The Survivor by Paul Almond

firing.”
    “So the sight of blood is no stranger to ye, neither,” said William.
    “Oh no, I’m very much used to that. But hopefully, those days are gone forever. And soon, that slaughter will be forgotten in the good life here.” But something compelled him to go on, almost as a memoriam to his friend. “You see, that gunner was the sly one, winking, and coming as close to insubordination as he could, with his wisecracks and knavish jokes. He was clever, hailed from Devon in fact, spoke with a thick accent. I always felt he should have been a Londoner, he’d probably have prospered there, rather than having been unfortunate enough to be press-ganged into service.”
    “Pressed?” Catherine asked.
    “Yes, Catherine,” he finally raised eyes, and took her in with almost a shock, how lovely she looked with the firelight on her cheeks. “Well you see, they’d send crews out into the countryside — those in London being much too clever — to catch poor unsuspecting villagers, slip them the king’s shilling, and once impounded, they’d grab ’em and get ’em on board.”
    “And they can’t get off?”
    “Well, I won’t say never. But it is, as you may have heard, virtually impossible to escape from one of His Majesty’s ships.”
    “You did!” blurted Catherine.
    James turned and looked at her. “Yes, I did. But I want you to know, Catherine, that I have been exonerated.”
    “Have you now?” broke in her mother.
    “Aye, madam, that I have.”
    “When?” Catherine asked, her blue eyes watching his every reaction.
    “Not too long ago...”
    “After your visit here two years ago?”
    “Oh yes...” James began to change the conversation away but was brought back abruptly by William. “Now there’s a tale worth telling...” William prompted. A tale worth telling indeed. But James was not so sure he wanted to tell it. He was too afraid of the tears that might start into his eyes.

Chapter Twelve
    James found it hard to know whether William Garrett was testing him or not. But he’d decided to make sure there’d be no more ghastly mistakes, no more brothers or townspeople running to JPs to thrust him into court all over again. If he told them now, though, it might be all over town later; it could mean he’d be accepted without any misunderstandings, such as some aberrant naval ship trying to do its duty by flogging him to death.
    “Well, when I first arrived, it was utter wilderness, and I was rescued by a Micmac band, who were very good to me...” He paused, caught by the loneliness that rose to confront him, like a malignant spectre, every time the band was mentioned. “They saved my life, in fact, one winter. And, um...” he cleared his throat. “Well, a year later, their Chief fell ill, and they asked me to help. I soon saw that he needed an operation. No surgeons in New Carlisle for sure, but I’d seen our ship’s surgeon work miracles on occasion, and so I decided I’d have to bring him to my ship.”
    “The Billy Ruffian ?” gasped Catherine.
    “Yes. You see, it was in port here, and no doctor in Paspébiac. So... well, finally Dr. Bellamy operated and, as I suspected, he was able to save the Chief’s life. And by the way, that’s how I came to be given the fine canoe, moored as it is now down at our breakwater! The band gave it to me as a present.”
    “But how did you get exonerated, laddie?” asked William gently.
    “Well, you see, the penalty for desertion...”
    “They do punish you, then?” asked Eleanor.
    “They do, ma’am, and it’s rather severe.”
    “What do they do?” burst out Catherine.
    James held back. He was not sure that the company assembled by the open fire would like such extremes, nor did he wish here to denigrate his Navy. But they were all looking at him in keen anticipation.
    “Well,” he finally went on, “it’s a thousand lashes, one hundred on each ship of the line.”
    The two women gasped, and William coughed mightily.
    “How