By 1866 the Royal Navy was in the process of being liberalised [some would call it 'softened'] and modernised. Sail, rather than steam, was still the prime method of propulsion, but working conditions, especially among the lower ranks, had improved vastly and the rigid and severe discipline which had been current until recently, had been relaxed to some extent, with more emphasis on training and encouragement and far less on punishment, particularly of the 'corporal' variety, for which the Naval branch of the Armed Forces had always been renowned.
This was not to say that the swish and snap of the 'cat' lashing a bare back was no longer heard, but merely that it occurred less frequently than had been the case a few years earlier and that its infliction on the naked rumps of boy sailors had been supplanted by the only marginally less painful, but infinitely less damaging, use of the birch-rod, of which every ship of the line now carried several brine-soaked and very serviceable specimens, as well as the materials to make more, just in case....
Also, appreciating that the high spirits of energetic, young [and even not so young] crew members could get out of hand during a long, uneventful voyage, no official restrictions had been placed on the time-honoured and summary use of officers' canes or of the ubiquitous and well-respected ropes-end.
H. M.S. ASPERA, a well fitted-out and competently manned frigate, was generally a happy and efficiently 'tight' ship. Some of the members of her crew, like Able-Seaman Bill Stowe, were making their 3rd or 4th voyages under Captain Stephen Harris and veteran Boatswain Basil Fenwick, having applied for berths on board the ASPERA in preference to sailing on larger, more modern and better gunned vessels, a fact that spoke for itself.
There was, of course, a shifting element among the crew, consisting, mainly, of its complement of casually hired hands, the ship's boys and the necessary quota of Midshipmen. It was from these echelons, too, that most of the problems encountered during any voyage seemed to emanate.
On this voyage, however, there was another potential source of difficulty and it was the fervent hope and prayer of the officers that it would never actually materialise; the cause of the problem was, himself, unconcerned by it, as its rationale was totally foreign to him and, in fact, beyond his comprehension.
Not surprisingly, Lord Colin Willoughby, the 15-year-old third son of Admiral Charles Willoughby, Earl of Itford, Supreme Commander of the Atlantic Fleet, had elected, at an early age, to follow in the footsteps of his illustrious father. After an unwilling, brief and undistinguished stint at Harrow, young Colin had, to the huge delight of his proud parent, been accepted as a Cadet Officer in the Navy and had secured a berth as Midshipman on board the ASPERA, which was skippered, quite by chance, by a lifelong friend of the Admiral's, who had also known the boy from birth. This had led to Captain Harris's raising with his superior officer certain misgivings about the level of discipline which he might be called upon to exercise over a lively boy who would be known to be of noble birth, was prone to mischief AND was the son of the Admiral himself.
However, rather than allow the spectre of nepotism to begin to blight the lad's career at such an early stage, by transferring him to another ship, the two officers had agreed that Colin was to be treated in EVERY way like any other midshipman and that position was clearly put to the youngster and was accepted by him as a matter of course.
Nevertheless, he was initially regarded with positive dislike by the other midshipmen and with a good deal of reserve by the ship's boys, until matters came to a head early one morning when a raid on Colin's quite well-stocked locker had produced such determined and noisy resistance from its rudely awakened and naked owner, that the resultant tangle of bodies and limbs, which had left Colin with a freely bleeding nose and some of the other boys with rapidly-closing eyes, had had to be broken up by some well-aimed slashes of Mr. Fenwick's cane. Thereafter, once the cause of the disturbance had been established, the aggressors had been taken on deck and bent, one by one, over the breech of the nearest cannon, to receive between 6 and 10 lusty strokes of the same cane across the taut seats of their regulation canvas trousers. Under the impression that these penalties were being exacted for merely participating in the fracas itself, Colin had offered his own still bare bottom for chastisement and, although Fenwick's declared reason for NOT beating him was the perfectly justifiable one that he had been the wronged party, acting in defence of his property, his soundly-thrashed attackers had chosen to see, in his exemption from punishment, an element of favouritism, which had nearly led to another fight and did have the aftermath of Colin's being called 'His Dis-Grace', behind his back, at any rate. However, he was such a likeable lad that he was soon accepted in the rough-and-tumble atmosphere of the 'Middies' Mess' and even though it was suspected that he would NEVER be punished 'like them', no matter what he might do, that suspicion was not generally held against him, personally.
As nothing is more difficult to prove than a negative, Colin was obliged to live with this lurking stigma of privilege until another incident dispelled it forever. Being a conscientous and competent young sailor, he did not attract much in the way of disapproval from his superiors, who generally liked the sandy-haired, snub-nosed lad, with his alert blue eyes, short, sturdy, suntanned body and strong, well-formed limbs, who was always ready to lend a hand or step into the breech.
Colin's watch [Port], had just been piped below and, after a plain but substantial meal, its members were free to sleep, talk or otherwise amuse themselves for the next almost four hours. Colin found himself in the company of one of the youngest of the ship's boys, a slight, very attractive little fellow who was known as Dickie and who was not yet quite 12 years old, who set about teasing 'His Disgrace' about being 'the First Sea Lord' and, eventually, snatched Colin's log out of his hand and made off with it into the rigging, hurling insults at its owner. Within seconds, a rather lopsided and totally forbidden game of tag was under way, with Colin vainly trying to retrieve his property from the other, rather more nimble, boy, who kept leaping from ratline to ratline, some 20 to 30 feet above the deck.
Disaster had to strike and did, when Dickie's bare foot slipped off the spray-drenched rope and, with a despairing yell, he plummetted out of the rigging. Fortunately, the ship was rolling towards that side, so he missed both the deck and the bulwarks and fell, with a resounding splash, into the sea. Colin, who had been about to give up the unequal struggle when Dickie fell, was on the deck in seconds, grabbed a lifebuoy and flung it as far as he could towards the struggling lad. As Colin was short and the buoy heavy, this was not nearly far enough and, realising that Dickie was a far from strong swimmer, Colin yelled "Man Overboard" at the top of his voice, climbed up on the bulwark and plunged over the side to assist his recent tormentor, while another midshipman threw a length of one inch rope after him, all the while repeating his warning cry.
Colin, a powerful swimmer, soon reached Dickie and, keeping his head above water, swam back with him to the buoy. The rope, which was attached to the ASPERA, had long since been pulled away, so there the two boys hung, suspended quite safely in the decidedly cold water, awaiting rescue and, both realised, inevitable retribution.
It took some 40 minutes for the ship to be brought about, a pinnace to be lowered and then sculled the furlong or so which by then separated ASPERA from her errant young crew members, but, in due course, the two bedraggled, shivering boys, and Harry, the young rating who had been acting as helmsman at the time, were facing a furious Skipper, Second Officer and Bosun in the well, which was as far as they had progressed after coming over the side, before being brought to book. It was soon made clear to the boys that their crimes of playing in the rigging and 'leaving the ship without permission', had been aggravated by their gross carelessness, which had resulted in serious danger to life and limb, as well as wasting valuable sailing time and a most favourable wind, that they could expect to be severely dealt with as a result and that Harry, too, was held partly responsible for the incident.
The three boys were put in irons and locked in the 'Brig', which showed that a formal Court Martial was to follow. Once they had departed, Lieutenant Errol Fortescue, the Second Officer, remarked that it seemed to him that a few 'good old-fashioned floggings' would be in order and as neither of the other officers challenged this statement, it was obvious that all had been thinking along the same lines. However, none of the officers pertinently raised the question of how to deal with young Colin Willoughby, the two subordinates looking to the Skipper for guidance, while he, unbeknown to them, had already resolved that issue to his own satisfaction.
The on-deck Drumhead Court Martial was a brief, formal affair. The two boys' guilt was obvious and was not disputed, but when Harry pleaded that he had not seen what was going on, he was told that being unaware of his surroundings was unforgivable in a helmsman and that he should hold his peace, lest he be charged with further dereliction of duty in that direction, as well. At that point, Captain Harris dropped his bombshell by saying that, as one of the culprits was like a son to him, he intended to recuse himself entirely from the issue of punishment and would abide by and fully support ANY sentences which the other two officers might see fit to impose.
As the First Officer's watch was off duty, the ultimate responsibility for determining the respective sentences now devolved on Lieut. Fortescue. He was not a cruel or sadistic man, but, as an ex-Public Schoolboy, who had also come through the harsh regimen of the Royal Naval Academy, he had very definite views on discipline and on the duties of various members of the crew while fulfilling different functions. In the present case he had no doubt but that both boys deserved to be soundly thrashed for their transgressions and resolved to make use of the opportunity to dispose, finally and at the cost of no more than a very sore backside, of the idea that Colin Willoughby was enjoying privileges beyond his station on the ASPERA, while impressing on the crew some of the essential differences in status between Midshipmen and ship's boys, which were not always to the advantage of the former.
The success of his scheme would, however, depend on the co-operation of Mr. Fenwick, who set great store by rank and position, and Fortescue convinced him by pointing out that Colin was free to apeal to the Skipper if he felt that his punishment was excessive, as Harry would probably do over his. Fortescue was gambling on Colin's being willing to accept almost ANY penalty for the sake of proving that he was just like everyone else. Dickie was a mere pawn in the game whose rear end would have to be sacrificed, at a level far beyond its true deserts, for the greater good.
As expected, Fenwick was amenable, but was of the view that Colin's undoubted heroism deserved some form of recognition and virtually pleaded his case to the still inexperienced Second Officer, forcing him to explain his scheme in detail, whereafter it had the Bosun's full support and the stage was set.
The apprehensive trio were accordingly again brought before the 'Court' by the file of Marines which always attended to such details at Courts Martial and Lieutenant Fortescue, with an aplomb born of years of hearing much the same sort of lecture's being delivered by his own instructors and superiors, virtually reduced the culprits to tears with his blistering analysis of their irresponsibility and its possible consequences. Then, starting with young Dickie, he put his plan into operation by pointing out that, while disobeying orders usually led to punishment, it should be remembered that OBEYING them could bring about substantial rewards. As Dickie had disobeyed a direct, standing, order, by initiating a game in the rigging, he had earned himself a caning of 18 strokes, which would be administered to his bare buttocks in front of the assembled crew. Errol waited for the gasps of shocked horror from almost all present to die away before continuing, "You are ordered to position yourself to receive this punishment by standing, unrestrained, in the middle of the deck, bending forward and clasping your ankles firmly and to remain in that position throughout the caning. To illustrate my point about reward, as distinct from punishment, you will receive a remission of two strokes for each of the first six strokes of the cane which you receive while obeying these orders; the result is that it will depend entirely upon yourself whether you receive a caning of six, or of eighteen strokes or of any even number in between those two."
There were some more stifled gasps of surprise and it is safe to assume that Dickie, at any rate, made up his mind to take his 'six' without even moving.
Errol then ignored Colin completely and turned to Harry, sentencing him to two dozen lashes of the 'cat' for his 'gross dereliction of duty' in failing to report the boys' conduct to the Officer of the Watch immediately. He was delighted to see the immediate flash of rebellion on Harry's honest face and, simultaneously, how Colin's shoulders had slumped, [as he had probably concluded that he was about to be 'let off', yet again]. Errol then knew, all he needed to know about young Colin's needs and desires; being, himself, the son of a high-ranking Naval Officer, he was no stranger to the difficulty of winning acceptance from his fellows while under the protective aura of his parent's rank.
So, without further hesitation, Errol took a deep breath and berated Colin sternly over his thoughtlessness in not preventing a younger boy from endangering himself and others, but congratulated him on his bravery in going to Dickie's rescue, stating that that act would bring its own limited reward in that Colin, as the senior midshipman, who was, thus, ultimately responsible for the actions of his juniors, would receive a flogging of only thirty strokes of the birch, instead of the maximum four dozen which his offences so richly deserved.
For a moment, Errol thought that Colin, who had gone dead white during the long harangue, was going to leap forward and embrace him, but, as the colour came rushing back to the boy's cheeks, he took a grip on his emotions. There was no mistaking, though, the gratitude in his, under the circumstances, rather out of context "Thank you, Sir!!" The young Lieutenant did, however, wonder just how grateful the boy would be once his bare backside had felt the two-and-a-half dozen lusty strokes of the birch which either Mr. Fenwick or one of his mates would be laying across it.
The other boys, however, were clearly shocked by the severity of Colin's sentence and one of them actually grabbed at Errol's sleeve with a pleading, "Oh please let him off a bit more, Sir. He saved Dickie's life!!"
Errol, however, having seen what he had needed to see, was unmoved and crisply ordered the little party to prepare for punishment. [The truth of the matter was that, being no stranger to the birch himself, he knew very well that, while the flogging would sting and smart atrociously, it was relatively innocuous, compared to a similar whipping with the cat.]
Not surprisingly, Harry appealed to the Skipper immediately and the execution of the sentences was held over, pending the outcome. Dickie might well have done likewise, but was far too young and overawed by his surroundings to even consider the possibility, which no-one else thought to mention to him, either. Colin, while realising that he was in for a clear 18 more strokes across his bare bum than he had ever experienced in one thrashing before and that his flogging was unduly severe, was determined, as Fortescue had felt sure he weould be, to prove to the entire crew that he could 'take it' with the best of them and was NOT exempt from doing so.
Captain Harris, who had cooled down considerably since the encounter in the well, had come to share Errol Fortescue's view that Harry's part in the debacle had actually been a trivial one and he accordingly commuted the entire sentence of flogging to the loss of half a day's pay and sent a very relieved Harry back on deck to witness the fate of the two guilty boys.
In the meantime, preparations had been made for the caning and birching, both of which were to be administered on the main deck, where there was plenty of room for both participants and spectators. The assembled sailors, always maliciously interested in such a spectacle, had taken up grandstand vantage points on the deck, the bulkheads and even in the rigging and were engaged in mercilessly teasing the two nervous culprits and passing ribald remarks about what their behinds would look and feel like in a few minutes' time, when the levity was brought to an end by the arrival, on deck, of the Bosun and three of his mates, armed, between them, with a few long, thin and obviously supple canes and several equally long birch rods which were ominously dripping puddles of brine on to the deck.
The sight of these implements and the rather grim expression on Mr. Fenwick's face, brought both Colin and Dickie sharply back to reality and made them wonder whether they, too, should not have begged Captain Harris for at least some mercy. However, it was too late for that by then, as the Bosun's forefinger was unmistakably summoning Dickie, who suddenly looked very small and pathetic, to the middle of the deck.
In view of the nature of the two beatings that were due, Fenwick and Fortescue had decided to dispense with any apparatus. Dickie had, in his sentence, been deprived of ANY support and instead of 'riding the donkey', as was usual for birchings at sea, the two officers had decided to have Colin 'horsed', using, as an act of poetic justice, the sturdy back of Rating Harry Morton for that purpose.
Since Dickie was, in theory, up for 18 cuts, Fenwick had enlisted the aid of one of his Mates, so that the strokes could be given alternately from the boy's right and his left. The resolute expression on the child's tense young face left Fenwick in no doubt but that he intended to take his first six cuts without moving, thereby saving his tail from any further lashing. Fenwick, however, while realising that 18 cuts was far too severe a thrashing for an 11 year old, also assumed that Fortescue had never intended the boy to receive the full quota; he, Fenwick, thought that the sheer thoughtless naughtiness of Dickie's escapade merited 10 or 12 hard, painful whacks and having an assistant to administer half of the punishment would afford Fenwick, himself, the opportunity to guage Dickie's reaction to his whipping, as it progressed and, if necessary, to lay on a couple of strokes that would make the youngster 'jump' in spite of himself, while the rest of the caning proceeded at an even tempo. He had accordingly instructed the Mate to lay his stripes on, alternately above and below the first one, which Fenwick, who was fully ambidextrous, would apply from the right, but to keep away from the boy's 'crease' until after the first six.
In response to his summons Dickie, with a despairing, pleading glance at Fortescue, who ignored it, moved towards the two men with a hesitant, reluctant, barefoot shuffle which showed clearly that he knew only too well that the next few minutes were likely to be the most painful of his young life. Both boys had been stripped to the waist while on 'watch below', with the result that when, in response to Fenwick's almost imperceptible downward gesture, Dickie had rather slowly and clumsily untied the rope which supported his canvas trousers, allowed them to fall to the deck and stepped out of them, he was left standing stark naked in front of the two men. Probably due to fear and tension only, Dickie's tiny _c_o_c_k_ was standing up stiffly against his stomach. At a time like that, it is no consolation that most of those who are laughing at you, had seen you in the same state many times before; it is horribly embarrassing to be mocked and Dickie's crimson face left Fenwick in no doubt but that the boy's punishment had already begun!
To save him further humiliation, Fenwick brusquely ordered him to turn with his back to the poopdeck, where the Officers were standing, to bend over tightly, taking a firm grip on his ankles and to 'stay there, or else...' In the few moments before the caning began, Fenwick had to admit that young Dickie presented an almost perfect rear view. He obviously still had a straight-up-and-down 'little boy' physique, but his slim brown back and lean thighs were well muscled for his age and formed a pleasing frame for a pair of well-formed, round and tightly clenched haunches, which sloped smoothly in all directions, leaving the small, pale, target area clearly defined. It was across those two slightly trembling cheeks that Fenwick then rested his cane, which was joined, a second later, by its twin, touching the bare buttocks about half an inch higher up on the taut, naked skin. Then both canes were lifted and Fenwick's, having been drawn back behind the man's powerful shoulder, came whistling down to land, with a loud, cracking snap, squarely across the centre of Dickie's naked tail, seeming to vanish, for an instant, into the yielding flesh, which then expelled it, leaving a chalk-white, indented stripe across both buttocks, which quickly turned into a bright red weal. Dickie was obviously not prepared for the sheer, excruciating agony of that first impact of pliant stick on bare flesh and he yelped sharply and loudly as the sting and burn ripped through his backside and flooded his whole body; however, apart from the involuntary curling of his bare toes against the deck and the whitening of his knuckles as he fought to retain his hold on his ankles, he remained motionless as another Mate intoned,"One....of sixteen", confirming that Dickie had earned his first remission of two cuts.
The mate's cane slashed mercilessly into the small, clenching and unclenching tail, producing the same reactions and forcing Fenwick to take sterner measures to achieve his own objective. He accordingly laid the third stroke with all his force, right into the soft, pleated band of flesh where the boy's bottom met his legs. The almost virgin skin at the top of his left leg was no match for the fast-moving tip of the cane and split under it, making poor litle Dickie howl in agony, release his ankles, straighten up and clap both hands to his flaming seat. Realising, at once, what he had done, he jacknifed immediately into position, but the damage was done and the Mate called out, "Three ....of Fourteen" repeating the previous total and confirming that Dickie had lost one remission.
He managed to stay down, biting his lips and clawing frantically at his ankles, while the next cut sliced into his bare rump and his messmates were all silently willing him to take the next two cuts equally well and, so to limit his whipping to 8 strokes. Fenwick, however, was not to be denied and laid the fifth stroke diagonally across both welted cheeks, re-creating the heat of three of the first four stripes and again bringing the suffering boy upright with tears streaming down his upper cheeks and a film of sweat-diluted blood appearing on the lower ones. The mate did his best, but Dickie had steeled himself for that sixth, vital, stroke and took it virtually without flinching and there was a definite, if muffled, cheer from the watching boys and even some of the ratings as it was confirmed that Dickie had saved himself eight cuts. However, he still had four to go and, with no reason to be heroic about them, he leapt and squirmed so wildly as Fenwick's seventh cut tore into his already very discoloured and corrugated behind, that two of the sailors were detailed to hold him across the breech of the nearest cannon, where he lay, crying but still, while the last three strokes bit into his swollen tail, which seemed, by then, to have reached its limit of pain, as even the frantic clenching of the twin bare cheeks had virtually ceased.
As the last of the ten strokes landed, the sailors released the boy's wrists and ankles and Fenwick, with amazing gentleness, considering what he had just done to the child, lifted him off the gun and held him close against his waistcoat, while Dickie sobbed and writhed, all the while rubbing at his blazing rear, until both the physical and the mental anguish began to subside.
By then Fenwick had other business to attend to, apart from soothing a well-thrashed small boy. Colin had watched, with mounting alarm, while Dickie's little tail had been lathered, well knowing that the child's caning was merely a prelude to his own, far more protracted and severe, flogging. During his sojourn at Harrow, he had been flogged by his Housemaster twice and by Dr. Drummond, the Headmaster, once, that incident having been what had led to the decision to remove him from the school and to accede to his wish to join the Navy. He was, thus, no stranger to the birch or its effects on a bare backside, but this time, something was different and it was not until Fenwick had released the still sniffing Dickie from his embrace and he and the other Mate had armed themselves with two of the bundle of birch-rods, that he had realised that these were not similar to the bushy implements that had certainly stung and, here and there, slightly cut, his naked hindquarters at Harrow, but consisted of slender bundles of long, thin, birchen switches, with the result that being flogged with them would be much the same as receiving eight or nine strokes with a thin cane for every stroke of the rod. As he stepped forward, the sun-warmed deck suddenly felt like red-hot coals under his bare feet and, gritting his teeth, he wondered whether he would be able to take even one stroke of those formidable instruments of torture, without breaking down and disgracing himself completely. The strange part was, though, that whereas he had bitterly resented and rebelled against every cut he had ever received at Harrow, he was completely resigned to enduring a far more severe and infinitely less deserved whipping that day; the Navy had its rules, he had broken them, so it was quite right that he should be flogged for it; still....in the middle of the deck he hesitated. There was no 'donkey', no bench, no trestle; was he supposed to lie on a gun, like for a caning, or just touch his toes, like Dickie?
Thinking that he would be told what to do soon enough, Colin unhitched his trousers, let them fall to the deck, stepped out of them and waited, naked, for orders. In his case, fear had caused no arousal and he felt no embarrassment over his exposed genitals until Harry, in response to a sharp nudge, broke ranks and joined him, silently indicating that Colin should lie on his back. Like most of the crew, Harry was stripped to the waist and the sudden prospect of his own naked body being pressed against the young sailor's broad, bare, suntanned back, caused Colin's lusty young _c_o_c_k_ to spring to instant attention, to the great amusement and delight of his shipmates, who were starting to enjoy themselves thoroughly at his expense and an informal 'book' opened almost at once on whether Colin would still 'have a horn' by the time his thrashing was over.
There was nothing for it, but for him to mount the back of the crouching sailor and to allow his wrists to be firmly clasped in front of the smooth, hard chest. As Harry straightened up, Colin noticed, with relief, that Harry had not passed his arms behind his, Colin's, knees, as the Ushers had always done at school when horsing a boy for a flogging, This allowed his legs to hang straight down with his bare feet a few inches off the floor, making it relatively difficult for him to move about excessively, but without parting his buttocks so far as to allow the twigs to penetrate too far between them.
Once again, Mr. Fenwick and his Mate took up their positions on each side of Colin's taut, unprotected bottom, laid their rods on it to measure their distances and, on hearing his murmered 'Yes' in reply to the almost whispered 'Ready?', set about their task with a will.
In spite of his tail's being tightly braced and his being prepared for some really intense pain, the pure agony of the first cut of Fenwick's birch took Colin by surprise. Unlike a cane stripe, to which, like every schoolboy, he had been well accustomed, the spray of the 8 or 9 thin twigs which made up each rod, set virtually the whole of a naked cheek on fire from the first stroke. Whoever had made the rods, was an expert, having used two lengths of thin, supple, amply budded twigs, one abot six inches longer than the other. As the two men thrashed Colin's bare backside with long, full-blooded, slashing strokes which followed through as if the taut, naked body had not been there at all, the longer twigs, after biting into both buttocks, wrapped round the crest of the far one, allowing their hard, tapering buds to sink into the soft, largely unwhipped skin there, while the shorter ones, while denied access to Colin's tenderest spots because of his not riding astride Harry's hips, nevertheless curled sufficiently far round the inside of each cheek for their buds to nip and dig into those usually exempt areas painfully and to make Colin gasp sharply as each stroke landed.
Colin managed to endure five of those agonizing lashes before his resolve broke and the sixth brought a yelp of agony from his lips. By then, his entire bottom, from above the top of the deep groove between his cheeks, to an inch or two down his thighs, was a solid mass of dark red, fine, raised weals, extending not only well round each flank, but also some way into the rounded cleft between his solid, well-developed buttocks and was speckled with drops of bright crimson young blood where the vicious buds had broken even his elastic, adolescent hide. With more than two dozen cuts to go, everyone began to wonder whether there would be anything left of Colin's bottom by the time his flogging was over. He had given up any attempt at stoicism after the eighth cut and yelled lustily as the next three ripped into his bare flesh, between them seeming to flay the skin right off the centre of both buttocks. After the eleventh stroke, Fenwick signalled to his Mate, who delivered the twelfth before both men called for new rods with which to copntinue the whipping. Seeing these two long, fresh instruments of torture, each still dripping wuth brine, made poor Colin sob violently to himself, but, even then, there was no begging for mercy on his part and he visibly braced his naked rump for the resumption of the whipping.
Another four fierce, sizzling strokes landed squarely across their bare, clenching, flinching target, seeming to drive the slim loins into the body that was supporting them. Colin had either weakened or else, his tail had been numbed by its continued battering, as his yells of agony had subsided and he had taken the last two cuts, like the first few, in virtual silence. Then, suddenly, there was a commotion as the Senior Midshipman from the rival, Starboard, Watch, broke ranks and, as protocol required, ignoring the Skipper and First Officer, presented himself to Lieutenant Fortescue, as Officer in command of the punishment parade. It was a scene in the best Naval Tradition; the slight, limp body of the boy being flogged, his scarlet, ridged rump bearing witness to the way in which the Navy maintains discipline; the gangling, half naked, barefoot, 17-year-old Midshipman, doing his best to salute the immaculately uniformed Second Officer smartly and the ripple of approval from all sections of the crew as his formal, clipped, words were heard: "Permission requested to end punishment, SIR".
In that instant Fortescue knew that, no matter what Colin's mangled tail might be feeling like, the battle had been won. The boy who was supposed to be above the Law, had just been publicly and undeniably thrashed as severely as any boy had ever been on the ASPERA and had borne it so well that his shipmates had taken the risk of intervening on his behalf. Fortescue knew that, notwithstanding appearances, Colin's flayed backside would heal, with no more than some thin, purple scars for souvenirs, even before Dickie's far more deeply bruised and thickly welted haunches were again really fit for sitting purposes. However, for present purposes, he would be something of a hero, so Fortescue, with an inward grin, solemnly said, "Permission granted, Mr. Barrowman; that will do; thank you, Mr. Fenwick; the prisoner may be released and discharged for treatment."
By then, though, two more full-blooded strokes had raked the boy's bare tail and a third, bringing the total up to nineteen, landed as Harry straightened up and let go of Colin's wrists. His bare feet had hardly touched the deck before he was mobbed by the other boys, all clamouring to know 'what was it like?', 'did you go dead?' and so on, before they literally bore Colin off to old Dr. Swann in the sick bay, to have his seemingly mortally wounded bum attended to. The good Doctor, who had seen the same and worse, many times before, gently swabbed the raw, tender buttocks off with water, quickly proving to the awestruck boys that their colleague would not only survive, but that both he and his bum would soon be as good as new. That was not to say that the young man's tail would not sting, smart, throb and burn painfully for several hours, or that he would not be well advised to leave his backside bare and to sleep on his stomach and on top of his hammock that night, but they all left the sick bay, Colin with his cut and swollen cheeks liberally daubed with iodine, which had made him yelp as loudly as had the birching itself, much comforted by Dr. Swann's calm assurance that no serious damage had been done.
To give all the credit for Lord Colin Willoughby's meteoric rise in Her Majesty's Navy to his having had his bare bottom birched one morning, or even to the perspicacity of his ship's young Second Officer, would be to ignore the many excellent qualities possessed by the boy and, later, the man, himself, but when asked in later years if there had been a single moment in his career which stood out as decisive, the Admiral would get a faraway look in his eyes and say, "Yes, when I looked into Stephen Barrowman's eyes as I got up on to Harry Templeton's back and could see that Stephen didn't believe for one moment that they were really going to flog me, so I prayed that they would do it as hard as they could and that I would be able to bear it."
Everyone who was present that day would have admitted that he certainly had!!