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‘White Slavery’For King and Country

Special EditionA Novel by Ian Quartermaine

(C) IQ Inc. 1993. 2004. 2009.

Edited and Packaged by Jake Anthony

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Original painting by Peter Bailey

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‘White Slavery’ - For King and Country -is one of a set of six stand alone stories in four

books, each with subtle links to the others.Each tale has the author Ian Quartermaine’s

fast moving, brutally frank, pull no punches,extremely graphic writing style.

A true account of life in the British Navyat a time when the might of self styled

‘Great’ Britain’s armed forceshad conquered more than half the globe,

‘White Slavery’ perhaps gives reasons why such asmall nation managed to pull off such a feat.

NB. This novel contains extremely explicitscenes of torture and the sexual abuse of a child.

Do not purchase if you are ofa sensitive disposition or emanate from

a sheltered personal background.

Connecting ‘reality’ books in this series:

‘Sleepless in Bangkok’‘From Other Worlds’

‘Cybernaut’

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The Author: A much travelled journalist and copywriter,Ian Quartermaine settled in South East Asia

during the late nineteen eighties.Grateful for the yin yang insight which his Oriental ‘education’

provided, helped bring a broader cultural perspectiveto his written work.

These days Ian travels the world extensively,but looks back with interest on his sojourn in Siam.

With generations of ancestors having served in the BritishNavy above and below decks for hundreds of years,

gave Ian Quartermaine a greater understandingof life at sea in times past.

This has been combined with his personal knowledge ofthe real life locations depicted in this tale of the sea.

The latest hard hitting novel fromIan Quartermaine:

‘Siam Streetfighter’

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WHITE SLAVERY was practised in Britain in times past justas much as black slavery was in America It was not race thatdecided your fate, it was class. Those ‘pressed’ into the serviceof the British Crown, fared the worst.

Britain’s maritime power during the sixteenth to nineteenthcenturies is the stuff of legend. The Spanish Armada, Battle ofthe Nile, Trafalgar, invoke images of a daring epoch when Bri-tannia ruled the waves. Sir Francis Drake, Sir Walter Raleigh,Lieutenant Fletcher Christian, Captain James Cook, Rear Ad-miral Horatio Nelson, later Lord Nelson, recall an age of chiv-alry in a swashbuckling era.

How naval supremacy was torn from the grasp of othernations, crushing and colonising more than half the globe in theprocess, is a more complex story than that usually narrated intales of the sea.

Great Britain’s maritime might was purchased not onlythrough the intellect and valour of the officer classes, but morepredominately through the blood, sweat and tears of those be-low decks.

‘Amistad’, ‘Roots’ and other stories based on historicalevents, suggest that only those of black ancestry suffered underthe cruelty of slavery. In reality, bondage, serfdom and the pressgang were forms of slavery for white people, with brutal andbarbaric treatment an integral part. Freedom of choice or lackof it, was more dependent upon which class an individual be-longed to rather than race. The working classes, particularly thosein the service of the Crown, suffered as much under cruel mas-ters and unfair laws as did the Negro slave.

With a ‘whodunit’ thread woven into the fabric of the nar-rative, ‘White Slavery’ - For King & Country - essays the afflu-ence and arrogance of the British ruling classes and how theyviewed the common seamen. From below decks, how the aris-tocracy were seen through the eyes of two young boys.

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Detailing an existence far more brutal than tales of the seawould usually have us believe, sexual abuse of young boys andthe harshest physical punishment were common place.

Historically accurate, this novel details how ‘Great’ Brit-ain really gained its empire.

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Published by IQ Inc.International licencing enquiries:publicrelationsiqinc@hotmail.com

www.iqincmedia.com

(C) IQ Inc. 1993. 2004. 2009.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reprintedor reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any

form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying,recording or otherwise, except for brief extracts for the purposeof review, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

ISBN 974-88460-2-4

Initial Print: March 2004.Special Edition Pressing: November 2009.

E-Book: 2009.

About IQ Inc.

A group of actors, writers, graphic designers and intellectualproperty licencing executives combined in an informal relation-ship to write, mentor other authors and package hard hitting,edgy, real life projects as books and movies. The controversialand successful book ‘Sleepless in Bangkok’ was the first. ‘WhiteSlavery’ - For King & Country - is the second. This ‘SpecialEdition’ is the ninth project in this series of ‘reality’ screenplaysand novels. Many other outside-the-mainstream projects willfollow. Watch out for ‘Sleepless in Bangkok 2’.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Deepest appreciation toErnest and Rene

Ian SmartPeter Bailey

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‘White Slavery’For King and Country

Special EditionA Novel by Ian Quartermaine

(C) IQ Inc. 1993. 2004. 2009.

Edited and Packaged by Jake Anthony

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1Flogged Around the FleetA strong breeze from the Solent blew salt laden air intothe faces of the crew, standing to attention on an oakbuilt warship of one hundred guns. The squawking ofgrey and white gulls flying free above the ship, con-trasted dramatically with the grim silence of the crew.

The subject of their unfaltering attention was thetorn and bloody back of a sailor who had just beenflogged. Unfaltering, because any man failing to witnesspunishment would quickly take the flogged man’s place.

“Dismiss ship’s company,” the officer of the watchsaid in a genteel voice, his words almost a request to thebosun rather than a command. Aristocratic in mannerand wealthy beyond the crew’s wildest dreams, his el-evated position aboard ship could have enforced the or-der with withering word or dramatic deed, officers hav-ing the power of life and death over the ranks.

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Fastened to a small triangular scaffold tied to abulkhead, two seamen untied the apparatus with theprisoner attached and lowered it over the side of thewarship, to a longboat below. At a command from ayoung bosun, a dozen sailors heaved at the oars. Ex-pertly steering it away from the side of the great war-ship, the small craft ploughed through the rough watersof Spithead towards the next ship of the line.

A young marine musician no more than fourteenyears, did his best to hold fast by jamming his feet againstthe boat’s timbers. Once secure, he commenced tappinga rhythmic pattern on his snare drum.

A passenger in one of a procession of small boatsthat followed, played the melody to the Rogue’s Marchon a penny whistle. The plaintiff refrain joined with theyoung marine drummer’s paradiddle.

Stripped to the waist and tied to the triangular scaf-fold, his back slashed to the bone from five dozen lashesreceived on the man o’ war the longboat had just left, aseaman no more than twenty five years, looked resignedto his fate. A leading hand, even younger than the bo-sun, sat facing the prisoner.

In bright red tail coats, white breeches with brownshoes below, side arms strapped to their belts and mus-kets in their hands, a marine sergeant and a private satfore and aft of the dejected prisoner. Taking no satisfac-tion from the painful fate of their charge, having been onthe wrong end of the lash themselves in the past, bothwere glad, very glad, they were not in his place.

Droplets of rose coloured water trickled down the

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condemned man’s shoulders, snaking a trail to the waist-band of his trousers. A combination of his own bloodand the salt spray which flew up as the long boat hit thewaves - plus the remains of a bucket of sea water thrownover his back after the ordeal on the last ship of the line- increased the man’s torment.

“His back’s an awful mess,” the leading hand saidwith a sick look on his face. He sat just a yard awayfrom the flogged man so had no alternative but to viewthe bloody mess from close quarters.

“Why should you be surprised? He’s just been onthe receiving end of five hundred and forty knotted wealsof the individual strands of the cat o’ nine tails,” theyoung bosun replied. “The dousing of salt water thatfollowed didn’t help. It’s standard procedure after flog-ging a man. Supposed to stop infection. Trouble is, thesalt acts like stinging nettles being inserted into thewounds. But infection is an unlikely problem for a mansentenced to be flogged round the fleet. Very few sur-vive the maximum possible sentence.”

“Flogged round the fleet. What’s his tally gonna bethen?” the leading hand asked.

“Too much for him to stand,” the young bosunreplied. “In this poor cunt’s case it’s a total of eleventhousand, eight hundred and eighty cuts from the ninetails of the cat during each of the five dozen adminis-tered on the twenty two ships laying at anchor today. Iworked it out. I can read and write too,” he said withpride.

“To survive that, a man would need the courage

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of a God or the constitution of the Devil,” the leadinghand added, rather poetically. “Don’t fancy this one’schances, looks too weak.”

Despite the restless sea, the craft moved steadilyforward through the waters of Spithead, at the narrowentrance to Portsmouth Harbour.

A heavy wave caught the longboat as it hove toagainst the giant timbers of the second man o’ war to bevisited that morning, throwing the scaffold with the halfnaked man tied to it, into the sea.

For what seemed an eternity for the submergedprisoner as he gasped for breath, a violent tug on therope attached to his scaffold hauled him out of the swirl-ing, ice cold water.

“Would have been a blessing to let him drown,”the leading hand said to the young bosun, both havingburst into action to haul the scaffold with the prisonerattached, up from the drink [*].

“But then we’d have taken his place for losing theman,” the young bosun confirmed as he helped his jun-ior oppo [**] attach the scaffold to the line that droppedfrom above.

“Cut the gossip below or you’ll follow the prisoneronto the punishment grille,” an arrogant young midship-man on the second ship of the line, shouted.

“The prisoner is secured, sir,” the young bosunyelled.

“That’s better, warrant officer,” the young mid-shipman replied in strangulated-vowels typical of the rulingclasses in England.

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The condemned man cried out as two sailors onthe second warship hauled the portable scaffold up theside of the ship, the swell from the sea dashing man andscaffold against the timbers, each and every movementadding to his agony.

“I’d hate to be in his place,” the leading hand onthe longboat said from the corner of his mouth, so hecould not be seen talking by the young officer above.

“Shut your cake [***] or you’ll be on punishmentroster and I’ll probably be downrated because of yourindiscipline,” the young bosun said, grimly. “I’ll beatyour bastard skull in when we get off duty.”

[*] The drink is a slang term British sailors use to de-scribe the sea.

[**]. The word oppo is a navy term used to de-scribe a fellow seaman on the same watch or mess. Thisalso means friend or mate in some respects.

[***] Cake is a slang term for the mouth: an open-ing where the occasional luxury of cake is consumed.

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2A Social EventOn the deck of the second ship of the line anchored inthe choppy waters of the Solent, the small triangularscaffold with the prisoner attached was hauled up theside of the great oak vessel and dragged across the deck.Two sailors commenced fastening it to a wooden deckgrille secured to a bulkhead.

The crew, an ill matched mix of volunteer andpressed men, stood facing the prisoner. As an exampleof what to expect should they similarly contravene Mari-time Law, their position on deck gave no alternative butto observe every brutal detail of the imminent punish-ment at close quarters.

On the small poop deck above the main deck, thecaptain and his officers were assembled. Looking as ifthey had gathered to sip cocktails at a royal garden party,at some palace or aristocrats’ mansion, their appearance

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was in opposition to the barbaric ceremony about to beplayed out.

A young midshipman spoke quietly to an oldercolleague. “Why is everyone so immaculately turnedout?” he asked.

“You really are new to shipboard life,” the olderboy said in a superior tone. “Better learn fast or you’relikely to be on punishment roster yourself. Not a flog-ging of course, just a jolly good caning from one of theship’s warrant officers. As an official punishment or-dered by the Lords’ of the Admiralty, rather than at thewhim or discretion of a ship’s officer, we are obliged toturn out in full dress uniform. Almost makes it into asocial occasion,” the older boy remarked, with an arro-gant air.

“Is that why officers’ wives are allowed to attend?”the younger midshipman enquired.

“I suppose so. Not everyday that so dramatic aflogging takes place,” the senior boy advised with analmost bored expression.

Dressed in their finest hats, dresses and carousels,a group of officers’ wives politely jockeyed for position,to obtain the best viewing point against the rails. Therethey would more clearly be able to witness every sordidmoment of the barbaric spectacle that was about to takeplace.

The captain’s manservant carried a silver tray ladenwith a decanter of Madeira wine and matching crystalgoblets. His assistant, a young cabin boy, poured thewine and handed it to the ladies.

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“Fine wine and all. They certainly are acting as ifit’s a social occasion,” the younger of the two midship-men observed, taking care to speak discreetly, so as notto draw attention to himself.

“The wine is in case any of them feel faint,” theolder of the two midshipmen stated. “Should they beovercome by the brutality of the coming event, the winewill help them recover their spirits.”

Standing to attention on the poop deck overlook-ing the crew, a platoon of marines were equally resplend-ent.

“Is that why the marine guard is so splendidly turnedout?” the younger midshipman asked.

“God, you do ask a lot of questions,” his oldercolleague replied. “This being a court martial offence,they received a particularly stringent inspection this morn-ing. Now shut up or we’ll both be on punishment ros-ter.”

“Oh good, I think it’s about to start,” one of theofficers’ wives said in a light-hearted tone.

“Scaffold secured bosun,” one of the two sailorsshouted, who had dragged the apparatus with the pris-oner attached, across the deck.

Silent and grim faced, the crew stood to attention.The two sailors who had taken charge of the small trian-gular scaffold when it came aboard ship, joined the crewin the front rank.

Without emotion, having carried out the task moretimes than he could remember, the master at arms, atough looking man in his late forties, jammed a piece of

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leather between the prisoner’s teeth. He spoke softly tothe prisoner as he did so.

“The leather bit will ensure you don’t bite yourtongue off when the cat o’ nine tails recommences tear-ing into your much lacerated back. You poor bastard.The stockings between your lashings and your arms willprevent you tearing the flesh from your wrists. It wasnot a good idea to desert your ship. Better to have beenhung than flogged round the fleet. You are being madean example of to deter others who might wish to avoidserving in His Majesty’s Navy.”

Having completed his small part in the ceremony,the master at arms retreated beneath the poop deck.

At a nod from the bosun, the first of the two bo-sun’s mates designated to carry out the flogging, tookhis place beside the prisoner.

To show respect for His Majesty the King and theLords’ of the Admiralty, the captain took off his hat.Handing it to the senior midshipman, the captain exam-ined a small sheet of parchment which the first officerpresented.

A grizzled old hand who had seen it all before,waiting with the rest of the crew ready to witness pun-ishment, spoke quietly to a younger member of the crewwho had not.

“This is your first voyage, aint it youngun?” theelderly seaman said.

The youngster nodded. “Well, I’ll fill you in as towhat’s about to take place. That way you may not be soshocked. Bosun’s mates carry out the punishment. One

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left handed and one right, each will lay on a dozen withthe nine tailed lash before resting. From the base of theman’s spine to his neck where his sailor’s pigtail hangs,every square inch of his back will be fastidiously visited.Try not to keel over or you might end up replacing him.”

The youngster looked suitably scared.Realising punishment was about to begin, a few of

the officers’ wives started to clap. A withering glancefrom the captain was enough to bring their misplacedconduct to a halt.

Noting the prisoner was in place ready to receivepunishment, the captain addressed the crew from hislofty position above them on the poop deck.

“Having been found guilty of desertion in contra-vention of the Articles Of War, Seaman MacLeod hasbeen sentenced to be flogged around the fleet. May hispunishment serve as an example that mutinous acts willnot be tolerated in His Majesty’s Navy.”

Completing his short discourse, the captain nod-ded in the bosun’s direction. “Ensure your men lay onthe second five dozen with enthusiasm or they will takehis place once sentence has been executed. Do yourduty, bosun.”

“Ay captain,” the bosun gruffly replied, and sig-nalled to his right handed mate that punishment shouldbegin.

The man removed a red handled cat o’ nine tailsfrom its scarlet coloured baize bag. Flicking the coils outtowards the deck, the right handed bosun’s mate loos-ened the thongs to ensure an even spread. A well made

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west countryman who’d worked his way up to a higherposition on the lower deck, where unless he mutinied,struck an officer or failed to administer punishment withmaximum vigour, would be less likely to be on the re-ceiving end of a flogging himself, drew the thongs of thecat o’ nine tails through his rough fingers.

The ageing seaman provided the youngster stand-ing next to him with more unasked for information. “Thebag containing the cat o’ nine tails is scarlet in colour sothat any vestige of blood will not show up when it’sreplaced in its red coloured container. Every detail of thepunishment ritual has been thoroughly planned and willbe executed in strict accordance to maritime procedure.”Again, the newcomer to the ship looked suitably scared.

But the elderly seaman had not finished. “Steelyourself laddie, what you are about to witness may bringup your breakfast. An experienced bosun’s mate willensure that every strand of the nine knotted tentaclesstrips the skin wherever they fall. After six strokes accu-rately placed, the prisoner’s back will be red raw. Fromtwelve on, the flesh will resemble butcher’s meat.”

The old man stared at the frightened youngsterstanding next to him. “Are you going to be all right?” heasked. With considerable uncertainty, the youngster nod-ded.

“Best be prepared or the shock might cause you tofall out of line, then you’ll be punished yourself. Afterwatching or being on the tail end of the barbarity you areabout to witness in the service of the Crown, many mengo insane. The British Navy has its own lunatic asylums

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as a result. Bet you didn’t know that.”Steeling himself before commencing his part in the

barbarous ritual, the right handed bosun’s mate hesi-tated. But only for a moment, before launching his nineknotted flail through the air.

As the nine strands of the first stroke of the secondfive dozen lashes to be administered that day, bit theirway into the open wounds of the previous sixty, painraced through the condemned man’s nervous systemlike an electric shock. Simultaneously, the force of theblow pushed him forward, pressing his chest hard againstthe holes of the wooden grille to which he was fastened.

“One,” the master at arms called out with minimalenthusiasm.

The victim cried out softly through the leather gagas the lash tore into his flesh yet again, the first strokesweet and agreeable compared to the second.

The time between each stroke seemed agonizinglylong yet the next came too soon, as the blood soaked cato’ nine tails cut relentlessly into the seaman’s flesh, driv-ing its flails deeper into his defenceless body.

Unswerving in his duty, the right handed bosun’smate flogged his victim with all the strength he couldmuster, so as not to find himself strung up to receivesimilar penalty, soon after.

The master at arms counted the lashes as eachwas laid on with a will, reminding the prisoner how muchlonger he had to suffer such agonizing pain.

In between each stroke, the man regulated to ad-minister punishment cleaned the tails of the cat so as not

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to clog them with flesh and deaden the effect.Pausing to rest his arm when the first dozen had

been counted, the right handed bosun’s mate stood be-hind the wooden punishment grille, allowing his lefthanded companion to lay on the second of the bag offour yet to be administered.

The left handed bosun’s mate brought the thongsof his own cat o’ nine tails back behind him before thrust-ing forward from the opposite angle, spreading the strandsacross the man’s flesh in an almost artistic pattern.

“Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two,twenty three, twenty four,” the master at arms torpidlycalled until the second bag of twelve was complete.

Instantly the left handed bosun’s mate steppedaside, allowing his right handed colleague to recommencestriping the tormented sailor from the original angle.

By the time the fourth dozen had commenced onthe second ship of the line to be visited that day, theprisoner felt that his whole life had been lived in a blur oftorment and pain, and any pleasure in the past was a faroff dream.

During the final bag of five, the prisoner’s internalparts ruptured and he lost control of his bladder, urinat-ing on the scrubbed deck of the immaculately turned outship. But the cat o’ nine tails continued to rip into hislacerated body until the last stroke of the sixty on thisship of the line, was laid down with the same force asthe first.

Punishment complete, a third bosun’s mate played

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his small part in the punishment plan by throwing abucket of seawater across the sailor’s shoulders. Thesalt in the water infiltrated into the prisoner’s open fleshand he screamed.

The sight of the torn and tattered mess of fat, bloodand broken skin that now constituted what remained ofthe punished man’s back, caused the younger of thetwo midshipmen to faint.

“Take the midshipman’s name, lieutenant,” thecaptain said in an imperious tone. “He will kiss the gun-ner’s daughter tonight. Punishment for falling out of linewithout permission.”

A young officer’s wife spoke to an older compan-ion as she heard the captain’s order. “What does thatmean, kiss the gunner’s daughter? I didn’t know womenwere allowed on board ship, let alone a young gel.”

“You silly goose,” the more mature woman re-plied. “Kiss the gunner’s daughter means that the youngman will make contact with the three sisters - triple stripsof rattan cane bound tightly together. He will bend overa cannon and receive twelve strokes across his bare back-side from the strong arm of one of the bosun’s mates.Husband tells me warrant officers take pleasure in lay-ing it on with maximum force, in return for all the pastingsthey had to endure when young. Rather perverse, don’tyou think?”

“Oh golly, wish I could watch,” the younger womansaid. “Does it hurt much?”

“Worse than having a baby,” the older womanreplied.

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Not drunk yet - it being so early in the morning -but still suffering the adverse effects of the previousnight’s binge, the ship’s doctor stepped out from behindthe overhang of the poop deck to make a cursory ex-amination of the prisoner’s torn flesh. Believing the ashenfaced man to be still alive, he nodded to the bosun.

The bosun instantly gestured towards the seamenin charge of the makeshift pillory. “Unlash the scaffoldfrom the bulkhead and lower it and the prisoner over theside.”

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READ OTHER HARD HITTING, GRAPHIC,CONTROVERSIAL ‘REALITY’ NOVELS

FROMIAN QUARTERMAINE

‘’White Slavery’ -For King & Country

‘From Other Worlds’

‘Cybernaut’

‘Siam Streetfighter’

COMING SOON‘Sleepless in Bangkok 2’ -

Return to the Triangle

The following can be purchasedon-line as E-books or Paperbacks:

www.iqincmedia.com