More dead than alive we were at last allowed to go, but had scarcely strength left to crawl away.
Tom Trivett was next dragged aft, though he declared that he had often crossed the line. Daddy Neptune refused, however, to believe him, protesting that he had never seen his face in those parts before. Though he fought bravely he was overpowered, and was even worse treated than we had been, the monsters, aided by the doctor and barber and Mrs Neptune, holding his arms and legs.
The captain and officers all the time in no way interfered, but seemed to enjoy the cruel sport. They wished, indeed, to allow the sailors to take their full fling according to their barbarous fancies.
Mark and I, seeing how our friend was treated, attempted to go to his rescue, but we had better have remained quiet, both for his sake and our own, for we were cuffed and kicked even worse than before, and with difficulty again made our escape.
A double allowance of grog was served out, which made the men even more savage than before; and when they were tired of ill-treating us they took to rough play among themselves. Daddy Neptune’s crown was torn off, his sceptre broken in two, his wife was despoiled of her finery; the doctor’s hat and spectacles shared the same fate; he was made to swallow his own pills, and the barber had his brush nearly shoved down his throat.
They would have come to serious blows had not the captain ordered them to knock off and return to their duty. The mates, with boats’ stretchers in their hands, had to rush in among them before they could be induced to desist. Not until a breeze sprang up, and they were ordered aloft to make sail, were they brought into anything like order.
For days afterwards Mark and I limped about the deck, with aching heads and sore faces, and Tom Trivett could with difficulty get through his duty.
This relaxation of discipline had no good effect on the men. They still grumbled and growled as much as ever at every meal over the food served out to them.