When Singapore was well out of sight Crushe mustered the deserters, kept until that time below in irons. Thirty-five men and one boy answered to their names, and were paraded before him. Among them were many of his pets, who, until their attempt at desertion, had been considered reliable fellows. These he surveyed with unmitigated disgust, as much as to say, "You brutes, after I have loaded you with favours, you turn upon me and desert, like the rest of them." The boy was no other than "the son of Bill Jordun," who, in spite of the guardianship of Old Jemmy, had contrived to reach the shore in an empty water-tank, there to be duly collared and returned to the kind care of the humane lieutenant. Crushe determined to flog the child, as an example to the other boys: consequently, when the deserters were mustered, he singled out the lad, and bullied him in a most unmerciful manner.

"What is that little beast's name?" he demanded of the ship's corporal.

"Bill Jordun, sir," replied the man, touching his cap several times, to show his profound humility.

"Come here, you little hound. How dare you desert? I'll have you flogged over the breech of a gun, you son of a dog! Do you hear me—curse you?" exclaimed the first lieutenant.

"I can hear you, sir."

"Then why don't you answer me, you vermin?"

The boy bit his lips, and swallowed the insult; determined not to irritate his tyrant by replying; but upon glancing up, and seeing the sneering look of Crushe directed towards him, as if he were dirt beneath his feet, he fearlessly observed,

"I didn't answer, as you didn't give me a chance—'sides, I don't want to be killed, like Dunstable was. I ain't afraid of you, though, although I knows my life ain't worth much in your eyes."

"Stop! you mutinous little blackguard, you shall get your deserts. I wish to Heaven I could give you four dozen. Ship's corporal, take the little beast down below."

The boy, now driven to desperation, replied in a mocking way,

"Yes! take him below, take him down below—that's what the devil will do to you some day—see if he don't."

Shever, upon hearing this unwarrantable abuse of his superior, stepped before the ship's corporal, saying, "Allow me to handle this brute," seized the undaunted infant by the throat, and lifting him off the deck, carried the precocious child below, where Master William used anything but proper language. The boy had often heard the men indulge in profanity when being put in confinement, so he considered it the correct thing to do; and it must have been very horrible, as, upon his return to the quarter-deck, the boatswain reported that "he had to shut his ears, it was so awful."

While the lad was being attended to, Crushe stood beside the capstan, and amused himself by taunting the prisoners, and on the slightest word from them would exclaim, "Silence, you brutes! by Jupiter I'll make some of you hold your tongues with a cat, if you don't shut up your jaw. You imagined you could give me the slip, did you? bless you. I'm glad some of you have tried it on; particularly you, Mr. Byrne. You're fond of praying, now pray for a miracle, as you'll get four dozen crosses on your back in spite of your faith. You're all right this time, and the devil himself won't save you. I'm only sorry I can't flog the lot of you."

When Crushe had exhausted his spleen upon the deserters as a body, he directed Cravan to have them brought singly before him. Some, like the boy Jordun, were mutinous; these he determined should be flogged: while others held their peace, and escaped with various light punishments, from "one month's pay or grog stopped," to "black list for a week," or "watered grog for an unlimited period."

"In the old times we could have flogged all of the brutes," he observed to Cravan, "but it would not do to try it on now; besides, the old boy would be afraid to sign the warrants."

"You might flog them into mutiny," replied Nosey. "That fellow Byrne muttered something about better strike for their rights like men, than be treated like dogs."

"Did he?" exclaimed Crushe.

"Yes, and two or three of those you have set down for flogging seemed half inclined to be mutinous; besides, did you not hear that little whelp Jordun allude to Dunstable, just as if you murdered him?"

"That was a joke. I murder him, ha, ha!" laughed Crushe.

"Ha, ha!" echoed Cravan, but the merriment on both sides, was forced. They remembered how the poor idiot looked when he lay dead in the sick-bay, and the first lieutenant felt the words, "murdered him," stir even his dull conscience.

Captain Puffeigh was brought on deck during the day, and the seven men were duly reported to him. Without the slightest inquiry, upon the word of his first lieutenant, he sentenced two to receive four, and five of them three, dozen lashes upon their bare backs. Small boy Jordun was then paraded, and when he found all chance gone of obtaining justice from the gallant captain, he became very insolent; observing that the skipper would get a thundering good pounding if ever he showed his strawberry nose in Portsea, and that Crushe had better look out for hisself, when his father heered he had been flaked.

"The depravity of the little fiend! To speak to me in that audacious manner upon my own quarter-deck! He ought to be keelhauled. Don't you think so, Crushe?"

Of course the first lieutenant agreed with his commander.

Keelhauling, gentle reader, was a frightful torture invented in a brutal age, and it is still sighed after by creatures like Puffeigh and Crushe. The punishment consisted in slinging a man in a peculiar manner, by a rope suspended from one yard arm, and running under the ship up to the other yard. Thus the victim was drawn down into the water, under the ship (which sometimes lacerated him in a frightful manner), and then run up to the yard arm on the other side. If he survived this he was lucky, as generally the operation finished the victim. Puffeigh felt sorry that he could not break the insolent boy's spirit by these gentle means, as the child's tender frame was admirably adapted to bear such a punishment.

The commander shook his elegant signature upon the foot of each "warrant for punishment." He was not a learned judge, nor had he "patiently and carefully gone into each case," according to admiralty orders.

Upon the morning after Puffeigh signed the warrants, the Stingers were all turned out at daylight. It was lovely weather, and as the ship steamed up the China sea everything around her looked calm and peaceful, while on board all was terror, discontent, and unhappiness.

William Jordun, boy of the second class, was the first victim: and as small lads are tied over the breech of a gun, and flogged on a corresponding portion of their own anatomy, there was no grating to rig; consequently the preliminaries were of a primitive and unostentatious kind; the only persons to be present being Crushe, the assistant surgeon, and the ship's boys. Master William knew that in a manner the eyes of the fleet were upon him, so he determined to take his punishment like a stoic. The worthy and innocent lads who swarmed round the gun across which he was secured did all in their power to keep up his spirits, and until the dreaded first lieutenant made his appearance a casual observer might have imagined the boys were mustered to assist at some pleasing kind of ceremony.

"Don't you holler, young Bill, and I'll give you a plug of genewine Wirginny," observed one small specimen.

"I've got a tot of grog stowed away for you, chummy, if you gives plenty ov lip," consolingly remarked another.

"The way that ere lad do keep up 'is pluck, agin all odds!" mumbled Old Jemmy, who was surveying the infants much as a dog fancier might a lot of bull pups.

"You shall have that 'ere pair ov trousers wot's too small for me if you jaw all the time, and don't sing out," put in a long specimen, who was on the look-out for the appearance of Crushe and the assistant surgeon up the after-companion. At last he cried, "Here's the sangvenary tyrunt; hold yer jaw, all ov yer."

As the boy was lashed to the foremost starboard gun, the lieutenant and doctor had to walk almost the vessel's length; so by the time they reached the group the lads were as quiet as mice, and looking at the prisoner in a virtuously superior manner.

"All the boys here, ship's corporal?"

"Yes, sir."

Upon this Crushe read the warrant, and without more ceremony ordered the boatswain's mate to "do his duty."

When the corporal removed the frock which hitherto had covered the boy's person, the lad blushed, and shut his eyes for a moment, his position being a most ignominious one. Price advanced cat in hand, and was about to administer the first cut; but seeing the boy's fair skin with its faint blue veins, he threw down the cat, and folding his arms, looked at his superiors like one bewildered.

The first lieutenant stared at the boatswain's mate for a moment, then demanded in a severe tone if he had been drinking; adding, if he did not wish to be disrated, he had better go on with the flogging, and mind he did his duty effectually.

Price looked at Crushe, then at the boy, and at length murmured "Can't do it, sir—darn me if I can—I'd rather be flogged myself," saying which he picked up the cat, and threw it overboard.

"Go aft and stand between two guns, you miserable old fool; I'll disrate you for that, you drivelling idiot," bellowed the first lieutenant.

"Boatswain, do your duty."

"Yes, boatswain, do your duty," mimicked the impudent little victim; "do your duty, it's a pleasure to you, ain't it?"

Mr. Shever flogged boy Jordun in a highly expert and savage manner, but the lad being wonderfully tough-skinned, he merely succeeded in inducing him to use some very powerful language for such a small child. Not a groan or tear, but with true nautical freedom, did he bless Crushe and the rest of his enemies, asserting as the tails curled round his defenceless body that he should "live to see the lot of 'em swing for murder afore he died, so help his never, he would."

When a man or boy is actually undergoing punishment he may give vent to his feelings in any way he pleases—say his prayers, or worse—generally worse, we are sorry to state; and Master William Jordun, boy of the second class, feeling he was being looked upon as a sort of martyr by his fellows, endured the pain, and slanged his superiors like a grown up sailor. It was a fitting prologue to the performance which followed.

Having received his two dozen lashes, he was cast off considerably worse in body and mind, and sent aft to remain in the sentry's charge until sunset. We know he was a foul-mouthed little monkey, but what made him so? The example of his superiors; and it is not surprising he was bad, considering the beautiful and edifying language he constantly heard on the part of Crushe, Shever, and others.

By the time the foregoing was completed Puffeigh had made his appearance with the officers and engineers upon the quarter-deck, where the grating was already rigged for punishment. The same performance was gone through as upon the occasion of Clare's sentence being carried out, with this exception, the boys mingled with the men, and as the first victim was "seized up," six others, among whom was Byrne, were brought forward "to be improved" until their turns came. Three of them bore their punishment without a word, and were sent below to have their backs dressed by the surgeon. One man cried and roared like a child under chastisement. Another fainted, and was flogged during the time he was insensible (some of the crew observed that he took it "like a lamb"), while the other two victims, driven almost out of their senses, cursed and swore in a fearful manner, Byrne vowing he would murder Puffeigh, Crushe, or Shever. "I'll have revenge on one of you devils," he yelled, as the last stroke of the lashes scored his back like so many knives.

"Iron him; see he doesn't do any damage," quavered Puffeigh, when he saw they were casting the man off. "Put him below under a sentry's charge until we arrive at Hong-Kong. I'll try you by court-martial for that threat, you brute."

The man showed fight, breaking from his keepers, and endeavouring to get at Puffeigh, who thereupon beat a retreat to his cabin, saying he was tired. After a desperate struggle the sailor was secured, gagged, double-ironed, and placed below under charge of a sentry, who was instructed to "keep his eye on him, and not to allow any one to speak to him." For three days the prisoner remained perfectly quiet; upon the fourth, thinking the threats he had made were mere empty talk, he was released by order of the commander, Crushe having requested the same might be done, as he wanted the man's services.

It is customary when a ship is in the Chinese sea to keep a number of loaded arms in a rack under the charge of a sentry, as in case of falling in with a pirate they may be required at a moment's notice. Byrne had been freed from confinement, and was standing by the arm rack, waiting until the ship's corporal had replaced his irons below, after which the prisoner was to be taken before the first lieutenant, and officially dismissed to duty. The sentry had gone on deck to report the time, and no one was in the steerage. At this juncture Crushe called down the hatchway directing (as he thought) the ship's corporal to "make haste and bring up the prisoner." At the sound of the hated officer's voice, Byrne darted to the arm rack, seized a loaded musket, rushed up the main hatchway, and seeing an officer standing near, fired. The ball entered the back of his victim, who immediately fell upon the quarter-deck as if shot dead. The assassin threw down his weapon and gave himself up to the sergeant of marines, who was the nearest man to him at the time, exclaiming as he did so, "There! I hope the brute is dead, then he'll never kill any more sailors."

Twenty men sprang forward to raise the body from the deck, all horror-stricken at the dreadful tragedy which had been enacted before them. Few knew who it was that had been shot; and as nearly all had imagined it to be Crushe, when they found that the inanimate body was that of Lieutenant Ford, their excitement knew no bounds. It was with difficulty the men could be kept from lynching the prisoner, although they knew full well that he had killed the good young officer by mistake, instead of shooting one of their tyrants.

When the assassin found who it was he had fired at, he became almost insane, crying out to his guards to shoot him, and endeavouring to beat out his brains upon the deck.

"O God!" he shrieked, "I've killed the best officer in the fleet. I'd have died for him; it cannot be so, you lie, you soger, and do it to frighten me. It was Crushe, the devil, that I killed, not Lieutenant Ford. Shipmate, say it wasn't him now, for Heaven's sake."

"Sentry," roared the first lieutenant, "gag that brute!"

The surgeon was called, and by his direction the body was taken below and laid upon a cot in the sick-bay, Tom Clare, the gentlest of nurses, being directed to "attend to the instructions of the surgeon, and remain with the lieutenant until further orders." After a time Ford opened his eyes and recognized those about him. Having made a superficial examination of his wound, the doctor placed him in an easy position, directing Clare not to let him excite himself by talking, and absolutely forbidding Tom to allow any one to see him; then walking aft to the captain's cabin he reported his opinion to Puffeigh, viz.: that Lieutenant Ford was severely wounded, and he did not think it possible he could survive more than a few hours. The captain heard the report without observation, and when the surgeon had retired he sent for Crushe, telling him what the doctor had said. As he was speaking Clare entered the cabin, and hurriedly informed them that Lieutenant Ford wished to see them at once, and the doctor said they'd better come.

Puffeigh turned pale, and muttered something about not being well himself; but finding the first lieutenant did not help him out, he mustered courage enough to face the dying man, taking Crushe with him, in order that the latter might not escape the scene.

Ford had asked how he was hurt, and if he could survive. These questions had been replied to by the doctor, who informed him that he had been accidentally shot by one of the men, and that probably he might not live long. The wounded officer heard this announcement without a shudder, and presently inquired, "Who was it that shot me?" As the surgeon did not reply, he turned his brilliant eyes full upon the face of Clare, who being thus mutely appealed to, observed,

"Byrne, sir, but he didn't know it was you."

"I forgive him, with all my heart," said Ford. "Send for Captain Puffeigh."

Knowing the poor fellow had but a short time to live, the good surgeon sent Tom Clare to the commander, as we have just related.

Upon the captain's entering the sick-bay, Ford motioned Clare to give him some water. Seeing this, the doctor administered a stimulant, as he knew the wounded officer very much desired to make a communication before he died.

"Send that sailor away," whispered Puffeigh.

"He cannot leave his charge," quietly observed the surgeon, who now lifted up his finger, to enjoin silence.

Looking towards the captain, Ford spoke as follows:—"Captain Puffeigh—the poor fellow—who did this—deserves—your pity. I forgive—him—and Crushe—knowing it was you he in—tended—to kill, I shall be happy to die—for YOU—if I can—be assured you will—cease—to tyrannize—over—the crew—Don't flog—any—more. Promise me—to save Byrne's—life."

"I'll do all I can to save him, Ford—but you are not dying—" quavered Puffeigh.

Ford tried to stretch forth his hand, to grasp that of his senior, but his strength failed him, and with a faint smile he exclaimed, "God bless—you—for the prom—" but was prevented finishing the sentence by the blood rising in his throat.

Puffeigh was so frightened that he had to be supported by Crushe, as he left the dying officer's presence. When they arrived aft the latter coolly observed,

"I'm sorry for Ford—but it was a very narrow escape for either of us."

"Yes," replied the captain, "it was, no doubt, an act of Providence that we escaped."

The brutal officers actually imagined their Creator had specially interfered to save one of their miserable lives; and they were not the first tyrants who have flattered themselves in that manner.

Lieutenant Ford never rallied sufficiently to give directions as to the disposal of his affairs, but lay calmly and patiently, as if waiting for the messenger of death. Once he murmured "Florence." He evidently was conscious that he was dying, yet death seemed to have no terror for him. The doctor and Clare prayed for the poor fellow, each according to his faith, and the Christian's lips moved in response to theirs. Whatever his belief might have been, he certainly was a good man, and far above the narrow prejudices of sect. He lay there—calm and peaceful—with a rapturous, heavenly expression of countenance, as if, though still lingering by its earthly form, his spirit was fore-tasting the joys of a better world. About noon he breathed his last; and so quietly did the soul pass away, that when the sorrowing midshipmen, who were silently grouped round the entrance to the sick-bay, were informed that the happy face was that of a dead man, they could not believe it. One by one they came in and gazed upon their dead friend, some finding it hardly possible to restrain their grief.

About sunset the body of Lieutenant Ford was committed to the deep—cast overboard into the sea—to be devoured by fishes, or float about until dispersed by the water—far away from friends, and the gentle being who loved him so dearly, and to whom he had been so tenderly attached.

Puffeigh buried the body with all the puny pomp of an officer's funeral at sea. It mattered little to the noble spirit whether a few meaningless ceremonies were performed or omitted; "his soul was gone aloft," and could not be recalled or affected by the commander's "service."

The sailors were all deeply grieved at the sudden death. Ford had always treated them in a kind and proper manner, and his untimely end was probably as sincerely lamented forward as aft. No man felt more sorrow than his assassin. The remembrance of his own sufferings seemed to have been entirely forgotten by him, so absorbed was he in the recollection of the dreadful crime he had committed. Crushe heaped every kind of insult and torture he could devise upon the man, who bore all with the resignation of a martyr.

Upon one occasion the first lieutenant cursed the prisoner to his face, and observed,

"Ah! you brute, you thought to murder me, did you?"

Upon hearing this the man quietly replied,

"Forgive me, sir—I am sorry for it."

"Forgive you, you hound! Yes—I'll forgive you when you're swinging from the yard-arm."

Instead of checking Crushe in his shameful tyranny, the death of his brother officer seemed to make him perfectly reckless, he doubtless thinking there was now no appeal or chance of hearing for his victims. He never for a moment appeared to remember that Ford's words about "dying for him" were true, and indeed, one day, when discussing the good officer's death, he remarked to Cravan,

"Possibly I should have done the magnanimous had I been in poor Ford's place. He could afford to say, 'Bless you, shipmates,' as he knew very well that his anchor was tripped."

Nosey did not make any reply to this brutal speech, as the mere recollection of the affair made him shudder.

When the Stinger arrived at Hong-Kong, Byrne was sent on board the flagship, and after a few days had elapsed, a court-martial was called upon his case. A well-known lawyer offered gratuitously to assist the prisoner, but his services were respectfully declined.

Crushe, the ship's corporal, and sergeant of marines, were the principal witnesses against the man; some petty officers were also examined, but not a word was said that would lead any member of the court to imagine the first lieutenant was anything but a gentle, humane officer.

The man had no defence, nor would he throw himself upon the mercy of the court, all he wanted being to die.

After mature deliberation, the court found the prisoner "Guilty," without the usual recommendation to mercy, and the president passed sentence of death in the ordinary form; adding that the prisoner was to be hanged from the yard-arm, and that the sentence was to be carried out on board the Stinger.

Byrne received the sentence with a calmness which was almost touching; and after bowing to the president was handcuffed, and taken back to his cell.

The chaplain visited the doomed man, but the latter declined his services, observing that he did not require government religion, as his own faith was sufficient to carry him through.

One morning at sunrise the Stinger steamed out of Hong-Kong harbour, with several boats towing alongside. These had brought "black-list men" from various ships in the fleet, who were detailed to assist at the execution of Byrne. Forward on the hammock netting, abreast of the fore hatchway, and over a gun port, a grating was rigged platform wise; to this the fatal noose was secured by a rope yarn, the fall being led across the deck to the starboard side, so that the black-list men could not see the object which they were to run aloft.

When the crew were mustered and duly placed in position, the prisoner was brought up from below, guarded on either side by sentries. As he ascended the fore hatchway his eyes fell upon the grating, but he preserved his coolness, and in fact gave a sigh of relief at beholding it. When he had removed his jumper, the commander gave the order to pinion him. This being done, as far as the arms were concerned, Puffeigh read the warrant for execution, then turning to the man, observed,

"Prisoner, if you wish to say a few words to your shipmates you can do so, but be brief and temperate in your language."

Facing round towards his shipmates, Byrne spoke as follows:—"Messmates and shipmates, I didn't mean to kill Lieutenant Ford, and I willingly die for my crime; but if any of you ever become free men again, tell the world how sailors are treated. Good-bye; God bless and deliver you from all your slavery."

The commander bit his lips and looked round at the men, who, upon hearing these bold words, uttered a murmur of pity.

"Silence!" he roared. "Boatswain, do your duty."

Shever and his mates had stationed the black-list men at the fall, on the other side of the deck and upon receiving these instructions he helped the prisoner to mount the platform. When he had taken his stand upon the horizontal grating, the boatswain and his assistants secured his lower limbs. As they were doing this, Byrne evidently prayed, as his lips moved, and every now and then he reverently bowed his head. Then upon a signal from the captain, Shever fitted the cap, and having adjusted the fatal noose, slipped off the grating, and stood beside Puffeigh.

The captain nodded assent. "Hoist away!" piped the boatswain, and the same was repeated by his mates. The gunner's-mate fired the gun which protruded from the port under the platform where the wretched man was standing, and Byrne was run aloft in the smoke. The rope was so adjusted, that upon the body nearly reaching the yard-arm a seizing parted, and the man fell about three feet below the yard, the drop breaking his neck most effectually.

The black-list men hurried over the ship's side into their boats, and the Stinger steamed slowly out of the harbour with the body of the late able seaman swinging from the yard-arm. After steaming for an hour in the direction of Cap-sing-moon Passage, the boatswain was directed to cut the body adrift. Shever went aloft, and out upon the yard-arm like one about to perform a noble action. Upon arriving at the end of the yard he drew forth a knife, and leaning over severed the rope by which Byrne was suspended, upon which the body shot down like a plummet, and disappeared beneath the water. Shever peered down after it, shading his eyes with his hands, to see if it rose again; but beyond a few bubbles over the spot, there was nothing to be seen, the body possibly being seized by sharks.

"He's gone, and be hanged to him!" said the boatswain. Upon which he looked down upon the up-turned faces of the crew and grinned like a baboon, then reclosed his knife, placed it in his pocket, and descended to the quarter-deck, where he reported the business to Crushe.

"I think we did that werry scientific," observed the brute to his superior.

"Very well indeed, Mr. Shever," sneered the first lieutenant. "When they want a hangman on shore, you'd better volunteer for the appointment."

The boatswain smiled and saluted, as if a great compliment had been paid him. After which he went below—drank freely, and was finally put to bed for sunstroke, brute as he was, the morning's work being too much for his nerves.

Report says that the ghost of Byrne duly haunted the ship, and from time to time appeared to sundry sailors and small boys, whom it frightened out of their wits, but it never seemed to trouble the captain, or any of its former persecutors, possibly thinking it had enough of those worthies' attention when in the flesh, without troubling itself about them when in the spirit. We leave this mythical point to be settled by spiritualists.