"Three!" and now a number of blue lines crept across the man's back.
"Four!" They changed to red, beaded with the blood of the poor wretch, who trembled, yet bore the pain without uttering a word.
"Five!" "Six!" "Seven!" What is that staining the boatswain's fingers? Blood, my Christian friends!
"Eight!" "Nine!" "Ten!" More blood! Think of that, parents who give your sons to the service of their country!
"Eleven!" Blood, which no longer stains the cat alone, for specks fly off and dot the blanched faces of the terror-stricken lads who had been so fiendishly stationed near by the gallant commander.
"Twelve!" called the ship's corporal, who then advanced and offered the trembling victim some water, which he refused.
Price, the boatswain's mate, now took up his position in the place vacated by Mr. Shever, and at the words, "Boatswain's mate, do your duty," laid on the lash with savage, nervous energy.
"One!" "Two!" "Three!" "Four!" "Fire!" "Six!" The man's back showed a number of broad, blue lines, and two raw patches blushed upon his blade bones.
"Seven!" "Eight!" "Nine!" "Ten!" "Eleven!" "Twelve!" The brandy with which the savage had been plied was doing its devil's work, and he seemed desirous of adding a thirteenth blow, but was stopped by the commander.
At the last stroke Clare threw back his head, and gasped for water, which was immediately supplied him by the ship's corporal.