An artist might have found something idyllic in the scene - the shimmering expanse of turquoise ocean, the ship itself dipping and swaying in its almost imperceptible progress; overhead the blazing sun shone mercilessly, form the perfect milk-washed blue of the heavens. The limp sails, slapping against the masts in the deadly monotone, caught a medley of lights and shadows from the sun. Peaceful enough; but the ship itself was one of the festering sores in the whole canker of the penal system, and the poor wretches in the waist, above and below deck, were the unfortunate and often innocent victims of an unfeeling and tyrannical judiciary.