‘As I ran to join Butler, a crowd of convicts gathered round the captain and doctor, as though to force them off the poop. I don’t think they hurt them.’
I asked some other questions. He had rallied, and now talked with something of composure.
‘Hush!’ cried he suddenly. ‘There are people outside.’
The door of the cabin next mine was beaten. Mine was then hammered on.
‘Are you there, Johnstone?’
It was Tom, and in a heart-beat I threw open the door. Beside him stood Mr. Bates, the chief officer of the ship. On my showing myself, Tom extended his arms and gathered me to his breast and held me tight. I broke into a little passion of sobs, but shed no tears.
‘You are free,’ I cried, drawing from him and grasping his hands and looking into his dear eyes.
‘Not yet! Not yet!’ he answered hoarsely, as though his voice had been strained by shouting. ‘But, dear heart, we are together and may talk together now. Mr. Bates, step in.’
They were alone. He shut the door when the mate entered.
‘This is Marian Johnstone, the lady I was to have married, the lady who accompanied me on board this ship in the East India Docks. She followed me into this accursed vessel and, herself a woman of wealth and a lady by birth, has waited at your table, stooped to the vile drudgery of the cuddy, worked like a convict, associated with men no better than convicts, that she might be in sympathy with me in my degradation. May she find a reward!’ he cried, raising his hands and speaking in a broken voice. ‘Do you stare, Mr. Bates? Why, yes, to be sure; she was a boy and a cabin bottle-washer to your habit of thought down to a minute ago. But the secret of her sex is yours. This is her cousin, Will. Sir, on your honour, this lady is still a boy amongst us, and you know nothing. Consider our company. Give me your hand upon it.’