I often speculated upon the histories of the many convicts--chose a face and mused upon it. My conviction--nay, my knowledge--that Tom was as innocent as I of the crime for which he was being transported made me think that there might be others as guiltless as he; and this sort of fancy or sympathy often raised a passion of pity in me as I’d stand staring at a convict, striving to fetch his life-story out of his face, though, for all I knew, the man I watched might have been one of the very worst scoundrels in the ship. What affected me most was the guessing that lots of them must have left wives and mothers, children and dear ones behind. I had heard the doctor say that not above one out of every one hundred convicts ever returned home, so that, unless the parents or the wives of the poor, miserable felons followed them, they would be as completely sundered from home ties as though they had been sentenced to the gallows instead of to the hulks and transport. My eyes would moisten sometimes in thus thinking whilst I watched a prisoner in some hour of leisure, fancying a past for him. Once I saw this: Two children belonging to the soldiers had strayed into the gangway alley and were playing there. I observed a convict, a middle-aged man, watching them. A sudden spasm contorted his face. He jerked down his hand in a snapping way, in some instant anguish of memory, as though he cast something from him, and turned his head and moved a few paces, then raised his cuff to his eye, with a look-round afterward to see if he was noticed. One evening I went forward, meaning to get upon the forecastle to breathe the air. It was hot in the recess. Some women were seated round the booby-hatch, and the noise of the children vexed the mood I was then in. It was toward the close of the second dog-watch and dark. I saw some figures on the forecastle, and learnt by the voices that Mr. Stiles, Mr. Balls, and the sailmaker were of them. Therefore, that I might be private, meaning to breathe in solitude upon the forecastle later on, I went round to the lee side of the galley, the door of which was closed, and stood there, looking at the dark sea above the line of the bulwark-rail, for the ship was heeling over somewhat sharply this night. Though the noise of the pouring and foaming brine rose shrill and strong, other sounds were very plainly to be heard. For instance, I often caught what they said upon the forecastle, though the speakers were at a distance. The main-deck was empty. A few figures moved about the poop. Presently two sailors stationed themselves against the foremost end of the galley, round the corner, so to say, facing the lofty pillar of the foremast. I smelt the fumes of their coarse tobacco. They could not see me nor I them; but what they said was as distinct as though they stood alongside of me, spite of their speaking in subdued voices. I knew not who they were, but guessed them to be two forecastle hands.