“Well, shipmates,” exclaimed Rogers, breaking the painful silence which had followed Walford’s shameful appeal, “what d’ye think? Is the pris’ner guilty or not guilty?”
“Guilty!” was the unanimous declaration of the assembly.
“Guilty? In course he is. And what’s the punishment to be? Death?”
“Oh, no! Not death—not death, gentlemen. For the love of God, spare my life; I am not fit to die; I am not indeed. You see how young a man I am; why, I have never yet thought about dying. Mercy! mercy!” shrieked the miserable wretch as he grovelled on his knees before them, and sought to clasp the knees of the man nearest him—an attempt which was repulsed with an oath, a look of unutterable loathing, a kick, and a brutal blow on the mouth.
“Come, lads, speak up,” urged Rogers, wholly unmoved by the interruption, “say what the punishment’s to be, and let’s have done with it. I’m sick of this here, I am.”
“Well,” said Talbot, stepping forward, “I wotes that the prisoner be first made to go and axe poor Dicky’s pardon. If he can’t get it, why, let’s string him up at the yard-arm to balance t’other one. But if Dicky likes to forgi’e him, well, we’ll spare his life and redooce his punishment to two dozen at the gangway—same as he got for Rudd—and make him do Rudd’s dooty ’til the poor chap’s better; arter which the prisoner can be set to do all the dirty work o’ the ship. How’s that, shipmates?”
“Ay, ay, Ben; that’ll do, bo’, that’ll do fust-rate. And he may thank his lucky stars at bein’ let off so precious easy,” was Rogers’ reply; in which the remainder of the men laughingly acquiesced.
“Then you’d better step this way at once, young feller,” remarked Talbot to the miserable Walford, “and see what you can do with poor Dicky. If he won’t forgive yer, mind, it’s all up with yer.”
So saying he opened the door of the state-room in which Rudd was lying, thrust his victim into the apartment, and closed the door upon him.
The state-room into which Walford was thus unceremoniously ushered was divided from the saloon by a bulkhead with a door in it, the upper panel of which was fitted with sloping slats like those of the Venetian window-blinds of the present day; it was perfectly easy, therefore, for an occupant of the state-room to hear all that passed in the saloon, and vice versâ. As a matter of fact, Rudd, who was lying in his berth, broad awake, had heard every word uttered during the course of the trial, and shrewdly suspecting that his shipmates were more anxious to thoroughly frighten than to actually hurt their fourth prisoner, and having, moreover, a trifling personal grudge against the man who had secured for him his flogging, he determined to have a little amusement at Walford’s expense before according to him the pardon which he knew his shipmates expected of him. When, therefore, Walford staggered up to the side of the berth, and began eagerly and incoherently to stammer forth the most abject apologies and the wildest prayers for forgiveness, Rudd simply growled forth an oath and impatiently flung himself over in the berth with his back to the petitioner. This had the intended effect of causing Walford’s apologies and prayers to be reiterated with increased eagerness and incoherence, to the hearty amusement of the men in the saloon.