There was a murmur among the prisoners though none stepped forward. Harris watched them, his eyes seeming to fix on each man before travelling on. Billygonequeer stood rigidly behind him in chains. The overseer saw the reluctance in each pair of eyes. 'Double rations and the 'arf day orf!' he now added.

The men shuffled and murmured among themselves. It was a prize each of them was much tempted to possess, and had it been any other man who was to be flogged, few would have hesitated. No man among them could remember when last he had felt his stomach contented. But they all felt differently about Billygonequeer, differently and afraid. Two flagellators who had whipped him in the past had died shortly afterwards, and were rumoured to have howled as they died, making the same dog-like noise as Billygonequeer. Afterwards the surgeon could find no cause of death, though there had been a look of great terror on their faces and both had torn at their guts until they drew deep furrows of blood. They did not for a moment believe that Manning had gone to Hobart. He had taken cover. Life on a road gang was not much to contemplate, but to die howling like a dog with some great terror ripping the life out of you from within, and all for the sake of half a day's rest and a good tightener, was a more fearful prospect.

'You do it, Mr 'Arris!' one of the prisoners shouted. 'G'warn, you flog 'im, you flog Billygonequeer!'

Harris grew suddenly pale, and while he tried to laugh off the suggestion, the corners of his mouth seemed for a moment out of control. 'It's not me job,' he finally muttered.

'It's not ours neither!' several of the men volunteered and there was a knowing snigger among the prisoners.

Suddenly Billy's arm rose stiff as a ramrod and pointed directly at Ikey, and from his throat came the howl. Harris turned to see the wild-eyed black pointing at Ikey's breast. Billy howled once more, then let his arm fall slowly to his side.

Ikey looked fearfully about him and then at the overseer and vigorously shook his head. 'Who, me? No, no, not me!' he said, taking a backwards step and bumping into the man behind him. 'Mercy be! I hates violence of any sort. Please, I begs you Mr Harris!' Ikey's eyes had grown wide with fear. 'No, no!' he repeated shaking his hand in front of his face. 'I cannot do it, I simply cannot, I should faint at the very prospect, I cannot abide the sight o' blood.' Ikey let out a sudden wail and fell to his knees at the overseer's feet. 'I begs you, no!' he sobbed.

The assembled prisoners were convulsed with laughter. Blood was such a common substance in their lives, they thought it hilarious that Ikey should declare his abhorrence to it. Before he had completed his prison sentence they knew he would see rivers of blood, until this substance would seem no more strange to him than the spittle on a man's tongue, or the beads of sweat gathered on his brow.

'Well now, you'll do nicely, it will be an excellent 'nitiation for ya, Ikey Solomon.' Harris smiled. 'Yer most fortunate, you are. You'll come to blood the easy way, not from the fresh opening of yer own Jew back, but upon the back o' the nigger!'

The gang mustered and was issued with their morning skilly and then marched by the three troopers who constantly guarded them to the nearby courthouse where the triangle stood.

The triangle, the dreaded flagellation post, was built of strong scantlings, that is to say posts or purlins of about five inches in width. They were placed so as to form a space about ten feet square at the bottom, and secured by pins into the ground in a slanted manner so that they rose to meet at a point in the centre. Horizontal bars were fastened to these posts, each about two feet apart, and it was to these that the person to be flogged was secured. He faced inwards, his back outwards, with his ankles, knees and outstretched arms tightly bound to the bars. The victim of the triangle was stripped, either to the waist or, more often, naked, this so that the blood would not damage his clothes, which were government property. Eight or ten men could be fastened to a single triangle, and several flagellators employed to beat them. These were usually ticket of leave men, expressly appointed to the position, and many took great pride in their work. Prisoners could also be selected if they were sufficiently robust to lend some weight to the task.

Ikey did not fit the bill in the least. Puny, with narrow sloping shoulders and delicate arms, in his hands the cat o' nine appeared to be a most incongruous instrument. Ikey carried the whip of many tails awkwardly, as though it were repulsive to him, and the knotted ends of the cutting cord drooped to the ground at his feet. Ikey's limbs appeared to tremble of their own accord, and his knees shook violently. There was no doubt in the mind of those brought in to bear witness that Billygonequeer was in for a soft time, a mere tickle of the flesh, and this prospect immensely cheered those who watched.

'You will put yer back into it, ya hear, Solomon? Step up and lay the cat square an'

'ard or, I swear, you'll receive the same yerself!' Harris shouted. He reached out, grabbed the knotted whip from Ikey's reluctant fingers, and demonstrated how it should be used. The cords whistled through the air and landed with a single hard smack across the smooth wood of one of the triangle's posts. Ikey's eyes screwed up in horror, and he trembled more than ever.

Harris handed him the whip and turned to the doctor. 'We are ready to yer count, sir.'

The doctor nodded to Ikey to commence and Ikey, uttering a low moan, raised the whip and brought it down upon Billygonequeer's back. The blow was so ineffectual that it brought a sudden gale of laughter from the onlookers. One of the knots at the end of the cord must have entered a festering pit in Billy's back, for a thin trickle of blood ran from it. Ikey gave a soft moan and fainted dead away to the hilarious laughter of the prisoners.

The doctor examined Ikey then took smelling |alts from his bag which revived him. But it was clear Ikey was not up to the task of flagellation. The doctor turned to Harris.

'We do not have a trooper who is corporal by rank among us. You will have to complete the flogging yourself.' There was a sudden and complete silence among the prisoners as they watched Harris.

'I am not inclined, sir. Can it not wait for Mr Manning? Some other day perhaps?'

'Nonsense, man! I have just seen how well you take to the task by the way you approached the whipping post. Get to it. I have but little time to waste in this tedious matter.'

'Sir, I shall lose respect among my men,' Harris tried again.

'Nay!' several prisoners shouted. 'That you will not! G'warn, Mr Harris, do the deed!'

'Be silent, you!' Harris snarled at the ranks, grateful to have a chance to vent his spleen.

'There you are, Harris, you have the full support of your men.' The doctor stooped and picked up the cat o' nine tails. 'Can't ask for more than that now, can you?' He handed the whip to Harris. 'Be a good person and do your duty in the name of the King.'

Harris seemed suddenly to lose all control and his face took on a fierce and desperate look. He lifted the whip and ran at Billygonequeer, and brought the cat down with all his might across the black man's back. He rained blow after blow on Billy, grunting and frothing at the mouth, so that long before he had completed the one hundred strokes he was exhausted and bowed down for want of energy. His hands were clasped upon his knees and his breath came in great gasps. Specks of flesh and blood splattered his blouse and face and hair.

'Why you are the consummate flagellator, Mr Harris. Taken to the art like a duck to water, eh?' the surgeon said calmly, then added, 'That be quite enough, cut the prisoner down.'

Throughout the terrible beating Billygonequeer did not once flinch or cry out. Nor did he register any expression when a trooper splashed his back with brine before cutting him from the triangle. He spat the leather mouthpiece out, strips of raw flesh hanging from his back, and stood rigid, eyes glazed, the yellow palms of his hands turned outwards. He then howled three times, the eerie call of the Tasmanian tiger dog, and the Irishmen among the prisoners were seen to cross themselves.