"Strip!" cried the commander, as if directing the movements of a dog.
The prisoner removed his serge and flannel, and stood before his fellows a very model of a man. In spite of his fortitude, the cold air made him shiver. It was one of those piercing fogs which seem to absorb all the warmth from the body, and charge it in lieu with rheumatic pains; as if in very spite and wantonness it seized on Clare's muscular form, and tortured it into blueness in a few seconds.
"Seize him up!" continued the commander.
The ship's corporal advanced with two quarter-masters, and they were about to lay hands on Clare, but he, divining their intentions, without the slightest hesitation, walked to the grating, and held out his wrists. One of the quarter-masters took his right hand, and having passed a canvas seizing twice round it, fastened it to the capstan bar just above where the upper grating was lashed, his companion doing the same with the other wrist on the adjoining bar; after which they placed bands round his neck and loins, and lashed his knees to the lower grating, the man now being what sailors term "spread-eagled."
His flannel shirt was laid across his shoulders, and the men who had seized him up retired, upon which Captain Puffeigh proceeded to read the warrant for punishment. This was a formal document which, with many "now wherefores" and "now whereases," recapitulated the finding of the court-martial. A portion of the articles of war was also read, the crew standing bareheaded all the while.
At this moment the sentry reported, "Boat right alongside, sir."
"See who it is," bawled the commander.
"It's a woman as wants to see you, sir," shouted the sentry from the gangway, "and she's a coming up the gangway ladder, sir."
Upon this Puffeigh directed Cravan to tell her she could not come on board.