These preparations made, the crew of the victim’s ship are ordered to man the rigging, while the boatswain commences the tragedy. When he has administered one, two or three dozen lashes, according to the number of ships in the fleet, the prisoner’s shirt is thrown over his gory back; the boatswain returns on board, the hands are piped down, the drummer beats a mournful melody, called the rogue’s march, and the melancholy procession moves on. Arriving at the side of another ship, the brutal scene is repeated, until every crew in the fleet has witnessed it, and from one to three hundred lashes have lacerated the back of the broken-spirited tar to a bleeding pulp. He is then placed under the surgeon’s care, to be fitted for duty--_a ruined man_--broken in spirit! all sense of self-respect gone, forever gone! If he survive, it is only to be like his own brave bark, when winds and waves conspire to dash her on the pitiless strand, a wretched, hopeless wreck; a living, walking shadow of his former self. Shameful blot! most foul and disgraceful stain on the humanity of England! How long before this worse than barbarism will disappear before the mild influences of civilization and Christianity? No plea of necessity can be successfully urged in behalf of whipping men; for, if subordination or faithful adhesion to orders is expected to follow such terrible examples, I know, from my acquaintance with the sufferers themselves, that the expectation is vain. One of two results always follows. The victim either lives on, a lone, dark-minded, broken-spirited man, despising himself and hating every one, because he thinks every one hates him; or he lives with one fearful, unyielding purpose; a purpose on which he feeds and nourishes his galled mind, as food affords life and energy to his physical constitution--that purpose is REVENGE. I have heard them swear--and the wild flashing eye, the darkly frowning brow, told how firm was that intent--that if ever they should be in battle, they would shoot their officers. I have seen them rejoice over the misfortunes of their persecutors, but more especially at their death. That it has frequently led to mutiny, is well verified. I have known such severity to result in actual murder. While we lay at Lisbon, a sergeant of marines, on board a seventy-four, made himself obnoxious by repeated acts of tyranny. Two marines determined upon his death. One night, unperceived by any, they seized him, hurried him to the gangway, and pitched him overboard. The tide was running strong; the man was drowned! But for themselves his fate would have remained a secret until the great day of judgment; it was discovered by an officer, who accidentally overheard them congratulating each other on their achievement. He betrayed them. A court-martial sentenced them. They were placed on deck with halters on their necks. Two guns were fired, and, when the smoke cleared away, two men were seen dangling from the foreyard-arm.