The Stinger made the best of her way towards the East Indies, it being rumoured that a portion of the Russian fleet was sailing in that direction, having been shut out of Sebastopol by the rapid action of the allied fleets of France and England.

The day after leaving the Cape, Puffeigh was taken seriously ill, his sickness proving to be brain fever, doubtless caused by the severe treatment received at the hands of the old German. Thompson acted as his nurse; and although he took quite as great care of himself as he did of his patient, Jerry's appointment was not an agreeable one. The commander did not leave his bed until they arrived in Singapore, and the ship was more than ever under the despotic control of Crushe.

It must not be imagined that the first lieutenant tyrannized over every one of his crew,—he was far too prudent to do that. By countenancing a few of the most brutal of the men, he kept himself posted with regard to those who had received cruel treatment by his orders. Again, if his misdeeds came to the knowledge of the press at any port they might visit, he thought it would be as well to have a number of trusty men he could send on shore, who would be a living advertisement for him, and prove by word and deed what jolly fellows the Stingers all were; so he promoted the fiends among the crew, and flogged those who showed a particle of manly feeling or self-respect. Shever was his right-hand man, being perfectly willing to testify to anything at his bidding; and between the Cape and Singapore many a man was brought to the gratings.

The crew were teased and worried until several of them became mutinous, upon which they were reported and flogged, the number of lashes awarded the victims varying from twenty-four to thirty-six, according to the caprice of Crushe; and very few of those not in the first lieutenant's favour escaped with unscarred backs. The boatswain and his mates were often the worse for liquor, and this, when the unjust lieutenant was punishing men for being intoxicated, upon the false testimony of Shever.

Puffeigh signed all the warrants, and would compliment Crushe upon the excellent state of discipline into which he was bringing the crew. "Flog the brutes now you are away from the station, and when in port stop the leave of all those mutinous dogs who ask for their rights, and you will soon have a good crew," commented the commander one day when requested to sanction a brace of warrants for punishment. Thompson, who handed him the pen with which he signed the atrocious orders, uttered a silent prayer that the old Tartar might never be able to sign any others.

Cravan and Crushe were greater friends than ever, and the former gloated over the spectacle of seeing Englishmen enjoy one of their naval privileges—the Lash.

Lieutenant Ford was pained and disgusted, and with the doctor, master, and paymaster, showed his contempt for the first lieutenant by cutting him in every way, and only speaking to him on duty.

They knew that there was no remedy. If either of them were rash enough to report matters to the senior officer, on their arrival at Singapore a court of inquiry would follow. What that would result in they knew but too well; Crushe, having creatures enough at his command ready to swear to anything, would be exonerated, while in all probability the officer who made the complaint would be sent home in disgrace. Moreover, it is considered ungentlemanly for officers to report each other.

One morning the ship was steaming in a dead calm, with Cravan in charge of the deck, the first lieutenant having ceased to keep regular watch, in consequence of the captain's illness. Midshipman Ryan had mustered the watch and idlers, and found one of the number absent.

"Who is the infernal sweep," demanded Nosey.

Upon this Mr. Shever, who was standing by, reported, "It's Dunstable, sir."

"Fetch him up—rouse him out—don't spare him, Mr. Shever; cut him down, curse him!"

Dunstable was a weak-minded fellow, who had one day before he went to sea stolen a loaf of bread to keep life in his body, and therefore had been a thief according to the law of the land. A humane magistrate gave him the alternative of "entering a man-of-war, or going to prison for a month." The poor idiot chose the freedom of the sea to a lodging in Pentonville palace, and was in due time drafted to the Stinger as an ordinary seaman; probably being, in the words of the facetious boatswain, "about as ordinary a seaman as he'd ever set eyes on." Crushe imagined the idiotic expression of the fellow's face was assumed to induce the commander to dismiss him from the service as useless; but this was not so—the man was weak-minded,—and any one with a particle of humanity in his heart would have been gentle with the "softy."

While at the Cape, Dunstable had tried to desert, so the day after they left that place he was brought to the gratings and received two dozen lashes, which destroyed the little sense he originally possessed; and some of the crew, finding the first lieutenant down upon the poor fellow, played him all manner of tricks. Wet swabs were dropped upon the "mad un," his grog stolen or diluted with vinegar, and pipes charged with powder were lent him by pretended sympathizers; who, knowing their superior officer disliked the man, vented their spleen upon him without fear of consequences.

Shever found Dunstable coiled up in his hammock, pretending to snooze. With the grin of a demon he took out his knife, cut the clews, and let the man down crash upon his head, then grasped him by the hair, and found he had received a severe scalp wound.

Rousing out one of the men who was sleeping near, and who proved to be Tom Clare, Shever told him to call the assistant-surgeon, adding, "Don't you call that cursed meddler, the old doctor;" and giving him a caution not to say anything to the latter, the worthy warrant-officer went on deck.

By some extraordinary accident the senior surgeon was called, we strongly suspect by Clare—although the doctor declared he came forward by accident. Dunstable's wound was sewed up, and the unfortunate fellow told "that he was on the sick list," but as the surgeon left the man the latter got up, and in spite of Clare's persuasions, walked on deck, where he went aft and reported himself ready for duty.

Crushe had just turned out, and was walking the starboard side of the quarter-deck, conversing with Cravan about Dunstable, when the latter made his appearance. Crossing over to the port side, he cursed the smiling idiot as a "useless thing"—"a dirty, beastly hound"—"a son of a dog, unfitted to live;" and turning to Cravan, asked what there was against the fellow.

"Absence from muster, skulking below in his watch on deck, insulting his superior officer (the boatswain), and not going on deck when directed by his superior officer," saying which Cravan pointed to the grinning object, as he would to some loathsome reptile, and added, "Yes, and the beast is filthy, and wants holy stoning."

Crushe then indulged in a flow of shameful abuse. His victim—fool as he was—clenched his fists, ground his teeth, and replied in language no less foul; but after a time he faltered, and wound up with, "Well, thank goodness for everything!"

"What did you say, you yahoo?" roared Crushe.

"I said, Thank goodness for everything, amen. Can't I say my prayers in a man-o'-war?"

"Mr. Shever, give this hound a scrubbing with sand and canvas, and clean his mouth out with it," said the gallant officer and gentleman.

Unable to keep his tongue quiet, and not realizing the purport of the cruel order Dunstable replied, "You're too good to me, sir; thank goodness again! who'd have thought I'd have found such a good friend in a man-o'-war?" However, seeing Shever advance to seize him, the imbecile began to yell, and tried to run forward, but was quickly secured by the boatswain and his mates, with whom the poor fellow bit and fought in very desperation.

"Let me go, you brutes! I won't bother you again if you let me go! I'll take a good long drink if you'll only let me go!"

He would have jumped overboard, if they had released him then, but there was no fear of that,—the business they had in hand was too congenial to their taste for them to let him drown himself, so he was bundled and worried about until his few clothes were stripped off, when, to prevent any further noise on his part, Mr. Shever roughly thrust a gag in his mouth.

The wash deck tub was filled with salt water, a grating laid across, and Dunstable's hands made fast to it behind, so that he could not rise or struggle without injuring his wrists. The boatswain called for a bucket of coarse sand, took a piece of hard sailcloth, wetted it, dipped it in the sand, and himself commenced to inflict the scandalous torture known as "scrubbing with sand and canvas." His mates fell to with zeal, and these fiends in human shape rubbed and excoriated the person of the wretched Dunstable from head to foot. The sand was mixed with shells, which cut like knives, while the salt water pickled and stung until the victim almost fainted, upon which they cut his hands adrift and ducked him in the water.

The watch and idlers knocked off work "to see the sport," and encouraged by the countenance of Crushe and Cravan, shouted with delight whenever the idiot uttered a groan or writhed in agony. There had lately been a great deal of torture inflicted before their eyes, and they had become quite judges of its effects.

When Dunstable had for the tenth time been thrust to the bottom of the brimming wash deck tub, Shever called for a pair of scissors, and proceeded to hack off the hair from the poor victim's head. Many were the jokes indulged in by the gentle barber at the expense of the idiot, as some of the grinning wags around him asked for "locks of his hair to send to their grandmothers," and when the last clip was made they felt quite sorry there was no more left.

Bruised, demented, and bewildered was the shivering specimen of humanity when they removed the gag, and leading him to the fore-rigging told him "to run for his life three times over the mast head."

As he did not reply or offer to move, the boatswain gave him a kick, upon which he said, "Thank goodness for that!" This raised a laugh among the jolly tars who were standing around him, and one of them, emulating the warrant-officer's example, also dealt the fool a kick.

"I can't go up that ladder," he pleaded. "I'm not up to that move. Thank goodness for all things;" and added, in the slang of the beings who had reared him, "my nibs ain't vardi for that."

"Shever, muster the boys, give each a strip of raw hide, and let them flog this fellow aloft," said Crushe.

The active boatswain soon did as he was directed, and the boys were mustered and equipped in a very short space of time.

"Now, my lads, lay on to him as hard as you like," shouted the first lieutenant.

Dunstable sprang into the rigging when he saw the boatswain arming the boys, who were all willing enough to advance, but afraid of their victim's vicious looks. At last one rat of a boy sprang up beside him, and brought his strip of hide stinging across the poor fellow's naked body. In a moment up went his foot, and with a kick under the jaw, which made the boy bite the tip off his tongue, the hunted man stretched the little brute senseless upon the deck, completely stunned by his fall from the rigging.

Upon seeing this the sailors became furious, and urged the boys to attack him in a body.

"Lay into the brute, you warmints," bellowed the boatswain.

"Give it him, my lads!" cried the first lieutenant.

"A shilling for the next who touches him!" roared Cravan.

Dunstable gave one loud idiotic shout, then darted aloft like a squirrel, followed by twenty vindictive little devils thirsting to avenge the blow he gave their chum. Now one would reach him, when sting would go the torturing raw hide, making the idiot curse and howl like a demon. It was glorious sport for the lookers on, almost as good as bear-baiting.

Up, up they go, pursued and pursuers, until they reach the main-royal-stay; but only one boy followed then, the others hung on to the rigging and watched the sport; they were afraid to go on, the man's eyes glared so. Dunstable saw at a glance if he could only get across he would be safe from his persecutors. Away he clambered up the stay, hand over hand and foot over foot, like an experienced sailor.

The men below turned the quids in their cheeks, and observed to each other that "he warn't sich a darned fool arter all, you know, as he could get about aloft like a regler knowin one." But suddenly he stopped. His right leg slid from the stay, and hung helplessly down; soon the left followed, and he dangled aloft, holding on by his long, lean, sinewless arms.

A groan of horror burst from the crew. "He'll fall! O God, he'll fall!!" said Clare, who, roused out by the noise, had come on deck. All eyes were strained towards the poor wretch, who now began to show signs of total exhaustion. With a fearful wail he let go one hand, and swayed, with the weight of his body entirely thrown upon the other; then suddenly he released his grasp, and shot down towards the deck.

Those who could bear to look saw him strike the main-top-gallant-stay, turn over twice in his descent, and fall across the bridge.

Up sprang Clare, and tenderly he lifted the now broken form of the wretched idiot. Crushe, with livid face and trembling lips, asked him if the man was dead. Tom could not reply. He was too indignant to trust himself to speak; but giving the lieutenant a look of scorn, he raised the body in his powerful arms, and reclining the inanimate head upon his shoulder as gently as a woman would have laid her babe's, bore his mangled burden to the surgery.

The little doctor did his utmost to save the man's life,—amputation of one limb was resorted to, but all without avail. Crushe ordered a screen to be placed across the steerage, and every few moments went to know "how the fellow got on."

But the end was not far off. Maimed by accident or design, mutilated by the surgeon's art, weak and weary, the spirit of Dunstable would have passed away without a struggle, but Crushe came down; and when he saw his enemy standing before him with no sign of pity, but rather a contemptuous expression upon his cruel face, the victim raised his head, and with his eyes gleaming with unnatural brightness, gasped out, "You did this, you monster! you did this; tell my mother he murdered me!" Then, with a terrible convulsion, the muscles of his body trembled, and the soul of the idiot passed to the other world, where, we are told, "there will be no more sorrow, nor any trouble known, no more misery or injustice, but all will be joy and peace."

There lay the victim with the marks of the cat upon his body, the effects of the sand torture still visible upon him, and with the livid wales raised by the raw-hide thongs growing more distinct each moment. There lay the idiot, foully murdered, and done to death by Crushe and his subordinates; yet none dared tell of it, or raise their voice in denouncing his murderers.

The doctor told Clare to arrange the body for burial, and the sailor who had himself suffered so much performed the last few offices for the dead. When this was done they carried it up, placed it aft upon the quarter-deck, and spread a flag over it. There it lay until the commander was notified that the ordinary seaman who fell from aloft was ready for burial. Then Puffeigh directed Crushe to "bury the fellow," adding, "he considered it a good riddance;" and that officer, with the blood of his victim on his conscience, stood at the port, and with mock humility read from the prayer book of the Church of England the solemn service "for the burial of the dead, who die at sea." There, with the crew gathered round, the man whose bloody work it was which the flag covered, this sin-steeped wretch, with holy words upon his accursed lips, "committed his brother to the deep, in the sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection when the sea shall give up its dead."

"Hands, make sail!" A breeze had sprung up, and all that was mortal of Dunstable was soon far astern.

Crushe made the following entry in the log-book of H. M. S. Stinger, where it looked like a very ordinary accident.

"8.50. A.M., lat. —— long. ——. Departed this life, Charles Dunstable, ordinary seaman belonging to this ship, having died from the effects of injuries received through falling from aloft."

"Departed this life," hounded to death, and forced into another, and we hope a happier, state, was this man and brother. "May he rest in peace."

Some time after this, an old woman dozing over her misery by the side of a wretched fire in a London garret, received a letter from a kind-hearted midshipman belonging to the Stinger; and when a friend read the contents to her she cried and rocked herself, saying, "She had lost her boy, her dear, good, darling Charley."