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- 10790
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.274Z
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- 10713
- text
- the ship, and well knowing what this generally betokened to other
seamen, my heart jumped to my throat, and I hurriedly asked Flute, the
boatswain’s-mate at the fore-hatchway, what was wanted of me.
“Captain wants ye at the mast,” he replied. “Going to flog ye, I
guess.”
“What for?”
“My eyes! you’ve been chalking your face, hain’t ye?”
“What am I wanted for?” I repeated.
But at that instant my name was again thundered forth by the other
boatswain’s mate, and Flute hurried me away, hinting that I would soon
find out what the Captain desired of me.
I swallowed down my heart in me as I touched the spar-deck, for a
single instant balanced myself on my best centre, and then, wholly
ignorant of what was going to be alleged against me, advanced to the
dread tribunal of the frigate.
As I passed through the gangway, I saw the quarter-master rigging the
gratings; the boatswain with his green bag of scourges; the
master-at-arms ready to help off some one’s shirt.
Again I made a desperate swallow of my whole soul in me, and found
myself standing before Captain Claret. His flushed face obviously
showed him in ill-humour. Among the group of officers by his side was
the First Lieutenant, who, as I came aft, eyed me in such a manner,
that I plainly perceived him to be extremely vexed at me for having
been the innocent means of reflecting upon the manner in which he kept
up the discipline of the ship.
“Why were you not at your station, sir?” asked the Captain.
“What station do you mean, sir?” said I.
It is generally the custom with man-of-war’s-men to stand obsequiously
touching their hat at every sentence they address to the Captain. But
as this was not obligatory upon me by the Articles of War, I did not do
so upon the present occasion, and previously, I had never had the
dangerous honour of a personal interview with Captain Claret.
He quickly noticed my omission of the homage usually rendered him, and
instinct told me, that to a certain extent, it set his heart against
me.
“What station, sir, do you mean?” said I.
“You pretend ignorance,” he replied; “it will not help you, sir.”
Glancing at the Captain, the First Lieutenant now produced the Station
Bill, and read my name in connection with that of the starboard
main-lift.
“Captain Claret,” said I, “it is the first time I ever heard of my
being assigned to that post.”
“How is this, Mr. Bridewell?” he said, turning to the First Lieutenant,
with a fault-finding expression.
“It is impossible, sir,” said that officer, striving to hide his
vexation, “but this man must have known his station.”
“I have never known it before this moment, Captain Claret,” said I.
“Do you contradict my officer?” he returned. “I shall flog you.”
I had now been on board the frigate upward of a year, and remained
unscourged; the ship was homeward-bound, and in a few weeks, at most, I
would be a free man. And now, after making a hermit of myself in some
things, in order to avoid the possibility of the scourge, here it was
hanging over me for a thing utterly unforeseen, for a crime of which I
was as utterly innocent. But all that was as naught. I saw that my case
was hopeless; my solemn disclaimer was thrown in my teeth, and the
boatswain’s mate stood curling his fingers through the _cat_.
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