"Your honors and gentlemen, I bows to you respectfully and begs to be allowed to say a few words in defence of this 'ere crime. I was drove to desert, regler drove, your honors. I jined my ship, intendin' to serve out my time, and if needs be, fight agin the Roosians, and give my life for my country. But that was not to be. Lieutenant Crushe drove me to desert; 'twas him wot hounded me on, and him wot caused me to be here this day a prisoner. Your honors, I could stand it no longer. I have a wife—a good gal—not a common gal—I love her, and I wanted to see her. Yet, gentlemen, knowin' that, and probable that if we went on a furrin station I might never see my wife again, Liutenant Crushe deliberate stopped my leave, and hounded me on to desert. Says he to me one day, "I'll give you a flakin', as soon as I gets you into blue water," or words to that effect, and then I took it into my mind to escape, and not afore that time. I throws myself on the mercy of the court, with regard to striking Mr. Cravan. Your honours, I love my wife. You, surely, who are married love your wives, although I suppose you may think a sailor can't love as you does. I love my poor girl, and they have called her vile names, and said she used bad language. Gentlemen, that's false! Prisoner as I am, and at your mercy, I say that is a lie; she never uttered a bad word in her life. Allow I am bad—a mutineer—a deserter. I won't defend myself agin all that; but I can't hear them lies, and not say a word. If I am wrong, I begs your honors' pardon, but let my wife be cleared from such falsehoods. I struck Mister Cravan because he spoke of my wife as I would not, and could not bear to hear her spoken of. I was mad, possibly; but I am sorry, and pleads guilty, gentlemen, and throws myself upon the mercy of the court, who I beg will look over my discharge papers from eleven of Her Majesty's ships, in all of which my character stands 'very good.'"
Clare warmed in his defence when he spoke about his wife, until he no longer looked the prisoner. He uttered every word with a peculiarly expressive manner, which would have moved the hearts of most men. But the officers who composed the court heard only in his speech the words of mutiny and sedition. As to his love for the woman he called his wife, that was to them a subject of the most sublime indifference. During his defence, eloquent in its naïve pathos, few of them really appeared to be listening to him. One dozed as if half asleep, and another read a letter, while others again wrote their opinions on certain passages of his speech, and pushed the scraps of paper across to their opposite neighbours.
When Clare ceased speaking, he bowed respectfully to the court; then having signed his defence, handed the paper to the Judge-advocate, after which the court was cleared for deliberation.
The members having consulted for a few moments, now resumed their cocked hats, which up to that time had reposed upon the table before them, and thus decorated, in grim silence, awaited the arrival of the prisoner, who was shortly afterwards brought in.
The Judge-advocate then read the finding of the court, which declared him guilty on both charges,—first of "desertion," and secondly of "striking his superior officer," and the sentence of death was passed upon him for the latter offence. But in consideration of his former services and the very good certificates of character produced by him, the court mercifully commuted the sentence of death, and awarded the punishment of flogging. He would be taken on board H.M.S. Stinger and kept in irons until the day Commander Puffeigh fixed upon as being most convenient for the execution of his sentence, which was, "that he should receive upon his bare back fifty lashes with the cat-o'-nine-tails."
The prisoner, who seemed quite overcome by the sentence, was then taken away and sent on board his ship, to be closely guarded and heavily ironed until the sentence was carried out. As he left the Victory many of her crew who had been his shipmates cast pitying looks upon him but not one of them dared openly to express his opinion.
Clare saw his wife for one moment, as he was entering the dock-yard on his way to the ship, and upon being allowed to speak, told her "to bear up, as his punishment would soon be over, and it was lighter than he expected," &c., &c. In fact, he said all he could to cheer her. Polly, who had thrown her arms around his neck, was then torn from him by the police, who would not allow her to enter the dock gate with the prisoner; and when Tom saw her for the last time, she was being carried away by her grief-stricken father, in whose arms she had fainted.