``Now for you,’’ said the captain, making up to John, and taking his irons off.  As soon as John was loose, he ran forward to the forecastle. ``Bring that man aft!’’ shouted the captain.  The second mate, who had been in the forecastle with these men the early part of the voyage, stood still in the waist, and the mate walked slowly forward; but our third officer, anxious to show his zeal, sprang forward over the windlass, and laid hold of John; but John soon threw him from him.  The captain stood on the quarter-deck, bareheaded, his eyes flashing with rage, and his face as red as blood, swinging the rope, and calling out to his officers:  ``Drag him aft!—­ Lay hold of him!  I’ll sweeten him!’’ &c., &c.  The mate now went forward, and told John quietly to go aft; and he, seeing resistance vain, threw the blackguard third mate from him, said he would go aft of himself, that they should not drag him, and went up to the gangway and held out his hands; but as soon as the captain began to make him fast, the indignity was too much, and he struggled; but, the mate and Russell holding him, he was soon seized up.  When he was made fast, he turned to the captain, who stood rolling up his sleeves and getting ready for the blow, and asked him what he was to be flogged for. ``Have I ever refused my duty, sir?  Have you ever known me to hang back, or to be insolent, or not to know my work?’’

``No,’’ said the captain, ``it is not that that I flog you for; I flog you for your interference, for asking questions.’’

``Can’t a man ask a question here without being flogged?’’

``No,’’ shouted the captain; ``nobody shall open his mouth aboard this vessel but myself,’’ and began laying the blows upon his back, swinging half round between each blow, to give it full effect.  As he went on, his passion increased, and he danced about the deck, calling out, as he swung the rope:  ``If you want to know what I flog you for, I’ll tell you.  It’s because I like to do it!—­ because I like to do it!—­ It suits me!  That’s what I do it for!’’

The man writhed under the pain until he could endure it no longer, when he called out, with an exclamation more common among foreigners than with us:  ``O Jesus Christ!  O Jesus Christ!’’

``Don’t call on Jesus Christ,’’ shouted the captain; ``he can’t help you.  Call on Frank Thompson!  He’s the man!  He can help you!  Jesus Christ can’t help you now!’’

At these words, which I never shall forget, my blood ran cold.  I could look on no longer.  Disgusted, sick, I turned away, and leaned over the rail, and looked down into the water.  A few rapid thoughts, I don’t know what,—­ our situation, a resolution to see the captain punished when we got home,—­ crossed my mind; but the falling of the blows and the cries of the man called me back once more.  At length they ceased, and, turning round, I found that the mate, at a signal from the captain, had cast him loose.  Almost doubled up