SHE CONCLUDES HER STORY
Presently the mate told us of the trouble Nodder had cost him; how at
one moment the sulky villain bade him fetch paper and pen, for that he
meant to confess; how, as Bates sprang to the hatch, the fellow rasped
out that he had changed his mind--bruised if he was going to confess.
Butler had never offered him an extra glass of grog all the time they
were together; it was for Rotch to own up, not him. First let him hear
what Rotch had to say. This went on till Bates, losing his temper, told
him he had as good as confessed already; if he refused to dictate the
confession civilly asked of him, he (that is, Bates) would quit the
forecastle, clap the hatch on, leave him to crawl about in the dark,
stop his supply of rum, and in every way abandon him to a dreadful and
miserable fate. ‘You’ve no friend on board but myself,’ Bates told
him. ‘But for me you’d get nothing to eat or drink. If Rotch confesses
first, he’ll put in a claim as Queen’s evidence, the whole burden of
this enormous crime will be laid upon your shoulders, and whilst I’ll
take my oath that the punishment for it is nothing less than the hulks
and transportation for life, I’ll not swear, as I’m no lawyer, that it
isn’t a hanging offence. Then I bade him think of Rotch’s promise of
fifty pounds, and of the horrible mess that villain had got him into,
and by degrees so worked upon him as to bring up his meanderings at
last with a round turn. “Jaw me no more!” growled the beggar. “Go and
fetch the smotherin’ writing-gear!” And there it is,’ said the mate,
with a smile, pointing to the table.
In this while the sun was beyond north-west and reddening rapidly, and
now whilst we listened to Mr. Bates the wind breezed up in a shrill
puff that heeled the vessel and despatched Tom and the mate with a
little run on deck. I took Nodder’s confession and stowed it carefully
away along with Collins’s deposition. My heart was full of fire and
rejoicing; I raged at the thought of Tom having been ruined by two such
detestable, contemptible villains as Rotch and Nodder, and I exulted
in knowing that it was now in our power to bring both men to justice
whether Rotch confessed or not.
Whilst they looked after the brig I prepared the evening repast in the
galley. A little before six we sat down to supper. It was then blowing
no more than a pleasant fresh wind; a long swell hurled the brig
forward, and she drove along under a maintopgallant-sail, whitening out
twice her breadth of water as she sped curtseying onwards. Tom, Bates,
and I seated ourselves, Collins steered, and Will kept a look-out on
the top of the house.
I got ready a small tray of food for Rotch; Bates was carrying it to
the fellow’s berth when Tom stopped him to say: ‘Tell him that Nodder’s
confessed, but add little or nothing to that, Bates. Let the fact sink
with him. Whilst we sup we’ll talk things over.’
The mate returned after a very short absence, and quietly took his
place at table.
‘Did you tell him?’ said Tom. Bates answered, ‘Yes.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He eyed me with a wicked look and made no reply. His eyes have
gone bloodshot and shine queerly. There’s a hardness in that chap’s
countenance that makes me believe he’ll never shell out.’
‘It will not matter,’ said I, ‘we have evidence enough. They’ll never
refuse us a free pardon on what we have.’
‘A free pardon!’ exclaimed Tom, looking at me.
‘Yes--certainly,’ said Mr. Bates, gravely cutting himself a piece
of salt beef; ‘your innocence is already established; nothing to go
through now but a sort of form which the lawyers will put you up to.’
‘Uncle Johnstone will do everything for us,’ said I; ‘and, oh!’ I half
shrieked, clapping my hands, ‘the joy I shall feel in seeing him read
Nodder’s confession!’
Tom’s face was moody and dark.
‘I’ll not ask for nor would I accept a free pardon!’ he exclaimed. ‘For
what am I to be pardoned, and what to me would be the particular virtue
of a pardon?’ he added sarcastically. ‘When I sailed out of the Thames
in a convict ship, I left England for ever. What could induce me to
dwell in a land I abominate, among a people I detest?’
‘A very natural prejudice, Butler,’ said Bates, ‘under the
circumstances; but it will wear off.’
‘Marian,’ said Tom, ‘whatever else I may do, whatever else may happen
to me, I shall never again live in England.’
‘Be it so, dear.’
‘I could rant and talk like a stage-tragedy man on that subject,’ he
continued. ‘We’ll hold Nodder’s, and, if we can get it, we’ll hold
Rotch’s confession. We’ll take very great care of them indeed. Oh, yes;
they shall be as precious--as precious--as what, Bates? Well, let’s
say Bank of England notes of the highest value; because they might yet
prove serviceable by enabling me to deal with that ruffian blunderer
called British law, should its blind-guided hand make for my throat
again in the distant place where you and I may settle, Marian. But I’ll
have no asking for a pardon.’
‘We’re a long way from home yet,’ said Bates. ‘The sight of the north
star is bound to work a change in your humour, Butler.’
‘Bates, you don’t know what you’re talking about!’ exclaimed Tom. ‘Keep
this in mind, that under any circumstances I’d sooner cut my throat
than sue for pardon for sins I’m guiltless of. But when you talk of
Nodder’s confession you forget this: First, if I return to England,
I’m a returned convict at large during sentence, which is a felony
punishable by transportation for life. Next, they’d charge me with
piracy and bloodshed as being concerned with others in seizing the
transport _Childe Harold_. Those are what Johnstone’s father would call
“counts,” I suppose. Is Nodder’s confession going to carry me clear of
them?’
‘I was mate of the transport. Butler,’ said Mr. Bates. ‘Then there’s
young Johnstone, who was an apprentice. Would not our evidence weigh?
We could prove you innocent of complicity in that seizure, and tell a
story that should do you honour--how you saved my life; how you forced
the convicts to yield up the women and children.’
‘I want no pardon! I’d take none!’ cried Tom, striking the table with
his fist. ‘I’ll never live in England again. I’ll take a new name under
any flag that flies, and the flag whose people hate the English most is
the flag I’ll love best.’
‘Then,’ said Mr. Bates, looking at me, ‘I don’t see what’s the good of
Butler troubling himself to extort a confession from Rotch.’
‘Rotch! yes!’ cried Tom, shouting his words in a sudden fury. ‘He’ll
have to confess! He must confirm Nodder’s statement and whitewash me
with another coat for your edification, and to enable young Johnstone
to put a bit more of accent and colour into the yarn he’ll spin his
father and his mother. I’ll keep him till he does, and, by God’s
thunder, I’ll hang him if he doesn’t!’
‘Mr. Bates,’ said I, ‘you have managed marvellously well with Nodder.
Surely you’ll bring the other wretch to confess.’
‘Read Nodder’s statement to him,’ said Tom.
‘He might snatch it from me and destroy it,’ said the mate. ‘There
should be two of us.’
‘Will’s too young!’ I exclaimed.
‘I’ll go with you,’ said Tom.
They settled it so, and fixed six o’clock for the visit.
We were so slender a company in that brig that I was often put to the
wheel; I never regularly stood a trick, as sailors say; when they were
all wanted I steered till one of them relieved me. I went to the helm
to send Collins on the deck-house top that Will might get his supper.
As I quitted the cabin Bates and Tom went to Rotch’s berth. There was
some noise in the wind at this hour; the breeze blew fresh, the short
seas ran sharp and burst shrilly, the race of foam on either hand sent
up a note of boiling, there was much merry whistling in the rigging,
and a faint small thunder of wind sweeping out of the hollows through
the curved foot of the sails.
So it happened that I could hear but little of what passed in the
cabin. The wheel was small; I gripped it strongly; I put my mind into
the binnacle-stand and watched the card very earnestly, that the brig
should not run away with me.
Twenty minutes might thus have passed when I heard noises that rose
high above the sound of the sea and the cries in the rigging. Will
shouted, ‘Marian, there’s murder doing!’
I dared not let go of the wheel lest the vessel should broach to and
lose her spars. I shrieked with all my might to Collins, who came
running headlong down the steps.
‘Take the helm,’ I cried, and I sprang through the cabin-door.
At that instant Tom and Bates came out of Rotch’s berth. The mate
turned the key and thrust his shoulder against the door to make sure
all was fast. Tom held a handkerchief to his jaw. He removed it to look
at it; it was stained with blood.
‘What has happened?’ I called out.
‘He jumped upon me, threw me down, and his teeth met in my cheek--a
true hound of hounds, a very dog of very dogs,’ said Tom.
I drew his hand from his face and witnessed the marks of a severe bite
above the right jaw; a little blood flowed.
‘It is nothing at all,’ said he. ‘But how consistent is his trick of
fighting with the nature of the animal!’
I hastened to the galley for some warm water, carefully bathed the
wound, and bound it up. Mr. Bates, whose face was very pale, had gone
on deck to look after the brig; he now returned and found Tom at the
table with his face swathed.
‘Has the villain gone mad?’ said I.
‘Butler,’ said the mate, ‘the sight of you and your talking to him
drove him mad. I feared it. That man’ll never confess.’
‘He’ll hang then,’ said Tom in a fierce, muttering voice.
‘In the face of Nodder’s confession,’ cried Mr. Bates, with more
excitement in his manner than I had ever before witnessed, ‘the
scoundrel swears that Butler was guilty of the attempt. When we entered
I addressed him quietly, almost soothingly; Butler did not speak, he
stood in readiness to prevent Rotch from snatching Nodder’s confession
out of my hands. I read the carpenter’s statement. He listened with
his head hung. When I had ended, Butler said to him: “You see now how
it has worked out. When do you intend to make your declaration to Mr.
Bates?” The man in an instant leaped upon Butler and bore him to the
deck. I got hold of his throat to drag him away, and saw the devil’s
teeth in Butler’s cheek. I’m an old sea-going hand, Miss Johnstone,
and have been forced to listen to some bad language in my time, but
never heard I the like of what left Rotch’s lips after I had choked
him off Butler and flung him aside. His brain’s giving way,’ said he,
addressing Tom.
‘If he’s mad,’ I exclaimed, heartily frightened, ‘his bite may have
poisoned you, Tom.’
‘He’s dog-like enough,’ said he, ‘but I don’t fear his teeth. Bates,
you forgot to tell Miss Johnstone that before he sprang upon me he
called out, “You made the attempt,” using one of the choicest of his
diabolical expressions.’
‘We have Nodder’s confession,’ I exclaimed.
‘But he shall confess--he shall confess,’ said Tom, with deep and
thrilling intensity of tone; ‘I have him--he can never escape me. He
shall confess, or he swings for it by my hand as surely as God’s his
judge.’
Saying this, he left the table and went on deck.
‘Mr. Bates,’ said I, ‘how is the man to be brought to own his crime?’
The mate looked at me earnestly and slowly and shook his head.
‘He’ll go out of his mind,’ said he. ‘That’s often how God punishes the
like of such wretches. He may confess as a madman, but never while his
wits yield light enough to hold his hate in sight. Hate! Why, with him
the deadliest of human passions lives wrapped up, pure and unalloyed,
in flesh, stalking on two legs, and calling itself Rotch.’
He left me, and for many minutes I stood alone, leaning with my hand
upon the cabin table, lost in deep and distracting thought.
It so befell, however, that we were not long to wait before this
degrading, loathsome and maddening business of Rotch was settled
for us, and this without any demand upon our own ingenuity, though
the thing worked out to its issue in strict correspondence with the
inhuman devil’s nature and with all that is base and wretched in this
narrative. Whether the man had been a little mad at the root all
through; whether he really feared that Tom would execute his threat and
hang him; whether he supposed that, taking it that Tom did not hang
him, he would be fearfully punished for the conspiracy and perjury
which Nodder had deposed to; or whether his conscience, working like
a fiend, grew too strong for him during his long, solitary hours of
imprisonment, he, one day, fulfilled the prediction of the mate and
went mad.
We were then in the northern verge of the south-east trade-wind,
sweeping smoothly toward the Equator. I was asleep in my cabin, and was
awakened by a great disturbance and shouts. The hour was some time
in the afternoon. By the time I had put on my dress and run out, the
cries and sounds of scuffling had ceased; but on stepping a few paces
aft, I heard a strange noise of moaning and snapping yells proceeding
from Rotch’s cabin. It was such a noise as might be made by a couple of
dogs, who, though half dead with worrying each other, still fight on.
I ran to the wheel, where I found Will, who told me that while Bates
was in Rotch’s cabin, whither he had carried some drinking water,
Rotch, giving a loud shout, whipped a table knife out of his bunk; he
lunged at Bates, who very nimbly tripped him up, got the knife out of
his hand, and lay wrestling on the deck with Rotch, bawling for help.
Tom and Collins rushed to his assistance, and amongst them dragged the
villain into his berth again.
Whilst Will was telling me this, Tom and the others came out of Rotch’s
cabin. And now I heard that the man had gone mad, and that to prevent
him doing himself or us a mischief they had secured his legs and bound
his arms to his side.
This was a very great calamity; had he jumped overboard or cut his
throat all would have been well, but here now was a madman to watch.
Our little ship’s company was miserably few, and the requirements of
the brig totally prohibited our telling off any one of us to look after
the lunatic fiend. Then again, being mad, his confession (whatever
might prove the delirious gabble he chose to regale Mr. Bates with)
could be of no use to Tom, who would thus be balked in his iron-hard
resolve of carrying him to some part of the seas where he could hang
him if he did not confess.
But it was not a thing to be mended by lamentation; whilst madness
raged in the unhappy, wicked wretch, he was to be kept bound, and
rendered as helpless by cords and lines as Tom in his sanity had been
by leg-irons and handcuffs. Mr. Bates from time to time looked in upon
him, cut up his meat, fed him, and gave him drink. I never went near
the monster’s cabin nor set eyes upon him. If Tom looked in, Rotch
spat at him, howled, expressed by contortions and grimaces a hundred
hellish passions, and struggled with fury and with the power of a giant
to liberate himself that he might get at him. The madman’s cabin-door
was in various ways strengthened to provide against all possibility of
his breaking out. Otherwise he lay lodged as securely as if his prison
had been the sentinelled and barricaded ’tweendecks of the _Childe
Harold_.
This was his condition for about a week, dating from the hour of his
going mad; Bates then told us that the fellow was cooling down and
exhibiting some return of mind; a small light of intelligence was in
his eyes, and the fire of insanity was waning in them. He begged for
the freedom of his limbs, and Bates gave him the use of his arms. One
morning the mate came out of Rotch’s berth, and said to me, who was
sitting at the cabin table:
‘A strange change has come over that miserable creature. He cries like
a whipped boy, and his mind seems in a state of panic terror. He lay
hold of my hand just now and wriggled as though to fall upon his knees,
and implored me not to let Captain Butler come near him. “He’ll hang
me,” he whimpered; “that’s what he’s keeping me here for. Why don’t
he send me ashore? I’m not fit to die. I’ve got a wife and children
dependent upon me.” Then he blazed out: “But he dursn’t hang me. It
would be the bloodiest of all murders to swing a poor sick man like
me!” And he muttered about having a house of furniture and a little
money at home, all of which he’d give me if I’d smuggle a knife into
his berth, and then send Captain Butler to him alone on pretence of
hearing him confess.’
It was on Friday that Bates told me this. On the following Sunday we
sat down to dinner as usual at one o’clock. It was a very quiet day,
clear and bright; the brig was flapping leisurely along clothed to her
royals before a small air of hot wind blowing almost directly over
the stern. Tom put a slice of pork on a plate, and Bates cut it up to
carry it with biscuit, a pannikin of rum and water, and other matters
to Rotch’s berth. The mate went to the door of Rotch’s cabin, and put
the tray down to turn the key and shift one of the uprights which
protected the entrance. My eye was upon him; he opened the door, cried
out, and sprang back, tossing his arms with a gesture of horror and
consternation.
‘What is it?’ called Tom.
‘Come and look, Butler! Come and see for yourself!’ cried the mate.
Tom rushed aft and stood beside Bates. In a moment or two he turned
his face toward me and said, whilst he pointed to the cabin, with his
finger a little elevated: ‘Marian, he has hanged himself!’ He then went
in. Bates, with a white face, came running to the table for a knife,
and then joined Tom. I sat quite still. I had not the courage to view
an object which I guessed would haunt my memory as a phantom of ghastly
horror whilst life lasted. My heart beat with sick, fast throbs whilst
I waited. They were ten minutes in cutting him down and making sure he
was dead. They then came out, closing the door behind them, and drew
slowly to the table.
‘Miss Johnstone,’ said the mate, ‘he’s stone dead.’
‘Is it not God who wins, surely and always, in the end?’ exclaimed Tom.
POSTSCRIPT
When the venerable lady--the Marian Johnstone of the preceding
narrative--had arrived at this point, she declined to proceed. She said
she had told enough. If a sequel was necessary, it must be invented.
She had several grandchildren, and she did not choose to vex or
distress them by unnecessary candour.
With much coaxing, however, and during repeated visits, she let fall
enough to admit of a truthful ending to her strange tale, and the few
things material omitted by her were supplied by Admiralty records and
certain files of shipping papers.
It seems that amongst them they safely carried the little brig _Old
Stormy_ to the English Channel, where, hauling in close to the French
coast, they spoke a French smack, and Captain Butler went ashore to
await Marian Johnstone in some French or Flemish town that had been
agreed upon. The brig then stretched across to the English coast and
landed Nodder, who died twenty-four hours after his arrival in England.
Then, with the assistance of a few ’longshoremen, the vessel was
carried to the Thames.
Miss Johnstone at once called upon her uncle. No particulars of an
interview, which surely must have been memorable and remarkable, were
to be procured. Though Captain Butler had sworn that he would not
accept a free pardon if it were granted, nor ever again set foot in his
native country, Miss Johnstone went to work nevertheless to render him
what is called by the lawyers an unattainted person. It might have been
that Captain Butler knew the law better than she; it is certain that
her uncle, Mr. Johnstone, a shrewd old lawyer, gave her neither hope
nor encouragement. His reasons are probably indicated in an ‘opinion’
he obtained from one who stood high as a legal authority in his day.
The following extract may be given:
‘The unfortunate master has apparently been guilty of no less than
three different felonies within the jurisdiction of the Lord High
Admiral, _i.e._ on the high seas. The three felonies are (1) scuttling,
of which he is wrongfully convicted and transported; (2) being at large
during a sentence of transportation without lawful excise--felony
under 5 Geo. IV., c. 84, s. 24; and (3) of being concerned with other
convicts in piracy with bloodshed, under 18 Geo. II., c. 30, s. 2.
As to pardons: All convictions are to be presumed, of course, to be
correctly made until the contrary be shown. By 7 Geo. IV., c. 28, a
warrant under the royal sign manual is equivalent to a pardon under
the great seal, and this only as a pardon as to the specific felony
committed by the pardoned, and does not avail as to any offence
committed subsequently to that pardoned and not mentioned in the
pardon.’
The seizure of the _Childe Harold_ had occurred subsequently to
Butler’s conviction for attempting to scuttle the _Arab Chief_. He
was also at large whilst still a convict. Miss Johnstone, with much
spirit, but with a good deal of wrong-headed obstinacy also, persisted
in struggling in the direction of a pardon for her sweetheart until
certain convincing representations finally determined her to desist.
Having made all necessary arrangements with regard to her property, she
joined Captain Butler abroad and was married to him. They ultimately
went to the United States, and it is understood that for some years
Captain Butler had command of a fine clipper ship flying the Stars
and Stripes and trading between Boston and the western South American
seaboard.
The award for the salving of the _Old Stormy_ made a considerable sum.
The cargo proved to be exceedingly valuable. Some of the pictures were
by great masters, and the consignment of china alone was valued at
eleven thousand pounds. Captain Butler, through Miss Johnstone, refused
to touch one penny of the award; the money was therefore paid in sums
proportioned by the rating to Mr. Bates, Will Johnstone, and the man
Collins.
It is remarkable that the cabin story of the abandonment of the _Old
Stormy_ proved absolutely true. A single survivor of the crew was
rescued; he was carried to Sierra Leone, where he died; before he
died he detailed the facts of the mutiny, murders, and abandonment,
precisely as they were recited in the document found in the brig.
The _Childe Harold_ was fallen in with by a large heavily armed
Portuguese man-of-war, thirty leagues west of the island of Tristan
d’Acunha. She had been wrecked aloft in a gale; the convicts were in
terrible distress, they were short of water, they had wantonly wasted
the ship’s stock of provisions. The commander of the Portuguese ship
perceiving the vessel’s character sent a number of armed men on board,
and then, strangely enough, towed her for a supply of fresh water
to Tristan d’Acunha, where both ships arrived three weeks after the
departure of the _Old Stormy_ from that island. The transport was then
conveyed to Table Bay, refitted, placed in charge of a new captain
and officers along with a strong crew, and despatched on her voyage
to Hobart Town, where she safely arrived. How the ringleaders were
punished has not been ascertained.
The long-boat, containing Captain Sutherland, Captain Barrett, the
soldiers, women and children, was fallen in within seven or eight
degrees north latitude, and the people, who were all in good health
in spite of great sufferings from exposure--one death only, a child,
having happened--were carried round the Horn before there occurred an
opportunity to tranship and send them home. But the quarter-boats in
which the seamen had been sent adrift were never accounted for.
This, then, is the true sequel of the extraordinary adventures of the
remarkable young woman who has been styled in this narrative of her
experiences Marian Johnstone.
THE END
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.