‘A very natural prejudice, Butler,’ said Bates, ‘under the circumstances; but it will wear off.’
‘Marian,’ said Tom, ‘whatever else I may do, whatever else may happen to me, I shall never again live in England.’
‘Be it so, dear.’
‘I could rant and talk like a stage-tragedy man on that subject,’ he continued. ‘We’ll hold Nodder’s, and, if we can get it, we’ll hold Rotch’s confession. We’ll take very great care of them indeed. Oh, yes; they shall be as precious—as precious—as what, Bates? Well, let’s say Bank of England notes of the highest value; because they might yet prove serviceable by enabling me to deal with that ruffian blunderer called British law, should its blind-guided hand make for my throat again in the distant place where you and I may settle, Marian. But I’ll have no asking for a pardon.’
‘We’re a long way from home yet,’ said Bates. ‘The sight of the north star is bound to work a change in your humour, Butler.’
‘Bates, you don’t know what you’re talking about!’ exclaimed Tom. ‘Keep this in mind, that under any circumstances I’d sooner cut my throat than sue for pardon for sins I’m guiltless of. But when you talk of Nodder’s confession you forget this: First, if I return to England, I’m a returned convict at large during sentence, which is a felony punishable by transportation for life. Next, they’d charge me with piracy and bloodshed as being concerned with others in seizing the transport Childe Harold. Those are what Johnstone’s father would call “counts,” I suppose. Is Nodder’s confession going to carry me clear of them?’
‘I was mate of the transport. Butler,’ said Mr. Bates. ‘Then there’s young Johnstone, who was an apprentice. Would not our evidence weigh? We could prove you innocent of complicity in that seizure, and tell a story that should do you honour—how you saved my life; how you forced the convicts to yield up the women and children.’
‘I want no pardon! I’d take none!’ cried Tom, striking the table with his fist. ‘I’ll never live in England again. I’ll take a new name under any flag that flies, and the flag whose people hate the English most is the flag I’ll love best.’
‘Then,’ said Mr. Bates, looking at me, ‘I don’t see what’s the good of Butler troubling himself to extort a confession from Rotch.’
‘Rotch! yes!’ cried Tom, shouting his words in a sudden fury. ‘He’ll have to confess! He must confirm Nodder’s statement and whitewash me with another coat for your edification, and to enable young Johnstone to put a bit more of accent and colour into the yarn he’ll spin his father and his mother. I’ll keep him till he does, and, by God’s thunder, I’ll hang him if he doesn’t!’