 Chapter 9 John Rex's Letter Home The little gathering of which Mayor Vickers had spoken off to Mr Meakin had grown into something larger than he had anticipated. Instead of a quiet dinner at which his own household, his daughters betrothed, and their stranger clergymen only should be present, the Major found himself entangled with Miss Damns Protharik and Jellico, Mr McNabb of the Garrison, and Mr Pounce of the Civil List. His quiet Christmas dinner had grown into an evening party. The conversation was on the usual topic. "'Heard anything about that fellow Daws?' asked Mr Pounce. "'Not yet,' said Freya, so awkwardly. "'But he won't be out long. I've got a dozen men up the mountain. "'I suppose it is not easy for a prisoner to make good his escape,' says Meakin. "'Oh, he needn't be caught,' says Freya, "'if that's what you mean. But he'll starve instead. The bush-ranging days are over now, and it's a precious poor look out for any man to live upon luck in the bush.' "'Indeed, yes,' said Mr Pounce, lapping his soup. This island seems specially adapted by Providence for a convict's settlement, for with admirable climate it carries little indigenous vegetation which will support human life.' "'Well,' said McNabb, to Sylvia, "'I don't think Providence had any thought of convict discipline when he created the colony of Van Demon's land.' "'Neither do I,' said Sylvia. "'I don't know,' says Mrs Protherrick. Poor Protherrick used to often say that it seemed as if some almighty hand had planned the penal settlements round the coast. The country is so delightfully barren. "'A, poor Arthur couldn't have been better if it had been made on purpose,' says Freya. "'And all up the coast, from Tenby to St Helens, there isn't a scrap for human being to make a meal on. The West Coast is worse. By George, sir, in the old days, I remember.' "'By the way,' says Meakin, "'I've got something to show you. "'Rexus Confession,' I brought it down on purpose. "'Rexus Confession?' His account of his adventures after he left Macquarie Harbour. "'I am going to send it to the bishop. "'Oh, I'd like to see that,' said Sylvia, with heightened colour. "'The story of these unhappy men has a personal interest for me.' "'A forbidden subject, Poppet.' "'No, Papa, not altogether forbidden, for it does not affect me now as it used to do. You must let me read it, Mr. Meakin. "'A pack of lies, I expect,' said Freya with a scowl. "'That scoundrel Rex couldn't tell the truth to save his life.' "'You misjudge him, Captain Freya,' said Meakin. "'All prisoners are not hardened iniquity like Rufus' doors. "'Rexus, I believe, truly penitent, and has written a most touching letter to his father.' "'A letter,' says Vickers. "'You know that by the kings, no? "'The Queen's regulations? "'No letters are allowed to be sent to the friends of prisoners without first passing through the hands of the authorities. "'I am aware of that, Major, and for that reason have bought it with me, "'that you may read it for yourself. "'It seems to me to breathe a spirit in true piety.' "'Let's have a look at it,' said Freya. "'Here it is,' returned Meakin, producing a packet. "'And when the cloth is removed, I will ask permission "'of the ladies to read it aloud. "'It is most interesting.' A glance of surprise passed between the ladies Prothric and Delico. "'The idea of a comic's letter proving interesting. "'Mr. Meakin was new to the ways of the place.' Freya, turning the packet between his fingers, read the address. "'John Rex Sr. "'Care of Mr. Blicks, 38 Bishopsgate Street within London. "'Why can't he write to his father direct?' said he. "'Who's Blick?' "'A worthy merchant,' I am told, "'in whose counting-house the fortunate Rex passed "'his younger days. "'He had a tolerable education, as you are aware. "'Educated prisoners are always the worst,' said Vickers. "'James, some more wine. "'We don't drink toast here. "'But as this is Christmas Eve, Her Majesty the Queen.' "'Here, here, here,' says Morris, Her Majesty the Queen.' "'Having drunk this loyal toast with due fervour,' Vickers proposed, "'his Excellency Sir John Franklin, "'which toast was likewise duly honoured. "'Here's a merry Christmas and a happy new year to you, Sir,' said Freya, "'with the letter still in his hand. "'God bless us all. "'Oh, man,' said Meek and piously, "'let us hope he will.' "'And now, ladies, the letter. "'I will read you the confession afterwards, "'opening the packet with the satisfaction "'of a gospel wine-yard labourer "'who sees his first vine sprouting. "'The good creature began to read aloud.' "'Hobart Town, December 27, 1838. "'My dear father, through all the chances, "'changes and vicissitudes of my chequered life, "'I never had a task so painful to my mangled feelings "'as the present one, "'of addressing you from this doleful spot. "'My seagirt prison, on the beach of which I stand, "'a monument of destruction, "'driven by the adverse winds of fate "'to the confines of black despair "'and into the vortex of galling misery.' "'Poetical,' said Freya. "'I am just like a gigantic tree of the forest "'which has stood many a wintry blast "'and stormy tempest, but now, alas, "'I am become a withered trunk "'with all my greenest and tenderest branches lopped off. "'Though fast-attaining middle-age, "'I am not filling an envid and honoured post "'with credit and respect. "'No, I shall soon be wearing the garb of degradation "'and the badge and brand of infamy in PA, "'which is being interpreted Port Arthur, the villain's home.' "'Poor fellows,' said Sylvia. "'Touching, is it not?' "'A scented meek and continuing. "'I am with a heart-rending sorrow "'and anguish of soul, ranged and mingle "'with the outcasts of society. "'My present circumstances and pictures you will find well "'and truly drawn in the hundred-and-second psalm, "'commencing with the fourth verse to the twelfth inclusive. "'Which, my dear father, I request you will read attentively "'before you proceed any further.' "'Hello,' said Freya, pulling out his pocketbook. "'What's that? "'Read those numbers again.' "'Mr. Meek and compliant,' and Freya grinned. "'Go on,' he said. "'I'll show you something in that letter directly.' "'Oh, my dear father, avoid, I beg of you, "'the reading of profane books. "'Let your mind dwell upon holy things "'and assiduously study to grow in grace. "'Sarm 73-2. "'Yet I hope even in this day my desolate condition. "'Sarm 15-18. "'For the Lord our God is merciful "'and inclineth his ear unto pity. "'Blasphemous dog,' said Vickers. "'You don't believe all that me can do you?' "'The parson reproved him gently. "'Wait a moment, sir, until I have finished.' "'Party spirits run very high, "'even in prison, in Van Diemen's land. "'I am sorry to say that a licentious press "'invariably evinces a very great degree of consumability, "'while the authorities are held in respect "'by all well-disposed persons, "'though it is often endeavored by some "'to bring on them the hatred and contempt of prisoners. "'But I'm glad to tell you that all their efforts "'are without avail. "'But, nevertheless, do not read in any colonial newspaper. "'There is so much scurrility and witterperation "'in their productions.' "'That's for your benefit,' said Vickers, with a smile. "'You remember what was said about your presence "'at the race meetings?' "'Of course,' said Frey. "'Artful scoundrel. "'Go on, Mr. Meakin, pray. "'I'm aware that you will hear accounts of cruelty and tyranny,' "'said, by the malicious and the evil-minded haters "'of the government and government officials, "'to have been inflicted by jailers on convicts. "'To be candid, this is not the dreadful place "'it has been represented to be by vindictive writers. "'Severe flogging and heavy chaining "'is sometimes used, no doubt, but only in rare cases. "'And nominal punishments are marked out by law "'for slight breaches of discipline. "'So far as I have an opportunity of judging. "'The lash is never bestowed, unless merited. "'As far as he is concerned, I don't doubt it,' "'said Frey, cracking a walnut. "'The texts of Scripture quoted by our chaplain "'have comforted me much, and I have been much grateful for, "'for after the rash attempt I made to secure my freedom, "'I have reason to be thankful for the mercy shown to me. "'Death, dreadful death of soul and body, "'would have been my portion. "'But by the mercy of omnipotence, "'I have been spared to repentance. "'John 3, I have now come to bitterness. "'The chaplain, a pious gentleman, "'says it never really pays to steal. "'Lay out for yourselves treasures in heaven, "'when neither moth nor rust doth corrupt. "'Honesty is the best policy, I am convinced. "'And I would not for a thousand pounds "'repeat my evil courses.' Psalm 38, 14. "'When I think of the happy days, "'I once passed with good Mr. Blicks "'in the old house in Blue Anker Yard, "'and reflect that since that happy time "'I have recklessly plunged in sin, "'and stolen goods and watches, studs, rings and jewellery. "'Become, indeed, a common thief. "'I tremble with remorse. "'And fly to prayer, Psalm 5. "'Oh, what sinners we are! "'Let me hope that now I, by God's blessing, "'place beyond temptation, will live safely, "'and that some day I even may "'by the will of the Lord Jesus find mercy for my sins. "'Some kind of madness has method in it, "'but madness of sin holds us without escape. "'Such is, dear father, then, my hope and trust "'for my remaining life here. Psalm 174. "'I owe my bodily well-being to Captain Maurice Freyre, "'who was good enough to speak of my conduct "'in reference to the osprey. "'When, with shares, barker and others, "'we captured that vessel. "'Pray for Captain Freyre, my dear father. "'He is a good man, "'and though his public duty is painful "'and trying to his feelings, "'yet, as a public functionary, "'he could not allow his private feelings, "'whether of mercy or revenge, "'to step between him and his duty.' "'Confound the rascal,' said Freyre, growing crimson. "'Remember me most affectionately to Sarah and little William, "'and all friends who yet cherished the recollection of me, "'and bid them to take warning by my fate "'and keep from evil courses. "'A good conscience is better than gold, "'and no amount can compensate "'for the misery incident to a return to crime. "'Whether I shall ever see you again, dear father, "'is more than uncertain, for my doom is life, "'unless the government alter their plans concerning me "'and allow me an opportunity to earn my freedom by hard work. "'The blessing of God rests with you, my dear father, "'and that you may be washed white in the blood of the lamb "'is the prayer of your unfortunate son, John Rex. "'P.S., though your sins be a scarlet, "'they shall be whiter than snow.' "'Is that all,' said Freyre? "'That is also, and a very touching letter it is.' "'So it is,' said Freyre. "'Now, let me have a moment, Mr. Meakin.' "'He took the paper and, referring to the numbers of the text "'which he had written in his pocketbook, "'began to knit his brows over Mr. John Rex's empires "'and hypocritical production. "'I thought so,' he said at length. "'Those texts were never written for nothing. "'It's an old trick, but cleverly done. "'What do you mean?' said Mr. Meakin. "'Mean?' cried Freyre, with a smile at his own acuteness. "'This precious composition contains "'a very gratifying piece of intelligence for Mr. Blicks, "'whoever he is. "'Some receiver of no doubt. "'Look here, Mr. Meakin. "'Take the letter and this pencil "'and begin at the first text.' "'The hundred and second psalm, "'from the fourth verse to the twelfth inclusive, "'doesn't he say? "'Very good. That's nine verses, isn't it? "'Well, now, underscore nine consecutive words "'from the second word immediately following "'to the next text quoted. "'I have hope, et cetera. "'Have you got it? "'Yes, Mr. Meakin, astonished, "'while all heads bent over the table. "'Well, now, his text is the 18th verse "'of the 35th psalm, isn't it? "'Count 18 words on, "'then underscore five consecutive ones. "'You've done that? "'A moment. "'16, 17, 18 authorities. "'Count and score in the same way "'until you come to the word text somewhere. "'Vickers, I'll trouble you for the claret.' "'Yes,' said Meakin, after a pause. "'Here it is. "'The text of Scripture quoted by our chaplain. "'But surely, Mr. Freer. "'Hold on a bit now, Christ Freer. "'What's the next quotation? "'John 3? "'That's every third word. "'Score every third word beginning with T, "'immediately following the text. "'Now, until you come to a quotation. "'Got it? "'How many words in it? "'Lay out for yourself treasures in heaven "'when neither moth nor rust doth corrupt,' "'said Meakin, a little scandalised. "'14 words. "'Count 14 words on, then score the 14th. "'I'm up to this text quoting business.' "'The word a thousand pounds,' said Meakin. "'Yes.' "'Then there's another text. "'38th, isn't it? "'Sarm and the 14th verse. "'Do that same way as the other. "'Count 14 words, and then score eight in succession. "'Where does that bring you?' "'The fifth Psalm. "'Every fifth word then. "'Go on, my dear sir, go on. "'Method of escape. "'Yes.' "'The hundredth Psalm means a full stop. "'What, verse 74? "'Count 74 words and score.' "'There was a pause for a few minutes "'while Mr. Meakin counted. "'The letter had really turned out interesting.' "'Read out your marked words now, Meakin. "'Let's see if I'm right.' "'Mr. Meakin read with gradually crimsoning face. "'I have hope even in this my desolate condition "'in prison Van Diemen's land. "'The authorities are held, "'hatred and contempt of prisoners. "'Read in any colonial newspaper, "'accounts of cruelty and tyranny, "'inflicted by jailers on convicts, "'severe flogging and heavy chaining "'for slight breaches of discipline. "'I, come, the pious. "'It pays £1,000 in the old house in Blue Anker Yard. "'Stolen goods and watches, studs, rings and jewellery "'are now placed safely. "'I will find some method of escape. "'Then for revenge.' "'Well,' said Morris, looking round with a grin, "'what do you think of that?' "'Most remarkable,' said Mr. Pounce. "'How did you find it out, Frear? "'Oh, it's nothing,' says Frear, "'meaning that it was a great deal. "'I've studied a good many of these things, "'and this one is clumsy to some I've seen. "'But it's pious, isn't it, Meakin?' "'Mr. Meakin arose in Ross. "'It's very ungracious on your part, Captain Frear, "'a capital joke. "'I have no doubt, but permit me to say "'I do not like jesting on such matters. "'This poor fellow's letter to his age father "'to be made the subject of heartless merriment. "'I confess, I do not understand. "'It was confided to me in my sacred character "'as Christian pastor. "'That's just it. "'The fellow's play upon the Parsons, don't you know? "'An undercover of your sacred character "'play all kinds of pranks. "'How the dog must have chuckled when he gave you that.' "'Captain Frear,' said Mr. Meakin, "'changing color like a chameleon "'with indignation and rage. "'Your interpretation is, I'm convinced, "'an incorrect one. "'How could the poor man compose such an ingenious piece "'of cryptography? "'If you mean, fake up that paper,' returned Frear, "'unconsciously dropping into prison slang, "'I'll tell you. "'He had a Bible, I suppose, while he was writing. "'I certainly permitted him the use "'of the sacred volume, Captain Frear. "'I should have judged it inconsistent "'with the character of my office to have refused it to him. "'Of course, and that's just where your Parsons "'are always putting your foot in it. "'If you'd put your office into your pocket "'and open your eyes a bit.' "'Morris, my dear Morris!' "'I beg your pardon, Meakin,' says Morris, "'with clumsy apology. "'But I know these fellows. "'I've lived among them. "'I came out in a ship with them. "'I've talked with them and drank with them, "'and I'm down to all their moves, don't you see? "'The Bible is the only book they get hold of, "'and texts are the only bits of learning ever taught them. "'And being chock-full and villainy "'and plots and conspiracies, "'what other books should they make use of "'to aid their infernal schemes, "'but the one that the chaplain has made a textbook for him?' "'And Morris rose indiscussed, "'not unmixed with self-lawdation. "'Dear me, it is really very terrible,' says Meakin, "'who was not ill-meaning, but only self-complacent. "'Very terrible indeed. "'But unhappily true,' said Mr. Pounce. "'And, Olive, thanks. "'Upon Miss Soul,' burst our honest McNabb. "'The HAL system seems to be mazed ill-calculated, "'taid vans to work o' reformation. "'Mr. McNabb, I'll trouble you for the port,' said equally honest vickers, "'bound hand and foot in the chains "'of the rules of the services. "'And so, what seemed likely to become "'a dangerous discussion upon convict discipline "'was stifled judiciously at the birth. "'But Sylvia prompted, perhaps by curiosity, "'perhaps by a desire to modify the parson's chagrin, "'in passing Mr. Meakin, took up the confession "'that lay unopened beside his wine-glass and bore it off. "'Come, Mr. Meakin,' said Vickers, "'when the door closed behind the ladies, help yourself. "'I am sorry the letter turned out so strangely. "'But you may rely on Frear, I assure you. "'He knows more about convicts "'than any man on the island. "'I see, Captain Frear, "'that you have studied the criminal classes. "'So I have, my dear sir, "'and know every turn and twist among them. "'I tell you my maxim. "'It's some French fellows too, I believe, "'but that don't matter. "'Divide to conquer,' said all the dogs spying on each other. "'Oh,' said Meakin, "'it's the only way. "'Why, my dear sir, "'if the prisoners were as faithful to each other "'as we are, we couldn't hold the island a week. "'It's just because no man can trust his neighbour "'that every mutiny falls to the ground. "'I suppose it must be so,' said poor Meakin. "'It is so, and by George, sir, "'if I had my way, I'd have it so that no prisoner "'should say a word to his right-hand man. "'But his left-hand man should tell me off it. "'I'd promote the men that peached "'and make the beggars their own waters. "'Ha-ha!' "'But such a course, Captain Frear, "'though perhaps useful in a certain way, "'would surely produce harm. "'It would excite the worst passions "'of our fallen nature "'and lead to endless lying and tyranny. "'I'm sure it would. "'Wait a bit, Christ Frear. "'Perhaps one of these days I'll get a chance "'and then I'll try it. "'Convicts. "'By the Lord Harry, sir, "'there's only one way to treat him. "'Give him tobacco when they behave themselves "'and flog him when they don't.' "'Terrible,' said the clergyman with a shudder. "'You speak of them as if they were wild beasts. "'So they are,' said Morris Frear, calmly. "'End of section 38. "'Section 39 of For the Term of His Natural Life. "'This is a LibriVox recording. "'All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. "'For more information or to volunteer, "'please visit LibriVox.org. "'Recording by Magdalena Cook. "'For the Term of His Natural Life by Marcus Clark. "'Book III. "'Poor D'Arthur. "'1838. "'Chapter X. "'What became of the mutineers of the Osprey?' "'At the bottom of the long luxuriant garden-ground "'was a rustic cedar butting upon the low wall "'that topped the lane. "'The branches of the English trees planted long ago, "'hung above it, and between their rustling boughs "'one could see the reach of the Silver River. "'Sitting with the face to the bay "'and her back to the house, "'Silvia opened the manuscript she had carried off "'from Meakin' and began to read. "'It was written in a firm, large hand and headed. "'A narrative of the sufferings and adventures "'of certain of the ten convicts "'who seized the Brig Osprey at Macquarie Harbour "'in Van Demon's land, "'related by one of the said convicts "'while lying under sentence for this offence "'in the jail at Hobart Town.' "'Silvia, having read this grand, "'deliquent sentence, paused for a moment. "'The story of mutiny, "'which had been the chief event of her childhood, "'lay before her. "'And it seemed to her that, were it related truly, "'she would comprehend something strange and terrible, "'which had been for many years a shadow upon her memory. "'Longing and yet fearing to proceed, "'she held the paper, half unfolded in her hand, "'as in her childhood she had held a jar "'the door of some dark room "'in which she longed and yet feared to enter. "'Her timidity lasted but an instant. "'When orders arrived from headquarters "'to break up the penal settlement off Macquarie Harbour, "'the commandant Major Vickers, something regiment. "'And most of the prisoners embarked on board "'a colonial vessel and set sail for Hobart Town, "'leaving behind them a brig that had been built "'at Macquarie Harbour to be brought round after them, "'and placing Captain Morris Freer in command. "'Left aboard her was Mr. Bates, "'who had acted as pilot at the settlement, "'also four soldiers and ten prisoners "'as a crew to work the vessel. "'The commandant's wife and child were also aboard. "'How strangely it reads,' thought the girl. "'On the 12th of January, 1834, we set sail, "'and in the afternoon anchored safely outside the gates, "'but a breeze setting in from the northwest "'caused a swell on the bar, "'and Mr. Bates ran back to Wellington Bay. "'We remained there all next day, "'and in the afternoon Captain Freer "'took two soldiers and a boat and went to fishing. "'There were then only Mr. Bates "'and the other two soldiers aboard, "'and it was proposed by William Cheshire "'to seize the vessel. "'I was at first unwilling, "'thinking that loss of life might ensue. "'But Cheshire and the others, "'knowing that I was acquainted with navigation, "'having in happier days lived much on the sea, "'threatened me if I refused to join. "'A song was started in the Faultslet, "'and one of the soldiers coming to listen to it "'was seized, "'and Lyon and Riley then made prisoner of this entry. "'Forced us into a project with which I had at first "'but little sympathy. "'I felt my heart leap at the prospect of freedom, "'and would have sacrificed all to obtain it. "'Maddened by the desperate hopes that inspired me, "'I from that moment assumed the command "'of my wretched companions, "'and honestly think that however culpable "'I may have been in the eyes of the law, "'I prevented them from the display of a violence "'to which their savage life had unhappily made them "'but too accustomed.' "'Poor fellow,' said Sylvia, "'beguiled by Master Rex's spacious paragraphs. "'I think he was not to blame.' "'Mr. Bates was below in the cabin, "'and on being summoned by Cheshire to surrender, "'with great courage attempted a defence, "'and bark a-fied at him through the skylight, "'but fearful of the lives of the commandant's wife "'and child, I struck up his musket, "'and the ball passed through the mouldings "'of the stern windows. "'At the same time, the soldiers whom we had bound "'in the foxlet forced up the hatch and came on deck. "'Cheshire shot the first one, "'and struck the other with his clubbed musket. "'The wounded man lost his footing, "'and the brig lurching with the rising tide "'he fell into the sea. "'This was, by the blessing of God, "'the only life lost in the whole affair. "'Mr. Bates, seeing now that we had "'percession of the deck surrendered, "'upon promise that the commandant's wife and child "'should be put ashore in safety. "'I directed him to take such matters as he needed "'and prepare to lower the jolly boat. "'As she swung off the darvets, Captain Freer "'came alongside in the whaleboat "'and gallantly endeavoured to board us, "'but the boat drifted past the vessel. "'I was now determined to be free, indeed. "'The mines of all on board were made up "'to carry through the business, "'and hailing the whaleboat's water fire into her "'unless she surrendered. "'Captain Freer refused, "'and was forboarding us again. "'But the two soldiers joined with us "'and prevented his intention. "'Having now got the prisoners into the jolly boat, "'we transferred Captain Freer into her, "'and being ourselves in the whaleboat, "'compelled Captain Freer and Mr. Bates to row ashore. "'We then took the jolly boat in tow "'and returned to the brig, "'a strict watch being kept for fear "'that they should rescue the vessel from us. "'At break of day, every man was upon deck, "'and consultation took place concerning "'the parting of the provisions. "'Cheshire was for leaving them to starve, "'but Leslie Shires and I held out for an equal division. "'After a long and violent controversy, "'humanity gained the day, "'and the provisions were put into the whaleboat "'and taken ashore. "'Upon the receipt of the provisions, "'Mr. Bates thus expressed himself, "'men, I did not for one moment "'expect such kind treatment from you "'regarding the provisions you have now brought ashore for us, "'out of so little which there was on board. "'When I consider your present undertaking "'without a competent navigator and a leaky vessel, "'your situation seems most perilous. "'Therefore I hope God will prove kind to you "'and preserve you from the manifold dangers "'you may have to encounter on the stormy ocean.' "'Mrs. Vickers also was pleased to say "'that I had behaved kindly to her, "'that she wished me well, "'and that when she returned to Hobart Town "'she would speak in my favour. "'They then chaired us on our departure, "'wishing we might be prosperous on account "'of our humanity in sharing the provisions with them.' "'Having had breakfast, we commenced throwing overboard "'the light cargo which was in the hold, "'which employed us until dinner time. "'After dinner we ran out a small kedge anchor "'with about one hundred fathoms of line "'and having weighed anchor and the tide being slack, "'we hauled on the kedge line "'and succeeded in this manner by ketching along. "'And we came to two islands, "'called the Cap and Bonnet. "'The whole of us then commenced heaving the brig short, "'sending the whale boat to take her in tow "'after we tripped the anchor. "'By this means we got her safe across the bar. "'Scarsely was this done when the light breeze "'sprang up from the south-west "'and firing a musket to apprise the party "'we had left our safety. "'We made sail and put out to sea.' "'Having read thus far, Sylvia paused "'in an agony of recollection. "'She remembered the firing of the musket "'and that her mother had wept over her. "'But beyond this all was uncertainty. "'Memories slipped across her mind like shadows. "'She caught at them and they were gone. "'Yet the reading of this strange story "'made her nerves thrill. "'Despite the hypocritical grand illicans "'and affected piety of the narrative, "'it was easy to see that saved some warping "'of the facts to make for himself a better case "'and to extol the courage of the jailers "'who had at him their mercy. "'The narrator had not attempted "'to better his tale by the invention of perils. "'The history of the desperate project had been planned "'and carried out five years before "'was related with grim simplicity, "'which, because it at once bears the stamp of truth, "'and forces the imagination of the reader "'to supply the omitted details of horror, "'is more effective to inspire sympathy "'than elaborate description. "'The very barrenness of the narration "'was hideously suggestive, "'and the girl felt her heart beat quicker "'as her poetic intellect rushed to complete "'the terrible picture sketched by the convict. "'She saw it all, the blue sea, the burning sun, "'the slowly moving ship, the wretched company on the shore. "'She heard, was that a rustling in the bushes below her? "'A bird, how nervous she was growing. "'Being thus fairly rid, as we thought, "'of our prison life, we chairfully held consultation "'as to our future course. "'It was my intention to get among the islands "'in the south seas, and scuttling the brig "'to pass ourselves off among the natives "'as shipwrecked seamen, "'trusting to God's mercy that some home "'would bound vessel might at length rescue us. "'With this view I made James Leslie first mate, "'he being an experienced mariner "'and prepared myself with what few instruments we had "'to take our departure from Birch's Rock. "'Having hauled the whale boat alongside, "'we stove her together with a jolly boat "'and cast her adrift. "'This done, I parted the landsmen with the seamen, "'and, staring east, southeast, at eight p.m., "'we set our first watch. "'In little more than an hour after this came "'on a heavy gale from the south west, "'I and others of the landsmen were violently seasick, "'and Leslie had some difficulty in handling the brig, "'as the boisterous weather called for two men at the helm. "'In the morning, getting upon deck with difficulty, "'I found that the wind had abated. "'But upon sounding the well discovered, "'much water in the hold, Leslie rigged the pumps, "'but the starboard one only could be made to work. "'From that time there were but two businesses aboard, "'from the pump to the helm. "'The gale lasted two days and a night, "'the brig running under close reef top sails, "'we being afraid to shorten sail "'less we might be overtaken by some pursuing vessel. "'So strong was the terror of our prison upon us.' "'On the sixteenth at noon I again forced myself on deck, "'and taking a meridian observation "'alter the course of the brig to east and by south, "'wishing to run the southward of New Zealand. "'Out of the usual track of shipping "'and having a notion that should our provisions hold out, "'we might make the South American coast "'and fall into Christian hands. "'This done I was compelled to retire below, "'and for a week lay in my birth as one at the last gasp. "'At times I repented my resolution, "'fair urging me to bestow myself "'as the men were not satisfied with our course. "'On the twenty-first a mutiny occurred, "'led by lions who asserted that we were heading "'into the Pacific and must infallibly perish. "'This disaffected man, though ignorant of navigation, "'insisted upon steering to the south, "'believing that we had run to the northward "'of the friendly islands, "'and was for running the ship ashore "'and beseeching the protection of the natives. "'Lessley and Vane protested that a southward course "'would bring us into ice fields. "'Barker, who had served on board a whaler, "'strove to convince the mutineers "'that the temperature of such latitudes "'was too warm for such an error to escape us. "'After much noise, lions rushed to the helm "'and Russon, drawing one of the pistols "'taken from Mr. Bates, shot him dead, "'upon which the others returned to their duty. "'This dreadful deed was, I fear, "'necessary to the safety of the brig, "'and had it occurred on board a vessel, "'man by free men would have been applauded "'as a stern but needful measure. "'Forced by these tumult upon deck, "'I made a short speech to the crew "'and convinced them that I was competent "'to perform what I had promised to do, "'though at the time my heart inwardly failed me "'and I longed for some sign of land. "'Supported at each arm by Leslie and Barker, "'I took an observation and altered our course "'to north by east. "'The brig running eleven knots an hour "'under single reef top sails "'and the pumps hard at work. "'So we ran until the 31st of January, "'when a white squall took us "'and nearly proved fatal to all aboard. "'Leslie now committed a great error, "'for upon the brig writing, "'she was thrown upon her beam ends "'and her spanker boom carried away. "'He commanded to fill the four top sails, "'striped top gallant yards, "'fill the main course and take a reef "'in the main top sail, "'leaving her to scut under single reef "'main top sail and fore sail. "'This coursed the vessel to leak to that degree "'that I despaird of reaching land in her "'and prayed to the Almighty to send a speedy assistance. "'For nine days and nights the storm continued, "'the men being utterly exhausted. "'One of the two soldiers whom we had employed "'to fish the two pieces of the spanker boom "'with some quartering that we had "'was washed overboard and drowned. "'Our provision was now nearly done, "'but the gale abating on the ninth day "'we hastened to put provisions on the launch. "'The sea was heavy and we were compelled "'to put a purchase on the fore and main yards "'with preventers to windward "'to ease the launch in going over the side. "'We got her fairly afloat at last, "'the others battening down the hatches in the brig. "'Having dressed ourselves in the clothes "'of Captain Freya and the pilot, "'we left the brig at sundown, "'lying with her channel plates nearly underwater. "'The wind freshening during the night, "'our launch, which might indeed be termed a longboat, "'having been fitted with mast, bow sprit, "'and main boom, began to be very uneasy, "'shipping two seas one after the other. "'The plan we could devise was to sit "'four of us about in the stern sheets "'with our backs to the sea "'to prevent the water pooping us. "'This itself was enough to exhaust the strongest men. "'The day, however, made a summer men's "'for the dreadful night. "'Land was not more than 10 miles from us, "'approaching as nearly as we could with safety. "'We hauled our wind and ran along in, "'trusting to find some harbour. "'At half-past two, we sighted a bay "'of very curious appearance, "'having two large rocks at the entrance, "'resembling pyramids, "'sheers, russins, and fair-landed "'in hopes of discovering fresh water, "'of which we stood much in need. "'Before long, they returned, "'stating that they had found an Indian hut, "'inside of which were some rude earthenware vessels. "'Fearful of surprise, we lay off the shore all that night, "'and putting into the bay very early in the morning "'killed a seal. "'This was the first fresh meat I had tasted for four years. "'It seemed strange to eat it under such circumstances. "'We cooked the flippers, heart, and liver for breakfast, "'giving some to a cat which we had taken "'with us out of the brig. "'For I would not willingly allow even that animal to perish. "'After breakfast, we got under way, "'and we had scarcely been out half an hour "'when we had a fresh breeze, "'which carried us along at the rate of seven knots an hour, "'running from bay to bay to find inhabitants. "'Steering along the shore, as the sun went down, "'we suddenly heard the bellowing of a bullock, "'and James Barker, whom from his violent conduct "'I thought incapable of such sentiment, burst into tears. "'In about two hours, we perceived great fires on the beach "'and let go anchor in nineteen fathoms of water. "'We lay awake all that night. "'In the morning, we rode further in shore "'and moored the boat to some seaweed. "'As soon as the inhabitants caught sight of us, "'they came down to the beach. "'I distributed needles and thread among the Indians, "'and on my saying, "'Baldivia, a woman instantly pointed "'towards the tongue of land to the Southwood, "'holding up three fingers and crying, "'Liagos, which I conjectured to be three leagues, "'the distance we afterwards found it to be. "'About three o'clock in the afternoon, "'we weathered the point pointed out by the woman "'and perceived a flagstaff and twelve-gun battery under our li. "'I now divided among the men the sum of six pounds ten shillings "'that I had found in Captain Therese Cabin "'and made another and more equal distribution of the clothing. "'There were also two watches, "'one of which I gave to Leslie and kept the other for myself. "'It was resolved among us to say that we were part crew "'of the Brig Julia, found for China and wrecked in the South Seas. "'Upon landing at the battery, we were heartily entertained, "'though we did not understand one word of what they said. "'Next morning it was agreed that Leslie, Barker, "'Shears and Russon should pay for a canoe "'to convey them to the town, "'which was nine miles up the river, "'and on the morning of the sixth of March, "'they took their departure. "'On the ninth March, a boat commanded by a lieutenant "'came down with the orders that the rest of us "'should be conveyed to town, "'and we accordingly launched the boat under convoy "'off the soldiers and reached the town the same evening, "'in some trepidation. "'I feared lest the Spaniards had obtained a clue "'as to our real character and was not deceived, "'the surviving soldier having betrayed us. "'This fellow was doubly a traitor first "'in disserting his officer "'and then in betraying his comrades. "'We were immediately escorted to prison "'where we found our four companions. "'Some of them were brazening out the story of shipwreck, "'but knowing how confused must necessarily be our accounts, "'we were examined separately. "'I persuaded them that open confession "'would be our best chance of safety. "'On the 14th we were taken before the intendentor "'or governor, who informed us that we were free, "'on condition that we chose to live "'within the limits of the town. "'At this intelligence I felt my heart grow light "'and only begged in the name of my companions "'that we might not be given up to the British government. "'Rather than which,' said I, "'I would beg to be shot dead in the palace square. "'The governor regarded us with tears and his eyes "'and spoke as follows, "'My poor men, do not think "'that I would take that advantage over you. "'Do not make an attempt to escape, "'and I will be your friend, "'and should a vessel come tomorrow to demand you, "'you shall find that I will be as good as my word. "'All I have to impress upon you is to be aware of intemperance, "'which is very prevalent in this country. "'And when you find it convenient to pay government the money "'that was allowed you for substances while in prison.' "'The following day we all procured employment "'in launching a vessel of 300 tonnes burden, "'and my men showed themselves so active "'that the owner said he would rather have us "'than 30 of his own countrymen, "'which, saying, pleased the governor, "'who was there with almost the whole of the inhabitants "'and the whole band of music, "'this vessel having been nearly three years on the stocks. "'After she was launched, the seamen amongst us "'helped to fit around, "'being paid $15 a month with provisions on board. "'As for myself, I speedily obtained employment "'in the shipbuilder's yard "'and subsisted by honest industry, "'almost forgetting in the unwanted pleasures of freedom "'the sad reverse of fortune which had befallen me. "'To think that I, who had mingled among gentlemen "'and scholars, should be thankful to labour "'in a shipwright's yard by day "'and sleep on a bundle of hides by night. "'But this is personal matter and need not to be obtruded. "'In the same yard with me worked the soldier "'who had betrayed us, "'and I could not but regard it "'as a special judgment of heaven, "'when he one day fell from a great height "'and was taken up for dead, "'dying in much torment in a few hours.' "'The days thus passed on the comparative happiness "'until the 20th of May, 1836, "'when the old governor took his departure, "'regretted by all the inhabitants of Valdivia "'and the Achilles, "'a one-and-twenty-gun brigade of war "'arrived with the new governor. "'One of the first acts of this gentleman "'was to sell our boat, "'which was moored at the back of the government house. "'This proceeding looked to my mind "'indicative of ill-will, "'and fearful lest the governor "'should deliver us again into bondage. "'I resolved to make my escape from the place. "'Having communicated my plans to Barker, Leslie, "'Raleigh, Cheers and Russon, "'I offered the governor to get built for him "'a handsome whaleboat, "'making the iron work myself. "'The governor consented, "'and in little more than a fortnote, "'we had completed a four-word whaleboat, "'capable of weathering either sea or storm. "'We fitted her with sails and provisions "'in the governor's name, "'and on the fourth of July, "'being a Saturday night, "'we took our departure from Valdivia, "'dropping down the river shortly after sunset. "'Whether the governor disgusted at the trick "'we had played him, "'decided not to pursue us, "'or whether, as I rather think, "'our absence was not discovered "'until the Monday morning, "'when we were beyond reach of capture. "'I know not. "'But we got out to sea with that hazard, "'and taken accurate bearings, "'ran for the friendly islands, "'as had been agreed upon amongst us. "'But it now seemed that the good fortune "'which hitherto attended us had deserted us. "'For after crawling for four days in sultry weather, "'there fell a dead calm, "'and we lay like a log upon the sea for 48 hours. "'For three days we remained in the midst of the ocean, "'exposed to the burning rays of the sun "'in a boat without water or provisions. "'On the fourth day, just as we had resolved "'to draw lots to determine who should die "'for the sustenance of the others, "'we were picked up by an opium clipper "'returning to Canton. "'The captain, an American, was most kind to us, "'and on our arrival at Canton, "'a subscription was got up for us "'by the British merchants of that city, "'and a free passage to England obtained for us. "'Russon, however, getting in drink, "'made statements which brought suspicion upon us. "'I had imposed upon the consul "'with a fictitious story of a wreck, "'but had stated that my name was Wilson, "'forgetting that the sextant which had been preserved "'in the boat had Captain Bates' name engraved upon it. "'These circumstances together cause sufficient doubts "'in the consul's mind to cause him to give directions "'that on our arrival in London, "'we were to be brought before the Tames Police Court. "'There being no evidence against us, "'we should have escaped, "'had not a Dr. Pine, "'who had been a surgeon on board the Malabar Transport "'being in the court, "'recognize me and swore to my identity. "'We were remanded, "'and to complete the chain of evidence, "'Mr. Cape on the Hobart Town Jailer "'was strangely enough in London at the time "'and identified us all. "'Our story was then made public, "'Embarca and Leslie turning Queen's evidence "'against Russon. "'He was convicted of the murder of Lyons and executed. "'We were then placed on board the Leviathan Hulk "'and remained there until shipped in the Lady Jane, "'which was chartered with convicts for Van Demon's land "'in order to be tried in the colony, "'where the offensors was committed "'for piratically seizing the Brig Osprey "'and arrived here on the 15th of December, 1838. "'Coming breathless to the conclusion "'of this wonderful relation, "'Sylvia suffered a hand to fall into her lap "'and sat meditative. "'The history of this desperate struggle for liberty "'was to her full of vague horror. "'She had never before realized "'among what manner of men she had lived. "'The sullen creatures who worked in the chain gangs "'or pulled in the boats, "'their faces brutalized in a uniform blankness "'must be very different men from John Rex "'and his companions. "'Her imagination pictured the voyage "'in the leaky brig, the South American slavery, "'the midnight escape, the desperate rowing, "'the long slow agony of starvation "'and the heart sickness that must have followed "'upon recapture and imprisonment. "'Surely the punishment of penal servitude "'must have been made very terrible for men to dare "'such hideous perils to escape from it. "'Surely John Rex, the convict, who, alone, "'and prostrated by sickness, quelled a mutiny "'and navigated a vessel through a storm-ravage ocean, "'must possess qualities which could be put "'to better use than stone quarrying. "'Was the opinion of Morris free of the correct one, "'after all, and were these convict monsters "'gifted with unnatural powers of endurance, "'only to be subdued and tamed by unnatural "'and inhuman punishments of lash and chain? "'Her fancies growing amid the fast-gathering gloom, "'she shuddered as she guessed to what extremities of evil "'might such men proceed. "'Did an opportunity ever come to them "'to retaliate upon their jailers? "'Perhaps beneath each marks of civility "'a sullen fear that was the ordinary prison face, "'laid hid a courage and a despair as mightiest "'that which sustained those ten poor wanderers "'over the Pacific Ocean. "'Morris had told her that these people "'had their secret signs, their secret language. "'She had just seen a specimen of the skill "'with which this very wreck, still bent upon escape, "'could send a hidden message to his friend "'beneath the eyes of his jailers. "'What if the whole island was but one "'smouldering volcano of revolt and murder? "'The whole convict population but one "'incarnated conspiracy, bound together by crime and suffering. "'Terrible to think of, yet not impossible. "'Oh, how strangely must the world have been civilised? "'That this most lovely corner of it must needs be set "'apart as the place of banishment for the monsters "'that civilisation had brought forth and bred. "'She cast her eyes around, and all beauty "'seem blotted out from the scene before her. "'The graceful foliage, melting into indistinctness "'in the gathering twilight, appeared to her horrible "'and treacherous. "'The river seemed to flow sluggishly, "'as though thickened with blood and tears. "'The shadow of the tree seemed to hold lurking shapes "'of cruelty and danger. "'Even the whispering breeze bore with it its size "'and threats and mutterings of revenge. "'Opressed by a terror of loneliness, "'she hastily caught up the manuscript "'and turned to seek the house, "'when, as if summoned from the earth "'by the power of her own fears, "'a ragged figure barred her passage. "'To the excited girl, this apparition seemed "'the embodiment of the unknown evil she had dreaded. "'She'd recognise the yellow clothing "'and mark the eager hands outstretched to seize her. "'Instantly upon her flashed the story "'that three days since had set the prison town agog, "'the Desperado of Port Arthur. "'The escape mutineer and murderer was before her "'with unchained arms, free to wreak his will of her. "'Silvia, it is you. "'Oh, at last I have escaped and come to ask, "'what, do you not know me?' "'Pressing both hands to her bosom, "'she stepped back a pace speechless with terror. "'I'm Rufus Dawes,' he said, "'looking in her face for the grateful smile "'of recognition that did not come. "'Rufus Dawes!' "'The party at the house had finished their wine "'and sitting on the broad veranda "'were listening to some gentle dullness of the clergymen, "'when they broke upon their ears a cry. "'What's that?' said Vickers. "'Frair sprang up and looked down the garden. "'He saw two figures that seemed to struggle together. "'One glance was enough, and with a shout "'he leapt the flowerbeds "'and made straight at the escaped prisoner. "'Rufus Dawes saw him coming, "'but, secure in the protection of the girl "'who owed him so much, he advanced a step-nearer "'and, loosing his respectful clasp of her hand, "'caught her dress.' "'Oh, help, Morris, help!' cried Sylvia again. "'Into the face of Rufus Dawes came an expression "'of horror-stricken bewilderment, "'for three days the unhappy man had contrived "'to keep life and freedom in order to get speech "'with a one being who, he thought, "'cherished for him some affection. "'Having made an unparalleled escape "'from the midst of his waters, "'he had crept to the place "'where lived the idol of his dreams. "'Braving recaptured that he might hear "'from her two words of justice and gratitude. "'Not only did she refuse to listen to him "'and shrink from him as from one accursed, "'but at the sound of his name, "'she summoned his deadliest foe to capture him. "'Such monstrous ingratitude was almost beyond belief. "'She too, the child he had nursed and fed, "'the child for whom he had given up "'his hard-earned chance of freedom and fortune, "'the child of whom he had dreamed, "'the child whose image he had worshipped. "'She too, against him. "'Then there was no justice, no heaven, no God. "'He lost his hold of address "'and regardless of the approaching footsteps "'still speechless, shaking from head to foot. "'In another instant Freer and McNabb flung "'themselves upon him, and he was born to the ground. "'Though weakened by starvation, "'he shook them off with scarce an effort, "'and despite the servants who came hurrying "'from the alarmed house, "'might even then have turned and made good his escape. "'But he seemed unable to fly. "'His chest heaved convulsively, "'great drops of sweat beaded his white face, "'and from his eyes tears seemed about to break. "'For an instant his features worked convulsively, "'as if he would feign invoke upon the girl, "'weeping on her father's shoulder some hideous curse. "'But no words came, "'only thrusting his hand into his breast "'with a supreme gesture of horror and aversion. "'He flung something from him. "'Then a profound sigh escaped him, "'and he held out his hands to be bound. "'There was something so pitiable about this silent grief "'that as they led him away, "'the little group instinctively averted their faces, "'less they should seem to triumph over him.'" End of Section 39 Section 40 of For the Turn of His Natural Life This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. For the Turn of His Natural Life by Marcus Clarke. Book III, Poor Arthur, 1838, Chapter 11, A Relic of Macquarie Harbour. "'You must try and save him from further punishment,' said Sylvia, next day to Freya. "'I do not mean to betray the poor creature, "'but I had made myself nervous "'by reading that convict story. "'You shouldn't read such rubbish,' said Freya. "'What's the use? "'I don't suppose a word of it's true. "'It must be true. I am sure it's true. "'Oh, Morris, these are dreadful men. "'I thought I knew all about convicts, "'but I had no idea that such men as these were among them. "'Thank God you know very little,' said Morris. "'The servants you have here "'are very different sort of fellows from wrecks and company. "'Oh, Morris, I am so tired of this place. "'It's wrong, perhaps, with poor Papa and all. "'But I do wish I was somewhere out of the sight of chains. "'I don't know what has made me feel as I do.' "'Come to Sydney,' said Freya. "'There are not so many convicts there. "'It was arranged that we should go to Sydney, you know.' "'For our honeymoon?' "'Yes,' said Sylvia, simply. "'I know it was, but we are not married yet. "'That's easily done,' said Morris. "'Oh, Nonsense, sir, "'but I want to speak to you about this poor doors. "'I don't think he meant any harm. "'It seems to me now that he was rather going "'to ask for food or something. "'Only I was so nervous. "'They won't hang him. "'Morris will lay.' "'No,' said Morris. "'I spoke to your father this morning. "'If the fellow is tried for his life, "'you may have to give evidence. "'And so we came to the conclusion "'that poor Arthur again and heavy Irons "'will meet the case. "'We gave him another life sentence this morning "'that will make the third he has had. "'What did he say?' "'Nothing. "'I sent him down aboard the schooner at once. "'He ought to be out at the river by this time. "'Morris, I have a strange feeling about that man. "'Ah,' said Morris. "'I seemed to fear him "'as if I knew some story about him "'and yet didn't know it. "'That's not very clear,' said Morris, forcing a laugh. "'But don't let's talk about him any more. "'We'll soon be far from poor Arthur and everybody in it.' "'Morris,' said she, caressingly, "'I love you, dear. "'You'll always protect me against these men, won't you?' "'Morris kissed her. "'You have not gone over your fright, Sylvia,' he said. "'I see I shall have to take a great deal of care of my wife.' "'Of course,' replied Sylvia. "'And then the pair began to make love, or rather, "'Morris made it, and Sylvia suffered him. "'Suddenly her eye caught something. "'What's that there on the ground by the fountain? "'They were near the spot where doors had been seized "'the night before. "'A little stream ran through the garden, "'and a triton of convict manufacturer "'lew his horn in the middle of a convict-built rockery. "'Under the lip of the fountain lay a small packet. "'Free it, picked it up. "'It was made of soiled yellow cloth "'and stitched evidently by a man's fingers. "'It looks like a needle case,' said he. "'Let me see what a strange-looking thing. "'Yellow cloth, too. "'Why, it must belong to a prisoner. "'Oh, Morris, the man who was here last night.' "'Ah,' says Morris, turning over the packet. "'It might have been his, sure enough.' "'He seemed to fling something from him, I thought. "'Perhaps this is it,' said she, "'peering over his arm in delicate curiosity. "'Free, with something of a scowl on his brow, "'tore off the outer covering of the mysterious packet "'and displayed a second envelope of grey cloth, "'the good conduct uniform. "'Beneath this was a piece some three inches square "'of stained and discoloured merino that had once been blue. "'Hello,' says Freya. "'Why, what's this?' "'It is a piece of a dress,' says Sylvia. "'It was Rufus Dore's talisman, "'a portion at the frock she had worn at Macquarie Harbour, "'in which the unhappy convict had cherished "'as a sacred relic for five weary years. "'Free, flung it into the water. "'The running stream welded away. "'Why did you do that?' cried the girl, "'with a sudden pang of remorse for which she could not account. "'The shred of cloth caught by a weed, "'lingered for an instant on the surface of the water. "'Almost at the same moment, "'the pair, raising their eyes, "'saw the schooner which bore Rufus Dore's back to bondage, "'guide past the opening of the trees and disappear. "'When they looked again for the strange relic "'at the Desperado of Port Arpa, it also had vanished.'" End of Section 40. Section 41 of for the term of his natural life. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. For the term of his natural life, by Marcus Clarke. Book 3, Port Arpa, 1838. Chapter 12, At Port Arpa. The usual clanking and hammering was prevalent upon the stone jetty of Port Arpa when the schooner bearing the returned convict, Rufus Dore's, ran alongside. On the heights above the esplanade rose the grim front of the soldiers' barracks. Beneath the soldiers' barracks was the long range of prison buildings with their workshops and tampits. To the left lay the commandant's house, authority by reason of its embers-hewed terrace, and guardian's sentry, while the jetty that faced the purple length of the island of the dead swarmed with party-colored figures, clanking about their enforced business under the muskets of their jailers. Rufus Dore's had seen this prospect before, had learnt by heart each beauty of rising sun, sparkling water, and wooded hill. From the hideously clean jetty at his feet to the distant signal station that, in bowed in bloom, reared its slender arms upwards into the cloudless sky, he knew it all. There was no charm for him in the exquisite blue of the sea, the soft shadows of the hills, or the soothing ripple of the waves that crept voluptuously to the white breast of the shining shore. He sat with his head bowed down, and his hands clasped about his knees, disdaining to look until they roused him. Hello, Dore's, says Warder Troke, holding his train of iron jello jackets. So you've come back again. Glad to see you, Dore's. It seems an age since we had the pleasure of your company, Dore's. At this, pleasantry, the train laughed, so that their irons clank more than ever. They found it often inconvenient not to laugh at Mr. Troke's humour. Step down here, Dore's, and let me introduce you to your old friends. They'll be glad to see you, won't you, boys? Why, bless me, Dore's. We thought we'd lost you. We thought you'd given us the slip altogether, Dore's. They didn't take care of your in Hobart Town I expect, eh, boys? We'll look after you here, Dore's, though. You won't bolt any more? Take care, Mr. Troke, said a warning voice. You're at it again. Let the man alone. By virtue of an order transmitted from Hobart Town, they had begun to attach the dangerous prisoner to the last man of the gang, riveting the leg irons of the pair by means of an extra link, which could be removed when necessary. But Dore's had given no sign of consciousness. At the sound of the friendly tones, however, he looked up and saw a tall, gaunt man dressed in a shabby pepper and salt raiment and wearing a black handkerchief knotted round his throat. He was a stranger to him. I beg your pardon, Mr. North, said Troke, sinking at once the bully in the sneak. I didn't see your reverence. A parson thought Dore's with disappointment and dropped his eyes. I know that, return, Mr. North, coolly. If you had, you would have been all butter and honey. Don't trouble yourself to tell a lie. It's quite unnecessary. Dore's looked up again. This was a strange parson. What's your name, my man, said Mr. North, suddenly catching his eye. Rufus Dore's had intended to scowl, but the tone, sharply authoritative, roused his automatic convict second nature, and he answered almost despite himself. Rufus Dore's, oh, said Mr. North, eyeing him with the curious air of expectation that had something pitting in it. This is the man, is it? I thought he was to go to the coal mines. So he is, said Troke, but we aren't are going to send there for a fortnight. And in the meantime, I'm to work him on the train. Oh, said Mr. North again, lend me your knife, Troke. And then, before them all, this curious parson took a piece of tobacco out of his ragged pocket and cut off a chore with Mr. Troke's knife. Rufus Dore's felt what he had not felt for three days, an interest in something. He stared at the parson in unaffected astonishment. Mr. North perhaps mistook the feeling of his fixed stare, for he held out the remnant of tobacco to him. The chain-line vibrated at this and bent forward to enjoy the precarious delight of seeing another man chew tobacco. Troke grinned with a silent mirth that betoken retribution for the favoured convict. Here, said Mr. North, holding out the dainty morsel upon which so many eyes were fixed. Rufus Dore's took the tobacco, looked at it hungrily for an instant, and then to the astonishment of everybody flung it away with a curse. I don't want your tobacco, he said, keep it. From convict mouths went out a respectful roar of amazement, and Mr. Troke's eyes snapped with pride of outraged genitorship. You ungrateful dog, he cried, raising his stick. Mr. North put up a hand. That will do, Troke, he said. I know your respect for the cloth. Move the men on again. Get on, said Troke, rumbling oaths beneath his breath, and Dore's felt his newly riveted chain tub. It was some time since he had been in a chain gang, and the sudden jerk nearly overbalanced him. He called at his neighbour, and looking up, met a pair of black eyes which gleamed recognition. His neighbour was John Rex. Mr. North, watching them, was struck by the resemblance the two men bore to each other. Their height, eyes, hair, and complexion were similar. Despite the difference in name, they might be related. They might be brothers, thought he, Paul Devils. I never knew a prisoner refused tobacco before, and he looked on the ground for the despised portion. But in vain, John Rex, oppressed by no foolish sentiment, had picked it up and put it in his mouth. So Rufus Dawes was relegated to his old life again, and came back to his prison with the hatred of his kind, that his prison had bred in him, increased a hundredfold. It seemed to him that the sudden awakening had dazed him, that the flood of light, so suddenly let in upon his slumbering soul, had blinded his eyes, used so long to the sweetly cheating twilight. He was at first unable to apprehend the details of his misery. He knew only that his dream child was alive and shuddered at him, that the only thing he loved and trusted had betrayed him, that all hope of justice and mercy had gone from him forever, that the beauty had gone from earth, the brightness from heaven, and that he was doomed still to live. He went about his work, unheedful of the jests of trope, unbawled by his irons, unmindful of the groans and laughter about him. His magnificent muscles saved him from the lash, for their amiable trope tried to break him down in vain. He did not complain, he did not laugh, he did not weep. His mate, Rex, tried to converse with him, but did not succeed. In the midst of one of Rex's excellent tales of London dissipation, Rufus Dawes would sigh wearily. There's something on that fellow's mind, thought Rex, prone to watch the signs by which the soul is read. He has some secret which weighs upon him. It was in vain that Rex attempted to discover what his secret might be. To all questions concerning his past life, however artfully put, Rufus Dawes was dumb. In vain Rex practised all his arts, called up all his graces of manner and speech, and these were not few to fascinate the silent man and win his confidence. Rufus Dawes met his advances with a cynical carelessness that revealed nothing, and, when not addressed, held a gloomy silence. Gulled by this indifference, John Rex had attempted to practise those ingenious arts of torment by which Gabbard, Bech, or other leading spirits of the gang, asserted their superiority over their quieter comrades. That he soon ceased, I have been longer in this hell than you, said Rufus Dawes, and I know more of the devil's tricks than you can show me. You had best be quiet. Rex neglected the warning, and Rufus Dawes took him by the throat one day and would have strangled him, but that trope beat off the angered man with a favourite bludgeon. Rex had a wholesome respect for personal prowess and had the grace to admit the provocation to trope. Even this instance of self-denial did not move the stubborn Dawes. He only laughed. Then Rex came to a conclusion his mate was plotting an escape. He himself cherished a notion of the kind as did Gabbard and Bech, but by common distrust no one ever gave utterance to thoughts of this nature. It would be too dangerous. He would be a good comrade for a rush, thought Rex, and resolved more firmly than ever to ally himself to this dangerous and silent companion. One question Dawes had asked which Rex had been able to answer, who is that North? A chaplain. He is only here for a week or so. There is a new one coming. North goes to Sydney. He is not in favour with the bishop. How do you know? By deduction, says Rex, with a smile peculiar to him. He wears coloured clothes and smokes and doesn't pat a scripture. The bishop dresses in black, detests tobacco, and quotes the Bible like a concordance. North is sent here for a month as a warming pan for that ass-meakin. Ergo, the bishop, don't care about North. Jimmy Bech, who was next to Rex, let the full weight of his portion of tree trunk rest upon Gabbard in order to express his unrestrained admiration of Mr. Rex's sarcasm. Ain't the dandy a winner, said he. Are you thinking of coming, the pious? Ask Rex. It's no good with North. Wait until the highly intelligent meakin comes. You can twist that worthy successor of the apostles round your little finger. Silence there, cries the overseer. Do you want me to root portrait? Amid such diversions the days rolled on and roofed the stores almost long for the coal mines. To be sent from the settlement to the coal mines and from the coal mines to the settlement was to these unhappy men a trip. At Port Arthur one went to an outstation as more fortunate people go to Queenscliff or the ocean beach nowadays for change of air. End of section 41. Section 42 of for the term of his natural life. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mark Welch. For the term of his natural life by Marcus Clark. Book 3. Port Arthur 1838. Chapter 13. The Commandant's Butler. Rufus Dawes had been a fortnight at the settlement when a newcomer appeared on the chain gang. This was a young man of about 20 years of age. Thin, fair and delicate. His name was Kirkland and he belonged to what were known as the educated prisoners. He had been a clerk in a banking house and was transported for embezzlement though by some grave doubts as to his guilt were entertained. The Commandant, Captain Burgess, had employed him as a butler in his own house and his fate was considered a lucky one. So doubtless it was and might have been had not an untoward accident occurred. Captain Burgess who is a bachelor of the old school confessed to an amiable weakness for blasphemy and was given to condemning the convict's eyes and limbs with indiscriminate violence. Kirkland belonged to a Methodist family and owned a piety utterly out of place in that region. The language of Burgess made him shudder and one day he so forgot himself and his place as to raise his hands to his ears. My blank cried Burgess, you blank blank! Is that your blank game? I'll blank soon cure you of that! And forthwith ordered him to the chain gang for insubordination. He was recieved with suspicion by the gang who did not like white-handed prisoners. Troke, by way of experiment and human nature, perhaps placed him next to Gebet. The day was got through in the usual way and Kirkland felt his heart revive. The toil was severe and the companionship uncouth, but despite his blistered hands and aching back, he had not experienced anything so very terrible after all. When the musterbell rang and the gang broke up, Rufus Dawes on his silent way to a separate cell observed a notable change of custom in the disposition of the new convict. Instead of placing him in a cell by himself, Troke was turning him into the yard with the others. Stop! I'm not to go in there, says the ex-bank clerk drawing back in dismay from the cloud of foul faces which lowered upon him. By the Lord you are, then, says Troke. The Governor says a night in there will take the starch out of you. Come, in you go. But Mr. Troke, stow your gaff, says Troke, with another oath and impatiently striking the lad with his thong. I can't argue here all night. Get in! So Kirkland, aged twenty-two, and the son of Methodist parents, went in. Rufus Dawes, among whose sinister memories this yard was numbered, sighed. So fierce was the glamour of the place, however, that when locked into his cell he felt ashamed for that sigh, and strove to erase the memory of it. What is he more than anybody else, said the wretched man to himself, as he hugged his misery close? About dawn the next morning, Mr. North, who, amongst other vagaries not approved of by his bishop, had a habit of prowling about the prison at unofficial hours, was attracted by a dispute at the door of the dormitory. What's the matter here, he asked? A prisoner refractory, your reverence, said the watchman, wants to come out. Mr. North, Mr. North cried a voice, For the love of God let me out of this place! Kirkland, ghastly pale, bleeding, with his woollen shirt torn, and his blue eyes wide open with terror, was clinging to the bars. Oh, Mr. North, Mr. North, oh, Mr. North, oh, for God's sake, Mr. North! What Kirkland cried North, who was ignorant of the vengeance of the commandant, what do you do here? But Kirkland could do nothing but cry, Oh, Mr. North, for God's sake, Mr. North, and beat on the bars with white and sweating hands. Let him out, watchman, said North. Can't, sir, without an order from the commandant. I order you, sir, North cried, indignant. Very sorry, your reverence, but your reverence knows that I dare not do such a thing. Mr. North screamed, Kirkland. Would you see me perish, body and soul in this place? Mr. North, oh, you ministers of Christ, wolves in sheep's clothing, you shall be judged for this. Let him out, cried North again, stamping his foot. It's no good, returned the goer. I can't, if he was dying I can't. North rushed away to the commandant, and the instant his back was turned, hails the watchman, flung open the door and darted into the dormitory. Take that, he cried, dealing Kirkland a blow on the head with his keys that stretched him senseless. There's more trouble with you bloody aristocrats than enough. Lie quiet. The commandant, roused from slumber, told Mr. North that Kirkland might stop where he was, and that he'd thank the chaplain, not to wake him up in the middle of the night, because a blank prisoner set up a blank howling. But my good sir protested North, restraining his impulse to overstep the bounds of modesty, in his language to a superior officer. You know the character of the man in that ward. You can guess what that unhappy boy has suffered. Impertinent young beggar, said Burgess. Do him good. Curse him. Mr. North, I'm sorry you should have had the trouble to come here, but will you let me go to sleep? North returned to the prison, disconsonately, found the dutiful hails at his post, and all quiet. What's become of Kirkland, he asked. Fredded his self to sleep, your reverence, said hails, an accent of parental concern. Poor young chap, it's hard for such youngens. In the morning, Rufus Dawes, coming to his place on the chain-gang, was struck by the altered appearance of Kirkland. His face was of a greenish tint, and wore an expression of bewildered horror. Cheer up, man, said Dawes, touched with momentary pity. It's no good being in the mopes, you know. What do they do if you try to bolt, whispered Kirkland? Kill you, returned Dawes, in a tone of surprise at so preposterous a question. Thank God, said Kirkland. Now then, Miss Nancy, said one of the men. What's the matter with you? Kirkland shuddered, and his pale face grew crimson. Oh, he said, that's such a wretch as I should live. Silence, cried Troke. Number forty-four, if you can't hold your tongue, I'll give you something to talk about, March. The work of the gang that afternoon was the carrying of some heavy logs to the waterside, and Rufus Dawes observed that Kirkland was exhausted long before the task was accomplished. They'll kill you, you little beggar, said he, not unkindly. What have you been doing to get into this scrape? Have you ever been in that place I was in last night? asked Kirkland. Rufus Dawes nodded. Does the Commandant know what goes on there? I suppose so. What does he care? Care. Man, do you believe in a God? No, said Dawes, not here. Hold up, my lad. If you fall, we must fall over you, and then you're done for. He had hardly uttered the words when the boy flung himself beneath the log. In another instant the train would have been scrambling over his crushed body, had not Gebet stretched out an iron hand and plucked the would-be suicide from death. Hold on to me, Miss Nancy, said the Giant. I'm big enough to carry double. Something in the tone or manner the Speaker affected Kirkland to disgust. For, spurning the offered hand, he uttered a cry and then, holding up his irons with his hands, he started to run for the water. Halt, you young fool, roared troke, raising his carbine. But Kirkland kept steadily on for the river. Just as he reached it, however, the figure of Mr. North rose from behind a pile of stones. Kirkland jumped for the jetty, missed his footing, and fell into the arms of the chaplain. You young vermin, you shall pay for this, cries troke. You will see if you won't remember this day. Oh, Mr. North, says Kirkland. Why did you stop me? I'd be better dead than to stay another night in that place. You'll get it, my lad, said Gebet, when the runaway was brought back. Your blessed, hideal feel for this, see if it don't. Kirkland only breathed harder, and looked round for Mr. North. But Mr. North had gone. The new chaplain was to arrive that afternoon, and it was incumbent on him to be at the reception. Troke reported the ex-bank clerk that night to Burgess, and Burgess, who was about to go to dinner with the new chaplain, disposed of his case out of hand. Tried to bolt, eh? Must stop that! Fifty lashes, troke! Tell McElwain to be ready, or stay. I'll tell him myself. I'll break the young devil's spirit, blank him. Yes, sir, said troke. Good evening, sir. Troke, pick out some likely man, will you? That last fellow you had ought to have been tied up himself. His flogging wouldn't have killed a flea. You can't get him to warm one another, your honour, says troke. They won't do it. Oh yes they will, though, says Burgess, or I'll know the reason why. I won't have my men knocked up with flogging these rascals. If the Scourger won't do his duty, tie him up, and give him five and twenty for himself. I'll be down in the morning myself, if I can. Very good, your honour, says troke. Kirkland was put into a separate cell that night, and troke, by way of assuring him a good night's rest, told him that he was to have fifty in the morning. And Dawes lay it on, he added. He's one of the smartest men I've got. And he won't spare you. You may take your oath of that. End of Section 42 Section 43 of—for the term of his natural life. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mark Welch For the term of his natural life. By Marcus Clark Book 3, Port Arthur 1838, Chapter 14, Mr. North's Disposition You will find this a terrible place, Mr. Mekin said, north to his supplanter, as they walked across to the commandants to dinner. It has made me heart-sick. I thought it was a little paradise, said Mekin. Captain Freyre says that the scenery is delightful. So it is, returned North, looking a scance. But the prisoners are not delightful. Poor abandoned wretches, says Mekin. I suppose not. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon that bank. A. Abandoned indeed, by God and man, almost. Mr. North providence never abandons the most unworthy of his servants. Never have I seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread. In the valley of the shadow of death he is with us. His staff, you know. Mr. North, really, the commandant's house is charmingly situated. Mr. North sighed again. You have not been long in the colony, Mr. Mekin. I doubt, forgive me for expressing myself so freely, if you quite know of our convict system. An admirable one, a most admirable one, said Mekin. There were a few matters I noticed in Hobartown that did not quite please me. The frequent use of profane language, for instance. But on the whole I was delighted with the scheme. It is so complete. North pursed up his lips. Yes, it is very complete, he said. Almost too complete. But I am always in a minority when I discuss the question, so we will drop it, if you please. If you please, said Mekin Gravely. He had heard from the bishop that Mr. North was an ill-conditioned sort of person, who smoked clay pipes, had been detected in drinking beer out of a pewter pot, and had been heard to state that white-neck claws were of no consequence. The dinner went off successfully. Burgess, desirous, perhaps of favorably impressing the chaplain, whom the bishop delighted to honor, shut off his blasphemy for a while, and was urbane enough. You'll find us rough, Mr. Mekin, he said. But you'll find us all there when we're wanted. This is a little kingdom in itself. Like Bayrangers asked Mr. Mekin with a smile, Captain Burgess had never heard of Bayranger, but he smiled as if he had learned his words by heart. Or like Sancho Pons's Island, said North, you remember how justice was administered there? Not at this moment, sir, said Burgess with dignity. He had been often oppressed by the notion that the Reverend Mr. North chafed him. Pray help yourself to wine. Thank you none, said North, filling a tumbler with water. I have a headache. His manner of speech and action was so awkward that a silence fell upon the party, caused by each one wondering why Mr. North should grow confused, and drum his fingers on the table, and stare everywhere but at the decanter. Mekin, ever softly at his ease, was the first to speak. Have you many visitors, Captain Burgess? Very few. Sometimes a party comes over with a recommendation from the Governor, and I show them over the place, but as a rule we see no one but ourselves. I asked, said Mekin, because some friends of mine were thinking of coming. And who may they be? Do you know Captain Frair? Frair, I should say so, returned Burgess with a laugh, modelled upon Maurice Frair's own. I was quartered with him at Sarah Island. So he's a friend of yours, eh? I had the pleasure of meeting him in society. He is just married, you know. Is, he said, Burgess. The devil he is. I heard something about it, too. Miss Vickers, a charming young person. They are going to Sydney where Captain Frair has some interest, and Frair thinks of taking Port Arthur on his way down. Strange fancy for a honeymoon trip, said North. Captain Frair takes a deep interest, and all relating to convict discipline went on Mekin, unheeding the interruption, and is anxious that Mrs. Frair should see this place. Yes, one oughtn't to leave the colony without seeing it, says Burgess. It's worth seeing. So Captain Frair thinks. A romantic story, Captain Burgess. He saved her life, you know. Ah, that was a queer thing, that mutiny, said Burgess. We've got the fellows here, you know. I saw them tried at Hobart Town, said Mekin. In fact, the ringleader, John Rex, gave me his confession, and I sent it to the bishop. A great rascal put in North, a dangerous, scheming, cold-blooded villain. Well now, said Mekin with disparity. I don't agree with you. Everybody seems to be against that poor fellow. Captain Frair tried to make me think that his letters contained a hidden meaning. But I don't believe they did. He seems to me to be truly penitent for his offences. A misguided, but not a hypocritical man, if my knowledge of human nature goes for anything. I hope he is, said North. I wouldn't trust him. Oh, there's no fear of him, said Burgess cheerily. If he grows up rorious, we'll soon give him a touch of the cat. I suppose severity is necessary, returned Mekin. Though to my ears a flogging sounds a little distasteful. It is a brutal punishment. It's a punishment for brutes, said Burgess, and laughed. Pleased with the nearest approach to an epigram he ever made in his life. Here attention was called by the strange behavior of Mr. North. He had risen, and without apology, flung wide the window as though he gassed for air. Hello, North, what's the matter? Nothing, said North, recovering himself with an effort. A spasm. I have these attacks at times. Have some brandy, said Burgess. No, no, it will pass. No, I say. Well, if you insist, and seizing the tumbler offered to him, he half filled it with raw spirit, and swallowed the fiery draught at a gulp. The Reverend Mekin eyed his clerical brother with horror. The Reverend Mekin was not accustomed to clergymen who wore black neckties, smoked clay pipes, chewed tobacco, and drank neat brandy out of tumblers. Ha! said North, looking wildly round upon them. That's better. Let us go on to the verandah, said Burgess. It's cooler than in the house. So they went on to the verandah, and looked down upon the lights of the prison, and listened to the sea lapping the shore. The Reverend Mr. North, in this cool atmosphere, seemed to recover himself, and conversation progressed with some sprightliness. By and by a short figure, smoking a charoute, came up out of the dark, and proved to be Dr. McElwain, who had been prevented from attending the dinner by reason of an accident to a constable at Norfolk Bay, which had claimed his professional attention. Well, how's Forrest, cried Burgess. Mr. Mekin, Dr. McElwain. Dead, said Dr. McElwain. Delighted to see you, Mr. Mekin. Conn found it another of my best men, grumbled Burgess. McElwain have a glass of wine, but McElwain was tired, and wanted to get home. I must also be thinking of repose, said Mekin. The journey, though most enjoyable, has fatigued me. Come on, then, said North. Our roads lie together, Dr. You won't have a nip of brandy before you start, asked Burgess. No? Then I shall send round for you in the morning, Mr. Mekin. Good night. McElwain, I want to speak with you a moment. Before the two clergymen had got halfway down the steep path, that led from the commandant's house to the flat, on which the cottages of the doctor and chaplain were built, McElwain rejoined them. Another flogging to-morrow, said he grumblingly. Up at daylight, I suppose, again. Whom is he going to flog now? That young Butler fellow of his. What, Kirkland? cried North. You don't mean to say he's going to flog Kirkland? In subordination, says McElwain. Fifty lashes. Oh, this must be stopped, cried North, in great alarm. He can't stand it. I tell you he'll die, McElwain. Perhaps you'll have the goodness to allow me to be the best judge of that, returned McElwain, drying up his little body to its least insignificant stature. My dear sir, replied North, alive to the importance of conciliating the surgeon. You haven't seen him lately. He tried to drown himself this morning. Mr. Meakin expressed some alarm, but Dr. McElwain reassured him. That sort of nonsense must be stopped, said he, a nice example to set. I wonder Burgess didn't give him a hundred. He was put into the long dormitory, said North. You know what sort of a place that is. I declare to heaven his agony and shame terrified me. Well, he'll be put into the hospital for a week or so tomorrow, said McElwain, and that'll give him a spell. If Burgess flogs him, I'll report it to the governor cries North in great heat. The condition of those dormitories is infamous. If the boy has anything to complain of, why don't he complain? We can't do anything without evidence. Complain? Would his life be safe if he did? Besides, he's not the sort of creature to complain. He'd rather kill himself. That's all nonsense, says McElwain. We can't flog a whole dormitory on suspicion. I can't help it. The boy's made his bed, and he must lie on it. I'll go back and see Burgess, said North. Mr. Meakin, here's the gate, and your room is on the right hand. I'll be back shortly. Pray don't hurry, said Meakin politely. You're on an errand of mercy, you know. Everything must give way to that. I shall find my portmanteau in my room, you said. Yes, yes. Call the servant if you want anything. He sleeps at the back, and North hurried off. An impulsive gentleman, said Meakin to McElwain, as the sound of Mr. North's footsteps died away in the distance. McElwain shook his head seriously. There is something wrong about him, but I can't make out what it is. He has the strangest fits at times. Unless it's a cancer in the stomach, I don't know what it can be. Cancer in the stomach? Dear me! How dreadful, says Meakin. Ah! Doctor, we all have our crosses, have we not? How delightful the grass smells! This seems a very pleasant place, and I think I shall enjoy myself very much. Good night. Good night, sir. I hope you will be comfortable. And let us hope poor Mr. North will succeed in his labour of love, said Meakin, shutting the little gate, and save the unfortunate Kirkland. Good night, once more. Captain Burgess was shutting his veranda window, when North hurried up. Captain Burgess. McElwain tells me you're going to flog Kirkland. Well, sir, what of that? said Burgess. I have come to beg you not to do so, sir. The lad has been cruelly punished already. He attempted suicide today. Unhappy creature. Well, that's just what I'm flogging him for. I'll teach my prisoners to attempt suicide. But he can't stand it, sir. He's too weak. That's McElwain's business. Captain Burgess protested North. I assure you that he does not deserve punishment. I have seen him, and his condition of mind is pitiable. Look here, Mr. North. I don't interfere with what you do to the prisoner's souls. Don't you interfere with what I do to their bodies? Captain Burgess, you have no right to mock at my office. Then don't you interfere with me, sir? Do you persist in having this boy flogged? I've given my orders, sir. Then Captain Burgess cried North, his pale face flushing. I tell you the boy's blood will be on your head. I'm a minister of God, sir, and I forbid you to commit this crime. Damn your impertinent, sir, burst out Burgess. You're a dismissed officer of the government, sir. You've no authority here in any way, and by God, sir, if you interfere with my discipline, sir. I'll have you put in irons until you're shipped out of the island. This, of course, was mere bravado on the part of the commandant. North knew well that he would never dare to attempt any such act of violence. But the insults stung him like the cut of a whip. He made a stride towards the commandant, as though to seize him by the throat, but checking himself in time stood still with clenched hands, flashing eyes, and beard that bristled. The two men looked at each other, and presently Burgess's eyes fell before those of the chaplain. Miserable blasphemer says North, I'll tell you you shall not flog the boy. Burgess, white with rage, rang the bell that summoned his convict servant. Show Mr. North out, he said, and go down to the barracks until troke that Kirkland is to have a hundred lashes to-morrow. I'll show you whose master here, my good sir. I'll report this to the government, said North aghast. This is murderous. The government may go to—and you too, roared Burgess, get out! And God's vice regent at Port Arthur slammed the door. North returned home in great agitation. They shall not flog that boy, he said. I'll shield him with my own body if necessary. I'll report this to the government. I'll see Sir John Franklin myself. I'll have the light of day led into this den of horrors. He reached his cottage and lighted the lamp in the little sitting-room. All was silent, save that from the adjoining chamber, came the sound of Meakin's gentlemanly snore. North took down a book from the shelf and tried to read it, but the letters ran together. I wish I hadn't taken that brandy, he said, fool that I am. Then he began to walk up and down, to fling himself on the sofa, to read, to pray. Oh God, give me strength, aid me, help me. I struggle, but I am weak. Oh Lord, look down upon me. To see him rolling on the sofa in agony, to see his white face, his parched lips, and his contracted brow, to hear his moans and muttered prayers, one would have thought him suffering from the pangs of some terrible disease. He opened the book again, and forced himself to read. But his eyes wandered to the cupboard. There lurked something that fascinated him. He got up at length, went into the kitchen, and found a packet of red pepper. He mixed a teaspoon of this in a panic and of water, and drank it. It relieved him for a while. I must keep my wits for tomorrow. The life of that lad depends on it. Meakin too will suspect. I will lie down. He went into his bedroom and flung himself on the bed, but only to toss from side to side. In vain he repeated texts of scripture and scraps of verse. In vain counted imaginary sheep, or listened to imaginary clock tickings. Sleep would not come to him. It was as though he had reached the crisis of a disease, which had been for days gathering force. I must have a teaspoon full, he said, to allay the craving. Twice he paused on the way to the sitting-room, and twice was he driven on by a power stronger than his will. He reached it at length, and opening the cupboard pulled out what he sought—a bottle of brandy. With this in his hand, all moderation vanished. He raised it to his lips and eagerly drank. Then ashamed of what he had done, he thrust the bottle back, and made for his room. Still he could not sleep. The taste of the liquor maddened him for more. He saw in the darkness the brandy bottle, vulgar and terrible apparition. He saw its amber-fluid sparkle. He heard it gurgle as he poured it out. He smelt the nutty aroma of the spirit. He pictured it standing in the corner of the cupboard, and imagined himself seizing it and quenching the fire that burned within him. He wept, he prayed. He fought with his desire as with a madness. He told himself that another's life depended on his exertions, that to give way to his fatal passion was unworthy of an educated man, and a reasoning being that it was degrading, disgusting, and bestial, that at all times debasing, at this particular time it was infamous, that a vice unworthy of any man was doubly sinful in a man of education, and a minister of God, in vain. In the midst of his arguments he found himself at the cupboard, with the bottle at his lips, in an attitude that was at once ludicrous and horrible. He had no cancer. His disease was a more terrible one. The Reverend James North, gentleman, scholar, and Christian priest, was what the world calls a confirmed drunkard. Chapter 15 100 Lashes The morning sun, bright and fierce, looked down upon a curious sight. In a stoneyard was a little group of persons, troke, burgess, macklewayne, Kirkland, and Rufus Dawes. Three wooden staves, seven feet high, were fastened together in the form of a triangle. The structure looked not unlike that made by gypsies to boil their kettles. To this structure Kirkland was bound. His feet were fastened with thongs to the base of the triangle, his wrists bound above his head at the apex. His body was then extended to its fullest length, and his white back shone in the sunlight. During his tying up he had said nothing. Only when troke pulled off his shirt he shivered. Now prisoner, said troke to Dawes, do your duty. Rufus Dawes looked from the three stern faces to Kirkland's white back, and his face grew purple. In all his experience he had never been asked to flog before. He had been flogged often enough. You don't want me to flog him, sir, he said to the commandant. Pick up the cat, sir, said Burgess, astonished. What is the meaning of this? Rufus Dawes picked up the heavy cat, and drew its knotted lashes between his fingers. Go on, Dawes, whispered Kirkland, without turning his head. You are no more than another man. What does he say? asked Burgess. Telling him to cut light, sir, said troke, eagerly lying, they all do it. Cut light, eh? We'll see about that. Get on, my man, and look sharp, or I'll tie you up and give you fifty for yourself, as sure as God made little apples. Go on, Dawes, whispered Kirkland again. I don't mind. Rufus Dawes lifted the cat, swung it round his head, and brought its knotted cords down upon the white back. One! cried troke. The white back was instantly striped with six crimson bars. Kirkland stifled a cry. It seemed to him that he had been cut in half. Now, then, you scoundrel, roared Burgess, separate your cats. What do you mean by flogging a man in that fashion? Rufus Dawes drew his crooked fingers through the entangled cords, and struck again. This time the blow was more effective, and the blood beaded on the skin. The boy did not cry, but McElwain saw his hands clutch the staves tightly, and the muscles of his naked arms quiver. Two! That's better, said Burgess. The third blow sounded as though it had been struck upon a piece of raw beef, and the crimson turned purple. My God! said Kirkland faintly, and bit his lips. The flogging proceeded in silence for ten strikes, and then Kirkland gave a screech like a wounded horse. Oh, Captain Burgess, Dawes, Mr. Troke! Oh, my God! Oh, oh, mercy! Oh, Doctor! Mr. North! Oh, oh, oh! Ten! cried Troke, impassively counting to the end of the first twenty. The lads back, swollen into a lump, now presented the appearance of a right peach, which a willful child had scored with a pin. Dawes, turning away from his bloody handiwork, drew the cats through his fingers twice. They were beginning to get clogged a little. Go on, said Burgess with a nod, and Troke cried one again. Roused by the morning sun streaming in upon him, Mr. North opened his bloodshot eyes, rubbed his forehead with hands that trembled, and suddenly awakening to a consciousness of his promised errand, rolled off the bed and rose to his feet. He saw the empty brandy bottle on his wooden dressing table, and remembered what had passed. With shaking hands, he dashed water over his aching head, and smoothed his garments. The debauch of the previous night had left the usual effects behind it. His brain seemed on fire, his hands were hot and dry, his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. He shuddered as he viewed his pale face and red eyes in the little looking glass, and hastily tried the door. He had retained sufficient sense in his madness to lock it, and his condition had been unobserved. Stealing into the sitting-room, he saw that the clock pointed to half past six. The flogging was to have taken place at half past five. Unless accident had favored him, he was already too late. Fevered with remorse and anxiety, he hurried past the room where Meeken yet slumbered and made his way to the prison. As he entered the yard, trope called Ten. Kirkland had just got his fiftieth lash. Stop! cried North. Captain Burgess, I call upon you to stop. You're rather late, Mr. North, retorted Burgess. The punishment is nearly over. One! cried trope again, and North stood by, biting his nails and grinding his teeth during six more lashes. Kirkland ceased to yell now, and merely moaned. His back was like a bloody sponge, while in the interval between lashes the swollen flesh twitched like that of a new-killed bullock. Suddenly McElwain saw his head droop on his shoulder. Throw him off! Throw him off! he cried, and trope hurried to loosen the thongs. Fling some water over him, said Burgess. He's shamming. A bucket of water made Kirkland open his eyes I thought so, said Burgess, tie him up again. No, not if you are Christians, cried North. He met with an ally where he least expected one. Rufus does flung down the dripping cat. I'll flog no more, said he. What? roared Burgess, furious at this gross insolence. I'll flog no more. Get someone else to do your bloodwork for you. I won't. Tie him up, said Burgess, foaming. Tie him up. Here, Constable, fetch a man here with a fresh cat. I'll give you that beggar's fifty and fifty more on top of him, and he shall look on while his back cools. Rufus does, with a glance at North, pulled off his shirt without a word and stretched himself at the triangles. His back was not white and smooth like Kirkland's had been, but hard and seemed. He had been flogged before. Trope appeared with Gabbett grinning. Gabbett liked flogging. It was his boast that he could flog a man to death on a place no bigger than the palm of his hand. He could use his left hand equally with his right, and if he got hold of a favorite, would cross the cuts. Rufus does planted his feet firmly on the ground, took fierce grasp on the staves, and drew in his breath. McElwain spread the garments of the two men upon the ground, and, placing Kirkland upon them, turned to watch this new phase in the morning's amusement. He grumbled a little below his breath, for he wanted his breakfast, and when the commandant once began to flog, there was no telling where he would stop. Rufus does took five and twenty lashes without a murmur, and then Gabbett crossed the cuts. This went on up to fifty lashes, and North felt himself stricken with admiration at the courage of the man. If it had not been for that cursed brandy, thought he, with bitterness of self-reproach, I might have saved all this. At the hundredth lash the giant paused, expecting the order to throw off, but Burgess was determined to break the man's spirit. I'll make you speak, you dog, if I cut your heart out, he said. Go on, prisoner. For twenty lashes more Dawes was mute, and then the agony forced from his laboring breast a hideous cry. But it was not a cry for mercy as that of Kirkland's had been. Having found his tongue, the wretched man gave vent to his boiling passion in a torrent of curses. He shrieked imprecation upon Burgess, Troke, and North. He cursed all soldiers for tyrants, all parsons for hypocrites. He blasphemed his God and his Saviour. With a frightful outpouring of obscenity and blasphemy, he called on the earth to gape and swallow his persecutors, for heaven to open and rain fire upon them, for hell to yawn and engulf them quick. It was as though each blow of the cat forced out of him a fresh burst of beast-like rage. He seemed to have abandoned his humanity. He foamed, he raved, he tugged at his bonds until the strong staves shook again. He rived himself round upon the triangles and spat impotently at Burgess, who jeered at his torments. North, with his hands to his ears, crouched against the corner of the wall, palsied with horror. It seemed to him that the passions of hell raged around him. He would feign have fled, but a horrible fascination held him back. In the midst of this, when the cat was hissing its loudest, Burgess laughing his hardest, and the wretch on the triangles filling the air with his cries, North saw Kirkland look at him with what he thought a smile. Was it a smile? He leapt forward and uttered a cry of dismay so loud that all turned. Hello, says Troke, running up to the heap of clothes. The youngens slipped his wind. Kirkland was dead. Throw him off, says Burgess, aghast at the unfortunate accident, and Gabbett reluctantly untied the thongs that bound Rufus Daz. Two constables were alongside him in an instant, for sometimes newly tortured men grew desperate. This one, however, was silent with the last lash, only in taking his shirt from under the body of the boy he muttered, dead, and in his tone there seemed to be a touch of envy. Then, flinging his shirt over his bleeding shoulders, he walked out, defiant to the last. Game, ain't he? said one constable to the other as they pushed him, not un-gently, into an empty cell, there to wait for the hospital guard. The body of Kirkland was taken away in silence, and Burgess turned rather pale when he saw North's threatening face. It isn't my fault, Mr. North, he said. I didn't know that the lad was chicken-hearted. But North turned away and disgust, and McElwain and Burgess pursued their homeward route together. Strange that he should drop like that, said the commandant. Yes, unless he had any internal disease, said the surgeon. Disease of the heart, for instance, said Burgess. I'll post mortem him and see. Come in and have a nip, McElwain, I feel quite qualmish, said Burgess, and the two went into the house amid respectful salutes from either side. Mr. North, in agony of mind at what he considered the consequence of his neglect, slowly and with head bowed down, as one bent on a painful errand, went to see the prisoner who had survived. He found him kneeling on the ground, prostrated. Rufus Daz. At the low tone, Rufus Daz looked up, and seeing who it was, waved him off. Don't speak to me, he said, with an imprecation that made North's flesh creep. I've told you what I think of you, a hypocrite, who stands by while a man is cut to pieces, and then comes in wine's religion to him. North stood in the center of the cell with his arms hanging down, and his head bent. You are right, he said in a low tone. I must seem to you a hypocrite. I, a servant of Christ, a besotted beast, rather. I am not come to wine religion to you. I am come to, to ask your pardon. I might have saved you from punishment, saved that poor boy from death. I wanted to save him, God knows, but I have a vice. I am a drunkard. I yielded to my temptation, and I was too late. I come to you as one sinful man to another, to ask you to forgive me. And North suddenly flung himself down beside the convict, and, catching his blood-be-spotted hands in his own, cried, Forgive me, brother. Rufus Daz, too much astonished to speak, bent his black eyes upon the man who crouched at his feet, and a ray of divine pity penetrated his gloomy soul. He seemed to catch a glimpse of misery more profound than his own, and his stubborn heart felt human sympathy with his airing brother. Then in this hell there is yet a man, said he, and a hand-grass passed between these two unhappy beings. North arose and, with averted face, passed quickly from the cell. Rufus Daz looked at his hand which his strange visitor had taken, and something glittered there. It was a tear. He broke down at the sight of it, and when the guard came to fetch the tameless convict, they found him on his knees in a corner, sobbing like a child. End of book 3 chapter 15