There has been flogging in the
prison--an unusual punishment, and only inflicted for great offenses, or
for continued contumacy and bad conduct. A conspiracy was discovered,
and seven of the ringleaders received three dozen lashes each, in
presence of all the inmates of the jail. It was a punishment perhaps
deserved and necessary, but sickening enough to witness. Richard's
warder stood beside him, and while the cat was descending on one
wretch's naked back, observed in a grim whisper: "Do you take warning,
my man; for if you are reported again, the governor says you are to have
a dose of the same medicine."
Whether the man spoke truth or not, Richard believed him. It was more
than probable that he _would_ be reported, and by the very voice that
uttered the menace. In a twelvemonth's time there were three hundred and
sixty-five opportunities, ten times told, of its being fulfilled. If
such a sentence was ever passed upon him, as it was almost sure to be,
Richard was well resolved that it should not be carried out; rather
should this man die, and he himself, his slayer, be hung for it. His
desire for vengeance upon those who had blasted his young life so
cruelly was as strong as ever--nay, stronger, fiftyfold; but he knew
that he could never bear the lash.
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