Nodder had fallen back, and lay watching us while we signed. As Mr. Bates handed me the written confession, the fellow in his raw, squawking voice exclaimed: ‘Mix me another pannikin, one of yer; then clear out. You’ve got what you want, ha’n’t you?’
I passed through the hatch quickly, fearful of the man’s language; Will accompanied me. I glanced at him in the bright western daylight; he looked shocked, almost stunned.
‘I always knew he was innocent,’ he exclaimed.
But I was mad to join Tom. I held up the paper as I ran towards the wheel, at which stood Tom’s fine commanding figure, solitary on the brig’s decks. He was pale, and the shadow of bitter expectation lay like a scowl or frown upon him.
‘Has he confessed?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
Will took the wheel, and I followed my sweetheart into the cabin. He put the paper upon the table, and bent his head to read the precious document. I watched his face with impassioned intentness. I thought he had read to the end of the writing when he lifted his head; he rubbed his eyes and pressed his temples betwixt his hands, bent his head to the paper again, and now I was very sure he had not read a quarter down.
Mr. Bates came along the deck and entered the cabin-door; I put my finger to my lips, and he halted close behind Tom, who seemed not to have heard him come. In this manner three or four minutes passed, neither Bates nor I speaking, and Tom appearing to read. My sweetheart then fetched a deep breath, and, looking round to me without seeing Bates, he said: ‘That such a man should have had it in his power to injure me so!’ I saw a mist in his eyes, and his breathing was laboured; then perceiving Bates he grasped him by both hands.
‘Dear friend,’ he cried, ‘it is a ruined, broken-hearted convict sailor who thanks you!’
‘No more of that, Butler, for my sake,’ answered the mate. ‘You are no convict, and your heart’s not broken. All’s well with us now, and I’ll be dancing at your wedding very soon.’