“Why do you stick to English ships after they stuck you for three years? I should think you’d drop them by this time,” I said.
He turned upon me savagely, his eyes shining and his face drawn.
“Why do I?” he cried, hoarsely, his voice sounding above the snore overhead. “Why do I? What business is it of yours why I do it? Why would any man do the thing I’ve done--but to forget--not the British Navy, good God, no. It was bad enough, but you can forget it easy enough, and to forget--”
“A woman?” I asked, boldly.
“What else,” he said, almost softly. “I was a decent man once, Heywood, and not an outlaw--what you will be if you stay aboard here. Yes, I was married. Had as good girl as ever breathed. But I was poor. What crime can a feller commit equal to poverty, hey? You know the old, old yarn. I go to sea as mate of an Indiaman, and the owner saw the beauty of that angel. Do I blame her? Not a bit. What chance would a poor girl left alone for a few months have with a rich young feller like him,--an’ him a rich ship-owner standin’ for everything that’s good to the mind of a poor girl. She was lost if he went unchecked, an’ who would check the honourable gentleman? Not her friends. Oh, no! He took her out on a voyage with him--an’ left her without a cent--an’ now I’ll forget.”
“What’s against the ship?” I asked.
He seemed not to hear and was gazing aft, his head thrown back against the windlass barrel. I repeated the question.
“Nothing I know of. But you can rest easy, Heywood, they are up to some expedition that won’t bear the light. If you take a fool’s advice, you’ll make the jump at Nassau.”
“Are you going there?” I asked.
“I don’t say. Mebbe I will, an’ mebbe no. But you better.”