While these preparations were going on, the officers were dressing themselves in full uniform and arming themselves with their dirks: the prisoner’s messmates carried him his best clothes, to make him appear in as decent a manner as possible. This is always done, in the hope of moving the feelings of the captain favorably towards the prisoner.
This done, the hoarse, dreaded cry of “All hands ahoy to witness punishment!” from the lips of the boatswain, peals along the ship as mournfully as the notes of a funeral knell. At this signal the officers muster on the spar deck, the men on the main deck. Next came the prisoner; guarded by a marine on one side and the master at arms on the other, he was marched up to the grating. His back was made bare and his shirt laid loosely upon his back; the two quartermasters proceeded to seize him up; that is, they tied his hands and feet with spun-yarns, called the seizings, to the grating. The boatswain’s mates, whose office it is to flog on board a man of war, stood ready with their dreadful weapon of punishment, the cat-o’-nine-tails. This instrument of torture was composed of nine cords, a quarter of an inch round and about two feet long, the ends whipt with fine twine. To these cords was affixed a stock, two feet in length, covered with red baize. The reader may be sure that it is a most formidable instrument in the hands of a strong, skilful man. Indeed, any man who should whip his horse with it would commit an outrage on humanity, which the moral feeling of any community would not tolerate; he would be prosecuted for cruelty; yet it is used to whip MEN on board ships of war!
The boatswain’s mate is ready, with coat off and whip in hand. The captain gives the word. Carefully spreading the cords with the fingers of his left hand, the executioner throws the cat over his right shoulder; it is brought down upon the now uncovered herculean shoulders of the MAN. His flesh creeps—it reddens as if blushing at the indignity; the sufferer groans; lash follows lash, until the first mate, wearied with the cruel employment, gives place to a second. Now two dozen of these dreadful lashes have been inflicted: the lacerated back looks inhuman; it resembles roasted meat burnt nearly black before a scorching fire; yet still the lashes fall; the captain continues merciless. Vain are the cries and prayers of the wretched man. “I would not forgive the Saviour,” was the blasphemous reply of one of these naval demi-gods, or rather demi-fiends, to a plea for mercy. The executioners keep on. Four dozen strokes have cut up his flesh and robbed him of all self-respect; there he hangs, a pitied, self-despised, groaning, bleeding wretch; and now the captain cries, forbear! His shirt is thrown over his shoulders; the seizings are loosed; he is led away, staining his path with red drops of blood, and the hands, “piped down” by the boatswain, sullenly return to their duties.
Such was the scene witnessed on board the Macedonian, on the passage from London to Spithead; such, substantially, is every punishment scene at sea; only carried, sometimes, to a greater length of severity. Sad and sorrowful were my feelings on witnessing it; thoughts of the friendly warnings of my old acquaintance filled my mind, and I inwardly wished myself once more under the friendly roof of my father, at Bladen. Vain wish! I should have believed the warning voice when it was given. Believe me, young man, you will often breathe that wish, if ever you wander from a father’s house.
Flogging in the navy is more severe than in the army, though it is too bad to be tolerated there, or indeed anywhere. Other modes of punishment might be successfully substituted, which would deter from misconduct, without destroying the self-respect of the man. I hope the day will come, when a captain will no more be allowed to use the “cat” than he is now to use poison. It should be an interdicted weapon.
Though I have spoken severely of the officers of the navy, let it not be thought that the whole class of naval officers are lost to the finer feelings of humanity. There are many humane, considerate men among them, who deserve our highest respect. This was the case with the first lieutenant of the Macedonian, Mr. Scott. He abhorred flogging. Once, when a poor marine was under sentence, he plead hard and successfully with the captain for his respite. This was a great victory; for the captain had a profound hatred of marines. The poor soldier was extremely grateful for his intercession, and would do anything for him to show his sense of the obligation; indeed, the sailors, in their odd way, showed their preference for him by describing him as a man who had a soul to be saved, and who ought to go to heaven; while of the captain, they whispered that if he did not go to perdition, “the devil would be cheated of his due.” These are, in a manner, proverbial expressions of like and dislike, on board a British man of war.
One of the effects of this exhibition of cruelty was seen during the short time we lay at Spithead. The two boys, who were servants to the first and second lieutenants, conceiving a special dislike to the idea of being flogged, took it into their heads to run away. Being sent on shore, they shaped their course for the country. It was well for them that they were not re-taken.
Our frigate had orders to convey between two and three hundred troops from Portsmouth to Lisbon, to assist the Portuguese against the French. The soldiers were stowed on the main decks, with very few conveniences for the voyage; their officers messed and berthed in the ward-room. Having taken them on board, we again weighed anchor, and were soon careering before the breeze on our way to Lisbon.
As usual, we who were landsmen had our share of that merciless, nondescript, hateful, stultifying disease, yclept sea-sickness; as usual, we wished the foolish wish that we had never come to sea; as usual, we got over it, and laughed at ourselves for our sea-sick follies. Our good ship paid little attention, however, to our feelings; she kept along on her bounding way, and, after a week at sea, we were greeted with the pleasant cry of “Land ho!” from the mast-head. As it was now near night, we lay off and on until morning; at day-break we fired a gun for a pilot. The wind being nearly dead ahead, we had to beat about nearly all day. Towards night it became fair, and we ascended the Tagus. This river is about nine miles wide at its mouth, and is four hundred and fifty miles in length; it has a very rapid current, with steep, fertile banks. Aided by a fine breeze, we ascended it in splendid style, passed a half-moon battery, then shot past Belem Castle into the port of Lisbon, about ten miles from its mouth. Here we found a spacious harbor, filled with shipping. Besides numerous merchantmen, there were two ships of a hundred guns, several seventy-fours, frigates and sloops of war, with a large number of transports; all designed for the defence of Lisbon against the French.