In a few minutes these were all mustered, Walford contriving, seemingly without attracting attention, to mingle with them and take up an unobtrusive position, from which he intended, if possible, to quietly effect a retreat at the first convenient opportunity.
When all was at length ready, the scene which presented itself was a sufficiently curious one.
The chief object of the picture was, of course, the figure of the unhappy chief mate, who, naked to the waist, stood firmly lashed to the grating, with arms and legs wide spread in the orthodox attitude of a man about to be flogged. Opposite him, and some four or five feet distant, stood Thomson, his coat and vest laid aside, his shirt-sleeves rolled above his elbows, and the cat in his hand, with the knotted tails prone upon the deck. Around these two figures, in a compact ring, stood the gentlemen passengers and the captain of the ship, a group of unwilling spectators of the outrage about to be inflicted; whilst outside them again, and completely hemming them in beyond all possibility of escape, crowded the half-drunken mutineers, armed to the teeth, and bandying brutal and obscene jests back and forth. Then there was the huge bulk of the disabled ship, surging madly forward like a hunted creature dizzy and reeling with terror, her spacious decks knee-deep in the water which was incessantly pouring in over her bulwarks as she rolled gunwale-under; and for a background the mountainous seas careering swiftly past, with their lofty crests towering high and menacingly all round the ship, and the leaden-hued, stormy sky.
The deep and painful silence which prevailed was broken by Rogers’ harsh voice remarking—
“Now, Thomson, you knows your dooty, which is to give the pris’ner on the gratin’ five and twenty lashes, well laid on. So go ahead, my man, and let’s see if you can’t make him yell a bit louder than you did poor Dicky Rudd.”
Thomson glanced at the speaker and nodded. The hope which he entertained of an eventual escape from death had thrown him into a state of terrible excitement, bordering almost upon madness; his ghastly pallor had vanished, and was now superseded by a deep purplish tinge, resulting from the violent rush of blood to the head; the veins upon his forehead stood out like cords, his eyes glowed like those of a wild animal, and his jaws were flecked with foam streaked with blood, which trickled from a wound in his lower lip, where in his terrible excitement he had unconsciously bitten it through.
This frenzied creature nodded his comprehension of Rogers’ command, and, gathering himself up like an animal about to make a spring, he drew the tails of the cat slowly through his closed left hand, measured his distance carefully, and, making a quick bound forward, brought the nine knotted lashes down upon the mate’s naked shoulders with a demoniac strength which seemed to literally bury them in the quivering flesh. The mate responded to this with a sharp yell, which was greeted by the mutineers with mocking laughter, Rogers remarking to Thomson that, “That was pretty well; but, you know, you can do a deal better’n that.” The second stroke—but why go further with the description of the sickening scene? Let it suffice to say that when the inanimate body of the mate was cast loose from the grating, it bore the appearance of having been mangled by the teeth and claws of some savage beast rather than by a human being.
“So far, so good,” observed Rogers. “That ends act the first. Now, Thomson, it’s your turn, you know. Strip, my boy, without makin’ any bones about it; and let’s see if you can take y’ur punishment any better’n your superior hossifer.”
The man spoke in a rallying tone of such geniality that Thomson grew more sanguine than ever as to the remission of the more serious part of his sentence, and, with a ghastly grin in response to Rogers’ patronising smile, he began to slowly strip. He even, after drawing his shirt over his head, summoned the courage to walk up to the grating, and, leaning his body upon it, to spontaneously stretch out his arms and legs to the proper position.
When the wretched man was securely “spread-eagled” on the grating, Talbot and another man were ordered to step forward and administer the flogging, which they did, relieving each other at the completion of every dozen lashes, until the entire fifty had been inflicted. The punishment was terribly severe; but the intense excitement under which the second mate laboured enabled him to retain his consciousness throughout, and even to stand without assistance on being cast loose. A stiff “reviver” of grog was administered to him by Rogers’ order, and he was then told to dress himself.