The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1878-04-27
The Whipping Post.

s"ult on n young woman in London,
Can, was sentenced to a series of whip
pings, and the first installment was in
tlicted few days ago. The London
ADVERTISER says:
The triangle was simply such an ar
rangement as may be seen in crude
form at gypsy camps for boiling a ket-
tie, and to the front posts of this were
straps for holding the prisoner in place.
Walking boldly up to the structure, he
put his hands up with the utmost bra
vado, a feeling encouraged, perhaps, by
the shout of one of the workmen en-
gagged in tearing down the courthouse:
"Stand it like man, Georgen'
The prisoner was denuded of his
shirt, a large arrangement looking like
the belly-band of horse placed around
his neck, and thus, his clothing consist
ing only of his boots, pants, and large
cap, Baker presented himself as ready
for the lash.
1t had been generally supposed that
the man selected to lay on the lash
would present very dramatic picture,
robed in close disguise, and invest his
Office with all the halo of mystery. But
no-he regarded himself simply as an
instrument to carry out law on which
the base work of society is erected, and
he saw no special reason why he should
not appear in his proper person. He
did, however, by proxy, request that
his name should not be given to the
public, and in accordance with that re-
quest it is here withheld He was a
young, active man, apparently former
soldier, and as he stood in his shirt
sleeves, with black silk handkerchief
picturesquely tied about his head, he
looked as one who could with each
stroke OF the lash cause the culprit to
vince again.
The whip was of the regulation style
"a handle a trifle over foot in length,
with nine lashes of Irvine, each with
several knots at regular intervals.
All having been arranged, HighCon-
stable Groves took up his position on
the north side of the triangle, with the
fagellator on the south-the man to be
scourged standing with his face to the
west.
"Onen' shouted the High Constable.
There was movement through the
air, a gentle stirring as if a passing
breeze had famed into motion the
leaves of quivering aspen, and the
nine lashes descended upon the back of
Baker. A thrill ran through his frame
and the color came and went, the ford
skin showing lines of white, which as
the blood returned became of a magenta
hue.
"Twor'
Again came down the lash, and little
ridges of flesh began to form as the
epidermis curled up from the force of
the blow.
"Threer'
The scourge is doing its work, and
the back of the prisoner involuntarily
writhes and the flesh appears to crawl.
"Don't strike all over my back, -
cries Baker in his anguish, and on the
word g Fourr' an effort on the part OF
the scourge-wieldert contine his lashes
to one spot brings forth the further
duplication.
Don't cut my FACET
Now a deep red line of some two
inches in width has made its appear.
ance on the right shoulder blade, and
Bakers eyes glisten as he crashes his
teeth, and the sweat is seen oozing from
out his face as the fifth, sixth and
seventh are called and delivered with a
professional flourish and blood-com,
pelling power. Minute particles ofthe
life fluid are seen to eXude, to glisten
in the sun which is seen to strike down
on the back of Baker, and his hands
twist impatiently at the thongs which
bind him.
Eight cries the High Constable
and the sufferings of the culprit enforce
him again to speak.
so God, Don't cut my ribs!' Here
tofore what he had said had been ut
tered in the logged tones of the hardened
ruffian, but now, as he calls out, there
is pitiful whine that shows his spirit
and bravado are kept up only by sheer
force of will and animal obstinacy.
Nine, ten and eleven were called and
the region of the back covered by the
radius of the spreading cords assumes
the ragged surface of q slashed and
pounded steak. Each succeeding blow
now increases in pain-giving power and
the tender cuticle shrugs, expands and
contracts as the prisoner essays toavoid
grimacing and writhing under the pitt
less lash.
"Twelvem
A drop of blood, followed by anoth-
er, trickled from the right arm-pit, and
Baker is constrained to plead again.
keep in one place." he mutters, as
the whipcord touched his hitherto-un-
beaten and tender region, which imme-
diately becomes blood-bespotted, and
sends thrill that shakes the entire
frame.
But the High Constable keeps on his
count as regularly as the ticking of the
watch, and each three seconds blow
is delivered by he who flagellates with
the remorselessness of an avenging
spirit.
Thirteen, fourteen, and the fifteenth
stroke again invade and find lodg-
ment in the excoriated arm-hole, caus-
ing the blood to come again, and the
prisoner is once more compelled to give
vent to his anguish:
"Oh, fog fair! Don't put it under a
fellows armm
But his pleading is lost in the sue
ceeding blow.
The welts grow thicker, the ridges in
the flesh assume deeper line, and still
] II