Not One Shred of Decency

by Bob Brown

  Perry must have wondered also, for about mid-morning he asked Ganse if he had delivered the letter to the captain. When told, “yes,” Perry asked him how the captain responded. Ganse replied, “He said it would be hard to do anything other than follow our recommendations, but he didn’t decide anything last night.” Then Ganse remembered that he was to convey to the officers the captain’s thanks for a job well done. He found each officer and, after making sure they would not be overheard, he said, “The captain commends you for your dedication to duty.” It struck him as ironic that they were being commended for putting three men to death.

  He found Hieskill somewhat dispirited and the captain’s commendation did little to cheer him up. Hieskill said, “When they pull men straight away with a rope, they usually strangle to death and they may struggle for several minutes. I hope the captain finds a way to let them drop. That snaps their neck and they’re gone in an instant.” Ganse had never thought about hanging before. He had never wanted to think about hanging before. He visualized the agony of dying by strangulation. Of course the captain would want the execution to be as painless as possible. No doubt he would think of this  but should he make sure by mentioning it to him?

  Mackenzie summoned Ganse and Perry to his cabin at six bells that afternoon. Glancing occasionally at a paper he held, he said, “After much thought and upon the recommendation of my most trusted officers, I’m issuing the following orders: For the crime of mutiny on the U. S. Navy brigantine Somers, Acting Midshipman P. Spencer, Boatswain’s Mate S. Cromwell, and Seaman Elisha Small, shall be hanged from the yardarm tomorrow morning at eight bells, December 1, 1842. To avoid any rescue attempts and for the security of our ship, our crew, and our flag, no more people will be informed than is necessary to carry out this punishment and those people will be instructed to maintain strict silence. Just before the execution, eight sailors will be selected to man the hangman’s rope. Marine Garty and the officers will keep swords ready and pistols cocked to cut to the heart or shoot any man who refuses to heave their full weight on the rope. Wilson, McKinley, Green, and McKee are seriously implicated by the fact that their names appear on a confidential list found in the possession of Midshipman Spencer. These men will be placed in irons immediately before the execution. The entire crew will be present to witness this demonstration of the consequences of mutiny. The officers will be in full dress uniform and will remain out of sight until ten minutes before eight bells.” He looked at Ganse and Perry, “Have I overlooked anything, or do you have any questions?”

  Perry said, “Very well thought through, sir. We will see to having hangman’s nooses and blocks secured to the yardarm.”

  Mackenzie said, “Very well, but keep the nooses in a sea bag and out of sight until just before we place them on the necks of the prisoners. The sight of the nooses might stir up insurrection.”

  Ganse said, “We will carry out your orders to the letter, sir.” He had trouble concentrating on all that Mackenzie had said but was sure that between him and Perry they would get it right. When this cruise started he never anticipated that he would be involved in hanging three men for mutiny. Please God, spare him from this kind of duty ever again.

  Late that night Ganse decided to have coffee before retiring to his bunk. He poured himself a mug of coffee from a large pot that lived on the massive cast iron galley stove. Exhausted, he stepped down from the ladder into the wardroom.

  Mackenzie was seated close to the bulkhead so that he could lean back. An empty coffee mug sat on the table in front of him and his eyes were shut. Ganse assumed that Mackenzie had dozed off. If he had known the captain was there he might have foregone the coffee, for they had not conversed as friends for some weeks now, but maybe Mackenzie would not wake up while he was there.

  He stretched to relieve his aching back and shoulders. Pulling the two heavy pistols from his belt, he held them in his hands as if weighing them before laying them on the table. He reflected on the guns. They seemed a minor inconvenience two days before, but now they weighed like anchors and were uncomfortable to carry.

  As he sat down, Mackenzie opened his eyes momentarily and then shut them again after seeing who was with him.

  Almost inaudible, Ganse said, “I’ve never seen a hanging before.”

  Mackenzie’s eyes popped open with new found energy. He sat erect. “I’ve seen lots of hangings. Public hangings took place every few days in Spain. Once a robber murdered a young boy who worked on a stagecoach. The robber was caught the next day and was sentenced to hang that afternoon. He was an obese man and would be hanged when the hangman pushed him off a platform. The devil must have possessed the hangman, for instead of pushing the robber, he leaped on the robber’s back, and the robber’s neck must’a stretched a foot, and then his head tore off . . .”

  “Captain, please, no more.”

  “The robber and hangman fell in a bloody heap in the thick dust. The robber’s greasy neck slid through the noose and his head bounced off the hangman’s shoulder and rolled through the dust. A fat woman shrieked hysterically when it slung blood on her skirt . . .”

  “Captain! Please! Please! I do not wish to hear any more.”

  “What! You don’t? All right, that was about it anyway.” Mackenzie leaned back and shut his eyes again. He had a pleased look on his face.

  Ganse abandoned his coffee, put his pistols back in his belt and started toward the ladder. He nearly lost his balance as the sea-driven deck shifted under his fatigued legs. Grabbing the ladder he paused and breathed, “Damn.” Climbing out on the spar deck he welcomed the fresh sea breeze that struck him in the face. “Hays, I’ll take over as officer of the deck.”

  “But I have two more hours of duty, Mr. Ganse.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t think I could rest right now anyway.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Fifteen minutes before eight bells Ganse had Boatswain Mate Collins blow his whistle for the crew to assemble on deck. Former Gunners Mate Collins had recently been promoted to replace Cromwell. At ten minutes before eight bells, all the officers appeared on deck in full dress uniforms. Ganse, with Perry by his side, ordered Wilson, McKinley, Green, and McKee, to report front and center. Without explaining charges, he had Garty and Rogers place them in irons that bound them to the bulwark. Wilson resisted at first but when it was obvious that no one else would follow his lead, he surrendered. He cursed the mates who he had expected to resist with him and loudly proclaimed them to be cowards and damned jellyfish. Except for Wilson, the other three collapsed as seaweed out of water. Ganse wondered if they had really planned anything or had they just been churning foam in salty water.

  Spencer and Cromwell watched the activities with obvious consternation. Spencer appeared serious and puzzled. Cromwell’s eyes blazed as if he understood exactly what was about to happen. Small sat on the deck with an indifferent blank stare. At some point, while the new prisoners were being shackled, Mackenzie emerged from his cabin. As soon as the commotion subsided, Ganse looked at Mackenzie and said, “Wilson, McKinley, Green, and McKee have been taken in tow and are bound to the bulwark, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ganse. Have Spencer, Cromwell, and Small stand at attention.”

  With irons clanging, Spencer and Cromwell began to get up. Cromwell expanded his chest and his irons obediently jingled a brief tune, keeping time with his hands scratching his rear. Rogers had to touch Small’s shoulder to get his attention. Small looked at Rogers in bewilderment and Rogers had to tell him to stand up. Their dirty rumpled clothes, tousled wind blown hair, and unshaven faces contrasted greatly with the officers neat dress uniforms. This was more illusion than fact, for with no bathing facilities the bodies underneath those neat uniforms would not have contrasted that much with the prisoners, either in appearance or smell. Sail material that had protected the captives from rain and cool nights lay wadded up at their feet along with miscellaneous tin cups and mess plates.

  Ganse expected Mackenzie to make some
announcements, but instead he confronted Spencer and spoke in a voice directed seaward so Ganse had trouble hearing him and certainly no one else could hear him. “Mr. Spencer, I have found you guilty of mutiny and have sentenced you to be hanged from the yardarm in ten minutes. You may use that time to give me a message to be delivered to your family.”

  Spencer’s eyes widened in disbelief while his mind resisted comprehension of what he had just heard and then he sank like a suddenly becalmed sail. After a long moan, “Oh god captain, have mercy. I didn’t do that much. I was just joking, please, please.”

  “Don’t shame yourself before the flag and our crew. Stand up like a man. Do you wish to send a message to your family?”

  “I can’t think, this can’t happen. You can’t let this happen.” Sobbing, “My father, remember my father, he won’t have this happen.”

  “Am I to assume you have no message to send home.”

  Sobbing, “I can’t think. I need some time to compose myself.”

  Ganse felt immobilized to a tiny spot on the deck. He had a fleeting compulsion to do something, say something, plead for Spencer, but the last grains of sand slipping through a hourglass always seem to speed up, impossible to stop  and opportunity goes with them. In the end Ganse just stood there like a clairvoyant body who could see but not be seen, or heard.

  Mackenzie said, “Very well compose yourself, Mr. Spencer, I’ll be back in a minute. I recommend that you stand erect and conduct yourself in a manner expected of a gentleman and an officer.” Spencer must have heard him, for he ceased moaning and sluggishly began to stand up, but not erect. His slumped posture appeared permanent like an old man’s. With tears streaming down his agonized face he tried to say something, but only moaned.

  Mackenzie went before Cromwell. “Mr. Cromwell, I’ve found you guilty of mutiny and have sentenced you to be hanged from the yardarm in ten minutes. You may use that time to give me a message to be delivered to your family.”

  Cromwell’s chest expanded and he stood as straight as a mainmast. He could not have heard the conversation between Mackenzie and Spencer but he showed no surprise at hearing that he would be hanged. Towering above Mackenzie with fierce eyes and jaw clinched, he growled through rotten teeth, “Go to hell, Mackenzie.”

  To Ganse, Mackenzie seemed unfazed, his expression was disconcerting. Ganse had seen it before during especially brutal floggings. Surely unintentional, but disconcerting none-the-less, for it looked like he was about to smile.

  Mackenzie said, “Then you have no message for your family? Aren’t you married?”

  “That goddamn whore, I wouldn’t grant her breath if she was choking.”

  Ganse chastised himself for having the thought, but if there was a glimmer of brightness in this whole distressing affair it surely would be not having to deal with Cromwell any more.

  Mackenzie moved over to Small and repeated the same mutiny charges he had given to Spencer and Cromwell. Small looked blankly at Mackenzie and gave no response.

  Mackenzie asked, “Do you understand the charge and sentence I just gave you?”

  Small became alert as though he had suddenly arrived from some other world. “Aye sir, I’m guilty of everything you say and more. For my crimes, I accept my punishment. It is just and humane when placed beside the skullduggery we devised for you and the crew by our bloody hands.”

  Cromwell’s deep voice thundered from behind and could be heard above the sound of the wind and flapping sails. “You’re a son-of-a-bitch. Small, a shellfish’s got more brains than you.”

  Obviously Mackenzie realized that no punishment for minor infractions would shut up Cromwell now. The rope about his throat would shut him up soon enough, so he ignored the ravings. Mackenzie asked Small what message he would like to be delivered to his family.

  “The less my poor ailing mother knows of this, the better she’ll be for it. I’ve piled unbearable grief and heartbreak on her frail shoulders and it’s best she never finds out how I died.”

  As Mackenzie turned away, Small looked at Rogers and smiled faintly, then appeared to return to the other world that he may have found more friendly. Rogers had moved back when Mackenzie approached Small so he had not heard the exchange between the two and assumed Small’s smiling meant that he would not be hanged. He did not return the smile.

  Mackenzie returned to Spencer. “Do you now have a message for your family?”

  Although highly agitated, Spencer did start talking. “As these are my last words, I trust they will be believed. Cromwell is innocent.”

  “Mr. Spencer, you are a poor judge of character. I’m confident that Cromwell would use you only as long as it suited his fancy. He would surely dispose of you on the slightest whim.”

  Spencer looked surprised and after a long pause, “I wish to ask Small’s forgiveness.”

  Mackenzie said, “I’ll ask him for you.”

  “You’ve branded me as a coward Captain, but I will surprise you; I will die befitting a man. To demonstrate this, I request that you allow me to give the final signal to the boys on the rope.”

  “Your request is granted. Do you have a message for your family.”

  “I do sir.” Mackenzie took a pencil and piece of paper from his pocket. Spencer began to speak in low nervous tones and Ganse did not dare to be so inquisitive as to move closer where he could hear. He did, however, hear the first part before Spencer’s voice trailed off. Spencer started, but it seemed more of a comment to Mackenzie than a message to his parents. “For me to die in shame and disgrace will be the death of my mother, for that there is no doubt. I know my father well and you, captain, will suffer his full wrath when he hears of this and he’s a genius at administering misery.” Then Ganse thought he said something about being condemned in haste and perhaps something about not having a chance to defend himself, but he could catch only a word now and then between ship and sea sounds. He heard the word “joke” several times. Their voices then got so low that Ganse gave up trying to hear any of it. About then Mackenzie wrote something for the first time and occasionally said something to Spencer, but Ganse never observed any indication that Mackenzie was swayed by what Spencer said. The ten minutes that Mackenzie had spoken of came and went. Ganse was tired, his head throbbed, his back ached, and he longed for the chance to lie down and fall into deep slumber, not to be aroused until this grisly business was finished.

  Mackenzie turned away from Spencer whose face was flushed and miserable. He told Ganse, “We’ll now proceed with the hangings.”

  Small had waited impassively while Mackenzie talked to Spencer. Mackenzie said, “Elisha Small, Mr. Spencer has asked for your forgiveness.”

  “After bringing me to this, he can rot in hell  I’ll never forgive him.”

  “In a minute you’ll meet your maker Elisha Small. You’d be well advised to be more charitable.”

  Small thought for a few seconds and shrugged his shoulders. “All right, for what it’s worth, I forgive him.”

  “I’ll tell him. Now, you’ll be first to hang.”

  Garty stood behind Small, dropped the noose over his head and pulled it snug. He then unlocked the bulkhead leg iron.

  Small said, “With your permission sir, can I say farewell to my mates.”

  “What are the nature of your remarks?”

  “Just farewell sir, and to warn them against a fate like mine.”

  “All right.”

  Irons clattered as Small turned to face the crew. His voice was high pitched but distinct. “Shipmates, take warning by my example. I never was a pirate. I never killed a man. It’s for saying that I would do so that I’m about to depart from this life. See what a word will do. I’ve trampled on your fidelity and if you’re ever tempted, as I was, just remember this poor bugger dangling at the end of a rope  strangling to death. If that vision saves just one of you then it’ll be the only good deed that will come from the wasted life of one Elisha Small.” He looked at Mackenzie, “I’ve said my say
, captain.”

  Cromwell yelled, “It means nothing  it’s all bilge water!”

  Mackenzie said, “Well done, Small.”

  Garty readied his pistol as the captain had ordered to insure that all the boys heaved full strength on the rope. Mackenzie drew his cutlass and Ganse drew his also, though he was not quiet sure why since Mackenzie had not told him to do so. He could hear the metallic shrieks as the other officers drew their cutlasses too. Mackenzie raised his cutlass and dropped it. The boys on Small’s rope pull as one and Small’s body was uprooted from the deck with amazing swiftness. The arcs of his pendulum swing grew less and less as his spasm wracked body neared the yardarm. A few moans from young boys could be heard above the sail flapping and water rushing as Small’s spasms gradually changed into occasional twitches.

  Ganse heard Spencer tearfully moan behind him, “Oooh god! Oh my god!” For himself, he was numbed into silence and slammed his mouth shut when he finally realized that his jaw had dropped as he gazed up at the sight of the first hanging he had ever witnessed. Mackenzie watched intently to the last twitch.

  Still with cutlass drawn, Mackenzie confronted Cromwell.

  Garty, a large man but dwarfed by Cromwell, warily approached him from behind. He stepped up on a bulwark rib to get high enough to drop the noose around Cromwell’s neck. Cromwell’s eyes burned fiercely as the noose fell across his face. Jumping down and squatting Garty unlocked the leg iron that had Cromwell ironed to the bulwark. He glanced at Mackenzie and nodded.

  Cromwell looked at Ganse and with sudden calmness considering his earlier ranting, he said, “Mr. Ganse, I hold you no ill will. I wish to shake your hand.”

  Ganse hesitated. A lashing would be preferable to taking Cromwell’s hand in his. Had Cromwell in his last seconds repented when his demise was inevitable? Why hadn’t he asked to shake Mackenzie’s hand? Perhaps he did not feel as charitable towards Mackenzie. He must do it, this last request from a man about to meet his maker. Also, the crew was watching. He could not refuse. He must uphold his honor. He shifted his cutlass to his left hand, quickly blotted the sweaty palm of his right hand on his jacket, and extended it to Cromwell. With a rattle of his wrist irons, teeth exposed, and eyes blazing, Cromwell’s ham sized hands grabbed Ganse’s hand and forearm in a crushing grip. Ganse winced, OH GOD! What’s he going to do? He could never break this grip. Oh dear God! He’s going to toss me over the side. As his knees buckled he saw Mackenzie’s cutlass thrust deep into Cromwell’s gut. A red stain oozed through Cromwell’s blouse around the blade.