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stowaways on my ship. You must learn your place, boy.” He looked at the marine holding me. “Take him on deck, Private Heard, and form a punishment party.”
    I thought of the red blood that had seeped from Private Gardner’s wounds and struggled against the sentry as he pulled me towards the door, through it and past the steward who stood in the companionway with a look of surprise on his face.
    Word must have spread quickly, for, as soon as I was topsides, the men on watch had assembled and lined up on the deck. Fred was amongst them and I stared at him, silently appealing to him but he lowered his eyes and would not look at me. John, too, kept his head averted and I knew then that I had no friends in the crew.
    I hardly listened as the charge was made, the words snatched away by the wind, and no one stepped forward to speak up for me. I was pronounced guilty. They did not bother with the grating but ripped off the remains of my tattered shirt and laid me over one of the guns like I was embracing it with my hands tied underneath so I could not move.
    “A dozen lashes,” the commodore announced and I stiffened. Private Gardner had also received twelve lashes and I remembered how his back had bled. I was still little more than skin and bone; how was I to survive?
    I looked over my shoulder as the bosun drew out the lash.
    “It’s the pussy for you,” he hissed into my ear. “Not the cat.”
    The lash had only five strands and no knots in it, and yet I knew that this would sting and, at the end of twelve lashes, would draw blood.
    The drum started to beat while I tensed for the first blow. I heard it before I felt it – a swish through the air a second before the leather thongs sliced across my back. It did not sting at first but, as he lifted the lashes away and the air blew across the welts, the skin smarted.
    “One,” the bosun counted.
    I could not believe that I would have another eleven to endure. After another five, tears had welled in my eyes and my back felt like it was on fire. I gasped as a bucket of salt water was thrown over my back.
    “Change,” a voice ordered.
    I wondered what that meant and risked a peek over my shoulder. The bosun had changed sides and was now on my right. As I watched he handed over the lash to another man: Private Gardner, who smiled as he took the handle in his left hand. I had not realised that the marine was left-handed and I groaned and looked away, determined not to see the look of satisfaction in the man’s eyes.
    The private made sure that I felt every single one of the remaining six lashes.
     

 
    5 th February 1863
    I woke before the bell sounded and knew it was time to get out of the hammock. I moved slowly, feeling each one of the welts and open wounds on my skin. They were not deep but stung whenever I moved. If I had expected to be let off my duties the previous day because of my punishment, I had been mistaken. Breakfast, dinner and supper had to be prepared, dished up to the men and the pots and utensils cleaned and the swill fed to the pigs. I had remained shirtless all day, letting the salt-laden air harden the scabs on my back but in the evening, John gave me a shirt to wear and I had put it on before I rolled into the hammock, wincing, and, exhausted, fallen into a deep sleep.
    I pulled my shirt about me. My wounds had oozed in the night and the shirt stuck to my skin in places, but at least I was not stuck to the hammock. I rolled it up, stored it away and went to the galley to begin my duties.
    I was not allowed to take the coffee to the commodore’s cabin. Another cabin boy took it and instead I took the porridge to the men at the mess tables.
    “How are you?” Fred asked me as he took a spoonful.
    “Pained.”
    “You’ll not get any sympathy from me. I warned you.”
    “I’ll get the watch back,” I said. “You’ll see.”
    I walked away. I sounded more confident than I felt, for I knew getting the watch back was going to be all the more