Thornhall Manor Read Free

would cascade through the grill, soaking me to the skin.
    We could have been no more than two weeks out of Portsmouth, on a calm day. A young seaman - boy, I should say, no more than twelve or thirteen years old - was filling my bowl when he murmured something and slipped a piece of paper into my hand. This, I found out later, was given to him by Dr Haywood to give to me. This note had written on it ‘If possible, contact me at this address - Haywood.’ I watched the young seaman climb the ladder to the deck above and disappear.
    Each day and night passed slowly. It was the same routine, day after day. I can still see our guard’s face, enjoying the sufferings of the prisoners in those cramped conditions.
    Early one morning, I was awoken by the noise of the anchor chain. I could hear movement above, and voices - “Boats away!” The sunlight came streaming through as our hatch was opened. I could see the clear blue sky, but it was immediately blotted out by the large backside of our guard descending the ladder. He was in a foul mood, having been ordered by the Captain to release our deck chains. (This chain ran between each prisoner’s legs above our ankle chain). Whilst we are at anchor, the Captain had said the prisoners were to have two hours each day on deck, weather permitting.
    â€œRight, bosun, see to it.”
    â€œAye aye, sir.”
    With that the Captain turned and slowly walked away.
    I had no idea where we were, but I found out later that we’d anchored to take in fresh meat and fruit for the ship’s crew. Day by day, month by month, we voyaged on. There were days of mountainous seas, and days of complete stillness, with no wind. On those occasions there was no movement of the ship. The heat was unbearable. The strain on the prisoners and crew began to show.
    One day we were standing or lying about the deck. The stench of sweat was all around, but at least we were on deck and not in the dark hole below. The young seaman who’d passed to me the note was carrying a large vessel containing drinking water, and each prisoner was eagerly drinking, using the mug supplied.
    â€œCaptain’s order, I suppose, boy,” shouted our guard.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    When the boy came to me, the guard said, “Nothing for him!”
    The young seaman ignored him and proceeded to pass the mug of water to me.
    â€œI said nothing for him!” roared the guard, and he knocked the boy down. Then he placed his boot on the lad’s face, crushing him under his full weight.
    I lifted both arms and drawing my chain round his neck said, “Take your foot away, or I’ll strangle you.”
    The other prisoners began to chant, “Kill him! Kill him!”
    This aroused the Captain on the bridge.
    â€œRelease him.”
    I lifted my arms over the guard’s head.
    The Captain had no pity for the man fighting for breath who lay at my feet. He turned, placing his right hand on my shoulder, and whispered, “I can’t help you now.”
    For the sake of the discipline of the ship I received twelve lashes - a far cry from the fifty demanded by my guard.
    Later one of the crew members, a man called Nobby, told me the boy was related to the Captain. I could feel the stinging of the brine as it soaked into my back.
    Nobby never stopped talking: “Discipline - that’s what it’s all about, discipline,” he said as he bathed my back.
    I gathered that Nobby and the crew had a great regard for the Captain.
    â€œThis will stop infection. See you tomorrow.”
    I watched as he slowly walked away.
    Kicking my ankle chain, the guard said, “I’ll be looking for you when we land. I’ll add a few more scars to your back.”
    Days - weeks - months went by. Days when time stood still. The same routine continued - chained below deck or chained above deck, listening to the creaking of the ship’s timbers. Rough seas, torrential rains, gale-force