Presently the mate told us of the trouble Nodder had cost him; how at one moment the sulky villain bade him fetch paper and pen, for that he meant to confess; how, as Bates sprang to the hatch, the fellow rasped out that he had changed his mind—bruised if he was going to confess. Butler had never offered him an extra glass of grog all the time they were together; it was for Rotch to own up, not him. First let him hear what Rotch had to say. This went on till Bates, losing his temper, told him he had as good as confessed already; if he refused to dictate the confession civilly asked of him, he (that is, Bates) would quit the forecastle, clap the hatch on, leave him to crawl about in the dark, stop his supply of rum, and in every way abandon him to a dreadful and miserable fate. ‘You’ve no friend on board but myself,’ Bates told him. ‘But for me you’d get nothing to eat or drink. If Rotch confesses first, he’ll put in a claim as Queen’s evidence, the whole burden of this enormous crime will be laid upon your shoulders, and whilst I’ll take my oath that the punishment for it is nothing less than the hulks and transportation for life, I’ll not swear, as I’m no lawyer, that it isn’t a hanging offence. Then I bade him think of Rotch’s promise of fifty pounds, and of the horrible mess that villain had got him into, and by degrees so worked upon him as to bring up his meanderings at last with a round turn. “Jaw me no more!” growled the beggar. “Go and fetch the smotherin’ writing-gear!” And there it is,’ said the mate, with a smile, pointing to the table.
In this while the sun was beyond north-west and reddening rapidly, and now whilst we listened to Mr. Bates the wind breezed up in a shrill puff that heeled the vessel and despatched Tom and the mate with a little run on deck. I took Nodder’s confession and stowed it carefully away along with Collins’s deposition. My heart was full of fire and rejoicing; I raged at the thought of Tom having been ruined by two such detestable, contemptible villains as Rotch and Nodder, and I exulted in knowing that it was now in our power to bring both men to justice whether Rotch confessed or not.
Whilst they looked after the brig I prepared the evening repast in the galley. A little before six we sat down to supper. It was then blowing no more than a pleasant fresh wind; a long swell hurled the brig forward, and she drove along under a maintopgallant-sail, whitening out twice her breadth of water as she sped curtseying onwards. Tom, Bates, and I seated ourselves, Collins steered, and Will kept a look-out on the top of the house.
I got ready a small tray of food for Rotch; Bates was carrying it to the fellow’s berth when Tom stopped him to say: ‘Tell him that Nodder’s confessed, but add little or nothing to that, Bates. Let the fact sink with him. Whilst we sup we’ll talk things over.’
The mate returned after a very short absence, and quietly took his place at table.
‘Did you tell him?’ said Tom. Bates answered, ‘Yes.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He eyed me with a wicked look and made no reply. His eyes have gone bloodshot and shine queerly. There’s a hardness in that chap’s countenance that makes me believe he’ll never shell out.’
‘It will not matter,’ said I, ‘we have evidence enough. They’ll never refuse us a free pardon on what we have.’
‘A free pardon!’ exclaimed Tom, looking at me.
‘Yes—certainly,’ said Mr. Bates, gravely cutting himself a piece of salt beef; ‘your innocence is already established; nothing to go through now but a sort of form which the lawyers will put you up to.’
‘Uncle Johnstone will do everything for us,’ said I; ‘and, oh!’ I half shrieked, clapping my hands, ‘the joy I shall feel in seeing him read Nodder’s confession!’
Tom’s face was moody and dark.
‘I’ll not ask for nor would I accept a free pardon!’ he exclaimed. ‘For what am I to be pardoned, and what to me would be the particular virtue of a pardon?’ he added sarcastically. ‘When I sailed out of the Thames in a convict ship, I left England for ever. What could induce me to dwell in a land I abominate, among a people I detest?’
‘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!’
‘Mr. Bates,’ said I, ‘you have managed marvellously well with Nodder. Surely you’ll bring the other wretch to confess.’
‘Read Nodder’s statement to him,’ said Tom.
‘He might snatch it from me and destroy it,’ said the mate. ‘There should be two of us.’
‘Will’s too young!’ I exclaimed.
‘I’ll go with you,’ said Tom.
They settled it so, and fixed six o’clock for the visit.
We were so slender a company in that brig that I was often put to the wheel; I never regularly stood a trick, as sailors say; when they were all wanted I steered till one of them relieved me. I went to the helm to send Collins on the deck-house top that Will might get his supper. As I quitted the cabin Bates and Tom went to Rotch’s berth. There was some noise in the wind at this hour; the breeze blew fresh, the short seas ran sharp and burst shrilly, the race of foam on either hand sent up a note of boiling, there was much merry whistling in the rigging, and a faint small thunder of wind sweeping out of the hollows through the curved foot of the sails.
So it happened that I could hear but little of what passed in the cabin. The wheel was small; I gripped it strongly; I put my mind into the binnacle-stand and watched the card very earnestly, that the brig should not run away with me.
Twenty minutes might thus have passed when I heard noises that rose high above the sound of the sea and the cries in the rigging. Will shouted, ‘Marian, there’s murder doing!’
I dared not let go of the wheel lest the vessel should broach to and lose her spars. I shrieked with all my might to Collins, who came running headlong down the steps.
‘Take the helm,’ I cried, and I sprang through the cabin-door.
At that instant Tom and Bates came out of Rotch’s berth. The mate turned the key and thrust his shoulder against the door to make sure all was fast. Tom held a handkerchief to his jaw. He removed it to look at it; it was stained with blood.
‘What has happened?’ I called out.
‘He jumped upon me, threw me down, and his teeth met in my cheek—a true hound of hounds, a very dog of very dogs,’ said Tom.
I drew his hand from his face and witnessed the marks of a severe bite above the right jaw; a little blood flowed.
‘It is nothing at all,’ said he. ‘But how consistent is his trick of fighting with the nature of the animal!’
I hastened to the galley for some warm water, carefully bathed the wound, and bound it up. Mr. Bates, whose face was very pale, had gone on deck to look after the brig; he now returned and found Tom at the table with his face swathed.
‘Has the villain gone mad?’ said I.
‘Butler,’ said the mate, ‘the sight of you and your talking to him drove him mad. I feared it. That man’ll never confess.’
‘He’ll hang then,’ said Tom in a fierce, muttering voice.
‘In the face of Nodder’s confession,’ cried Mr. Bates, with more excitement in his manner than I had ever before witnessed, ‘the scoundrel swears that Butler was guilty of the attempt. When we entered I addressed him quietly, almost soothingly; Butler did not speak, he stood in readiness to prevent Rotch from snatching Nodder’s confession out of my hands. I read the carpenter’s statement. He listened with his head hung. When I had ended, Butler said to him: “You see now how it has worked out. When do you intend to make your declaration to Mr. Bates?” The man in an instant leaped upon Butler and bore him to the deck. I got hold of his throat to drag him away, and saw the devil’s teeth in Butler’s cheek. I’m an old sea-going hand, Miss Johnstone, and have been forced to listen to some bad language in my time, but never heard I the like of what left Rotch’s lips after I had choked him off Butler and flung him aside. His brain’s giving way,’ said he, addressing Tom.
‘If he’s mad,’ I exclaimed, heartily frightened, ‘his bite may have poisoned you, Tom.’
‘He’s dog-like enough,’ said he, ‘but I don’t fear his teeth. Bates, you forgot to tell Miss Johnstone that before he sprang upon me he called out, “You made the attempt,” using one of the choicest of his diabolical expressions.’
‘We have Nodder’s confession,’ I exclaimed.
‘But he shall confess—he shall confess,’ said Tom, with deep and thrilling intensity of tone; ‘I have him—he can never escape me. He shall confess, or he swings for it by my hand as surely as God’s his judge.’
Saying this, he left the table and went on deck.
‘Mr. Bates,’ said I, ‘how is the man to be brought to own his crime?’
The mate looked at me earnestly and slowly and shook his head.
‘He’ll go out of his mind,’ said he. ‘That’s often how God punishes the like of such wretches. He may confess as a madman, but never while his wits yield light enough to hold his hate in sight. Hate! Why, with him the deadliest of human passions lives wrapped up, pure and unalloyed, in flesh, stalking on two legs, and calling itself Rotch.’
He left me, and for many minutes I stood alone, leaning with my hand upon the cabin table, lost in deep and distracting thought.
It so befell, however, that we were not long to wait before this degrading, loathsome and maddening business of Rotch was settled for us, and this without any demand upon our own ingenuity, though the thing worked out to its issue in strict correspondence with the inhuman devil’s nature and with all that is base and wretched in this narrative. Whether the man had been a little mad at the root all through; whether he really feared that Tom would execute his threat and hang him; whether he supposed that, taking it that Tom did not hang him, he would be fearfully punished for the conspiracy and perjury which Nodder had deposed to; or whether his conscience, working like a fiend, grew too strong for him during his long, solitary hours of imprisonment, he, one day, fulfilled the prediction of the mate and went mad.
We were then in the northern verge of the south-east trade-wind, sweeping smoothly toward the Equator. I was asleep in my cabin, and was awakened by a great disturbance and shouts. The hour was some time in the afternoon. By the time I had put on my dress and run out, the cries and sounds of scuffling had ceased; but on stepping a few paces aft, I heard a strange noise of moaning and snapping yells proceeding from Rotch’s cabin. It was such a noise as might be made by a couple of dogs, who, though half dead with worrying each other, still fight on.
I ran to the wheel, where I found Will, who told me that while Bates was in Rotch’s cabin, whither he had carried some drinking water, Rotch, giving a loud shout, whipped a table knife out of his bunk; he lunged at Bates, who very nimbly tripped him up, got the knife out of his hand, and lay wrestling on the deck with Rotch, bawling for help. Tom and Collins rushed to his assistance, and amongst them dragged the villain into his berth again.
Whilst Will was telling me this, Tom and the others came out of Rotch’s cabin. And now I heard that the man had gone mad, and that to prevent him doing himself or us a mischief they had secured his legs and bound his arms to his side.
This was a very great calamity; had he jumped overboard or cut his throat all would have been well, but here now was a madman to watch. Our little ship’s company was miserably few, and the requirements of the brig totally prohibited our telling off any one of us to look after the lunatic fiend. Then again, being mad, his confession (whatever might prove the delirious gabble he chose to regale Mr. Bates with) could be of no use to Tom, who would thus be balked in his iron-hard resolve of carrying him to some part of the seas where he could hang him if he did not confess.
But it was not a thing to be mended by lamentation; whilst madness raged in the unhappy, wicked wretch, he was to be kept bound, and rendered as helpless by cords and lines as Tom in his sanity had been by leg-irons and handcuffs. Mr. Bates from time to time looked in upon him, cut up his meat, fed him, and gave him drink. I never went near the monster’s cabin nor set eyes upon him. If Tom looked in, Rotch spat at him, howled, expressed by contortions and grimaces a hundred hellish passions, and struggled with fury and with the power of a giant to liberate himself that he might get at him. The madman’s cabin-door was in various ways strengthened to provide against all possibility of his breaking out. Otherwise he lay lodged as securely as if his prison had been the sentinelled and barricaded ’tweendecks of the Childe Harold.
This was his condition for about a week, dating from the hour of his going mad; Bates then told us that the fellow was cooling down and exhibiting some return of mind; a small light of intelligence was in his eyes, and the fire of insanity was waning in them. He begged for the freedom of his limbs, and Bates gave him the use of his arms. One morning the mate came out of Rotch’s berth, and said to me, who was sitting at the cabin table:
‘A strange change has come over that miserable creature. He cries like a whipped boy, and his mind seems in a state of panic terror. He lay hold of my hand just now and wriggled as though to fall upon his knees, and implored me not to let Captain Butler come near him. “He’ll hang me,” he whimpered; “that’s what he’s keeping me here for. Why don’t he send me ashore? I’m not fit to die. I’ve got a wife and children dependent upon me.” Then he blazed out: “But he dursn’t hang me. It would be the bloodiest of all murders to swing a poor sick man like me!” And he muttered about having a house of furniture and a little money at home, all of which he’d give me if I’d smuggle a knife into his berth, and then send Captain Butler to him alone on pretence of hearing him confess.’
It was on Friday that Bates told me this. On the following Sunday we sat down to dinner as usual at one o’clock. It was a very quiet day, clear and bright; the brig was flapping leisurely along clothed to her royals before a small air of hot wind blowing almost directly over the stern. Tom put a slice of pork on a plate, and Bates cut it up to carry it with biscuit, a pannikin of rum and water, and other matters to Rotch’s berth. The mate went to the door of Rotch’s cabin, and put the tray down to turn the key and shift one of the uprights which protected the entrance. My eye was upon him; he opened the door, cried out, and sprang back, tossing his arms with a gesture of horror and consternation.
‘What is it?’ called Tom.
‘Come and look, Butler! Come and see for yourself!’ cried the mate.
Tom rushed aft and stood beside Bates. In a moment or two he turned his face toward me and said, whilst he pointed to the cabin, with his finger a little elevated: ‘Marian, he has hanged himself!’ He then went in. Bates, with a white face, came running to the table for a knife, and then joined Tom. I sat quite still. I had not the courage to view an object which I guessed would haunt my memory as a phantom of ghastly horror whilst life lasted. My heart beat with sick, fast throbs whilst I waited. They were ten minutes in cutting him down and making sure he was dead. They then came out, closing the door behind them, and drew slowly to the table.
‘Miss Johnstone,’ said the mate, ‘he’s stone dead.’
‘Is it not God who wins, surely and always, in the end?’ exclaimed Tom.