Mr. Shever flogged boy Jordun in a highly expert and savage manner, but the lad being wonderfully tough-skinned, he merely succeeded in inducing him to use some very powerful language for such a small child. Not a groan or tear, but with true nautical freedom, did he bless Crushe and the rest of his enemies, asserting as the tails curled round his defenceless body that he should "live to see the lot of 'em swing for murder afore he died, so help his never, he would."
When a man or boy is actually undergoing punishment he may give vent to his feelings in any way he pleases—say his prayers, or worse—generally worse, we are sorry to state; and Master William Jordun, boy of the second class, feeling he was being looked upon as a sort of martyr by his fellows, endured the pain, and slanged his superiors like a grown up sailor. It was a fitting prologue to the performance which followed.
Having received his two dozen lashes, he was cast off considerably worse in body and mind, and sent aft to remain in the sentry's charge until sunset. We know he was a foul-mouthed little monkey, but what made him so? The example of his superiors; and it is not surprising he was bad, considering the beautiful and edifying language he constantly heard on the part of Crushe, Shever, and others.
By the time the foregoing was completed Puffeigh had made his appearance with the officers and engineers upon the quarter-deck, where the grating was already rigged for punishment. The same performance was gone through as upon the occasion of Clare's sentence being carried out, with this exception, the boys mingled with the men, and as the first victim was "seized up," six others, among whom was Byrne, were brought forward "to be improved" until their turns came. Three of them bore their punishment without a word, and were sent below to have their backs dressed by the surgeon. One man cried and roared like a child under chastisement. Another fainted, and was flogged during the time he was insensible (some of the crew observed that he took it "like a lamb"), while the other two victims, driven almost out of their senses, cursed and swore in a fearful manner, Byrne vowing he would murder Puffeigh, Crushe, or Shever. "I'll have revenge on one of you devils," he yelled, as the last stroke of the lashes scored his back like so many knives.
"Iron him; see he doesn't do any damage," quavered Puffeigh, when he saw they were casting the man off. "Put him below under a sentry's charge until we arrive at Hong-Kong. I'll try you by court-martial for that threat, you brute."
The man showed fight, breaking from his keepers, and endeavouring to get at Puffeigh, who thereupon beat a retreat to his cabin, saying he was tired. After a desperate struggle the sailor was secured, gagged, double-ironed, and placed below under charge of a sentry, who was instructed to "keep his eye on him, and not to allow any one to speak to him." For three days the prisoner remained perfectly quiet; upon the fourth, thinking the threats he had made were mere empty talk, he was released by order of the commander, Crushe having requested the same might be done, as he wanted the man's services.
It is customary when a ship is in the Chinese sea to keep a number of loaded arms in a rack under the charge of a sentry, as in case of falling in with a pirate they may be required at a moment's notice. Byrne had been freed from confinement, and was standing by the arm rack, waiting until the ship's corporal had replaced his irons below, after which the prisoner was to be taken before the first lieutenant, and officially dismissed to duty. The sentry had gone on deck to report the time, and no one was in the steerage. At this juncture Crushe called down the hatchway directing (as he thought) the ship's corporal to "make haste and bring up the prisoner." At the sound of the hated officer's voice, Byrne darted to the arm rack, seized a loaded musket, rushed up the main hatchway, and seeing an officer standing near, fired. The ball entered the back of his victim, who immediately fell upon the quarter-deck as if shot dead. The assassin threw down his weapon and gave himself up to the sergeant of marines, who was the nearest man to him at the time, exclaiming as he did so, "There! I hope the brute is dead, then he'll never kill any more sailors."
Twenty men sprang forward to raise the body from the deck, all horror-stricken at the dreadful tragedy which had been enacted before them. Few knew who it was that had been shot; and as nearly all had imagined it to be Crushe, when they found that the inanimate body was that of Lieutenant Ford, their excitement knew no bounds. It was with difficulty the men could be kept from lynching the prisoner, although they knew full well that he had killed the good young officer by mistake, instead of shooting one of their tyrants.
When the assassin found who it was he had fired at, he became almost insane, crying out to his guards to shoot him, and endeavouring to beat out his brains upon the deck.
"O God!" he shrieked, "I've killed the best officer in the fleet. I'd have died for him; it cannot be so, you lie, you soger, and do it to frighten me. It was Crushe, the devil, that I killed, not Lieutenant Ford. Shipmate, say it wasn't him now, for Heaven's sake."