consider a couple of additional provisions that he thought would be mutually beneficial, but the Tsar’s Government was ready to enter into the secret treaty in any case.
With everything settled amicably, the Minister rose and accompanied Giles to the door of his room. As he opened it, he resumed his loud voice. “See that those punishments are carried out, Captain Giles! Then you must take your ship to Kronstadt and wait there for Sir Walcott to finish his business. Your crew’s behavior has been totally despicable! Lieutenant Pirov will continue to accompany you.” Since this declaration was accompanied by another big wink, hidden from the people in the outer room, Giles assumed a crest-fallen visage and apologized once more most humbly. Overall, he was very pleased with the meeting. His mission was accomplished, the punishment demanded was only the one he had already resolved to inflict on the offenders, and he was sure that Kronstadt would be a much more suitable place for Glaucus.
When he returned to his ship, Giles immediately ordered that the crew be assembled to witness punishment. The charge was read; the sentence was pronounced. The customary next step in the ceremony was interrupted by Hawkins, “You can’t do this. Sir Walcott always protected me. He encouraged me to take my pleasures in taverns so that I could fulfil my duties better.”
“Silence,” roared Lieutenant Correll in whose division Hawkins had been placed.
“I won’t. I have Sir Walcott’s protection.”
“No, you do not,” said Giles coldly. “Mr. Shearer, gag this man so he cannot further disrupt these proceedings. Now rig the grating and let the cat out of the bag*.”
As the Naval Minister had predicted, a large crowd had assembled on shore waiting to witness the Royal Navy’s version of punishment. The first culprit was lashed to a grating that had been placed so that the crowd could not see the victim’s back. The bosun himself administered the first half dozen strokes. From afar they may have appeared to be very vicious blows, but, in fact, they only produced light pink welts on the miscreant’s back. When the last stroke of the whip had landed, a bucket of water was thrown on the man’s back and he was cut down and taken from sight. Giles knew that the crew member’s punishment came more from the embarrassment of being humbled before his peers rather than any actual pain being inflicted by this very light flogging.
The next ten offenders were treated in exactly the same way. When the last one was cut down, something happened to the grating so that it was rotated through a quarter circle. When Hawkins was tied to it, both his back and his face were visible to watchers on the quay. This change in what the spectators could see resulted in considerable shifting of places among them. Some seemed to prefer to witness the changes in the man’s back produced by the whip while others wanted to concentrate on what was shown on his face as the searingly painful blows landed.
Mr. Shearer took the last cat from its baize bag. Those crew members who were close enough to distinguish its features clearly could see that the whip was made of a thicker, rougher and stiffer rope than the preceding ones and its tails were longer. It was also evident to the assembled members of the crew that the bosun put much more energy into the blows and let the tails wrap farther around to the side of the victim. That it hurt was exhibited by a loud shriek that followed the first blow and each one that followed. The thrashing soon produced moans and curses that filled the space between the lashes, though the curses lost their force by the eighth stroke and became whines begging that the punishment cease. After the twelfth strike, Mr. Shearer surrendered the cat to one of his mates who continued with gusto to lay on the next two dozen. Hawkins’ sounds died down to only soft mewling and he was hanging loosely in his bindings by the time the punishment was finished. His back was bleeding freely from dozens of places where the tails of the cat had broken his skin.
“Cut him down and take him to the surgeon,” Giles commanded when the ordeal was finished. He turned away, sickened by the harm he had had inflicted. The man would likely be useless and in great pain for several days. However, he had had no choice and he was sure that his crew realized that this was the case.
When the grating had been washed and returned to its place and the deck had been swabbed to remove the evidence of what had taken place, Giles gave orders for the ship to get under way. He was surprised at how cheerfully the crew responded. It came to him that most of the sailors had welcomed the comeuppance of a very nasty character. They thought that the punishment, harsh as it had been, was fully justified. Indeed, they were quite happy to see that particular crew-mate reduced to a mewling lump of shattered nerves and skin. What he could not understand was how other captains could routinely inflict far harsher punishments, or why mutinies against such brutal treatment were not much more common.
Before long, Glaucus was ready to cast off. Giles was pleased to see that the punishment parade had not reduced the crew’s efficiency in any way and that they seemed as happy as he was to leave behind the quay in front of the Admiralty. He knew that his visits into society would be far less frequent and that carrying out his mission would be less fraught with the need to avoid seductive advances. However, the reduction of social hazards did not reduce his wish that he could sail for home right now. What in the world was happening at Dipton? Particularly, had Daphne given birth? Had the delivery gone smoothly? Did she regret that she had chosen a husband who could not be with her at such a crucial time?
Chapter XVIII
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sp; Daphne stretched out on a chaise longue near the blazing fire in her bedroom. She was indulging herself this morning. She had rolled over and gone back to sleep when Betsy woke her at the usual time, and ordered breakfast in bed, something she usually did not want to have. She would dress later. For now, she was reading a novel and luxuriating in a guilty feeling that she really should be doing something useful.
It had been a busy couple of weeks since she and Lord David had returned from London. One way or another she had been involved in her step-nieces’ activities. Lydia was making quite heavy weather of her wedding plans and Lady Marianne was not much help. Daphne’s organizing ability was frequently called upon to smooth out tangles that her niece had produced.
Captain Bolton had had to go back to his ship, and Catherine had been moping about the house, convinced that her one chance at happiness had dissolved. Daphne had not been so sure, since he had committed himself to coming to Lydia’s wedding provided that he had not been ordered to take his ship to sea on an urgent task. When the time did come, he had been able to return on the day before the wedding.
He had asked to see Daphne almost as soon as he arrived at Dipton. In a rather stuttering but deliberate way, he had got down to his concerns. Daphne had to listen to a lengthy description of how much wealth he had already collected from prize money, what his prospects might be of gaining more and what his salary would be both on full pay and on half pay. Daphne was finding this a bit tedious, though she did not show it. She already guessed what this catalogue of finances was leading up to and had already evaluated what it suggested in terms of Captain Bolton’s ability to support a wife. She was wondering whether he was intending to try to bargain over a dowry for Catherine.
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