‘I’ll ask you to mind your own business,’ I cried. ‘Have you a heart? Have you any capacity of feeling? Did those two fellows spare Tom? Look what they’ve brought him to. And shall we not right ourselves in our own fashion if the chance offers? Wear irons as Tom has, sweat in forced labour in a convict’s dress, be ruined, degraded, broken-hearted, yet innocent as Tom is, and imagine the villains who falsely swore you into ruin, misery, exile, in your power. Would you damp their pale brows with lavender water, wash their weary feet, offer them your forgiveness with caresses, promise to plead for them in your prayers? Chaw! You’re no man, Will!’ I swung on my heels in a passion, and left him. That evening, until ten or thereabouts, we sat in the cabin. I believed Tom guessed what was in Will’s mind. The lad had a bright, handsome face. A little thing would bring his heart into his eyes, and all that he felt he looked, with colour, with paleness, with wild stares (as when he came to me after seeing Lieutenant Chimmo murdered), with a fine light of merriment when he was amused. For the first time I could recollect, my sweetheart went carefully, and with scarce any temper, through the story of Rotch’s accusation. He related how he had punished the man for rudeness to a young lady at a South American fandango; how he had reported him and lost him his berth for sleeping whilst on duty, and for other reasons. He exactly described how the treacherous, shocking conspiracy against him had been worked out and executed by Rotch, with the help of Nodder; how the holes had been pierced by Rotch, the auger hidden in his (Tom’s) cabin, the lazarette entered by Rotch when there was no sort of stores in it at that time to warrant the visit. He said he never understood why Nodder conspired against him. He supposed Rotch had tempted the beast with drink, with an offer of money, and the promise of a mate’s place in the barque, if he (Rotch) got command. With his eyes fixed upon Will, he drew a few pictures of his sufferings in jail, and of his life in the hulk. Bates listened closely; the worthy fellow was stirred to the heart by Tom’s simple recital of his wrongs and sufferings. Will’s face flushed with sympathy and temper as he listened; I see his looks now as he leaned on the table under the cabin lamp, with his eyes moistening at intervals. As for me, I sat quiet till Tom had done, though I was half distracted by the passion and grief, the wrath and wild regrets which arose as my sweetheart proceeded, until, on his ending with a sob in his voice and his hands to his brow, I could bear myself no longer, and, springing up, I flung my arms around him and held him to me with my lips pressed to his cheek, down which my own tears ran. ‘Curse them!’ cried Will, starting up; ‘they shan’t live for the want of a hangman, if they don’t confess!’