Point of Honor. Robert N. Macomber

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 bulk filled the room as he slid down the ladder and turned to the captain. He was bent almost double due to the five-foot headroom. Blood stained his shirt. His eyes looked weary.

      “Rork, sit down and take a load off your feet. How’s the wounded man?”

      “Not good, sir. He’ll probably go by tomorrow. I’ve seen ’em last longer, but not much. He’s a bit more tranquil now, Captain. I put a Irish lullaby on his head to make him forget the pain.”

      After serving with the bosun for almost eight months, Wake by now knew that an “Irish lullaby” was a stout blow from a strong fist to a head, intended to knock the recipient out cold.

      “And what of the others? What did they have to say?”

      “They made a pot o’ noise, sir, most of which had no sense. They did tell the story of their venture. Seems they had no idea exactly where they were, ’cause the ship that dropped their regiment off at the fortress in Tortugas steamed there in the night. Didn’t know the distance. They thought Key West was just a ways to the east. Sail a bit with the wind at your back and the magic city would come over the horizon!

      “Fools they were, Captain. A wee bit o’ water and some biscuits. They all were scared proper by the time they spent a night alone in a leakin’ sailin’ skiff made for a day’s sail o’ reef fishin’. Was prayin’ to Peter and Paul, they was, by the sound of their story. Drifted by the wind an’ set by the current across to the Marquesas. Not knowing where they was, o’ course, and landed on the island three days later, damned near dead, all of them. No water left ’n no food. One soul drank the sea water and ended his days on the beach of another island, twistin’ in the guts. Buried the poor bastard on that island where he fell. Rest sat there for a couple o’ days more, till they saw the darlin’ St. James come along like an angel to save ’em.

      “Said they was glad to see us, an’ was made up to go back to their regiment. Had quite a bit enough of the life o’ the carefree deserter an’ buckaroo.”

      “Really? Interesting . . .”

      “Even more curious than that, sir. Said that the one layin’ gutshot came out to talk, an’ got shot by our boy Molloy. Two o’ them twarn’t talkin’ on it, Captain, but the oldest o’ the lot lashed up there, the man named Dobert, he said it looked like the sailor shot the soldier by mistake. Got startled and the pistol fired.”

      Rork stopped talking and looked across the dim cabin to his captain.

      “Bring them one at a time back here, except the wounded one, of course, and we’ll get statements. It’ll be a long night, Rork.”

      “Aye, that it will, Captain. No rest for the wicked or the weary!”

      With that the bosun lifted himself up the ladder while Wake returned to his penmanship in the yellow-tinted gloom. The evening moved slowly, with two of the prisoners talkative about how they had stolen the boat and fled the hell of Fortress Jefferson but silent about the shooting, and Dobert strangely devoid of emotion as he described how his companion became mortally wounded.

      Next, Rork brought White, Hill, and Molloy down separately. Each gave a sworn statement reciting what they had previously said. СКАЧАТЬ