“But he is an idiot.”
“He was sent out with the light.”
“Well, then, that person who sent him will be punished and the silly boy will come off scot free.”
“I cannot—he who sent the boy was Judith’s husband.”
“Judith’s husband! Who is that?”
“Captain Coppinger.”
“Well, what of that? The man is a double-dyed villain. He ought to be brought to justice. Consider the crimes of which he has been guilty. Consider what he has done this past night. I cannot see, father, that merely because you esteem a young person, who may be very estimable, we should let a consummate scoundrel go free, solely because he is her husband. He has brought a fine ship to wreck, he has produced much wretchedness and alarm. Indeed, he has been the occasion of some lives being lost, for one or two of the sailors, thinking we were going to Davy Jones’s locker, got drunk and were carried overboard. Then, consider, he robbed some of the unhappy, frightened women as they were escaping. Bless me!” Oliver sprang up and paced the room. “It makes my blood seethe. The fellow deserves no consideration. Give him up to justice; let him be hung or transported.”
Mr. Menaida passed his hand through his hair, and lit his pipe.
“’Pon my word,” said he, “there’s a good deal to be said on your side—and yet——”
“There is everything to be said on my side,” urged Oliver, with vehemence. “The man is engaged on his nefarious traffic. Winter is setting in. He will wreck other vessels as well, and if you spare him now, then the guilt of causing the destruction of other vessels and the loss of more lives will rest in a measure on you.”