One of the seamen seized my uncle, and pulled his coat and shirt over his shoulders. He sat lumped in his chair, his body all creased into white rolls which shivered with cold and with terror.
“Up with him to those hooks.”
There were rows of them along the walls where the smoked meat used to be hung. The seamen tied my uncle by the wrists to two of these. Then one of them undid his leather belt.
“The buckle end, Jim,” said the captain. “Give him the buckle.”
“You cowards,” I cried; “to beat an old man!”
“We’ll beat a young one next,” said he, with a malevolent glance at my corner. “Now, Jim, cut a wad out of him!”
“Give him one more chance!” cried one of the seamen.
“Aye, aye,” growled one or two others. “Give the swab a chance!”
“If you turn soft, you may give them up for ever,” said the captain. “One thing or the other! You must lash it out of him; or you may give up what you took such pains to win and what would make you gentlemen for life—every man of you. There’s nothing else for it. Which shall it be?”
“Let him have it,” they cried, savagely.