The other convict was livid to look at, and, in addition to the old bruised left side of his face, seemed to be bruised and torn all over.  He could not so much as get his breath to speak, until they were both separately handcuffed, but leaned upon a soldier to keep himself from falling.

“Take notice, guard — he tried to murder me,” were his first words.

“Tried to murder him?” said my convict, disdainfully.  “Try, and not do it?  I took him, and giv’ him up; that’s what I done.  I not only prevented him getting off the marshes, but I dragged him here — dragged him this far on his way back.  He’s a gentleman, if you please, this villain.  Now, the Hulks has got its gentleman again, through me.  Murder him?  Worth my while, too, to murder him, when I could do worse and drag him back!”

The other one still gasped, “He tried — he tried — to — murder me.  Bear — bear witness.”

“Lookee here!” said my convict to the sergeant.  “Single-handed I got clear of the prison-ship; I made a dash and I done it.  I could ha’ got clear of these death-cold flats likewise — look at my leg:  you won’t find much iron on it — if I hadn’t made the discovery that he was here.  Let him go free?  Let him profit by the means as I found out?  Let him make a tool of me afresh and again?  Once more?  No, no, no.  If I had died at the bottom there;” and he made an emphatic swing at the ditch with his manacled hands; “I’d have held to him with that grip, that you should have been safe to find him in my hold.”

The other fugitive, who was evidently in extreme horror of his companion, repeated, “He tried to murder me.  I should have been a dead man if you had not come up.”

“He lies!” said my convict, with fierce energy.  “He’s a liar born, and he’ll die a liar.  Look at his face; ain’t it written there?  Let him turn those eyes of his on me.  I defy him to do it.”

The other, with an effort at a scornful smile — which could not, however, collect the nervous working of his mouth into any set expression — looked at the soldiers, and looked about at the marshes and at the sky, but certainly did not look at the speaker.

“Do you see him?” pursued my convict.  “Do you see what a villain he is?  Do you see those grovelling and wandering eyes?  That’s how he looked when we were tried together.  He never looked at me.”

The other, always working and working his dry lips and turning his eyes restlessly about him far and near, did at last turn them for a moment on the speaker, with the words, “You are not much to look at,” and with a half-taunting glance at the bound hands.  At that point, my convict became so frantically exasperated, that he would have rushed upon him but for the interposition of the soldiers.  “Didn’t I tell you,” said the other convict then, “that he would murder me, if he could?” And any one could see that he shook with fear, and that there broke out upon his lips, curious white flakes, like thin snow.