Each morning a number, varying from half a dozen to a dozen, were fastened up and flogged, in some cases with merciless severity, but it was seldom that a cry was uttered by these, the most brutal ruffians of the convict herd.

This spectacle was just over: it was conducted in public for the edification of the rest, but, judging from the low laughs and brutal jests, uttered below the breath, it signally failed in producing the desired impression.

Two of those who had suffered the severest punishment were now putting on their coarse woolen garments over their bloodstained shoulders; both were comparatively young men.
"I shall not stand this much longer," one muttered.

"I will brain a warder, and get hung for it.

One can but die once, while one can get flogged once a week." "So would I," the other said bitterly; "but I have some scores to settle in England, and I am not going to put my head in a noose until I have wiped them out.