“Boat, your honour?” said a dozen voices at once, as I reached New Sallyport; but I was resolved that Point-street should have a look at me, as well as High-street; so I kept a profound and mysterious silence, and let the watermen follow me to Point, just like so many sucking fish after a shark.  I had two or three offers for volunteers to serve with me as I went along; but they were not of the right sex, so I did not take them.

“Boat to Spithead, your honour?” said a tough old waterman.

“Ay, you’ll do,” said I; so I jumped into his wherry, and we shoved off.

“What ship is your honour going to?” said the man.

“To the D——­ brig.”

“Oh, you are a-going to she, are you?  To belong to her, mayhap?”

“Yes,” I replied.

The waterman gave a sigh, feathered his oar, and never spoke another word till we came alongside.  I did not regret his taciturnity, for I was always more amused with my own thoughts, than in conversing with illiterate people.

The brig was a most beautiful vessel.  She mounted eighteen guns, and sat on the water like a duck.  I perceived that the pendant was up for punishment, and this I thought rather an unusual sight at Spithead:  I took it for granted that some aggravated offence, such as theft, or mutiny, had been committed.  Seeing I was an officer, I was admitted alongside; so I paid the waterman, and sent him away.  As I went up the side, I saw a poor fellow spread-eagled up to the grating, “according to the manners and customs of the natives,” while the captain, officers, and ship’s company stood round witnessing the athletic dexterity of a boatswain’s mate, who, by the even, deep, and parallel marks of the cat on the white back and shoulders of the patient, seemed to be perfectly master of his business.  All this did not surprise me:  I was used to it; but after the address of my captain on the preceding day, I was very much surprised to hear language in direct violation of the second article of war.

Cursings and execrations poured out of his mouth with a volubility equal to any the most accomplished lady on the back of the Point.

“Boatswain’s mate,” roared the captain, “do your duty, or by G——­ I will have you up, and give you four dozen yourself.  One would think, d——­n your b——­d, that you were brushing flies off a sleeping Venus, instead of punishing a scoundrel, with a hide as thick as a buffalo’s, and be d——­d to him—­do your duty, Sir, d——­n your soul.”

During this elegant address, the unhappy wretch had received four severe dozen, which the master-at-arms had counted aloud, and reported to the captain.  “Another boatswain’s mate,” said he.  The poor creature turned his head over his shoulders with an imploring look, but it was in vain.  I watched the countenance of the captain, and the peculiar expression, which I could not decipher at my first interview, I now read most plainly:  it was malignant cruelty, and delight in torturing his own species; he seemed to take a diabolical pleasure in the hateful operation which we were compelled to witness.  The second boatswain’s mate commenced, with a fresh cat, and gave a lash across the back of the prisoner, that made me start.