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Even under the clear, morning sky. Not uncommon in the coldwaters that came up from the south of the equator in this region. Mostpeople think it's always warm around this area. But the Western SouthPacific can be a cold place this time of year. My studies had taught usthat, as well as our own first hand experience. But now, as we drew theraft up onto the beach, I noticed that it was at least ten degreeswarmer, making it about room temperature. But, happy to be alive and onfirm ground, I didn't say anything.We brought the raft and our provisions up to the top of the beach, about50 yards from the water, and sat down under a eucalyptus tree. We lookedaround and saw nothing but the beach in front of us and a forest behindus, though we couldn't see very far into it. The ground seemed to begently rising inland, but no trail or road could be seen. It was thenthat Jack made a startling observation.He stood up and walked over to one of the trees near us. He felt theflaky bark and then looked. Her body was covered in welts, blue and green. She had screamed so much, her voice was gone. She was just sobbing quietly as Carl was unshackling her and leading her to the punishment horse, where he bid her lay down on her back. He then secured her legs to the beams next to her head, so that she ended up spread most uncomfortably. Mr. Barton stood next to her. “I suggest that each member of the audience administer ten lashes of the whip to Ibby’s vagina. Unless Ibby would rather spin the wheel?”Ibby did a quick calculation. There were around 30 people in the audience. She was therefore going to receive 300 lashes. Given that the wheel’s top number was 200, the wheel was definitely the better option. “I would like the wheel to be spun, please”, she said. Carl moved the wheel center stage and spun it. As it was slowing down, Ibby was watching with bated breath. 13, 20, 11 … the next number was 200, but fortunately the wheel went one notch further, landing on 18. Ibby breathed a sigh.
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For the first time I looked to assess what kind of condition he might be in. He’d obviously crawled under head first, his legs extended nearly out from under the wing. He’d managed to get his parachute off, his head was pillowed on the pack, the silk pushed for the moment off to one side. I wondered if he’d tried to use it as a blanket last night. His left leg — no, I corrected myself — that’s his right, my left, was very obviously broken. A large bruise was visible above his eye. ‘Can you tell me where it hurts?’ I asked, deciding that crammed under the wing remains like we were I really couldn’t do a head to toe assessment at this point in time. He looked at me and attempted a smile before he said ‘Everywhere?’ His grimace told me as much as his answer. ‘Yeah, I can imagine. It looks like you’ve got a broken leg?’ I questioned. ‘Yeah, maybe both.’ ‘Anywhere else?’ ‘I may have broke some ribs, it hurts to breathe.’ ‘Yeah, that sounds like ribs. Anything else?’ ‘Isn’t that enough?’.

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