“Speak slowly now,” said Tom, quietly supporting Roderigo with one arm. “Tell me more about the Southern Hope and the boy Bernard. O, tell me about him, and Captain Herbert will forgive you for anything, everything.”
“Yes, yes. The Southern Hope. We mutinied—we expected treasure—gold and precious stones—we found but insects, beetles, and stuffed birds. We were wild and wanted revenge. I would have fired the ship—but my comrades would not hear of it. The best revenge, they said, would be—was to—but where am I? Who are you?”
“Here, drink a little more. Now, tell me of the boy Bernard. You remember. Yes, you do, I see it in your eye. Speak, if you hope for forgiveness.”
“Yes, I will confess all. But why comes not the priest? The boy Bernard we took away—”
“Does he live, tell me that?”
“He lives.”
“Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Tom. “O that Captain Herbert were but here himself! Tell me now, Roderigo, as you hope to be forgiven, where is the son of Captain Herbert? Where did you take him?”
“I—I know not—where he was taken—far into the interior.” The dying man was sinking fast. “I saw a trader lately—Bernard was with the Jivaros” (pronounced Heevaros). “He was well. Pray for me—I am dying.”
What could Tom do but kneel down there beside the poor wretch and pray for his forgiveness through the merits of our Saviour. It was the first prayer he had ever presented before the throne of grace otherwise than in the privacy of his own cabin or in his own thoughts, and he was surprised at his own earnestness.
“I am forgiven—I feel I am.”