"Who received it?" demanded Puffeigh.
"I did sir," replied the head steward; "it was brought by a sampan-man."
"Let the steward open it," observed Crushe.
"He will change it for some horrid ship's fruit if he does," whispered the suspicious Puffeigh. "Jordun, open the parcel, and let us see what it contains."
The captain's loud voice and arrogant manner had caused many of the passengers to leave their seats, and Jordun's proceedings were closely watched by all present. Upon removing the brown paper cover a box was exposed, and the lid of this being lifted, master William drew forth a cat-of-nine-tails, the thongs of which had been painted vermilion to simulate blood-stains. The boy gaped at it with horror depicted upon his face, then suddenly dropped the weapon, when from it fell a paper which one of the by-standers officiously picked up, and read aloud as follows:—
"To Captain Puffeigh and Commander Crushe, in remembrance of their cruel treatment towards their men. The lash for the commander, the handle for the captain."
Puffeigh gasped with rage, then turned towards Crushe, but found his place vacant, upon which he beat a retreat to his cabin and sent for boy Jordun, but master William returned a message to say that "he was an invalid, and not able to wait upon him any more." The passengers got hold of the lad, who gave them full information as to the cruelties practised on board the Stinger, and some of them wrote long letters, which they swore they would send to the Times. It is probable that the indignant civilians forgot to forward their epistles, as none of them were published. Puffeigh and Crushe were cut by all their fellow passengers, but they consoled themselves with thinking how immeasurably superior they were to such fellows as merchants and China traders, and were quite contented with each other's society.
Upon arrival at Southampton, Puffeigh found his wife, and was soon on his way to his home. Crushe went to his aunt for a month, then proceeded to see his wife, who loved him in spite of his cruelty and neglect. He had not been there many weeks before he received orders to proceed to the Pacific, where he was hated by nearly all under his command.
William Jordun steered straight for his father's inn, and arrived at it one day just as the family were sitting down to dinner. He walked in, put down his bundle, called for a pint of beer, and drank "all their jolly good healths," before any one made out who he was. However, his mother recognized his voice, and flying towards him, hugged him to her bosom, crying, "My own kinchin Billy—my dear little kid."
Mr. Jordun, who had seated himself before a huge lump of boiled beef, upon hearing this started up, and with a very large oath snatched the boy from his mother's embrace, and hugged him no less frantically.