‘Let me go!’ cried Rotch, suddenly recovering the full use of his lungs. ‘Mr. Bates, help me to signal the island boat. She’s not ashore yet. That man means to murder me. You’re not going to stand by and allow him to take my life? Let me go! There’s time to recall the boat. That man means to take my life. I call upon you to help and save me. I never suspected this!’
He plunged afresh at the door. I don’t doubt that terror and rage gave him the strength of two or even three men at that moment; yet Tom met him as he came, caught him by the throat and hurled him against the bulkhead from which he had run, driving him against the solid wooden wall with a crash which you’d think should have beaten him in recoil senseless upon his face.
‘No violence, no violence, I beg, gentlemen!’ shouted the mate.
‘But a step and I’ll strangle you!’ said Tom, making a single stride toward Rotch.
‘Collins,’ roared the villain, ‘they’ve brought me into this ship to murder me! Help! I’m your captain! Quick, Collins! Signal to the whale-boat! Port your helm for the island——’
Will rushed to the door.
‘Stop where you are!’ he shouted. ‘There’s no murder being done here! Nobody’s going to be hurt! Keep your luff! If you’re just a little bit off your course you will be sent to hell!’
‘Marian, Bates, Johnstone,’ exclaimed Tom, pointing at Rotch, ‘that’s the man you have sometimes heard me name! He is called Rotch—Samuel Rotch. He was my chief mate aboard the Arab Chief. I gave you the story last night. You saw how I dealt with him just now. It was in that way I served him at Valparaiso when the toad insulted a lady of my acquaintance at a dance there. That was the man who slept in his watch on deck when the sea was thick with shipping. He lost his berth, but I got him another; and I let him serve under me in the Arab Chief, when he was named as chief mate. You, Rotch!’ He drew a pistol from his pocket—one of the brace we had found in the brig—and put it upon the table. For some while he eyed Rotch steadily in silence. I believed he meant to shoot him. Had he offered, I, standing close beside, should have struck away the hand that attempted to hinder him.
Rotch looked ghastly. He trembled from head to foot. His hands worked with a strange, spasmodic motion, as though he would lift and clasp them in entreaty.
‘You Rotch,’ repeated Tom, after a silence that had lasted at least a minute—a minute that seemed an hour; ‘we were on very good terms during the first part of our voyage. I talked to you somewhat freely, told you of my engagement with this young lady, of my venture in the barque, and to what extent I had protected it, and I spoke hopefully of the voyage to you. And all the time you were plotting my ruin. Was it that you hated me for that little affair at Valparaiso? For reporting you and losing you a berth? For holding command in a ship which you supposed you’d obtain charge of if you could get me out of the road? Surely, you Rotch, these provided but shabby foundations for the heavy weight of villainy you constructed upon them.’