‘Bates--but what right have I to call you Bates? I should “mister” you, hey?’ ‘Oh, Tom, dear!’ I exclaimed. ‘Why, see here, now,’ he continued, and he spoke fiercely: ‘I’m a convict, Bates. There’s no getting away from that. Do you call this liberty? No more than the liberty of a wretch who breaks from a hulk, who’s a convict while he swims, who’s a convict when he lands, who goes to his grave a convict, though he keeps free.’ The mate looked at me with alarm. ‘You’re a good fellow. I believe,’ Tom went on, ‘and you think me a wronged, innocent man. But I’m a convict always. Why, haven’t you watched me whilst I tramped in a gang to the tune of a fiddle, watched me at a felon’s work about the deck of the ship you were chief mate of, watched me with the irons upon my legs as I shuffled out of the hatch to the cries of a brother-convict? You’re a respectable man--oh, very respectable! So was I once, but they swore my liberty and honour away and broke my heart. Doesn’t this association with a convict and his familiar accost of you as “Bates” shock your respectability?’ I could not bear his wild looks nor to hear more. I flung my arms round his neck and burst into tears. ‘Butler,’ said the mate, ‘this is uncalled-for. What you were when I first knew you, you still are. A more honourable heart never beat in a sailor’s breast. Did they make me a convict yesterday by clothing me as one? No more they made you a malefactor by sentencing you. Soothe the poor lady and give me your hand, old man.’ I drew my arms from Tom. He took the mate’s hand and stooped his head to it. Will, whose face worked with sympathy and distress, motioned to me as though he would have me give my sweetheart time to rally. Presently Tom lifted his face. Tears were in his eyes, likewise an expression that warned me not to seem to heed him. The mate, with the tact of a gentleman, talked to Will about Captain Sutherland, whose lady he knew. He named certain ships which Sutherland had commanded. Thus he gossiped on, meanwhile proceeding with his breakfast. Tom got up and walked to the bulwarks, and stood looking at the sea over the rail. I watched him with impassionate anxiety. I could not gauge his mood, and knew not what dreadful impulse might suddenly govern him. He rejoined us, and said, looking at the mate: ‘Your wish, of course, is to return to your wife and children?’ ‘No unnatural wish, I hope, Butler,’ answered Mr. Bates, forcing a laugh. ‘What is to be done?’ exclaimed Tom, measuring a short length of deck with swift paces. ‘There’s no home for me to return to. I hate the thought of England. Let me establish my innocence, and still I detest England.’ ‘Establish your innocence,’ said the mate, ‘and they’ll grant you a free pardon, and the old country would be as it ever was to you.’