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- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.270Z
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- CHAPTER XXXIII.
A FLOGGING.
If you begin the day with a laugh, you may, nevertheless, end it with a
sob and a sigh.
Among the many who were exceedingly diverted with the scene between the
Down Easter and the Lieutenant, none laughed more heartily than John,
Peter, Mark, and Antone—four sailors of the starboard-watch. The same
evening these four found themselves prisoners in the “brig,” with a
sentry standing over them. They were charged with violating a
well-known law of the ship—having been engaged in one of those tangled,
general fights sometimes occurring among sailors. They had nothing to
anticipate but a flogging, at the captain’s pleasure.
Toward evening of the next day, they were startled by the dread summons
of the boatswain and his mates at the principal hatchway—a summons that
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 being
caught up at different points, and sent through the lowermost depths of
the ship; all this produces a most dismal effect upon every heart not
calloused by long habituation to it.
However much you may desire to absent yourself from the scene that
ensues, 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 the
bell.
“_All hands witness punishment, ahoy!_”
To the sensitive seaman that summons sounds like a doom. He knows that
the same law which impels it—the same law by which the culprits of the
day must suffer; that by that very law he also is liable at any time to
be judged and condemned. And the inevitableness of his own presence at
the scene; the strong arm that drags him in view of the scourge, and
holds him there till all is over; forcing upon his loathing eye and
soul the sufferings and groans of men who have familiarly consorted
with him, eaten with him, battled out watches with him—men of his own
type and badge—all this conveys a terrible hint of the omnipotent
authority under which he lives. Indeed, to such a man the naval summons
to witness punishment carries a thrill, somewhat akin to what we may
impute 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 final
penalties inflicted upon the sinners of our race.
But it must not be imagined that to all men-of-war’s-men this summons
conveys such poignant emotions; but it is hard to decide whether one
should be glad or sad that this is not the case; whether it is grateful
to know that so much pain is avoided, or whether it is far sadder to
think that, either from constitutional hard-heartedness or the
multiplied searings of habit, hundreds of men-of-war’s-men have been
made proof against the sense of degradation, pity, and shame.
As if in sympathy with the scene to be enacted, the sun, which the day
previous had merrily flashed upon the tin pan of the disconsolate Down
Easter, was now setting over the dreary waters, veiling itself in
vapours. The wind blew hoarsely in the cordage; the seas broke heavily
against 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 eager
to obtain a good place on the booms, to overlook the scene; many
laughing and chatting, others canvassing the case of the culprits; some
maintaining sad, anxious countenances, or carrying a suppressed
indignation in their eyes; a few purposely keeping behind to avoid
looking on; in short, among five hundred men, there was every possible
shade of character.
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