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.