"I think that fellow deserves it, if ever a man did," observed the first lieutenant to Tortle, speaking of a fore-topman whom he had reported for some trivial offence. "No doubt he does; all of them do, more or less. But the regulations are getting more severe; and if you flog for any less crime than mutiny you get a lot of bothering letters inquiring for particulars, and the newspapers take the matter up. I cannot flog the brutes for mere ordinary crimes; that time has passed, I am sorry to say. But if they only raise their voices in mutiny, I'll give them all they ask for--with the cat." "You see, sir, Captain Woodward has spoilt the crew: taught them to believe they were of some importance, and given them ideas far above their position. It will be a very difficult matter to convince them they are liable to the lash now. Why, some of the fellows actually think, because you have not flogged the men I have reported to you within the last few days, that you have no power to punish them without a court-martial." "Do they?" chuckled the captain, cracking the joints of his fingers as he passed one hand over the other. "Do they? Only let them mutiny, Mr. Cravan, then they will find out if the lash is abolished. It never will be until there's an Act of Parliament passed for that purpose, as we can always find reasons enough for its use; and if we do not choose to give any explanation, who can interfere with us as long as we only use it to suppress mutiny?" "But these are such a psalm-singing lot, that they won't mutiny." "Then we wont flog them. Ha! ha! ha! Please, Cravan, don't swear at them. Have some regard for their feelings in future." One night, when Thompson had retired to bed, he was suddenly awakened by the sick-bay man, who informed him that Tom Clare was in a fit, and in a few moments he was by the side of his friend, whom he found in a state of great prostration. "What's the matter, Tom?" Evidently the sufferer did not know who it was that addressed him, and soon after Thompson saw the poor fellow's head fall upon his chest, and he seemed to all appearance dead. "Take him into my cabin! I'll look after him," said the acting boatswain, and the inanimate form of poor Clare was conveyed into Thompson's cabin, where the doctor did his best to bring him to consciousness. As the surgeon stood by the man, with his fingers on his pulse, he observed, "It's one of his old attacks, Mr. Thompson. Don't you remember he has suffered from them about this time every year?" "God bless us. What day of the month is this, sir?" "The sixteenth of August--sure enough it's what he used to call his wife's day. Poor fellow, he won't enjoy her society long, his constitution is too much impaired." "Don't you think it's flogging has brought this on, sir?" "I cannot express an opinion, Thompson," the little doctor replied; but he knew full well that the lash was the cause of the poor fellow's trouble, although he could not say so.