‘Butler,’ said the mate, ‘this is uncalled-for. What you were when I first knew you, you still are. A more honourable heart never beat in a sailor’s breast. Did they make me a convict yesterday by clothing me as one? No more they made you a malefactor by sentencing you. Soothe the poor lady and give me your hand, old man.’
I drew my arms from Tom. He took the mate’s hand and stooped his head to it. Will, whose face worked with sympathy and distress, motioned to me as though he would have me give my sweetheart time to rally. Presently Tom lifted his face. Tears were in his eyes, likewise an expression that warned me not to seem to heed him. The mate, with the tact of a gentleman, talked to Will about Captain Sutherland, whose lady he knew. He named certain ships which Sutherland had commanded. Thus he gossiped on, meanwhile proceeding with his breakfast.
Tom got up and walked to the bulwarks, and stood looking at the sea over the rail. I watched him with impassionate anxiety. I could not gauge his mood, and knew not what dreadful impulse might suddenly govern him. He rejoined us, and said, looking at the mate:
‘Your wish, of course, is to return to your wife and children?’
‘No unnatural wish, I hope, Butler,’ answered Mr. Bates, forcing a laugh.
‘What is to be done?’ exclaimed Tom, measuring a short length of deck with swift paces. ‘There’s no home for me to return to. I hate the thought of England. Let me establish my innocence, and still I detest England.’
‘Establish your innocence,’ said the mate, ‘and they’ll grant you a free pardon, and the old country would be as it ever was to you.’
‘Grant me a free pardon!’ cried Tom, stopping in his walk and looking at the mate. ‘What am I to be pardoned for? Sins I never committed! Pardon me? Curse them! Where would I go? I must think. Give me a globe of the world. Stab through England—through the heart of that little bog of land that bands and irons and exiles its honourable toilers—and where the point comes on out t’other side is the spot I’d choose, if you grant me but a rock there to live on.’
‘My dear Butler,’ exclaimed Bates, ‘there is no need for me to assure you, I hope, that I quite see how you are situated. You have your liberty, and you must keep it.’
‘Aye, indeed!’ cried I.