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keelhauling.  Traditionally, it was a brutal Dutch practice where a line was passed under the ship and the victim was dragged underneath the keel from one side of the ship to the other.  Many victims drowned, but before they died, the barnacles’ razor sharp edges would tear the man’s flesh to shreds.
    The French captain had put his own spin on the Dutch punishment.  Rather than drag him by bound hands or under his arms, he tied Jaxon’s hands behind him and dragged him feet first. Afterwards, they threw him on the deck like fish, gasping for air and writhing to free himself.
    It had been years since the ship had been put in dry dock and the barnacles scraped off.  As a result Jaxon’s injuries had been extensive. 
    His most life threatening injury had been to his thigh muscle.  At nearly a foot in length, the gash at one point nearly reached the bone.  No one on the ship had the knowledge to help him. Within days, the wound began to fester.  Jaxon told his crew to let him die rather than cut off his leg.
    Even boiling with fever, Jaxon could sense himself losing consciousness and he knew in his heart he would never wake up again.  He tried to picture the face of his intended, Millie Adams.  She was the most beautiful maiden he had ever known.  She had delicate features, her blond hair was thick and wavy and her eyes large and blue as the sky. 
    Jaxon had lain unconscious for days when his brother Daniel discovered the wound full of maggots.  They had eaten through all the black, dead flesh and Daniel couldn’t stand the indignity of his brother being eaten alive by vermin.  So he picked them out one by one then cauterized the wound with his knife, its blade red hot, so no more could get in.  Within a day, Jaxon’s fever began to drop and he began to stir a little, which gave Daniel hope.  Over the next few days, he started waking for short periods, which soon led to a lengthy recovery. 
    The injury to his leg had been the most severe, the limp permanent, but it was the gash to his face that would be the most life changing.  The scar was ugly.  It started above his eye, angled across the bridge of his nose to the opposite cheek where it cut a crooked path towards his jaw. 
    Jax had no idea how valued good looks were to society.  He had taken his own looks for granted his entire life.  The only thought he ever gave to his features was that he wished he didn’t share his face with his twi n brother, Grayson.  He had a lot of resentment over being identical as he grew up.  Being the younger twin annoyed him, but when few people took the time to tell them apart, it made him resent looking alike.  They called him Twin when they didn’t know who was who, as if his name had been changed to an interchangeable label like the way the family pet might be called Dog . 
    Their father loved the old expression:  “Be careful what you wish for; you might get it.”  That pretty much summed up the way he felt.  He had gotten what he asked for, a face of his own, but at what cost?  He hadn’t known how important looks were to society.  People he had been friends with his entire life , were awkward in his presence.  They wouldn’t look him in the face and every conversation was short and superficial.  Women avoided him altogether as if they feared his looks reflected of his soul.  He hated to admit it, but maybe there was some truth there.  Being disfigured had changed the way he thought of himself.
     
    Jaxon shook his head and leaned over the railing, sea mist dampening his brow.  His family members were the only people who ever really looked at him anymore.  They alone looked past his scars when they spoke to him.  Their concern centered on the scars which could not be seen. 
    His was a large family.  He was third of the nine surviving children.  His sister Imelia was the oldest.  She married young and now had three children. Even now, five years later, the older two still avoided their