CHAPTER XXXIII.
A FLOGGING.
If you begin the day with a laugh, you may, nevertheless, end it with asob and a sigh.
Among the many who were exceedingly diverted with the scene between theDown Easter and the Lieutenant, none laughed more heartily than John,Peter, Mark, and Antone--four sailors of the starboard-watch. The sameevening these four found themselves prisoners in the "brig," with asentry standing over them. They were charged with violating awell-known law of the ship--having been engaged in one of thosetangled, general fights sometimes occurring among sailors. They hadnothing to anticipate but a flogging, at the captain's pleasure.
Toward evening of the next day, they were startled by the dread summonsof the boatswain and his mates at the principal hatchway--a summonsthat ever sends a shudder through every manly heart in a frigate:
"_All hands witness punishment, ahoy!_"
The hoarseness of the cry, its unrelenting prolongation, its beingcaught up at different points, and sent through the lowermost depths ofthe ship; all this produces a most dismal effect upon every heart notcalloused by long habituation to it.
However much you may desire to absent yourself from the scene thatensues, yet behold it you must; or, at least, stand near it you must;for the regulations enjoin the attendance of the entire ship's company,from the corpulent Captain himself to the smallest boy who strikes thebell.
"_All hands witness punishment, ahoy!_"
To the sensitive seaman that summons sounds like a doom. He knows thatthe same law which impels it--the same law by which the culprits of theday must suffer; that by that very law he also is liable at any time tobe judged and condemned. And the inevitableness of his own presence atthe scene; the strong arm that drags him in view of the scourge, andholds him there till all is over; forcing upon his loathing eye andsoul the sufferings and groans of men who have familiarly consortedwith him, eaten with him, battled out watches with him--men of his owntype and badge--all this conveys a terrible hint of the omnipotentauthority under which he lives. Indeed, to such a man the naval summonsto witness punishment carries a thrill, somewhat akin to what we mayimpute to the quick and the dead, when they shall hear the Last Trump,that is to bid them all arise in their ranks, and behold the finalpenalties inflicted upon the sinners of our race.
But it must not be imagined that to all men-of-war's-men this summonsconveys such poignant emotions; but it is hard to decide whether oneshould be glad or sad that this is not the case; whether it is gratefulto know that so much pain is avoided, or whether it is far sadder tothink that, either from constitutional hard-heartedness or themultiplied searings of habit, hundreds of men-of-war's-men have beenmade proof against the sense of degradation, pity, and shame.
As if in sympathy with the scene to be enacted, the sun, which the dayprevious had merrily flashed upon the tin pan of the disconsolate DownEaster, was now setting over the dreary waters, veiling itself invapours. The wind blew hoarsely in the cordage; the seas broke heavilyagainst the bows; and the frigate, staggering under whole top-sails,strained as in agony on her way.
"_All hands witness punishment, ahoy!_"
At the summons the crew crowded round the main-mast; multitudes eagerto obtain a good place on the booms, to overlook the scene; manylaughing and chatting, others canvassing the case of the culprits; somemaintaining sad, anxious countenances, or carrying a suppressedindignation in their eyes; a few purposely keeping behind to avoidlooking on; in short, among five hundred men, there was every possibleshade of character.
All the officers--midshipmen included--stood together in a group on thestarboard side of the main-mast; the First Lieutenant in advance, andthe surgeon, whose special duty it is to be present at such times,standing close by his side.
Presently the Captain came forward from his cabin, and stood in thecentre of this solemn group, with a small paper in his hand. That paperwas the daily report of offences, regularly laid upon his table everymorning or evening, like the day's journal placed by a bachelor'snapkin at breakfast.
"Master-at-arms, bring up the prisoners," he said.
A few moments elapsed, during which the Captain, now clothed in hismost dreadful attributes, fixed his eyes severely upon the crew, whensuddenly a lane formed through the crowd of seamen, and the prisonersadvanced--the master-at-arms, rattan in hand, on one side, and an armedmarine on the other--and took up their stations at the mast.
"You John, you Peter, you Mark, you Antone," said the Captain, "wereyesterday found fighting on the gun-deck. Have you anything to say?"
Mark and Antone, two steady, middle-aged men, whom I had often admiredfor their sobriety, replied that they did not strike the first blow;that they had submitted to much before they had yielded to theirpassions; but as they acknowledged that they had at last defendedthemselves, their excuse was overruled.
John--a brutal bully, who, it seems, was the real author of thedisturbance--was about entering into a long extenuation, when he wascut short by being made to confess, irrespective of circumstances, thathe had been in the fray.
Peter, a handsome lad about nineteen years old, belonging to themizzen-top, looked pale and tremulous. He was a great favourite in hispart of the ship, and especially in his own mess, principally composedof lads of his own age. That morning two of his young mess-mates hadgone to his bag, taken out his best clothes, and, obtaining thepermission of the marine sentry at the "brig," had handed them to him,to be put on against being summoned to the mast. This was done topropitiate the Captain, as most captains love to see a tidy sailor. Butit would not do. To all his supplications the Captain turned a deafear. Peter declared that he had been struck twice before he hadreturned a blow. "No matter," said the Captain, "you struck at last,instead of reporting the case to an officer. I allow no man to fight onboard here but myself. I do the fighting."
"Now, men," he added, "you all admit the charge; you know the penalty.Strip! Quarter-masters, are the gratings rigged?"
The gratings are square frames of barred wood-work, sometimes placedover the hatchways. One of these squares was now laid on the deck,close to the ship's bulwarks, and while the remaining preparations werebeing made, the master-at-arms assisted the prisoners in removing theirjackets and shirts. This done, their shirts were loosely thrown overtheir shoulders.
At a sign from the Captain, John, with a shameless leer, advanced, andstood passively upon the grating, while the bare-headed oldquarter-master, with grey hair streaming in the wind, bound his feet tothe cross-bars, and, stretching out his arms over his head, securedthem to the hammock-nettings above. He then retreated a little space,standing silent.
Meanwhile, the boatswain stood solemnly on the other side, with a greenbag in his hand, from which, taking four instruments of punishment, hegave one to each of his mates; for a fresh "cat" applied by a freshhand, is the ceremonious privilege accorded to every man-of-war culprit.
At another sign from the Captain, the master-at-arms, stepping up,removed the shirt from the prisoner. At this juncture a wave brokeagainst the ship's side, and clashed the spray over his exposed back.But though the air was piercing cold, and the water drenched him, Johnstood still, without a shudder.
The Captain's finger was now lifted, and the first boatswain's-mateadvanced, combing out the nine tails of his _cat_ with his hand, andthen, sweeping them round his neck, brought them with the whole forceof his body upon the mark. Again, and again, and again; and at everyblow, higher and higher rose the long, purple bars on the prisoner'sback. But he only bowed over his head, and stood still. Meantime, someof the crew whispered among themselves in applause of their ship-mate'snerve; but the greater part were breathlessly silent as the keenscourge hissed through the wintry air, and fell with a cutting, wirysound upon the mark. One dozen lashes being applied, the man was takendown, and went among the crew with a smile, saying, "D----n me! it'snothing when you're used to it! Who wants to fight?"
The next was Antone, the Portuguese. At every blow he surged from sideto side,
pouring out a torrent of involuntary blasphemies. Never beforehad he been heard to curse. When cut down, he went among the men,swearing to have the life of the Captain. Of course, this was unheardby the officers.
Mark, the third prisoner, only cringed and coughed under hispunishment. He had some pulmonary complaint. He was off duty forseveral days after the flogging; but this was partly to be imputed tohis extreme mental misery. It was his first scourging, and he felt theinsult more than the injury. He became silent and sullen for the restof the cruise.
The fourth and last was Peter, the mizzen-top lad. He had often boastedthat he had never been degraded at the gangway. The day before hischeek had worn its usual red but now no ghost was whiter. As he wasbeing secured to the gratings, and the shudderings and creepings of hisdazzlingly white back were revealed, he turned round his headimploringly; but his weeping entreaties and vows of contrition were ofno avail. "I would not forgive God Almighty!" cried the Captain. Thefourth boatswain's-mate advanced, and at the first blow, the boy,shouting "_My God! Oh! my God!_" writhed and leaped so as to displacethe gratings, and scatter the nine tails of the scourge all over hisperson. At the next blow he howled, leaped, and raged in unendurabletorture.
"What are you stopping for, boatswain's-mate?" cried the Captain. "Layon!" and the whole dozen was applied.
"I don't care what happens to me now!" wept Peter, going among thecrew, with blood-shot eyes, as he put on his shirt. "I have beenflogged once, and they may do it again, if they will. Let them look forme now!"
"Pipe down!" cried the Captain, and the crew slowly dispersed.
Let us have the charity to believe them--as we do--when some Captainsin the Navy say, that the thing of all others most repulsive to them,in the routine of what they consider their duty, is the administrationof corporal punishment upon the crew; for, surely, not to feelscarified to the quick at these scenes would argue a man but a beast.
You see a human being, stripped like a slave; scourged worse than ahound. And for what? For things not essentially criminal, but only madeso by arbitrary laws.
White Jacket; Or, The World on a Man-of-War Page 36