ton. "You are a gentleman, and your words are kind. You will forgive the boy."
"I dare not, my good woman. Your son knew his duty, and neglected it. We must make an example, and warn other offenders. The punishment is really slight in comparison with that usually given for an offence so likely to be fatal as this of which your son has been guilty. He must submit."
The old woman raved furiously, but her son rebuked her. His eyes were thrown up obliquely to the commander, and the expression of his face was that of a sneaking defiance, as he rudely enough checked her in her denunciations.
"Hold tongue, mother—a'drat it! Can't you thank the gentlemen for their favour?"
A couple of soldiers strapped him up; when, having first taken off his outer jacket, one of them, with a common wagon-whip, prepared to execute the sentence, while the old woman, almost in danger from the lash, pressed closely to the criminal, now denouncing and now imploring the court; at one moment abusing her son for his folly in returning to the camp, and the next, with salt tears running down her withered cheeks, seeking to soothe and condole with him in his sufferings. They would have removed her from the spot before the punishment began, but she threw herself upon the earth when they attempted it, and would only rise when they forbore the effort. He, the criminal, was as impassive as ever. Nothing seemed to touch him, either in the punishment he was to receive, or the agonizing sensations which he witnessed in his mother, and which were all felt in his behalf. He helped the soldiers to remove his vest, and readily turned his back towards them, while, obliquely over his shoulder, his huge staring eyes were turned to the spot where Singleton stood, with glance somewhat averted from the scene of ignominy.
The first stroke was followed by a piercing shriek from the old woman—a bitter shriek and a curse; but with that stroke she began counting the blows.
"One"—"two"—her enumeration perpetually broken by exclamations of one sort or another—now of pity, now of horror, denunciation, and the most impotent expressions of paralytic rage—in some such phrases as the following:—"The poor boy!—his mother
