world and on the wickedness of the man who had murdered Captain
Somers.

"He was an old man, over seventy years old," Mr. Pike went on. "And
they say he'd got a touch of palsy--I hadn't seen him for years. You
see, I'd had to clear out from the coast because of trouble. And
that devil of a second mate caught him in bed late at night and beat
him to death. It was terrible. They told me about it. Right in San
Francisco, on board the Jason Harrison, it happened, eleven years
ago.

"And do you know what they did? First, they gave the murderer life,
when he should have been hanged. His plea was insanity, from having
had his head chopped open a long time before by a crazy sea-cook.
And when he'd served seven years the governor pardoned him. He
wasn't any good, but his people were a powerful old Virginian family,
the Walthams--I guess you've heard of them--and they brought all
kinds of pressure to bear. His name was Sidney Waltham."

At this moment the warning bell, a single stroke fifteen minutes
before the change of watch, rang out from the wheel and was repeated
by the look-out on the forecastle head. Mr. Pike, under his stress
of feeling, had stopped walking, and we stood at the break of the
poop. As chance would have it, Mr. Mellaire was a quarter of an hour
ahead of time, and he climbed the poop-ladder and stood beside us
while the mate concluded his tale.

"I didn't mind it," Mr. Pike continued, "as long as he'd got life and
was serving his time. But when they pardoned him out after only
seven years I swore I'd get him. And I will. I don't believe in God