“Only found four of them soldiers, sir. They said the other’s dead on the beach on the northern island. These ones walked to this island through the shallows. Molloy had to shoot this one, sir. Damned sorry, but nary a choice.”
Wake saw, as he listened to White, that the three ambulatory deserters were now lashed to the foremast and the sailors were trying to get the wounded soldier lifted up on the deck. Gentleness was not employed as they finally threw the now screaming man up after several failures at being more delicate. Wake looked again at White.
“All right, White, come up and tell me what happened. Rork, try to get a dressing on that wound and bind it up. Use some of the laudanum to quiet that man.”
Both men acknowledged Wake, with Rork adding that White had better get the ship’s boat cleaned up before any of the mess set in. White told the ship’s boy to start on it as he climbed up the main chains to the deck and walked aft with the captain. When they reached the stern White stopped, took off his canvas hat, and stood quietly waiting.
“Go ahead, White. What happened?”
“Well sir, Molloy and Hill were walking around the shallows on the lagoon side of the island, looking for them deserters like ya told us all to do. I had three others walking around on the windward side, on the beach there, looking too. Me and the boy was at the boat, waiting for ’em all to come back.”
“Yes, go on. How did they end up shooting him?”
“Well, sir, I sorta seen it myself, ’cause the curve of the island let me see the boys walkin’ through the shallows over there. They’s a walkin’ along and suddenly like, a man jumps outta the mangroves an’ on Molloy with a cutlass or bayonet or somethin’, sir. Saw it my ownself. Molloy starts a hollering and Hill starts a wadin’ back to him, but Molloy finally shot the son of a bitch with his pistol while they’s a wrastlin’. Hill waren’t close enough to help ol’ Molloy afore that bayonet coulda’ done its duty, so Molloy shot ’im and I woulda’ too, sir.”
“And the others?”
“They’s a hidin’ in them mangroves too. When Molloy used his pistol they came outta there, hands high in the air and beggin’ not to shoot them too. Made ’em all drag their friend back to the boat and put him in. They started to get bowed up when we put them three in the bow, so I had the lads keep cutlass points on ’em to keep ’em quiet like. Sorry he ain’t dead, sir. Know what a pure chore it’ll be, but Molloy only got one shot off and it crossed his belly, lettin’ his guts out. Molloy’s a new man, sir. He’s a feelin’ poorly ’bout it right now.”
“I see. Tell Molloy he did his duty and defended himself, White. I’ll talk to him later. Meanwhile get the boat and schooner cleaned up. Lay back on the rode and get her ready for the night. I want two men guarding the prisoners at all times. Send Hill to me.”
While Rork tended to the wounded soldier, who was still alternately crying and screaming despite the laudanum, Wake surveyed his crew. Still no pity showed toward the deserters, who had made the ultimate mistake of showing violence to the men who were doing their duty to apprehend them.
Instead, the sailors were congratulating Molloy on the fact that at least he had hit his target from a distance of six inches and berating him that he couldn’t make it a kill shot from that range. Molloy, a quiet young man in normal circumstances, was smiling at his crewmates but not joining in the laughter. When the others weren’t noticing, he occasionally looked up to the foredeck where Rork was finishing up his dressing and binding. Wake made a mental note to definitely speak with the youngster and went below to his cabin.
Hill arrived as Wake was lighting his lamp. A skinny man, around thirty, he looked and smelled like he had never known a bath. He ran a filthy hand through his greasy hair to get an errant curl out of his eyes then stood as straight as the cabin overhead would allow.
“Sir, Seaman Hill reportin’, sir.”
Wake sat at the small desk and eyed him for a moment. Hill tried to look away.
“Hill, tell me what happened. Tell me straight, Hill.”
Hill tried to stand still and looked at the chart on the desk.
“Well, sir. That ol’ soldier jes’ jumped Molloy in the mangroves. I’s ahead a Molloy, an’ turned when I heard the splashin’. Deserter man was comin’ at Molloy with a bayonet or long knife. Got him up close too. Molloy said to ’im ‘get back!’ an’ the soldier kept acomin’ with that big blade, so’s ol’ Molloy shot him in the gut. That stopped him.
“Then they’s a bunch o’ other ones in the groves, an’ theys’ all give up right away like. No fuss from them. Molloy had no choice on it, sir.”
“Where’s the knife, or bayonet?”
“We looked, sir, but couldn’t find it. Gotta be there, under that silt ’n sand.”
“Very well, Hill, thank you. Send Bosun Rork here.”
Wake turned his attention to his pen and paper as Hill climbed the ladder to the deck above. He would have to start on a report detailing all of this, with statements from the sailors and from the deserters. From the looks of the wound, the gut shot deserter could well be dead by the morn, and the documentation of all of this would best be started now, while it was all fresh.
Rork’s
