The seaman looked perfectly impassive. He might have been a statue sculptured out of marble for all the notice he took of what was going on around him.
In a moment these six ruffians had seized Ned and forcibly raised him to his feet, their victim offering no resistance, though I fancied I saw the corners of his firmly-cut lips quiver for a moment.
My heart began to beat tempestuously. What were these malevolent-looking rascals about to do to my coxswain? Their looks boded him no good; that much was certain.
Meanwhile the mule-driver had disappeared from the scene. He now, however, came skipping back into view in a jaunty manner, carrying in his hands a long, cruel-looking cane.
Then the awful truth flashed across me—Ned was to be flogged!
I think I lost my head for a few moments, and it is difficult for me to record my actions with any exactitude. I only know that in spite of the lashings which confined my arms, I bounded to my feet and attempted to rush madly forward to my coxswain’s rescue. I believe I raved, and stormed, and entreated mercy, all in the same breath. The only thing I do most distinctly remember was seeing Ned’s handsome pale face turned in my direction with an imploring expression upon it. It was this which brought me to myself, and showed me the utter futility of my Quixotic attempt at interference.
It was the feeling of devotion which I had for my coxswain, of course, that prompted the action; but fortunately I realized in time that any rash effort on my part might do him more harm than good.
I was about to stagger back to my corner, sick at heart, when one of the sentinels who had been detailed to watch me, and was enraged at my attempt to elude him, rushed up and knocked me down with a heavy blow from the butt-end of a pistol.
Thank God! I became unconscious, and therefore did not witness the cruel flogging to which Ned was subjected.