Bates pointed to a bottle; Will mixed a draught, and Nodder, sitting up, lifted the pannikin with both hands, trembling violently. I had listened with a mad heart; recollection of what Tom had been made to suffer by that foul, drunken, hideous scoundrel rushed upon me. The villain had owned it was drink and not caring; he had done it for a promise of fifty pounds and the run of the rum casks and a mate’s berth at some hundred shillings a month! I could have torn the poisonous rat’s eyes out as he lay, and turned my back upon him to hide my face. He threw the pannikin he had emptied on to the deck: and said: ‘Gi’ me hold of a pen whilst I’m setting up; it’ll be a bruisy queer scrawl. What music’s a-playing that these hands keep dancing?’ He looked at his fingers with a horrid grin. Bates put the bunk-board on the fellow’s knees, and called to Will to hold the lamp close. My temper was under control again, and I looked at the man as he sat up in his bunk, fearing that even now he might cheat us by refusing to sign, though I supposed that, in any case, the confession made to Mr. Bates, and heard read aloud by us in Nodder’s presence, would be counted good evidence. The man’s hand trembled so violently that twice or thrice he let fall the pen. ‘Hold my wrist,’ said he, with a vile oath. Helped by Mr. Bates, he scrawled his name; we then signed as witnesses, Bates leading, Collins ending with a cross; the date was added, the name of the brig, her situation at noon. Nodder had fallen back, and lay watching us while we signed. As Mr. Bates handed me the written confession, the fellow in his raw, squawking voice exclaimed: ‘Mix me another pannikin, one of yer; then clear out. You’ve got what you want, ha’n’t you?’ I passed through the hatch quickly, fearful of the man’s language; Will accompanied me. I glanced at him in the bright western daylight; he looked shocked, almost stunned. ‘I always knew he was innocent,’ he exclaimed. But I was mad to join Tom. I held up the paper as I ran towards the wheel, at which stood Tom’s fine commanding figure, solitary on the brig’s decks. He was pale, and the shadow of bitter expectation lay like a scowl or frown upon him. ‘Has he confessed?’ he said. ‘Yes.’ Will took the wheel, and I followed my sweetheart into the cabin. He put the paper upon the table, and bent his head to read the precious document. I watched his face with impassioned intentness. I thought he had read to the end of the writing when he lifted his head; he rubbed his eyes and pressed his temples betwixt his hands, bent his head to the paper again, and now I was very sure he had not read a quarter down.