You have comprehended my meaning, Captain, these men are to be deprived of life through the discipline and laws of the English Navy. I mean that the education they have received, prepared—yes, propelled them to commit the crime for which they are to suffer death. You dealt out to them their rations of grog. You taught them to violate the laws of their nature. You created in them an insatiate desire for strong drink. This desire you could restrain while on ship-board, because there was a guard over the tap, and British bayonets held their passions and appetites in subjection. Not so when they were on shore. Then they were at liberty to measure their own grog. Then their educated appetites cried “Rum! More Rum!” Then British gold could furnish what English bayonets could not prevent. Then they became maddened—frenzied—unaccountable beings. Yes, Captain, it was rum! The demon, devil rum that was in them that did it. And now, men, claiming to be the image of the God they worship are to sit in judgement on their own work and strangle other images of the same God. For doing what? For working out the legitimate consequences of their education. Captain, can you take part in this great wrong? Will you deprive a soul of life? a wife of a husband? a child of a father? and society of a member? As for myself, I will not be a witness against these misguided men. Sooner, would I be cast overboard, and trust to providence to reach my native shore than imbrue my hands with their blood. Young man, said the Captain, where did you learn this fine spun morality? In the wilderness of America, he replied. Your government send their missionaries there to christianize and civilize the Indians, with a bible in one hand and a whiskey bottle in the other. They deal out to them this liquid hell fire, obscure their reason, excite their passions, and make of them devils incarnate. The Indians retaliate, and kill and burn all within their reach. And then English guns, pointed with English bayonets, enforce English laws, with the intention of exterminating the Indians. With those Indians, Captain, is your lost boy. How do you know that? excitedly exclaimed Davis. I saw him in my dream. I saw the anchor and ship on his breast. I saw his protector, Cahoonshee place him in your arms. But Mr. Wallace, what connection has this with the punishment of the mutineers? That sailor, replied Walter, is a man, a father. His wife and child are waiting, hoping, praying for his return. Both you and your child are waiting, hoping, praying that you may meet again. As you may do by this man and his child, may God do by you and your child. This struck Captain Davis to the heart, and if it had been in his power, he would have released the men at once. But duty, stern duty, forbid. Some good excuse must be found, or the trial proceed.