A heavy raw fog hung about the ships anchored off Spithead on the morning appointed for Clare's punishment. Aurora seemed to have an inkling that man was about to do a very mean action; and not being able to prevent the outrage, endeavoured, woman-like, to veil it.

The officer of the watch was leaning upon the capstan on the quarter-deck of H. M. S. Stinger. He was wet, cold and miserable, and wished himself anywhere else. Lounging there, with the fog collecting in silvery drops upon his uniform, he wondered how his god-father and god-mother, after having among other impossible vows, promised that "he should renounce the devil and all his works," could have used their utmost endeavour to get him into the navy, where he was called upon to assist Zamiel in such fiend-like business as the one in which he was then engaged. Lieutenant Ford having lately belonged to a ship commanded by a man who could govern sailors without bombast, and threatening every slight offence with the punishment of the lash, the preparations for torturing a sailor under the pretence of administering justice, disgusted him. He knew full well that the carpenter's mates had quietly brought aft two capstan bars, and lashed them securely to the ship's side, just abaft the starboard gangway; he was aware they had fastened two gratings to these vertical bars, and perfectly conscious of the boatswain's yeoman having brought aft a bag containing a number of the whips called "cats," and the necessary canvas bands or seizings by which the prisoner was to be seized, or lashed to the gratings. Lieutenant Ford knew all this, but he never turned his eyes in that direction, or appeared to be aware of the proceedings.

At the appointed time he gave the necessary instructions to the boatswain, upon receipt of which, Mr. Shever walked to the main hatchway, and stooping down so that the sound might reach the cell where Clare was confined, blew a shrill blast upon his call, waited until the same was repeated by his mates between decks, then bellowed forth, with all the force of his powerful lungs, "Lash up hammocks, rouse out; rouse out, all of ye."

Slipping his call into his vest pocket, he darted down the hatchway, and running forward, worried the men out of their hammocks, administering a kick, curse, or blow, as his playful fancy or the defenceless positions of his victims dictated. Small boys were there who turned out of their warm beds into the raw air with a gulph, as if suddenly seized with ague chills. These white, shivering forms were fair marks for Shever, who, snatching a piece of line from the hand of one of his assistants, soon demonstrated to the unlucky urchins how skillfully he could manipulate a rope's end, their howls showing that every stroke had raised what he jocosely termed "a mark that would give 'em some trouble to rub out."

With the active assistance of the boatswain's mates there was soon an empty line of hammocks dangling between decks. The late occupants dressed, lashed up their nautical beds, took them on deck, and placed them in the nettings, after which some skulked in out-of-the way places and smoked; while others, who had been the recipients of the boatswain's gentle attentions, collected in groups about the foremost guns, and scowled at each other, as if anxious to be revenged upon some one. None of them prayed; indeed, very many of the Stingers looked upon prayer as an admiralty ordinance served out to them on Sundays along with the articles of war and other luxuries.

The kindly Shever and his assistants soon cleared between decks of all the sailors, and sentries were placed over each hatchway, to prevent the men going below again until punishment was over. None of the crew seemed inclined to go aft, but kept as far forward as possible.

A few of the men mentioned Clare's name, and expressed a wish "he might get off easily;" others, who under different circumstances would have still been in their hammocks, abused the prisoner in round terms, and "trusted the fool might get what he asked for." One gentleman, who had formerly been an eminent sneak-thief (but finding the land too warm, had betaken himself to the water), blessed the service collectively and individually, from the first lord of the admiralty to the last captured sailor, offering up a specially fervent appeal for the welfare of all the Stingers both now and hereafter. He continued in this strain until his remarks became personal to another gentlemen, whereupon the latter knocked him down and jumped upon him, after which he held his peace.

It may be gathered from these occurrences that Clare's shipmates did not exhibit much sympathy for him, the truth being, no one could tell when his own turn would arrive to taste the lash; and not looking forward to receiving much condolence themselves, they did not display any for the victim on this occasion. Some of the boys, thinking by the light manner in which the idea of flogging was treated by one or two of the crew, that it would be a capital joke to see a man tied up and tortured, were squabbling about places, one imp offering "sixpence and two plugs of tobacco to any cove who would shove him into a good place to see;" several of the men kept their eyes on that lad with a view to receiving this reward.

Crushe, resplendent with gold lace, cocked hat on head, his sword resting on his arm, was lounging about the quarter-deck in conversation with Cravan, and seeing Mr. Shever standing forward, sent for him. When that worthy came aft and touched his cap, Crushe walked over to the gratings, and asked him if he knew anything of his mate's capabilities in the flogging line. Shever replied that "one of them was a first-rate hand with the cats, and the other would do his duty;" and added, "I seed to them before I left between decks," by which he implied that the bottle of brandy sent to his cabin by the generous Crushe had been shared with these mates, who, like the boatswain, were now far from sober.

"Of course you know how to do your duty, Shever?" observed the lieutenant in a patronizing tone. "No nervousness about you, eh?"

Shever looked at his interrogator, and replied in a somewhat injured manner, "Lieutenant Crushe, you trust me, I won't leave a bit of cheek in the feller. Wot with my cat and the raw air he'll be quiet enough before he gets his allowance."

Crushe smiled approvingly, and ordered the warrant officer "to send the hands aft."

The boatswain staggered forward; and putting his call to his mouth, the sharp vindictive notes, proper on the occasion, echoed through the ship, his assistants repeating the same in a more imperfect manner.

The sounds having died away, Shever, with hoarse voice and congested visage, roared out, "All ha-nds,—to punishment;" then with the assistance of his mates and the ship's corporal, he drove the crew aft to the port side of the quarter-deck, and reported "all aft" to Crushe.

Shortly after this, the officers came up from below, all being in full uniform: the surgeon and his assistant, the paymaster and clerk, the lieutenants, mates, midshipmen and engineers, were all compelled to be present, although many of them were disgusted with the duty. As they came on deck the ship's boys thought "how beautiful the show was, and wondered what would come next." Notwithstanding the fog, Cravan had donned his best full dress, the prospect seeming to light up his visage with a glow of satisfaction. We must mention that the midshipmen, who had less gold lace upon their uniforms than the other officers, were in the greatest stew about their bullion being tarnished, their principal occupation being to discover which officer gave most shelter, and when found, to avail themselves of the same.

A body of those water soldiers known in H. M. navy as "Rile Marines" now slowly ascended the main hatchway, and fell into line before the crew, on the port side of the quarter-deck. In heavy marching order, and knapsack on shoulder, they manoeuvred as nimbly as snails.

These military evolutions struck terror into the hearts of the second-class boys, who shut their eyes, and prepared for the worst.

Clare was escorted on deck by two marines, between whom he walked with a quiet, unassuming air: there was no sign of fear in his face, nor the slightest trace of braggadocio in his manner.

The captain now made his appearance, and was saluted by the officers and crew, the marines presenting arms, after being ordered to do so in a frantic manner by the sergeant.

Noticing that the ship's boys were completely hidden by the marines, Puffeigh, in order that the imposing ceremony might have due effect, directed that the lads should be ranged in front of the capstan before them, remarking, "they will be able fully to understand what flogging is like;" and truly they were placed in a position where none of the horrors would be missed by them.

"Strip!" cried the commander, as if directing the movements of a dog.

The prisoner removed his serge and flannel, and stood before his fellows a very model of a man. In spite of his fortitude, the cold air made him shiver. It was one of those piercing fogs which seem to absorb all the warmth from the body, and charge it in lieu with rheumatic pains; as if in very spite and wantonness it seized on Clare's muscular form, and tortured it into blueness in a few seconds.

"Seize him up!" continued the commander.

The ship's corporal advanced with two quarter-masters, and they were about to lay hands on Clare, but he, divining their intentions, without the slightest hesitation, walked to the grating, and held out his wrists. One of the quarter-masters took his right hand, and having passed a canvas seizing twice round it, fastened it to the capstan bar just above where the upper grating was lashed, his companion doing the same with the other wrist on the adjoining bar; after which they placed bands round his neck and loins, and lashed his knees to the lower grating, the man now being what sailors term "spread-eagled."

His flannel shirt was laid across his shoulders, and the men who had seized him up retired, upon which Captain Puffeigh proceeded to read the warrant for punishment. This was a formal document which, with many "now wherefores" and "now whereases," recapitulated the finding of the court-martial. A portion of the articles of war was also read, the crew standing bareheaded all the while.

At this moment the sentry reported, "Boat right alongside, sir."

"See who it is," bawled the commander.

"It's a woman as wants to see you, sir," shouted the sentry from the gangway, "and she's a coming up the gangway ladder, sir."

Upon this Puffeigh directed Cravan to tell her she could not come on board.

Cravan returned in a few moments, and with a grin upon his face, reported that "it was the prisoner's wife, who wished to speak with the captain."

"Is she in her boat?" demanded Puffeigh.

"Yes, sir! I promised if she would get off the ladder and let her watermen pull clear away from the side, that I'd tell you what she wanted," replied the officer.

"Tell her if her watermen come near the ship I will have a cold shot thrown into their boat, and that all her whining won't save her man, who will shortly get what she has helped him to."

Upon hearing this, the crew uttered a yell of disgust, one fierce roar, and then all was silent; hardened as some of them were, this was too much for them. Puffeigh was almost mad with rage, and he screamed, "Open your mouths like that once again, and I'll order the marines to fire amongst you, you mutinous hounds," and the marines looked as if they would like to carry out such a humane command.

When the gallant Cravan had reported "that the woman was gone," and added, for the edification of the prisoner, "that when he last saw her she was lying all of a heap in the stern of the boat," the captain called to the boatswain, and said, "Mr. Shever, do your duty," upon which the ship's corporal removed the shirt from Clare's back, and retired a few paces to the right.

Tom heard all that passed about his wife, but he "ate his heart," and showed no sign of his terrible torture.

Shever took a cat-o'-nine-tails' from under his jacket, walked to the left side of the prisoner, grasped the handle firmly in his right, and separated the cords with the fingers of his left hand; then with a rapid swish raised the weapon high above his head, and brought the cruel lashes savagely across the naked back of the helpless victim.

"One!" calls the ship's corporal.

"Two!"

"Three!" and now a number of blue lines crept across the man's back.

"Four!" They changed to red, beaded with the blood of the poor wretch, who trembled, yet bore the pain without uttering a word.

"Five!" "Six!" "Seven!" What is that staining the boatswain's fingers? Blood, my Christian friends!

"Eight!" "Nine!" "Ten!" More blood! Think of that, parents who give your sons to the service of their country!

"Eleven!" Blood, which no longer stains the cat alone, for specks fly off and dot the blanched faces of the terror-stricken lads who had been so fiendishly stationed near by the gallant commander.

"Twelve!" called the ship's corporal, who then advanced and offered the trembling victim some water, which he refused.

Price, the boatswain's mate, now took up his position in the place vacated by Mr. Shever, and at the words, "Boatswain's mate, do your duty," laid on the lash with savage, nervous energy.

"One!" "Two!" "Three!" "Four!" "Fire!" "Six!" The man's back showed a number of broad, blue lines, and two raw patches blushed upon his blade bones.

"Seven!" "Eight!" "Nine!" "Ten!" "Eleven!" "Twelve!" The brandy with which the savage had been plied was doing its devil's work, and he seemed desirous of adding a thirteenth blow, but was stopped by the commander.

At the last stroke Clare threw back his head, and gasped for water, which was immediately supplied him by the ship's corporal.

The boatswain resumed his position; and now fully warmed to his work, lashed away at the shuddering mass with great ferocity. 'Twas no longer blood alone that clung to the cats, but at every stroke he stripped off more solid cuttings from poor humanity. See how the thirty-sixth lash has calmed the poor wretch! There was little sign of insubordination in the man when the ship's corporal sprinkled his face and held the water to his lips after the boatswain had retired.

Another boatswain's mate stepped forward, and being somewhat inexperienced, is cautioned by the captain "not to miss his man." With an awkward sweep he brought his lash across the loins of the prisoner, who writhed in agony from this new torture, the protecting band having become displaced. But what cared the operator as long as the captain failed to notice it? and stroke followed stroke with clumsy rapidity.

"O God!" cried the poor victim, "flog lower," as at the "eleventh" blow the cat flew stinging round his head and across his eyes. At the "fourteenth" the prisoner threw back his head in agony, and became quite rigid.

When the last of the fifty lashes had been delivered, and properly told off by the ship's corporal, Tom Clare hung motionless from the grating, a sight so pitiful that many of the officers were visibly affected.

"Cast him off!" directed the commander.

In a few moments the prisoner was released and supported below, where the surgeon did his best to mitigate the man's sufferings.

Puffeigh turned to the crew and addressed them as follows "I have among you some more fellows like the man who has just received punishment. Now, mark my words, my fine fellows, if any of you give me the slightest trouble you will soon find yourselves there" (pointing towards the gratings). "Some of you have got the idea that you have rights, and ought to be treated like officers. Dismiss all such ideas of equality from your minds. You were never intended to be put on a level with your superiors. We're going on a foreign station, and I'll keep you in your places. Now, look you! respect your superior officers, do as you are ordered, and thank God that you are under a man who will give you four dozen as soon as look at you."

The effect of this speech upon the crew may be better imagined than described. The marines stared straight before them, and did not seem to be affected in any way, but the sailors looked askance, and whispered to each other, "Won't the ship be a heaven afloat arter this?"

"Pipe down," ordered the commander, as he watched the faces of the crew, in order to note the dissatisfied among them; "and," added he, "Mr. Crushe, you may have them piped to breakfast."

When Clare had somewhat recovered he was ordered up to the quarter-deck, and placed aft under the charge of a sentry until sunset, when the ship's corporal informed him he was free.

Doubtless, justice was satisfied.

Puffeigh went on shore, and boasted that he had conquered his men.

Crushe hugged himself to think how well he had kept his word.

Cravan, not knowing any better, imagined he was revenged.

And the devil was delighted with the whole business.