Shrieks from above, on deck. One sailor lashed
by the cat, twenty-five times for Drunkenness.
Three strands of rope, unravelled into three
(“the Trinity of Trinities” sets sinners on the path
to righteousness) and then replaited for a more
effective wound. Drum rolls – all hands to witness

punishment. Silence as tails are disentangled.
In the Bay of Biscay, the naturalist lies retching
on the floor: trying not to picture barbed knots
biting a cross on every spine and shoulderblade,
a glary scarlet scribble on open flesh again, again,
again. Thirty-one lashes for Neglect of Duty;

Disobeying Orders, thirty-four. Forty-four –
that’s Drunkenness with Insolence. The Captain
says he must establish order from the start.
Leg irons on five more. Till we passed Teneriffe,
says the Captain’s log, he was terribly sick.
“The misery,” he tells his journal, “is excessive.”