‘Nine o’clock,’ said Will, and as though a cloud had passed over the huge fabric every light went out; the white bands of the checkered sides seemed to hover out upon the eye—pallid and ghastly with their wild grin of grated ports; the pole masts died out away up in the gloom.
‘How many convicts are there aboard?’ asked Will.
‘Over four hundred, sir,’ answered the waterman.
The lad seemed awed by the thought of that number. Not yet would sleep have visited the weariest of those eyes within, and the fancy of the mass of human suffering and crime and sorrow lying mute and awake, with no other sound about the ship than the sob of running water, made the silence of her awful. I stood up, and my heart gave away in a cry of passion and misery, and scarcely sensible of what I did I extended my arms toward the hulk and moaned:
‘Oh, Tom! Oh, Tom! Why were you taken from me? What has been your sin that you should be there?’ and then I broke into a strangled fit of crying.
Will pulled me gently on to a seat and fondled me and told me to keep up my courage, for that I had spirit enough to bring things right.
‘Boat, ahoy! What boat is that?’ was shouted from the gangway of the hulk.
The waterman answered.
‘Shove ahead with you!’ cried the voice. ‘No boats are allowed to lie off here.’
‘Pull for Blackwall,’ said Will.