‘He’s a surly, stubborn hound,’ said he; ‘very ill, and, in my opinion, dying. We lighted the forecastle lamp; we found him lying in the dark and groaning now and again. I stood apart while Bates spoke to him. Bates asked him how he did. He answered, with an oath, that he felt very low. Bates long-windedly put further questions to him. He then said: “D’ye know what brig you’re aboard of?” “The _Old Stormy_, ain’t it?” says Nodder. “Yes,” says Bates; “and d’ye know who her captain is?” “No,” answers the carpenter. “He’s Captain Butler,” says Bates, “who was in command of the _Arab Chief_, that you and Rotch charged him with attempting to scuttle.” The man lay silent a bit, and then said: “I don’t believe it.” “Rotch does,” said Bates; “he’s locked up, and Captain Butler means to hang him if, after a given time, he doesn’t confess that you and he conspired together to ruin him.” Here Nodder, who had been lying on his back all this while, sat up and said: “There’s no Butler in this ship. I heered him sentenced, and he was lagged for fourteen year.” On this I stepped out of the eyes of the forecastle, where I had stood unobserved, and coming under the lamp, where he could see me plainly, I said: “D’ye know me? Your memory should be as good as Rotch’s.” The scoundrel looked, shut his eyes, looked, blinked and looked again, cursed awhile, and lay back. I’d made up my mind to head on a new tack with this fellow--that is, to trim him differently from my handling of Rotch. I said quietly: “Nodder, you’re a sick and a dying man. How did you serve me who never injured you? You ruined me, made a convict of me, broke my heart. You were a tool in Rotch’s hands, and I believe you’d have undone the mischief before we reached England had you found courage. Rotch was the villain, you were his instrument.” He now turned his head to look at me, and lay like a corpse with his eyes fastened upon my face. I couldn’t swear that he had his mind, that he clearly understood; the fright and wonder of seeing me stirred the mud in his soul and thickened his brain. Still I talked on. I told him that I had Rotch under lock and key, and should hang him if he didn’t confess. I repeated what Collins had told me. I then said that my enemy was Rotch; that he was the man I meant to get at and punish. “If you’ll dictate the truth to me,” said I, “tell us the full story of the diabolical plot, and sign it, that your signature may be witnessed, I’ll let you go. If you live to get north, I’ll put you ashore, and you shall be no more troubled, unless you are willing to turn Queen’s evidence so as to help me to bring Rotch to his trial.” This was, in effect, what I said. I spoke quietly, even kindly. Like Rotch, he made no answer; he lay looking at me, and when I had done, still looked; and I waited for him to speak. Bates implored him to confess. The fellow, silent as a ghost, turned over in his bunk and gave us his back. But it was early times. I was resolved not to threaten him.