“You hear what the man says,” observed Dr McCall to the other officers present. “This is what I suspected, but had not the means of proving. We must not allow that ruffian Iffley to obtain his ends; for ruffian he is, notwithstanding his plausible manners. It’s an old story—Weatherhelm would rather it were not told—but there is nothing in it to do him discredit.”
“All I desire, sir, is, that I may be freed from the imputation cast on me, and that, thanks to your consideration in calling witnesses to hear this poor man’s dying confession, will, I am sure, be done.”
“Rest assured of that,” remarked the chaplain. “And now I would say a few words to Saull Ley. You spoke of dying with a quiet conscience if you got forgiveness from the man you might have so cruelly injured, had you not been struck down by the hand of an avenging God; but you have not only forgiveness to seek from man, but from One who is mighty to save, who has the power and the will to wash away all your sins, if you put your entire faith and trust in Him, and repent you heartily of your former life.”
“I cannot, I dare not. He wouldn’t listen to such a wretch as me. Don’t tell me to go to Him. Find some other means of saving me—isn’t there? There must be. Do tell me of it!”
“There is none—none whatever,” answered the chaplain. “Do not refuse the only means—a sure means—by which even the greatest of sinners may be saved.”
“Oh, go on, sir, go on; tell me all about it,” moaned the unhappy man. “I’ve often before now thought of giving up my bad ways. I wish that I had done it long ago.”
The chaplain looked at Dr McCall, to learn whether he might continue talking to the wounded man. The doctor signified that he might, but that it would be better if there were fewer persons present.
“Yes; but he must first sign the evidence he has given,” observed the purser, who was of necessity a good man of business. “Not only must the innocent escape punishment, but the guilty must be punished.”
He accordingly wrote down the statement made by the wounded seaman, and, after reading it to him, put a pen into his hand to sign it. Ley took the pen and hurriedly wrote his name. He did not speak. Suddenly the pen fell from his hand—a shudder came over his frame—without a groan he fell back in his hammock.
“What has happened?” asked the chaplain.