For The Term of His Natural Life .....................................................................................................................1

ON the evening of May 3, 1827, the garden of a large redbrick bowwindowed mansion called North End

House, which, enclosed in spacious grounds, stands on the eastern height of Hampstead Heath, between

Three persons were the actors in it. One was an old man, whose white hair and wrikled face gave token that

he was at least sixty years of age. He stood erect with his back to the wall, which separates the garden from

the Heath, in the attitude of one surprised into sudden passion, and held uplifted the heavy ebon cane upon

which he was ordinarily accustomed to lean. He was confronted by a man of twoandtwenty, unusually tall

and athletic of figure, dresses in rough seafaring clothes, and who held in his arms, protecting her, a lady of

middle age. The face of the young man wore an expression of horrorstricken astonishment, and the slight

These three people were Sir Richard Devine, his wife, and his only son Richard, who had returned from

"So, madam," said Sir Richard, in the highstrung accents which in crises of great mental agony are common

to the most selfrestrained of us, "you have been for twenty years a living lie! For twenty years you have

cheated and mocked me. For twenty years in company with a scoundrel whose name is a byword for all

that is profligate and base you have laughed at me for a credulous and hoodwinked fool; and now,

because I dared to raise my hand to that reckless boy, you confess your shame, and glory in the confession!"

"Mother, dear mother!" cried the young man, in a paroxysm of grief, "say that you did not mean those words;

you said them but in anger! See, I am calm now, and he may strike me if he will." Lady Devine shuddered,

The old man continued: "I married you, Ellinor Wade, for your beauty; you married me for my fortune. I was

a plebeian, a ship's carpenter; you were well born, your father was a man of fashion, a gambler, the friend of

rakes and prodigals. I was rich. I had been knighted. I was in favour at Court. He wanted money, and he sold

you. I paid the price he asked, but there was nothing of your cousin, my Lord Bellasis and Wotton, in the

"Spare you! Ay, you have spared me, have you not? Look ye," he cried, in sudden fury, "I am not to be fooled

so easily. Your family are proud. Colonel Wade has other daughters. Your lover, my Lord Bellasis, even

now, thinks to retrieve his broken fortunes by marriage. You have confessed your shame. Tomorrow your

father, your sisters, all the world, shall know the story you have told me!" "By Heaven, sir, you will not do

"Silence, bastard!" cried Sir Richard. "Ay, bite your lips; the word is of your precious mother's making!"

Lady Devine slipped through her son's arms and fell on her knees at her husband's feet.

"Do not do this, Richard. I have been faithful to you for twoandtwenty years. I have borne all the slights

and insults you have heaped upon me. The shameful secret of my early love broke from me when in your

Sir Richard, who had turned to walk away, stopped suddenly, and his great white eyebrows came together in

his red face with a savage scowl. He laughed, and in that laugh his fury seemed to congeal into a cold and

"You would preserve your good name then. You would conceal this disgracefrom the world. You shall have

your wish upon one condition." "What is it, sir?" she asked, rising, but trembling with terror, as she stood

"That this impostor, who so long has falsely borne my name, has wrongfully squandered my money, and

unlawfully eaten my bread, shall pack! That he abandon for ever the name he has usurped, keep himself from

Richard Devine gently loosed the arms that again clung around his neck, kissed the pale face, and turned his

"I owe you no duty," he said. "You have always hated and reviled me. When by your violence you drove me

from your house, you set spies to watch me in the life I had chosen. I have nothing in common with you. I

have long felt it. Now when I learn for the first time whose son I really am, I rejoice to think that I have less

to thank you for than I once believed. I accept the terms you offer. I will go. Nay, mother, think of your good

Sir Richard Devine laughed again. "I am glad to see you are so well disposed. Listen now. Tonight I send

for Quaid to alter my will. My sister's son, Maurice Frere, shall be my heir in your stead. I give you nothing.

You leave this house in an hour. You change your name; you never by word or deed make claim on me or

mine. No matter what strait or poverty you plead if even your life should hang upon the issue the

instant I hear that there exists on earth one who calls himself Richard Devine, that instant shall your mother's

shame become a public scandal. You know me. I keep my word. I return in an hour, madam; let me find him

He passed them, upright, as if upborne by passion, strode down the garden with the vigour that anger lends,

Richard Devine tossed his black hair from his brow in sudden passion of love and grief.

"Mother, dear mother, do not weep," he said. "I am not worthy of your tears. Forgive! It is I impetuous

and ungrateful during all your years of sorrow who most need forgiveness. Let me share your burden that

I may lighten it. He is just. It is fitting that I go. I can earn a name a name that I need not blush to bear nor

you to hear. I am strong. I can work. The world is wide. Farewell! my own mother!"

"Not yet, not yet! Ah! see he has taken the Belsize Road. Oh, Richard, pray Heaven they may not meet."

"A terror of I know not what coming evil overpowers me. I tremble for the future. Oh, Richard, Richard!

"Hush, dearest! Come, let me lead you in. I will write. I will send you news of me once at least, ere I depart.

Sir Richard Devine, knight, shipbuilder, naval contractor, and millionaire, was the son of a Harwich boat

carpenter. Early left an orphan with a sister to support, he soon reduced his sole aim in life to the

accumulation of money. In the Harwich boatshed, nearly fifty years before, he had contracted in

defiance of prophesied failure to build the Hastings sloop of war for His Majesty King George the Third's

Lords of the Admiralty. This contract was the thin end of that wedge which eventually split the mighty oak

block of Government patronage into threedeckers and ships of the line; which did good service under

Pellew, Parker, Nelson, Hood; which exfoliated and ramified into huge dockyards at Plymouth, Portsmouth,

and Sheerness, and bore, as its buds and flowers, countless barrels of measly pork and maggoty biscuit. The

sole aim of the coarse, pushing and hardheaded son of Dick Devine was to make money. He had cringed

and crawled and fluttered and blustered, had licked the dust off great men's shoes, and danced attendance in

great men's antechambers. Nothing was too low, nothing too high for him. A shrewd man of business, a

thorough master of his trade, troubled with no scruples of honour or of delicacy, he made money rapidly, and

saved it when made. The first hint that the public received of his wealth was in 1796, when Mr. Devine, one

of the shipwrights to the Government, and a comparatively young man of fortyfour or thereabouts,

subscribed five thousand pounds to the Loyalty Loan raised to prosecute the French war. In 1805, after doing

good, and it was hinted not unprofitable, service in the trial of Lord Melville, the Treasurer of the Navy, he

married his sister to a wealthy Bristol merchant, one Anthony Frere, and married himself to Ellinor Wade, the

eldest daughter of Colonel Wotton Wade, a boon companion of the Regent, and uncle by marriage of a

remarkable scamp and dandy, Lord Bellasis. At that time, what with lucky speculations in the Funds

assisted, it was whispered, by secret intelligence from France during the stormy years of '13, '14, and '15

and the legitimate profit on his Government contracts, he had accumulated a princely fortune, and could

afford to live in princely magnificence. But the oldmanofthesea burden of parsimony and avarice which

he had voluntarily taken upon him was not to be shaken off, and the only show he made of his wealth was by

purchasing, on his knighthood, the rambling but comfortable house at Hampstead, and ostensibly retiring

His retirement was not a happy one. He was a stern father and a severe master. His servants hated, and his

wife feared him. His only son Richard appeared to inherit his father's strong will and imperious manner.

Under careful supervision and a just rule he might have been guided to good; but left to his own devices

outside, and galled by the iron yoke of parental discipline at home, he became reckless and prodigal. The

mother poor, timid Ellinor, who had been rudely torn from the love of her youth, her cousin, Lord Bellasis

tried to restrain him, but the headstrong boy, though owning for his mother that strong love which is often

a part of such violent natures, proved intractable, and after three years of parental feud, he went off to the

Continent, to pursue there the same reckless life which in London had offended Sir Richard. Sir Richard,

upon this, sent for Maurice Frere, his sister's son the abolition of the slave trade had ruined the Bristol

House of Frere and bought for him a commission in a marching regiment, hinting darkly of special

favours to come. His open preference for his nephew had galled to the quick his sensitive wife, who

contrasted with some heartpangs the gallant prodigality of her father with the niggardly economy of her

husband. Between the houses of parvenu Devine and longdescended Wotton Wade there had long been little

love. Sir Richard felt that the colonel despised him for a city knight, and had heard that over claret and cards

Lord Bellasis and his friends had often lamented the hard fortune which gave the beauty, Ellinor, to so sordid

a bridegroom. Armigell Esme Wade, Viscount Bellasis and Wotton, was a product of his time. Of good

family (his ancestor, Armigell, was reputed to have landed in America before Gilbert or Raleigh), he had

inherited his manor of Bellasis, or Belsize, from one Sir Esme Wade, ambassador from Queen Elizabeth to

the King of Spain in the delicate matter of Mendoza, and afterwards counsellor to James I, and Lieutenant of

the Tower. This Esme was a man of dark devices. It was he who negotiated with Mary Stuart for Elizabeth; it

was he who wormed out of Cobham the evidence against the great Raleigh. He became rich, and his sister

(the widow of Henry de Kirkhaven, Lord of Hemfleet) marrying into the family of the Wottons, the wealth of

the house was further increased by the union of her daughter Sybil with Marmaduke Wade. Marmaduke

Wade was a Lord of the Admiralty, and a patron of Pepys, who in his diary [July 17,1668] speaks of visiting

him at Belsize. He was raised to the peerage in 1667 by the title of Baron Bellasis and Wotton, and married

for his second wife Anne, daughter of Philip Stanhope, second Earl of Chesterfield. Allied to this powerful

In 1784, Philip, third Baron, married the celebrated beauty, Miss Povey, and had issue Armigell Esme, in

The fourth Lord Bellasis combined the daring of Armigell, the adventurer, with the evil disposition of Esme,

the Lieutenant of the Tower. No sooner had he become master of his fortune than he took to dice, drink, and

debauchery with all the extravagance of the last century. He was foremost in every riot, most notorious of all

Horace Walpole, in one of his letters to Selwyn in 1785, mentions a fact which may stand for a page of

narrative. "Young Wade," he says, "is reported to have lost one thousand guineas last night to that vulgarest

of all the Bourbons, the Duc de Chartres, and they say the fool is not yet nineteen." From a pigeon Armigell

Wade became a hawk, and at thirty years of age, having lost together with his estates all chance of winning

the one woman who might have saved him his cousin Ellinor he became that most unhappy of all

beings, a wellborn blackleg. When he was told by thinlipped, cool Colonel Wade that the rich shipbuilder,

Sir Richard Devine, had proposed an alliance with fairhaired gentle Ellinor, he swore, with fierce knitting of

his black brows, that no law of man nor Heaven should further restrain him in his selfish prodigality. "You

have sold your daughter and ruined me," he said; "look to the consequences." Colonel Wade sneered at his

fiery kinsman: "You will find Sir Richard's house a pleasant one to visit, Armigell; and he should be worth an

income to so experienced a gambler as yourself." Lord Bellasis did visit at Sir Richard's house during the first

year of his cousin's marriage; but upon the birth of the son who is the hero of this history, he affected a

quarrel with the city knight, and cursing him to the Prince and Poins for a miserly curmudgeon, who neither

diced nor drank like a gentleman, departed, more desperately at war with fortune than ever, for his old haunts.

The year 1827 found him a hardened, hopeless old man of sixty, battered in health and ruined in pocket; but

who, by dint of stays, hairdye, and courage, yet faced the world with undaunted front, and dined as gaily in

bailiffhaunted Belsize as he had dined at Carlton House. Of the possessions of the House of Wotton Wade,

this old manor, timberless and bare, was all that remained, and its master rarely visited it.

On the evening of May 3, 1827, Lord Bellasis had been attending a pigeon match at Hornsey Wood, and

having resisted the importunities of his companion, Mr. Lionel Crofton (a young gentlemanrake, whose

position in the sporting world was not the most secure), who wanted him to go on into town, he had avowed

his intention of striking across Hampstead to Belsize. "I have an appointment at the fir trees on the Heath," he

"You stare! Well, he is only just ordained. I met him last year at Bath on his vacation from Cambridge, and

"And now waits to pay it out of his first curacy. I wish your lordship joy with all my soul. Then, we must

"Thanks, my dear sir, for the 'we,' but I must go alone," said Lord Bellasis dryly. "Tomorrow you can settle

with me for the sitting of last week. Hark! the clock is striking nine. Good night."

At halfpast nine Richard Devine quitted his mother's house to begin the new life he had chosen, and so,

drawn together by that strange fate of circumstances which creates events, the father and son approached each

As the young man gained the middle of the path which led to the Heath, he met Sir Richard returning from

the village. It was no part of his plan to seek an interview with the man whom his mother had so deeply

wronged, and he would have slunk past in the gloom; but seeing him thus alone returning to a desolated

home, the prodigal was tempted to utter some words of farewell and of regret. To his astonishment, however,

Sir Richard passed swiftly on, with body bent forward as one in the act of falling, and with eyes unconscious

of surroundings, staring straight into the distance. Halfterrified at this strange appearance, Richard hurried

onward, and at a turn of the path stumbled upon something which horribly accounted for the curious action of

the old man. A dead body lay upon its face in the heather; beside it was a heavy riding whip stained at the

handle with blood, and an open pocketbook. Richard took up the book, and read, in gold letters on the

The unhappy young man knelt down beside the body and raised it. The skull had been fractured by a blow,

but it seemed that life yet lingered. Overcome with horror for he could not doubt but that his mother's

worst fears had been realized Richard knelt there holding his murdered father in his arms, waiting until

the murderer, whose name he bore, should have placed himself beyond pursuit. It seemed an hour to his

excited fancy before he saw a light pass along the front of the house he had quitted, and knew that Sir

Richard had safely reached his chamber. With some bewildered intention of summoning aid, he left the body

and made towards the town. As he stepped out on the path he heard voices, and presently some dozen men,

one of whom held a horse, burst out upon him, and, with sudden fury, seized and flung him to the ground.

At first the young man, so rudely assailed, did not comprehend his own danger. His mind, bent upon one

hideous explanation of the crime, did not see another obvious one which had already occurred to the mind of

"God defend me!" cried Mr. Mogford, scanning by the pale light of the rising moon the features of the

murdered man, "but it is Lord Bellasis! oh, you bloody villain! Jem, bring him along here, p'r'aps his

"It was not I!" cried Richard Devine. "For God's sake, my lord say " then he stopped abruptly, and being

forced on his knees by his captors, remained staring at the dying man, in sudden and ghastly fear. Those men

in whom emotion has the effect of quickening circulation of the blood reason rapidly in moments of danger,

and in the terrible instant when his eyes met those of Lord Bellasis, Richard Devine had summed up the

chances of his future fortune, and realized to the full his personal peril. The runaway horse had given the

alarm. The drinkers at the Spaniards' Inn had started to search the Heath, and had discovered a fellow in

rough costume, whose person was unknown to them, hastily quitting a spot where, beside a rifled

pocketbook and a bloodstained whip, lay a dying man. The web of circumstantial evidence had enmeshed

him. An hour ago escape would have been easy. He would have had but to cry, "I am the son of Sir Richard

Devine. Come with me to yonder house, and I will prove to you that I have but just quitted it," to place his

innocence beyond immediate question. That course of action was impossible now. Knowing Sir Richard as he

did, and believing, moreover, that in his raging passion the old man had himself met and murdered the

destroyer of his honour, the son of Lord Bellasis and Lady Devine saw himself in a position which would

compel him either to sacrifice himself, or to purchase a chance of safety at the price of his mother's dishonour

and the death of the man whom his mother had deceived. If the outcast son were brought a prisoner to North

End House, Sir Richard now doubly oppressed of fate would be certain to deny him; and he would be

compelled, in selfdefence, to reveal a story which would at once bring his mother to open infamy, and send

to the gallows the man who had been for twenty years deceived the man to whose kindness he owed

"Come," cried Mogford again; "say, my lord, is this the villain?" Lord Bellasis rallied his failing senses, his

glazing eyes stared into his son's face with horrible eagerness; he shook his head, raised a feeble arm as

"If you didn't murder him, you robbed him," growled Mogford, "and you shall sleep at Bow Street tonight.

Tom, run on to meet the patrol, and leave word at the Gatehouse that I've a passenger for the coach!

He repeated the rough question twice before his prisoner answered, but at length Richard Devine raised a pale

face which stern resolution had already hardened into defiant manhood, and said "Dawes Rufus Dawes."

His new life had begun already: for that night one, Rufus Dawes, charged with murder and robbery, lay

Two other men waited as eagerly. One, Mr. Lionel Crofton; the other, the horseman who had appointment

with the murdered Lord Bellasis under the shadow of the fir trees on Hampstead Heath. As for Sir Richard

Devine, he waited for no one, for upon reaching his room he had fallen senseless in a fit of apoplexy.

IN the breathless stillness of a tropical afternoon, when the air was hot and heavy, and the sky brazen and

cloudless, the shadow of the Malabar lay solitary on the surface of the glittering sea.

The sun who rose on the left hand every morning a blazing ball, to move slowly through the unbearable

blue, until he sank fiery red in mingling glories of sky and ocean on the right hand had just got low

enough to peep beneath the awning that covered the poopdeck, and awaken a young man, in an undress

"Hang it!" said he, rising and stretching himself, with the weary sigh of a man who has nothing to do, "I must

have been asleep"; and then, holding by a stay, he turned about and looked down into the waist of the ship.

Save for the man at the wheel and the guard at the quarterrailing, he was alone on the deck. A few birds

flew round about the vessel, and seemed to pass under her stern windows only to appear again at her bows. A

lazy albatross, with the white water flashing from his wings, rose with a dabbling sound to leeward, and in

the place where he had been glided the hideous fin of a silentlyswimming shark. The seams of the

wellscrubbed deck were sticky with melted pitch, and the brass plate of the compasscase sparkled in the

sun like a jewel. There was no breeze, and as the clumsy ship rolled and lurched on the heaving sea, her idle

sails flapped against her masts with a regularly recurring noise, and her bowsprit would seem to rise higher

with the water's swell, to dip again with a jerk that made each rope tremble and tauten. On the forecastle,

some halfdozen soldiers, in all varieties of undress, were playing at cards, smoking, or watching the

So far the appearance of the vessel differed in nowise from that of an ordinary transport. But in the waist a

curious sight presented itself. It was as though one had built a cattlepen there. At the foot of the foremast,

and at the quarterdeck, a strong barricade, loopholed and furnished with doors for ingress and egress, ran

across the deck from bulwark to bulwark. Outside this cattlepen an armed sentry stood on guard; inside,

standing, sitting, or walking monotonously, within range of the shining barrels in the arm chest on the poop,

were some sixty men and boys, dressed in uniform grey. The men and boys were prisoners of the Crown, and

the cattlepen was their exercise ground. Their prison was down the main hatchway, on the 'tween decks, and

It was the fag end of the two hours' exercise graciously permitted each afternoon by His Majesty King

George the Fourth to prisoners of the Crown, and the prisoners of the Crown were enjoying themselves. It

was not, perhaps, so pleasant as under the awning on the poopdeck, but that sacred shade was only for such

great men as the captain and his officers, Surgeon Pine, Lieutenant Maurice Frere, and, most important

That the convict leaning against the bulwarks would like to have been able to get rid of his enemy the sun for

a moment, was probable enough. His companions, sitting on the combings of the mainhatch, or crouched in

careless fashion on the shady side of the barricade, were laughing and talking, with blasphemous and obscene

merriment hideous to contemplate; but he, with cap pulled over his brows, and hands thrust into the pockets

The sun poured his hottest rays on his head unheeded, and though every cranny and seam in the deck

sweltered hot pitch under the fierce heat, the man stood there, motionless and morose, staring at the sleepy

sea. He had stood thus, in one place or another, ever since the groaning vessel had escaped from the rollers of

the Bay of Biscay, and the miserable hundred and eighty creatures among whom he was classed had been

The lowbrowed, coarsefeatured ruffians grouped about the deck cast many a leer of contempt at the

solitary figure, but their remarks were confined to gestures only. There are degrees in crime, and Rufus

Dawes, the convicted felon, who had but escaped the gallows to toil for all his life in irons, was a man of

mark. He had been tried for the robbery and murder of Lord Bellasis. The friendless vagabond's lame story of

finding on the Heath a dying man would not have availed him, but for the curious fact sworn to by the

landlord of the Spaniards' Inn, that the murdered nobleman had shaken his head when asked if the prisoner

was his assassin. The vagabond was acquitted of the murder, but condemned to death for the robbery, and

London, who took some interest in the trial, considered him fortunate when his sentence was commuted to

It was customary on board these floating prisons to keep each man's crime a secret from his fellows, so that if

he chose, and the caprice of his gaolers allowed him, he could lead a new life in his adopted home, without

being taunted with his former misdeeds. But, like other excellent devices, the expedient was only a nominal

one, and few out of the doomed hundred and eighty were ignorant of the offence which their companions had

committed. The more guilty boasted of their superiority in vice; the petty criminals swore that their guilt was

blacker than it appeared. Moreover, a deed so bloodthirsty and a respite so unexpected, had invested the name

of Rufus Dawes with a grim distinction, which his superior mental abilities, no less than his haughty temper

and powerful frame, combined to support. A young man of twoandtwenty owning to no friends, and

existing among them but by the fact of his criminality, he was respected and admired. The vilest of all the

vile horde penned between decks, if they laughed at his "fine airs" behind his back, cringed and submitted

when they met him face to face for in a convict ship the greatest villain is the greatest hero, and the only

nobility acknowledged by that hideous commonwealth is that Order of the Halter which is conferred by the

The young man on the poop caught sight of the tall figure leaning against the bulwarks, and it gave him an

"Here, you!" he called with an oath, "get out of the gangway!" Rufus Dawes was not in the gangway was,

in fact, a good two feet from it, but at the sound of Lieutenant Frere's voice he started, and went obediently

"Touch your hat, you dog!" cries Frere, coming to the quarterrailing. "Touch your damned hat! Do you

Rufus Dawes touched his cap, saluting in half military fashion. "I'll make some of you fellows smart, if you

don't have a care," went on the angry Frere, half to himself. "Insolent blackguards!"

And then the noise of the sentry, on the quarterdeck below him, grounding arms, turned the current of his

thoughts. A thin, tall, soldierlike man, with a cold blue eye, and prim features, came out of the cuddy below,

handing out a fairhaired, affected, mincing lady, of middle age. Captain Vickers, of Mr. Frere's regiment,

ordered for service in Van Diemen's Land, was bringing his lady on deck to get an appetite for dinner.

Mrs. Vickers was fortytwo (she owned to thirtythree), and had been a garrisonbelle for eleven weary

years before she married prim John Vickers. The marriage was not a happy one. Vickers found his wife

extravagant, vain, and snappish, and she found him harsh, disenchanted, and commonplace. A daughter, born

two years after their marriage, was the only link that bound the illassorted pair. Vickers idolized little

Sylvia, and when the recommendation of a long seavoyage for his failing health induced him to exchange

into the th, he insisted upon bringing the child with him, despite Mrs. Vickers's reiterated objections on

the score of educational difficulties. "He could educate her himself, if need be," he said; "and she should not

So Mrs. Vickers, after a hard struggle, gave up the point and her dreams of Bath together, and followed her

husband with the best grace she could muster. When fairly out to sea she seemed reconciled to her fate, and

employed the intervals between scolding her daughter and her maid, in fascinating the boorish young

Fascination was an integral portion of Julia Vickers's nature; admiration was all she lived for: and even in a

convict ship, with her husband at her elbow, she must flirt, or perish of mental inanition. There was no harm

in the creature. She was simply a vain, middleaged woman, and Frere took her attentions for what they were

worth. Moreover, her good feeling towards him was useful, for reasons which will shortly appear.

"Thank you, Mr. Frere. These horrid ladders. I really he, he! quite tremble at them. Hot! Yes, dear me,

most oppressive. John, the campstool. Pray, Mr. Frere oh, thank you! Sylvia! Sylvia! John, have you my

This semifashionable slipslop, within twenty yards of the wild beasts' den, on the other side of the

barricade, sounded strange; but Mr. Frere thought nothing of it. Familiarity destroys terror, and the incurable

flirt fluttered her muslins, and played off her secondrate graces, under the noses of the grinning convicts,

with as much complacency as if she had been in a Chatham ballroom. Indeed, if there had been nobody else

near, it is not unlikely that she would have disdainfully fascinated the 'tweendecks, and made eyes at the

Vickers, with a bow to Frere, saw his wife up the ladder, and then turned for his daughter.

She was a delicatelooking child of six years old, with blue eyes and bright hair. Though indulged by her

father, and spoiled by her mother, the natural sweetness of her disposition saved her from being disagreeable,

and the effects of her education as yet only showed themselves in a thousand imperious prettinesses, which

made her the darling of the ship. Little Miss Sylvia was privileged to go anywhere and do anything, and even

convictism shut its foul mouth in her presence. Running to her father's side, the child chattered with all the

volubility of flattered selfesteem. She ran hither and thither, asked questions, invented answers, laughed,

sang, gambolled, peered into the compasscase, felt in the pockets of the man at the helm, put her tiny hand

into the big palm of the officer of the watch, even ran down to the quarterdeck and pulled the coattails of

At last, tired of running about, she took a little striped leather ball from the bosom of her frock, and calling to

her father, threw it up to him as he stood on the poop. He returned it, and, shouting with laughter, clapping

The convicts whose slice of fresh air was nearly eaten turned with eagerness to watch this new source

of amusement. Innocent laughter and childish prattle were strange to them. Some smiled, and nodded with

interest in the varying fortunes of the game. One young lad could hardly restrain himself from applauding. It

was as though, out of the sultry heat which brooded over the ship, a cool breeze had suddenly arisen.

In the midst of this mirth, the officer of the watch, glancing round the fast crimsoning horizon, paused

abruptly, and shading his eyes with his hand, looked out intently to the westward.

Frere, who found Mrs. Vickers's conversation a little tiresome, and had been glancing from time to time at the

"I don't know exactly. It looks to me like a cloud of smoke." And, taking the glass, he swept the horizon.

On the extreme horizon, just to the left of the sinking sun, rested, or seemed to rest, a tiny black cloud. The

gold and crimson, splashed all about the sky, had overflowed around it, and rendered a clear view almost

"I can't quite make it out," says Frere, handing back the telescope. "We can see as soon as the sun goes down

Then Mrs. Vickers must, of course, look also, and was prettily affected about the focus of the glass, applying

herself to that instrument with much girlish giggling, and finally declaring, after shutting one eye with her

fair hand, that positively she "could see nothing but sky, and believed that wicked Mr. Frere was doing it on

By and by, Captain Blunt appeared, and, taking the glass from his officer, looked through it long and

carefully. Then the mizentop was appealed to, and declared that he could see nothing; and at last the sun went

down with a jerk, as though it had slipped through a slit in the sea, and the black spot, swallowed up in the

As the sun sank, the relief guard came up the after hatchway, and the relieved guard prepared to superintend

the descent of the convicts. At this moment Sylvia missed her ball, which, taking advantage of a sudden lurch

of the vessel, hopped over the barricade, and rolled to the feet of Rufus Dawes, who was still leaning,

The bright spot of colour rolling across the white deck caught his eye; stooping mechanically, he picked up

the ball, and stepped forward to return it. The door of the barricade was open and the sentry a young

soldier, occupied in staring at the relief guard did not notice the prisoner pass through it. In another instant

Heated with the game, her cheeks aglow, her eyes sparkling, her golden hair afloat, Sylvia had turned to leap

after her plaything, but even as she turned, from under the shadow of the cuddy glided a rounded white arm;

and a shapely hand caught the child by the sash and drew her back. The next moment the young man in grey

Maurice Frere, descending the poop ladder, had not witnessed this little incident; on reaching the deck, he

The convict raised his eyes and saw a young girl of eighteen or nineteen years of age, tall, and well

developed, who, dressed in a loosesleeved robe of some white material, was standing in the doorway. She

had black hair, coiled around a narrow and flat head, a small foot, white skin, wellshaped hands, and large

dark eyes, and as she smiled at him, her scarlet lips showed her white even teeth.

He knew her at once. She was Sarah Purfoy, Mrs. Vickers's maid, but he never had been so close to her

before; and it seemed to him that he was in the presence of some strange tropical flower, which exhaled a

For an instant the two looked at each other, and then Rufus Dawes was seized from behind by his collar, and

Leaping to his feet, his first impulse was to rush upon his assailant, but he saw the ready bayonet of the sentry

gleam, and he checked himself with an effort, for his assailant was Mr. Maurice Frere.

"What the devil do you do here?" asked the gentleman with an oath. "You lazy, skulking hound, what brings

you here? If I catch you putting your foot on the quarterdeck again, I'll give you a week in irons!"

Rufus Dawes, pale with rage and mortification, opened his mouth to justify himself, but he allowed the words

to die on his lips. What was the use? "Go down below, and remember what I've told you," cried Frere; and

comprehending at once what had occurred, he made a mental minute of the name of the defaulting sentry.

The convict, wiping the blood from his face, turned on his heel without a word, and went back through the

strong oak door into his den. Frere leant forward and took the girl's shapely hand with an easy gesture, but

The stolid soldier close beside them heard it, and his eye twinkled. Frere bit his thick lips with mortification,

as he followed the girl into the cuddy. Sarah Purfoy, however, taking the astonished Sylvia by the hand,

glided into her mistress's cabin with a scornful laugh, and shut the door behind her.

CONVICTISM having been safely got under hatches, and put to bed in its Government allowance of sixteen

inches of space per man, cut a little short by exigencies of shipboard, the cuddy was wont to pass some not

unpleasant evenings. Mrs. Vickers, who was poetical and owned a guitar, was also musical and sang to it.

Captain Blunt was a jovial, coarse fellow; Surgeon Pine had a mania for storytelling; while if Vickers was

sometimes dull, Frere was always hearty. Moreover, the table was well served, and what with dinner,

tobacco, whist, music, and brandy and water, the sultry evenings passed away with a rapidity of which the

wild beasts 'tween decks, cooped by sixes in berths of a mere five feet square, had no conception .

On this particular evening, however, the cuddy was dull. Dinner fell flat, and conversation languished.

"No signs of a breeze, Mr. Best?" asked Blunt, as the first officer came in and took his seat.

"These he, he! awful calms," says Mrs. Vickers. "A week, is it not, Captain Blunt?"

"I remember, off the Coromandel coast," put in cheerful Pine, "when we had the plague in the Rattlesnake

" "Captain Vickers, another glass of wine?" cried Blunt, hastening to cut the anecdote short.

"Headache um don't wonder at it, going down among those fellows. It is infamous the way they crowd

these ships. Here we have over two hundred souls on board, and not boat room for half of 'em."

"One hundred and eighty convicts, fifty soldiers, thirty in ship's crew, all told, and how many? one,

"It is very wrong," says Vickers, pompously. "Very wrong. By the King's Regulations "

But the subject of the King's Regulations was even more distasteful to the cuddy than Pine's interminable

"Well, it is not exactly the life I had hoped to lead," said Frere, rubbing a freckled hand over his stubborn red

"Yes, indeed," said the lady, in that subdued manner with which one comments upon a wellknown accident,

"it must have been a great shock to you to be so suddenly deprived of so large a fortune."

"Not only that, but to find that the black sheep who got it all sailed for India within a week of my uncle's

death! Lady Devine got a letter from him on the day of the funeral to say that he had taken his passage in the

"Dear, dear! These family quarrels are dreadful things. Poor Lady Devine, to lose in one day a husband and a

"And the next morning to hear of the murder of her cousin! You know that we are connected with the Bellasis

"Indeed. That was a horrible murder. So you think that the dreadful man you pointed out the other day did

"The jury seemed to think not," said Mr. Frere, with a laugh; "but I don't know anybody else who could have

"I wonder what induced that old hunks of a shipbuilder to try to cut off his only son in favour of a cub of that

sort," said Surgeon Pine to Captain Vickers as the broad back of Mr. Maurice Frere disappeared up the

"Some boyish follies abroad, I believe; selfmade men are always impatient of extravagance. But it is hard

upon Frere. He is not a bad sort of fellow for all his roughness, and when a young man finds that an accident

deprives him of a quarter of a million of money and leaves him without a sixpence beyond his commission in

a marching regiment under orders for a convict settlement, he has some reason to rail against fate."

"Why, it seems that when old Devine returned from sending for his lawyer to alter his will, he got a fit of

apoplexy, the result of his rage, I suppose, and when they opened his room door in the morning they found

"And the son's away on the sea somewhere," said Mr. Vickers "and knows nothing of his good fortune. It is

"I am glad that Frere did not get the money," said Pine, grimly sticking to his prejudice; "I have seldom seen

"Oh dear, Dr. Pine! How can you?" interjected Mrs. Vickers. " 'Pon my soul, ma'am, some of them have

mixed in good society, I can tell you. There's pickpockets and swindlers down below who have lived in the

"Dreadful wretches!" cried Mrs. Vickers, shaking out her skirts. "John, I will go on deck."

"Ecod, Pine," says Captain Blunt, as the two were left alone together, "you and I are always putting our foot

"Here is the wench!" cries Blunt. "We are talking of your eyes, my dear." "Well, they'll bear talking about,

"By the Lord, they will!" says Blunt, smacking his hand on the table. "They're the finest eyes I've seen in my

And before the admiring commander could prevent her, she modestly swept out of the cuddy.

"She's a fine piece of goods, eh?" asked Blunt, watching her. "A spice o' the devil in her, too."

"Devil! I tell you what it is, Blunt. I don't know where Vickers picked her up, but I'd rather trust my life with

the worst of those ruffians 'tween decks, than in her keeping, if I'd done her an injury."

"I don't believe she'd think much of sticking a man, either!" he said, rising. "But I must go on deck, doctor."

Pine followed him more slowly. "I don't pretend to know much about women," he said to himself, "but that

girl's got a story of her own, or I'm much mistaken. What brings her on board this ship as lady'smaid is more

than I can fathom." And as, sticking his pipe between his teeth, he walked down the now deserted deck to the

main hatchway, and turned to watch the white figure gliding up and down the poopdeck, he saw it joined by

At that moment his arm was touched by a soldier in undress uniform, who had come up the hatchway. "What

"If you please, doctor, one of the prisoners is taken sick, and as the dinner's over, and he's pretty bad, I

"You ass!" says Pine who, like many gruff men, had a good heart under his rough shell "why didn't

you tell me before?" and knocking the ashes out of his barelylighted pipe, he stopped that implement with a

In the meantime the woman who was the object of the grim old fellow's suspicions was enjoying the

comparative coolness of the night air. Her mistress and her mistress's daughter had not yet come out of their

cabin, and the men had not yet finished their evening's tobacco. The awning had been removed, the stars were

shining in the moonless sky, the poop guard had shifted itself to the quarterdeck, and Miss Sarah Purfoy was

walking up and down the deserted poop, in close t te t te with no less a person than Captain Blunt

himself. She had passed and repassed him twice silently, and at the third turn the big fellow, peering into the

twilight ahead somewhat uneasily, obeyed the glitter of her great eyes, and joined her.

"Glad you think so!" returned Phineas Blunt, a little ashamed at what looked like a confession of weakness on

"I saw it in your face. Do you think a woman can't see in a man's face when he's going to insult her?"

"Yes, insult me. You're old enough to be my father, Captain Blunt, but you've no right to kiss me, unless I ask

"Haw, haw!" laughed Blunt. "I like that. Ask me! Egad, I wish you would, you blackeyed minx!"

"So would other people, I have no doubt." "That soldier officer, for instance. Hey, Miss Modesty? I've seen

"I think you are and you've no need to be. He is a stupid booby, though he is Lieutenant Frere."

Sarah Purfoy laughed a low, fulltoned laugh, whose sound made Blunt's pulse take a jump forward, and sent

"Myself!" she said, giving him her hand and smiling at him with her rich red lips.

The mizen hid them from the man at the wheel, and the twilight of tropical stars held the maindeck. Blunt

felt the breath of this strange woman warm on his cheek, her eyes seemed to wax and wane, and the hard,

She gazed at him with a contemptuous sinking of her heavily fringed eyelids, and withdrew her hand.

"Shall I?" asked Blunt. "That's my affair. Come, you little vixen, give me that kiss you said I was going to ask

In an instant she had twisted herself free, and confronted him with flashing eyes.

"You dare!" she cried. "Kiss me by force! Pooh! you make love like a schoolboy. If you can make me like

you, I'll kiss you as often as you will. If you can't, keep your distance, please."

Blunt did not know whether to laugh or be angry at this rebuff. He was conscious that he was in rather a

"That is your affair," she said; and as the head of Mr. Frere appeared above the companion, Blunt walked aft,

"She's a fine girl, by jingo," he said, cocking his cap, "and I'm hanged if she ain't sweet upon me."

And then the old fellow began to whistle softly to himself as he paced the deck, and to glance towards the

man who had taken his place with no friendly eyes. But a sort of shame held him as yet, and he kept aloof.

"He was out of his place. What business had he to come aft? One must keep these wretches down, my girl."

"Or they will be too much for you, eh? Do you think one man could capture a ship, Mr. Maurice?"

"Well, never mind. It's against the rules, and I won't have it." "'Not according to the King's Regulations,' as

"You are a strange girl; I can't make you out. Come," and he took her hand, "tell me what you are really."

"Sarah, you can't be serious?" "I am serious. That was the advertisement I answered."

She looked up into the young man's face a little less harsh at that moment than it was wont to be and

He raised one of the little hands that rested on the taffrail, and, under cover of the darkness, kissed it.

"You know I do," he said. "You may be a lady'smaid or what you like, but you are the loveliest woman I

"Then, if you love me, what does it matter?" "If you loved me, you would tell me," said he, with a quickness

He let her hand fall with an impatient gesture; and at that moment Blunt who could restrain himself no

Just then, from out of the violet haze that hung over the horizon, a strange glow of light broke.

All had seen it, but they looked for its repetition in vain. Blunt rubbed his eyes.

"I saw it," he said, "distinctly. A flash of light." They strained their eyes to pierce through the obscurity.

At that instant a thin streak of light shot up and then sank again. There was no mistaking it this time, and a

simultaneous exclamation burst from all on deck. From out the gloom which hung over the horizon rose a

column of flame that lighted up the night for an instant, and then sunk, leaving a dull red spark upon the

THEY looked again, the tiny spark still burned, and immediately over it there grew out of the darkness a

crimson spot, that hung like a lurid star in the air. The soldiers and sailors on the forecastle had seen it also,

and in a moment the whole vessel was astir. Mrs. Vickers, with little Sylvia clinging to her dress, came up to

share the new sensation; and at the sight of her mistress, the modest maid withdrew discreetly from Frere's

side. Not that there was any need to do so; no one heeded her. Blunt, in his professional excitement, had

already forgotten her presence, and Frere was in earnest conversation with Vickers.

"Take a boat?" said that gentleman. "Certainly, my dear Frere, by all means. That is to say, if the captain does

"Captain, you'll lower a boat, eh? We may save some of the poor devils," cries Frere, his heartiness of body

"Boat!" said Blunt, "why, she's twelve miles off and more, and there's not a breath o' wind!"

"But we can't let 'em roast like chestnuts!" cried the other, as the glow in the sky broadened and became more

"What is the good of a boat?" said Pine. "The longboat only holds thirty men, and that's a big ship yonder."

"Well, take two boats three boats! By Heaven, you'll never let 'em burn alive without stirring a finger to

"They've got their own boats," says Blunt, whose coolness was in strong contrast to the young officer's

impetuosity; "and if the fire gains, they'll take to 'em, you may depend. In the meantime, we'll show 'em that

there's someone near 'em." And as he spoke, a blue light flared hissing into the night.

"There, they'll see that, I expect!" he said, as the ghastly flame rose, extinguishing the stars for a moment,

"Mr. Best lower and man the quarterboats! Mr. Frere you can go in one, if you like, and take a

volunteer or two from those grey jackets of yours amidships. I shall want as many hands as I can spare to

man the longboat and cutter, in case we want 'em. Steady there, lads! Easy!" and as the first eight men who

could reach the deck parted to the larboard and starboard quarterboats, Frere ran down on the maindeck.

Mrs. Vickers, of course, was in the way, and gave a genteel scream as Blunt rudely pushed past her with a

scarcemuttered apology; but her maid was standing erect and motionless, by the quarterrailing, and as the

captain paused for a moment to look round him, he saw her dark eyes fixed on him admiringly. He was, as he

said, over fortytwo, burly and greyhaired, but he blushed like a girl under her approving gaze.

Meanwhile Maurice Frere had passed the sentry and leapt down into the 'tween decks. At his nod, the prison

door was thrown open. The air was hot, and that strange, horrible odour peculiar to closelypacked human

He ran his eye down the double tier of bunks which lined the side of the ship, and stopped at the one opposite

There seemed to have been some disturbance there lately, for instead of the six pair of feet which should have

The other came from behind the break of the berths. It was Rufus Dawes. He held by the side as he came, and

The heads were all raised along the silent line, and eyes and ears were eager to see and listen. The double tier

"Sick! What are you sick about, you malingering dog? I'll give you something to sweat the sickness out of

Rufus Dawes, wondering, obeyed. He seemed heavy and dejected, and passed his hand across his forehead,

"Which of you fellows can handle an oar?" Frere went on. "There, curse you, I don't want fifty! Three'll do.

The heavy door clashed again, and in another instant the four "volunteers" were on deck. The crimson glow

"Two in each boat!" cries Blunt. "I'll burn a blue light every hour for you, Mr. Best; and take care they don't

swamp you. Lower away, lads!" As the second prisoner took the oar of Frere's boat, he uttered a groan and

fell forward, recovering himself instantly. Sarah Purfoy, leaning over the side, saw the occurrence.

Pine was next to her, and looked out instantly. "It's that big fellow in No. 10," he cried. "Here, Frere!"

But Frere heard him not. He was intent on the beacon that gleamed ever brighter in the distance. "Give way,

my lads!" he shouted. And amid a cheer from the ship, the two boats shot out of the bright circle of the blue

Sarah Purfoy looked at Pine for an explanation, but he turned abruptly away. For a moment the girl paused,

as if in doubt; and then, ere his retreating figure turned to retrace its steps, she cast a quick glance around, and

The ironstudded oak barricade that, loopholed for musketry, and perforated with plated trapdoor for sterner

needs, separated soldiers from prisoners, was close to her left hand, and the sentry at its padlocked door

looked at her inquiringly. She laid her little hand on his big rough one a sentry is but mortal and

"The hospital," she said. "The doctor sent me"; and before he could answer, her white figure vanished down

THE hospital was nothing more nor less than a partitioned portion of the lower deck, filched from the space

allotted to the soldiers. It ran fore and aft, coming close to the stern windows, and was, in fact, a sort of

Though not so hot as in the prison, the atmosphere of the lower deck was close and unhealthy, and the girl,

pausing to listen to the subdued hum of conversation coming from the soldiers' berths, turned strangely sick

and giddy. She drew herself up, however, and held out her hand to a man who came rapidly across the

misshapen shadows, thrown by the sulkily swinging lantern, to meet her. It was the young soldier who had

The girl produced a small object from the pocket of her dress. If Mrs. Vickers had seen it she would probably

The fellow needed no pressing. He took off half the contents of the bottle at a gulp, and then, fetching a long

"Is it? I dare say it is." She had been looking at him with unaffected disgust as he drank. "Brandy is all you

"Not it," said he, with a twinkle in his little pig's eyes. "I understand something else, miss, I can tell yer."

The tone of the sentence seemed to awaken and remind her of her errand in that place. She laughed as loudly

and as merrily as she dared, and laid her hand on the speaker's arm. The boy for he was but a boy, one of

those many illreared country louts who leave the ploughtail for the musket, and, for a shilling a day,

experience all the "pomp and circumstance of glorious war" reddened to the roots of his closelycropped

"There, that's quite close enough. You're only a common soldier, Miles, and you mustn't make love to me."

"Not make love to yer!" says Miles. "What did yer tell me to meet yer here for then?"

"It's hard to marry a soldier," he said, with a recruit's proud intonation of the word; "but yer might do worse,

She looked at him with curiosity and pleasure. Though her time was evidently precious, she could not resist

"I know you're above me, Miss Sarah. You're a lady, but I love yer, I do, and you drives me wild with yer

"Do I?" "Do yer? Yes, yer do. What did yer come an' make up to me for, and then go sweetheartin' with them

"Why, the cuddy folk the skipper, and the parson, and that Frere. I see yer walkin' the deck wi' un o'

Her face was all aglow, and her expanded nostrils throbbed. Beautiful as the face was, it had a tigerish look

Encouraged by the epithet, Miles put his arm round her slim waist, just as Blunt had done, but she did not

"Hush!" she whispered, with admirablyacted surprise "I heard a noise!" and as the soldier started back,

"Why not? You've let me in before." "Against the doctor's orders. He told me special to let no one in but

"It ain't nonsense. There was a convict brought in tonight, and nobody's to go near him."

The badgered Miles grew angry. "Was I? Bluster or no bluster, you don't go in." She turned away. "Oh, very

well. If this is all the thanks I get for wasting my time down here, I shall go on deck again."

"Dom Mr. Frere! Go in if yer like," he said. "I won't stop yer, but remember what I'm doin' of."

"That's a good lad. I knew you would not refuse me"; and smiling at the poor lad she was befooling, she

There was no lantern, and from the partiallyblocked stern windows came only a dim, vaporous light. The

dull ripple of the water as the ship rocked on the slow swell of the sea made a melancholy sound, and the sick

man's heavy breathing seemed to fill the air. The slight noise made by the opening door roused him; he rose

on his elbow and began to mutter. Sarah Purfoy paused in the doorway to listen, but she could make nothing

of the low, uneasy murmuring. Raising her arm, conspicuous by its white sleeve in the gloom, she beckoned

He unhooked it from the rope where it swung, and brought it towards her. At that moment the man in the

bunk sat up erect, and twisted himself towards the light. "Sarah!" he cried, in shrill sharp tones. "Sarah!" and

The girl leapt out of the cabin like a panther, struck the lantern out of her lover's hand, and was back at the

bunkhead in a moment. The convict was a young man of about fourandtwenty. His hands clutched

convulsively now on the blankets were small and wellshaped, and the unshaven chin bristled with

promise of a strong beard. His wild black eyes glared with all the fire of delirium, and as he gasped for

The aspect of the man was sufficiently ghastly, and Miles, drawing back with an oath, did not wonder at the

terror which had seized Mrs. Vickers's maid. With open mouth and agonized face, she stood in the centre of

the cabin, lantern in hand, like one turned to stone, gazing at the man on the bed.

"Ecod, he be a sight!" says Miles, at length. "Come away, miss, and shut the door. He's raving, I tell yer."

And wreathing her arms around the man's head, she pulled it down on her bosom, rocking it there, half

Awed into obedience by her voice, Miles dipped a pannikin into a small puncheon, cleated in the corner of

the cabin, and gave it her; and, without thanking him, she placed it to the sick prisoner's lips. He drank

Just then the quick ears of Miles heard the jingle of arms. "Here's the doctor coming, miss!" he cried. "I hear

"Say it went out," she said in a fierce whisper, "and hold your tongue. Leave me to manage."

She bent over the convict as if to arrange his pillow, and then glided out of the cabin, just as Pine descended

"Here, sir," says Miles, fumbling with the lantern. "It's all right, sir. It went out, sir."

"Went out! What did you let it go out for, you blockhead!" growled the unsuspecting Pine. "Just like you

boobies! What is the use of a light if it 'goes out', eh?" As he groped his way, with outstretched arms, in the

IN the prison of the 'tween decks reigned a darkness pregnant with murmurs. The sentry at the entrance to the

hatchway was supposed to "prevent the prisoners from making a noise," but he put a very liberal

interpretation upon the clause, and so long as the prisoners refrained from shouting, yelling, and fighting

eccentricities in which they sometimes indulged he did not disturb them. This course of conduct was

dictated by prudence, no less than by convenience, for one sentry was but little over so many; and the

convicts, if pressed too hard, would raise a sort of bestial boohoo, in which all voices were confounded, and

which, while it made noise enough and to spare, utterly precluded individual punishment. One could not flog

a hundred and eighty men, and it was impossible to distinguish any particular offender. So, in virtue of this

last appeal, convictism had established a tacit right to converse in whispers, and to move about inside its

To one coming in from the upper air, the place would have seemed in pitchy darkness, but the convict eye,

accustomed to the sinister twilight, was enabled to discern surrounding objects with tolerable distinctness.

The prison was about fifty feet long and fifty feet wide, and ran the full height of the 'tween decks, viz., about

five feet ten inches high. The barricade was loopholed here and there, and the planks were in some places

wide enough to admit a musket barrel. On the aft side, next the soldiers' berths, was a trap door, like the

stokehole of a furnace. At first sight this appeared to be contrived for the humane purpose of ventilation, but

a second glance dispelled this weak conclusion. The opening was just large enough to admit the muzzle of a

small howitzer, secured on the deck below. In case of a mutiny, the soldiers could sweep the prison from end

to end with grape shot. Such fresh air as there was, filtered through the loopholes, and came, in somewhat

larger quantity, through a windsail passed into the prison from the hatchway. But the windsail, being

necessarily at one end only of the place, the air it brought was pretty well absorbed by the twenty or thirty

lucky fellows near it, and the other hundred and fifty did not come so well off. The scuttles were open,

certainly, but as the row of bunks had been built against them, the air they brought was the peculiar property

of such men as occupied the berths into which they penetrated. These berths were twentyeight in number,

each containing six men. They ran in a double tier round three sides of the prison, twenty at each side, and

eight affixed to that portion of the forward barricade opposite the door. Each berth was presumed to be five

feet six inches square, but the necessities of stowage had deprived them of six inches, and even under that

pressure twelve men were compelled to sleep on the deck. Pine did not exaggerate when he spoke of the

custom of overcrowding convict ships; and as he was entitled to half a guinea for every man he delivered

When Frere had come down, an hour before, the prisoners were all snugly between their blankets. They were

not so now; though, at the first clink of the bolts, they would be back again in their old positions, to all

appearances sound asleep. As the eye became accustomed to the foetid duskiness of the prison, a strange

picture presented itself. Groups of men, in all imaginable attitudes, were lying, standing, sitting, or pacing up

and down. It was the scene on the poopdeck over again; only, here being no fear of restraining keepers, the

wild beasts were a little more free in their movements. It is impossible to convey, in words, any idea of the

hideous phantasmagoria of shifting limbs and faces which moved through the evilsmelling twilight of this

terrible prisonhouse. Callot might have drawn it, Dante might have suggested it, but a minute attempt to

describe its horrors would but disgust. There are depths in humanity which one cannot explore, as there are

Old men, young men, and boys, stalwart burglars and highway robbers, slept side by side with wizened

pickpockets or cunningfeatured areasneaks. The forger occupied the same berth with the bodysnatcher.

The man of education learned strange secrets of housebreakers' craft, and the vulgar ruffian of St. Giles took

lessons of selfcontrol from the keener intellect of the professional swindler. The fraudulent clerk and the

flash "cracksman" interchanged experiences. The smuggler's stories of lucky ventures and successful runs

were capped by the footpad's reminiscences of foggy nights and stolen watches. The poacher, grimly thinking

of his sick wife and orphaned children, would start as the nighthouse ruffian clapped him on the shoulder

and bade him, with a curse, to take good heart and "be a man." The fast shopboy whose love of fine company

and high living had brought him to this pass, had shaken off the first shame that was on him, and listened

eagerly to the narratives of successful vice that fell so glibly from the lips of his older companions. To be

transported seemed no such uncommon fate. The old fellows laughed, and wagged their grey heads with all

the glee of past experience, and listening youth longed for the time when it might do likewise. Society was

the common foe, and magistrates, gaolers, and parsons were the natural prey of all noteworthy mankind. Only

fools were honest, only cowards kissed the rod, and failed to meditate revenge on that world of respectability

which had wronged them. Each newcomer was one more recruit to the ranks of ruffianism, and not a man

penned in that reeking den of infamy but became a sworn hater of law, order, and "freemen." What he might

have been before mattered not. He was now a prisoner, and thrust into a suffocating barracoon, herded

with the foulest of mankind, with all imaginable depths of blasphemy and indecency sounded hourly in his

sight and hearing he lost his selfrespect, and became what his gaolers took him to be a wild beast to

The conversation ran upon the sudden departure of the four. What could they want with them at that hour?

"I tell you there's something up on deck," says one to the group nearest him. "Don't you hear all that rumbling

"Don't know, mate. P'r'aps a burial job," hazarded a short, stout fellow, as a sort of happy suggestion.

"One of those coves in the parlour!" said another; and a laugh followed the speech.

"No such luck. You won't hang your jib for them yet awhile. More like the skipper agone fishin'."

"The skipper don't go fishin', yer fool. What would he do fishin'? special in the middle o' the night."

"That 'ud be like old Dovery, eh?" says a fifth, alluding to an old greyheaded fellow, who a returned

"Ay," put in a young man, who had the reputation of being the smartest "crow" in London " 'fishers of

The snuffling imitation of a Methodist preacher was good, and there was another laugh.

Just then a miserable little cockney pickpocket, feeling his way to the door, fell into the party.

"Go to the barber's and buy a wig, then!" says the "Crow", elated at the success of his last sally.

"Get up!" groaned someone in the darkness. "Oh, Lord, I'm smothering! Here, sentry!"

"Vater!" cried the little cockney. "Give us a drop o' vater, for mercy's sake. I haven't moist'ned my chaffer

"Yes, what have yer done with yer halfgallon, eh?" asked the Crow derisively. "Someone stole it," said the

"He's been an' blued it," squealed someone. "Been an' blued it to buy a Sunday veskit with! Oh, ain't he a

vicked young man?" And the speaker hid his head under the blankets, in humorous affectation of modesty.

All this time the miserable little cockney he was a tailor by trade had been grovelling under the feet of

"Let the gentleman up," says the humorist in the bunk. "Don't yer see his kerridge is avaitin' to take him to the

The conversation had got a little loud, and, from the topmost bunk on the near side, a bullet head protruded.

"Ain't a cove to get no sleep?" cried a gruff voice. "My blood, if I have to turn out, I'll knock some of your

It seemed that the speaker was a man of mark, for the noise ceased instantly; and, in the lull which ensued, a

"Wot's the matter," roared the silencer of the riot, jumping from his berth, and scattering the Crow and his

Just then there came another groan from the man in the opposite bunk. "Well, I'm blessed!" said the giant, as

he held the gasping tailor by the collar and glared round him. "Here's a pretty go! All the blessed chickens ha'

"Pass the word to the sentry," says someone more humane than the rest. "Ah," says the humorist, "pass him

But the sentry knew his duty better than to reply. He was a young soldier, but he had been well informed of

the artfulness of convict stratagems; and, moreover, Captain Vickers had carefully apprised him "that by the

King's Regulations, he was forbidden to reply to any question or communication addressed to him by a

convict, but, in the event of being addressed, was to call the noncommissioned officer on duty." Now,

though he was within easy hailing distance of the guard on the quarterdeck, he felt a natural disinclination to

disturb those gentlemen merely for the sake of a sick convict, and knowing that, in a few minutes, the third

"Here! 'ullo!" called out his supporter, in dismay. "Hold up 'ere! Wot's wrong with yer? Don't come the drops

'ere. Pass him down, some of yer," and the wretch was hustled down to the doorway.

But the prudent sentry answered never a word, until the ship's bell warned him of the approach of the relief

guard; and then honest old Pine, coming with anxious face to inquire after his charge, received the

intelligence that there was another prisoner sick. He had the door unlocked and the tailor outside in an instant.

It was the man who had tried to call for the sentry an hour back, and Pine had him out also; convictism

"Take 'em both aft to the hospital," he said; "and, Jenkins, if there are any more men taken sick, let them pass

The guard stared in each other's faces, with some alarm, but said nothing, thinking more of the burning ship,

which now flamed furiously across the placid water, than of peril nearer home; but as Pine went up the

"It's this cursed calm that's done it; though I expected it all along, with the ship crammed as she is. When I

"A convict, of course. Who else should it be? They are reeking like bullocks at Smithfield down there. A

hundred and eighty men penned into a place fifty feet long, with the air like an oven what could you

"It isn't my fault," he cried. "The soldiers are berthed aft. If the Government will overload these ships, I can't

"The Government! Ah! The Government! The Government don't sleep, sixty men aside, in a cabin only six

"As sure as I can be yet. Head like a fireball, and tongue like a strip of leather. Gad, don't I know it?" and

Pine grinned mournfully. "I've got him moved into the hospital. Hospital! It is a hospital! As dark as a wolf's

Blunt nodded towards the volume of lurid smoke that rolled up out of the glow. "Suppose there is a

"No," says Pine gloomily, "I suppose you can't. If they come, I must stow 'em somewhere. We'll have to run

for the Cape, with the first breeze, if they do come, that is all I can see for it," and he turned away to watch

IN the meanwhile the two boats made straight for the red column that uprose like a gigantic torch over the

As Blunt had said, the burning ship lay a good twelve miles from the Malabar, and the pull was a long and a

weary one. Once fairly away from the protecting sides of the vessel that had borne them thus far on their

dismal journey, the adventurers seemed to have come into a new atmosphere. The immensity of the ocean

over which they slowly moved revealed itself for the first time. On board the prison ship, surrounded with all

the memories if not with the comforts of the shore they had quitted, they had not realized how far they were

from that civilization which had given them birth. The welllighted, wellfurnished cuddy, the homely mirth

of the forecastle, the setting of sentries and the changing of guards, even the gloom and terror of the

closelylocked prison, combined to make the voyagers feel secure against the unknown dangers of the sea.

That defiance of Nature which is born of contact with humanity, had hitherto sustained them, and they felt

that, though alone on the vast expanse of waters, they were in companionship with others of their kind, and

that the perils one man had passed might be successfully dared by another. But now with one ship

growing smaller behind them, and the other, containing they knew not what horror of human agony and

human helplessness, lying a burning wreck in the black distance ahead of them they began to feel their

own littleness. The Malabar, that huge sea monster, in whose capacious belly so many human creatures lived

and suffered, had dwindled to a walnutshell, and yet beside her bulk how infinitely small had their own frail

cockboat appeared as they shot out from under her towering stern! Then the black hull rising above them, had

seemed a tower of strength, built to defy the utmost violence of wind and wave; now it was but a slip of wood

floating on an unknown depth of black, fathomless water. The blue light, which, at its first flashing over

the ocean, had made the very stars pale their lustre, and lighted up with ghastly radiance the enormous vault

of heaven, was now only a point, brilliant and distinct it is true, but which by its very brilliance dwarfed the

ship into insignificance. The Malabar lay on the water like a glowworm on a floating leaf, and the glare of

the signalfire made no more impression on the darkness than the candle carried by a solitary miner would

The water over which the boats glided was black and smooth, rising into huge foamless billows, the more

terrible because they were silent. When the sea hisses, it speaks, and speech breaks the spell of terror; when it

is inert, heaving noiselessly, it is dumb, and seems to brood over mischief. The ocean in a calm is like a sulky

giant; one dreads that it may be meditating evil. Moreover, an angry sea looks less vast in extent than a calm

one. Its mounting waves bring the horizon nearer, and one does not discern how for many leagues the pitiless

billows repeat themselves. To appreciate the hideous vastness of the ocean one must see it when it sleeps.

The great sky uprose from this silent sea without a cloud. The stars hung low in its expanse, burning in a

violent mist of lower ether. The heavens were emptied of sound, and each dip of the oars was reechoed in

space by a succession of subtle harmonies. As the blades struck the dark water, it flashed fire, and the tracks

of the boats resembled two seasnakes writhing with silent undulations through a lake of quicksilver.

It had been a sort of race hitherto, and the rowers, with set teeth and compressed lips, had pulled stroke for

stroke. At last the foremost boat came to a sudden pause. Best gave a cheery shout and passed her, steering

But he heard only a smothered curse from Frere, and then his consort pulled hard to overtake him.

"Curse it!" says Frere, "What's the matter with you? Oh, you, is it? Dawes! Of course, Dawes. I never

expected anything better from such a skulking hound. Come, this sort of nonsense won't do with me. It isn't

as nice as lolloping about the hatchways, I dare say, but you'll have to go on, my fine fellow."

"Sick! Not he. Shamming. Come, give way now! Put your backs into it!" and the convict having picked up

But, for all Mr. Frere's urging, he could not recover the way he had lost, and Best was the first to run in under

"Keep wide," he said. "If there are many fellows yet aboard, they'll swamp us; and I think there must be, as

we haven't met the boats," and then raising his voice, as the exhausted crew lay on their oars, he hailed the

She was a huge, clumsilybuilt vessel, with great breadth of beam, and a lofty poopdeck. Strangely enough,

though they had so lately seen the fire, she was already a wreck, and appeared to be completely deserted. The

chief hold of the fire was amidships, and the lower deck was one mass of flame. Here and there were great

charred rifts and gaps in her sides, and the redhot fire glowed through these as through the bars of a grate.

The mainmast had fallen on the starboard side, and trailed a blackened wreck in the water, causing the

unwieldy vessel to lean over heavily. The fire roared like a cataract, and huge volumes of flameflecked

smoke poured up out of the hold, and rolled away in a lowlying black cloud over the sea.

As Frere's boat pulled slowly round her stern, he hailed the deck again and again.

Still there was no answer, and though the flood of light that dyed the water bloodred struck out every rope

and spar distinct and clear, his straining eyes could see no living soul aboard. As they came nearer, they could

"What is it, men?" cried Frere, his voice almost drowned amid the roar of the flames. "Can you see?"

Rufus Dawes, impelled, it would seem, by some strong impulse of curiosity, stood erect, and shaded his eyes

The Hydaspes! The ship in which his cousin Richard Devine had sailed! The ship for which those in England

might now look in vain! The Hydaspes which something he had heard during the speculations as to this

"The Hydaspes! I know her. She is bound for Calcutta, and she has five tons of powder aboard!"

There was no need for more words. The single sentence explained the whole mystery of her desertion. The

crew had taken to the boats on the first alarm, and had left their deathfraught vessel to her fate. They were

miles off by this time, and unluckily for themselves, perhaps, had steered away from the side where rescue

The boats tore through the water. Eager as the men had been to come, they were more eager to depart. The

flames had even now reached the poop; in a few minutes it would be too late. For ten minutes or more not a

word was spoken. With straining arms and labouring chests, the rowers tugged at the oars, their eyes fixed on

the lurid mass they were leaving. Frere and Best, with their faces turned back to the terror they fled from,

urged the men to greater efforts. Already the flames had lapped the flag, already the outlines of the stern

Another moment, and all would be over. Ah! it had come at last. A dull rumbling sound; the burning ship

parted asunder; a pillar of fire, flecked with black masses that were beams and planks, rose up out of the

ocean; there was a terrific crash, as though sea and sky were coming together; and then a mighty mountain of

water rose, advanced, caught, and passed them, and they were alone deafened, stunned, and breathless, in

The splashing of the falling fragments awoke them from their stupor, and then the blue light of the Malabar

It came at last. The sky lightened, the mist melted away, and then a long, low, faroff streak of pale yellow

light floated on the eastern horizon. By and by the water sparkled, and the sea changed colour, turning from

black to yellow, and from yellow to lucid green. The man at the masthead hailed the deck. The boats were in

sight, and as they came towards the ship, the bright water flashing from the labouring oars, a crowd of

"Not a soul!" cried Blunt. "No one but themselves. Well, I'm glad they're safe anyway."

"No use," cried Frere, shivering. "We only just had time to get away. The nearest thing in the world, sir."

"Then they can't be far off," cried Blunt, sweeping the horizon with his glass. "They must have pulled all the

way, for there hasn't been enough wind to fill a hollow tooth with." "Perhaps they pulled in the wrong

Then Best came up, and told the story to a crowd of eager listeners. The sailors having hoisted and secured

the boats, were hurried off to the forecastle, there to eat, and relate their experience between mouthfuls, and

"You had better go and turn in, Frere," said Pine gruffly. "It's no use whistling for a wind here all day."

Frere laughed in his heartiest manner. "I think I will," he said. "I'm dog tired, and as sleepy as an owl,"

and he descended the poop ladder. Pine took a couple of turns up and down the deck, and then catching

"You may think it a hard thing to say, Captain Vickers, but it's just as well if we don't find these poor devils.

"What do you mean, Mr. Pine?" says Vickers, his humane feelings getting the better of his pomposity. "You

"Perhaps," returned the other, "they would not thank us for taking them aboard."

Vickers raised his brows. He had no experience of such things; and though the intelligence was startling, the

crowded condition of the prison rendered it easy to be understood, and he apprehended no danger to himself.

"It is only in the prison, as yet," says Pine, with a grim emphasis on the word; "but there is no saying how

long it may stop there. I have got three men down as it is." "Well, sir, all authority in the matter is in your

"Thank ye. I must have more room in the hospital to begin with. The soldiers must lie a little closer."

"And you had better keep your wife and the little girl as much on deck as possible."

Vickers turned pale at the mention of his child. "Good Heaven! do you think there is any danger?"

"There is, of course, danger to all of us; but with care we may escape it. There's that maid, too. Tell her to

keep to herself a little more. She has a trick of roaming about the ship I don't like. Infection is easily spread,

Vickers pressed his lips together. This old man, with his harsh, dissonant voice, and hideous practicality,

Blunt, hitherto silently listening, put in a word for defence of the absent woman. "The wench is right enough,

"Yes, she's all right, I've no doubt. She's less likely to take it than any of us. You can see her vitality in her

"I'll I'll go at once," cried poor Vickers, turning round. The woman of whom they were speaking met him

on the ladder. Her face was paler than usual, and dark circles round her eyes gave evidence of a sleepless

night. She opened her red lips to speak, and then, seeing Vickers, stopped abruptly.

Vickers, with the quick intelligence of affection, guessed her errand. "Someone is ill?"

"Miss Sylvia, sir. It is nothing to signify, I think. A little feverish and hot, and my mistress "

Pine caught the girl's round firm arm. "Where have you been?" Two great flakes of red came out in her white

"No; I have not been in the cabin since dinner yesterday. Mrs. Vickers only called me in just now. Let go my

Pine loosed his hold as if satisfied at the reply. "I beg your pardon, " he said gruffly. "I did not mean to hurt

you. But the fever has broken out in the prison, and I think the child has caught it. You must be careful where

Sarah Purfoy stood motionless for an instant, in deadly terror. Her lips parted, her eyes glittered, and she

"Poor soul!" thought honest Blunt, "how she feels for the child! D that lubberly surgeon, he's hurt her!

Never mind, my lass," he said aloud. It was broad daylight, and he had not as much courage in

lovemaking as at night. "Don't be afraid. I've been in ships with fever before now."

Awaking, as it were, at the sound of his voice, she came closer to him. "But ship fever! I have heard of it!

"Tush! Not they. Don't be frightened; Miss Sylvia won't die, nor you neither." He took her hand. "It may

knock off a few dozen prisoners or so. They are pretty close packed down there "

She was staring away past him over the sea, as if in thought. So intently did she look that he involuntarily

turned his head, and the action recalled her to herself. She brought her fine straight brows together for a

moment, and then raised them with the action of a thinker who has decided on his course of conduct.

"Take some laudanum," says Blunt, with dim recollections of his mother's treatment of such ailments. "Old

"There there! Don't cry, my dear. Hang it, don't cry. What are you crying about?"

She dashed away the bright drops, and raised her face with a rainy smile of trusting affection. "Nothing! I am

She bared that shapely member as she spoke, and sure enough there were three red marks on the white and

"The ruffian!" cried Blunt, "it's too bad." And after a hasty look around him, the infatuated fellow kissed the

bruise. "I'll get the laudanum for you," he said. "You shan't ask that bear for it. Come into my cabin."

Blunt's cabin was in the starboard side of the ship, just under the poop awning, and possessed three windows

one looking out over the side, and two upon deck. The corresponding cabin on the other side was

occupied by Mr. Maurice Frere. He closed the door, and took down a small medicine chest, cleated above the

"Here," said he, opening it. "I've carried this little box for years, but it ain't often I want to use it, thank God.

"Good gracious, Captain Blunt, you'll poison me! Give me the bottle; I'll help myself."

The door was shut, and as she put the bottle in her pocket, the amorous captain caught her in his arms.

Her tears were all dry long ago, and had only given increased colour to her face. This agreeable woman never

wept long enough to make herself distasteful. She raised her dark eyes to his for a moment, with a saucy

smile. "By and by," said she, and escaping, gained her cabin. It was next to that of her mistress, and she could

hear the sick child feebly moaning. Her eyes filled with tears real ones this time.

And then she threw herself on her bed, and buried her hot head in the pillow. The intelligence of the fever

seemed to have terrified her. Had the news disarranged some wellconcocted plan of hers? Being near the

accomplishment of some cherished scheme long kept in view, had the sudden and unexpected presence of

disease falsified her carefullymade calculations, and cast an almost insurmountable obstacle in her path?

"She die! and through me? How did I know that he had the fever? Perhaps I have taken it myself I feel

ill." She turned over on the bed, as if in pain, and then started to a sitting position, stung by a sudden thought.

"Perhaps he might die! The fever spreads quickly, and if so, all this plotting will have been useless. It must be

done at once. It will never do to break down now," and taking the phial from her pocket, she held it up, to see

how much it contained. It was three parts full. "Enough for both," she said, between her set teeth. The action

of holding up the bottle reminded her of the amorous Blunt, and she smiled. "A strange way to show affection

for a man," she said to herself, "and yet he doesn't care, and I suppose I shouldn't by this time. I'll go through

with it, and, if the worst comes to the worst, I can fall back on Maurice." She loosened the cork of the phial,

so that it would come out with as little noise as possible, and then placed it carefully in her bosom. "I will get

a little sleep if I can," she said. "They have got the note, and it shall be done tonight."

THE felon Rufus Dawes had stretched himself in his bunk and tried to sleep. But though he was tired and

sore, and his head felt like lead, he could not but keep broad awake. The long pull through the pure air, if it

had tired him, had revived him, and he felt stronger; but for all that, the fatal sickness that was on him

maintained its hold; his pulse beat thickly, and his brain throbbed with unnatural heat. Lying in his narrow

space in the semidarkness he tossed his limbs about, and closed his eyes in vain he could not

sleep. His utmost efforts induced only an oppressive stagnation of thought, through which he heard the voices

of his fellowconvicts; while before his eyes was still the burning Hydaspes that vessel whose destruction

It was fortunate for his comfort, perhaps, that the man who had been chosen to accompany him was of a

talkative turn, for the prisoners insisted upon hearing the story of the explosion a dozen times over, and Rufus

Dawes himself had been roused to give the name of the vessel with his own lips. Had it not been for the

hideous respect in which he was held, it is possible that he might have been compelled to give his version

also, and to join in the animated discussion which took place upon the possibility of the saving of the fugitive

crew. As it was, however, he was left in peace, and lay unnoticed, trying to sleep.

The detachment of fifty being on deck airing the prison was not quite so hot as at night, and many of

the convicts made up for their lack of rest by snatching a dogsleep in the bared bunks. The four volunteer

As yet there had been no alarm of fever. The three seizures had excited some comment, however, and had it

not been for the counterexcitement of the burning ship, it is possible that Pine's precaution would have been

thrown away. The "Old Hands" who had been through the Passage before suspected, but said nothing,

save among themselves. It was likely that the weak and sickly would go first, and that there would be more

Three of these Old Hands were conversing together just behind the partition of Dawes's bunk. As we have

said, the berths were five feet square, and each contained six men. No. 10, the berth occupied by Dawes, was

situated on the corner made by the joining of the starboard and centre lines, and behind it was a slight recess,

in which the scuttle was fixed. His "mates" were at present but three in number, for John Rex and the

cockney tailor had been removed to the hospital. The three that remained were now in deep conversation in

the shelter of the recess. Of these, the giant who had the previous night asserted his authority in the prison

seemed to be the chief. His name was Gabbett. He was a returned convict, now on his way to undergo a

second sentence for burglary. The other two were a man named Sanders, known as the "Moocher", and

Jemmy Vetch, the Crow. They were talking in whispers, but Rufus Dawes, lying with his head close to the

At first the conversation turned on the catastrophe of the burning ship and the likelihood of saving the crew.

From this it grew to anecdote of wreck and adventure, and at last Gabbett said something which made the

listener start from his indifferent efforts to slumber, into sudden broad wakefulness.

It was the mention of his own name, coupled with that of the woman he had met on the quarterdeck, that

"I saw her speaking to Dawes yesterday," said the giant, with an oath. "We don't want no more than we've

got. I ain't goin' to risk my neck for Rex's woman's fancies, and so I'll tell her."

"It was something about the kid," says the Crow, in his elegant slang. "I don't believe she ever saw him

before. Besides, she's nuts on Jack, and ain't likely to pick up with another man."

"If I thort she was agoin' to throw us over, I'd cut her throat as soon as look at her!" snorts Gabbett savagely.

"Jack ud have a word in that," snuffles the Moocher; "and he's a curious cove to quarrel with."

"Well, stow yer gaff," grumbled Mr. Gabbett, "and let's have no more chaff. If we're for bizness, let's come to

"What are we to do now?" asked the Moocher. "Jack's on the sick list, and the gal won't stir a'thout him."

"My dear friends," said the Crow, "my keyind and keristian friends, it is to be regretted that when natur' gave

you such tremendously thick skulls, she didn't put something inside of 'em. I say that now's the time. Jack's in

the 'orspital; what of that? That don't make it no better for him, does it? Not a bit of it; and if he drops his

knife and fork, why then, it's my opinion that the gal won't stir a peg. It's on his account, not ours, that she's

"Well!" says Mr. Gabbett, with the air of one who was but partly convinced, "I s'pose it is."

"All the more reason of getting it off quick. Another thing, when the boys know there's fever aboard, you'll

see the rumpus there'll be. They'll be ready enough to join us then. Once get the snapper chest, and we're right

This conversation, interspersed with oaths and slang as it was, had an intense interest for Rufus Dawes.

Plunged into prison, hurriedly tried, and by reason of his surroundings ignorant of the death of his father and

his own fortune, he had hitherto in his agony and sullen gloom held aloof from the scoundrels who

surrounded him, and repelled their hideous advances of friendship. He now saw his error. He knew that the

name he had once possessed was blotted out, that any shred of his old life which had clung to him hitherto,

was shrivelled in the fire that consumed the Hydaspes. The secret, for the preservation of which Richard

Devine had voluntarily flung away his name, and risked a terrible and disgraceful death, would be now for

ever safe; for Richard Devine was dead lost at sea with the crew of the illfated vessel in which, deluded

by a skilfullysent letter from the prison, his mother believed him to have sailed. Richard Devine was dead,

and the secret of his birth would die with him. Rufus Dawes, his alter ego, alone should live. Rufus Dawes,

the convicted felon, the suspected murderer, should live to claim his freedom, and work out his vengeance;

or, rendered powerful by the terrible experience of the prisonsheds, should seize both, in defiance of gaol or

With his head swimming, and his brain on fire, he eagerly listened for more. It seemed as if the fever which

burnt in his veins had consumed the grosser part of his sense, and given him increased power of hearing. He

was conscious that he was ill. His bones ached, his hands burned, his head throbbed, but he could hear

"But we can't stir without the girl," Gabbett said. "She's got to stall off the sentry and give us the orfice."

"Dear old caper merchant! Hear him talk!" said he, "as if he had the wisdom of Solomon in all his glory?

And he produced a dirty scrap of paper, over which his companions eagerly bent their heads.

"Yesterday afternoon Sarah was standing on the poop throwing bits o' toke to the gulls, and I saw her

alooking at me very hard. At last she came down as near the barricade as she dared, and throwed crumbs

and such like up in the air over the side. By and by a pretty big lump, doughed up round, fell close to my foot,

and, watching a favourable opportunity, I pouched it. Inside was this bit o' ragbag."

"Ah!" said Mr. Gabbett, "that's more like. Read it out, Jemmy." The writing, though feminine in character,

was bold and distinct. Sarah had evidently been mindful of the education of her friends, and had desired to

give them as little trouble as possible. All is right. Watch me when I come up tomorrow evening at three

bells. If I drop my handkerchief, get to work at the time agreed on. The sentry will be safe.

Rufus Dawes, though his eyelids would scarcely keep open, and a terrible lassitude almost paralysed his

limbs, eagerly drank in the whispered sentence. There was a conspiracy to seize the ship. Sarah Purfoy was in

league with the convicts was herself the wife or mistress of one of them. She had come on board armed

with a plot for his release, and this plot was about to be put in execution. He had heard of the atrocities

perpetrated by successful mutineers. Story after story of such nature had often made the prison resound with

horrible mirth. He knew the characters of the three ruffians who, separated from him by but two inches of

planking, jested and laughed over their plans of freedom and vengeance. Though he conversed but little with

his companions, these men were his berth mates, and he could not but know how they would proceed to

True, that the head of this formidable chimera John Rex, the forger was absent, but the two hands, or

rather claws the burglar and the prisonbreaker were present, and the slimlymade, effeminate Crow,

if he had not the brains of the master, yet made up for his flaccid muscles and nerveless frame by a catlike

cunning, and a spirit of devilish volatility that nothing could subdue. With such a powerful ally outside as the

mock maidservant, the chance of success was enormously increased. There were one hundred and eighty

convicts and but fifty soldiers. If the first rush proved successful and the precautions taken by Sarah

Purfoy rendered success possible the vessel was theirs. Rufus Dawes thought of the little brighthaired

"There!" said the Crow, with a sneering laugh, "what do you think of that? Does the girl look like nosing us

"No," says the giant, stretching his great arms with a grin of delight, as one stretches one's chest in the sun,

"England, home and beauty!" said Vetch, with a mockheroic air, strangely out of tune with the subject under

Gabbett turned on him fiercely, his low forehead wrinkled into a frown of ferocious recollection.

"You!" he said "You think the chain's fine sport, don't yer? But I've been there, my young chicken, and I

There was silence for a minute or two. The giant was plunged in gloomy abstraction, and Vetch and the

Moocher interchanged a significant glance. Gabbett had been ten years at the colonial penal settlement of

Macquarie Harbour, and he had memories that he did not confide to his companions. When he indulged in

one of these fits of recollection, his friends found it best to leave him to himself.

Rufus Dawes did not understand the sudden silence. With all his senses stretched to the utmost to listen, the

cessation of the whispered colloquy affected him strangely. Old artillerymen have said that, after being at

work for days in the trenches, accustomed to the continued roar of the guns, a sudden pause in the firing will

cause them intense pain. Something of this feeling was experienced by Rufus Dawes. His faculties of hearing

and thinking both at their highest pitch seemed to break down. It was as though some prop had been

knocked from under him. No longer stimulated by outward sounds, his senses appeared to fail him. The blood

rushed into his eyes and ears. He made a violent, vain effort to retain his consciousness, but with a faint cry

The noise roused the burglar in an instant. There was someone in the berth! The three looked into each other's

Gabbett uttered a furious oath, and flinging himself on to the prostrate figure, dragged it, head foremost, to

the floor. The sudden vertigo had saved Rufus Dawes's life. The robber twisted one brawny hand in his shirt,

and pressing the knuckles down, prepared to deliver a blow that should for ever silence the listener, when

Vetch caught his arm. "He's been asleep," he cried. "Don't hit him! See, he's not awake yet."

A crowd gathered round. The giant relaxed his grip, but the convict gave only a deep groan, and allowed his

Gabbett took another look at the purpling face and the bedewed forehead, and then sprang erect, rubbing at

"The fever, ye grinning fools!" cried Gabbett. "I've seen it before today. The typhus is aboard, and he's the

The circle of beastlike faces, stretched forward to "see the fight," widened at the halfuncomprehended,

illomened word. It was as though a bombshell had fallen into the group. Rufus Dawes lay on the deck

motionless, breathing heavily. The savage circle glared at his prostrate body. The alarm ran round, and all the

prison crowded down to stare at him. All at once he uttered a groan, and turning, propped his body on his two

rigid arms, and made an effort to speak. But no sound issued from his convulsed jaws.

"He's done," said the Moocher brutally. "He didn't hear nuffin', I'll pound it."

The noise of the heavy bolts shooting back broke the spell. The first detachment were coming down from

"exercise." The door was flung back, and the bayonets of the guard gleamed in a ray of sunshine that shot

down the hatchway. This glimpse of sunlight sparkling at the entrance of the foetid and stifling prison

seemed to mock their miseries. It was as though Heaven laughed at them. By one of those terrible and strange

impulses which animate crowds, the mass, turning from the sick man, leapt towards the doorway. The interior

of the prison flashed white with suddenly turned faces. The gloom scintillated with rapidly moving hands.

"That's it!" said Sanders to his companions. "I thought the news would rouse 'em."

Gabbett all the savage in his blood stirred by the sight of flashing eyes and wrathful faces would have

"It'll be over in a moment," he said. "It's only a fit they've got." He spoke truly. Through the uproar was heard

the rattle of iron on iron, as the guard "stood to their arms," and the wedge of grey cloth broke, in sudden

There was an instant's pause, and then old Pine walked, unmolested, down the prison and knelt by the body of

The sight of the familiar figure, so calmly performing its familiar duty, restored all that submission to

recognized authority which strict discipline begets. The convicts slunk away into their berths, or officiously

ran to help "the doctor," with affectation of intense obedience. The prison was like a schoolroom, into which

the master had suddenly returned. "Stand back, my lads! Take him up, two of you, and carry him to the door.

The poor fellow won't hurt you." His orders were obeyed, and the old man, waiting until his patient had been

safely received outside, raised his hand to command attention. "I see you know what I have to tell. The fever

has broken out. That man has got it. It is absurd to suppose that no one else will be seized. I might catch it

myself. You are much crowded down here, I know; but, my lads, I can't help that; I didn't make the ship, you

"It is a terrible thing, but you must keep orderly and quiet, and bear it like men. You know what the discipline

is, and it is not in my power to alter it. I shall do my best for your comfort, and I look to you to help me."

Holding his grey head very erect indeed, the brave old fellow passed straight down the line, without looking

to the right or left. He had said just enough, and he reached the door amid a chorus of " 'Ear, 'ear!" "Bravo!"

"True for you, docther!" and so on. But when he got fairly outside, he breathed more freely. He had

"'Ark at 'em," growled the Moocher from his corner, "acheerin' at the bloody noos!"

"Wait a bit," said the acuter intelligence of Jemmy Vetch. "Give 'em time. There'll be three or four more

IT was late in the afternoon when Sarah Purfoy awoke from her uneasy slumber. She had been dreaming of

the deed she was about to do, and was flushed and feverish; but, mindful of the consequences which hung

upon the success or failure of the enterprise, she rallied herself, bathed her face and hands, and ascended with

Nothing was changed since yesterday. The sentries' arms glittered in the pitiless sunshine, the ship rolled and

creaked on the swell of the dreamy sea, and the prisoncage on the lower deck was crowded with the same

cheerless figures, disposed in the attitudes of the day before. Even Mr. Maurice Frere, recovered from his

midnight fatigues, was lounging on the same coil of rope, in precisely the same position .

Yet the eye of an acute observer would have detected some difference beneath this outward varnish of

similarity. The man at the wheel looked round the horizon more eagerly, and spit into the swirling,

unwholesomelooking water with a more dejected air than before. The fishinglines still hung dangling over

the catheads, but nobody touched them. The soldiers and sailors on the forecastle, collected in knots, had no

heart even to smoke, but gloomily stared at each other. Vickers was in the cuddy writing; Blunt was in his

cabin; and Pine, with two carpenters at work under his directions, was improvising increased hospital

accommodation. The noise of mallet and hammer echoed in the soldiers' berth ominously; the workmen

might have been making coffins. The prison was strangely silent, with the lowering silence which precedes a

thunderstorm; and the convicts on deck no longer told stories, nor laughed at obscene jests, but sat together,

moodily patient, as if waiting for something. Three men two prisoners and a soldier had succumbed

since Rufus Dawes had been removed to the hospital; and though as yet there had been no complaint or

symptom of panic, the face of each man, soldier, sailor, or prisoner, wore an expectant look, as though he

wondered whose turn would come next. On the ship rolling ceaselessly from side to side, like some

wounded creature, on the opaque profundity of that stagnant ocean a horrible shadow had fallen. The

Malabar seemed to be enveloped in an electric cloud, whose sullen gloom a chance spark might flash into a

The woman who held in her hands the two ends of the chain that would produce this spark, paused, came up

upon deck, and, after a glance round, leant against the poop railing, and looked down into the barricade. As

we have said, the prisoners were in knots of four and five, and to one group in particular her glance was

directed. Three men, leaning carelessly against the bulwarks, watched her every motion.

"There she is, right enough," growled Mr. Gabbett, as if in continuation of a previous remark. "Flash as ever,

"Patience is a virtue, most noble knuckler!" says the Crow, with affected carelessness. "Give the young

"Blowed if I'm going to wait no longer," says the giant, licking his coarse blue lips. "'Ere we've been bluffed

off day arter day, and kep' dancin' round the Dandy's wench like a parcel o' dogs. The fever's aboard, and

we've got all ready. What's the use o' waitin'? Orfice, or no orfice, I'm for bizness at once! "

" There, look at that," he added, with an oath, as the figure of Maurice Frere appeared side by side with

"It's all right, you confounded muddlehead!" cried the Crow, losing patience with his perverse and stupid

Gabbett's only reply to this question was a ferocious grunt, and a sudden elevation of his clenched fist, which

caused Mr. Vetch to retreat precipitately. The giant did not follow; and Mr. Vetch, folding his arms, and

assuming an attitude of easy contempt, directed his attention to Sarah Purfoy. She seemed an object of

general attraction, for at the same moment a young soldier ran up the ladder to the forecastle, and eagerly

Maurice Frere had come behind her and touched her on the shoulder. Since their conversation the previous

evening, he had made up his mind to be fooled no longer. The girl was evidently playing with him, and he

"You have told me that so often," says she, with a pout. "Have you nothing else to say?"

"Curse it, Sarah, what is a fellow to do?" His profligacy was failing him rapidly. "What is the use of playing

"A 'fellow' should be able to take care of himself, Mr. Frere. I didn't ask you to fall in love with me, did I? If

"You soldiers have so many things to think of your guards and sentries, and visits and things. You have

no time to spare for a poor woman like me." "Spare!" cries Frere, in amazement. "Why, damme, you won't let

a fellow spare! I'd spare fast enough, if that was all." She cast her eyes down to the deck, and a modest flush

rose in her cheeks. "I have so much to do," she said, in a halfwhisper. "There are so many eyes upon me, I

She raised her head as she spoke, and to give effect to her words, looked round the deck. Her glance crossed

that of the young soldier on the forecastle, and though the distance was too great for her to distinguish his

features, she guessed who he was Miles was jealous. Frere, smiling with delight at her change of manner,

came close to her, and whispered in her ear. She affected to start, and took the opportunity of exchanging a

"As if a woman in love ever considers!" said she, turning upon him a burning glance, which in truth might

She loved him then! What a fool he would be to refuse. To get her to come was the first object; how to make

duty fit with pleasure would be considered afterwards. Besides, the guard could relieve itself for once without

And as Frere left her, she turned, and with her eyes fixed on the convict barricade, dropped the handkerchief

she held in her hand over the poop railing. It fell at the feet of the amorous captain, and with a quick upward

"Oh, thank you, Captain Blunt," said she, and her eyes spoke more than her tongue.

Blunt walked aft, humming cheerily, and saluted Frere with a slap on the back. The two men laughed, each at

his own thoughts, but their laughter only made the surrounding gloom seem deeper than before.

Sarah Purfoy, casting her eyes toward the barricade, observed a change in the position of the three men. They

were together once more, and the Crow, having taken off his prison cap, held it at arm's length with one hand,

During all this, Rufus Dawes, removed to the hospital, was lying flat on his back, staring at the deck above

When the sudden faintness, which was the prelude to his sickness, had overpowered him, he remembered

being torn out of his bunk by fierce hands remembered a vision of savage faces, and the presence of some

danger that menaced him. He remembered that, while lying on his blankets, struggling with the coming fever,

he had overheard a conversation of vital importance to himself and to the ship, but of the purport of that

conversation he had not the least idea. In vain he strove to remember in vain his will, struggling with

delirium, brought back snatches and echoes of sense; they slipped from him again as fast as caught. He was

oppressed with the weight of halfrecollected thought. He knew that a terrible danger menaced him; that

could he but force his brain to reason connectedly for ten consecutive minutes, he could give such

information as would avert that danger, and save the ship. But, lying with hot head, parched lips, and

The place where he lay was but dimly lighted. The ingenuity of Pine had constructed a canvas blind over the

port, to prevent the sun striking into the cabin, and this blind absorbed much of the light. He could but just

see the deck above his head, and distinguish the outlines of three other berths, apparently similar to his own.

The only sounds that broke the silence were the gurgling of the water below him, and the Tap, tap, tap tap, of

Pine's hammers at work upon the new partition. By and by the noise of these hammers ceased, and then the

sick man could hear gasps, and moans, and mutterings the signs that his companions yet lived.

All at once a voice called out, "Of course his bills are worth four hundred pounds; but, my good sir, four

hundred pounds to a man in my position is not worth the getting. Why, I've given four hundred pounds for a

freak of my girl Sarah! Is it right, eh, Jezebel? She's a good girl, though, as girls go. Mrs. Lionel Crofton, of

A gleam of light broke in on the darkness which wrapped Rufus Dawes's tortured brain. The man was John

"Yes, yes. I'm coming; don't be in a hurry. The sentry's safe, and the howitzer is but five paces from the door.

A rush upon deck, lads, and she's ours! That is, mine. Mine and my wife's, Mrs. Lionel Crofton, of Seven

Crofts, no oaks Sarah Purfoy, lady'smaid and nurse ha! ha! lady'smaid and nurse!"

This last sentence contained the nameclue to the labyrinth in which Rufus Dawes's bewildered intellects

were wandering. "Sarah Purfoy!" He remembered now each detail of the conversation he had so strangely

overheard, and how imperative it was that he should, without delay, reveal the plot that threatened the ship.

How that plot was to be carried out, he did not pause to consider; he was conscious that he was hanging over

the brink of delirium, and that, unless he made himself understood before his senses utterly deserted him, all

He attempted to rise, but found that his feverthralled limbs refused to obey the impulse of his will. He made

an effort to speak, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and his jaws stuck together. He could not

raise a finger nor utter a sound. The boards over his head waved like a shaken sheet, and the cabin whirled

round, while the patch of light at his feet bobbed up and down like the reflection from a wavering candle. He

closed his eyes with a terrible sigh of despair, and resigned himself to his fate. At that instant the sound of

hammering ceased, and the door opened. It was six o'clock, and Pine had come to have a last look at his

patients before dinner. It seemed that there was somebody with him, for a kind, though somewhat pompous,

voice remarked upon the scantiness of accommodation, and the "necessity the absolute necessity" of

Honest Vickers, though agonized for the safety of his child, would not abate a jot of his duty, and had sternly

come to visit the sick men, aware as he was that such a visit would necessitate his isolation from the cabin

where his child lay. Mrs. Vickers weeping and bewailing herself coquettishly at garrison parties had

often said that "poor dear John was such a disciplinarian, quite a slave to the service."

"Here they are," said Pine; "six of 'em. This fellow" going to the side of Rex "is the worst. If he had

"Three, eighteen, seven, four," muttered Rex; "dot and carry one. Is that an occupation for a gentleman? No,

sir. Good night, my lord, good night. Hark! The clock is striking nine; five, six, seven, eight! Well, you've

"A dangerous fellow," says Pine, with the light upraised. "A very dangerous fellow that is, he was. This is

Rufus Dawes felt the sweat break out into beads on his forehead. They suspected nothing. They were going

away. He must warn them. With a violent effort, in his agony he turned over in the bunk and thrust out his

"Hullo! what's this?" cried Pine, bringing the lantern to bear upon it. "Lie down, my man. Eh! water, is it?

There, steady with it now"; and he lifted a pannikin to the blackened, frothfringed lips. The cool draught

The last word, almost shrieked out, in the sufferer's desperate efforts to articulate, recalled the wandering

"Hush!" he cried. "Is that you, Jemmy? Sarah's right. Wait till she gives the word."

Pine caught the convict by the shoulder. "What do you say, my man? A mutiny of the prisoners!"

With his mouth agape and his hands clenched, Rufus Dawes, incapable of further speech, made a last effort to

nod assent, but his head fell upon his breast; the next moment, the flickering light, the gloomy prison, the

eager face of the doctor, and the astonished face of Vickers, vanished from before his straining eyes. He saw

the two men stare at each other, in mingled incredulity and alarm, and then he was floating down the cool

brown river of his boyhood, on his way in company with Sarah Purfoy and Lieutenant Frere to raise

the mutiny of the Hydaspes, that lay on the stocks in the old house at Hampstead.

THE two discoverers of this awkward secret held a council of war. Vickers was for at once calling the guard,

and announcing to the prisoners that the plot whatever it might be had been discovered; but Pine,

"You don't know these fellows as well as I do," said he. "In the first place there may be no mutiny at all. The

whole thing is, perhaps, some absurdity of that fellow Dawes and should we once put the notion of

attacking us into the prisoners' heads, there is no telling what they might do."

"But the man seemed certain," said the other. "He mentioned my wife's maid, too!"

"Suppose he did? and, begad, I dare say he's right I never liked the look of the girl. To tell them that

we have found them out this time won't prevent 'em trying it again. We don't know what their scheme is

either. If it is a mutiny, half the ship's company may be in it. No, Captain Vickers, allow me, as

" That, by the King's Regulations, you are invested with full powers," interrupted Vickers, mindful of

discipline in any extremity. "Of course, I merely suggested and I know nothing about the girl, except that

she brought a good character from her last mistress a Mrs. Crofton I think the name was. We were glad to

"Well," says Pine, "look here. Suppose we tell these scoundrels that their design, whatever it may be, is

known. Very good. They will profess absolute ignorance, and try again on the next opportunity, when,

perhaps, we may not know anything about it. At all events, we are completely ignorant of the nature of the

plot and the names of the ringleaders. Let us double the sentries, and quietly get the men under arms. Let

Miss Sarah do what she pleases, and when the mutiny breaks out, we will nip it in the bud; clap all the

villains we get in irons, and hand them over to the authorities in Hobart Town. I am not a cruel man, sir, but

"But surely, Mr. Pine, have you considered the probable loss of life? I really some more humane

Pine turned round upon him with that grim practicality which was a part of his nature. "Have you considered

the safety of the ship, Captain Vickers? You know, or have heard of, the sort of things that take place in these

mutinies. Have you considered what will befall those halfdozen women in the soldiers' berths? Have you

"Have it your way, Mr. Pine; you know best perhaps. But don't risk more lives than you can help."

"Be easy, sir," says old Pine; "I am acting for the best; upon my soul I am. You don't know what convicts are,

"Poor wretches!" says Vickers, who, like many martinets, was in reality tenderhearted. "Kindness might do

"Yes," returned the other, "they are. But if you use that argument to them when they have taken the vessel, it

won't avail you much. Let me manage, sir; and for God's sake, say nothing to anybody. Our lives may hang

Vickers promised, and kept his promise so far as to chat cheerily with Blunt and Frere at dinner, only writing

a brief note to his wife to tell her that, whatever she heard, she was not to stir from her cabin until he came to

her; he knew that, with all his wife's folly, she would obey unhesitatingly, when he couched an order in such

According to the usual custom on board convict ships, the guards relieved each other every two hours, and at

six p.m. the poop guard was removed to the quarterdeck, and the arms which, in the daytime, were disposed

on the top of the armchest, were placed in an armrack constructed on the quarter deck for that purpose.

Trusting nothing to Frere who, indeed, by Pine's advice, was, as we have seen, kept in ignorance of the

whole matter Vickers ordered all the men, save those who had been on guard during the day, to be under

arms in the barrack, forbade communication with the upper deck, and placed as sentry at the barrack door his

own servant, an old soldier, on whose fidelity he could thoroughly rely. He then doubled the guards, took the

keys of the prison himself from the noncommissioned officer whose duty it was to keep them, and saw that

the howitzer on the lower deck was loaded with grape. It was a quarter to seven when Pine and he took their

At a quarter past seven, any curious person looking through the window of Captain Blunt's cabin would have

seen an unusual sight. That gallant commander was sitting on the bedplace, with a glass of rum and water in

his hand, and the handsome waitingmaid of Mrs. Vickers was seated on a stool by his side. At a first glance

it was perceptible that the captain was very drunk. His grey hair was matted all ways about his reddened face,

and he was winking and blinking like an owl in the sunshine. He had drunk a larger quantity of wine than

usual at dinner, in sheer delight at the approaching assignation, and having got out the rum bottle for a quiet

"settler" just as the victim of his fascinations glided through the carefullyadjusted door, he had been

"Cuccome, Sarah," he hiccuped. "It's all very fine, my lass, but you needn't be so hic proud, you

know. I'm a plain sailor plain s'lor, Srr'h. Ph'n'as Bub blunt, commander of the MalMal Malabar.

Sarah allowed a laugh to escape her, and artfully protruded an ankle at the same time. The amorous Phineas

"You lovsh me, and I hic lovsh you, Sarah. And a preshus tight little craft you hic are. Giv'sh

"Wotsh this? Goin'! Sarah, don't go," and he staggered up; and with the grog swaying fearfully in one hand,

The ship's bell struck the halfhour. Now or never was the time. Blunt caught her round the waist with one

arm, and hiccuping with love and rum, approached to take the kiss he coveted. She seized the moment,

surrendered herself to his embrace, drew from her pocket the laudanum bottle, and passing her hand over his

"You will be if you drink much more. Come, finish that and be quiet, or I'll go away."

But she threw a provocation into her glance as she spoke, which belied her words, and which penetrated even

the sodden intellect of poor Blunt. He balanced himself on his heels for a moment, and holding by the

moulding of the cabin, stared at her with a fatuous smile of drunken admiration, then looked at the glass in

his hand, hiccuped with much solemnity thrice, and, as though struck with a sudden sense of duty unfulfilled,

swallowed the contents at a gulp. The effect was almost instantaneous. He dropped the tumbler, lurched

towards the woman at the door, and then making a halfturn in accordance with the motion of the vessel, fell

Sarah Purfoy watched him for a few minutes, and then having blown out the light, stepped out of the cabin,

and closed the door behind her. The dusky gloom which had held the deck on the previous night enveloped

all forward of the mainmast. A lantern swung in the forecastle, and swayed with the motion of the ship. The

light at the prison door threw a glow through the open hatch, and in the cuddy, at her right hand, the usual

row of oillamps burned. She looked mechanically for Vickers, who was ordinarily there at that hour, but the

cuddy was empty. So much the better, she thought, as she drew her dark cloak around her, and tapped at

Frere's door. As she did so, a strange pain shot through her temples, and her knees trembled. With a strong

effort she dispelled the dizziness that had almost overpowered her, and held herself erect. It would never do

The door opened, and Maurice Frere drew her into the cabin. "So you have come?" said he.

"You see I have. But, oh! if I should be seen!" "Seen? Nonsense! Who is to see you?"

"Not they. Besides, they've gone off down to Pine's cabin since dinner. They're all right."

Gone off to Pine's cabin! The intelligence struck her with dismay. What was the cause of such an unusual

Maurice Frere was not in the humour to argue questions of probability. "Who knows? I don't. Confound 'em,"

She seemed to be listening for something, and did not reply. Her nervous system was wound up to the highest

"What are you staring at? Look at me, can't you? What eyes you have! And what hair!"

At that instant the report of a musketshot broke the silence. The mutiny had begun!

The sound awoke the soldier to a sense of his duty. He sprang to his feet, and disengaging the arms that clung

about his neck, made for the door. The moment for which the convict's accomplice had waited approached.

She hung upon him with all her weight. Her long hair swept across his face, her warm breath was on his

cheek, her dress exposed her round, smooth shoulder. He, intoxicated, conquered, had halfturned back,

when suddenly the rich crimson died away from her lips, leaving them an ashen grey colour. Her eyes closed

in agony; loosing her hold of him, she staggered to her feet, pressed her hands upon her bosom, and uttered a

The fever which had been on her two days, and which, by a strong exercise of will, she had struggled against

encouraged by the violent excitement of the occasion had attacked her at this supreme moment.

Deathly pale and sick, she reeled to the side of the cabin. There was another shot, and a violent clashing of

arms; and Frere, leaving the miserable woman to her fate, leapt out on to the deck.

AT seven o'clock there had been also a commotion in the prison. The news of the fever had awoke in the

convicts all that love of liberty which had but slumbered during the monotony of the earlier part of the

voyage. Now that death menaced them, they longed fiercely for the chance of escape which seemed permitted

to freemen. "Let us get out!" they said, each man speaking to his particular friend. "We are locked up here to

die like sheep." Gloomy faces and desponding looks met the gaze of each, and sometimes across this gloom

shot a fierce glance that lighted up its blackness, as a lightningflash renders luridly luminous the indigo

dullness of a thundercloud. By and by, in some inexplicable way, it came to be understood that there was a

conspiracy afloat, that they were to be released from their shambles, that some amongst them had been

plotting for freedom. The 'tween decks held its foul breath in wondering anxiety, afraid to breathe its

suspicions. The influence of this predominant idea showed itself by a strange shifting of atoms. The mass of

villainy, ignorance, and innocence began to be animated with something like a uniform movement. Natural

affinities came together, and like allied itself to like, falling noiselessly into harmony, as the pieces of glass

and coloured beads in a kaleidoscope assume mathematical forms. By seven bells it was found that the prison

was divided into three parties the desperate, the timid, and the cautious. These three parties had arranged

themselves in natural sequence. The mutineers, headed by Gabbett, Vetch, and the Moocher, were nearest to

the door; the timid boys, old men, innocent poor wretches condemned on circumstantial evidence, or

rustics condemned to be turned into thieves for pulling a turnip were at the farther end, huddling together

in alarm; and the prudent that is to say, all the rest, ready to fight or fly, advance or retreat, assist the

authorities or their companions, as the fortune of the day might direct occupied the middle space. The

mutineers proper numbered, perhaps, some thirty men, and of these thirty only half a dozen knew what was

The ship's bell strikes the halfhour, and as the cries of the three sentries passing the word to the

quarterdeck die away, Gabbett, who has been leaning with his back against the door, nudges Jemmy Vetch.

The whisper being heard by those nearest the giant, a silence ensues, which gradually spreads like a ripple

"Gentlemen," says Mr. Vetch, politely sarcastic in his own hangdog fashion, "myself and my friends here are

going to take the ship for you. Those who like to join us had better speak at once, for in about half an hour

He pauses, and looks round with such an impertinently confident air, that three waverers in the party

"You needn't be afraid," Mr. Vetch continues, "we have arranged it all for you. There are friends waiting for

us outside, and the door will be open directly. All we want, gentlemen, is your vote and interest I mean

"Gaffing agin!" interrupts the giant angrily. "Come to business, carn't yer? Tell 'em they may like it or lump

it, but we mean to have the ship, and them as refuses to join us we mean to chuck overboard. That's about the

This practical way of putting it produces a sensation, and the conservative party at the other end look in each

other's faces with some alarm. A grim murmur runs round, and somebody near Mr. Gabbett laughs a laugh of

mingled ferocity and amusement, not reassuring to timid people. "What about the sogers?" asked a voice

"Dthe sogers!" cries the Moocher, moved by a sudden inspiration. "They can but shoot yer, and that's as

The right chord had been struck now, and with a stifled roar the prison admitted the truth of the sentiment.

"Go on, old man!" cries Jemmy Vetch to the giant, rubbing his thin hands with eldritch glee. "They're all

right!" And then, his quick ears catching the jingle of arms, he said, "Stand by now for the door one rush'll

It was eight o'clock and the relief guard was coming from the after deck. The crowd of prisoners round the

door held their breath to listen. "It's all planned," says Gabbett, in a low growl. "W'en the door h'opens we

rush, and we're in among the guard afore they know where they are. Drag 'em back into the prison, grab the

"They're very quiet about it," says the Crow suspiciously. "I hope it's all right."

"Stand from the door, Miles," says Pine's voice outside, in its usual calm accents.

The Crow was relieved. The tone was an ordinary one, and Miles was the soldier whom Sarah Purfoy had

The keys clashed and turned, and the bravest of the prudent party, who had been turning in his mind the

notion of risking his life for a pardon, to be won by rushing forward at the right moment and alarming the

guard, checked the cry that was in his throat as he saw the men round the door draw back a little for their

"NOW!" cries Jemmy Vetch, as the ironplated oak swung back, and with the guttural snarl of a charging

The red line of light which glowed for an instant through the doorway was blotted out by a mass of figures.

All the prison surged forward, and before the eye could wink, five, ten, twenty, of the most desperate were

outside. It was as though a sea, breaking against a stone wall, had found some breach through which to pour

its waters. The contagion of battle spread. Caution was forgotten; and those at the back, seeing Jemmy Vetch

raised upon the crest of that human billow which reared its black outline against an indistinct perspective of

struggling figures, responded to his grin of encouragement by rushing furiously forward.

Suddenly a horrible roar like that of a trapped wild beast was heard. The rushing torrent choked in the

doorway, and from out the lantern glow into which the giant had rushed, a flash broke, followed by a groan,

as the perfidious sentry fell back shot through the breast. The mass in the doorway hung irresolute, and then

by sheer weight of pressure from behind burst forward, and as it so burst, the heavy door crashed into its

All this took place by one of those simultaneous movements which are so rapid in execution, so tedious to

describe in detail. At one instant the prison door had opened, at the next it had closed. The picture which had

presented itself to the eyes of the convicts was as momentary as are those of the thaumatoscope. The period

of time that had elapsed between the opening and the shutting of the door could have been marked by the

The report of another shot, and then a noise of confused cries, mingled with the clashing of arms, informed

the imprisoned men that the ship had been alarmed. How would it go with their friends on deck? Would they

succeed in overcoming the guards, or would they be beaten back? They would soon know; and in the hot

dusk, straining their eyes to see each other, they waited for the issue Suddenly the noises ceased, and a

This the men pouring out of the darkness into the sudden glare of the lanterns, rushed, bewildered, across

the deck. Miles, true to his promise, did not fire, but the next instant Vickers had snatched the firelock from

him, and leaping into the stream, turned about and fired down towards the prison. The attack was more

sudden then he had expected, but he did not lose his presence of mind. The shot would serve a double

purpose. It would warn the men in the barrack, and perhaps check the rush by stopping up the doorway with a

corpse. Beaten back, struggling, and indignant, amid the storm of hideous faces, his humanity vanished, and

he aimed deliberately at the head of Mr. James Vetch; the shot, however, missed its mark, and killed the

Gabbett and his companions had by this time reached the foot of the companion ladder, there to encounter the

cutlasses of the doubled guard gleaming redly in the glow of the lanterns. A glance up the hatchway showed

the giant that the arms he had planned to seize were defended by ten firelocks, and that, behind the open

doors of the partition which ran abaft the mizenmast, the remainder of the detachment stood to their arms.

Even his dull intellect comprehended that the desperate project had failed, and that he had been betrayed.

With the roar of despair which had penetrated into the prison, he turned to fight his way back, just in time to

see the crowd in the gangway recoil from the flash of the musket fired by Vickers. The next instant, Pine and

two soldiers, taking advantage of the momentary cessation of the press, shot the bolts, and secured the prison.

The narrow space between the barracks and the barricade was choked with struggling figures. Some twenty

convicts, and half as many soldiers, struck and stabbed at each other in the crowd. There was barely

elbowroom, and attacked and attackers fought almost without knowing whom they struck. Gabbett tore a

cutlass from a soldier, shook his huge head, and calling on the Moocher to follow, bounded up the ladder,

desperately determined to brave the fire of the watch. The Moocher, close at the giant's heels, flung himself

upon the nearest soldier, and grasping his wrist, struggled for the cutlass. A brawny, bullnecked fellow next

him dashed his clenched fist in the soldier's face, and the man maddened by the blow, let go the cutlass, and

drawing his pistol, shot his new assailant through the head. It was this second shot that had aroused Maurice

As the young lieutenant sprang out upon the deck, he saw by the position of the guard that others had been

more mindful of the safety of the ship than he. There was, however, no time for explanation, for, as he

reached the hatchway, he was met by the ascending giant, who uttered a hideous oath at the sight of this

unexpected adversary, and, too close to strike him, locked him in his arms. The two men were drawn

together. The guard on the quarterdeck dared not fire at the two bodies that, twined about each other, rolled

across the deck, and for a moment Mr. Frere's cherished existence hung upon the slenderest thread

The Moocher, spattered with the blood and brains of his unfortunate comrade, had already set his foot upon

the lowest step of the ladder, when the cutlass was dashed from his hand by a blow from a clubbed firelock,

and he was dragged roughly backwards. As he fell upon the deck, he saw the Crow spring out of the mass of

prisoners who had been, an instant before, struggling with the guard, and, gaining the cleared space at the

bottom of the ladder, hold up his hands, as though to shield himself from a blow. The confusion had now

become suddenly stilled, and upon the group before the barricade had fallen that mysterious silence which

They were not perplexed for long. The two soldiers who, with the assistance of Pine, had forcedto the door

of the prison, rapidly unbolted that trapdoor in the barricade, of which mention has been made in a previous

chapter, and, at a signal from Vickers, three men ran the loaded howitzer from its sinister shelter near the

break of the barrack berths, and, training the deadly muzzle to a level with the opening in the barricade, stood

"Surrender!" cried Vickers, in a voice from which all "humanity" had vanished. "Surrender, and give up your

There was no tremor in his voice, and though he stood, with Pine by his side, at the very mouth of the

levelled cannon, the mutineers perceived, with that acuteness which imminent danger brings to the most

stolid of brains, that, did they hesitate an instant, he would keep his word. There was an awful moment of

silence, broken only by a skurrying noise in the prison, as though a family of rats, disturbed at a flour cask,

were scampering to the ship's side for shelter. This skurrying noise was made by the convicts rushing to their

berths to escape the threatened shower of grape; to the twenty desperadoes cowering before the muzzle of the

howitzer it spoke more eloquently than words. The charm was broken; their comrades would refuse to join

them. The position of affairs at this crisis was a strange one. From the opened trapdoor came a sort of

subdued murmur, like that which sounds within the folds of a seashell, but, in the oblong block of darkness

which it framed, nothing was visible. The trapdoor might have been a window looking into a tunnel. On

each side of this horrible window, almost pushed before it by the pressure of one upon the other, stood Pine,

Vickers, and the guard. In front of the little group lay the corpse of the miserable boy whom Sarah Purfoy had

led to ruin; and forced close upon, yet shrinking back from the trampled and bloody mass, crouched in

mingled terror and rage, the twenty mutineers. Behind the mutineers, withdrawn from the patch of light

thrown by the open hatchway, the mouth of the howitzer threatened destruction; and behind the howitzer,

backed up by an array of brown musket barrels, suddenly glowed the tiny fire of the burning match in the

The entrapped men looked up the hatchway, but the guard had already closed in upon it, and some of the

ship's crew with that carelessness of danger characteristic of sailors were peering down upon them.

"One minute!" cried Vickers, confident that one second would be enough "one minute to go quietly, or

"Surrender, mates, for God's sake!" shrieked some unknown wretch from out of the darkness of the prison.

Jemmy Vetch, feeling, by that curious sympathy which nervous natures possess, that his comrades wished

him to act as spokesman, raised his shrill tones. "We surrender," he said. "It's no use getting our brains blown

out." And raising his hands, he obeyed the motion of Vickers's fingers, and led the way towards the barrack.

"Bring the irons forward, there!" shouted Vickers, hastening from his perilous position; and before the last

man had filed past the still smoking match, the cling of hammers announced that the Crow had resumed those

fetters which had been knocked off his dainty limbs a month previously in the Bay of Biscay.

In another moment the trapdoor was closed, the howitzer rumbled back to its cleatings, and the prison

In the meantime, a scene almost as exciting had taken place on the upper deck. Gabbett, with the blind fury

which the consciousness of failure brings to such brutelike natures, had seized Frere by the throat,

determined to put an end to at least one of his enemies. But desperate though he was, and with all the

advantage of weight and strength upon his side, he found the young lieutenant a more formidable adversary

Maurice Frere was no coward. Brutal and selfish though he might be, his bitterest enemies had never accused

him of lack of physical courage. Indeed, he had been in the rollicking days of old that were gone

celebrated for the display of very opposite qualities. He was an amateur at manly sports. He rejoiced in his

muscular strength, and, in many a tavern brawl and midnight riot of his own provoking, had proved the

fallacy of the proverb which teaches that a bully is always a coward. He had the tenacity of a bulldog once

let him get his teeth in his adversary, and he would hold on till he died. In fact he was, as far as personal

vigour went, a Gabbett with the education of a prizefighter; and, in a personal encounter between two men

of equal courage, science tells more than strength. In the struggle, however, that was now taking place,

science seemed to be of little value. To the inexperienced eye, it would appear that the frenzied giant,

gripping the throat of the man who had fallen beneath him, must rise from the struggle an easy victor. Brute

force was all that was needed there was neither room nor time for the display of any cunning of fence. *

But knowledge, though it cannot give strength, gives coolness. Taken by surprise as he was, Maurice Frere

did not lose his presence of mind. The convict was so close upon him that there was no time to strike; but, as

he was forced backwards, he succeeded in crooking his knee round the thigh of his assailant, and thrust one

hand into his collar. Over and over they rolled, the bewildered sentry not daring to fire, until the ship's side

brought them up with a violent jerk, and Frere realized that Gabbett was below him. Pressing with all the

might of his muscles, he strove to resist the leverage which the giant was applying to turn him over, but he

might as well have pushed against a stone wall. With his eyes protruding, and every sinew strained to its

uttermost, he was slowly forced round, and he felt Gabbett releasing his grasp, in order to draw back and aim

at him an effectual blow. Disengaging his left hand, Frere suddenly allowed himself to sink, and then,

drawing up his right knee, struck Gabbett beneath the jaw, and as the huge head was forced backwards by the

blow, dashed his fist into the brawny throat. The giant reeled backwards, and, falling on his hands and knees,

Now began and ended, in less time than it takes to write it, one of those Homeric struggles of one man against

twenty, which are none the less heroic because the Ajax is a convict, and the Trojans merely ordinary sailors.

Shaking his assailants to the deck as easily as a wild boar shakes off the dogs which clamber upon his bristly

sides, the convict sprang to his feet, and, whirling the snatchedup cutlass round his head, kept the circle at

bay. Four times did the soldiers round the hatchway raise their muskets, and four times did the fear of

wounding the men who had flung themselves upon the enraged giant compel them to restrain their fire.

Gabbett, his stubbly hair on end, his bloodshot eyes glaring with fury, his great hand opening and shutting in

air, as though it gasped for something to seize, turned himself about from side to side now here, now

there, bellowing like a wounded bull. His coarse shirt, rent from shoulder to flank, exposed the play of his

huge muscles. He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and the blood, trickling down his face, mingled

with the foam on his lips, and dropped sluggishly on his hairy breast. Each time that an assailant came within

reach of the swinging cutlass, the ruffian's form dilated with a fresh access of passion. At one moment

bunched with clinging adversaries his arms, legs, and shoulders a hanging mass of human bodies at the

next, free, desperate, alone in the midst of his foes, his hideous countenance contorted with hate and rage, the

giant seemed less a man than a demon, or one of those monstrous and savage apes which haunt the solitudes

of the African forests. Spurning the mob who had rushed in at him, he strode towards his risen adversary, and

aimed at him one final blow that should put an end to his tyranny for ever. A notion that Sarah Purfoy had

betrayed him, and that the handsome soldier was the cause of the betrayal, had taken possession of his mind,

and his rage had concentrated itself upon Maurice Frere. The aspect of the villain was so appalling, that,

despite his natural courage, Frere, seeing the backward sweep of the cutlass, absolutely closed his eyes with

As Gabbett balanced himself for the blow, the ship, which had been rocking gently on a dull and silent sea,

suddenly lurched the convict lost his balance, swayed, and fell. Ere he could rise he was pinioned by

Authority was almost instantaneously triumphant on the upper and lower decks. The mutiny was over.

THE shock was felt all through the vessel, and Pine, who had been watching the ironing of the last of the

"Thank God!" he cried, "there's a breeze at last!" and as the overpowered Gabbett, bruised, bleeding, and

bound, was dragged down the hatchway, the triumphant doctor hurried upon deck to find the Malabar

plunging through the whitening water under the influence of a fifteenknot breeze.

"Stand by to reef topsails! Away aloft, men, and furl the royals!" cries Best from the quarterdeck; and in the

midst of the cheery confusion Maurice Frere briefly recapitulated what had taken place, taking care, however,

"Not she!" says Frere eager to avert inquiry. "How should she be? Plot! She's sickening of fever, or I'm

Sure enough, on opening the door of the cabin, they found Sarah Purfoy lying where she had fallen a quarter

of an hour before. The clashing of cutlasses and the firing of muskets had not roused her.

"We must make a sickbay somewhere," says Pine, looking at the senseless figure with no kindly glance;

"though I don't think she's likely to be very bad. Confound her! I believe that she's the cause of all this. I'll

find out, too, before many hours are over; for I've told those fellows that unless they confess all about it

before tomorrow morning, I'll get them six dozen apiece the day after we anchor in Hobart Town. I've a

great mind to do it before we get there. Take her head, Frere, and we'll get her out of this before Vickers

comes up. What a fool you are, to be sure! I knew what it would be with women aboard ship. I wonder Mrs.

V. hasn't been out before now. There steady past the door. Why, man, one would think you never had

your arm round a girl's waist before! Pooh! don't look so scared I won't tell. Make haste, now, before that

little parson comes. Parsons are regular old women to chatter"; and thus muttering Pine assisted to carry Mrs.

"By George, but she's a fine girl!" he said, viewing the inanimate body with the professional eye of a surgeon.

"I don't wonder at you making a fool of yourself. Chances are, you've caught the fever, though this breeze

will help to blow it out of us, please God. That old jackass, Blunt, too! he ought to be ashamed of himself,

"Oh, I don't know," returned Pine. "He was smitten too, that's all Like a good many more, in fact."

"Yes!" laughed Pine. "Why, man, she was making eyes at every man in the ship! I caught her kissing a

Maurice Frere's cheeks grew hot. The experienced profligate had been taken in, deceived, perhaps laughed at.

All the time he had flattered himself that he was fascinating the blackeyed maid, the blackeyed maid had

been twisting him round her finger, and perhaps imitating his lovemaking for the gratification of her

soldierlover. It was not a pleasant thought; and yet, strange to say, the idea of Sarah's treachery did not make

him dislike her. There is a sort of love if love it can be called which thrives under illtreatment.

Vickers met them at the door. "Pine, Blunt has the fever. Mr. Best found him in his cabin groaning. Come

The commander of the Malabar was lying on his bunk in the betwisted condition into which men who sleep

in their clothes contrive to get themselves. The doctor shook him, bent down over him, and then loosened his

"Hallo!" says Pine, smelling at the broken tumbler, "what's this? Smells queer. Rum? No. Eh! Laudanum! By

"I see it," slapping his thigh. "It's that infernal woman! She's drugged him, and meant to do the same for "

(Frere gave him an imploring look) "for anybody else who would be fool enough to let her do it. Dawes

"It's no nonsense. That soldier who was shot, what's his name? Miles, he but, however, it doesn't

matter. It's all over now." "The men will confess before morning," says Vickers, "and we'll see." And he went

His wife opened the door for him. She had been sitting by the child's bedside, listening to the firing, and

waiting for her husband's return without a murmur. Flirt, fribble, and shrew as she was, Julia Vickers had

displayed, in times of emergency, that glowing courage which women of her nature at times possess. Though

she would yawn over any book above the level of a genteel love story; attempt to fascinate, with ludicrous

assumption of girlishness, boys young enough to be her sons; shudder at a frog, and scream at a spider, she

could sit throughout a quarter of an hour of such suspense as she had just undergone with as much courage as

if she had been the strongestminded woman that ever denied her sex. "Is it all over?" she asked.

"Yes, thank God!" said Vickers, pausing on the threshold. "All is safe now, though we had a narrow escape, I

believe. How's Sylvia?" The child was lying on the bed with her fair hair scattered over the pillow, and her

The red lips parted, and the blue eyes, brighter than ever, stared vacantly around. The sound of her father's

voice seemed to have roused her, for she began to speak a little prayer: "God bless papa and mamma, and

God bless all on board this ship. God bless me, and make me a good girl, for Jesus Christ's sake, our Lord.

The sound of the unconscious child's simple prayer had something awesome in it, and John Vickers, who, not

ten minutes before, would have sealed his own deathwarrant unhesitatingly to preserve the safety of the

vessel, felt his eyes fill with unwonted tears. The contrast was curious. From out the midst of that desolate

ocean in a feversmitten prison ship, leagues from land, surrounded by ruffians, thieves, and murderers,

Two hours afterwards as the Malabar, escaped from the peril which had menaced her, plunged cheerily

through the rippling water the mutineers, by the spokesman, Mr. James Vetch, confessed.

"They were very sorry, and hoped that their breach of discipline would be forgiven. It was the fear of the

typhus which had driven them to it. They had no accomplices either in the prison or out of it, but they felt it

The malignant cripple had guessed from whom the information which had led to the failure of the plot had

EXTRACTED from the Hobart Town Courier of the 12th November, 1827: "The examination of the

prisoners who were concerned in the attempt upon the Malabar was concluded on Tuesday last. The four

ringleaders, Dawes Gabbett, Vetch, and Sanders, were condemned to death; but we understand that, by the

clemency of his Excellency the Governor, their sentence has been commuted to six years at the penal

THE southeast coast of Van Diemen's Land, from the solitary Mewstone to the basaltic cliffs of Tasman's

Head, from Tasman's Head to Cape Pillar, and from Cape Pillar to the rugged grandeur of Pirates' Bay,

resembles a biscuit at which rats have been nibbling. Eaten away by the continual action of the ocean which,

pouring round by east and west, has divided the peninsula from the mainland of theAustralasian

continentand done for Van Diemen's Land what it has done for the Isle of Wightthe shore line is broken

and ragged. Viewed upon the map, the fantastic fragments of island and promontory which lie scattered

between the SouthWest Cape and the greater Swan Port, are like the curious forms assumed by melted lead

spilt into water. If the supposition were not too extravagant, one might imagine that when the Australian

continent was fused, a careless giant upset the crucible, and spilt Van Diemen's land in the ocean. The coast

navigation is as dangerous as that of the Mediterranean. Passing from Cape Bougainville to the east of Maria

Island, and between the numerous rocks and shoals which lie beneath the triple height of the Three Thumbs,

the mariner is suddenly checked by Tasman's Peninsula, hanging, like a huge doubledropped ear. ring, from

the mainland. Getting round under the Pillar rock through Storm Bay to Storing Island, we sight the Italy of

this miniature Adriatic. Between Hobart Town ard Sorrell, Pittwater and the Derwent, a strangelyshaped

point of land the Italian boot with its toe bent upwardsprojects into the bay, and, separated from this

projection by a narrow channel, dotted with rocks, the long length of Bruny Island makes, between its

western side and the cliffs of Mount Royal, the dangerous passage known as D'Entrecasteaux Channel. At the

southern entrance of D'Entrecasteaux Channel, a line of sunken rocks, known by the generic name of the

Actaeon reef, attests that Bruny Head was once joined with the shores of Recherche Bay; while, from the

South Cape to the jaws of Macquarie Harbour, the white water caused by sunken reefs, or thejagged peaks of

It would seem as though nature, jealous of the beauties of her silver Derwent, had made the approach to it as

dangerous as possible ; but once through the archipelago of D'Entrecasteaux Channel, or the less dangerous

eastern passage of Storm Bay, the voyage up the river is delightful. From the sentinel solitude of the Iron Pot

to the smiling banks of New Norfolk, the river winds in a succession of reaches, narrowing to a deep channel

cleft between rugged and towering cliffs. A line drawn due north from the source of the Derwent would strike

another river winding out from the northern part of the island, as the Derwent winds out from the south. The

force of the waves, expended, perhaps, in destroying the isthmus which, two thousand years ago, probably

connected Van Diemen's Land with the continent has been here less violent. The rounding currents of the

Southern Ocean, meeting at the mouth of the Tamar, have rushed upwards over the isthmus they have

devoured, and pouring against the south coast of Victoria, have excavated there that inland sea called Port

Philip Bay. If the waves have gnawed the south coast of Van Diemen's Land, they have bitten a mouthful out

of the south coast of Victoria. The Bay is a millpool, havin 'a an area of nine hundred square miles, with a

About a hundred and seventy miles to the south of this millrace lies Van Diemen's Land, fertile, fair, and

rich, rained upon by the genial showers from the clouds which, attracted by the Frenchman's Cap, Wyld's

Crag, or the lofty peaks of the Wellington and Dromedary range, pour down upon the sheltered valleys their

fertilizing streams. No parching hot windthe scavenger, if the torment, of the continentblows upon her

crops and corn. The cool south breeze ripples gently the blue waters of the Derwent, and fans the curtains of

the open windows of the city which nestles in the broad shadow of Mount Wellington. The hot wind, born

amid the burning sand of the interior of the vast Australian continent, sweeps over the scorched and cracking

plains, to lick up their streams and wither the herbage in its path, until it meets the waters of the great south

bay ; but in its passage across the straits it is reft of its fire, and sinks, exhausted with its journey, at the feet

The climate of Van Diemen's Land is one of the loveliest in the world. Launceston is warm, sheltered, and

moist; and Hobart Town, protected by Bruny Island and its archipelago of D'Entrecasteaux Channel and

Storm Bay from the violence of the southern breakers, preserves the mean temperature of Smyrna ; whilst the

district between these two towns spreads in a succession of beautiful valleys, through which glide clear and

sparkling streams. But on the western coast, from the steeplerocks of Cape Grim to the scrubencircled

barrenness of Sandy Cape, and the frowning entrance to Macquarie Harbour, the nature of the country

entirely changes. Along that ironbound shore, from Pyramid Island and the forestbacked solitude of Rocky

Point, to the great Ram Head, and the straggling harbour of Port Davey, all is bleak and cheerless. Upon that

dreary beach the rollers of the southern sea complete their circuit of the globe, and the storm that has

devastated the Cape, and united in its eastern course with the icy blasts which sweep northward from the

unknown terrors of the southern pole, crashes unchecked upon the Huon pine forests, and lashes with rain the

grim front of Mount Direction. Furious gales and sudden tempests affrigbt the natives of the coast.

Navigation is dangerous, and the entrance to the "Hell's Gates" of Macquarie Harbourat the time of which

we are writing (1833), in the height of its illfame as a convict settlementis only to be attempted in calm

weather. The sealine is marked with wrecks. The sunken rocks are dismally named after the vessels they

have destroyed. The air is chill and moist, the soil prolific only in prickly undergrowth and noxious weeds,

while foetid exhalations from swamp and fen cling close to the humid, spongy ground. All around breathes

desolation; on the face of nature is stamped a perpetual frown. The shipwrecked sailor, crawling painfully to

the summit of basalt cliffs, or the ironed convict, dragging his tree trunk to the edge of some beetling plateau,

looks down upon a sea of fog, through which rise mountaintops like islands; or sees through the biting sleet

a desert of scrub and crag rolling to the feet of Mount Heemskirk and Mount Zeehancrouched like two

"HELL'S GATES," formed by a rocky point, which runs Habruptly northward, almost touches, on its eastern

side, a projecting arm of land which guards the entrance to King's River. In the middle of the gates is a

natural boltthat is to say, an islandwhich, lying on a sandy bar in the very jaws of the current, creates a

double whirlpool, impossible to pass in the smoothest weather. Once through the gates, the convict, chained

on the deck of the inwardbound vessel, sees in front of him the bald cone of the Frenchman's Cap, piercing

the moist air at a height of five thousand feet; while, gloomed by overhanging rocks, and shadowed by

gigantic forests, the black sides of the basin narrow to the mouth of the Gordon. The turbulent stream is the

colour of indigo, and, being fed by numerous rivulets, which ooze through masses of decaying vegetable

matter, is of so poisonous a nature that it is not only undrinkable, but absolutely kills the fish, which in

stormy weather are driven in from the sea. As may be imagined, the furious tempests which beat upon this

exposed coast create a strong surfline. After a few days of northwest wind the waters of the Gordon will be

found salt for twelve miles up from the bar. The headquarters of the settlement were placed on an island not

far from the mouth of this inhospitable river, called Sarah Island. Though now the whole place is desolate,

and a few rotting posts and logs alone remainmute witnesses of scenes of agony never to be revivedin

the year 1833 the buildings were numerous and extensive. On Philip's Island, on the north side of the harbour,

was a small farm, where vegetables were grown for the use of the officers of the establishment; and, on Sarah

Island, were sawpits, forges, dockyards, gaol, guardhouse, barracks, and jetty. The military force numbered

about sixty men, who, with convictwarders and constables, took charge of more than three hundred and fifty

prisoners. These miserable wretches, deprived of every hope, were employed in the most degrading labour.

No beast of burden was allowed on the settlement; all the pulling and dragging was done by human beings.

About one hundred "goodconduct" men were allowed the lighter toil of dragging timber to the wharf, to

assist in shipbuilding; the others cut down the trees that fringed the mainland, and carried them on their

shoulders to the water's edge. The denseness of the scrub and bush rendered it necessary for a "roadway,"

perhaps a quarter of a mile in length, to be first constructed ; and the trunks of trees, stripped of their

branches, were rolled together in this roadway, until a "slide" was made, down which the heavier logs could

be shunted towards the harbour. The timber thus obtained was made into rafts, and floated to the sheds, or

arranged for transportation to Hobart Town. The convicts were lodged on Sarah Island, in barracks flanked

by a twostoried prison, whose "cells" were the terror of the most hardened. Each morning they received

their breakfast of porridge, water, and salt, and then rowed, under the protection of their guard, to the

woodcutting stations, where they worked without food, until night. The launching and hewing of the timber

compelled thein to work up to their waists in water. Many of thein were heavily ironed. Those who died were

buried on a little plot of ground, called Halliday's Island (from the name of the first man buried there), and a

plank stuck into the earth, and carved with the initials of the deceased, was the only monument vouchsafed

him. Sarah Island, situated at the southeast corner of the harbour, is long and low. The commandant's house

was built in the centre, having the chaplain's house and barracks between it and the gaol. The hospital was on

the west shore, and in a line with it lay the two penitentiaries. Lines of lofty palisades ran round the

settlement, giving it the appearance of a fortified town. These pa!isades were built for the purpose of warding

off the terrific blasts of wind, which, shrieking through the long and narrow bay as through the keyhole of a

door, had in former times tore off roofs and levelled boatsheds. The little town was set, as it were, in

defiance of Nature, at the very extreme of civilization, and its inhabitants maintained perpetual warfare with

But the gaol of Sarah Island was not the only prison in thisdesolate region. At a little distance from the

mainLind is a rock, over the rude side of which the waves dash in rou1i weather. On the evening of the 3rd

December, 1833, as the sun was sinking behind the treetops on the left side of the harbour, the figure of a

man appeared on the top of this rock. He was clad in the coarse garb of a convict, and wore round his ankles

two iron rings, connected by a short and heavy chain. To the middle of this chain a leathern strap was

attached, which, splitting in the form of a T, buckled round his waist, and pulled the chain high enough to

prevent him from stumbling over it as he walked. His head was bare, and his coarse. bluestriped shirt, open

at the throat, displayed an embrowned and muscular neck. Emerging from out a sort of cell, or den, contrived

by nature or art in the side of the cliff, he threw on a scanty lire, which burned between two hollowed rocks, a

small log of pine wood, and then returning to his cave, and bringing from it an iron pot, which contained

water, he scooped with his toilhardened hands a restingplace for it in the ashes, and placed it on the

embem It was evident that the cave was at once his storehouse and larder, and that the two hollowed rocks

formed his kitchen. Having thus made preparations for supper, he ascended a pathway which led to the

highest point of the rock. His fetters compelled him to take short steps, and, as he walked, he winced as

though the iron bit him. A handkerchief or strip of cloth was twisted round his left ankle; on which the circlet

had chafed a sore. Painfully and slowly, he gained his destination, and flinging himself on the ground, gazed

around him. The after noon had been stormy, and the rays of the setting sun shone redly on the turbid and

rushing waters of the bay. On the right lay Sarah Island; on the left the bleak shore of the opposite and the tall

peak of the Frenchman's Cap; while the storm hung sullenly over the barren hills to the eastward. Below him

appeared the only sign of life. A brig was being towed up the harbour by two convictmanned boats. The

sight of this brig seemed to rouse in the mind of the solitary of the rock a strain of reflection, for, sinking his

chin upon his hand, he fixed his eyes on the incoming vessel, and immersed himself in moody thought. More

than an hour had passed, yet he did not move. The ship anchored, the boats detached themselves from her

sides, the sun sank, and the bay was plunged in gloom. Lights began to twinkle along the shore of the

settlement. The little fire died, and the water in the iron pot grew cold ; yet the watcher on the rock did not

stir. With his eyes staring into the gloom, and fixed steadily on the vessel, he lay along the barren cliff of his

IN the house of Major Vickers, Commandant of Macquarie Harbour, there was, on this evening of December

Lieutenant Maurice Frere, late in command at Maria Island, had unexpectedly come down with news from

headquarters. The Ladybird, Government schooner, visited the settlement on ordinary occasions twice a

year, and such visits were looked forward to with no little eagerness by the settlers. To the convicts the arrival

of the Ladybird meant arrival of new faces, intelligence of old comrades, news of how the world, from which

they were exiled, was progressing. When the Ladybird arrived, the chained and toilworn felons felt that they

were yet human, that the universe was not bounded by the gloomy forests which surrounded their prison, but

that there was a world beyond, where men, like themselves, smoked, and drank, and laughed, and rested, and

were Free. When the Ladybird arrived, they heard such news as interested themthat is to say, not mere

foolish accounts of wars or ship arrivals, or city gossip, but matters appertaining to their own worldhow

Tom was with the road gangs, Dick on a ticketofleave, Harry taken to the bush, and Jack hung at the

Hobart Town Gaol. Such items of intelligence were the only news they cared to hear, and the newcomers

were well posted up in such matters. To the convicts the Ladybird was town talk, theatre, stock quotations,

and latest telegrams. She was their newspaper and postoffice, the one excitement of their dreary existence,

the one link between their own misery and the happiness of their fellowcreatures. To the Commandant and

the "free men" this messenger from the outer life was scarcely less welcome. There was not a man on the

island who did not feel his heart grow heavier when her white sails disappeared behind the shoulder of the

On the present occasion business of more than ordinary importance had procured for Major Vickers this

pleasurable excitement. It had been resolved by Governor Arthur that the convict establishment should be

broken up. A succession of murders and attempted escapes had called public attention to the place, and its

distance from Hobart Town rendered it inconvenient and expensive. Arthur had fixed upon Tasman's

Peninsulathe earring of which we have spokenas a future convict dep t, and naming it Port Arthur, in

honour of himself, had sent down Lieutenant Maurice Frere with instructions for Vickers to convey the

In order to understand the magnitude and meaning of such an order as that with which Lieutenant Frere was

entrusted, we must glance at the social condition of the penal colony at this period of its history.

Nine years before, Colonel Arthur, late Governor of Honduras, had arrived at a most critical moment. The

former Governor, Colonel Sorrell, was a man of genial temperameni, but little strength of character. He was,

moreover, profligate in his private life; and, encouraged by his example, his officers violated all rules of

social decency. It was common for an officer to openly keep a female convict as his mistress. Not only would

compliance purchase comforts, but strange stories were afloat concerning the persecution of women who

dared to choose their own lovers. To put down this profligacy was the first care of Arthur; and in enforcing a

severe attention to etiquette and outward respectability, he perhaps erred on the side of virtue. Honest, brave,

and highminded, he was also penurious and cold, and the ostentatious good humour of the colonists dashed

itself in vain against his polite indifference. In opposition to this official society created by Governor Arthur

was that of the free settlers and the ticketofleave men. The latter were more numerous than one would be

apt to suppose. On the 2nd November, 1829, thirtyeight free pardons and fiftysix conditional pardons

appeared on the books; and the number of persons holding ticketsofleave, on the 26th of September the

Of the social condition of these people at this time it is impossible to speak without astonishment. According

to the recorded testimony of many respectable personsGovernment officials, military officers, and free

settlersthe profligacy of the settlers was notorious. Drunkenness was a prevailing vice. Even children were

to be seen in the streets intoxicated. On Sundays, men and women might be observed standing round the

publichouse doors, waiting for the expiration of the hours of public worship, in order to continue their

carousing. As for the condition of the prisoner population, that, indeed, is indescribable. Notwithstanding the

severe punishment for sly grogselling, it was carried on to a large extent. Men and women were found

intoxicated together, and a bottle of brandy was considered to be cheaply bought at the price of twenty lashes.

In the factorya prison for femalesthe vilest abuses were committed, while the infamies current, as

matters of course, in chain gangs and penal settlements, were of too horrible a nature to be more than hinted

at here. All that the vilest and most bestial of human creatures could invent and practise, was in this unhappy

Seven classes of criminals were established in 1826, when the new barracks for prisoners at Hobart Town

were finished. The first class were allowed to sleep out of barracks, and to work for themselves on Saturday ;

the second had only the lastnamed indulgence; the third were only allowed Saturday afternoon; the fourth

and fifth were "refractory and disorderly charactersto work in irons;" the sixth were "men of the most

degraded and incorrigible characterto be worked in irons, and kept entirely separate from the other

prisoners;" while the seventh were the refuse of this refusethe murderers, bandits, and villains, whom

neither chain nor lash could tame. They were regarded as socially dead, and shipped to Hell's Gates, or Maria

Island. Hells Gates was the most dreaded of all these houses of bondage. The discipline at the place was so

severe, and the life so terrible, that prisoners would risk all to escape from it. In one year, of eightyfive

deaths there, only thirty were from natural causes; of the remaining dead, twentyseven were drowned, eight

killed accidentally, three shot by the soldiers, and twelve murdered by their comrades. In 1822, one hundred

and sixtynine men out of one hundred and eightytwo were punished to the extent of two thousand lashes.

During the ten years of its existence, one hundred and twelve men escaped, out of whom sixtytwo only were

founddead. The prisoners killed themselves to avoid living any longer, and if so fortunate as to penetrate

the desert of scrub, heath, and swamp, which lay between their prison and the settled districts, preferred death

to recapture. Successfully to transport the remnant of this desperate band of doublyconvicted felons to

He was sitting by the empty fireplace, with one leg carelessly thrown over the other, entertaining the

company with his usual indifferent air. The six years that had passed since his departure from England had

given him a sturdier frame and a fuller face. His hair was coarser, his face redder, and his eye more hard, but

in demeanour he was little changed. Sobered he might be, and his voice had acquired that decisive, insured

tone which a voice exercised only in accents of command invariably acquires, but his bad qualities were as

prominent as ever. His five years' residence at Maria Island had increased that brutality of thought, and

overbearing confidence in his own importance, for which he had been always remarkable, but it had also

given him an assured air of authority, which covered the more unpleasant features of his character. He was

detested by the prisonersas he said, "it was a word and a blow with him" but, among his superiors, he

passed for an officer, honest and painstaking, though somewhat bluff and severe.

"Well, Mrs. Vickers," he said, as he took a cup of tea from the hands of that lady, "I suppose you won't be

"No indeed," says poor Mrs. Vickers, with the old girlishness shadowed by six years; "I shall be only too

glad. A dreadful place! John's duties, however, are imperative. But the wind! My dear Mr. Frere, you've no

idea of it; I wanted to send Sylvia to Hobart Town, but John would not let her go."

"By the way, how is Miss Sylvia?" asked Frere, with the patronising air which men of his stamp adopt when

"Not very well, I'm sorry to say," returned Vickers. "You see, it's lonely for her here. There are no children of

her own age, with the exception of the pilot's little girl, and she cannot associate with her. But I did not like to

"Hum! There was ahagoverness, or something, was there not?" said Frere, staring into his teacup.

"Miss Purfoy," said Mrs. Vickers, a little gravely. "Yes, poor thing! A sad story, Mr. Frere."

"Indeed! I left, you know, shortly after the trial of the mutineers, and never heard the full particulars." He

"A sad story!" repeated Mrs. Vickers. "She was the wife of that wretched man, Rex, and came out as my

maid in order to be near him. She would never tell me her history, poor thing, though all through the dreadful

accusations made by that horrid doctorI always disliked that manI begged her almost on my knees. You

know how she nursed Sylvia and poor John. Really a most superior creature. I think she must have been a

Mr. Frere raised his eyebrows abruptly, as though he would say, Governess! Of course. Happy suggestion.

Wonder it never occurred to me before. "However, her conduct was most exemplaryreally most

exemplaryand during the six months we were in Hobart Town she taught little Sylvia a great deal. Of

"Certainly not!" said Frere heartily. "I heard something about him too. Got into some scrape, did he not? Half

"Miss Purfoy, or Mrs. Rex, as she really was, though I don't suppose Rex is her real name eithersugar and

milk, I think you saidcame into a little legacy from an old aunt in England." Mr. Frere gave a little bluff

nod, meaning thereby, Old aunt! Exactly. Just what might have been expected. "And left my service. She

took a little cottage on the New Town road, and Rex was assigned to her as her servant."

"Well, the wretched man tried to escape, and she helped him. He was to get to Launceston, and so on board a

vessel to Sydney; but they took the unhappy creature, and he was sent down here. She was only fined, but it

"Well, you see, only a few people knew of her relationship to Rex, and she was rather respected. Of course,

when it became known, what with that dreadful trial and the horrible assertions of Dr. Pineyou will not

believe me, I know, there was something about that man I never likedshe was quite left alone. She wanted

me to bring her down here to teach Sylvia; but John thought that it was only to be near her husband, and

"Of course it was," said Vickers, rising. "Frere, if you'd like to smoke, we'll go on the verandah.She will

never be satisfied until she gets that scoundrel free." "He's a bad lot, then?" says Frere, opening the glass

window, and leading the way to the sandy garden. "You will excuse my roughness, Mrs. Vickers, but I have

"Oh, a very bad lot," returned Vickers; "quiet and silent, but ready for any villainy. I count him one of the

worst men we have. With the exception of one or two more, I think he is the worst."

"Why don't you flog 'em?" says Frere, lighting his pipe in the gloom. " By George, sir, I cut the hides off my

fellows if they show any nonsense!" "Well," says Vickers, "I don't care about too much cat myself. Barton,

who was here before me, flogged tremendously, but I don't think it did any good. They tried to kill him

several times. You remember those twelve fellows who were hung? No! Ah, of course, you were away."

"Oh, flog the worst, you know; but I don't flog more than a man a week, as a rule, and never more than fifty

lashes. They're getting quieter now. Then we iron, and dumbcells, and maroon them."

"Give them solitary confinement on Grummet Island. When a man gets very bad, we clap him into a boat

with a week's provisions and pull him over to Grummet. There are cells cut in the rock, you see, and the

fellow pulls up his commissariat after him, and lives there by himself for a month or so. It tames them

"Does it?" said Frere. "By Jove! it's a capital notion. I wish I had a place of that sort at Maria."

"I've a fellow there now," says Vickers; "Dawes. You remember him, of course the ringleader of the

mutiny in the Malabar. A dreadful ruffian. He was most violent the first year I was here Barton used to flog a

good deal, and Dawes had a childish dread of the cat. When I came in when was it? in '29, he'd made a

sort of petition to be sent back to the settlement. Said that he was innocent of the mutiny, and that the

"Of course, I couldn't let him go; but I took him out of the chaingang, and put him on the Osprey. You saw

her in the dock as you came in. He worked for some time very well, and then tried to bolt again."

"The old trick. Ha! ha! don't I know it?" says Mr. Frere, emitting a streak of smoke in the air, expressive of

"Well, we caught him, and gave him fifty. Then he was sent to the chaingang, cutting timber. Then we put

him into the boats, but he quarrelled with the coxswain, and then we took him back to the timberrafts. About

six weeks ago he made another attempt together with Gabbett, the man who nearly killed you but his

leg was chafed with the irons, and we took him. Gabbett and three more, however, got away."

"No. But they'll come to the same fate as the rest," said Vickers, with a sort of dismal pride. "No man ever

Frere laughed. "By the Lord!" said he, "it will be rather hard for 'em if they don't come back before the end of

"Oh," said Vickers, "they're sure to come if they can come at all; but once lost in the scrub, a man hasn't

"As soon as you wish. I don't want to stop a moment longer than I can help. It is a terrible life, this."

"Do you think so?" asked his companion, in unaffected surprise. "I like it. It's dull, certainly. When I first

went to Maria I was dreadfully bored, but one soon gets used to it. There is a sort of satisfaction to me, by

George, in keeping the scoundrels in order. I like to see the fellows' eyes glint at you as you walk past 'em.

Gad, they'd tear me to pieces, if they dared, some of 'em!" and he laughed grimly, as though the hate he

"No," says Frere; "it's all left to you. Get 'em up the best way you can, Arthur said, and pack 'em off to the

new peninsula. He thinks you too far off here, by George! He wants to have you within hail."

"Not a bit. Batten 'em down and keep the sentries awake, and they won't do any harm." "But Mrs. Vickers

"I've thought of that. You take the Ladybird with the prisoners, and leave me to bring up Mrs. Vickers in the

"We might do that. Indeed, it's the best way, I think. I don't like the notion of having Sylvia among those

"Well," says Frere, confident of his own ability to accomplish anything he might undertake, "I'll take the

"No, no," said Vickers, with a touch of his old pomposity, "that won't do. By the King's Regulations "

"All right," interjected Frere, "you needn't quote 'em. 'The officer commanding is obliged tO place himself in

charge' all right, my dear sir. I've no objection in life." "It was Sylvia that I was thinking of," said Vickers.

"Well, then," cries the other, as the door of the room inside opened, and a little white figure came through

into the broad verandah. "Here she is! Ask her yourself. Well, Miss Sylvia, will you come and shake hands

The brighthaired baby of the Malabar had become a brighthaired child of some eleven years old, and as

she stood in her simple white dress in the glow of the lamplight, even the unaesthetic mind of Mr. Frere was

struck by her extreme beauty. Her bright blue eyes were as bright and as blue as ever. Her little figure was as

upright and as supple as a willow rod; and her innocent, delicate face was framed in a nimbus of that fine

golden hair dry and electrical, each separate thread shining with a lustre of its own with which the

dreaming painters of the middle ages endowed and glorified their angels. "Come and give me a kiss, Miss

But the child, resting one hand on her father's knee, surveyed Mr. Frere from head to foot with the charming

impertinence of childhood, and then, shaking her head, inquired: "Who is he, papa?"

"Mr. Frere, darling. Don't you remember Mr. Frere, who used to play ball with you on board the ship, and

There was in the chiding accents such an undertone of tenderness, that the reproof fell harmless.

"I remember you," said Sylvia, tossing her head; "but you were nicer then than you are now. I don't like you

at all." "You don't remember me," said Frere, a little disconcerted, and affecting to be intensely at his ease. "I

"Lieutenant Frere. You knocked down a prisoner who picked up my ball. I don't like you."

"You're a forward young lady, upon my word!" said Frere, with a great laugh. "Ha! ha! so I did, begad, I

"He's here now, isn't he, papa?" went on Sylvia, regardless of interruption. "Rufus Dawes is his name, and

he's always in trouble. Poor fellow, I'm sorry for him. Danny says he's queer in his mind."

"The cook," replied Vickers. "An old man I took out of hospital. Sylvia, you talk too much with the prisoners.

"But Danny is not a prisoner, papa he's a cook," says Sylvia, nothing abashed, "and he's a clever man. He

told me all about London, where the Lord Mayor rides in a glass coach, and all the work is done by free men.

"No he didn't say that. But he wants to see his old mother, he says. Fancy Danny's mother! What an ugly

"You're an impertinent fellow, sir!" cried Sylvia, her bright eyes flashing. "How dare you laugh at me? If I

was papa, I'd give you half an hour at the triangles. Oh, you impertinent man!" and, crimson with rage, the

spoilt little beauty ran out of the room. Vickers looked grave, but Frere was constrained to get up to laugh at

"Good! 'Pon honour, that's good! The little vixen! Half an hour at the triangles! Haha! ha, ha, ha!"

"She is a strange child," said Vickers, "and talks strangely for her age; but you mustn't mind her. She is

neither girl nor woman, you see; and her education has been neglected. Moreover, this gloomy place and its

"My dear sir," says the other, "she's delightful! Her innocence of the world is amazing!"

"She must have three or four years at a good finishing school at Sydney. Please God, I will give them to her

when we go back or send her to England if I can. She is a goodhearted girl, but she wants polishing

"Gad, he's had a narrow squeak for it, I'll be bound. I should like to see him."

"He's down at the sheds," said the ready Troke a *"good conduct" burglar. You can see him at once,

IT was not far to the sheds, and after a few minutes' walk through the wooden palisades they reached a long

stone building, two storeys high, from which issued a horrible growling, pierced with shrilly screamed songs.

At the sound of the musket butts clashing on the pinewood flagging, the noises ceased, and a silence more

Passing between two rows of warders, the two officers reached a sort of anteroom to the gaol, containing a

pinelog stretcher, on which a mass of something was lying. On a roughlymade stool, by the side of this

stretcher, sat a man, in the grey dress (worn as a contrast to the yellow livery) of "good conduct" prisoners.

This man held between his knees a basin containing gruel, and was apparently endeavouring to feed the mass

"Dunno what's wrong wi' 'un, sir," he said, jerking up a finger to his forehead. "He seems jest muggypated. I

The intelligent Troke, considerately alive to the wishes of his superior officers, dragged the mass into a sitting

Gabbett for it was he passed one great hand over his face, and leaning exactly in the position in which

"Well, Gabbett," says Vickers, "you've come back again, you see. When will you learn sense, eh? Where are

"We found him on the point, sir," said Troke, jauntily explaining, "and brought him across in the boat. He had

"I have eaten it. Ain't yer got nuffin' better nor that to flog a man on? Ugh! yer a mean lot! Wot's it to be this

"A nice specimen!" said Vickers, with a hopeless smile. "What can one do with such a fellow?"

Troke and the others, hearing the statement, conceived an instant respect for the newcomer. He looked as if

The giant raised his great head and looked at the speaker, but did not recognize him. He saw only a strange

face a visitor perhaps. "You may flog, and welcome, master," said he, "if you'll give me a fig o' tibbacky."

Frere laughed. The brutal indifference of the rejoinder suited his humour, and, with a glance at Vickers, he

took a small piece of cavendish from the pocket of his peajacket, and gave it to the recaptured convict.

Gabbett snatched it as a cur snatches at a bone, and thrust it whole into his mouth.

"How many mates had he?" asked Maurice, watching the champing jaws as one looks at a strange animal,

and asking the question as though a "mate" was something a convict was born with like a mole, for

"And if I ha' had three more," growled Gabbett, mumbling at his tobacco, "you wouldn't ha' had the chance."

But Troke had not heard, and the "goodconduct" man, shrinking as it seemed, slightly from the prisoner,

said he had not heard either. The wretch himself, munching hard at his tobacco, relapsed into his restless

As he sat there gloomily chewing, he was a spectacle to shudder at. Not so much on account of his natural

hideousness, increased a thousandfold by the tattered and filthy rags which barely covered him. Not so

much on account of his unshaven jaws, his harelip, his torn and bleeding feet, his haggard cheeks, and his

huge, wasted frame. Not only because, looking at the animal, as he crouched, with one foot curled round the

other, and one hairy arm pendant between his knees, he was so horribly unhuman, that one shuddered to think

that tender women and fair children must, of necessity, confess to fellowship of kind with such a monster.

But also because, in his slavering mouth, his slowly grinding jaws, his restless fingers, and his bloodshot,

wandering eyes, there lurked a hint of some terror more awful than the terror of starvation a memory of a

tragedy played out in the gloomy depths of that forest which had vomited him forth again; and the shadow of

this unknown horror, clinging to him, repelled and disgusted, as though he bore about with him the reek of

"Come," said Vickers, "Let us go back. I shall have to flog him again, I suppose. Oh, this place! No wonder

"You are too softhearted, my dear sir," said Frere, halfway up the palisaded path. "We must treat brutes

Major Vickers, inured as he was to such sentiments, sighed. "It is not for me to find fault with the system," he

said, hesitating, in his reverence for "discipline", to utter all the thought; "but I have sometimes wondered if

"Your old ideas!" laughed his companion. "Remember, they nearly cost us our lives on the Malabar. No, no.

I've seen something of convicts though, to be sure, my fellows were not so bad as yours and there's

only one way. Keep 'em down, sir. Make 'em feel what they are. They're there to work, sir. If they won't

work, flog 'em until they will. If they work well why a taste of the cat now and then keeps 'em in mind of

what they may expect if they get lazy." They had reached the verandah now. The rising moon shone softly on

the bay beneath them, and touched with her white light the summit of the Grummet Rock.

"That is the general opinion, I know," returned Vickers. "But consider the life they lead. Good God!" he

added, with sudden vehemence, as Frere paused to look at the bay. "I'm not a cruel man, and never, I believe,

inflicted an unmerited punishment, but since I have been here ten prisoners have drowned themselves from

yonder rock, rather than live on in their misery. Only three weeks ago, two men, with a woodcutting party in

the hills, having had some words with the overseer, shook hands with the gang, and then, hand in hand, flung

"They shouldn't get sent here," said practical Frere. "They knew what they had to expect. Serve 'em right."

"I can't," said Frere, with a laugh. "Innocent man be hanged! They're all innocent , if you'd believe their own

"Dawes's fire, on Grummet Rock," says Vickers, going in; "the man I told you about. Come in and have some

"WELL," said Frere, as they went in, "you'll be out of it soon. You can get all ready to start by the end of the

"What is that you say about me?" asked the sprightly Mrs. Vickers from within. "You wicked men, leaving

"Mr. Frere has kindly offered to bring you and Sylvia after us in the Osprey. I shall, of course, have to take

"You are most kind, Mr. Frere, really you are," says Mrs. Vickers, a recollection of her flirtation with a

certain young lieutenant, six years before, tinging her cheeks. "It is really most considerate of you. Won't it

"Mr. Frere," says Sylvia, coming from out a corner of the room, "I am very sorry for what I said just now.

She asked the question in such a prim, oldfashioned way, standing in front of him, with her golden locks

streaming over her shoulders, and her hands clasped on her black silk apron (Julia Vickers had her own

"Oh, but I did mean it, and that's why I'm sorry. I am a very naughty girl sometimes, though you wouldn't

think so" (this with a charming consciousness of her own beauty), "especially with Roman history. I don't

"Well, I don't like them half so well myself," says Sylvia, with feminine disdain of reasons. "They always had

"Were they! Goodness gracious, yes! Didn't they cut poor Regulus's eyelids off, and roll him down hill in a

barrel full of nails? What do you call that, I should like to know?" and Mr. Frere, shaking his red head with

vast assumption of classical learning, could not but concede that that was not kind on the part of the

"You are a great scholar, Miss Sylvia," he remarked, with a consciousness that this selfpossessed girl was

"Oh, lots! 'Paul and Virginia", and 'Paradise Lost', and 'Shakespeare's Plays', and 'Robinson Crusoe', and

'Blair's Sermons', and 'The Tasmanian Almanack', and 'The Book of Beauty', and 'Tom Jones'."

"A somewhat miscellaneous collection, I fear," said Mrs. Vickers, with a sickly smile she, like Gallio,

cared for none of these things "but our little library is necessarily limited, and I am not a great reader.

John, my dear, Mr. Frere would like another glass of brandyandwater. Oh, don't apologize; I am a soldier's

"I'm not rude," cries Sylvia, indignant at the way in which her literary confidence had been received. "He's

"Won't you, you little beauty?" cried Frere, suddenly leaning forward, and putting his arm round the child.

To his astonishment, Sylvia, finding herself thus seized and kissed despite herself, flushed scarlet, and, lifting

The blow was so sudden, and the momentary pain so sharp, that Maurice nearly slipped into his native

But Frere laughed, caught both the child's hands in one of his own, and kissed her again and again, despite

her struggles. "There!" he said, with a sort of triumph in his tone. "You got nothing by that, you see."

Vickers rose, with annoyance visible on his face, to draw the child away; and as he did so, she, gasping for

breath, and sobbing with rage, wrenched her wrist free, and in a storm of childish passion struck her

tormentor again and again. "Man!" she cried, with flaming eyes, "Let me go! I hate you! I hate you! I hate

"I am very sorry for this, Frere," said Vickers, when the door was closed again. "I hope she did not hurt you."

"Not she! I like her spirit. Ha, ha! That's the way with women all the world over. Nothing like showing them

Vickers hastened to turn the conversation, and, amid recollections of old days, and speculations as to future

prospects, the little incident was forgotten. But when, an hour later, Mr. Frere traversed the passage that led to

his bedroom, he found himself confronted by a little figure wrapped in a shawl. It was his childish enemy

"I've waited for you, Mr. Frere," said she, "to beg pardon. I ought not to have struck you; I am a wicked girl.

Don't say no, because I am; and if I don't grow better I shall never go to Heaven."

Thus addressing him, the child produced a piece of paper, folded like a letter, from beneath the shawl, and

"It's a written apology; and I sha'n't catch cold, because I've got my stockings on. If you don't accept it," she

added, with an arching of the brows, "it is not my fault. I have struck you, but I apologize. Being a woman, I

Mr. Frere stifled the impulse to laugh, and made his courteous adversary a low bow.

"Then," returned Miss Sylvia, in a lofty manner, "there is nothing more to be said, and I have the honour to

The little maiden drew her shawl close around her with immense dignity, and marched down the passage as

Frere, gaining his room choking with laughter, opened the folded paper by the light of the tallow candle, and

read, in a quaint, childish hand SIR, I have struck you. I apologize in writing. Your humble servant to

"I wonder what book she took that out of?" he said. "'Pon my word she must be a little cracked. 'Gad, it's a

TWO or three mornings after the arrival of the Ladybird, the solitary prisoner of the Grummet Rock noticed

mysterious movements along the shore of the island settlement. The prison boats, which had put off every

morning at sunrise to the foot of the timbered ranges on the other side of the harbour, had not appeared for

some days. The building of a pier, or breakwater, running from the western point of the settlement, was

discontinued; and all hands appeared to be occupied with the newlybuilt Osprey, which was lying on the

slips. Parties of soldiers also daily left the Ladybird, and assisted at the mysterious work in progress. Rufus

Dawes, walking his little round each day, in vain wondered what this unusual commotion portended.

A fortnight after this, about the 15th of December, he observed another curious fact. All the boats on the

island put off one morning to the opposite side of the harbour, and in the course of the day a great smoke

arose along the side of the hills. The next day the same was repeated; and on the fourth day the boats

returned, towing behind them a huge raft. This raft, made fast to the side of the Ladybird, proved to be

composed of planks, beams, and joists, all of which were duly hoisted up, and stowed in the hold of the brig.

This set Rufus Dawes thinking. Could it possibly be that the timbercutting was to be abandoned, and that

the Government had hit upon some other method of utilizing its convict labour? He had hewn timber and

built boats, and tanned hides and made shoes. Was it possible that some new trade was to be initiated? Before

he had settled this point to his satisfaction, he was startled by another boat expedition. Three boats' crews

went down the bay, and returned, after a day's absence, with an addition to their number in the shape of four

strangers and a quantity of stores and farming implements. Rufus Dawes, catching sight of these last, came to

the conclusion that the boats had been to Philip's Island, where the "garden" was established, and had taken

off the gardeners and garden produce. Rufus Dawes decided that the Ladybird had brought a new

commandant his sight, trained by his halfsavage life, had already distinguished Mr. Maurice Frere

and that these mysteries were "improvements" under the new rule. When he arrived at this point of reasoning,

another conjecture, assuming his first to have been correct, followed as a natural consequence. Lieutenant

Frere would be a more severe commandant than Major Vickers. Now, severity had already reached its height,

so far as he was concerned; so the unhappy man took a final resolution he would kill himself. Before we

exclaim against the sin of such a determination, let us endeavour to set before us what the sinner had suffered

We have already a notion of what life on a convict ship means; and we have seen through what a furnace

Rufus Dawes had passed before he set foot on the barren shore of Hell's Gates. But to appreciate in its

intensity the agony he suffered since that time, we must multiply the infamy of the 'tween decks of the

Malabar a hundred fold. In that prison was at least some ray of light. All were not abominable; all were not

utterly lost to shame and manhood. Stifling though the prison, infamous the companionship, terrible the

memory of past happiness there was yet ignorance of the future, there was yet hope. But at Macquarie

Harbour was poured out the very dregs of this cup of desolation. The worst had come, and the worst must for

ever remain. The pit of torment was so deep that one could not even see Heaven. There was no hope there so

Is it possible to imagine, even for a moment, what an innocent man, gifted with ambition, endowed with

power to love and to respect, must have suffered during one week of such punishment? We ordinary men,

leading ordinary lives walking, riding, laughing, marrying and giving in marriage can form no notion

of such misery as this. Some dim ideas we may have about the sweetness of liberty and the loathing that evil

company inspires; but that is all. We know that were we chained and degraded, fed like dogs, employed as

beasts of burden, driven to our daily toil with threats and blows, and herded with wretches among whom all

that savours of decency and manliness is held in an open scorn, we should die, perhaps, or go mad. But we do

not know, and can never know, how unutterably loathsome life must become when shared with such beings

as those who dragged the treetrunks to the banks of the Gordon, and toiled, blaspheming, in their irons, on

the dismal sandpit of Sarah Island. No human creature could describe to what depth of personal abasement

and selfloathing one week of such a life would plunge him. Even if he had the power to write, he dared not.

As one whom in a desert, seeking for a face, should come to a pool of blood, and seeing his own reflection,

fly so would such a one hasten from the contemplation of his own degrading agony. Imagine such torment

Ignorant that the sights and sounds about him were symptoms of the final abandonment of the settlement, and

that the Ladybird was sent down to bring away the prisoners, Rufus Dawes decided upon getting rid of that

burden of life which pressed upon him so heavily. For six years he had hewn wood and drawn water; for six

years he had hoped against hope; for six years he had lived in the valley of the shadow of Death. He dared not

recapitulate to himself what he had suffered. Indeed, his senses were deadened and dulled by torture. He

cared to remember only one thing that he was a Prisoner for Life. In vain had been his first dream of

freedom. He had done his best, by good conduct, to win release; but the villainy of Vetch and Rex had

deprived him of the fruit of his labour. Instead of gaining credit by his exposure of the plot on board the

Malabar, he was himself deemed guilty, and condemned, despite his asseverations of innocence. The

knowledge of his "treachery" for so it was deemed among his associates while it gained for him no

credit with the authorities, procured for him the detestation and illwill of the monsters among whom he

found himself. On his arrival at Hell's Gates he was a marked man a Pariah among those beings who were

Pariahs to all the world beside. Thrice his life was attempted; but he was not then quite tired of living, and he

defended it. This defence was construed by an overseer into a brawl, and the irons from which he had been

relieved were replaced. His strength brute attribute that alone could avail him made him respected

after this, and he was left at peace. At first this treatment was congenial to his temperament; but by and by it

became annoying, then painful, then almost unendurable. Tugging at his oar, digging up to his waist in slime,

or bending beneath his burden of pine wood, he looked greedily for some excuse to be addressed. He would

take double weight when forming part of the human caterpillar along whose back lay a pine tree, for a word

of fellowship. He would work double tides to gain a kindly sentence from a comrade. In his utter desolation

he agonized for the friendship of robbers and murderers. Then the reaction came, and he hated the very sound

of their voices. He never spoke, and refused to answer when spoken to. He would even take his scanty supper

alone, did his chain so permit him. He gained the reputation of a sullen, dangerous, halfcrazy ruffian.

Captain Barton, the superintendent, took pity on him, and made him his gardener. He accepted the pity for a

week or so, and then Barton, coming down one morning, found the few shrubs pulled up by the roots, the

flowerbeds trampled into barrenness, and his gardener sitting on the ground among the fragments of his

gardening tools. For this act of wanton mischief he was flogged. At the triangles his behaviour was

considered curious. He wept and prayed to be released, fell on his knees to Barton, and implored pardon.

Barton would not listen, and at the first blow the prisoner was silent. From that time he became more sullen

than ever, only at times he was observed, when alone, to fling himself on the ground and cry like a child. It

When Vickers came, Dawes sought an interview, and begged to be sent back to Hobart Town. This was

refused, of course, but he was put to work on the Osprey. After working there for some time, and being

released from his irons, he concealed himself on the slip, and in the evening swam across the harbour. He was

pursued, retaken, and flogged. Then he ran the dismal round of punishment. He burnt lime, dragged timber,

and tugged at the oar. The heaviest and most degrading tasks were always his. Shunned and hated by his

companions, feared by the convict overseers, and regarded with unfriendly eyes by the authorities, Rufus

Dawes was at the very bottom of that abyss of woe into which he had voluntarily cast himself. Goaded to

desperation by his own thoughts, he had joined with Gabbett and the unlucky three in their desperate attempt

to escape; but, as Vickers stated, he had been captured almost instantly. He was lamed by the heavy irons he

wore, and though Gabbett with a strange eagerness for which after events accounted insisted that he

could make good his flight, the unhappy man fell in the first hundred yards of the terrible race, and was

seized by two volunteers before he could rise again. His capture helped to secure the brief freedom of his

comrades; for Mr. Troke, content with one prisoner, checked a pursuit which the nature of the ground

rendered dangerous, and triumphantly brought Dawes back to the settlement as his peaceoffering for the

negligence which had resulted in the loss of the other four. For this madness the refractory convict had been

In that dismal hermitage, his mind, preying on itself, had become disordered. He saw visions and dreamt

dreams. He would lie for hours motionless, staring at the sun or the sea. He held converse with imaginary

beings. He enacted the scene with his mother over again. He harangued the rocks, and called upon the stones

about him to witness his innocence and his sacrifice. He was visited by the phantoms of his early friends, and

sometimes thought his present life a dream. Whenever he awoke, however, he was commanded by a voice

within himself to leap into the surges which washed the walls of his prison, and to dream these sad dreams no

In the midst of this lethargy of body and brain, the unusual occurrences along the shore of the settlement

roused in him a still fiercer hatred of life. He saw in them something incomprehensible and terrible, and read

in them threats of an increase of misery. Had he known that the Ladybird was preparing for sea, and that it

had been already decided to fetch him from the Rock and iron him with the rest for safe passage to Hobart

Town, he might have paused; but he knew nothing, save that the burden of life was insupportable, and that

In the meantime, the settlement was in a fever of excitement. In less than three weeks from the announcement

made by Vickers, all had been got ready. The Commandant had finally arranged with Frere as to his course of

action. He would himself accompany the Ladybird with the main body. His wife and daughter were to remain

until the sailing of the Osprey, which Mr. Frere charged with the task of final destruction was to bring

up as soon as possible. "I will leave you a corporal's guard, and ten prisoners as a crew," Vickers said. "You

can work her easily with that number." To which Frere, smiling at Mrs. Vickers in a selfsatisfied way, had

replied that he could do with five prisoners if necessary, for he knew how to get double work out of the lazy

Among the incidents which took place during the breaking up was one which it is necessary to chronicle.

Near Philip's Island, on the north side of the harbour, is situated Coal Head, where a party had been lately at

work. This party, hastily withdrawn by Vickers to assist in the business of devastation, had left behind it

some tools and timber, and at the eleventh hour a boat's crew was sent to bring away the d bris. The tools

were duly collected, and the pine logs worth twentyfive shillings apiece in Hobart Town duly rafted

and chained. The timber was secured, and the convicts, towing it after them, pulled for the ship just as the sun

sank. In the general relaxation of discipline and haste, the raft had not been made with as much care as usual,

and the strong current against which the boat was labouring assisted the negligence of the convicts. The logs

began to loosen, and although the onward motion of the boat kept the chain taut, when the rowers slackened

their exertions the mass parted, and Mr. Troke, hooking himself on to the side of the Ladybird, saw a huge

log slip out from its fellows and disappear into the darkness. Gazing after it with an indignant and disgusted

stare, as though it had been a refractory prisoner who merited two days' "solitary", he thought he heard a cry

from the direction in which it had been borne. He would have paused to listen, but all his attention was

needed to save the timber, and to prevent the boat from being swamped by the struggling mass at her stern.

The cry had proceeded from Rufus Dawes. From his solitary rock he had watched the boat pass him and

make for the Ladybird in the channel, and he had decided with that curious childishness into which the

mind relapses on such supreme occasions that the moment when the gathering gloom swallowed her up,

should be the moment when he would plunge into the surge below him. The heavilylabouring boat grew

dimmer and dimmer, as each tug of the oars took her farther from him. Presently, only the figure of Mr.

Troke in the stern sheets was visible; then that also disappeared, and as the nose of the timber raft rose on the

He was heavily ironed, and he sank like a stone. He had resolved not to attempt to swim, and for the first

moment kept his arms raised above his head, in order to sink the quicker. But, as the short, sharp agony of

suffocation caught him, and the shock of the icy water dispelled the mental intoxication under which he was

labouring, he desperately struck out, and, despite the weight of his irons, gained the surface for an instant. As

he did so, all bewildered, and with the one savage instinct of selfpreservation predominant over all other

thoughts, be became conscious of a huge black mass surging upon him out of the darkness. An instant's buffet

with the current, an ineffectual attempt to dive beneath it, a horrible sense that the weight at his feet was

dragging him down, and the huge log, loosened from the raft, was upon him, crushing him beneath its

rough and ragged sides. All thoughts of selfmurder vanished with the presence of actual peril, and uttering

that despairing cry which had been faintly heard by Troke, he flung up his arms to clutch the monster that

was pushing him down to death. The log passed completely over him, thrusting him beneath the water, but

his hand, scraping along the splintered side, came in contact with the loop of hide rope that yet hung round

the mass, and clutched it with the tenacity of a death grip. In another instant he got his head above water, and

For a moment he saw the lights from the stern windows of the anchored vessels low in the distance, Grummet

Rock disappeared on his left, then, exhausted, breathless, and bruised, he closed his eyes, and the drifting log

At daylight the next morning, Mr. Troke, landing on the prison rock found it deserted. The prisoner's cap was

lying on the edge of the little cliff, but the prisoner himself had disappeared. Pulling back to the Ladybird, the

intelligent Troke pondered on the circumstance, and in delivering his report to Vickers mentioned the strange

cry he had heard the night before. "It's my belief, sir, that he was trying to swim the bay," he said. "He must

ha' gone to the bottom anyhow, for he couldn't swim five yards with them irons."

Vickers, busily engaged in getting under weigh, accepted this very natural supposition without question. The

prisoner had met his death either by his own act, or by accident. It was either a suicide or an attempt to

escape, and the former conduct of Rufus Dawes rendered the latter explanation a more probable one. In any

case, he was dead. As Mr. Troke rightly surmised, no man could swim the bay in irons; and when the

Ladybird, an hour later, passed the Grummet Rock, all on board her believed that the corpse of its late

RUFUS DAWES was believed to be dead by the party on board the Ladybird, and his strange escape was

unknown to those still at Sarah Island. Maurice Frere, if he bestowed a thought upon the refractory prisoner

of the Rock, believed him to be safely stowed in the hold of the schooner, and already halfway to Hobart

Town; while not one of the eighteen persons on board the Osprey suspected that the boat which had put off

for the marooned man had returned without him. Indeed the party had little leisure for thought; Mr. Frere,

eager to prove his ability and energy, was making strenuous exertions to get away, and kept his unlucky ten

so hard at work that within a week from the departure of the Ladybird the Osprey was ready for sea. Mrs.

Vickers and the child, having watched with some excusable regret the process of demolishing their old home,

had settled down in their small cabin in the brig, and on the evening of the 11th of January, Mr. Bates, the

pilot, who acted as master, informed the crew that Lieutenant Frere had given orders to weigh anchor at

At daybreak accordingly the brig set sail, with a light breeze from the southwest, and by three o'clock in the

afternoon anchored safely outside the Gates. Unfortunately the wind shifted to the northwest, which caused

a heavy swell on the bar, and prudent Mr. Bates, having consideration for Mrs. Vickers and the child, ran

back ten miles into Wellington Bay, and anchored there again at seven o'clock in the morning. The tide was

running strongly, and the brig rolled a good deal. Mrs. Vickers kept to her cabin, and sent Sylvia to entertain

Lieutenant Frere. Sylvia went, but was not entertaining. She had conceived for Frere one of those violent

antipathies which children sometimes own without reason, and since the memorable night of the apology had

been barely civil to him. In vain did he pet her and compliment her, she was not to be flattered into liking

him. "I do not like you, sir," she said in her stilted fashion, "but that need make no difference to you. You

occupy yourself with your prisoners; I can amuse myself without you, thank you." "Oh, all right," said Frere,

"I don't want to interfere"; but he felt a little nettled nevertheless. On this particular evening the young lady

relaxed her severity of demeanour. Her father away, and her mother sick, the little maiden felt lonely, and as

a last resource accepted her mother's commands and went to Frere. He was walking up and down the deck,

"Come and sit down then," said Frere, who was in good humour at the success of his arrangements. "What

"You stupid man! As if I knew! It is your place to talk. Tell me a fairy story."

Frere rubbed his brows. "Well, have you read have you read 'Robinson Crusoe?'" as if the idea was a

"Of course I have," returned Sylvia, pouting. "Read it? yes. Everybody's read 'Robinson Crusoe!'"

"Oh, have they? Well, I didn't know; let me see now." And pulling hard at his pipe, he plunged into literary

Sylvia, sitting beside him, eagerly watching for the happy thought that never came, pouted and said, "What a

stupid, stupid man you are! I shall be so glad to get back to papa again. He knows all sorts of stories, nearly

"Danny!" with as much surprise as if she said "Walter Scott!" "Of course he does. I suppose now," putting

her head on one side, with an amusing expression of superiority, "you never heard the story of the 'Banshee'?"

Sylvia got off the skylight on which she had been sitting, and surveyed the smoking animal beside her with

"Mr. Frere, you are really a most ignorant person. Excuse me if I hurt your feelings; I have no wish to do that;

"Miss Vickers is my name, Lieutenant Frere, and I shall go and talk to Mr. Bates."

Which threat she carried out on the spot; and Mr. Bates, who had filled the dangerous office of pilot, told her

about divers and coral reefs, and some adventures of his a little apocryphal in the China Seas. Frere

resumed his smoking, half angry with himself, and half angry with the provoking little fairy. This elfin

However, he saw no more of her that evening, and at breakfast the next morning she received him with quaint

"When shall we be ready to sail? Mr. Frere, I'll take some marmalade. Thank you."

"I don't know, missy," said Bates. "It's very rough on the Bar; me and Mr. Frere was a soundin' of it this

"Well," said Sylvia, "I do hope and trust we sha'n't be shipwrecked, and have to swim miles and miles for our

"Well, then, you shall take me; I like you. Mr. Frere can take mamma. We'll go and live on a desert island,

Mr. Bates, won't we, and grow cocoanuts and breadfruit, and what nasty hard biscuits! I'll be

Robinson Crusoe, and you shall be Man Friday. I'd like to live on a desert island, if I was sure there were no

"That would be right enough, my dear, but you don't find them sort of islands every day."

"Put a biscuit in your pocket, Sylvia, in case of accidents," suggested Frere, with a grin.

"Mr. Frere," said Sylvia, gravely pausing at her mother's cabin door, "if I were Richard the Third, do you

"Why, I'd make you stand at the door of St. Paul's Cathedral in a white sheet, with a lighted candle in your

The picture of Mr. Frere in a white sheet, with a lighted candle in his hand, at the door of St. Paul's Cathedral,

was too much for Mr. Bates's gravity, and he roared with laughter. "She's a queer child, ain't she, sir? A born

"When shall we be able to get away, Mr. Bates?" asked Frere, whose dignity was wounded by the mirth of

Bates felt the change of tone, and hastened to accommodate himself to his officer's humour. "I hopes by

evening, sir," said he; "if the tide slackens then I'll risk it; but it's no use trying it now."

The afternoon passed off auspiciously. The ten prisoners went ashore and washed their clothes. Their names

were James Barker, James Lesly, John Lyon, Benjamin Riley, William Cheshire, Henry Shiers, William

This last scoundrel had come on board latest of all. He had behaved himself a little better recently, and during

the work attendant upon the departure of the Ladybird, had been conspicuously useful. His intelligence and

influence among his fellowprisoners combined to make him a somewhat important personage, and Vickers

had allowed him privileges from which he had been hitherto debarred. Mr. Frere, however, who

superintended the shipment of some stores, seemed to be resolved to take advantage of Rex's evident

willingness to work. He never ceased to hurry and find fault with him. He vowed that he was lazy, sulky, or

impertinent. It was "Rex, come here! Do this! Do that!" As the prisoners declared among themselves, it was

evident that Mr. Frere had a "down" on the "Dandy". The day before the Ladybird sailed, Rex rejoicing in

the hope of speedy departure had suffered himself to reply to some more than usually galling remark and

Mr. Frere had complained to Vickers. "The fellow's too ready to get away," said he. "Let him stop for the

Osprey, it will be a lesson to him." Vickers assented, and John Rex was informed that he was not to sail with

the first party. His comrades vowed that this order was an act of tyranny; but he himself said nothing. He only

redoubled his activity, and despite all his wish to the contrary Frere was unable to find fault. He even

took credit to himself for "taming" the convict's spirit, and pointed out Rex silent and obedient as a

proof of the excellence of severe measures. To the convicts, however, who knew John Rex better, this silent

activity was ominous. He returned with the rest, however, on the evening of the 13th, in apparently cheerful

mood. Indeed Mr. Frere, who, wearied by the delay, had decided to take the whaleboat in which the

prisoners had returned, and catch a few fish before dinner, observed him laughing with some of the others,

The time wore on. Darkness was closing in, and Mr. Bates, walking the deck, kept a lookout for the boat,

with the intention of weighing anchor and making for the Bar. All was secure. Mrs. Vickers and the child

were safely below. The two remaining soldiers (two had gone with Frere) were upon deck, and the prisoners

in the forecastle were singing. The wind was fair, and the sea had gone down. In less than an hour the Osprey

THE drifting log that had so strangely served as a means of saving Rufus Dawes swam with the current that

was running out of the bay. For some time the burden that it bore was an insensible one. Exhausted with his

desperate struggle for life, the convict lay along the rough back of this Heavensent raft without motion,

almost without breath. At length a violent shock awoke him to consciousness, and he perceived that the log

had become stranded on a sandy point, the extremity of which was lost in darkness. Painfully raising himself

from his uncomfortable posture, he staggered to his feet, and crawling a few paces up the beach, flung

When morning dawned, he recognized his position. The log had, in passing under the lee of Philip's Island,

been cast upon the southern point of Coal Head; some three hundred yards from him were the mutilated sheds

of the coal gang. For some time he lay still, basking in the warm rays of the rising sun, and scarcely caring to

move his bruised and shattered limbs. The sensation of rest was so exquisite, that it overpowered all other

considerations, and he did not even trouble himself to conjecture the reason for the apparent desertion of the

huts close by him. If there was no one there well and good. If the coal party had not gone, he would be

discovered in a few moments, and brought back to his island prison. In his exhaustion and misery, he

As he laid down his aching head, Mr. Troke was reporting his death to Vickers, and while he still slept, the

Ladybird, on her way out, passed him so closely that any one on board her might, with a good glass, have

When he woke it was past midday, and the sun poured its full rays upon him. His clothes were dry in all

places, save the side on which he had been lying, and he rose to his feet refreshed by his long sleep. He

scarcely comprehended, as yet, his true position. He had escaped, it was true, but not for long. He was versed

in the history of escapes, and knew that a man alone on that barren coast was face to face with starvation or

recapture. Glancing up at the sun, he wondered indeed, how it was that he had been free so long. Then the

coal sheds caught his eye, and he understood that they were untenanted. This astonished him, and he began to

tremble with vague apprehension. Entering, he looked around, expecting every moment to see some lurking

constable, or armed soldier. Suddenly his glance fell upon the food rations which lay in the corner where the

departing convicts had flung them the night before. At such a moment, this discovery seemed like a direct

revelation from Heaven. He would not have been surprised had they disappeared. Had he lived in another

By and by, having eaten of this miraculous provender, the poor creature began reckoning by his convict

experience to understand what had taken place. The coal workings were abandoned; the new

Commandant had probably other work for his beasts of burden to execute, and an absconder would be safe

here for a few hours at least. But he must not stay. For him there was no rest. If he thought to escape, it

behoved him to commence his journey at once. As he contemplated the meat and bread, something like a ray

of hope entered his gloomy soul. Here was provision for his needs. The food before him represented the

rations of six men. Was it not possible to cross the desert that lay between him and freedom on such fare?

The very supposition made his heart beat faster. It surely was possible. He must husband his resources; walk

much and eat little; spread out the food for one day into the food for three. Here was six men's food for one

day, or one man's food for six days. He would live on a third of this, and he would have rations for eighteen

days. Eighteen days! What could he not do in eighteen days? He could walk thirty miles a day forty miles

a day that would be six hundred miles and more. Yet stay; he must not be too sanguine; the road was

difficult; the scrub was in places impenetrable. He would have to make d tours, and turn upon his tracks, to

waste precious time. He would be moderate, and say twenty miles a day. Twenty miles a day was very easy

walking. Taking a piece of stick from the ground, he made the calculation in the sand. Eighteen days, and

twenty miles a day three hundred and sixty miles. More than enough to take him to freedom. It could be

done! With prudence, it could be done! He must be careful and abstemious! Abstemious! He had already

eaten too much, and he hastily pulled a barelytasted piece of meat from his mouth, and replaced it with the

rest. The action which at any other time would have seemed disgusting, was, in the case of this poor creature,

Having come to this resolution, the next thing was to disencumber himself of his irons. This was more easily

done than he expected. He found in the shed an iron gad, and with that and a stone he drove out the rivets.

The rings were too strong to be "ovalled", or he would have been free long ago. He packed the meat and

bread together, and then pushing the gad into his belt it might be needed as a weapon of defence he set

His intention was to get round the settlement to the coast, reach the settled districts, and, by some tale of

shipwreck or of wandering, procure assistance. As to what was particularly to be done when he found himself

among free men, he did not pause to consider. At that point his difficulties seemed to him to end. Let him but

traverse the desert that was before him, and he would trust to his own ingenuity, or the chance of fortune, to

avert suspicion. The peril of immediate detection was so imminent that, beside it, all other fears were dwarfed

Before dawn next morning he had travelled ten miles, and by husbanding his food, he succeeded by the night

of the fourth day in accomplishing forty more. Footsore and weary, he lay in a thicket of the thorny

melaleuca, and felt at last that he was beyond pursuit. The next day he advanced more slowly. The bush was

unpropitious. Dense scrub and savage jungle impeded his path; barren and stony mountain ranges arose

before him. He was lost in gullies, entangled in thickets, bewildered in morasses. The sea that had hitherto

gleamed, salt, glittering, and hungry upon his right hand, now shifted to his left. He had mistaken his course,

and he must turn again. For two days did this bewilderment last, and on the third he came to a mighty cliff

that pierced with its blunt pinnacle the clustering bush. He must go over or round this obstacle, and he

decided to go round it. A natural pathway wound about its foot. Here and there branches were broken, and it

seemed to the poor wretch, fainting under the weight of his lessening burden, that his were not the first

footsteps which had trodden there. The path terminated in a glade, and at the bottom of this glade was

something that fluttered. Rufus Dawes pressed forward, and stumbled over a corpse!

In the terrible stillness of that solitary place he felt suddenly as though a voice had called to him. All the

hideous fantastic tales of murder which he had read or heard seemed to take visible shape in the person of the

loathly carcase before him, clad in the yellow dress of a convict, and lying flung together on the ground as

though struck down. Stooping over it, impelled by an irresistible impulse to know the worst, he found the

body was mangled. One arm was missing, and the skull had been beaten in by some heavy instrument! The

first thought that this heap of rags and bones was a mute witness to the folly of his own undertaking, the

corpse of some starved absconder gave place to a second more horrible suspicion. He recognized the

number imprinted on the coarse cloth as that which had designated the younger of the two men who had

escaped with Gabbett. He was standing on the place where a murder had been committed! A murder! and

what else? Thank God the food he carried was not yet exhausted! He turned and fled, looking back fearfully

Crashing through scrub and brake, torn, bleeding, and wild with terror, he reached a spur on the range, and

looked around him. Above him rose the iron hills, below him lay the panorama of the bush. The white cone

of the Frenchman's Cap was on his right hand, on his left a succession of ranges seemed to bar further

progress. A gleam, as of a lake, streaked the eastward. Gigantic pine trees reared their graceful heads against

the opal of the evening sky, and at their feet the dense scrub through which he had so painfully toiled, spread

without break and without flaw. It seemed as though he could leap from where he stood upon a solid mass of

treetops. He raised his eyes, and right against him, like a long dull sword, lay the narrow steelblue reach of

the harbour from which he had escaped. One darker speck moved on the dark water. It was the Osprey

making for the Gates. It seemed that he could throw a stone upon her deck. A faint cry of rage escaped him.

During the last three days in the bush he must have retraced his steps, and returned upon his own track to the

settlement! More than half his allotted time had passed, and he was not yet thirty miles from his prison. Death

had waited to overtake him in this barbarous wilderness. As a cat allows a mouse to escape her for a while, so

had he been permitted to trifle with his fate, and lull himself into a false security. Escape was hopeless now.

He never could escape; and as the unhappy man raised his despairing eyes, he saw that the sun, redly sinking

behind a lofty pine which topped the opposite hill, shot a ray of crimson light into the glade below him. It

was as though a bloody finger pointed at the corpse which lay there, and Rufus Dawes, shuddering at the

For four days he wandered aimlessly through the bush. He had given up all hopes of making the overland

journey, and yet, as long as his scanty supply of food held out, he strove to keep away from the settlement.

Unable to resist the pangs of hunger, he had increased his daily ration; and though the salted meat, exposed to

rain and heat, had begun to turn putrid, he never looked at it but he was seized with a desire to eat his fill. The

coarse lumps of carrion and the hard ryeloaves were to him delicious morsels fit for the table of an emperor.

Once or twice he was constrained to pluck and eat the tops of teatrees and peppermint shrubs. These had an

aromatic taste, and sufficed to stay the cravings of hunger for a while, but they induced a raging thirst, which

he slaked at the icy mountain springs. Had it not been for the frequency of these streams, he must have died

in a few days. At last, on the twelfth day from his departure from the Coal Head, he found himself at the foot

of Mount Direction, at the head of the peninsula which makes the western side of the harbour. His terrible

wandering had but led him to make a complete circuit of the settlement, and the next night brought him round

the shores of Birches Inlet to the landingplace opposite to Sarah Island. His stock of provisions had been

exhausted for two days, and he was savage with hunger. He no longer thought of suicide. His dominant idea

was now to get food. He would do as many others had done before him give himself up to be flogged and

fed. When he reached the landingplace, however, the guardhouse was empty. He looked across at the

island prison, and saw no sign of life. The settlement was deserted! The shock of this discovery almost

deprived him of reason. For days, that had seemed centuries, he had kept life in his jaded and lacerated body

solely by the strength of his fierce determination to reach the settlement; and now that he had reached it, after

a journey of unparalleled horror, he found it deserted. He struck himself to see if he was not dreaming. He

refused to believe his eyesight. He shouted, screamed, and waved his tattered garments in the air. Exhausted

by these paroxysms, he said to himself, quite calmly, that the sun beating on his unprotected head had dazed

his brain, and that in a few minutes he should see wellremembered boats pulling towards him. Then, when

no boat came, he argued that he was mistaken in the place; the island yonder was not Sarah Island, but some

other island like it, and that in a second or so he would be able to detect the difference. But the inexorable

mountains, so hideously familiar for six weary years, made mute reply, and the sea, crawling at his feet,

seemed to grin at him with a thinlipped, hungry mouth. Yet the fact of the desertion seemed so inexplicable

that he could not realize it. He felt as might have felt that wanderer in the enchanted mountains, who,

returning in the morning to look for his companions, found them turned to stone.

At last the dreadful truth forced itself upon him; he retired a few paces, and then, with a horrible cry of

furious despair, stumbled forward towards the edge of the little reef that fringed the shore. Just as he was

about to fling himself for the second time into the dark water, his eyes, sweeping in a last long look around

the bay, caught sight of a strange appearance on the left horn of the sea beach. A thin, blue streak, uprising

from behind the western arm of the little inlet, hung in the still air. It was the smoke of a fire!

The dying wretch felt inspired with new hope. God had sent him a direct sign from Heaven. The tiny column

of bluish vapour seemed to him as glorious as the Pillar of Fire that led the Israelites. There were yet human

beings near him! and turning his face from the hungry sea, he tottered with the last effort of his failing

FRERE'S fishing expedition had been unsuccessful, and in consequence prolonged. The obstinacy of his

character appeared in the most trifling circumstances, and though the fast deepening shades of an Australian

evening urged him to return, yet he lingered, unwilling to come back emptyhanded. At last a peremptory

signal warned him. It was the sound of a musket fired on board the brig: Mr. Bates was getting impatient; and

with a scowl, Frere drew up his lines, and ordered the two soldiers to pull for the vessel.

The Osprey yet sat motionless on the water, and her bare masts gave no sign of making sail. To the soldiers,

pulling with their backs to her, the musket shot seemed the most ordinary occurrence in the world. Eager to

quit the dismal prisonbay, they had viewed Mr Frere's persistent fishing with disgust, and had for the

previous half hour longed to hear the signal of recall which had just startled them. Suddenly, however, they

noticed a change of expression in the sullen face of their commander. Frere, sitting in the stern sheets, with

his face to the Osprey, had observed a peculiar appearance on her decks. The bulwarks were every now and

then topped by strange figures, who disappeared as suddenly as they came, and a faint murmur of voices

floated across the intervening sea. Presently the report of another musket shot echoed among the hills, and

something dark fell from the side of the vessel into the water. Frere, with an imprecation of mingled alarm

and indignation, sprang to his feet, and shading his eyes with his hand, looked towards the brig. The soldiers,

resting on their oars, imitated his gesture, and the whaleboat, thus thrown out of trim, rocked from side to

side dangerously. A moment's anxious pause, and then another musket shot, followed by a woman's shrill

scream, explained all. The prisoners had seized the brig. "Give way!" cried Frere, pale with rage and

apprehension, and the soldiers, realizing at once the full terror of their position, forced the heavy whaleboat

Mr. Bates, affected by the insidious influence of the hour, and lulled into a sense of false security, had gone

below to tell his little playmate that she would soon be on her way to the Hobart Town of which she had

heard so much; and, taking advantage of his absence, the soldier not on guard went to the forecastle to hear

the prisoners singing. He found the ten together, in high good humour, listening to a "shanty" sung by three

of their number. The voices were melodious enough, and the words of the ditty chanted by many stout

fellows in many a forecastle before and since of that character which pleases the soldier nature. Private

Grimes forgot all about the unprotected state of the deck, and sat down to listen.

While he listened, absorbed in tender recollections, James Lesly, William Cheshire, William Russen, John

Fair, and James Barker slipped to the hatchway and got upon the deck. Barker reached the aft hatchway as the

soldier who was on guard turned to complete his walk, and passing his arm round his neck, pulled him down

before he could utter a cry. In the confusion of the moment the man loosed his grip of the musket to grapple

with his unseen antagonist, and Fair, snatching up the weapon, swore to blow out his brains if he raised a

finger. Seeing the sentry thus secured, Cheshire, as if in pursuance of a preconcerted plan, leapt down the

after hatchway, and passed up the muskets from the armracks to Lesly and Russen. There were three

muskets in addition to the one taken from the sentry, and Barker, leaving his prisoner in charge of Fair, seized

one of them, and ran to the companion ladder. Russen, left unarmed by this manoeuvre, appeared to know his

own duty. He came back to the forecastle, and passing behind the listening soldier, touched the singer on the

shoulder. This was the appointed signal, and John Rex, suddenly terminating his song with a laugh, presented

his fist in the face of the gaping Grimes. "No noise!" he cried. "The brig's ours"; and ere Grimes could reply,

"Come on, lads!" says Rex, "and pass the prisoner down here. We've got her this time, I'll go bail!" In

obedience to this order, the now gagged sentry was flung down the fore hatchway, and the hatch secured.

"Stand on the hatchway, Porter," cries Rex again; "and if those fellows come up, knock 'em down with a

handspoke. Lesly and Russen, forward to the companion ladder! Lyon, keep a lookout for the boat, and if

As he spoke the report of the first musket rang out. Barker had apparently fired up the companion hatchway.

When Mr. Bates had gone below, he found Sylvia curled upon the cushions of the stateroom, reading.

Sylvia answered by asking a question altogether foreign to the subject. "Mr. Bates," said she, pushing the hair

The bewildered Bates shook his head. "Never heard of one, missy," said he, bending over the book. "What

"'The Ancient Britons,'" said Sylvia, reading gravely, " 'were little better than Barbarians. They painted their

bodies with Woad' that's blue stuff, you know, Mr. Bates 'and, seated in their light coracles of skin

stretched upon slender wooden frames, must have presented a wild and savage appearance.'"

"Hah," said Mr. Bates, when this remarkable passage was read to him, "that's very mysterious, that is. A

corricle, a cory " a bright light burst upon him. "A curricle you mean, missy! It's a carriage! I've seen 'em

"Oh, nobs! Swell coves, don't you know," returned poor Bates, thus again attacked. "Young men o' fortune

"I see," said Sylvia, waving her little hand graciously. "Noblemen and Princes and that sort of people. Quite

"Well," said the humbled Bates, "I think it's a carriage, missy. A sort of Pheayton, as they call it."

Sylvia, hardly satisfied, returned to the book. It was a little meanlooking volume a "Child's History of

England" and after perusing it awhile with knitted brows, she burst into a childish laugh.

"Why, my dear Mr. Bates!" she cried, waving the History above her head in triumph, "what a pair of geese

"Is it?" said Mr. Bates, in admiration of the intelligence of his companion. "Who'd ha' thought that now? Why

couldn't they call it a boat at once, then, and ha' done with it?" and he was about to laugh also, when, raising

his eyes, he saw in the open doorway the figure of James Barker, with a musket in his hand.

"Sorry to disturb yer," says the convict, with a grin, "but you must come along o' me, Mr. Bates."

Bates, at once comprehending that some terrible misfortune had occurred, did not lose his presence of mind.

One of the cushions of the couch was under his right hand, and snatching it up he flung it across the little

cabin full in the face of the escaped prisoner. The soft mass struck the man with force sufficient to blind him

for an instant. The musket exploded harmlessly in the air, and ere the astonished Barker could recover his

footing, Bates had hurled him out of the cabin, and crying "Mutiny!" locked the cabin door on the inside.

The noise brought out Mrs. Vickers from her berth, and the poor little student of English history ran into her

Bates, furious with rage, so far forgot himself as to swear. "It's a mutiny, ma'am," said he. "Go back to your

cabin and lock the door. Those bloody villains have risen on us!" Julia Vickers felt her heart grow sick. Was

she never to escape out of this dreadful life? "Go into your cabin, ma'am," says Bates again, "and don't move

a finger till I tell ye. Maybe it ain't so bad as it looks; I've got my pistols with me, thank God, and Mr. Frere'll

hear the shot anyway. Mutiny? On deck there!" he cried at the full pitch of his voice, and his brow grew

Thrusting the woman and child into the state berth, the bewildered pilot cocked a pistol, and snatching a

cutlass from the arm stand fixed to the butt of the mast which penetrated the cabin, he burst open the door

with his foot, and rushed to the companion ladder. Barker had retreated to the deck, and for an instant he

thought the way was clear, but Lesly and Russen thrust him back with the muzzles of the loaded muskets. He

struck at Russen with the cutlass, missed him, and, seeing the hopelessness of the attack, was fain to retreat.

In the meanwhile, Grimes and the other soldier had loosed themselves from their bonds, and, encouraged by

the firing, which seemed to them a sign that all was not yet lost, made shift to force up the forehatch. Porter,

whose courage was none of the fiercest, and who had been for years given over to that terror of discipline

which servitude induces, made but a feeble attempt at resistance, and forcing the handspike from him, the

sentry, Jones, rushed aft to help the pilot. As Jones reached the waist, Cheshire, a coldblooded blueeyed

man, shot him dead. Grimes fell over the corpse, and Cheshire, clubbing the musket had he another barrel

he would have fired coolly battered his head as he lay, and then, seizing the body of the unfortunate Jones

in his arms, tossed it into the sea. "Porter, you lubber!" he cried, exhausted with the effort to lift the body,

"come and bear a hand with this other one!" Porter advanced aghast, but just then another occurrence claimed

Rex, inwardly raging at this unexpected resistance on the part of the pilot, flung himself on the skylight, and

tore it up bodily. As he did so, Barker, who had reloaded his musket, fired down into the cabin. The ball

passed through the stateroom door, and splintering the wood, buried itself close to the golden curls of poor

little Sylvia. It was this hair'sbreadth escape which drew from the agonized mother that shriek which,

Rex, who, by the virtue of his dandyism, yet possessed some abhorrence of useless crime, imagined that the

cry was one of pain, and that Barker's bullet had taken deadly effect. "You've killed the child, you villain!" he

"What's the odds?" asked Barker sulkily. "She must die any way, sooner or later."

Rex put his head down the skylight, and called on Bates to surrender, but Bates only drew his other pistol.

"Would you commit murder?" he asked, looking round with desperation in his glance.

"No, no," cried some of the men, willing to blink the death of poor Jones. "It's no use making things worse

than they are. Bid him come up, and we'll do him no harm." "Come up, Mr. Bates," says Rex, "and I give you

"Will you set the major's lady and child ashore, then?" asked Bates, sturdily facing the scowling brows above

"Without injury?" continued the other, bargaining, as it were, at the very muzzles of the muskets.

"Ay, ay! It's all right!" returned Russen. "It's our liberty we want, that's all."

Bates, hoping against hope for the return of the boat, endeavoured to gain time. "Shut down the skylight,

then," said he, with the ghost of an authority in his voice, "until I ask the lady."

This, however, John Rex refused to do. "You can ask well enough where you are," he said.

But there was no need for Mr. Bates to put a question. The door of the stateroom opened, and Mrs. Vickers

appeared, trembling, with Sylvia by her side. "Accept, Mr. Bates," she said, "since it must be so. We should

"Put your pistols on the table, and come up, then," says Rex, covering the table with his musket as he spoke.

MRS VICKERS, pale and sick with terror, yet sustained by that strange courage of which we have before

spoken, passed rapidly under the open skylight, and prepared to ascend. Sylvia her romance crushed by

too dreadful reality clung to her mother with one hand, and with the other pressed close to her little bosom

the "English History". In her allabsorbing fear she had forgotten to lay it down.

Mrs. Vickers looked back across the space beneath the open skylight, and shuddering, shook her head. The

"I am," says John Rex, "and, with these brave fellows, I'll take her round the world."

The touch of bombast was not out of place. It jumped so far with the humour of the convicts that they set up a

feeble cheer, at which Sylvia frowned. Frightened as she was, the prisonbred child was as much astonished

at hearing convicts cheer as a fashionable lady would be to hear her footman quote poetry. Bates, however

practical and calm took quite another view of the case. The bold project, so boldly avowed, seemed to him

a sheer absurdity. The "Dandy" and a crew of nine convicts navigate a brig round the world! Preposterous;

why, not a man aboard could work a reckoning! His nautical fancy pictured the Osprey helplessly rolling on

the swell of the Southern Ocean, or hopelessly locked in the ice of the Antarctic Seas, and he dimly guessed

at the fate of the deluded ten. Even if they got safe to port, the chances of final escape were all against them,

for what account could they give of themselves? Overpowered by these reflections, the honest fellow made

"Fools!" he cried, "do you know what you are about to do? You will never escape. Give up the brig, and I

will declare, before my God, upon the Bible, that I will say nothing, but give all good characters."

Lesly and another burst into a laugh at this wild proposition, but Rex, who had weighed his chances well

"It's no use talking," he said, shaking his still handsome head. "We have got the brig, and we mean to keep

her. I can navigate her, though I am no seaman, so you needn't talk further about it, Mr. Bates. It's liberty we

"Yes. It don't look a picturesque spot, does it? And yet I've lived here for some years"; and he grinned.

"Come!" cried the Dandy, shaking off his momentary melancholy, "look alive there! Lower away the

jollyboat. Mrs. Vickers, go down to your cabin and get anything you want. I am compelled to put you

ashore, but I have no wish to leave you without clothes." Bates listened, in a sort of dismal admiration, at this

courtly convict. He could not have spoken like that had life depended on it. "Now, my little lady," continued

Sylvia flashed burning red at this indignity. "Frightened! If there had been anybody else here but women, you

The whole deck burst into a great laugh at this, and poor Mrs. Vickers paused, trembling for the

consequences of the child's temerity. To thus taunt the desperate convict who held their lives in his hands

seemed sheer madness. In the boldness of the speech however, lay its safeguard. Rex whose politeness

was mere bravado was stung to the quick by the reflection upon his courage, and the bitter accent with

which the child had pronounced the word prisoner (the generic name of convicts) made him bite his lips with

rage. Had he had his will, he would have struck the little creature to the deck, but the hoarse laugh of his

companions warned him to forbear. There is "public opinion" even among convicts, and Rex dared not vent

his passion on so helpless an object. As men do in such cases, he veiled his anger beneath an affectation of

amusement. In order to show that he was not moved by the taunt, he smiled upon the taunter more graciously

"Your daughter has her father's spirit, madam," said he to Mrs. Vickers, with a bow.

Bates opened his mouth to listen. His ears were not large enough to take in the words of this complimentary

convict. He began to think that he was the victim of a nightmare. He absolutely felt that John Rex was a

As Mrs. Vickers descended the hatchway, the boat with Frere and the soldiers came within musket range, and

Lesly, according to orders, fired his musket over their heads, shouting to them to lay to But Frere, boiling

with rage at the manner in which the tables had been turned on him, had determined not to resign his lost

authority without a struggle. Disregarding the summons, he came straight on, with his eyes fixed on the

vessel. It was now nearly dark, and the figures on the deck were indistinguishable. The indignant lieutenant

could but guess at the condition of affairs. Suddenly, from out of the darkness a voice hailed him

"Hold water! back water!" it cried, and was then seemingly choked in its owner's throat.

The voice was the property of Mr. Bates. Standing near the side, he had observed Rex and Fair bring up a

great pig of iron, erst used as part of the ballast of the brig, and poise it on the rail. Their intention was but too

evident; and honest Bates, like a faithful watchdog, barked to warn his master. Bloodthirsty Cheshire caught

him by the throat, and Frere, unheeding, ran the boat alongside, under the very nose of the revengeful Rex.

The mass of iron fell half inboard upon the now stayed boat, and gave her sternway, with a splintered plank.

"Aye," laughed Rex, "and a dozen such as ye! The brig's ours, can't ye see, and we're your masters now!"

Frere, stifling an exclamation of rage, cried to the bow to hook on, but the bow had driven the boat backward,

and she was already beyond arm's length of the brig. Looking up, he saw Cheshire's savage face, and heard

the click of the lock as he cocked his piece. The two soldiers, exhausted by their long pull, made no effort to

stay the progress of the boat, and almost before the swell caused by the plunge of the mass of iron had ceased

to agitate the water, the deck of the Osprey had become invisible in the darkness.

Frere struck his fist upon the thwart in sheer impotence of rage. "The scoundrels!" he said, between his teeth,

The answer came pat to the question. From the dark hull of the brig broke a flash and a report, and a musket

ball cut the water beside them with a chirping noise. Between the black indistinct mass which represented the

brig, and the glimmering water, was visible a white speck, which gradually neared them.

But the two soldiers, exchanging glances one with the other, pulled the boat's head round, and made for the

vessel. "It's no use, Mr. Frere," said the man nearest him; "we can do no good now, and they won't hurt us, I

"You dogs, you are in league with them," bursts out Frere, purple with indignation. "Do you mutiny?"

"Come, come, sir," returned the soldier, sulkily, "this ain't the time to bully; and, as for mutiny, why, one

This speech from the lips of a man who, but a few minutes before, would have risked his life to obey orders

of his officer, did more than an hour's reasoning to convince Maurice Frere of the hopelessness of resistance.

His authority born of circumstance, and supported by adventitious aid had left him. The musket shot

had reduced him to the ranks. He was now no more than anyone else; indeed, he was less than many, for

those who held the firearms were the ruling powers. With a groan he resigned himself to his fate, and looking

at the sleeve of the undress uniform he wore, it seemed to him that virtue had gone out of it. When they

reached the brig, they found that the jollyboat had been lowered and laid alongside. In her were eleven

persons; Bates with forehead gashed, and hands bound, the stunned Grimes, Russen and Fair pulling, Lyon,

Riley, Cheshire, and Lesly with muskets, and John Rex in the stern sheets, with Bates's pistols in his trousers'

belt, and a loaded musket across his knees. The white object which had been seen by the men in the

Frere muttered an oath of relief when he saw this white bundle. He had feared that the child was injured. By

the direction of Rex the whaleboat was brought alongside the jollyboat, and Cheshire and Lesly boarded

her. Lesly then gave his musket to Rex, and bound Frere's hands behind him, in the same manner as had been

done for Bates. Frere attempted to resist this indignity, but Cheshire, clapping his musket to his ear, swore he

would blow out his brains if he uttered another syllable; Frere, catching the malignant eye of John Rex,

remembered how easily a twitch of the finger would pay off old scores, and was silent. "Step in here, sir, if

you please," said Rex, with polite irony. "I am sorry to be compelled to tie you, but I must consult my own

safety as well as your convenience." Frere scowled, and, stepping awkwardly into the jollyboat, fell.

Pinioned as he was, he could not rise without assistance, and Russen pulled him roughly to his feet with a

coarse laugh. In his present frame of mind, that laugh galled him worse than his bonds.

Poor Mrs. Vickers, with a woman's quick instinct, saw this, and, even amid her own trouble, found leisure to

console him. "The wretches!" she said, under her breath, as Frere was flung down beside her, "to subject you

to such indignity!" Sylvia said nothing, and seemed to shrink from the lieutenant. Perhaps in her childish

fancy she had pictured him as coming to her rescue, armed capapie, and clad in dazzling mail, or, at the

very least, as a muscular hero, who would settle affairs out of hand by sheer personal prowess. If she had

entertained any such notion, the reality must have struck coldly upon her senses. Mr. Frere, purple, clumsy,

"Now, my lads," says Rex who seemed to have endued the castoff authority of Frere "we give you

The soldiers paused, irresolute. To join the mutineers meant a certainty of hard work, with a chance of

ultimate hanging. Yet to stay with the prisoners was as far as they could see to incur the inevitable fate

of starvation on a barren coast. As is often the case on such occasions, a trifle sufficed to turn the scale. The

wounded Grimes, who was slowly recovering from his stupor, dimly caught the meaning of the sentence, and

in his obfuscated condition of intellect must needs make comment upon it. "Go with him, ye beggars!;" said

The phrase "tyingup" brought with it recollection of the worst portion of military discipline, the cat, and

revived in the minds of the pair already disposed to break the yoke that sat so heavily upon them, a train of

dismal memories. The life of a soldier on a convict station was at that time a hard one. He was often stinted in

rations, and of necessity deprived of all rational recreation, while punishment for offences was prompt and

severe. The companies drafted to the penal settlements were not composed of the best material, and the pair

"Come," says Rex, "I can't wait here all night. The wind is freshening, and we must take the Bar. Which is it

"We'll go with you!" says the man who had pulled the stroke in the whaleboat, spitting into the water with

averted face. Upon which utterance the convicts burst into joyous oaths, and the pair were received with

Then Rex, with Lyon and Riley as a guard, got into the whaleboat, and having loosed the two prisoners from

their bonds, ordered them to take the place of Russen and Fair. The whaleboat was manned by the seven

mutineers, Rex steering, Fair, Russen, and the two recruits pulling, and the other four standing up, with their

muskets levelled at the jollyboat. Their long slavery had begotten such a dread of authority in these men that

they feared it even when it was bound and menaced by four muskets. "Keep your distance!" shouted

Cheshire, as Frere and Bates, in obedience to orders, began to pull the jollyboat towards the shore; and in

It was night when they reached it, but the clear sky began to thrill with a late moon as yet unrisen, and the

waves, breaking gently upon the beach, glimmered with a radiance born of their own motion. Frere and

Bates, jumping ashore, helped out Mrs. Vickers, Sylvia, and the wounded Grimes. This being done under the

muzzles of the muskets, Rex commanded that Bates and Frere should push the jollyboat as far as they could

from the shore, and Riley catching her by a boathook as she came towards them, she was taken in tow.

"Now, boys," says Cheshire, with a savage delight, "three cheers for old England and Liberty!"

Upon which a great shout went up, echoed by the grim hills which had witnessed so many miseries.

To the wretched five, this exultant mirth sounded like a knell of death. "Great God!" cried Bates, running up

to his knees in water after the departing boats, "would you leave us here to starve?"

THERE is no need to dwell upon the mental agonies of that miserable night. Perhaps, of all the five, the one

least qualified to endure it realized the prospect of suffering most acutely. Mrs. Vickers layfigure and

noodle as she was had the keen instinct of approaching danger, which is in her sex a sixth sense. She was

a woman and a mother, and owned a double capacity for suffering. Her feminine imagination pictured all the

horrors of death by famine, and having realized her own torments, her maternal love forced her to live them

over again in the person of her child. Rejecting Bates's offer of a peajacket and Frere's vague tenders of

assistance, the poor woman withdrew behind a rock that faced the sea, and, with her daughter in her arms,

resigned herself to her torturing thoughts. Sylvia, recovered from her terror, was almost content, and, curled

in her mother's shawl, slept. To her little soul this midnight mystery of boats and muskets had all the flavour

of a romance. With Bates, Frere, and her mother so close to her, it was impossible to be afraid; besides, it was

obvious that papa the Supreme Being of the settlement must at once return and severely punish the

impertinent prisoners who had dared to insult his wife and child, and as Sylvia dropped off to sleep, she

caught herself, with some indignation, pitying the mutineers for the tremendous scrape they had got

themselves into. How they would be flogged when papa came back! In the meantime this sleeping in the open

Honest Bates produced a piece of biscuit, and, with all the generosity of his nature, suggested that this should

be set aside for the sole use of the two females, but Mrs. Vickers would not hear of it. "We must all share

alike," said she, with something of the spirit that she knew her husband would have displayed under like

circumstance; and Frere wondered at her apparent strength of mind. Had he been gifted with more acuteness,

he would not have wondered; for when a crisis comes to one of two persons who have lived much together,

the influence of the nobler spirit makes itself felt. Frere had a tinderbox in his pocket, and he made a fire

with some dry leaves and sticks. Grimes fell asleep, and the two men sitting at their fire discussed the chances

of escape. Neither liked to openly broach the supposition that they had been finally deserted. It was

concluded between them that unless the brig sailed in the night and the now risen moon showed her yet

lying at anchor the convicts would return and bring them food. This supposition proved correct, for about

A discussion had arisen amongst the mutineers as to the propriety of at once making sail, but Barker, who had

been one of the pilotboat crew, and knew the dangers of the Bar, vowed that he would not undertake to steer

the brig through the Gates until morning; and so the boats being secured astern, a strict watch was set, lest the

helpless Bates should attempt to rescue the vessel. During the evening the excitement attendant upon the

outbreak having passed away, and the magnitude of the task before them being more fully apparent to their

minds a feeling of pity for the unfortunate party on the mainland took possession of them. It was quite

possible that the Osprey might be recaptured, in which case five useless murders would have been

committed; and however callous in bloodshed were the majority of the ten, not one among them could

contemplate in cold blood, without a twinge of remorse, the death of the harmless child of the Commandant.

John Rex, seeing how matters were going, made haste to take to himself the credit of mercy. He ruled, and

had always ruled, his ruffians not so much by suggesting to them the course they should take, as by leading

them on the way they had already chosen for themselves. "I propose," said he, "that we divide the provisions.

"Ay," said Porter, mindful of a similar exploit, "and if we're taken, they can tell what we have done. Don't let

our affair be like that of the Cypress, to leave them to starve." "Ay, ay," says Barker, "you're right! When

Fergusson was topped at Hobart Town, I heard old Troke say that if he'd not refused to set the tucker ashore,

Thus urged, by selfinterest, as well as sentiment, to mercy, the provision was got upon deck by daylight, and

a division was made. The soldiers, with generosity born of remorse, were for giving half to the marooned

men, but Barker exclaimed against this. "When the schooner finds they don't get to headquarters, she's bound

to come back and look for 'em," said he; "and we'll want all the tucker we can get, maybe, afore we sights

This reasoning was admitted and acted upon. There was in the harnesscask about fifty pounds of salt meat,

and a third of this quantity, together with half a small sack of flour, some tea and sugar mixed together in a

bag, and an iron kettle and pannikin, was placed in the whaleboat. Rex, fearful of excesses among his crew,

had also lowered down one of the two small puncheons of rum which the storeroom contained. Cheshire

disputed this, and stumbling over a goat that had been taken on board from Philip's Island, caught the creature

by the leg, and threw it into the sea, bidding Rex take that with him also. Rex dragged the poor beast into the

boat, and with this miscellaneous cargo pushed off to the shore. The poor goat, shivering, began to bleat

piteously, and the men laughed. To a stranger it would have appeared that the boat contained a happy party of

Laying off as the water shallowed, Rex called to Bates to come for the cargo, and three men with muskets

standing up as before, ready to resist any attempt at capture, the provisions, goat and all, were carried ashore.

"There!" says Rex, "you can't say we've used you badly, for we've divided the provisions." The sight of this

almost unexpected succour revived the courage of the five, and they felt grateful. After the horrible anxiety

they had endured all that night, they were prepared to look with kindly eyes upon the men who had come to

"Man," said Bates, with something like a sob in his voice, "I didn't expect this. You are good fellows, for

Rex burst into a savage laugh. "Shut your mouth, you tyrant," said he, forgetting his dandyism in the

recollection of his former suffering. "It ain't for your benefit. You may thank the lady and the child for it."

Julia Vickers hastened to propitiate the arbiter of her daughter's fate. "We are obliged to you," she said, with a

touch of quiet dignity resembling her husband's; "and if I ever get back safely, I will take care that your

The swindler and forger took off his leather cap with quite an air. It was five years since a lady had spoken to

him, and the old time when he was Mr. Lionel Crofton, a "gentleman sportsman", came back again for an

instant. At that moment, with liberty in his hand, and fortune all before him, he felt his selfrespect return,

"I sincerely trust, madam," said he, "that you will get back safely. May I hope for your good wishes for

Listening, Bates burst into a roar of astonished enthusiasm. "What a dog it is!" he cried. "John Rex, John Rex,

"Goodbye," says Bates, rubbing his hat off his face, "and I I damme, I hope you'll get safe off

"Goodbye, prisoners!" says Sylvia, waving her handkerchief; "and I hope they won't catch you, too."

In the emotion which the apparently disinterested conduct of John Rex had occasioned the exiles, all earnest

thought of their own position had vanished, and, strange to say, the prevailing feeling was that of anxiety for

the ultimate fate of the mutineers. But as the boat grew smaller and smaller in the distance, so did their

consciousness of their own situation grow more and more distinct; and when at last the boat had disappeared

in the shadow of the brig, all started, as if from a dream, to the wakeful contemplation of their own case.

A council of war was held, with Mr. Frere at the head of it, and the possessions of the little party were thrown

into common stock. The salt meat, flour, and tea were placed in a hollow rock at some distance from the

beach, and Mr. Bates was appointed purser, to apportion to each, without fear or favour, his stated allowance.

The goat was tethered with a piece of fishing line sufficiently long to allow her to browse. The cask of rum,

by special agreement, was placed in the innermost recess of the rock, and it was resolved that its contents

should not be touched except in case of sickness, or in last extremity. There was no lack of water, for a spring

ran bubbling from the rocks within a hundred yards of the spot where the party had landed. They calculated

It was found, upon a review of their possessions, that they had among them three pocket knives, a ball of

string, two pipes, matches and a fig of tobacco, fishing lines with hooks, and a big jackknife which Frere

had taken to gut the fish he had expected to catch. But they saw with dismay that there was nothing which

could be used axewise among the party. Mrs. Vickers had her shawl, and Bates a peajacket, but Frere and

Grimes were without extra clothing. It was agreed that each should retain his own property, with the

Having made these arrangements, the kettle, filled with water from the spring, was slung from three green

sticks over the fire, and a pannikin of weak tea, together with a biscuit, served out to each of the party, save

Grimes, who declared himself unable to eat. Breakfast over, Bates made a damper, which was cooked in the

It was clearly evident that they could not sleep in the open air. It was the middle of summer, and though no

annoyance from rain was apprehended, the heat in the middle of the day was most oppressive. Moreover, it

was absolutely necessary that Mrs. Vickers and the child should have some place to themselves. At a little

distance from the beach was a sandy rise, that led up to the face of the cliff, and on the eastern side of this rise

grew a forest of young trees. Frere proposed to cut down these trees, and make a sort of hut with them. It was

soon discovered, however, that the pocket knives were insufficient for this purpose, but by dint of notching

the young saplings and then breaking them down, they succeeded, in a couple of hours, in collecting wood

enough to roof over a space between the hollow rock which contained the provisions and another rock, in

shape like a hammer, which jutted out within five yards of it. Mrs. Vickers and Sylvia were to have this hut

as a sleepingplace, and Frere and Bates, lying at the mouth of the larder, would at once act as a guard to it

and them. Grimes was to make for himself another hut where the fire had been lighted on the previous night.

When they got back to dinner, inspirited by this resolution, they found poor Mrs. Vickers in great alarm.

Grimes, who, by reason of the dint in his skull, had been left behind, was walking about the seabeach,

talking mysteriously, and shaking his fist at an imaginary foe. On going up to him, they discovered that the

blow had affected his brain, for he was delirious. Frere endeavoured to soothe him, without effect; and at last,

by Bates's advice, the poor fellow was rolled in the sea. The cold bath quelled his violence, and, being laid

beneath the shade of a rock hard by, he fell into a condition of great muscular exhaustion, and slept.

The damper was then portioned out by Bates, and, together with a small piece of meat, it formed the dinner of

the party. Mrs. Vickers reported that she had observed a great commotion on board the brig, and thought that

the prisoners must be throwing overboard such portions of the cargo as were not absolutely necessary to

them, in order to lighten her. This notion Bates declared to be correct, and further pointed out that the

mutineers had got out a kedgeanchor, and by hauling on the kedgeline, were gradually warping the brig

down the harbour. Before dinner was over a light breeze sprang up, and the Osprey, running up the

unionjack reversed, fired a musket, either in farewell or triumph, and, spreading her sails, disappeared round

Mrs. Vickers, taking Sylvia with her, went away a few paces, and leaning against the rugged wall of her

future home, wept bitterly. Bates and Frere affected cheerfulness, but each felt that he had hitherto regarded

the presence of the brig as a sort of safeguard, and had never fully realized his own loneliness until now.

The necessity for work, however, admitted of no indulgence of vain sorrow, and Bates setting the example,

the pair worked so hard that by nightfall they had torn down and dragged together sufficient brushwood to

complete Mrs. Vickers's hut. During the progress of this work they were often interrupted by Grimes, who

persisted in vague rushes at them, exclaiming loudly against their supposed treachery in leaving him at the

mercy of the mutineers. Bates also complained of the pain caused by the wound in his forehead, and that he

was afflicted with a giddiness which he knew not how to avert. By dint of frequently bathing his head at the

spring, however, he succeeded in keeping on his legs, until the work of dragging together the boughs was

completed, when he threw himself on the ground, and declared that he could rise no more.

Frere applied to him the remedy that had been so successfully tried upon Grimes, but the salt water inflamed

his wound and rendered his condition worse. Mrs. Vickers recommended that a little spirit and water should

be used to wash the cut, and the cask was got out and broached for that purpose. Tea and damper formed their

evening meal; and by the light of a blazing fire, their condition looked less desperate. Mrs. Vickers had set

the pannikin on a flat stone, and dispensed the tea with an affectation of dignity which would have been

absurd had it not been heartrending. She had smoothed her hair and pinned the white shawl about her

coquettishly; she even ventured to lament to Mr. Frere that she had not brought more clothes. Sylvia was in

high spirits, and scorned to confess hunger. When the tea had been drunk, she fetched water from the spring

in the kettle, and bathed Bates's head with it. It was resolved that, on the morrow, a search should be made for

some place from which to cast the fishing line, and that one of the number should fish daily.

The condition of the unfortunate Grimes now gave cause for the greatest uneasiness. From maundering

foolishly he had taken to absolute violence, and had to be watched by Frere. After much muttering and

groaning, the poor fellow at last dropped off to sleep, and Frere, having assisted Bates to his sleepingplace

in front of the rock, and laid him down on a heap of green brushwood, prepared to snatch a few hours'

slumber. Wearied by excitement and the labours of the day, he slept heavily, but, towards morning, was

Grimes, whose delirium had apparently increased, had succeeded in forcing his way through the rude fence of

brushwood, and had thrown himself upon Bates with the ferocity of insanity. Growling to himself, he had

seized the unfortunate pilot by the throat, and the pair were struggling together. Bates, weakened by the

sickness that had followed upon his wound in the head, was quite unable to cope with his desperate assailant,

but calling feebly upon Frere for help, had made shift to lay hold upon the jackknife of which we have

before spoken. Frere, starting to his feet, rushed to the assistance of the pilot, but was too late. Grimes,

enraged by the sight of the knife, tore it from Bates's grasp, and before Frere could catch his arm, plunged it

The sight of the blood, together with the exclamation of his victim, recalled Grimes to consciousness. He

looked in bewilderment at the bloody weapon, and then, flinging it from him, rushed away towards the sea,

Frere, aghast at this sudden and terrible tragedy, gazed after him, and saw from out the placid water,

sparkling in the bright beams of morning, a pair of arms, with outstretched hands, emerge; a black spot, that

was a head, uprose between these stiffening arms, and then, with a horrible cry, the whole disappeared, and

the bright water sparkled as placidly as before. The eyes of the terrified Frere, travelling back to the wounded

man, saw, midway between this sparkling water and the knife that lay on the sand, an object that went far to

explain the maniac's sudden burst of fury. The rum cask lay upon its side by the remnants of last night's fire,

and close to it was a clout, with which the head of the wounded man had been bound. It was evident that the

poor creature, wandering in his delirium, had come across the rum cask, drunk a quantity of its contents, and

Frere hurried to the side of Bates, and lifting him up, strove to staunch the blood that flowed from his chest. It

would seem that he had been resting himself on his left elbow, and that Grimes, snatching the knife from his

right hand, had stabbed him twice in the right breast. He was pale and senseless, and Frere feared that the

wound was mortal. Tearing off his neckhandkerchief, he endeavoured to bandage the wound, but found that

the strip of silk was insufficient for the purpose. The noise had roused Mrs. Vickers, who, stifling her terror,

made haste to tear off a portion of her dress, and with this a bandage of sufficient width was made. Frere went

to the cask to see if, haply, he could obtain from it a little spirit with which to moisten the lips of the dying

man, but it was empty. Grimes, after drinking his fill, had overturned the unheaded puncheon, and the greedy

sand had absorbed every drop of liquor. Sylvia brought some water from the spring, and Mrs. Vickers bathing

Bates's head with this, he revived a little. Byandby Mrs. Vickers milked the goat she had never done

such a thing before in all her life and the milk being given to Bates in a pannikin, he drank it eagerly, but

vomited it almost instantly. It was evident that he was sinking from some internal injury.

None of the party had much appetite for breakfast, but Frere, whose sensibilities were less acute than those of

the others, ate a piece of salt meat and damper. It struck him, with a curious feeling of pleasant selfishness,

that now Grimes had gone, the allowance of provisions would be increased, and that if Bates went also, it

would be increased still further. He did not give utterance to his thoughts, however, but sat with the wounded

man's head on his knees, and brushed the settling flies from his face. He hoped, after all, that the pilot would

not die, for he should then be left alone to look after the women. Perhaps some such thought was agitating

"Don't die, Mr. Bates oh, don't die!" she said, standing piteously near, but afraid to touch him. "Don't

Poor Bates, of course, said nothing, but Frere frowned heavily, and Mrs. Vickers said reprovingly, "Sylvia!"

In the afternoon Frere went away to drag together some wood for the fire, and when he returned he found the

pilot near his end. Mrs. Vickers said that for an hour he had lain without motion, and almost without breath.

The major's wife had seen more than one deathbed, and was calm enough; but poor little Sylvia, sitting on a

stone hard by, shook with terror. She had a dim notion that death must be accompanied by violence. As the

sun sank, Bates rallied; but the two watchers knew that it was but the final flicker of the expiring candle.

"He's going!" said Frere at length, under his breath, as though fearful of awaking his halfslumbering soul.

Mrs. Vickers, her eyes streaming with silent tears, lifted the honest head, and moistened the parched lips with

her soaked handkerchief. A tremor shook the once stalwart limbs, and the dying man opened his eyes. For an

instant he seemed bewildered, and then, looking from one to the other, intelligence returned to his glance, and

it was evident that he remembered all. His gaze rested upon the pale face of the affrighted Sylvia, and then

turned to Frere. There could be no mistaking the mute appeal of those eloquent eyes.

Bates smiled, and then, observing that the blood from his wound had stained the white shawl of Mrs. Vickers,

he made an effort to move his head. It was not fitting that a lady's shawl should be stained with the blood of a

poor fellow like himself. The fashionable fribble, with quick instinct, understood the gesture, and gently drew

the head back upon her bosom. In the presence of death the woman was womanly. For a moment all was

silent, and they thought he had gone; but all at once he opened his eyes and looked round for the sea

"Turn my face to it once more," he whispered; and as they raised him, he inclined his ear to listen. "It's calm

enough here, God bless it," he said; "but I can hear the waves abreaking hard upon the Bar!"

As Frere relieved Mrs. Vickers from the weight of the corpse, Sylvia ran to her mother. "Oh, mamma,

Before it grew dark, Frere made shift to carry the body to the shelter of some rocks at a little distance, and

spreading the jacket over the face, he piled stones upon it to keep it steady. The march of events had been so

rapid that he scarcely realized that since the previous evening two of the five human creatures left in this

wilderness had escaped from it. As he did realize it, he began to wonder whose turn it would be next.

Mrs. Vickers, worn out by the fatigue and excitement of the day, retired to rest early; and Sylvia, refusing to

speak to Frere, followed her mother. This manifestation of unaccountable dislike on the part of the child hurt

Maurice more than he cared to own. He felt angry with her for not loving him, and yet he took no pains to

conciliate her. It was with a curious pleasure that he remembered how she must soon look up to him as her

chief protector. Had Sylvia been just a few years older, the young man would have thought himself in love

The following day passed gloomily. It was hot and sultry, and a dull haze hung over the mountains. Frere

spent the morning in scooping a grave in the sand, in which to inter poor Bates. Practically awake to his own

necessities, he removed such portions of clothing from the body as would be useful to him, but hid them

under a stone, not liking to let Mrs. Vickers see what he had done. Having completed the grave by midday, he

placed the corpse therein, and rolled as many stones as possible to the sides of the mound. In the afternoon he

cast the fishing line from the point of a rock he had marked the day before, but caught nothing. Passing by the

grave, on his return, he noticed that Mrs. Vickers had placed at the head of it a rude cross, formed by tying

After supper the usual salt meat and damper he lit an economical pipe, and tried to talk to Sylvia.

"You are not kind. I don't mean that you do cruel things; but you are oh, I wish papa was here!" "Wishing

won't bring him!" says Frere, pressing his hoarded tobacco together with prudent forefinger.

"There! That's what I mean! Is that kind? 'Wishing won't bring him!' Oh, if it only would!"

"There are persons," says Sylvia, "who have no Affinity for each other. I read about it in a book papa had,

and I suppose that's what it is. I have no Affinity for you. I can't help it, can I?"

Mrs. Vickers had gone back to her cave, and the two were alone by the fire, near which stood the kettle and

the newlymade damper. The child, with some show of hesitation, came to him, and he caught and placed her

on his knee. The moon had not yet risen, and the shadows cast by the flickering fire seemed weird and

monstrous. The wicked wish to frighten this helpless creature came to Maurice Frere.

"There was once," said he, "a Castle in an old wood, and in this Castle there lived an Ogre, with great goggle

"You silly man!" said Sylvia, struggling to be free. "You are trying to frighten me!"

"And this Ogre lived on the bones of little girls. One day a little girl was travelling the wood, and she heard

"She was terribly frightened, and she ran, and ran, and ran, until all of a sudden she saw "

A piercing scream burst from his companion. "Oh! oh! What's that?" she cried, and clung to her persecutor.

Beyond the fire stood the figure of a man. He staggered forward, and then, falling on his knees, stretched out

The sound of a human voice broke the spell of terror that was on the child, and as the glow from the fire fell

upon the tattered yellow garments, she guessed at once the whole story. Not so Maurice Frere. He saw before

him a new danger, a new mouth to share the scanty provision, and snatching a brand from the fire he kept the

convict at bay. But Rufus Dawes, glaring round with wolfish eyes, caught sight of the damper resting against

the iron kettle, and made a clutch at it Frere dashed the brand in his face. "Stand back!" he cried. "We have no

food to spare!" The convict uttered a savage cry, and raising the iron gad, plunged forward desperately to

attack this new enemy; but, quick as thought, the child glided past Frere, and, snatching the loaf, placed it in

the hands of the starving man, with "Here, poor prisoner, eat!" and then, turning to Frere, she cast upon him a

glance so full of horror, indignation, and surprise, that the man blushed and threw down the brand.

As for Rufus Dawes, the sudden apparition of this goldenhaired girl seemed to have transformed him.

Allowing the loaf to slip through his fingers, he gazed with haggard eyes at the retreating figure of the child,

and as it vanished into the darkness outside the circle of firelight, the unhappy man sank his face upon his

THE COARSE TONES of Maurice Frere roused him. "What do you want?" he asked. Rufus Dawes, raising

his head, contemplated the figure before him, and recognized it. "Is it you?" he said slowly.

"What do you mean? Do you know me?" asked Frere, drawing back. But the convict did not reply. His

momentary emotion passed away, the pangs of hunger returned, and greedily seizing upon the piece of

"An escaped prisoner. You can give me up in the morning. I've done my best, and I'm beat."

The sentence struck Frere with dismay. The man did not know that the settlement had been abandoned!

"I cannot give you up. There is no one but myself and a woman and child on the settlement." Rufus Dawes,

pausing in his eating, stared at him in amazement. "The prisoners have gone away in the schooner. If you

choose to remain free, you can do so as far as I am concerned. I am as helpless as you are."

Frere laughed bitterly. To give explanations to convicts was foreign to his experience, and he did not relish

the task. In this case, however, there was no help for it. "The prisoners mutinied and seized the brig."

A terrible light broke upon Rufus Dawes, and he began to understand how he had again missed his chance.

"That doubledyed villain, John Rex," says Frere, giving vent to his passion. "May she sink, and burn, and

"Have they gone, then?" cried the miserable man, clutching at his hair with a gesture of hopeless rage.

"Yes; two days ago, and left us here to starve." Rufus Dawes burst into a laugh so discordant that it made the

other shudder. "We'll starve together, Maurice Frere," said he, "for while you've a crust, I'll share it. If I don't

The sinister aspect of this famished savage, sitting with his chin on his ragged knees, rocking himself to and

fro in the light of the fire, gave Mr. Maurice Frere a new sensation. He felt as might have felt that African

hunter who, returning to his camp fire, found a lion there. "Wretch!" said he, shrinking from him, "why

The convict turned upon him with a snarl. "Take care what you say! I'll have no hard words. Wretch! If I am

a wretch, who made me one? If I hate you and myself and the world, who made me hate it? I was born free

as free as you are. Why should I be sent to herd with beasts, and condemned to this slavery, worse than

death? Tell me that, Maurice Frere tell me that!" "I didn't make the laws," says Frere, "why do you attack

"Because you are what I was. You are FREE! You can do as you please. You can love, you can work, you

can think. I can only hate!" He paused as if astonished at himself, and then continued, with a low laugh. "Fine

words for a convict, eh! But, never mind, it's all right, Mr. Frere; we're equal now, and I sha'n't die an hour

"Die! There's no need to talk of dying," he said, as soothingly as it was possible for him to say it. "Time

"There spoke the free man. We convicts have an advantage over you gentlemen. You are afraid of death; we

pray for it. It is the best thing that can happen to us. Die! They were going to hang me once. I wish they had.

There was such a depth of agony in this terrible utterance that Maurice Frere was appalled at it. "There, go

"Hold on a bit!" cried Rufus Dawes, with a coarseness of manner altogether foreign to that he had just

"The wife and daughter of the Commandant," replied Frere, half afraid to refuse an answer to a question so

"No." "Poor souls!" said the convict, "I pity them." And then he stretched himself, like a dog, before the

blaze, and went to sleep instantly. Maurice Frere, looking at the gaunt figure of this addition to the party, was

completely puzzled how to act. Such a character had never before come within the range of his experience.

He knew not what to make of this fierce, ragged, desperate man, who wept and threatened by turns who

was now snarling in the most repulsive bass of the convict gamut, and now calling upon Heaven in tones

which were little less than eloquent. At first he thought of precipitating himself upon the sleeping wretch and

pinioning him, but a second glance at the sinewy, though wasted, limbs forbade him to follow out the rash

suggestion of his own fears. Then a horrible prompting arising out of his former cowardice made him

feel for the jackknife with which one murder had already been committed. Their stock of provisions was so

scanty, and after all, the lives of the woman and child were worth more than that of this unknown desperado!

But, to do him justice, the thought no sooner shaped itself than he crushed it out. "We'll wait till morning, and

see how he shapes," said Frere to himself; and pausing at the brushwood barricade, behind which the mother

and daughter were clinging to each other, he whispered that he was on guard outside, and that the absconder

slept. But when morning dawned, he found that there was no need for alarm. The convict was lying in almost

the same position as that in which he had left him, and his eyes were closed. His threatening outbreak of the

previous night had been produced by the excitement of his sudden rescue, and he was now incapable of

"Not alive!" cried the poor wretch, waking with a start, and raising his arm to strike. "Keep off!"

Rufus Dawes glanced around him stupidly, and then remembering what had happened, with a great effort, he

staggered to his feet. "I thought they'd got me!" he said, "but it's the other way, I see. Come, let's have

Rufus Dawes, swaying to and fro from weakness, passed his shred of a cuff over his eyes. "I don't know

Frere stopped short. Now or never was the time to settle future relations. Lying awake in the night, with the

jackknife ready to his hand, he had decided on the course of action that must be adopted. The convict should

share with the rest, but no more. If he rebelled at that, there must be a trial of strength between them. "Look

you here," he said. "We have but barely enough food to serve us until help comes if it does come. I have

the care of that poor woman and child, and I will see fair play for their sakes. You shall share with us to our

The convict, stretching out his wasted arms, looked down upon them with the uncertain gaze of a drunken

man. "I am weak now," he said. "You have the best of me"; and then he sank suddenly down upon the

ground, exhausted. "Give me a drink," he moaned, feebly motioning with his hand. Frere got him water in the

pannikin, and having drunk it, he smiled and lay down to sleep again. Mrs. Vickers and Sylvia, coming out

"He was the most desperate man we had," said Mrs. Vickers, identifying herself with her husband. "Oh, what

"He won't do much harm," returned Frere, looking down at the notorious ruffian with curiosity. "He's as near

Sylvia looked up at him with her clear child's glance. "We mustn't let him die," said she. "That would be

murder." "No, no," returned Frere, hastily, "no one wants him to die. But what can we do?"

Frere broke into one of his coarse laughs, the first one that he had indulged in since the mutiny. "You nurse

him! By George, that's a good one!" The poor little child, weak and excitable, felt the contempt in the tone,

and burst into a passion of sobs. "Why do you insult me, you wicked man? The poor fellow's ill, and he'll

Frere swore a great oath, and walked away. He went into the little wood under the cliff, and sat down. He was

full of strange thoughts, which he could not express, and which he had never owned before. The dislike the

child bore to him made him miserable, and yet he took delight in tormenting her. He was conscious that he

had acted the part of a coward the night before in endeavouring to frighten her, and that the detestation she

bore him was well earned; but he had fully determined to stake his life in her defence, should the savage who

had thus come upon them out of the desert attempt violence, and he was unreasonably angry at the pity she

had shown. It was not fair to be thus misinterpreted. But he had done wrong to swear, and more so in quitting

them so abruptly. The consciousness of his wrongdoing, however, only made him more confirmed in it. His

native obstinacy would not allow him to retract what he had said even to himself. Walking along, he came

to Bates's grave, and the cross upon it. Here was another evidence of illtreatment. She had always preferred

Bates. Now that Bates was gone, she must needs transfer her childish affections to a convict. "Oh," said Frere

to himself, with pleasant recollections of many coarse triumphs in lovemaking, "if you were a woman, you

little vixen, I'd make you love me!" When he had said this, he laughed at himself for his folly he was

turning romantic! When he got back, he found Dawes stretched upon the brushwood, with Sylvia sitting near

"He is better," said Mrs. Vickers, disdaining to refer to the scene of the morning. "Sit down and have

To his surprise, the convict answered quite civilly, "I shall be strong again in a day or two, and then I can

"Help me? How?" "To build a hut here for the ladies. And we'll live here all our lives, and never go back to

"He has been wandering a little," said Mrs. Vickers. "Poor fellow, he seems quite well behaved."

The convict began to sing a little German song, and to beat the refrain with his hand. Frere looked at him with

curiosity. "I wonder what the story of that man's life has been," he said. "A queer one, I'll be bound."

Sylvia looked up at him with a forgiving smile. "I'll ask him when he gets well," she said, "and if you are

Frere accepted the proffered friendship. "I am a great brute, Sylvia, sometimes, ain't I?" he said, "but I don't

"You are," returned Sylvia, frankly, "but let's shake hands, and be friends. It's no use quarrelling when there

are only four of us, is it?" And in this way was Rufus Dawes admitted a member of the family circle.

Within a week from the night on which he had seen the smoke of Frere's fire, the convict had recovered his

strength, and had become an important personage. The distrust with which he had been at first viewed had

worn off, and he was no longer an outcast, to be shunned and pointed at, or to be referred to in whispers. He

had abandoned his rough manner, and no longer threatened or complained, and though at times a profound

melancholy would oppress him, his spirits were more even than those of Frere, who was often moody, sullen,

and overbearing. Rufus Dawes was no longer the brutalized wretch who had plunged into the dark waters of

the bay to escape a life he loathed, and had alternately cursed and wept in the solitudes of the forests. He was

an active member of society a society of four and he began to regain an air of independence and

authority. This change had been wrought by the influence of little Sylvia. Recovered from the weakness

consequent upon this terrible journey, Rufus Dawes had experienced for the first time in six years the

soothing power of kindness. He had now an object to live for beyond himself. He was of use to somebody,

and had he died, he would have been regretted. To us this means little; to this unhappy man it meant

everything. He found, to his astonishment, that he was not despised, and that, by the strange concurrence of

circumstances, he had been brought into a position in which his convict experiences gave him authority. He

was skilled in all the mysteries of the prison sheds. He knew how to sustain life on as little food as possible.

He could fell trees without an axe, bake bread without an oven, build a weatherproof hut without bricks or

mortar. From the patient he became the adviser; and from the adviser, the commander. In the semisavage

state to which these four human beings had been brought, he found that savage accomplishments were of

most value. Might was Right, and Maurice Frere's authority of gentility soon succumbed to Rufus Dawes's

As the time wore on, and the scanty stock of provisions decreased, he found that his authority grew more and

more powerful. Did a question arise as to the qualities of a strange plant, it was Rufus Dawes who could

pronounce upon it. Were fish to be caught, it was Rufus Dawes who caught them. Did Mrs. Vickers complain

of the instability of her brushwood hut, it was Rufus Dawes who worked a wicker shield, and plastering it

with clay, produced a wall that defied the keenest wind. He made cups out of pineknots, and plates out of

barkstrips. He worked harder than any three men. Nothing daunted him, nothing discouraged him. When

Mrs. Vickers fell sick, from anxiety and insufficient food, it was Rufus Dawes who gathered fresh leaves for

her couch, who cheered her by hopeful words, who voluntarily gave up half his own allowance of meat that

she might grow stronger on it. The poor woman and her child called him "Mr." Dawes.

Frere watched all this with dissatisfaction that amounted at times to positive hatred. Yet he could say nothing,

for he could not but acknowledge that, beside Dawes, he was incapable. He even submitted to take orders

from this escaped convict it was so evident that the escaped convict knew better than he. Sylvia began to

look upon Dawes as a second Bates. He was, moreover, all her own. She had an interest in him, for she had

nursed and protected him. If it had not been for her, this prodigy would not have lived. He felt for her an

absorbing affection that was almost a passion. She was his good angel, his protectress, his glimpse of Heaven.

She had given him food when he was starving, and had believed in him when the world the world of four

had looked coldly on him. He would have died for her, and, for love of her, hoped for the vessel which

But the days stole on, and no vessel appeared. Each day they eagerly scanned the watery horizon; each day

they longed to behold the bowsprit of the returning Ladybird glide past the jutting rock that shut out the view

of the harbour but in vain. Mrs. Vickers's illness increased, and the stock of provisions began to run short.

Dawes talked of putting himself and Frere on half allowance. It was evident that, unless succour came in a

Frere mooted all sorts of wild plans for obtaining food. He would make a journey to the settlement, and,

swimming the estuary, search if haply any casks of biscuit had been left behind in the hurry of departure. He

would set springes for the seagulls, and snare the pigeons at Liberty Point. But all these proved impracticable,

and with blank faces they watched their bag of flour grow smaller and smaller daily. Then the notion of

escape was broached. Could they construct a raft? Impossible without nails or ropes. Could they build a boat?

Equally impossible for the same reason. Could they raise a fire sufficient to signal a ship? Easily; but what

ship would come within reach of that doublydesolate spot? Nothing could be done but wait for a vessel,

which was sure to come for them sooner or later; and, growing weaker day by day, they waited.

One morning Sylvia was sitting in the sun reading the "English History", which, by the accident of fright, she

had brought with her on the night of the mutiny. "Mr. Frere," said she, suddenly, "what is an alchemist?"

"No, not absolutely make it. But he was, in his worship of money, an alchemist for all that."

"I don't know," said Dawes, with so much constraint in his tone that the child instinctively turned the subject.

Sylvia suddenly gave a little scream. The remembrance of the evening when she read about the Ancient

Britons to poor Bates came vividly into her mind, and though she had since reread the passage that had then

attracted her attention a hundred times, it had never before presented itself to her in its full significance.

Hurriedly turning the wellthumbed leaves, she read aloud the passage which had provoked remark:

"'The Ancient Britons were little better than Barbarians. They painted their bodies with Woad, and, seated in

their light coracles of skin stretched upon slender wooden frames, must have presented a wild and savage

THE question gave the marooned party new hopes. Maurice Frere, with his usual impetuosity, declared that

the project was a most feasible one, and wondered as such men will wonder that it had never occurred

to him before. "It's the simplest thing in the world!" he cried. "Sylvia, you have saved us!" But upon taking

the matter into more earnest consideration, it became apparent that they were as yet a long way from the

realization of their hopes. To make a coracle of skins seemed sufficiently easy, but how to obtain the skins!

The one miserable hide of the unlucky shegoat was utterly inadequate for the purpose. Sylvia her face

beaming with the hope of escape, and with delight at having been the means of suggesting it watched

narrowly the countenance of Rufus Dawes, but she marked no answering gleam of joy in those eyes. "Can't it

"Come, Dawes!" cried Frere, forgetting his enmity for an instant in the flash of new hope, "can't you suggest

Rufus Dawes, thus appealed to as the acknowledged Head of the little society, felt a pleasant thrill of

selfsatisfaction. "I don't know," he said. "I must think of it. It looks easy, and yet " He paused as

something in the water caught his eye. It was a mass of bladdery seaweed that the returning tide was wafting

slowly to the shore. This object, which would have passed unnoticed at any other time, suggested to Rufus

Dawes a new idea. "Yes," he added slowly, with a change of tone, "it may be done. I think I can see my

The others preserved a respectful silence until he should speak again. "How far do you think it is across the

The convict sighed. "Too far to swim now, though I might have done it once. But this sort of life weakens a

Sylvia uttered a little cry; she had become fond of her dumb companion. "Kill Nanny! Oh, Mr. Dawes! What

"I am going to make a boat for you," he said, "and I want hides, and thread, and tallow."

A few weeks back Maurice Frere would have laughed at such a sentence, but he had begun now to

comprehend that this escaped convict was not a man to be laughed at, and though he detested him for his

"You can't get more than one hide off a goat, man?" he said, with an inquiring tone in his voice as though

it was just possible that such a marvellous being as Dawes could get a second hide, by virtue of some secret

"Float across. Come, there is not time for questioning! Go and cut down some saplings, and let us begin!"

The lieutenantmaster looked at the convict prisoner with astonishment, and then gave way to the power of

knowledge, and did as he was ordered. Before sundown that evening the carcase of poor Nanny, broken into

various most unbutcherly fragments, was hanging on the nearest tree; and Frere, returning with as many

young saplings as he could drag together, found Rufus Dawes engaged in a curious occupation. He had killed

the goat, and having cut off its head close under the jaws, and its legs at the kneejoint, had extracted the

carcase through a slit made in the lower portion of the belly, which slit he had now sewn together with string.

This proceeding gave him a rough bag, and he was busily engaged in filling this bag with such coarse grass as

he could collect. Frere observed, also, that the fat of the animal was carefully preserved, and the intestines

The convict, however, declined to give information as to what he intended to do. "It's my own notion," he

said. "Let me alone. I may make a failure of it." Frere, on being pressed by Sylvia, affected to know all about

the scheme, but to impose silence on himself. He was galled to think that a convict brain should contain a

On the next day, by Rufus Dawes's direction, Frere cut down some rushes that grew about a mile from the

camping ground, and brought them in on his back. This took him nearly half a day to accomplish. Short

rations were beginning to tell upon his physical powers. The convict, on the other hand, trained by a woeful

experience in the Boats to endurance of hardship, was slowly recovering his original strength.

"What are they for?" asked Frere, as he flung the bundles down. His master condescended to reply. "To make

The other shrugged his broad shoulders. "You are very dull, Mr. Frere. I am going to swim over to the Pilot

Station, and catch some of those goats. I can get across on the stuffed skin, but I must float them back on the

"How the doose do you mean to catch 'em?" asked Frere, wiping the sweat from his brow.

The convict motioned to him to approach. He did so, and saw that his companion was cleaning the intestines

of the goat. The outer membrane having been peeled off, Rufus Dawes was turning the gut inside out. This he

did by turning up a short piece of it, as though it were a coatsleeve, and dipping the turnedup cuff into a

pool of water. The weight of the water pressing between the cuff and the rest of the gut, bore down a further

portion; and so, by repeated dippings, the whole length was turned inside out. The inner membrane having

been scraped away, there remained a fine transparent tube, which was tightly twisted, and set to dry in the

"There is the catgut for the noose," said Dawes. "I learnt that trick at the settlement. Now come here."

Frere, following, saw that a fire had been made between two stones, and that the kettle was partly sunk in the

Frere obeyed, and saw at the bottom of the kettle a quantity of sparkling white powder, and the sides of the

"I filled the kettle with seawater, and then, heating those pebbles redhot in the fire, dropped them into it.

We could have caught the steam in a cloth and wrung out fresh water had we wished to do so. But, thank

Rufus Dawes laughed, with a sort of bitterness in his tones. "Do you think I have been at 'the settlement' all

Frere burst out in sudden, fretful admiration: "What a fellow you are, Dawes! What are you I mean, what

A triumphant light came into the other's face, and for the instant he seemed about to make some startling

"I am a convict. Never mind what I have been. A sailor, a shipbuilder, prodigal, vagabond what does it

"If we get safely back," says Frere, "I'll ask for a free pardon for you. You deserve it."

"Come," returned Dawes, with a discordant laugh. "Let us wait until we get back."

"I don't want favour at your hands," he said, with a return of the old fierceness. "Let us get to work. Bring up

At this instant Sylvia came up. "Good afternoon, Mr. Dawes. Hard at work? Oh! what's this in the kettle?"

The voice of the child acted like a charm upon Rufus Dawes. He smiled quite cheerfully.

"Goats are fond of salt, and when I get over to the Pilot Station I shall set traps for them baited with this salt.

When they come to lick it, I shall have a noose of catgut ready to catch them do you understand?"

THE NEXT MORNING Rufus Dawes was stirring by daylight. He first got his catgut wound upon a piece of

stick, and then, having moved his frail floats alongside the little rock that served as a pier, he took a fishing

line and a larger piece of stick, and proceeded to draw a diagram on the sand. This diagram when completed

represented a rude outline of a punt, eight feet long and three broad. At certain distances were eight points

four on each side into which small willow rods were driven. He then awoke Frere and showed the diagram

"Get eight stakes of celerytop pine," he said. "You can burn them where you cannot cut them, and drive a

stake into the place of each of these willow wands. When you have done that, collect as many willows as you

can get. I shall not be back until tonight. Now give me a hand with the floats."

Frere, coming to the pier, saw Dawes strip himself, and piling his clothes upon the stuffed goatskin, stretch

himself upon the reed bundles, and, paddling with his hands, push off from the shore. The clothes floated

high and dry, but the reeds, depressed by the weight of the body, sank so that the head of the convict alone

appeared above water. In this fashion he gained the middle of the current, and the outgoing tide swept him

Frere, sulkily admiring, went back to prepare the breakfast they were on half rations now, Dawes having

forbidden the slaughtered goat to be eaten, lest his expedition should prove unsuccessful wondering at the

chance which had thrown this convict in his way. "Parsons would call it 'a special providence,'" he said to

himself. "For if it hadn't been for him, we should never have got thus far. If his 'boat' succeeds, we're all right,

I suppose. He's a clever dog. I wonder who he is." His training as a master of convicts made him think how

dangerous such a man would be on a convict station. It would be difficult to keep a fellow of such resources.

"They'll have to look pretty sharp after him if they ever get him back," he thought. "I'll have a fine tale to tell

of his ingenuity." The conversation of the previous day occurred to him. "I promised to ask for a free pardon.

He wouldn't have it, though. Too proud to accept it at my hands! Wait until we get back. I'll teach him his

place; for, after all, it is his own liberty that he is working for as well as mine I mean ours." Then a

thought came into his head that was in every way worthy of him. "Suppose we took the boat, and left him

"Oh, it's you, Sylvia, is it? Ha, ha, ha! I was thinking of something something funny."

"You are always thinking of that fellow. It's Dawes, Dawes, Dawes all day long. He has gone."

The "lady of the Commandant" was in a strange plight. The cavern was lofty, but narrow. In shape it was

threecornered, having two sides open to the wind. The ingenuity of Rufus Dawes had closed these sides

with wickerwork and clay, and a sort of door of interlaced brushwood hung at one of them. Frere pushed

open this door and entered. The poor woman was lying on a bed of rushes strewn over young brushwood, and

was moaning feebly. From the first she had felt the privation to which she was subjected most keenly, and the

mental anxiety from which she suffered increased her physical debility. The exhaustion and lassitude to

which she had partially succumbed soon after Dawes's arrival, had now completely overcome her, and she

"Cheer up, ma'am," said Maurice, with an assumption of heartiness. "It will be all right in a day or two."

"Well, I that is, we are making it. He will be back again tonight. Can I do anything for you?"

"No, thank you. I only wanted to know how he was getting on. I must go soon if I am to go. Thank you,

Mr. Frere. I am much obliged to you. This is a hehe a dreadful place to have visitors, isn't it?"

"Never mind," said Frere, again, "you will be back in Hobart Town in a few days now. We are sure to get

Maurice Frere went out indignant. This "Mr." Dawes was everybody, it seemed, and he was nobody. Let

them wait a little. All that day, working hard to carry out the convict's directions, he meditated a thousand

plans by which he could turn the tables. He would accuse Dawes of violence. He would demand that he

should be taken back as an "absconder". He would insist that the law should take its course, and that the

"death" which was the doom of all who were caught in the act of escape from a penal settlement should be

enforced. Yet if they got safe to land, the marvellous courage and ingenuity of the prisoner would tell

strongly in his favour. The woman and child would bear witness to his tenderness and skill, and plead for

him. As he had said, the convict deserved a pardon. The mean, bad man, burning with wounded vanity and

undefined jealousy, waited for some method to suggest itself, by which he might claim the credit of the

escape, and snatch from the prisoner, who had dared to rival him, the last hope of freedom.

Rufus Dawes, drifting with the current, had allowed himself to coast along the eastern side of the harbour

until the Pilot Station appeared in view on the opposite shore. By this time it was nearly seven o'clock. He

landed at a sandy cove, and drawing up his raft, proceeded to unpack from among his garments a piece of

damper. Having eaten sparingly, and dried himself in the sun, he replaced the remains of his breakfast, and

pushed his floats again into the water. The Pilot Station lay some distance below him, on the opposite shore.

He had purposely made his second start from a point which would give him this advantage of position; for

had he attempted to paddle across at right angles, the strength of the current would have swept him out to sea.

Weak as he was, he several times nearly lost his hold on the reeds. The clumsy bundle presenting too great a

broadside to the stream, whirled round and round, and was once or twice nearly sucked under. At length,

however, breathless and exhausted, he gained the opposite bank, half a mile below the point he had attempted

to make, and carrying his floats out of reach of the tide, made off across the hill to the Pilot Station.

Arrived there about midday, he set to work to lay his snares. The goats, with whose hides he hoped to cover

the coracle, were sufficiently numerous and tame to encourage him to use every exertion. He carefully

examined the tracks of the animals, and found that they converged to one point the track to the nearest

water. With much labour he cut down bushes, so as to mask the approach to the waterhole on all sides save

where these tracks immediately conjoined. Close to the water, and at unequal distances along the various

tracks, he scattered the salt he had obtained by his rude distillation of seawater. Between this scattered salt

and the points where he judged the animals would be likely to approach, he set his traps, made after the

following manner. He took several pliant branches of young trees, and having stripped them of leaves and

twigs, dug with his knife and the end of the rude paddle he had made for the voyage across the inlet, a

succession of holes, about a foot deep. At the thicker end of these saplings he fastened, by a piece of fishing

line, a small crossbar, which swung loosely, like the stick handle which a schoolboy fastens to the string of

his pegtop. Forcing the ends of the saplings thus prepared into the holes, he filled in and stamped down the

earth all around them. The saplings, thus anchored as it were by the crosspieces of stick, not only stood

firm, but resisted all his efforts to withdraw them. To the thin ends of these saplings he bound tightly, into

notches cut in the wood, and secured by a multiplicity of twisting, the catgut springes he had brought from

the camping ground. The saplings were then bent double, and the gutted ends secured in the ground by the

same means as that employed to fix the butts. This was the most difficult part of the business, for it was

necessary to discover precisely the amount of pressure that would hold the bent rod without allowing it to

escape by reason of this elasticity, and which would yet "give" to a slight pull on the gut. After many failures,

however, this happy medium was discovered; and Rufus Dawes, concealing his springes by means of twigs,

smoothed the disturbed sand with a branch and retired to watch the effect of his labours. About two hours

after he had gone, the goats came to drink. There were five goats and two kids, and they trotted calmly along

the path to the water. The watcher soon saw that his precautions had been in a manner wasted. The leading

goat marched gravely into the springe, which, catching him round his neck, released the bent rod, and sprang

him off his legs into the air. He uttered a comical bleat, and then hung kicking. Rufus Dawes, though the

success of the scheme was a matter of life and death, burst out laughing at the antics of the beast. The other

goats bounded off at this sudden elevation of their leader, and three more were entrapped at a little distance.

Rufus Dawes now thought it time to secure his prize, though three of the springes were as yet unsprung. He

ran down to the old goat, knife in hand, but before he could reach him the barelydried catgut gave way, and

the old fellow, shaking his head with grotesque dismay, made off at full speed. The others, however, were

secured and killed. The loss of the springe was not a serious one, for three traps remained unsprung, and

before sundown Rufus Dawes had caught four more goats. Removing with care the catgut that had done such

good service, he dragged the carcases to the shore, and proceeded to pack them upon his floats. He

discovered, however, that the weight was too great, and that the water, entering through the loops of the

stitching in the hide, had so soaked the rushgrass as to render the floats no longer buoyant. He was

compelled, therefore, to spend two hours in restuffing the skin with such material as he could find. Some

light and flocklike seaweed, which the action of the water had swathed after the fashion of haybands along

the shore, formed an excellent substitute for grass, and, having bound his bundle of rushes lengthwise, with

the goatskin as a centrepiece, he succeeded in forming a sort of rude canoe, upon which the carcases

He had eaten nothing since the morning, and the violence of his exertions had exhausted him. Still, sustained

by the excitement of the task he had set himself, he dismissed with fierce impatience the thought of rest, and

dragged his weary limbs along the sand, endeavouring to kill fatigue by further exertion. The tide was now

running in, and he knew it was imperative that he should regain the further shore while the current was in his

favour. To cross from the Pilot Station at low water was impossible. If he waited until the ebb, he must spend

another day on the shore, and he could not afford to lose an hour. Cutting a long sapling, he fastened to one

end of it the floating bundle, and thus guided it to a spot where the beach shelved abruptly into deep water. It

was a clear night, and the risen moon large and low, flung a rippling streak of silver across the sea. On the

other side of the bay all was bathed in a violet haze, which veiled the inlet from which he had started in the

morning. The fire of the exiles, hidden behind a point of rock, cast a red glow into the air. The ocean breakers

rolled in upon the cliffs outside the bar, with a hoarse and threatening murmur; and the rising tide rippled and

lapped with treacherous melody along the sand. He touched the chill water and drew back. For an instant he

determined to wait until the beams of morning should illumine that beautiful but treacherous sea, and then the

thought of the helpless child, who was, without doubt, waiting and watching for him on the shore, gave new

strength to his wearied frame; and fixing his eyes on the glow that, hovering above the dark treeline, marked

her presence, he pushed the raft before him out into the sea. The reeds sustained him bravely, but the strength

of the current sucked him underneath the water, and for several seconds he feared that he should be

compelled to let go his hold. But his muscles, steeled in the slow fire of convictlabour, withstood this last

strain upon them, and, halfsuffocated, with bursting chest and paralysed fingers, he preserved his position,

until the mass, getting out of the eddies along the shoreline, drifted steadily down the silvery track that led

to the settlement. After a few moments' rest, he set his teeth, and urged his strange canoe towards the shore.

Paddling and pushing, he gradually edged it towards the firelight; and at last, just when his stiffened limbs

refused to obey the impulse of his will, and he began to drift onwards with the onward tide, he felt his feet

strike firm ground. Opening his eyes closed in the desperation of his last efforts he found himself safe

under the lee of the rugged promontory which hid the fire. It seemed that the waves, tired of persecuting him,

had, with disdainful pity, cast him ashore at the goal of his hopes. Looking back, he for the first time realized

the frightful peril he had escaped, and shuddered. To this shudder succeeded a thrill of triumph. "Why had he

stayed so long, when escape was so easy?" Dragging the carcases above highwater mark, he rounded the

little promontory and made for the fire. The recollection of the night when he had first approached it came

upon him, and increased his exultation. How different a man was he now from then! Passing up the sand, he

saw the stakes which he had directed Frere to cut whiten in the moonshine. His officer worked for him! In his

own brain alone lay the secret of escape! He Rufus Dawes the scarred, degraded "prisoner", could

alone get these three beings back to civilization. Did he refuse to aid them, they would for ever remain in that

prison, where he had so long suffered. The tables were turned he had become a gaoler! He had gained the

fire before the solitary watcher there heard his footsteps, and spread his hands to the blaze in silence. He felt

as Frere would have felt, had their positions been reversed, disdainful of the man who had stopped at home.

"There are four carcases down by the rocks. You can have meat for breakfast tomorrow!"

The child, at the sound of the voice, came running down from the hut. "Oh, Mr. Dawes! I am so glad! We

Dawes snatched her from the ground, and bursting into a joyous laugh, swung her into the air. "Tell me," he

cried, holding up the child with two dripping arms above him, "what you will do for me if I bring you and

"Give you a free pardon," says Sylvia, "and papa shall make you his servant!" Frere burst out laughing at this

reply, and Dawes, with a choking sensation in his throat, put the child upon the ground and walked away.

This was in truth all he could hope for. All his scheming, all his courage, all his peril, would but result in the

patronage of a great man like Major Vickers. His heart, big with love, with selfdenial, and with hopes of a

fair future, would have this flattering unction laid to it. He had performed a prodigy of skill and daring, and

for his reward he was to be made a servant to the creatures he had protected. Yet what more could a convict

expect? Sylvia saw how deeply her unconscious hand had driven the iron, and ran up to the man she had

wounded. "And, Mr. Dawes, remember that I shall love you always." The convict, however, his momentary

excitement over, motioned her away; and she saw him stretch himself wearily under the shadow of a rock.

IN the morning, however, Rufus Dawes was first at work, and made no allusion to the scene of the previous

evening. He had already skinned one of the goats, and he directed Frere to set to work upon another. "Cut

down the rump to the hock, and down the brisket to the knee," he said. "I want the hides as square as

possible." By dint of hard work they got the four goats skinned, and the entrails cleaned ready for twisting, by

breakfast time; and having broiled some of the flesh, made a hearty meal. Mrs. Vickers being no better,

Dawes went to see her, and seemed to have made friends again with Sylvia, for he came out of the hut with

the child's hand in his. Frere, who was cutting the meat in long strips to dry in the sun, saw this, and it added

fresh fuel to the fire in his unreasonable envy and jealousy. However, he said nothing, for his enemy had not

yet shown him how the boat was to be made. Before midday, however, he was a partner in the secret, which,

Rufus Dawes took two of the straightest and most tapered of the celerytop pines which Frere had cut on the

previous day, and lashed them tightly together, with the butts outwards. He thus produced a spliced stick

about twelve feet long. About two feet from either end he notched the young tree until he could bend the

extremities upwards; and having so bent them, he secured the bent portions in their places by means of

lashings of raw hide. The spliced trees now presented a rude outline of the section of a boat, having the stem,

keel, and stern all in one piece. This having been placed lengthwise between the stakes, four other poles,

notched in two places, were lashed from stake to stake, running crosswise to the keel, and forming the knees.

Four saplings were now bent from end to end of the upturned portions of the keel that represented stem and

stern. Two of these four were placed above, as gunwales; two below as bottom rails. At each intersection the

sticks were lashed firmly with fishing line. The whole framework being complete, the stakes were drawn out,

and there lay upon the ground the skeleton of a boat eight feet long by three broad.

Frere, whose hands were blistered and sore, would fain have rested; but the convict would not hear of it. "Let

us finish," he said regardless of his own fatigue; "the skins will be dry if we stop."

"I can work no more," says Frere sulkily; "I can't stand. You've got muscles of iron, I suppose. I haven't."

"They made me work when I couldn't stand, Maurice Frere. It is wonderful what spirit the cat gives a man.

There's nothing like work to get rid of aching muscles so they used to tell me."

"Cover the boat. There, you can set the fat to melt, and sew these hides together. Two and two, do you see?

"Don't talk to me as if I was a dog!" says Frere suddenly. "Be civil, can't you."

But the other, busily trimming and cutting at the projecting pieces of sapling, made no reply. It is possible

that he thought the fatigued lieutenant beneath his notice. About an hour before sundown the hides were

ready, and Rufus Dawes, having in the meantime interlaced the ribs of the skeleton with wattles, stretched the

skins over it, with the hairy side inwards. Along the edges of this covering he bored holes at intervals, and

passing through these holes thongs of twisted skin, he drew the whole to the top rail of the boat. One last

precaution remained. Dipping the pannikin into the melted tallow, he plentifully anointed the seams of the

sewn skins. The boat, thus turned topsyturvy, looked like a huge walnut shell covered with red and reeking

hide, or the skull of some Titan who had been scalped. "There!" cried Rufus Dawes, triumphant. "Twelve

hours in the sun to tighten the hides, and she'll swim like a duck." The next day was spent in minor

preparations. The jerked goatmeat was packed securely into as small a compass as possible. The rum barrel

was filled with water, and water bags were improvised out of portions of the intestines of the goats. Rufus

Dawes, having filled these last with water, ran a wooden skewer through their mouths, and twisted it tight,

tourniquet fashion. He also stripped cylindrical pieces of bark, and having sewn each cylinder at the side,

fitted to it a bottom of the same material, and caulked the seams with gum and pinetree resin. Thus four

tolerable buckets were obtained. One goatskin yet remained, and out of that it was determined to make a sail.

"The currents are strong," said Rufus Dawes, "and we shall not be able to row far with such oars as we have

got. If we get a breeze it may save our lives." It was impossible to "step" a mast in the frail basket structure,

but this difficulty was overcome by a simple contrivance. From thwart to thwart two poles were bound, and

the mast, lashed between these poles with thongs of raw hide, was secured by shrouds of twisted fishing line

running fore and aft. Sheets of bark were placed at the bottom of the craft, and made a safe flooring. It was

late in the afternoon on the fourth day when these preparations were completed, and it was decided that on

the morrow they should adventure the journey. "We will coast down to the Bar," said Rufus Dawes, "and

Sylvia, who had seated herself on a rock at a little distance, called to them. Her strength was restored by the

fresh meat, and her childish spirits had risen with the hope of safety. The mercurial little creature had

wreathed seaweed about her head, and holding in her hand a long twig decorated with a tuft of leaves to

"I am the Queen of the Island," she said merrily, "and you are my obedient subjects. Pray, Sir Eglamour, is

"Then we will see it. Come, walk in front of me. I won't ask you to rub your nose upon the ground, like Man

"Oh, yes!" says Frere, unable to withstand the charming pout that accompanied the words. "I'll play. What am

"You must walk on this side, and be respectful. Of course it is only Pretend, you know," she added, with a

quick consciousness of Frere's conceit. "Now then, the Queen goes down to the Seashore surrounded by her

Nymphs! There is no occasion to laugh, Mr. Frere. Of course, Nymphs are very different from you, but then

Marching in this pathetically ridiculous fashion across the sand, they halted at the coracle. "So that is the

boat!" says the Queen, fairly surprised out of her assumption of dignity. "You are a Wonderful Man, Mr.

"Do you call this simple?" says Frere, who in the general joy had shaken off a portion of his sulkiness. "By

George, I don't! This is shipbuilding with a vengeance, this is. There's no scheming about this it's all

"Yes!" echoed Sylvia, "sheer hard work sheer hard work by good Mr. Dawes!" And she began to sing a

childish chant of triumph, drawing lines and letters in the sand the while, with the sceptre of the Queen.

"Good Mr. Dawes!" repeated Sylvia. "Good Mr. Dawes! Why shouldn't I say it? You are disagreeable, sir. I

Frere now that the boat was made had regained his selfconfidence. Civilization seemed now brought

sufficiently close to him to warrant his assuming the position of authority to which his social position entitled

him. "One would think that a boat had never been built before to hear her talk," he said. "If this

washingbasket had been one of my old uncle's threedeckers, she couldn't have said much more. By the

Lord!" he added, with a coarse laugh, "I ought to have a natural talent for shipbuilding; for if the old villain

Rufus Dawes turned his back at the word "died", and busied himself with the fastenings of the hides. Could

"Ah!" continued Frere, half to himself, and half to his companion, "that's a sum of money to lose, isn't it?"

"Mean! Why, my good fellow, I should have been left a quarter of a million of money, but the old hunks who

was going to give it to me died before he could alter his will, and every shilling went to a scapegrace son,

who hadn't been near the old man for years. That's the way of the world, isn't it?"

Rufus Dawes, still keeping his face away, caught his breath as if in astonishment, and then, recovering

"Fortunate!" cries Frere, with another oath. "Oh yes, he was fortunate! He was burnt to death in the

Hydaspes, and never heard of his luck. His mother has got the money, though. I never saw a shilling of it."

And then, seemingly displeased with himself for having allowed his tongue to get the better of his dignity, he

walked away to the fire, musing, doubtless, on the difference between Maurice Frere, with a quarter of a

million, disporting himself in the best society that could be procured, with command of dogcarts,

prizefighters, and gamecocks galore; and Maurice Frere, a penniless lieutenant, marooned on the barren

Rufus Dawes was also lost in reverie. He leant upon the gunwale of the muchvaunted boat, and his eyes

were fixed upon the sea, weltering golden in the sunset, but it was evident that he saw nothing of the scene

before him. Struck dumb by the sudden intelligence of his fortune, his imagination escaped from his control,

and fled away to those scenes which he had striven so vainly to forget. He was looking far away across

the glittering harbour and the wide sea beyond it looking at the old house at Hampstead, with its

wellremembered gloomy garden. He pictured himself escaped from this present peril, and freed from the

sordid thraldom which so long had held him. He saw himself returning, with some plausible story of his

wanderings, to take possession of the wealth which was his saw himself living once more, rich, free, and

respected, in the world from which he had been so long an exile. He saw his mother's sweet pale face, the

light of a happy home circle. He saw himself received with tears of joy and marvelling affection

entering into this home circle as one risen from the dead. A new life opened radiant before him, and he was

So absorbed was he that he did not hear the light footstep of the child across the sand. Mrs. Vickers, having

been told of the success which had crowned the convict's efforts, had overcome her weakness so far as to

hobble down the beach to the boat, and now, heralded by Sylvia, approached, leaning on the arm of Maurice

"Mamma has come to see the boat, Mr. Dawes!" cries Sylvia, but Dawes did not hear.

The touch aroused him, and looking down, he saw the pretty, thin face upturned to his. Scarcely conscious of

what he did, and still following out the imagining which made him free, wealthy, and respected, he caught the

little creature in his arms as he might have caught his own daughter and kissed her. Sylvia said

nothing; but Mr. Frere arrived, by his chain of reasoning, at quite another conclusion as to the state of

affairs was astonished at the presumption of the man. The lieutenant regarded himself as already

reinstated in his old position, and with Mrs. Vickers on his arm, reproved the apparent insolence of the

convict as freely as he would have done had they both been at his own little kingdom of Maria Island. "You

The sentence recalled Rufus Dawes to reality. His place was that of a convict. What business had he with

tenderness for the daughter of his master? Yet, after all he had done, and proposed to do, this harsh judgment

upon him seemed cruel. He saw the two looking at the boat he had built. He marked the flush of hope on the

cheek of the poor lady, and the fullblown authority that already hardened the eye of Maurice Frere, and all

at once he understood the result of what he had done. He had, by his own act, given himself again to bondage.

As long as escape was impracticable, he had been useful, and even powerful. Now he had pointed out the

way of escape, he had sunk into the beast of burden once again. In the desert he was "Mr." Dawes, the

saviour; in civilized life he would become once more Rufus Dawes, the ruffian, the prisoner, the absconder.

He stood mute, and let Frere point out the excellences of the craft in silence; and then, feeling that the few

words of thanks uttered by the lady were chilled by her consciousness of the illadvised freedom he had

"A queer fellow," said Frere, as Mrs. Vickers followed the retreating figure with her eyes. "Always in an ill

temper." "Poor man! He has behaved very kindly to us," said Mrs. Vickers. Yet even she felt the change of

circumstance, and knew that, without any reason she could name, her blind trust and hope in the convict who

had saved their lives had been transformed into a patronizing kindliness which was quite foreign to esteem or

"Come, let us have some supper," says Frere. "The last we shall eat here, I hope. He will come back when his

But he did not come back, and, after a few expressions of wonder at his absence, Mrs. Vickers and her

daughter, rapt in the hopes and fears of the morrow, almost forgot that he had left them. With marvellous

credulity they looked upon the terrible stake they were about to play for as already won. The possession of

the boat seemed to them so wonderful, that the perils of the voyage they were to make in it were altogether

lost sight of. As for Maurice Frere, he was rejoiced that the convict was out of the way. He wished that he

HAVING got out of eyeshot of the ungrateful creatures he had befriended, Rufus Dawes threw himself

upon the ground in an agony of mingled rage and regret. For the first time for six years he had tasted the

happiness of doing good, the delight of selfabnegation. For the first time for six years he had broken through

the selfish misanthropy he had taught himself. And this was his reward! He had held his temper in check, in

order that it might not offend others. He had banished the galling memory of his degradation, lest haply some

shadow of it might seem to fall upon the fair child whose lot had been so strangely cast with his. He had

stifled the agony he suffered, lest its expression should give pain to those who seemed to feel for him. He had

forborne retaliation, when retaliation would have been most sweet. Having all these years waited and watched

for a chance to strike his persecutors, he had held his hand now that an unlookedfor accident had placed the

weapon of destruction in his grasp. He had risked his life, forgone his enmities, almost changed his nature

and his reward was cold looks and harsh words, so soon as his skill had paved the way to freedom. This

knowledge coming upon him while the thrill of exultation at the astounding news of his riches yet vibrated in

his brain, made him grind his teeth with rage at his own hard fate. Bound by the purest and holiest of ties

the affection of a son to his mother he had condemned himself to social death, rather than buy his liberty

and life by a revelation which would shame the gentle creature whom he loved. By a strange series of

accidents, fortune had assisted him to maintain the deception he had practised. His cousin had not recognized

him. The very ship in which he was believed to have sailed had been lost with every soul on board. His

identity had been completely destroyed no link remained which could connect Rufus Dawes, the convict,

Oh, if he had only known! If, while in the gloomy prison, distracted by a thousand fears, and weighed down

by crushing evidence of circumstance, he had but guessed that death had stepped between Sir Richard and his

vengeance, he might have spared himself the sacrifice he had made. He had been tried and condemned as a

nameless sailor, who could call no witnesses in his defence, and give no particulars as to his previous history.

It was clear to him now that he might have adhered to his statement of ignorance concerning the murder,

locked in his breast the name of the murderer, and have yet been free. Judges are just, but popular opinion is

powerful, and it was not impossible that Richard Devine, the millionaire, would have escaped the fate which

had overtaken Rufus Dawes, the sailor. Into his calculations in the prison when, halfcrazed with love,

with terror, and despair, he had counted up his chances of life the wild supposition that he had even then

inherited the wealth of the father who had disowned him, had never entered. The knowledge of that fact

would have altered the whole current of his life, and he learnt it for the first time now too late. Now, lying

prone upon the sand; now, wandering aimlessly up and down among the stunted trees that bristled white

beneath the mistbarred moon; now, sitting as he had sat in the prison long ago with the head gripped

hard between his hands, swaying his body to and fro, he thought out the frightful problem of his bitter life. Of

little use was the heritage that he had gained. A convictabsconder, whose hands were hard with menial

service, and whose back was scarred with the lash, could never be received among the gently nurtured. Let

him lay claim to his name and rights, what then? He was a convicted felon, and his name and rights had been

taken from him by the law. Let him go and tell Maurice Frere that he was his lost cousin. He would be

laughed at. Let him proclaim aloud his birth and innocence, and the convictsheds would grin, and the

convict overseer set him to harder labour. Let him even, by dint of reiteration, get his wild story believed,

what would happen? If it was heard in England after the lapse of years, perhaps that a convict in the

chaingang in Macquarie Harbour a man held to be a murderer, and whose convict career was one long

record of mutiny and punishment claimed to be the heir to an English fortune, and to own the right to

dispossess staid and worthy English folk of their rank and station, with what feeling would the announcement

be received? Certainly not with a desire to redeem this ruffian from his bonds and place him in the honoured

seat of his dead father. Such intelligence would be regarded as a calamity, an unhappy blot upon a fair

reputation, a disgrace to an honoured and unsullied name. Let him succeed, let him return again to the mother

who had by this time become reconciled, in a measure, to his loss; he would, at the best, be to her a living

But success was almost impossible. He did not dare to retrace his steps through the hideous labyrinth into

which he had plunged. Was he to show his scarred shoulders as a proof that he was a gentleman and an

innocent man? Was he to relate the nameless infamies of Macquarie Harbour as a proof that he was entitled

to receive the hospitalities of the generous, and to sit, a respected guest, at the tables of men of refinement?

Was he to quote the horrible slang of the prisonship, and retail the filthy jests of the chaingang and the

hulks, as a proof that he was a fit companion for pureminded women and innocent children? Suppose even

that he could conceal the name of the real criminal, and show himself guiltless of the crime for which he had

been condemned, all the wealth in the world could not buy back that blissful ignorance of evil which had

once been his. All the wealth in the world could not purchase the selfrespect which had been cut out of him

For hours this agony of thought racked him. He cried out as though with physical pain, and then lay in a

stupor, exhausted with actual physical suffering. It was hopeless to think of freedom and of honour. Let him

keep silence, and pursue the life fate had marked out for him. He would return to bondage. The law would

claim him as an absconder, and would mete out to him such punishment as was fitting. Perhaps he might

escape severest punishment, as a reward for his exertions in saving the child. He might consider himself

fortunate if such was permitted to him. Fortunate! Suppose he did not go back at all, but wandered away into

the wilderness and died? Better death than such a doom as his. Yet need he die? He had caught goats, he

could catch fish. He could build a hut. In here was, perchance, at the deserted settlement some remnant of

seed corn that, planted, would give him bread. He had built a boat, he had made an oven, he had fenced in a

hut. Surely he could contrive to live alone savage and free. Alone! He had contrived all these marvels alone!

Was not the boat he himself had built below upon the shore? Why not escape in her, and leave to their fate

The idea flashed into his brain, as though someone had spoken the words into his ear. Twenty strides would

place him in possession of the boat, and half an hour's drifting with the current would take him beyond

pursuit. Once outside the Bar, he would make for the westward, in the hopes of falling in with some whaler.

He would doubtless meet with one before many days, and he was well supplied with provision and water in

the meantime. A tale of shipwreck would satisfy the sailors, and he paused he had forgotten that the

rags which he wore would betray him. With an exclamation of despair, he started from the posture in which

he was lying. He thrust out his hands to raise himself, and his fingers came in contact with something soft. He

had been lying at the foot of some loose stones that were piled cairnwise beside a low growing bush; and

the object that he had touched was protruding from beneath these stones. He caught it and dragged it forth. It

was the shirt of poor Bates. With trembling hands he tore away the stones, and pulled forth the rest of the

garments. They seemed as though they had been left purposely for him. Heaven had sent him the very

The night had passed during his reverie, and the first faint streaks of dawn began to lighten in the sky.

Haggard and pale, he rose to his feet, and scarcely daring to think about what he proposed to do, ran towards

the boat. As he ran, however, the voice that he had heard encouraged him. "Your life is of more importance

than theirs. They will die, but they have been ungrateful and deserve death. You will escape out of this Hell,

and return to the loving heart who mourns you. You can do more good to mankind than by saving the lives of

these people who despise you. Moreover, they may not die. They are sure to be sent for. Think of what awaits

He was within three feet of the boat, when he suddenly checked himself, and stood motionless, staring at the

sand with as much horror as though he saw there the Writing which foretold the doom of Belshazzar. He had

come upon the sentence traced by Sylvia the evening before, and glittering in the low light of the red sun

suddenly risen from out the sea, it seemed to him that the letters had shaped themselves at his very feet,

"Good Mr. Dawes"! What a frightful reproach there was to him in that simple sentence! What a world of

cowardice, baseness, and cruelty, had not those eleven letters opened to him! He heard the voice of the child

who had nursed him, calling on him to save her. He saw her at that instant standing between him and the

boat, as she had stood when she held out to him the loaf, on the night of his return to the settlement.

He staggered to the cavern, and, seizing the sleeping Frere by the arm, shook him violently. "Awake! awake!"

he cried, "and let us leave this place!" Frere, starting to his feet, looked at the white face and bloodshot eyes

of the wretched man before him with blunt astonishment. "What's the matter with you, man?" he said. "You

At the sound of his voice Rufus Dawes gave a long sigh, and drew his hand across his eyes.

The sacrifice was complete. The convict turned away, and two great glistening tears rolled down his rugged

AN HOUR AFTER sunrise, the frail boat, which was the last hope of these four human beings, drifted with

the outgoing current towards the mouth of the harbour. When first launched she had come nigh swamping,

being overloaded, and it was found necessary to leave behind a great portion of the dried meat. With what

pangs this was done can be easily imagined, for each atom of food seemed to represent an hour of life. Yet

there was no help for it. As Frere said, it was "neck or nothing with them". They must get away at all hazards.

That evening they camped at the mouth of the Gates, Dawes being afraid to risk a passage until the slack of

the tide, and about ten o'clock at night adventured to cross the Bar. The night was lovely, and the sea calm. It

seemed as though Providence had taken pity on them; for, notwithstanding the insecurity of the craft and the

violence of the breakers, the dreaded passage was made with safety. Once, indeed, when they had just entered

the surf, a mighty wave, curling high above them, seemed about to overwhelm the frail structure of skins and

wickerwork; but Rufus Dawes, keeping the nose of the boat to the sea, and Frere baling with his hat, they

succeeded in reaching deep water. A great misfortune, however, occurred. Two of the bark buckets, left by

some unpardonable oversight uncleated, were washed overboard, and with them nearly a fifth of their scanty

store of water. In the face of the greater peril, the accident seemed trifling; and as, drenched and chilled, they

gained the open sea, they could not but admit that fortune had almost miraculously befriended them.

They made tedious way with their rude oars; a light breeze from the northwest sprang up with the dawn,

and, hoisting the goatskin sail, they crept along the coast. It was resolved that the two men should keep

watch and watch; and Frere for the second time enforced his authority by giving the first watch to Rufus

Rufus Dawes, who had not slept for two nights, and who had done all the harder work, said nothing. He had

Frere slept until late in the afternoon, and, when he woke, found the boat still tossing on the sea, and Sylvia

and her mother both seasick. This seemed strange to him. Seasickness appeared to be a malady which

belonged exclusively to civilization. Moodily watching the great green waves which curled incessantly

between him and the horizon, he marvelled to think how curiously events had come about. A leaf had, as it

were, been torn out of his autobiography. It seemed a lifetime since he had done anything but moodily scan

the sea or shore. Yet, on the morning of leaving the settlement, he had counted the notches on a

calendarstick he carried, and had been astonished to find them but twentytwo in number. Taking out his

knife, he cut two nicks in the wicker gunwale of the coracle. That brought him to twentyfour days. The

mutiny had taken place on the 13th of January; it was now the 6th of February. "Surely," thought he, "the

Ladybird might have returned by this time." There was no one to tell him that the Ladybird had been driven

That night the wind fell, and they had to take to their oars. Rowing all night, they made but little progress,

and Rufus Dawes suggested that they should put in to the shore and wait until the breeze sprang up. But,

upon getting under the lee of a long line of basaltic rocks which rose abruptly out of the sea, they found the

waves breaking furiously upon a horseshoe reef, six or seven miles in length. There was nothing for it but to

coast again. They coasted for two days, without a sign of a sail, and on the third day a great wind broke upon

them from the southeast, and drove them back thirty miles. The coracle began to leak, and required constant

bailing. What was almost as bad, the rum cask, that held the best part of their water, had leaked also, and was

now half empty. They caulked it, by cutting out the leak, and then plugging the hole with linen.

"It's lucky we ain't in the tropics," said Frere. Poor Mrs. Vickers, lying in the bottom of the boat, wrapped in

her wet shawl, and chilled to the bone with the bitter wind, had not the heart to speak. Surely the stifling calm

The position of the four poor creatures was now almost desperate. Mrs. Vickers, indeed, seemed completely

prostrated; and it was evident that, unless some help came, she could not long survive the continued exposure

to the weather. The child was in somewhat better case. Rufus Dawes had wrapped her in his woollen shirt,

and, unknown to Frere, had divided with her daily his allowance of meat. She lay in his arms at night, and in

the day crept by his side for shelter and protection. As long as she was near him she felt safe. They spoke

little to each other, but when Rufus Dawes felt the pressure of her tiny hand in his, or sustained the weight of

her head upon his shoulder, he almost forgot the cold that froze him, and the hunger that gnawed him.

So two more days passed, and yet no sail. On the tenth day after their departure from Macquarie Harbour they

came to the end of their provisions. The salt water had spoiled the goatmeat, and soaked the bread into a

nauseous paste. The sea was still running high, and the wind, having veered to the north, was blowing with

increased violence. The long low line of coast that stretched upon their left hand was at times obscured by a

blue mist. The water was the colour of mud, and the sky threatened rain. The wretched craft to which they

had entrusted themselves was leaking in four places. If caught in one of the frequent storms which ravaged

that ironbound coast, she could not live an hour. The two men, wearied, hungry, and cold, almost hoped for

the end to come quickly. To add to their distress, the child was seized with fever. She was hot and cold by

turns, and in the intervals of moaning talked deliriously. Rufus Dawes, holding her in his arms, watched the

suffering he was unable to alleviate with a savage despair at his heart. Was she to die after all?

So another day and night passed, and the eleventh morning saw the boat yet alive, rolling in the trough of the

All at once Dawes uttered a cry, and, seizing the sheet, put the clumsy craft about. "A sail! a sail!" he cried.

The boat, no longer following the line of the coast, was running nearly due south, straight into the great

Southern Ocean. Frere tried to wrest the thong from the hand of the convict, and bring the boat back to her

"Sit down!" returned the other, with a menacing gesture, and staring across the grey water. "I tell you I see a

Frere, overawed by the strange light which gleamed in the eyes of his companion, shifted sulkily back to his

place. "Have your own way," he said, "madman! It serves me right for putting off to sea in such a devil's craft

After all, what did it matter? As well be drowned in midocean as in sight of land.

The long day wore out, and no sail appeared. The wind freshened towards evening, and the boat, plunging

clumsily on the long brown waves, staggered as though drunk with the water she had swallowed, for at one

place near the bows the water ran in and out as through a slit in a wine skin. The coast had altogether

disappeared, and the huge ocean vast, stormy, and threatening heaved and hissed all around them. It

seemed impossible that they should live until morning. But Rufus Dawes, with his eyes fixed on some object

visible alone to him, hugged the child in his arms, and drove the quivering coracle into the black waste of

night and sea. To Frere, sitting sullenly in the bows, the aspect of this grim immovable figure, with its

backblown hair and staring eyes, had in it something supernatural and horrible. He began to think that

Thinking and shuddering over his fate, he fell as it seemed to him into a momentary sleep, in the midst

of which someone called to him. He started up, with shaking knees and bristling hair. The day had broken,

and the dawn, in one long pale streak of sickly saffron, lay low on the left hand. Between this streak of

saffroncoloured light and the bows of the boat gleamed for an instant a white speck.

"A sail! a sail!" cried Rufus Dawes, a wild light gleaming in his eyes, and a strange tone vibrating in his

Frere, utterly confounded, looked again, with his heart in his mouth, and again did the white speck glimmer.

For an instant he felt almost safe, and then a blanker despair than before fell upon him. From the distance at

"They will never see us!" he cried. "Dawes Dawes! Do you hear? They will never see us!"

Rufus Dawes started as if from a trance. Lashing the sheet to the pole which served as a gunwale, he laid the

sleeping child by her mother, and tearing up the strip of bark on which he had been sitting, moved to the

"They will see this! Tear up that board! So! Now, place it thus across the bows. Hack off that sapling end!

Now that dry twist of osier! Never mind the boat, man; we can afford to leave her now. Tear off that outer

"What are you going to do?" cried Frere, aghast, as the convict tore up all the dry wood he could find, and

Frere began to comprehend. "I have three matches left," he said, fumbling, with trembling fingers, in his

The word "book" was a new inspiration. Rufus Dawes seized upon the English History, which had already

done such service, tore out the drier leaves in the middle of the volume, and carefully added them to the little

The match was struck and lighted. The paper, after a few obstinate curlings, caught fire, and Frere, blowing

the young flame with his breath, the bark began to burn. He piled upon the fire all that was combustible, the

She opened her blue eyes and looked at him, but gave no sign of recognition. Delirium had hold of her, and in

the hour of safety the child had forgotten her preserver. Rufus Dawes, overcome by this last cruel stroke of

fortune, sat down in the stern of the boat, with the child in his arms, speechless. Frere, feeding the fire,

thought that the chance he had so longed for had come. With the mother at the point of death, and the child

delirious, who could testify to this hated convict's skilfulness? No one but Mr. Maurice Frere, and Mr.

Maurice Frere, as Commandant of convicts, could not but give up an "absconder" to justice.

The ship changed her course, and came towards this strange fire in the middle of the ocean. The boat, the fore

part of her blazing like a pine torch, could not float above an hour. The little group of the convict and the

child remained motionless. Mrs. Vickers was lying senseless, ignorant even of the approaching succour.

The ship a brig, with American colours flying came within hail of them. Frere could almost distinguish

figures on her deck. He made his way aft to where Dawes was sitting, unconscious, with the child in his arms,

Rufus Dawes raised his head, and, seeing the approaching vessel, awoke to the consciousness of his duty.

With a low laugh, full of unutterable bitterness, he placed the burden he had borne so tenderly in the arms of

The brig was close upon them. Her canvas loomed large and dusky, shadowing the sea. Her wet decks shone

in the morning sunlight. From her bulwarks peered bearded and eager faces, looking with astonishment at this

"SOCIETY in Hobart Town, in this year of grace 1838, is, my dear lord, composed of very curious

elements." So ran a passage in the sparkling letter which the Rev. Mr. Meekin, newlyappointed chaplain,

and sevendays' resident in Van Diemen's Land, was carrying to the post office, for the delectation of his

patron in England. As the reverend gentleman tripped daintily down the summer street that lay between the

blue river and the purple mountain, he cast his mild eyes hither and thither upon human nature, and the

sentence he had just penned recurred to him with pleasurable appositeness. Elbowed by welldressed officers

of garrison, bowing sweetly to welldressed ladies, shrinking from illdressed, illodoured ticketofleave

men, or hastening across a street to avoid being run down by the handcarts that, driven by little gangs of

greyclothed convicts, rattled and jangled at him unexpectedly from behind corners, he certainly felt that the

society through which he moved was composed of curious elements. Now passed, with haughty nose in the

air, a newlyimported government official, relaxing for an instant his rigidity of demeanour to smile

languidly at the chaplain whom Governor Sir John Franklin delighted to honour; now swaggered, with coarse

defiance of gentility and patronage, a wealthy exprisoner, grown fat on the profits of rum. The population

that was abroad on that sunny December afternoon had certainly an incongruous appearance to a dapper

clergyman lately arrived from London, and missing, for the first time in his sleek, easygoing life, those

social screens which in London civilization decorously conceal the frailties and vices of human nature. Clad

in glossy black, of the most fashionable clerical cut, with dandy boots, and gloves of lightest lavender a

white silk overcoat hinting that its wearer was not wholly free from sensitiveness to sun and heat the

Reverend Meekin tripped daintily to the post office, and deposited his letter. Two ladies met him as he

Mr. Meekin's elegant hat was raised from his intellectual brow and hovered in the air, like some courteous

black bird, for an instant. "Mrs. Jellicoe! Mrs. Protherick! My dear leddies, this is an unexpected pleasure!

And where, pray, are you going on this lovely afternoon? To stay in the house is positively sinful. Ah! what a

climate but the Trail of the Serpent, my dear Mrs. Protherick the Trail of the Serpent " and he

"It must be a great trial to you to come to the colony," said Mrs. Jellicoe, sympathizing with the sigh.

Meekin smiled, as a gentlemanly martyr might have smiled. "The Lord's work, dear leddies the Lord's

work. I am but a poor labourer in the vineyard, toiling through the heat and burden of the day." The aspect of

him, with his faultless tie, his airy coat, his natty boots, and his selfsatisfied Christian smile, was so unlike a

poor labourer toiling through the heat and burden of the day, that good Mrs. Jellicoe, the wife of an orthodox

Comptroller of Convicts' Stores, felt a horrible thrill of momentary heresy. "I would rather have remained in

England," continued Mr. Meekin, smoothing one lavender finger with the tip of another, and arching his

elegant eyebrows in mild deprecation of any praise of his selfdenial, "but I felt it my duty not to refuse the

offer made me through the kindness of his lordship. Here is a field, leddies a field for the Christian pastor.

They appeal to me, leddies, these lambs of our Church these lost and outcast lambs of our Church."

Mrs. Jellicoe shook her gay bonnet ribbons at Mr. Meekin, with a hearty smile. "You don't know our

convicts," she said (from the tone of her jolly voice it might have been "our cattle"). "They are horrible

creatures. And as for servants my goodness, I have a fresh one every week. When you have been here a

"They are quite unbearable at times." said Mrs. Protherick, the widow of a Superintendent of Convicts'

Barracks, with a stately indignation mantling in her sallow cheeks. "I am ordinarily the most patient creature

breathing, but I do confess that the stupid vicious wretches that one gets are enough to put a saint out of

temper." "We have all our crosses, dear leddies all our crosses," said the Rev. Mr. Meekin piously.

"A sad thing," said Mrs. Jellicoe. "Quite a romance, if it was not so sad, you know. His wife, poor Mrs.

"Indeed! What of her?" asked Meekin, bestowing a condescending bow on a passerby. "Is she an invalid?"

"She is dead, poor soul," returned jolly Mrs. Jellicoe, with a fat sigh. "You don't mean to say you haven't

"My dear leddies, I have only been in Hobart Town a week, and I have not heard the story."

"It's about the mutiny, you know, the mutiny at Macquarie Harbour. The prisoners took the ship, and put Mrs.

Vickers and Sylvia ashore somewhere. Captain Frere was with them, too. The poor things had a dreadful

time, and nearly died. Captain Frere made a boat at last, and they were picked up by a ship. Poor Mrs.

Vickers only lived a few hours, and little Sylvia she was only twelve years old then was quite

"Yes," struck in Mrs. Protherick, eager to have a share in the storytelling. "She doesn't remember anything

"It's a great mercy!" interrupted Mrs. Jellicoe, determined to keep the post of honour. "Who wants her to

"You don't say so!" said Mr. Meekin, dabbing his nose with a dainty handkerchief. "A 'bolter' that's what

we call an escaped prisoner, Mr. Meekin happened to be left behind, and he found them out, and insisted

on sharing the provisions the wretch! Captain Frere was obliged to watch him constantly for fear he

should murder them. Even in the boat he tried to run them out to sea and escape. He was one of the worst

men in the Harbour, they say; but you should hear Captain Frere tell the story."

"Oh, goodness, I don't know at Port Arthur, I think. I know that he was tried for bolting, and would have

"Dear, dear! a strange story, indeed," said Mr. Meekin. "And so the young lady doesn't know anything about

it?" "Only what she has been told, of course, poor dear. She's engaged to Captain Frere."

"But her girlish love clings to her heroic protector," said Meekin, mildly poetical. "Remarkable and beautiful.

Quite the hem! the ivy and the oak, dear leddies. Ah, in our fallen nature, what sweet spots I think

A smart convict servant he had been a pickpocket of note in days gone by left the clergyman to repose

in a handsomely furnished drawingroom, whose sun blinds revealed a wealth of bright garden flecked with

shadows, while he went in search of Miss Vickers. The Major was out, it seemed, his duties as

Superintendent of Convicts rendering such absences necessary; but Miss Vickers was in the garden, and

could be called in at once. The Reverend Meekin, wiping his heated brow, and pulling down his spotless

wristbands, laid himself back on the soft sofa, soothed by the elegant surroundings no less than by the

coolness of the atmosphere. Having no better comparison at hand, he compared this luxurious room, with its

soft couches, brilliant flowers, and opened piano, to the chamber in the house of a West India planter, where

all was glare and heat and barbarism without, and all soft and cool and luxurious within. He was so charmed

with this comparison he had a knack of being easily pleased with his own thoughts that he commenced

to turn a fresh sentence for the Bishop, and to sketch out an elegant description of the oasis in his desert of a

vineyard. While at this occupation, he was disturbed by the sound of voices in the garden, and it appeared to

him that someone near at hand was sobbing and crying. Softly stepping on the broad verandah, he saw, on the

grassplot, two persons, an old man and a young girl. The sobbing proceeded from the old man.

" 'Deed, miss, it's the truth, on my sowl. I've but jest come back to yez this morning. O my! but it's a cruel

He was a whitehaired old fellow, in a grey suit of convict frieze, and stood leaning with one veiny hand

"But it is your own fault, Danny; we all warned you against her," said the young girl softly. "Sure ye did. But

"Six months, miss. She said I was a drunkard, and beat her. Beat her, God help me!" stretching forth two

trembling hands. "And they believed her, o' course. Now, when I kem back, there's me little place all

thrampled by the boys, and she's away wid a ship's captain, saving your presence, miss, dhrinking in

the"George the Fourth". O my, but it's hard on an old man!" and he fell to sobbing again.

The girl sighed. "I can do nothing for you, Danny. I dare say you can work about the garden as you did

Danny, lifting his bleared eyes to thank her, caught sight of Mr. Meekin, and saluted abruptly. Miss Vickers

turned, and Mr. Meekin, bowing his apologies, became conscious that the young lady was about seventeen

years of age, that her eyes were large and soft, her hair plentiful and bright, and that the hand which held the

"How do you do, Mr. Meekin?" said Sylvia, putting out one of her small hands, and looking straight at him.

"His daughter more than compensates for his absence, my dear Miss Vickers." "I don't like flattery, Mr.

Meekin, so don't use it. At least," she added, with a delicious frankness, that seemed born of her very

brightness and beauty, "not that sort of flattery. Young girls do like flattery, of course. Don't you think so?"

This rapid attack quite disconcerted Mr. Meekin, and he could only bow and smile at the selfpossessed

young lady. "Go into the kitchen, Danny, and tell them to give you some tobacco. Say I sent you. Mr.

"An old convict servant of ours," said Sylvia. "He was with papa many years ago. He has got into trouble

"On the roads, you know. That's what they call it here. He married a free woman much younger than himself,

"For insubordination! Pardon me, my dear young lady, did I understand you rightly?"

"Yes, insubordination. He is her assigned servant, you know," said Sylvia, as if such a condition of things

was the most ordinary in the world, "and if he misbehaves himself, she sends him back to the roadgang."

The Reverend Mr. Meekin opened his mild eyes very wide indeed. "What an extraordinary anomaly! I am

"Society here is different from society in England, I believe. Most new arrivals say so," returned Sylvia

"She can have him flogged if she likes. Danny has been flogged. But then his wife is a bad woman. He was

very silly to marry her; but you can't reason with an old man in love, Mr. Meekin."

Mr. Meekin's Christian brow had grown crimson, and his decorous blood tingled to his fingertips. To hear a

young lady talk in such an open way was terrible. Why, in reading the Decalogue from the altar, Mr. Meekin

was accustomed to soften one indecent prohibition, lest its uncompromising plainness of speech might offend

the delicate sensibilities of his female souls! He turned from the dangerous theme without an instant's pause,

for wonder at the strange power accorded to Hobart Town "free" wives. "You have been reading?"

"Not very well. I had a master for some months, but papa had to send him back to the gaol again. He stole a

"He was a prisoner, you know. A clever man. He wrote for the London Magazine. I have read his writings.

"And how did he come to be transported?" asked Mr. Meekin, feeling that his vineyard was getting larger

"Poisoning his niece, I think, but I forget the particulars. He was a gentlemanly man, but, oh, such a

Mr. Meekin, more astonished than ever at this strange country, where beautiful young ladies talked of

poisoning and flogging as matters of little moment, where wives imprisoned their husbands, and murderers

"No, only a week; and I confess I am surprised. A lovely climate, but, as I said just now to Mrs. Jellicoe, the

"If you send all the wretches in England here, you must expect the Trail of the Serpent," said Sylvia. "It isn't

"Oh, no; certainly not," returned Meekin, hastening to apologize. "But it is very shocking."

"Well, you gentlemen should make it better. I don't know what the penal settlements are like, but the

"They have the beautiful Liturgy of our Holy Church read to them twice every week, my dear young lady,"

said Mr. Meekin, as though he should solemnly say, "if that doesn't reform them, what will?"

"Oh, yes," returned Sylvia, "they have that, certainly; but that is only on Sundays. But don't let us talk about

this, Mr. Meekin," she added, pushing back a stray curl of golden hair. "Papa says that I am not to talk about

these things, because they are all done according to the Rules of the Service, as he calls it." "An admirable

notion of papa's," said Meekin, much relieved as the door opened, and Vickers and Frere entered.

Vickers's hair had grown white, but Frere carried his thirty years as easily as some men carry

"My dear Sylvia," began Vickers, "here's an extraordinary thing!" and then, becoming conscious of the

"I have that pleasure," said Vickers. "Glad to see you, sir. Pray sit down." Upon which, Mr. Meekin beheld

Sylvia unaffectedly kiss both gentlemen; but became strangely aware that the kiss bestowed upon her father

"Warm weather, Mr. Meekin," said Frere. "Sylvia, my darling, I hope you have not been out in the heat. You

have! My dear, I've begged you!" "It's not hot at all," said Sylvia pettishly. "Nonsense! I'm not made of butter

I sha'n't melt. Thank you, dear, you needn't pull the blind down." And then, as though angry with herself

for her anger, she added, "You are always thinking of me, Maurice," and gave him her hand affectionately.

"It's very oppressive, Captain Frere," said Meekin; "and to a stranger, quite enervating."

"Have a glass of wine," said Frere, as if the house was his own. "One wants bucking up a bit on a day like

"Ay, to be sure," repeated Vickers. "A glass of wine. Sylvia, dear, some sherry. I hope she has not been

"Oh, dear, no; not at all," returned Meekin, feeling that this charming young lady was regarded as a creature

who was not to be judged by ordinary rules. "We got on famously, my dear Major." "That's right," said

Vickers. "She is very plainspoken, is my little girl, and strangers can't understand her sometimes. Can they,

Poppet tossed her head saucily. "I don't know," she said. "Why shouldn't they? But you were going to say

"Ah," said Vickers with grave face. "Yes, a most extraordinary thing. They've caught those villains." "What,

In that little family there were, for conversational purposes, but one set of villains in the world the

"They've got four of them in the bay at this moment Rex, Barker, Shiers, and Lesly. They are on board the

Lady Jane. The most extraordinary story I ever heard in my life. The fellows got to China and passed

themselves off as shipwrecked sailors. The merchants in Canton got up a subscription, and sent them to

London. They were recognized there by old Pine, who had been surgeon on board the ship they came out in."

Sylvia sat down on the nearest chair, with heightened colour. "And where are the others?"

"Two were executed in England; the other six have not been taken. These fellows have been sent out for

trial." "To what are you alluding, dear sir?" asked Meekin, eyeing the sherry with the gaze of a fasting saint.

"The piracy of a convict brig five years ago," replied Vickers. "The scoundrels put my poor wife and child

ashore, and left them to starve. If it hadn't been for Frere God bless him! they would have died. They

"I have heard of it already," said Meekin, sipping the sherry, which another convict servant had brought for

"Oh, that's nothing," said Frere, reddening. "We were all in the same boat. Poppet, have a glass of wine?"

She was staring at the strip of sunshine between the verandah and the blind, as though the bright light might

enable her to remember something. "What's the matter?" asked Frere, bending over her. "I was trying to

recollect, but I can't, Maurice. It is all confused. I only remember a great shore and a great sea, and two men,

"She was quite a baby," said Vickers, hastily, as though unwilling to admit that her illness had been the cause

"Oh, no; I was twelve years old," said Sylvia; "that's not a baby, you know. But I think the fever made me

Frere, looking at her uneasily, shifted in his seat. "There, don't think about it now," he said. "Maurice," asked

"By the by," said Vickers, "I suppose we shall have to get that fellow up for the trial. We have to identify the

"By George," said Frere, "I'd swear to him! When once I see a man's face that's enough for me." "We had

better get up a few prisoners who were at the Harbour at the time," said Vickers, as if wishing to terminate

the discussion. "I wouldn't let the villains slip through my fingers for anything."

"Old convicts," returned Vickers. "It's our place for 'colonial sentence' men. The worst we have are there. It

has taken the place of Macquarie Harbour. What excitement there will be among them when the schooner

"To bring up the witnesses, my dear sir. Most of the prisoners are Lifers, you see, and a trip to Hobart Town

"And do they never leave the place when sentenced for life?" said Meekin, nibbling a biscuit. "How

"Never, except when they die," answered Frere, with a laugh; "and then they are buried on an island. Oh, it's

a fine place! You should come down with me and have a look at it, Mr. Meekin. Picturesque, I can assure

"My dear Maurice," says Sylvia, going to the piano, as if in protest to the turn the conversation was taking,

"I should much like to see it," said Meekin, still nibbling, "for Sir John was saying something about a

The convict servant, who had entered with some official papers for the Major, stared at the dainty clergyman,

"Oh, it's a stunning climate," he said; "and nothing to do. Just the place for you. There's a regular little colony

This agreeable chatter about scandal and climate seemed a strange contrast to the graveyard island and the

men who were prisoners for life. Perhaps Sylvia thought so, for she struck a few chords, which, compelling

the party, out of sheer politeness, to cease talking for the moment, caused the conversation to flag, and hinted

"Good afternoon, dear Miss Vickers," he said, rising with his sweetest smile. "Thank you for your delightful

music. That piece is an old, old favourite of mine. It was quite a favourite of dear Lady Jane's, and the

Bishop's. Pray excuse me, my dear Captain Frere, but this strange occurrence of the capture of the

wreckers, you know must be my apology for touching on a delicate subject. How charming to

contemplate! Yourself and your dear young lady! The preserved and preserver, dear Major. 'None but the

brave, you know, none but the brave, none but the brave, deserve the fair!' You remember glorious John, of

"It's rather a long invitation," said Vickers, always well disposed to anyone who praised his daughter, "but if

you've nothing better to do, come and dine with us on Christmas Day, Mr. Meekin. We usually have a little

"Charmed," said Meekin "charmed, I am sure. It is so refreshing to meet with persons of one's own tastes

in this delightful colony. 'Kindred souls together knit,' you know, dear Miss Vickers. Indeed yes. Once more

Sylvia burst into laughter as the door closed. "What a ridiculous creature!" said she. "Bless the man, with his

gloves and his umbrella, and his hair and his scent! Fancy that mincing noodle showing me the way to

Heaven! I'd rather have old Mr. Bowes, papa, though he is as blind as a beetle, and makes you so angry by

"My dear Sylvia," said Vickers, seriously, "Mr. Meekin is a clergyman, you know."

"Oh, I know," said Sylvia, "but then, a clergyman can talk like a man, can't he? Why do they send such

people here? I am sure they could do much better at home. Oh, by the way, papa dear, poor old Danny's come

"You'll have the house full of these vagabonds, you little puss," said Vickers, kissing her. "I suppose I must

"His wife," said Sylvia, "locked him up, you know, for being drunk. Wife! What do people want with wives,

"What does he know about it? Maurice, you are a great bear; and if you hadn't saved my life, you know, I

shouldn't love you a bit. There, you may kiss me" (her voice grew softer). "This convict business has brought

Maurice Frere, with suddenly crimsoned face, accepted the proffered caress, and then turned to the window.

A greyclothed man was working in the garden, and whistling as he worked. "They're not so badly off," said

"That I am not half good enough for you," cried Frere, with sudden vehemence. "I "

"It's my happiness you've got to think of, Captain Bruin," said the girl. "You've saved my life, haven't you,

and I should be wicked if I didn't love you! No, no more kisses," she added, putting out her hand. "Come,

papa, it's cool now; let's walk in the garden, and leave Maurice to think of his own unworthiness."

Maurice watched the retreating pair with a puzzled expression. "She always leaves me for her father," he said

to himself. "I wonder if she really loves me, or if it's only gratitude, after all?"

He had often asked himself the same question during the five years of his wooing, but he had never

THE evening passed as it had passed a hundred times before; and having smoked a pipe at the barracks,

Captain Frere returned home. His home was a cottage on the New Town Road a cottage which he had

occupied since his appointment as Assistant Police Magistrate, an appointment given to him as a reward for

his exertions in connection with the Osprey mutiny. Captain Maurice Frere had risen in life. Quartered in

Hobart Town, he had assumed a position in society, and had held several of those excellent appointments

which in the year 1834 were bestowed upon officers of garrison. He had been Superintendent of Works at

Bridgewater, and when he got his captaincy, Assistant Police Magistrate at Bothwell. The affair of the Osprey

made a noise; and it was tacitly resolved that the first "good thing" that fell vacant should be given to the

Major Vickers also prospered. He had always been a careful man, and having saved some money, had

purchased land on favourable terms. The "assignment system" enabled him to cultivate portions of it at a

small expense, and, following the usual custom, he stocked his run with cattle and sheep. He had sold his

commission, and was now a comparatively wealthy man. He owned a fine estate; the house he lived in was

purchased property. He was in good odour at Government House, and his office of Superintendent of

Convicts caused him to take an active part in that local government which keeps a man constantly before the

public. Major Vickers, a colonist against his will, had become, by force of circumstances, one of the leading

men in Van Diemen's Land. His daughter was a good match for any man; and many ensigns and lieutenants,

cursing their hard lot in "country quarters", many sons of settlers living on their father's station among the

mountains, and many dapper clerks on the civil establishment envied Maurice Frere his good fortune. Some

went so far as to say that the beautiful daughter of "Regulation Vickers" was too good for the coarse

redfaced Frere, who was noted for his fondness for low society, and overbearing, almost brutal demeanour.

No one denied, however, that Captain Frere was a valuable officer. It was said that, in consequence of his

tastes, he knew more about the tricks of convicts than any man on the island. It was said, even, that he was

wont to disguise himself, and mix with the passholders and convict servants, in order to learn their signs and

mysteries. When in charge at Bridgewater it had been his delight to rate the chaingangs in their own hideous

jargon, and to astound a newcomer by his knowledge of his previous history. The convict population hated

and cringed to him, for, with his brutality, and violence, he mingled a ferocious good humour, that resulted

sometimes in tacit permission to go without the letter of the law. Yet, as the convicts themselves said, "a man

was never safe with the Captain"; for, after drinking and joking with them, as the Sir Oracle of some

publichouse whose hostess he delighted to honour, he would disappear through a side door just as the

constables burst in at the back, and show himself as remorseless, in his next morning's sentence of the

captured, as if he had never entered a taproom in all his life. His superiors called this "zeal"; his inferiors

"treachery". For himself, he laughed. "Everything is fair to those wretches," he was accustomed to say.

As the time for his marriage approached, however, he had in a measure given up these exploits, and strove,

by his demeanour, to make his acquaintances forget several remarkable scandals concerning his private life,

for the promulgation of which he once cared little. When Commandant at the Maria Island, and for the first

two years after his return from the unlucky expedition to Macquarie Harbour, he had not suffered any fear of

society's opinion to restrain his vices, but, as the affection for the pure young girl, who looked upon him as

her saviour from a dreadful death, increased in honest strength, he had resolved to shut up those dark pages in

his colonial experience, and to read therein no more. He was not remorseful, he was not even disgusted. He

merely came to the conclusion that, when a man married, he was to consider certain extravagances common

to all bachelors as at an end. He had "had his fling, like all young men", perhaps he had been foolish like

most young men, but no reproachful ghost of past misdeeds haunted him. His nature was too prosaic to admit

the existence of such phantoms. Sylvia, in her purity and excellence, was so far above him, that in raising his

eyes to her, he lost sight of all the sordid creatures to whose level he had once debased himself, and had come

in part to regard the sins he had committed, before his redemption by the love of this bright young creature,

as evil done by him under a past condition of existence, and for the consequences of which he was not

responsible. One of the consequences, however, was very close to him at this moment. His convict servant

had, according to his instructions, sat up for him, and as he entered, the man handed him a letter, bearing a

"Who brought this?" asked Frere, hastily tearing it open to read. "The groom, sir. He said that there was a

Frere smiled, in admiration of the intelligence which had dictated such a message, and then frowned in anger

at the contents of the letter. "You needn't wait," he said to the man. "I shall have to go back again, I suppose."

Changing his forage cap for a soft hat, and selecting a stick from a miscellaneous collection in a corner, he

prepared to retrace his steps. "What does she want now?" he asked himself fiercely, as he strode down the

moonlit road; but beneath the fierceness there was an undercurrent of petulance, which implied that,

The "George the Fourth" was a long low house, situated in Elizabeth Street. Its front was painted a dull red,

and the narrow panes of glass in its windows, and the ostentatious affectation of red curtains and homely

comfort, gave to it a spurious appearance of old English jollity. A knot of men round the door melted into air

as Captain Frere approached, for it was now past eleven o'clock, and all persons found in the streets after

eight could be compelled to "show their pass" or explain their business. The convict constables were not

scrupulous in the exercise of their duty, and the bluff figure of Frere, clad in the blue serge which he affected

Pushing open the side door with the confident manner of one well acquainted with the house, Frere entered,

and made his way along a narrow passage to a glass door at the further end. A tap upon this door brought a

whitefaced, pockpitted Irish girl, who curtsied with servile recognition of the visitor, and ushered him

upstairs. The room intO which he was shown was a large one. It had three windows looking into the street,

and was handsomely furnished. The carpet was soft, the candles were bright, and the supper tray gleamed

invitingly from a table between the windows. As Frere entered, a little terrier ran barking to his feet. It was

evident that he was not a constant visitor. The rustle of a silk dress behind the terrier betrayed the presence of

a woman; and Frere, rounding the promontory of an ottoman, found himself face to face with Sarah Purfoy.

This was the only greeting that passed between them, and Frere sat down, in obedience to a motion of a

The eleven years that had passed since we last saw this woman had dealt gently with her. Her foot was as

small and her hand as white as of yore. Her hair, bound close about her head, was plentiful and glossy, and

her eyes had lost none of their dangerous brightness. Her figure was coarser, and the white arm that gleamed

through a muslin sleeve showed an outline that a fastidious artist might wish to modify. The most noticeable

change was in her face. The cheeks owned no longer that delicate purity which they once boasted, but had

become thicker, while here and there showed those faint red streaks as though the rich blood throbbed too

painfully in the veins which are the first signs of the decay of "fine" women. With middle age and the

fullness of figure to which most women of her temperament are prone, had come also that indescribable

vulgarity of speech and manner which habitual absence of moral restraint never fails to produce.

Maurice Frere spoke first; he was anxious to bring his visit to as speedy a termination as possible. "What do

you want of me?" he asked. Sarah Purfoy laughed; a forced laugh, that sounded so unnatural, that Frere

turned to look at her. "I want you to do me a favour a very great favour; that is if it will not put you out of

the way." "What do you mean?" asked Frere roughly, pursing his lips with a sullen air. "Favour! What do you

call this?" striking the sofa on which he sat. "Isn't this a favour? What do you call your precious house and all

To his utter astonishment the woman replied by shedding tears. For some time he regarded her in silence, as

if unwilling to be softened by such shallow device, but eventually felt constrained to say something. "Have

you been drinking again?" he asked, "or what's the matter with you? Tell me what it is you want, and have

"I am ill, can't you see, you fool!" said she. "The news has unnerved me. If I have been drinking, what then?

"Oh, no," returned the other, "it's nothing to me. You are the principal party concerned. If you choose to bloat

"You don't pay for it, at any rate!" said she, with quickness of retaliation which showed that this was not the

"Hang it!" said he, shifting his arm from beneath her hand, "don't let us have all that stuff over again. It was

before you took to drinking and swearing, and going raving mad with passion, any way."

"Well, dear," said she, with her great glittering eyes belying the soft tones of her voice, "I suffered for it,

didn't I? Didn't you turn me out into the streets? Didn't you lash me with your whip like a dog? Didn't you put

The compliment to his obstinacy seemed to please him perhaps the crafty woman intended that it should

"Well, there; let old times be old times, Sarah. You haven't done badly, after all," and he looked round the

"Oh, that's it, is it! 'Gad, what a flat I was not to think of it before! You want to see him, I suppose?" She

came close to him, and, in her earnestness, took his hand. "I want to save his life!"

"He is the only creature that loves me, Maurice the only man who cares for me. He has done no harm. He

only wanted to be free was it not natural? You can save him if you like. I only ask for his life. What does

it matter to you? A miserable prisoner his death would be of no use. Let him live, Maurice."

"You are the principal witness against him. If you say that he behaved well and he did behave well, you

"Oh, won't they! That won't make much difference." "Ah, Maurice, be merciful!" She bent towards him, and

"You're a nice sort of woman to ask me to help your lover a man who left me on that cursed coast to die,

for all he cared," he said, with a galling recollection of his humiliation of five years back. "Save him!

"Ah, Maurice, you will." She spoke with a suppressed sob in her voice. "What is it to you? You don't care for

me now. You beat me, and turned me out of doors, though I never did you wrong. This man was a husband to

me long, long before I met you. He never did you any harm; he never will. He will bless you if you save

Frere jerked his head impatiently. "Bless me!" he said. "I don't want his blessings. Let him swing. Who

Still she persisted, with tears streaming from her eyes, with white arms upraised, on her knees even, catching

at his coat, and beseeching him in broken accents. In her wild, fierce beauty and passionate abandonment she

might have been a deserted Ariadne a suppliant Medea. Anything rather than what she was a dissolute,

Maurice Frere flung her off with an oath. "Get up!" he cried brutally, "and stop that nonsense. I tell you the

At this repulse, her pentup passion broke forth. She sprang to her feet, and, pushing back the hair that in her

frenzied pleading had fallen about her face, poured out upon him a torrent of abuse. "You! Who are you, that

you dare to speak to me like that? His little finger is worth your whole body. He is a man, a brave man, not a

coward, like you. A coward! Yes, a coward! a coward! A coward! You are very brave with defenceless men

and weak women. You have beaten me until I was bruised black, you cur; but who ever saw you attack a man

unless he was chained or bound? Do not I know you? I have seen you taunt a man at the triangles, until I

wished the screaming wretch could get loose, and murder you as you deserve! You will be murdered one of

these days, Maurice Frere take my word for it. Men are flesh and blood, and flesh and blood won't endure

"I know you, you brutal coward. I have not been your mistress God forgive me! without learning you

by heart. I've seen your ignorance and your conceit. I've seen the men who ate your food and drank your wine

laugh at you. I've heard what your friends say; I've heard the comparisons they make. One of your dogs has

more brains than you, and twice as much heart. And these are the men they send to rule us! Oh, Heaven! And

such an animal as this has life and death in his hand! He may hang, may he? I'll hang with him, then, and God

Frere had cowered before this frightful torrent of rage, but, at the scream which accompanied the last words,

he stepped forward as though to seize her. In her desperate courage, she flung herself before him. "Strike me!

You daren't! I defy you! Bring up the wretched creatures who learn the way to Hell in this cursed house, and

let them see you do it. Call them! They are old friends of yours. They all know Captain Maurice Frere."

"You remember Lucy Barnes poor little Lucy Barnes that stole sixpennyworth of calico. She is downstairs

now. Would you know her if you saw her? She isn't the brightfaced baby she was when they sent her here to

'reform', and when Lieutenant Frere wanted a new housemaid from the Factory! Call for her! call! do you

hear? Ask any one of those beasts whom you lash and chain for Lucy Barnes. He'll tell you all about her

ay, and about many more many more poor souls that are at the bidding of any drunken brute that has

stolen a pound note to fee the Devil with! Oh, you good God in Heaven, will You not judge this man?" Frere

trembled. He had often witnessed this creature's whirlwinds of passion, but never had he seen her so violent

as this. Her frenzy frightened him. "For Heaven's sake, Sarah, be quiet. What is it you want? What would you

"I'll go to this girl you want to marry, and tell her all I know of you. I have seen her in the streets have

seen her look the other way when I passed her have seen her gather up her muslin skirts when my silks

touched her I that nursed her, that heard her say her baby prayers (O Jesus, pity me!) and I know

what she thinks of women like me. She is good and virtuous and cold. She would shudder at you if she

knew what I know. Shudder! She would hate you! And I will tell her! Ay, I will! You will be respectable,

will you? A model husband! Wait till I tell her my story till I send some of these poor women to tell

theirs. You kill my love; I'll blight and ruin yours!" Frere caught her by both wrists, and with all his strength

forced her to her knees. "Don't speak her name," he said in a hoarse voice, "or I'll do you a mischief. I know

all you mean to do. I'm not such a fool as not to see that. Be quiet! Men have murdered women like you, and

For a few minutes a silence fell upon the pair, and at last Frere, releasing her hands, fell back from her.

"Anywhere the farther the better. I'll pay your passage to Sydney, and you go or stay there as you please."

She had grown calmer, hearing him thus relenting. "But this house, Maurice?" "You are not in debt?"

"No." "Well, leave it. It's your own affair, not mine. If I help you, you must go."

"You can see him in the dock if you like," says Frere, with a laugh, cut short by a flash of her eyes. "There, I

"Listen here," said he doggedly. "If you will go away, and promise never to interfere with me by word or

"What will you do?" she asked, unable to suppress a smile at the victory she had won.

"I will not say all I know about this man. I will say he befriended me. I will do my best to save his life."

"I must believe you, I suppose?" said she doubtfully; and then, with a sudden pitiful pleading, in strange

He eyed her steadfastly for some seconds, and then turned on his heel. As he reached the door she called him

back. Knowing him as she did, she felt that he would keep his word, and her feminine nature could not resist

"There is nothing in the bargain to prevent me helping him to escape!" she said with a smile.

"Escape! He won't escape again, I'll go bail. Once get him in double irons at Port Arthur, and he's safe

The smile on her face seemed infectious, for his own sullen features relaxed. "Good night, Sarah," he said.

She put out her hand, as if nothing had happened. "Good night, Captain Frere. It's a bargain, then?"

"I don't care if I do," he said, advancing to the table, and filling his glass. "Here's a good voyage to you!"

Sarah Purfoy, watching him, burst into a laugh. "Human beings are queer creatures," she said. "Who would

have thought that we had been calling each other names just now? I say, I'm a vixen when I'm roused, ain't I,

"Remember what you've promised," said he, with a threat in his voice, as he moved to the door. "You must be

Getting into the cool street directly, and seeing the calm stars shining, and the placid water sleeping with a

peace in which he had no share, he strove to cast off the nervous fear that was on him. That interview had

frightened him, for it had made him think. It was hard that, just as he had turned over a new leaf, this old blot

should come through to the clean page. It was cruel that, having comfortably forgotten the past, he should be

THE reader of the foregoing pages has doubtless asked himself, "what is the link which binds together John

In the year 1825 there lived at St. Heliers, Jersey, an old watchmaker, named Urban Purfoy. He was a

hardworking man, and had amassed a little money sufficient to give his granddaughter an education

above the common in those days. At sixteen, Sarah Purfoy was an emptyheaded, strongwilled, precocious

girl, with big brown eyes. She had a bad opinion of her own sex, and an immense admiration for the young

and handsome members of the other. The neighbours said that she was too high and mighty for her rank in

life. Her grandfather said she was a "beauty", and like her poor dear mother. She herself thought rather

meanly of her personal attractions, and rather highly of her mental ones. She was brimful of vitality, with

strong passions, and little religious sentiment. She had not much respect for moral courage, for she did not

understand it; but she was a profound admirer of personal prowess. Her distaste for the humdrum life she was

leading found expression in a rebellion against social usages. She courted notoriety by eccentricities of dress,

and was never so happy as when she was misunderstood. She was the sort of girl of whom women say "It

is a pity she has no mother"; and men, "It is a pity she does not get a husband"; and who say to themselves,

"When shall I have a lover?" There was no lack of beings of this latter class among the officers quartered in

Fort Royal and Fort Henry; but the female population of the island was free and numerous, and in the

embarrassment of riches, Sarah was overlooked. Though she adored the soldiery, her first lover was a

civilian. Walking one day on the cliff, she met a young man. He was tall, welllooking, and welldressed.

His name was Lemoine; he was the son of a somewhat wealthy resident of the island, and had come down

from London to recruit his health and to see his friends. Sarah was struck by his appearance, and looked back

at him. He had been struck by hers, and looked back also. He followed her, and spoke to her some remark

about the wind or the weather and she thought his voice divine. They got into conversation about

scenery, lonely walks, and the dullness of St. Heliers. "Did she often walk there?" "Sometimes." "Would she

be there tomorrow?" "She might." Mr. Lemoine lifted his hat, and went back to dinner, rather pleased with

They met the next day, and the day after that. Lemoine was not a gentleman, but he had lived among

gentlemen, and had caught something of their manner. He said that, after all, virtue was a mere name, and

that when people were powerful and rich, the world respected them more than if they had been honest and

poor. Sarah agreed with this sentiment. Her grandfather was honest and poor, and yet nobody respected him

at least, not with such respect as she cared to acknowledge. In addition to his talent for argument,

Lemoine was handsome and had money he showed her quite a handful of banknotes one day. He told her

of London and the great ladies there, and hinting that they were not always virtuous, drew himself up with a

moody air, as though he had been unhappily the cause of their fatal lapse into wickedness. Sarah did not

wonder at this in the least. Had she been a great lady, she would have done the same. She began to coquet

with this seductive fellow, and to hint to him that she had too much knowledge of the world to set a fictitious

value upon virtue. He mistook her artfulness for innocence, and thought he had made a conquest. Moreover,

the girl was pretty, and when dressed properly, would look well. Only one obstacle stood in the way of their

loves the dashing profligate was poor. He had been living in London above his means, and his father was

Sarah liked him better than anybody else she had seen, but there are two sides to every bargain. Sarah Purfoy

must go to London. In vain her lover sighed and swore. Unless he would promise to take her away with him,

Diana was not more chaste. The more virtuous she grew, the more vicious did Lemoine feel. His desire to

possess her increased in proportionate ratio to her resistance, and at last he borrowed two hundred pounds

from his father's confidential clerk (the Lemoines were merchants by profession), and acceded to her wishes.

There was no love on either side vanity was the mainspring of the whole transaction. Lemoine did not like

to be beaten; Sarah sold herself for a passage to England and an introduction into the "great world".

We need not describe her career at this epoch. Suffice it to say that she discovered that vice is not always

conducive to happiness, and is not, even in this world, so well rewarded as its earnest practice might merit.

Sated, and disappointed, she soon grew tired of her life, and longed to escape from its wearying dissipations.

The object of her affections was one Mr. Lionel Crofton. Crofton was tall, well made, and with an insinuating

address. His features were too strongly marked for beauty. His eyes were the best part of his face, and, like

his hair, they were jet black. He had broad shoulders, sinewy limbs, and small hands and feet. His head was

round, and wellshaped, but it bulged a little over the ears which were singularly small and lay close to his

head. With this man, barely four years older than herself, Sarah, at seventeen, fell violently in love. This was

the more strange as, though fond of her, he would tolerate no caprices, and possessed an ungovernable

temper, which found vent in curses, and even blows. He seemed to have no profession or business, and

though he owned a good address, he was even less of a gentleman than Lemoine. Yet Sarah, attracted by one

of the strange sympathies which constitute the romance of such women's lives, was devoted to him. Touched

by her affection, and rating her intelligence and unscrupulousness at their true value, he told her who he was.

He was a swindler, a forger, and a thief, and his name was John Rex. When she heard this she experienced a

sinister delight. He told her of his plots, his tricks, his escapes, his villainies; and seeing how for years this

young man had preyed upon the world which had deceived and disowned her, her heart went out to him. "I

am glad you found me," she said. "Two heads are better than one. We will work together."

John Rex, known among his intimate associates as Dandy Jack, was the putative son of a man who had been

for many years valet to Lord Bellasis, and who retired from the service of that profligate nobleman with a

sum of money and a wife. John Rex was sent to as good a school as could be procured for him, and at sixteen

was given, by the interest of his mother with his father's former master, a clerkship in an oldestablished city

bankinghouse. Mrs. Rex was intensely fond of her son, and imbued him with a desire to shine in aristocratic

circles. He was a clever lad, without any principle; he would lie unblushingly, and steal deliberately, if he

thought he could do so with impunity. He was cautious, acquisitive, imaginative, selfconceited, and

destructive. He had strong perceptive faculties, and much invention and versatility, but his "moral sense" was

almost entirely wanting. He found that his fellow clerks were not of that "gentlemanly" stamp which his

mother thought so admirable, and therefore he despised them. He thought he should like to go into the army,

for he was athletic, and rejoiced in feats of muscular strength. To be tied all day to a desk was beyond

endurance. But John Rex, senior, told him to "wait and see what came of it." He did so, and in the meantime

kept late hours, got into bad company, and forged the name of a customer of the bank to a cheque for twenty

pounds. The fraud was a clumsy one, and was detected in twentyfour hours. Forgeries by clerks, however

easily detected, are unfortunately not considered to add to the attractions of a bankinghouse, and the

oldestablished firm decided not to prosecute, but dismissed Mr. John Rex from their service. The exvalet,

who never liked his legalized son, was at first for turning him out of doors, but by the entreaties of his wife,

was at last induced to place the promising boy in a draper's shop, in the City Road.

This employment was not a congenial one, and John Rex planned to leave it. He lived at home, and had his

salary about thirty shillings a week for pocket money. Though he displayed considerable skill with the

cue, and not infrequently won considerable sums for one in his position, his expenses averaged more than his

income; and having borrowed all he could, he found himself again in difficulties. His narrow escape,

however, had taught him a lesson, and he resolved to confess all to his indulgent mother, and be more

economical for the future. Just then one of those "lucky chances" which blight so many lives occurred. The

"shopwalker" died, and Messrs. Baffaty Co. made the gentlemanly Rex act as his substitute for a few days.

Shopwalkers have opportunities not accorded to other folks, and on the evening of the third day Mr. Rex

went home with a bundle of lace in his pocket. Unfortunately, he owed more than the worth of this petty

theft, and was compelled to steal again. This time he was detected. One of his fellowshopmen caught him in

the very act of concealing a roll of silk, ready for future abstraction, and, to his astonishment, cried "Halves!"

Rex pretended to be virtuously indignant, but soon saw that such pretence was useless; his companion was

too wily to be fooled with such affectation of innocence. "I saw you take it," said he, "and if you won't share

I'll tell old Baffaty." This argument was irresistible, and they shared. Having become good friends, the

selfmade partner lent Rex a helping hand in the disposal of the booty, and introduced him to a purchaser.

The purchaser violated all rules of romance by being not a Jew, but a very orthodox Christian. He kept a

secondhand clothes warehouse in the City Road, and was supposed to have branch establishments all over

Mr. Blicks purchased the stolen goods for about a third of their value, and seemed struck by Mr. Rex's

appearance. "I thort you was a swell mobsman," said he. This, from one so experienced, was a high

compliment. Encouraged by success, Rex and his companion took more articles of value. John Rex paid off

his debts, and began to feel himself quite a "gentleman" again. Just as Rex had arrived at this pleasing state of

mind, Baffaty discovered the robbery. Not having heard about the bank business, he did not suspect Rex

he was such a gentlemanly young man but having had his eye for some time upon Rex's partner, who was

vulgar, and squinted, he sent for him. Rex's partner stoutly denied the accusation, and old Baffaty, who was a

man of merciful tendencies, and could well afford to lose fifty pounds, gave him until the next morning to

confess, and state where the goods had gone, hinting at the persuasive powers of a constable at the end of that

time. The shopman, with tears in his eyes, came in a hurry to Rex, and informed him that all was lost. He did

not want to confess, because he must implicate his friend Rex, but if he did not confess he would be given in

charge. Flight was impossible, for neither had money. In this dilemma John Rex remembered Blicks's

compliment, and burned to deserve it. If he must retreat, he would lay waste the enemy's country. His exodus

should be like that of the Israelites he would spoil the Egyptians. The shopwalker was allowed half an

hour in the middle of the day for lunch. John Rex took advantage of this halfhour to hire a cab and drive to

Blicks. That worthy man received him cordially, for he saw that he was bent upon great deeds. John Rex

rapidly unfolded his plan of operations. The warehouse doors were fastened with a spring. He would remain

behind after they were locked, and open them at a given signal. A light cart or cab could be stationed in the

lane at the back, three men could fill it with valuables in as many hours. Did Blicks know of three such men?

Blicks's one eye glistened. He thought he did know. At halfpast eleven they should be there. Was that all?

No. Mr. John Rex was not going to "put up" such a splendid thing for nothing. The booty was worth at least

�5,000 if it was worth a shilling he must have �100 cash when the cart stopped at Blicks's door. Blicks at

first refused point blank. Let there be a division, but he would not buy a pig in a poke. Rex was firm,

however; it was his only chance, and at last he got a promise of �80. That night the glorious achievement

known in the annals of Bow Street as "The Great Silk Robbery" took place, and two days afterwards John

Rex and his partner, dining comfortably at Birmingham, read an account of the transaction not in the least

John Rex, who had now fairly broken with dull respectability, bid adieu to his home, and began to realize his

mother's wishes. He was, after his fashion, a "gentleman". As long as the �80 lasted, he lived in luxury, and

by the time it was spent he had established himself in his profession. This profession was a lucrative one. It

was that of a swindler. Gifted with a handsome person, facile manner, and ready wit, he had added to these

natural advantages some skill at billiards, some knowledge of gambler's legerdemain, and the useful

consciousness that he must prey or be preyed on. John Rex was no common swindler; his natural as well as

his acquired abilities saved him from vulgar errors. He saw that to successfully swindle mankind, one must

not aim at comparative, but superlative, ingenuity. He who is contented with being only cleverer than the

majority must infallibly be outwitted at last, and to be once outwitted is for a swindler to be ruined.

Examining, moreover, into the history of detected crime, John Rex discovered one thing. At the bottom of all

these robberies, deceptions, and swindles, was some lucky fellow who profited by the folly of his

confederates. This gave him an idea. Suppose he could not only make use of his own talents to rob mankind,

but utilize those of others also? Crime runs through infinite grades. He proposed to himself to be at the top;

but why should he despise those good fellows beneath him? His speciality was swindling, billiardplaying,

cardplaying, borrowing money, obtaining goods, never risking more than two or three coups in a year. But

others plundered houses, stole bracelets, watches, diamonds made as much in a night as he did in six

months only their occupation was more dangerous. Now came the question why more dangerous?

Because these men were mere clods, bold enough and clever enough in their own rude way, but no match for

the law, with its Argus eyes and its Briarean hands. They did the rougher business well enough; they broke

locks, and burst doors, and "neddied" constables, but in the finer arts of plan, attack, and escape, they were

sadly deficient. Good. These men should be the hands; he would be the head. He would plan the robberies;

Working through many channels, and never omitting to assist a fellowworker when in distress, John Rex, in

a few years, and in a most prosaic business way, became the head of a society of ruffians. Mixing with fast

clerks and unsuspecting middleclass profligates, he found out particulars of houses ill guarded, and shops

insecurely fastened, and "put up" Blicks's ready ruffians to the more dangerous work. In his various disguises,

and under his many names, he found his way into those upper circles of "fast" society, where animals turn

into birds, where a wolf becomes a rook, and a lamb a pigeon. Rich spendthrifts who affected male society

asked him to their houses, and Mr. Anthony Croftonbury, Captain James Craven, and Mr. Lionel Crofton

were names remembered, sometimes with pleasure, oftener with regret, by many a broken man of fortune. He

had one quality which, to a man of his profession, was invaluable he was cautious, and master of himself.

Having made a success, wrung commission from Blicks, rooked a gambling ninny like Lemoine, or secured

an assortment of jewellery sent down to his "wife" in Gloucestershire, he would disappear for a time. He

liked comfort, and revelled in the sense of security and respectability. Thus he had lived for three years when

he met Sarah Purfoy, and thus he proposed to live for many more. With this woman as a coadjutor, he

thought he could defy the law. She was the net spread to catch his "pigeons"; she was the welldressed lady

who ordered goods in London for her husband at Canterbury, and paid half the price down, "which was all

this letter authorized her to do," and where a less beautiful or clever woman might have failed, she succeeded.

Her husband saw fortune before him, and believed that, with common prudence, he might carry on his most

lucrative employment of "gentleman" until he chose to relinquish it. Alas for human weakness! He one day

did a foolish thing, and the law he had so successfully defied got him in the simplest way imaginable.

Under the names of Mr. and Mrs. Skinner, John Rex and Sarah Purfoy were living in quiet lodgings in the

neighbourhood of Bloomsbury. Their landlady was a respectable poor woman, and had a son who was a

constable. This son was given to talking, and, coming in to supper one night, he told his mother that on the

following evening an attack was to be made on a gang of coiners in the Old Street Road. The mother,

dreaming all sorts of horrors during the night, came the next day to Mrs. Skinner, in the parlour, and, under a

pledge of profound secrecy, told her of the dreadful expedition in which her son was engaged. John Rex was

out at a pigeon match with Lord Bellasis, and when he returned, at nine o'clock, Sarah told him what she had

Now, 4, Bank Place, Old Street Road, was the residence of a man named Green, who had for some time

carried on the lucrative but dangerous trade of "counterfeiting". This man was one of the most daring of that

army of ruffians whose treasure chest and master of the mint was Blicks, and his liberty was valuable. John

Rex, eating his dinner more nervously than usual, ruminated on the intelligence, and thought it would be but

wise to warn Green of his danger. Not that he cared much for Green personally, but it was bad policy to miss

doing a good turn to a comrade, and, moreover, Green, if captured might wag his tongue too freely. But how

to do it? If he went to Blicks, it might be too late; he would go himself. He went out and was captured.

When Sarah heard of the calamity she set to work to help him. She collected all her money and jewels, paid

Mrs. Skinner's rent, went to see Rex, and arranged his defence. Blicks was hopeful, but Green who came

very near hanging admitted that the man was an associate of his, and the Recorder, being in a severe

mood, transported him for seven years. Sarah Purfoy vowed that she would follow him. She was going as

passenger, as emigrant, anything, when she saw Mrs. Vickers's advertisement for a "lady'smaid," and

answered it. It chanced that Rex was shipped in the Malabar, and Sarah, discovering this before the vessel

had been a week at sea, conceived the bold project of inciting a mutiny for the rescue of her lover. We know

the result of that scheme, and the story of the scoundrel's subsequent escape from Macquarie Harbour.

THE mutineers of the Osprey had been long since given up as dead, and the story of their desperate escape

had become indistinct to the general public mind. Now that they had been recaptured in a remarkable manner,

popular belief invested them with all sorts of strange surroundings. They had been according to report

kings over savage islanders, chiefs of lawless and ferocious pirates, respectable married men in Java,

merchants in Singapore, and swindlers in Hong Kong. Their adventures had been dramatized at a London

theatre, and the popular novelist of that day was engaged in a work descriptive of their wondrous fortunes.

John Rex, the ringleader, was related, it was said, to a noble family, and a special message had come out to

Sir John Franklin concerning him. He had every prospect of being satisfactorily hung, however, for even the

most outspoken admirers of his skill and courage could not but admit that he had committed an offence which

was death by the law. The Crown would leave nothing undone to convict him, and the already crowded

prison was recrammed with half a dozen life sentence men, brought up from Port Arthur to identify the

This statement gave fresh food for recollection and invention. It was remembered that "the notorious Dawes"

was the absconder who had been brought away by Captain Frere, and who owed such fettered life as he

possessed to the fact that he had assisted Captain Frere to make the wonderful boat in which the marooned

party escaped. It was remembered, also, how sullen and morose he had been on his trial five years before, and

how he had laughed when the commutation of his death sentence was announced to him. The Hobart Town

Gazette published a short biography of this horrible villain a biography setting forth how he had been

engaged in a mutiny on board the convict ship, how he had twice escaped from the Macquarie Harbour, how

he had been repeatedly flogged for violence and insubordination, and how he was now doubleironed at Port

Arthur, after two more ineffectual attempts to regain his freedom. Indeed, the Gazette, discovering that the

wretch had been originally transported for highway robbery, argued very ably it would be far better to hang

such wild beasts in the first instance than suffer them to cumber the ground, and grow confirmed in villainy.

"Of what use to society," asked the Gazette, quite pathetically, "has this scoundrel been during the last eleven

Miss Sylvia Vickers also received an additional share of public attention. Her romantic rescue by the heroic

Frere, who was shortly to reap the reward of his devotion in the good old fashion, made her almost as famous

as the villain Dawes, or his confederate monster John Rex. It was reported that she was to give evidence on

the trial, together with her affianced husband, they being the only two living witnesses who could speak to

the facts of the mutiny. It was reported also that her lover was naturally most anxious that she should not give

evidence, as she was an additional point of romantic interest affected deeply by the illness consequent

on the suffering she had undergone, and in a state of pitiable mental confusion as to the whole business.

These reports caused the Court, on the day of the trial, to be crowded with spectators; and as the various

particulars of the marvellous history of this double escape were detailed, the excitement grew more intense.

The aspect of the four heavilyironed prisoners caused a sensation which, in that city of the ironed, was quite

novel, and bets were offered and taken as to the line of defence which they would adopt. At first it was

thought that they would throw themselves on the mercy of the Crown, seeking, in the very extravagance of

their story, to excite public sympathy; but a little study of the demeanour of the chief prisoner, John Rex,

dispelled that conjecture. Calm, placid, and defiant, he seemed prepared to accept his fate, or to meet his

accusers with some plea which should be sufficient to secure his acquittal on the capital charge. Only when

he heard the indictment, setting forth that he had "feloniously pirated the brig Osprey," he smiled a little. Mr.

Meekin, sitting in the body of the Court, felt his religious prejudices sadly shocked by that smile. "A perfect

wild beast, my dear Miss Vickers," he said, returning, in a pause during the examination of the convicts who

had been brought to identify the prisoner, to the little room where Sylvia and her father were waiting. "He has

"I do," said Sylvia, twisting her hands together as if in pain. "I pity them all, poor creatures."

"Charming sensibility!" says Meekin, with a glance at Vickers. "The true woman's heart, my dear Major."

The Major tapped his fingers impatiently at this illtimed twaddle. Sylvia was too nervous just then for

sentiment. "Come here, Poppet," he said, "and look through this door. You can see them from here, and if

you do not recognize any of them, I can't see what is the use of putting you in the box; though, of course, if it

The raised dock was just opposite to the door of the room in which they were sitting, and the four manacled

men, each with an armed warder behind him, were visible above the heads of the crowd. The girl had never

before seen the ceremony of trying a man for his life, and the silent and antique solemnities of the business

affected her, as it affects all who see it for the first time. The atmosphere was heavy and distressing. The

chains of the prisoners clanked ominously. The crushing force of judge, gaolers, warders, and constables

assembled to punish the four men, appeared cruel. The familiar faces, that in her momentary glance, she

recognized, seemed to her evilly transfigured. Even the countenance of her promised husband, bent eagerly

forward towards the witnessbox, showed tyrannous and bloodthirsty. Her eyes hastily followed the pointing

finger of her father, and sought the men in the dock. Two of them lounged, sullen and inattentive; one

nervously chewed a straw, or piece of twig, pawing the dock with restless hand; the fourth scowled across the

Court at the witnessbox, which she could not see. The four faces were all strange to her.

As she was turning from the door, a voice from the witnessbox behind her made her suddenly pale and

pause to look again. The Court itself appeared, at that moment, affected, for a murmur ran through it, and

The notorious criminal, Rufus Dawes, the desperado of Port Arthur, the wild beast whom the Gazette had

judged not fit to live, had just entered the witnessbox. He was a man of thirty, in the prime of life, with a

torso whose muscular grandeur not even the illfitting yellow jacket could altogether conceal, with strong,

embrowned, and nervous hands, an upright carriage, and a pair of fierce, black eyes that roamed over the

Not all the weight of the double irons swaying from the leathern thong around his massive loins, could mar

that elegance of attitude which comes only from perfect muscular development. Not all the frowning faces

bent upon him could frown an accent of respect into the contemptuous tones in which he answered to his

"Come away, my darling," said Vickers, alarmed at his daughter's blanched face and eager eyes.

"Wait," she said impatiently, listening for the voice whose owner she could not see. "Rufus Dawes! Oh, I

Sylvia turned to her father with breathless inquiry in her eyes. "Oh, papa! who is that speaking? I know the

"That is the man who was with you in the boat, dear," says Vickers gravely. "The prisoner."

The eager light died out of her eyes, and in its place came a look of disappointment and pain. "I thought it

was a good man," she said, holding by the edge of the doorway. "It sounded like a good voice."

And then she pressed her hands over her eyes and shuddered. "There, there," says Vickers soothingly, "don't

"No, ha! ha!" says Meekin, with great display of offhand courage, "the villain's safe enough now."

"John Rex, Henry Shiers, James Lesly, and, and I'm not sure about the last man." "You are not sure about

"I was in the chaingang at Macquarie Harbour with them for three years." Sylvia, hearing this hideous

"Oh, papa, take me away! I feel as if I was going to remember something terrible!"

Amid the deep silence that prevailed, the cry of the poor girl was distinctly audible in the Court, and all heads

turned to the door. In the general wonder no one noticed the change that passed over Rufus Dawes. His face

flushed scarlet, great drops of sweat stood on his forehead, and his black eyes glared in the direction from

whence the sound came, as though they would pierce the envious wood that separated him from the woman

whose voice he had heard. Maurice Frere sprang up and pushed his way through the crowd under the bench.

"What's this?" he said to Vickers, almost brutally. "What did you bring her here for? She is not wanted. I told

"What has frightened her? What has she heard? What has she seen?" asked Frere, with a strangely white face.

She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice. "Take me home, papa; I'm ill. Oh, what thoughts!"

"That ruffian Dawes frightened her," said Meekin. "A gush of recollection, poor child. There, there, calm

"Frightened her, eh?" "Yes," said Sylvia faintly, "he frightened me, Maurice. I needn't stop any longer, dear,

"No," says Frere, the cloud passing from his face. "Major, I beg your pardon, but I was hasty. Take her home

at once. This sort of thing is too much for her." And so he went back to his place, wiping his brow, and

Rufus Dawes had remained in the same attitude until the figure of Frere, passing through the doorway, roused

him. "Who is she?" he said, in a low, hoarse voice, to the constable behind him. "Miss Vickers," said the man

shortly, flinging the information at him as one might fling a bone to a dangerous dog.

"Miss Vickers," repeated the convict, still staring in a sort of bewildered agony. "They told me she was

The constable sniffed contemptuously at this preposterous conclusion, as who should say, "If you know all

about it, animal, why did you ask?" and then, feeling that the fixed gaze of his interrogator demanded some

reply, added, "You thort she was, I've no doubt. You did your best to make her so, I've heard."

The convict raised both his hands with sudden action of wrathful despair, as though he would seize the other,

despite the loaded muskets; but, checking himself with sudden impulse, wheeled round to the Court.

The change in the tone of his voice, no less than the sudden loudness of the exclamation, made the faces,

hitherto bent upon the door through which Mr. Frere had passed, turn round again. To many there it seemed

that the "notorious Dawes" was no longer in the box, for, in place of the upright and defiant villain who stood

there an instant back, was a whitefaced, nervous, agitated creature, bending forward in an attitude almost of

supplication, one hand grasping the rail, as though to save himself from falling, the other outstretched

towards the bench. "Your Honour, there has been some dreadful mistake made. I want to explain about

myself. I explained before, when first I was sent to Port Arthur, but the letters were never forwarded by the

Commandant; of course, that's the rule, and I can't complain. I've been sent there unjustly, your Honour. I

made that boat, your Honour. I saved the Major's wife and daughter. I was the man; I did it all myself, and

my liberty was sworn away by a villain who hated me. I thought, until now, that no one knew the truth, for

they told me that she was dead." His rapid utterance took the Court so much by surprise that no one

interrupted him. "I was sentenced to death for bolting, sir, and they reprieved me because I helped them in the

boat. Helped them! Why, I made it! She will tell you so. I nursed her! I carried her in my arms! I starved

myself for her! She was fond of me, sir. She was indeed. She called me 'Good Mr. Dawes'."

At this, a coarse laugh broke out, which was instantly checked. The judge bent over to ask, "Does he mean

Miss Vickers?" and in this interval Rufus Dawes, looking down into the Court, saw Maurice Frere staring up

at him with terror in his eyes. "I see you, Captain Frere, coward and liar! Put him in the box, gentlemen, and

make him tell his story. She'll contradict him, never fear. Oh, and I thought she was dead all this while!"

The judge had got his answer from the clerk by this time. "Miss Vickers had been seriously ill, had fainted

just now in the Court. Her only memories of the convict who had been with her in the boat were those of

terror and disgust. The sight of him just now had most seriously affected her. The convict himself was an

inveterate liar and schemer, and his story had been already disproved by Captain Frere."

The judge, a man inclining by nature to humanity, but forced by experience to receive all statements of

prisoners with caution, said all he could say, and the tragedy of five years was disposed of in the following

JUDGE: This is not the place for an accusation against Captain Frere, nor the place to argue upon your

alleged wrongs. If you have suffered injustice, the authorities will hear your complaint, and redress it.

RUFUS DAWES I have complained, your Honour. I wrote letter after letter to the Government, but they

were never sent. Then I heard she was dead, and they sent me to the Coal Mines after that, and we never hear

JUDGE I can't listen to you. Mr. Mangles, have you any more questions to ask the witness?

But Mr. Mangles not having any more, someone called, "Matthew Gabbett," and Rufus Dawes, still

endeavouring to speak, was clanked away with, amid a buzz of remark and surmise.

The trial progressed without further incident. Sylvia was not called, and, to the astonishment of many of his

enemies, Captain Frere went into the witnessbox and generously spoke in favour of John Rex. "He might

have left us to starve," Frere said; "he might have murdered us; we were completely in his power. The stock

of provisions on board the brig was not a large one, and I consider that, in dividing it with us, he showed

great generosity for one in his situation." This piece of evidence told strongly in favour of the prisoners, for

Captain Frere was known to be such an uncompromising foe to all rebellious convicts that it was understood

that only the sternest sense of justice and truth could lead him to speak in such terms. The defence set up by

Rex, moreover, was most ingenious. He was guilty of absconding, but his moderation might plead an excuse

for that. His only object was his freedom, and, having gained it, he had lived honestly for nearly three years,

as he could prove. He was charged with piratically seizing the brig Osprey, and he urged that the brig Osprey,

having been built by convicts at Macquarie Harbour, and never entered in any shipping list, could not be said

to be "piratically seized", in the strict meaning of the term. The Court admitted the force of this objection,

and, influenced doubtless by Captain Frere's evidence, the fact that five years had passed since the mutiny,

and that the two men most guilty (Cheshire and Barker) had been executed in England, sentenced Rex and his

three companions to transportation for life to the penal settlements of the colony.

AT this happy conclusion to his labours, Frere went down to comfort the girl for whose sake he had suffered

Rex to escape the gallows. On his way he was met by a man who touched his hat, and asked to speak with

him an instant. This man was past middle age, owned a red brandybeaten face, and had in his gait and

"Well, Blunt," says Frere, pausing with the impatient air of a man who expects to hear bad news, "what is it

"Only to tell you that it is all right, sir," says Blunt. "She's come aboard again this morning."

"Come aboard again!" ejaculated Frere. "Why, I didn't know that she had been ashore. Where did she go?"

He spoke with an air of confident authority, and Blunt no longer the bluff tyrant of old seemed to quail

before him. The trial of the mutineers of the Malabar had ruined Phineas Blunt. Make what excuses he might,

there was no concealing the fact that Pine found him drunk in his cabin when he ought to have been attending

to his duties on deck, and the "authorities" could not, or would not, pass over such a heinous breach of

discipline. Captain Blunt who, of course, had his own version of the story thus deprived of the honour

of bringing His Majesty's prisoners to His Majesty's colonies of New South Wales and Van Diemen's Land,

went on a whaling cruise to the South Seas. The influence which Sarah Purfoy had acquired over him had,

however, irretrievably injured him. It was as though she had poisoned his moral nature by the influence of a

clever and wicked woman over a sensual and dullwitted man. Blunt gradually sank lower and lower. He

became a drunkard, and was known as a man with a "grievance against the Government". Captain Frere,

having had occasion for him in some capacity, had become in a manner his patron, and had got him the

command of a schooner trading from Sydney. On getting this command not without some wry faces on

the part of the owner resident in Hobart Town Blunt had taken the temperance pledge for the space of

twelve months, and was a miserable dog in consequence. He was, however, a faithful henchman, for he

hoped by Frere's means to get some "Government billet" the grand object of all colonial sea captains of

"Well, sir, she went ashore to see a friend," says Blunt, looking at the sky and then at the earth.

"Of course; quite right," returned the other; "you had better start at once. It's no use waiting."

"There's a situation in Sydney I've been looking after," said the other, uneasily, "if you could help me to it."

"Well, keep sober, then," says Frere, "and I'll see what I can do. And keep that woman's tongue still if you

"I'll do my best." "Take care you do," returned his patron, leaving him without further ceremony.

Frere found Vickers in the garden, and at once begged him not to talk about the "business" to his daughter.

"You saw how bad she was today, Vickers. For goodness sake don't make her ill again."

"My dear sir," says poor Vickers, "I won't refer to the subject. She's been very unwell ever since. Nervous

So Frere went in and soothed the excited girl, with real sorrow at her suffering.

"It's all right now, Poppet," he said to her. "Don't think of it any more. Put it out of your mind, dear."

"It was foolish of me, Maurice, I know, but I could not help it. The sound of of that man's voice

seemed to bring back to me some great pity for something or someone. I don't explain what I mean, I know,

but I felt that I was on the verge of remembering a story of some great wrong, just about to hear some

dreadful revelation that should make me turn from all the people whom I ought most to love. Do you

"I think I know what you mean," says Frere, with averted face. "But that's all nonsense, you know."

"Of course," returned she, with a touch of her old childish manner of disposing of questions out of hand.

"Everybody knows it's all nonsense. But then we do think such things. It seems to me that I am double, that I

"What a romantic girl you are," said the other, dimly comprehending her meaning. "How could you have a

"Of course, not really, stupid! But in thought, you know. I dream such strange things now and then. I am

always falling down precipices and into cataracts, and being pushed into great caverns in enormous rocks.

"Indigestion," returned Frere. "You don't take exercise enough. You shouldn't read so much. Have a good

"And in these dreams," continued Sylvia, not heeding his interruption, "there is one strange thing. You are

"Ah, but not kind and good as you are, Captain Bruin, but scowling, and threatening, and angry, so that I am

"But you looked just so today in the Court, Maurice, and I think that's what made me so silly."

But she had burst into a passion of sobs and tears, that shook her slight figure in his arms.

"Oh, Maurice, I am a wicked girl! I don't know my own mind. I think sometimes I don't love you as I ought

"There, never mind about that," muttered Maurice Frere, with a sort of choking in his throat.

She grew more composed presently, and said, after a while, lifting her face, "Tell me, Maurice, did you ever,

in those days of which you have spoken to me when you nursed me as a little child in your arms, and fed

"I think you must have thought so, because it's not vanity, dear you would not else have been so kind,

"No, but you have been, and I am very pettish, sometimes. Papa has spoiled me. You are always affectionate,

and those worrying ways of yours, which I get angry at, all come from love for me, don't they?"

"Well, you see, that is the reason why I am angry with myself for not loving you as I ought. I want you to like

the things I like, and to love the books and the music and the pictures and the the World I love; and I

forget that you are a man, you know, and I am only a girl; and I forget how nobly you behaved, Maurice, and

He had put her away from him suddenly, and gone to the window, gazing across the sloping garden at the bay

below, sleeping in the soft evening light. The schooner which had brought the witnesses from Port Arthur lay

off the shore, and the yellow flag at her mast fluttered gently in the cool evening breeze. The sight of this flag

appeared to anger him, for, as his eyes fell on it, he uttered an impatient exclamation, and turned round again.

"No, no. It is nothing," said he, with the air of a man surprised in a moment of weakness. "I I did not like

"Oh, forgive me, dear; I did not mean to hurt you. It is my silly way of saying more than I mean. How could I

Some sudden desperate whim caused him to exclaim, "But suppose I had not done all you think, would you

Her eyes, raised to his face with anxious tenderness for the pain she had believed herself to have inflicted, fell

"What a question! I don't know. I suppose I should; yet but what is the use, Maurice, of supposing? I

know you have done it, and that is enough. How can I say what I might have done if something else had

If there had been for a moment any sentiment of remorse in his selfish heart, the hesitation of her answer

"We are a pair of geese supposing! How can we help what has past? We have the Future, darling the

Future, in which I am to be your little wife, and we are to love each other all our lives, like the people in the

Temptation to evil had often come to Maurice Frere, and his selfish nature had succumbed to it when in far

less witching shape than this fair and innocent child luring him with wistful eyes to win her. What hopes had

he not built upon her love; what good resolutions had he not made by reason of the purity and goodness she

was to bring to him? As she said, the past was beyond recall; the future in which she was to love him all

her life was before them With the hypocrisy of selfishness which deceives even itself, he laid the little

REX told MR. Meekin, who, the next day, did him the honour to visit him, that, "under Providence, he owed

his escape from death to the kind manner in which Captain Frere had spoken of him."

"I hope your escape will be a warning to you, my man," said Mr. Meekin, "and that you will endeavour to

make the rest of your life, thus spared by the mercy of Providence, an atonement for your early errors."

"Indeed I will, sir," said John Rex, who had taken Mr. Meekin's measure very accurately, "and it is very kind

"Not at all," said Meekin, with affability; "it is my duty. I am a Minister of the Gospel."

"Ah! sir, I wish I had attended to the Gospel's teachings when I was younger. I might have been saved from

"You might, indeed, poor man; but the Divine Mercy is infinite quite infinite, and will be extended to all

of us to you as well as to me." (This with the air of saying, "What do you think of that!") "Remember the

"I will, Mr. Meekin. I need it sorely, sir physical as well as spiritual strength, sir for the Government

"I will speak to the authorities about a change in your dietary scale," returned Meekin, patronizingly. "In the

meantime, just collect together in your mind those particulars of your adventures of which you spoke, and

have them ready for me when next I call. Such a remarkable history ought not to be lost."

"Thank you kindly, sir. I will, sir. Ah! I little thought when I occupied the position of a gentleman, Mr.

Meekin" the cunning scoundrel had been piously grandiloquent concerning his past career "that I

"The mysterious workings of Providence are always just, Rex," returned Meekin, who preferred to speak of

"Good morning, and Heaven bless you, sir," said Rex, with his tongue in his cheek for the benefit of his yard

mates; and so Mr. Meekin tripped gracefully away, convinced that he was labouring most successfully in the

"I will send his narrative to the Bishop," said he to himself. "It will amuse him. There must be many strange

As the thought passed through his brain, his eye fell upon the "notorious Dawes", who, while waiting for the

schooner to take him back to Port Arthur, had been permitted to amuse himself by breaking stones. The

prisonshed which Mr. Meekin was visiting was long and low, roofed with iron, and terminating at each end

in the stone wall of the gaol. At one side rose the cells, at the other the outer wall of the prison. From the

outer wall projected a weatherboard underroof, and beneath this were seated forty heavilyironed convicts.

Two constables, with loaded carbines, walked up and down the clear space in the middle, and another

watched from a sort of sentrybox built against the main wall. Every halfhour a third constable went down

the line and examined the irons. The admirable system of solitary confinement which in average cases

produces insanity in the space of twelve months was as yet unknown in Hobart Town, and the forty

heavilyironed men had the pleasure of seeing each other's faces every day for six hours.

The other inmates of the prison were at work on the roads, or otherwise bestowed in the day time, but the

forty were judged too desperate to be let loose. They sat, three feet apart, in two long lines, each man with a

heap of stones between his outstretched legs, and cracked the pebbles in leisurely fashion. The double row of

dismal woodpeckers tapping at this terribly hollow beechtree of penal discipline had a semiludicrous

appearance. It seemed so painfully absurd that forty muscular men should be ironed and guarded for no better

purpose than the cracking of a cartload of quartzpebbles. In the meantime the air was heavy with angry

glances shot from one to the other, and the passage of the parson was hailed by a grumbling undertone of

blasphemy. It was considered fashionable to grunt when the hammer came in contact with the stone, and

under cover of this mock exclamation of fatigue, it was convenient to launch an oath. A fanciful visitor,

seeing the irregularly rising hammers along the line, might have likened the shed to the interior of some vast

piano, whose notes an unseen hand was erratically fingering. Rufus Dawes was seated last on the line his

back to the cells, his face to the gaol wall. This was the place nearest the watching constable, and was allotted

on that account to the most illfavoured. Some of his companions envied him that melancholy distinction.

"Well, Dawes," says Mr. Meekin, measuring with his eye the distance between the prisoner and himself, as

one might measure the chain of some ferocious dog. "How are you this morning, Dawes?"

Dawes, scowling in a parenthesis between the cracking of two stones, was understood to say that he was very

"I am afraid, Dawes," said Mr. Meekin reproachfully, "that you have done yourself no good by your outburst

in court on Monday. I understand that public opinion is quite incensed against you."

Dawes, slowly arranging one large fragment of bluestone in a comfortable basin of smaller fragments, made

"I am afraid you lack patience, Dawes. You do not repent of your offences against the law, I fear."

The only answer vouchsafed by the ironed man if answer it could be called was a savage blow, which

split the stone into sudden fragments, and made the clergyman skip a step backward.

"Then listen respectfully, sir," said Meekin, roseate with celestial anger. "You have all day to break those

"Yes, I have all day," returned Rufus Dawes, with a dogged look upward, "and all next day, for that matter.

"I came to console you, man to console you," says Meekin, indignant at the contempt with which his

The selfimportant annoyance of the tone seemed to appeal to whatever vestige of appreciation for the

humorous, chains and degradation had suffered to linger in the convict's brain, for a faint smile crossed his

"I was going to say, my good fellow, that you have done yourself a great deal of injury by your illadvised

A frown, as of pain, contracted the prisoner's brows, and he seemed with difficulty to put a restraint upon his

speech. "Is there to be no inquiry, Mr. Meekin?" he asked, at length. "What I stated was the truth the truth,

"No blasphemy, sir," said Meekin, solemnly. "No blasphemy, wretched man. Do not add to the sin of lying

the greater sin of taking the name of the Lord thy God in vain. He will not hold him guiltless, Dawes. He will

"Are they not going to ask her for her story?" asked Dawes, with a pitiful change of manner. "They told me

"I am not, perhaps, at liberty," said Meekin, placidly unconscious of the agony of despair and rage that made

the voice of the strong man before him quiver, "to state the intentions of the authorities, but I can tell you that

Miss Vickers will not be asked anything about you. You are to go back to Port Arthur on the 24th, and to

A groan burst from Rufus Dawes; a groan so full of torture that even the comfortable Meekin was thrilled by

"It is the Law, you know, my good man. I can't help it," he said. "You shouldn't break the Law, you know."

"Curse the Law!" cries Dawes. "It's a Bloody Law; it's there, I beg your pardon," and he fell to cracking his

stones again, with a laugh that was more terrible in its bitter hopelessness of winning attention or sympathy,

"Come," says Meekin, feeling uneasily constrained to bring forth some of his Londonlearnt platitudes. "You

can't complain. You have broken the Law, and you must suffer. Civilized Society says you sha'n't do certain

things, and if you do them you must suffer the penalty Civilized Society imposes. You are not wanting in

Rufus Dawes, as if disdaining to answer in words, cast his eyes round the yard with a glance that seemed to

ask grimly if Civilized Society was progressing quite in accordance with justice, when its civilization created

such places as that stonewalled, carbineguarded prisonshed, and filled it with such creatures as those

forty human beasts, doomed to spend the best years of their manhood cracking pebbles in it.

"It's not my place to argue with you, sir," said Dawes, in a tone of indifference, born of lengthened suffering,

so nicely balanced between contempt and respect, that the inexperienced Meekin could not tell whether he

had made a convert or subjected himself to an impertinence; "but I'm a prisoner for life, and don't look at it in

This view of the question did not seem to have occurred to Mr. Meekin, for his mild cheek flushed. Certainly,

the fact of being a prisoner for life did make some difference. The sound of the noonday bell, however,

warned him to cease argument, and to take his consolations out of the way of the mustering prisoners.

With a great clanking and clashing of irons, the forty rose and stood each by his stoneheap. The third

constable came round, rapping the legirons of each man with easy nonchalance, and roughly pulling up the

coarse trousers (made with buttoned flaps at the sides, like Mexican calzoneros, in order to give free play to

the ankle fetters), so that he might assure himself that no tricks had been played since his last visit. As each

man passed this ordeal he saluted, and clanked, with widespread legs, to the place in the double line. Mr.

Meekin, though not a patron of field sports, found something in the scene that reminded him of a blacksmith

"Upon my word," he said to himself, with a momentary pang of genuine compassion, "it is a dreadful way to

treat human beings. I don't wonder at that wretched creature groaning under it. But, bless me, it is near one

o'clock, and I promised to lunch with Major Vickers at two. How time flies, to be sure!"

THAT afternoon, while Mr. Meekin was digesting his lunch, and chatting airily with Sylvia, Rufus Dawes

began to brood over a desperate scheme. The intelligence that the investigation he had hoped for was not to

be granted to him had rendered doubly bitter those galling fetters of self restraint which he had laid upon

himself. For five years of desolation he had waited and hoped for a chance which might bring him to Hobart

Town, and enable him to denounce the treachery of Maurice Frere. He had, by an almost miraculous accident,

obtained that chance of open speech, and, having obtained it, he found that he was not allowed to speak. All

the hopes he had formed were dashed to earth. All the calmness with which he had forced himself to bear his

fate was now turned into bitterest rage and fury. Instead of one enemy he had twenty. All judge, jury,

gaoler, and parson were banded together to work him evil and deny him right. The whole world was his

foe: there was no honesty or truth in any living creature save one. During the dull misery of his convict

life at Port Arthur one bright memory shone upon him like a star. In the depth of his degradation, at the

height of his despair, he cherished one pure and ennobling thought the thought of the child whom he had

saved, and who loved him. When, on board the whaler that had rescued him from the burning boat, he had

felt that the sailors, believing in Frere's bluff lies, shrunk from the moody felon, he had gained strength to be

silent by thinking of the suffering child. When poor Mrs. Vickers died, making no sign, and thus the chief

witness to his heroism perished before his eyes, the thought that the child was left had restrained his selfish

regrets. When Frere, handing him over to the authorities as an absconder, ingeniously twisted the details of

the boatbuilding to his own glorification, the knowledge that Sylvia would assign to these pretensions their

true value had given him courage to keep silence. So strong was his belief in her gratitude, that he scorned to

beg for the pardon he had taught himself to believe that she would ask for him. So utter was his contempt for

the coward and boaster who, dressed in brief authority, bore insidious false witness against him, that, when he

heard his sentence of life banishment, he disdained to make known the true part he had played in the matter,

preferring to wait for the more exquisite revenge, the more complete justification which would follow upon

the recovery of the child from her illness. But when, at Port Arthur, day after day passed over, and brought no

word of pity or justification, he began, with a sickening feeling of despair, to comprehend that something

strange had happened. He was told by newcomers that the child of the Commandant lay still and near to

death. Then he heard that she and her father had left the colony, and that all prospect of her righting him by

her evidence was at an end. This news gave him a terrible pang; and at first he was inclined to break out into

upbraidings of her selfishness. But, with that depth of love which was in him, albeit crusted over and

concealed by the sullenness of speech and manner which his sufferings had produced, he found excuses for

her even then. She was ill. She was in the hands of friends who loved her, and disregarded him; perhaps, even

her entreaties and explanations were put aside as childish babblings. She would free him if she had the power.

Then he wrote "Statements", agonized to see the Commandant, pestered the gaolers and warders with the

story of his wrongs, and inundated the Government with letters, which, containing, as they did always,

denunciations of Maurice Frere, were never suffered to reach their destination. The authorities, willing at the

first to look kindly upon him in consideration of his strange experience, grew weary of this perpetual iteration

of what they believed to be malicious falsehoods, and ordered him heavier tasks and more continuous labour.

They mistook his gloom for treachery, his impatient outbursts of passion at his fate for ferocity, his silent

endurance for dangerous cunning. As he had been at Macquarie Harbour, so did he become at Port Arthur

a marked man. Despairing of winning his coveted liberty by fair means, and horrified at the hideous prospect

of a life in chains, he twice attempted to escape, but escape was even more hopeless than it had been at Hell's

Gates. The peninsula of Port Arthur was admirably guarded, signal stations drew a chain round the prison, an

armed boat's crew watched each bay, and across the narrow isthmus which connected it with the mainland

was a cordon of watchdogs, in addition to the soldier guard. He was retaken, of course, flogged, and

weighted with heavier irons. The second time, they sent him to the Coal Mines, where the prisoners lived

underground, worked halfnaked, and dragged their inspecting gaolers in wagons upon iron tramways, when

such great people condescended to visit them. The day on which he started for this place he heard that Sylvia

Then began with him a new religion. He worshipped the dead. For the living, he had but hatred and evil

words; for the dead, he had love and tender thoughts. Instead of the phantoms of his vanished youth which

were wont to visit him, he saw now but one vision the vision of the child who had loved him. Instead of

conjuring up for himself pictures of that home circle in which he had once moved, and those creatures who in

the past years had thought him worthy of esteem and affection, he placed before himself but one idea, one

embodiment of happiness, one being who was without sin and without stain, among all the monsters of that

pit into which he had fallen. Around the figure of the innocent child who had lain in his breast, and laughed at

him with her red young mouth, he grouped every image of happiness and love. Having banished from his

thoughts all hope of resuming his name and place, he pictured to himself some quiet nook at the world's end

a deepgardened house in a German country town, or remote cottage by the English seashore, where he

and his dreamchild might have lived together, happier in a purer affection than the love of man for woman.

He bethought him how he could have taught her out of the strange store of learning which his roving life had

won for him, how he could have confided to her his real name, and perhaps purchased for her wealth and

honour by reason of it. Yet, he thought, she would not care for wealth and honour; she would prefer a quiet

life a life of unassuming usefulness, a life devoted to good deeds, to charity and love. He could see her

in his visions reading by a cheery fireside, wandering in summer woods, or lingering by the marge of the

slumbering midday sea. He could feel in his dreams her soft arms about his neck, her innocent kisses

on his lips; he could hear her light laugh, and see her sunny ringlets float, backblown, as she ran to meet

him. Conscious that she was dead, and that he did to her gentle memory no disrespect by linking her fortunes

to those of a wretch who had seen so much of evil as himself, he loved to think of her as still living, and to

plot out for her and for himself impossible plans for future happiness. In the noisome darkness of the mine, in

the glaring light of the noonday dragging at his loaded wagon, he could see her ever with him, her calm

eyes gazing lovingly on his, as they had gazed in the boat so long ago. She never seemed to grow older, she

never seemed to wish to leave him. It was only when his misery became too great for him to bear, and he

cursed and blasphemed, mingling for a time in the hideous mirth of his companions, that the little figure fled

away. Thus dreaming, he had shaped out for himself a sorrowful comfort, and in his dreamworld found a

compensation for the terrible affliction of living. Indifference to his present sufferings took possession of

him; only at the bottom of this indifference lurked a fixed hatred of the man who had brought these sufferings

upon him, and a determination to demand at the first opportunity a reconsideration of that man's claims to be

esteemed a hero. It was in this mood that he had intended to make the revelation which he had made in Court,

but the intelligence that Sylvia lived unmanned him, and his prepared speech had been usurped by a

passionate torrent of complaint and invective, which convinced no one, and gave Frere the very argument he

needed. It was decided that the prisoner Dawes was a malicious and artful scoundrel, whose only object was

to gain a brief respite of the punishment which he had so justly earned. Against this injustice he had resolved

to rebel. It was monstrous, he thought, that they should refuse to hear the witness who was so ready to speak

in his favour, infamous that they should send him back to his doom without allowing her to say a word in his

defence. But he would defeat that scheme. He had planned a method of escape, and he would break from his

bonds, fling himself at her feet, and pray her to speak the truth for him, and so save him. Strong in his faith in

her, and with his love for her brightened by the love he had borne to her dreamimage, he felt sure of her

power to rescue him now, as he had rescued her before. "If she knew I was alive, she would come to me," he

Meditating that night in the solitude of his cell his evil character had gained him the poor luxury of

loneliness he almost wept to think of the cruel deception that had doubtless been practised on her. "They

have told her that I was dead, in order that she might learn to forget me; but she could not do that. I have

thought of her so often during these weary years that she must sometimes have thought of me. Five years!

She must be a woman now. My little child a woman! Yet she is sure to be childlike, sweet, and gentle. How

she will grieve when she hears of my sufferings. Oh! my darling, my darling, you are not dead!" And then,

looking hastily about him in the darkness, as though fearful even there of being seen, he pulled from out his

breast a little packet, and felt it lovingly with his coarse, toilworn fingers, reverently raising it to his lips,

and dreaming over it, with a smile on his face, as though it were a sacred talisman that should open to him the

A FEW days after this on the 23rd of December Maurice Frere was alarmed by a piece of startling

Captain Frere had inspected the prison that very afternoon, and it had seemed to him that the hammers had

never fallen so briskly, nor the chains clanked so gaily, as on the occasion of his visit. "Thinking of their

Christmas holiday, the dogs!" he had said to the patrolling warder. "Thinking about their Christmas pudding,

the luxurious scoundrels!" and the convict nearest him had laughed appreciatively, as convicts and

schoolboys do laugh at the jests of the man in authority. All seemed contentment. Moreover, he had by

way of a pleasant stroke of wit tormented Rufus Dawes with his illfortune. "The schooner sails

tomorrow, my man," he had said; "you'll spend your Christmas at the mines." And congratulated himself

upon the fact that Rufus Dawes merely touched his cap, and went on with his stonecracking in silence.

Certainly double irons and hard labour were fine things to break a man's spirit. So that, when in the afternoon

of that same day he heard the astounding news that Rufus Dawes had freed himself from his fetters, climbed

the gaol wall in broad daylight, run the gauntlet of Macquarie Street, and was now supposed to be safely

"How the deuce did he do it, Jenkins?" he asked, as soon as he reached the yard.

"Well, I'm blessed if I rightly know, your honour," says Jenkins. "He was over the wall before you could say

'knife'. Scott fired and missed him, and then I heard the sentry's musket, but he missed him, too."

"Missed him!" cries Frere. "Pretty fellows you are, all of you! I suppose you couldn't hit a haystack at twenty

The unlucky Scott, standing in melancholy attitude by the empty irons, muttered something about the sun

having been in his eyes. "I don't know how it was, sir. I ought to have hit him, for certain. I think I did touch

A stranger to the customs of the place might have imagined that he was listening to a conversation about a

"Tell me all about it," says Frere, with an angry curse. "I was just turning, your honour, when I hears Scott

sing out 'Hullo!' and when I turned round, I saw Dawes's irons on the ground, and him ascrambling up the

heap o' stones yonder. The two men on my right jumped up, and I thought it was a madeup thing among

'em, so I covered 'em with my carbine, according to instructions, and called out that I'd shoot the first that

stepped out. Then I heard Scott's piece, and the men gave a shout like. When I looked round, he was gone."

"No, sir. I was confused at first, and thought they were all in it, but Parton and Haines they runs in and gets

between me and the wall, and then Mr. Short he come, and we examined their irons."

"All right, your honour; and they all swore they knowed nothing of it. I know Dawes's irons was all right

Frere stopped and examined the empty fetters. "All right be hanged," he said. "If you don't know your duty

better than this, the sooner you go somewhere else the better, my man. Look here!"

The two ankle fetters were severed. One had been evidently filed through, and the other broken transversely.

"Know! Of course you don't know. You men never do know anything until the mischief's done. You want me

here for a month or so. I'd teach you your duty! Don't know with things like this lying about? I wonder the

"This" was a fragment of delft pottery which Frere's quick eye had detected among the broken metal.

"I'd cut the biggest iron you've got with this; and so would he and plenty more, I'll go bail. You ought to have

"Well, Captain Frere, it's an accident," says Short, "and can't be helped now." "An accident!" roared Frere.

"What business have you with accidents? How, in the devil's name, you let the man get over the wall, I don't

"He ran up that stone heap," says Scott, "and seemed to me to jump at the roof of the shed. I fired at him, and

Frere measured the distance from his eye, and an irrepressible feeling of admiration, rising out of his own

"By the Lord Harry, but it's a big jump!" he said; and then the instinctive fear with which the consciousness

of the hideous wrong he had done the now escaped convict inspired him, made him add: "A desperate villain

like that wouldn't stick at a murder if you pressed him hard. Which way did he go?"

"Right up Macquarie Street, and then made for the mountain. There were few people about, but Mr. Mays, of

the Star Hotel, tried to stop him, and was knocked head over heels. He says the fellow runs like a deer."

"We'll have the reward out if we don't get him tonight," says Frere, turning away; "and you'd better put on

an extra warder. This sort of game is catching." And he strode away to the Barracks.

From right to left, from east to west, through the prison city flew the signal of alarm, and the patrol, clattering

out along the road to New Norfolk, made hot haste to strike the trail of the fugitive. But night came and found

him yet at large, and the patrol returning, weary and disheartened, protested that he must be lying hid in some

gorge of the purple mountain that overshadowed the town, and would have to be starved into submission.

Meanwhile the usual message ran through the island, and so admirable were the arrangements which Arthur

the reformer had initiated, that, before noon of the next day, not a signal station on the coast but knew that

No. 8942, etc., etc., prisoner for life, was illegally at large. This intelligence, further aided by a paragraph in

the Gazette anent the "Daring Escape", once noised abroad, the world cared little that the Mary Jane,

But two or three persons cared a good deal. Major Vickers, for one, was indignant that his boasted security of

bolts and bars should have been so easily defied, and in proportion to his indignation was the grief of

Messieurs Jenkins, Scott, and Co., suspended from office, and threatened with absolute dismissal. Mr.

Meekin was terribly frightened at the fact that so dangerous a monster should be roaming at large within

reach of his own saintly person. Sylvia had shown symptoms of nervous terror, none the less injurious

because carefully repressed; and Captain Maurice Frere was a prey to the most cruel anxiety. He had ridden

off at a handgallop within ten minutes after he had reached the Barracks, and had spent the few hours of

remaining daylight in scouring the country along the road to the North. At dawn the next day he was away to

the mountain, and with a blacktracker at his heels, explored as much of that wilderness of gully and chasm

as nature permitted to him. He had offered to double the reward, and had examined a number of suspicious

persons. It was known that he had been inspecting the prison a few hours before the escape took place, and

his efforts were therefore attributed to zeal, not unmixed with chagrin. "Our dear friend feels his reputation at

stake," the future chaplain of Port Arthur said to Sylvia at the Christmas dinner. "He is so proud of his

knowledge of these unhappy men that he dislikes to be outwitted by any of them."

Notwithstanding all this, however, Dawes had disappeared. The fat landlord of the Star Hotel was the last

person who saw him, and the flying yellow figure seemed to have been as completely swallowed up by the

warm summer's afternoon as if it had run headlong into the blackest night that ever hung above the earth.

THE "little gathering" of which Major Vickers had spoken to Mr. Meekin, had grown into something larger

than he had anticipated. Instead of a quiet dinner at which his own household, his daughter's betrothed, and

the stranger clergyman only should be present, the Major found himself entangled with Mesdames Protherick

and Jellicoe, Mr. McNab of the garrison, and Mr. Pounce of the civil list. His quiet Christmas dinner had

"Not yet," says Frere, sulkily, "but he won't be out long. I've got a dozen men up the mountain."

"Oh, he needn't be caught," says Frere, "if that's what you mean; but he'll starve instead. The bushranging

days are over now, and it's a precious poor lookout for any man to live upon luck in the bush."

"Indeed, yes," says Mr. Pounce, lapping his soup. "This island seems specially adapted by Providence for a

convict settlement; for with an admirable climate, it carries little indigenous vegetation which will support

"Wull," said McNab to Sylvia, "I don't think Prauvidence had any thocht o' caunveect deesiplin whun He

"I don't know," says Mrs. Protherick. "Poor Protherick used say that it seemed as if some Almighty Hand had

planned the Penal Settlements round the coast, the country is so delightfully barren."

"Ay, Port Arthur couldn't have been better if it had been made on purpose," says Frere; "and all up the coast

from Tenby to St. Helen's there isn't a scrap for human being to make a meal on. The West Coast is worse.

"By the way," says Meekin, "I've got something to show you. Rex's confession. I brought it down on

"His account of his adventures after he left Macquarie Harbour. I am going to send it to the Bishop."

"Oh, I should like to see it," said Sylvia, with heightened colour. "The story of these unhappy men has a

"No, papa, not altogether forbidden; for it does not affect me now as it used to do. You must let me read it,

"A pack of lies, I expect," said Frere, with a scowl. "That scoundrel Rex couldn't tell the truth to save his

life." "You misjudge him, Captain Frere," said Meekin. "All the prisoners are not hardened in iniquity like

Rufus Dawes. Rex is, I believe, truly penitent, and has written a most touching letter to his father."

"A letter!" said Vickers. "You know that, by the King's 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 brought it with me, that you may read it for yourself. It

"Here it is," returned Meekin, producing a packet; "and when the cloth is removed, I will ask permission of

A glance of surprise passed between the ladies Protherick and Jellicoe. The idea of a convict's letter proving

"A worthy merchant, I am told, in whose countinghouse the fortunate Rex passed his younger days. He had

"Educated prisoners are always the worst," said Vickers. "James, some more wine. We don't drink toasts

Having drunk this loyal toast with due fervour, Vickers proposed, "His Excellency Sir John Franklin", which

"Here's a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you, sir," said Frere, with the letter still in his hand.

"Amen!" says Meekin piously. "Let us hope He will; and now, leddies, the letter. I will read you the

Confession afterwards." Opening the packet with the satisfaction of a Gospel vineyard 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

"Poetical!" said Frere."'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 envied and honoured post with credit and

respect. No I shall be soon wearing the garb of degradation, and the badge and brand of infamy at P.A.,

"Touching, is it not?" assented Meekin, continuing "'I am, with heartrending sorrow and anguish of soul,

ranged and mingled with the Outcasts of Society. My present circumstances and pictures you will find well

and truly drawn in the 102nd Psalm, commencing with the 4th verse to the 12th inclusive, which, my dear

"Hullo!" said Frere, pulling out his pocketbook, "what's that? Read those numbers again." Mr. Meekin

complied, and Frere 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. Psalm lxxiii 2. Yet I have hope even in this, my desolate condition. Psalm

xxxv 18. "For the Lord our God is merciful, and inclineth His ear unto pity".' "

"Blasphemous dog!" said Vickers. "You don't believe all that, Meekin, do you?" The parson reproved him

gently. "Wait a moment, sir, until I have finished.""'Party spirit runs 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 contumely,

while the authorities are held in respect by all welldisposed persons, though it is often endeavoured by some

to bring on them the hatred and contempt of prisoners. But I am 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

"That's for your benefit, Frere," said Vickers, with a smile. "You remember what was said about your

"Of course," said Frere. "Artful scoundrel! Go on, Mr. Meekin, pray." "'I am aware that you will hear

accounts of cruelty and tyranny, said, by the malicious and the evilminded haters of the Government and

Government officials, to have been inflicted by gaolers 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 Frere, cracking a walnut. "'The texts of Scripture quoted by

our chaplain have comforted me much, and I have much to be 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 iii. I have now come to bitterness. The chaplain, a pious gentleman, says it never really

pays to steal. "Lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt." Honesty

is the best policy, I am convinced, and I would not for �1,000 repeat my evil courses Psalm xxxviii 14.

When I think of the happy days I once passed with good Mr. Blicks, in the old house in Blue Anchor 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 v.

Oh what sinners we are! Let me hope that now I, by God's blessing placed 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 c 74. I owe my bodily wellbeing to Captain Maurice Frere, who

was good enough to speak of my conduct in reference to the Osprey, when, with Shiers, Barker, and others,

we captured that vessel. Pray for Captain Frere, 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,

"Confound the rascal!" said Frere, growing crimson. "'Remember me most affectionately to Sarah and little

William, and all friends who yet cherish the recollection of me, and bid them 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 rest 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

He took the paper, and referring to the numbers of the texts which he had written in his pocketbook, began

to knit his brows over Mr. John Rex's impious 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 Meekin. "Mean!" cries Frere, 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, I've

no doubt. Look here, Mr. Meekin. Take the letter and this pencil, and begin at the first text. The 102nd Psalm,

from the 4th verse to the 12th 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 the next text quoted, 'I have

"Well, now, his text is the eighteenth verse of the thirtyfifth Psalm, isn't it? Count eighteen words on, then

"Count and score in the same way until you come to the word 'Texts' somewhere. Vickers, I'll trouble you for

"Yes," said Meekin, after a pause. "Here it is 'the texts of Scripture quoted by our chaplain'. But surely

"Hold on a bit now," cries Frere. "What's the next quotation? John iii. That's every third word. Score every

third word beginning with 'I' immediately following the text, now, until you come to a quotation. Got it? How

"'Lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt'," said Meekin, a little

"Count fourteen words on, then, and score the fourteenth. I'm up to this textquoting business."

"Then there's another text. Thirtyeighth isn't it? Psalm and the fourteenth verse. Do that the same way

as the other count fourteen words, and then score eight in succession. Where does that bring you?"

"Every fifth word then. Go on, my dear sir go on. 'Method' of 'escape', yes. The hundredth Psalm means a

There was a pause for a few minutes while Mr. Meekin counted. The letter had really turned out interesting.

"Read out your marked words now, Meekin. Let's see if I'm right." Mr. Meekin read with gradually

"'I have hope even in this my desolate condition...in prison Van Diemen's Land...the authorities are held

in...hatred and contempt of prisoners...read in any colonial newspaper...accounts of cruelty and

tyranny...inflicted by gaolers on convicts...severe flogging and heavy chaining...for slight breaches of

discipline...I...come...the pious... it...pays...in the old house in Blue Anchor Yard...stolen goods and watches

studs rings and jewellery...are...now...placed...safely...I... will...find...some...method of escape...then...for

"Oh, it's nothing," says Frere; meaning that it was a great deal. "I've studied a good many of these things, and

"It's very ungracious on your part, Captain Frere. 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 aged 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 a Christian pastor."

"That's just it. The fellows play upon the parsons, don't you know, and under cover of your 'sacred character'

play all kinds of pranks. How the dog must have chuckled when he gave you that!"

"Captain Frere," said Mr. Meekin, changing colour like a chameleon with indignation and rage, "your

interpretation is, I am convinced, an incorrect one. How could the poor man compose such an ingenious piece

of cryptography?" "If you mean, fake up that paper," returned Frere, unconsciously dropping into prison

"I certainly permitted him the use of the Sacred Volume, Captain Frere. I should have judged it inconsistent

"Of course. And that's just where you parsons are always putting your foot into it. If you'd put your 'Office'

"I beg your pardon, Meekin," says Maurice, with clumsy apology; "but I know these fellows. I've lived

among 'em, I came out in a ship with 'em, I've talked with 'em, and drank with 'em, 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 'm, and being chockfull of villainy and plots and conspiracies, what other book should they make use

of to aid their infernal schemes but the one that the chaplain has made a text book for 'em?" And Maurice

"Dear me, it is really very terrible," says Meekin, who was not illmeaning, but only selfcomplacent

"Upon me soul!" burst out honest McNab, "the hail seestem seems to be maist illcalculated tae advance the

"Mr. McNab, 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. Meekin, took up the "confession," that lay unopened

"Come, Mr. Meekin," 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 Frere, I assure you. He knows more about convicts than

"So I have, my dear sir, and know every turn and twist among 'em. I tell you my maxim. It's some French

fellow's, too, I believe, but that don't matter divide to conquer. Set all the dogs spying on each other."

"Oh!" said Meekin. "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

"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 of it. I'd promote the men that peached, and make the beggars

their own warders. Ha, ha!" "But such a course, Captain Frere, 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

"Wait a bit," cries Frere. "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 'em; give 'em tobacco when they behave 'emselves, and flog 'em

"Terrible!" says the clergyman with a shudder. "You speak of them as if they were wild beasts."

AT the bottom of the long luxuriant gardenground was a rustic seat abutting 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 her face to the bay and her back to the house,

Sylvia opened the manuscript she had carried off from Meekin, and began to read. It was written in a firm,

large hand, and headed "A NARRATIVE "OF THE SUFFERINGS AND ADVENTURES OF CERTAIN

Sylvia, having read this grandiloquent sentence, paused for a moment. The story of the 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 ajar the door of some dark room, into which she longed and yet feared to enter. Her

"When orders arrived from headquarters to break up the penal settlement of Macquarie Harbour, the

Commandant (Major Vickers, th 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 Maurice Frere 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.

"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 Frere took two soldiers and a boat, and went

afishing. 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 folksle, and one of the soldiers, coming to

listen to it, was seized, and Lyon and Riley then made prisoner of the sentry. Forced thus 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

"Poor fellow," said Sylvia, beguiled by Master Rex's specious 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. Barker fired 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 folksle 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 possession 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 prepared to lower the jollyboat. As she swung off the davits, Captain Frere 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 minds of all on board were made up to carry through the business

and hailing the whaleboat, swore to fire into her unless she surrendered. Captain Frere refused, and was

for boarding us again, but the two soldiers joined with us, and prevented his intention. Having now got the

prisoners into the jollyboat, we transferred Captain Frere into her, and being ourselves in the whaleboat,

compelled Captain Frere and Mr. Bates to row ashore. We then took the jollyboat 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 a consultation took place concerning the parting of the provisions. Cheshire was for

leaving them to starve, but Lesly, Shiers, 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 in 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 cheered 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 dinnertime. After dinner

we ran out a small kedgeanchor with about one hundred fathoms of line, and having weighed anchor, and

the tide being slack, we hauled on the kedgeline, and succeeded in this manner by kedging along, and we

came to two islands, called the Cap and Bonnet. The whole of us then commenced heaving the brig short,

sending the whaleboat to take her in tow, after we had tripped the anchor. By this means we got her safe

across the Bar. Scarcely was this done when a light breeze sprang up from the southwest, and firing a

musket to apprize the party we had left of 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 grandiloquence and affected piety of the narrative, it was easy to see

that, save some warping of facts to make for himself a better case, and to extol the courage of the gaolers who

had him at their mercy, the narrator had not attempted to better his tale by the invention of perils. The history

of the desperate project that 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 cheerfully 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 homeward bound vessel might at length rescue us. With this view,

I made James Lesly first mate, he being an experienced mariner, and prepared myself, with what few

instruments we had, to take our departure from Birches Rock. Having hauled the whaleboat alongside, we

stove her, together with the jollyboat, and cast her adrift. This done, I parted the landsmen with the seamen,

and, steering 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 southwest. I, and others of the landsmen, were violently seasick, and Lesly 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. Lesly 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 closereefed topsails, we being afraid to shorten sail lest we might be overtaken

by some pursuing vessel, so strong was the terror of our prison upon us. "On the 16th, at noon, I again forced

myself on deck, and taking a meridian observation, altered the course of the brig to east and by south,

wishing to run to 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 berth as one at the last gasp. At times I

repented my resolution, Fair urging me to bestir myself, as the men were not satisfied with our course. On the

21st a mutiny occurred, led by Lyons, who asserted 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. Lesly in vain protested that a southward course would bring us into icefields.

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, Lyons rushed to the helm, and

Russen, 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 manned by freemen, would have been applauded as a stern but needful measure. "Forced by these

tumults 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 Lesly and Barker, I took an observation, and altered our course to north by

east, the brig running eleven knots an hour under singlereefed topsails, 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. "Lesly now

committed a great error, for, upon the brig righting (she was thrown upon her beam ends, and her spanker

boom carried away), he commanded to furl the foretop sail, strike topgallant yards, furl the main course,

and take a reef in the maintopsail, leaving her to scud under singlereefed maintopsail and foresail. This

caused the vessel to leak to that degree that I despaired of reaching land in her, and prayed to the Almighty to

send us 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 Frere and the pilot, we left the brig at sundown, lying with her

channel plates nearly under water. "The wind freshening during the night, our launch, which might, indeed,

be termed a longboat, having been fitted with mast, bowsprit, 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 us some amends for the dreadful night. Land was not more than ten

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 halfpast two we sighted a bay of very curious appearance, having two large rocks

at the entrance, resembling pyramids. Shiers, Russen, 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 weigh; 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 rowed further inshore, 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 'Valdivia,' a woman instantly pointed towards a tongue of land to the

southward, holding up three fingers, and crying 'leaghos'! 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 a twelvegun battery under our lee. I now divided among the

men the sum of six pounds ten shillings that I had found in Captain Frere's cabin, and made another and more

equal distribution of the clothing. There were also two watches, one of which I gave to Lesly, and kept the

other for myself. It was resolved among us to say that we were part crew of the brig Julia, bound 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 Lesly, Barker, Shiers, and Russen

should pay for a canoe to convey them to the town, which was nine miles up the river; and on the morning of

the 6th March they took their departure. On the 9th March, a boat, commanded by a lieutenant, came down

with orders that the rest of us should be conveyed to town; and we accordingly launched the boat under

convoy of 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 thus doubly a traitor first, in deserting his officer, and then in betraying his

comrades. "We were immediately escorted to prison, where we found our four companions. Some of them

were for brazening out the story of shipwreck, but knowing how confused must necessarily be our accounts,

were we examined separately, I persuaded them that open confession would be our best chance of safety. On

the 14th we were taken before the Intendente 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 in 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 I will be as good as my word. All I have to impress upon you is, to beware 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 subsistence while in prison.' "The following day we all procured employment in launching a

vessel of three hundred tons burden, and my men showed themselves so active that the owner said he would

rather have us than thirty of his own countrymen; which saying pleased the Governor, who was there with

almost the whole of the inhabitants and a 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 her out, being paid fifteen dollars 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 unwonted 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 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 in 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 oneandtwentygun brig 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 Governmenthouse. This

proceeding looked to my mind indicative of illwill; 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, Lesly,

Riley, Shiers, and Russen, I offered the Governor to get built for him a handsome whaleboat, making the

iron work myself. The Governor consented, and in a little more than a fortnight we had completed a

fouroared whaleboat, capable of weathering either sea or storm. We fitted her with sails and provisions in

the Governor's name, and on the 4th 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 without hazard, and,

taking accurate bearings, ran for the Friendly Islands, as had been agreed upon amongst us. "But it now

seemed that the good fortune which had 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 fortyeight 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. Russen, 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's name engraved upon it. These circumstances together caused 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

Thames Police Court. There being no evidence against us, we should have escaped, had not a Dr. Pine, who

had been surgeon on board the Malabar transport, being in the Court, recognized me and swore to my

identity. We were remanded, and, to complete the chain of evidence, Mr. Capon, the Hobart Town gaoler,

was, strangely enough, in London at the time, and identified us all. Our story was then made public, and

Barker and Lesly, turning Queen's evidence against Russen, 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 Diemen's Land, in order to be tried in the colony, where

the offence was committed, for piratically seizing the brig Osprey, and arrived here on the 15th December,

Coming, breathless, to the conclusion of this wonderful relation, Sylvia suffered her 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

chaingangs, or pulled in the boats their faces brutalized into 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 heartsickness 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 stormravaged ocean, must possess qualities which could be put to better use than

stonequarrying. Was the opinion of Maurice Frere 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 gaolers. Perhaps beneath each mask of servility and sullen fear that was the ordinary prison face,

lay hid a courage and a despair as mighty as that which sustained those ten poor wanderers over the Pacific

Ocean. Maurice 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 Rex still bent upon escape could send a hidden message to

his friends beneath the eyes of his gaolers. 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

Oh, how strangely must the world have been civilized, that this most lovely corner of it must needs be set

apart as a place of banishment for the monsters that civilization had brought forth and bred! She cast her eyes

around, and all beauty seemed 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 trees seemed to hold lurking shapes

of cruelty and danger. Even the whispering breeze bore with it sighs, and threats, and mutterings of revenge.

Oppressed 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

recognized the yellow clothing, and marked the eager hands outstretched to seize her. Instantly upon her

flashed the story that three days since had set the prisontown agog. The desperado of Port Arthur, the

escaped mutineer and murderer, was before her, with unchained arms, free to wreak his will of her. "Sylvia!

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 am Rufus Dawes," he said, looking in her face for the grateful smile of recognition that did not come

The party at the house had finished their wine, and, sitting on the broad verandah, were listening to some

Frere 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 to him so much, he

advanced a step nearer, and loosing his respectful clasp of her hand, caught her dress.

Into the face of Rufus Dawes came an expression of horrorstricken bewilderment. For three days the

unhappy man had contrived to keep life and freedom, in order to get speech with the one being who, he

thought, cherished for him some affection. Having made an unparalleled escape from the midst of his

warders, he had crept to the place where lived the idol of his dreams, braving recapture, 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 hardearned 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 loosed his hold of her dress, and, regardless of the approaching footsteps, stood speechless, shaking

from head to foot. In another instant Frere and McNab flung themselves upon him, and he was borne 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 fain 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

There was something so pitiable about this silent grief that, as they led him away, the little group instinctively

"YOU must try and save him from further punishment," said Sylvia next day to Frere. "I did not mean to

betray the poor creature, but I had made myself nervous by reading that convict's story."

"You shouldn't read such rubbish," said Frere. "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, Maurice, these are dreadful men. I thought I knew all about convicts,

"Thank God, you know very little," said Maurice. "The servants you have here are very different sort of

"Oh, Maurice, 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 Frere. "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

"Oh, nonsense, sir! But I want to speak to you about this poor Dawes. 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

"No," said Maurice. "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 Port 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."

"Nothing. I sent him down aboard the schooner at once. He ought to be out of the river by this time."

"I seem to fear him, as if I knew some story about him, and yet didn't know it."

"That's not very clear," said Maurice, forcing a laugh, "but don't let's talk about him any more. We'll soon be

"Maurice," said she, caressingly, "I love you, dear. You'll always protect me against these men, won't you?"

Maurice kissed her. "You have not got over your fright, Sylvia," he said. "I see I shall have to take a great

And then the pair began to make love, or, rather, Maurice 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 Dawes had been seized the night before. A little stream ran through the garden, and a Triton

of convict manufacture blew his horn in the middle of a convict built rockery. Under the lip of

the fountain lay a small packet. Frere picked it up. It was made of soiled yellow cloth, and stitched evidently

"Let me see. What a strangelooking thing! Yellow cloth, too. Why, it must belong to a prisoner. Oh,

"Ay," says Maurice, 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. Frere, 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 "goodconduct" uniform. Beneath this was a

piece, some three inches square, of stained and discoloured merino, that had once been blue.

It was Rufus Dawes's talisman a portion of the frock she had worn at Macquarie Harbour, and which the

Frere flung it into the water. The running stream whirled it 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 Dawes back to bondage glide past the opening of the trees and disappear. When

they looked again for the strange relic of the desperado of Port Arthur, it also had vanished.

THE usual clanking and hammering was prevalent upon the stone jetty of Port Arthur when the schooner

bearing the returned convict, Rufus Dawes, 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 tanpits; to the left lay the Commandant's house, authoritative by reason of its embrasured

terrace and guardian sentry; while the jetty, that faced the purple length of the "Island of the Dead," swarmed

with particoloured figures, clanking about their enforced business, under the muskets of their gaolers.

Rufus Dawes 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, embowered 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

"Hallo, Dawes!" says Warder Troke, halting his train of ironed yellowjackets. "So you've come back again!

Glad to see yer, Dawes! It seems an age since we had the pleasure of your company, Dawes!" At this

pleasantry the train laughed, so that their irons clanked more than ever. They found it often inconvenient not

to laugh at Mr. Troke's humour. "Step down here, Dawes, and let me introduce you to your h'old friends.

They'll be glad to see yer, won't yer, boys? Why, bless me, Dawes, we thort we'd lost yer! We thort yer'd

given us the slip altogether, Dawes. They didn't take care of yer in Hobart Town, I expect, eh, boys? We'll

"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 legirons of the pair by means of an extra link, which could be removed

when necessary, but Dawes 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 pepperandsalt raiment, and wearing a black

"I beg your pardon, Mr. North," said Troke, sinking at once the bully in the sneak. "I didn't see yer

"I know that," returned Mr. North, coolly. "If you had, you would have been all butter and honey. Don't

Rufus Dawes had intended to scowl, but the tone, sharply authoritative, roused his automatic convict second

"Oh," said Mr. North, eyeing him with a curious air of expectation that had something pitying in it. "This is

"So he is," said Troke, "but we hain't a goin' to send there for a fortnit, and in the meantime I'm to work him

And then, before them all, this curious parson took a piece of tobacco out of his ragged pocket, and cut off a

"chaw" with Mr. Troke's knife. Rufus Dawes 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 meaning of his

The chain line vibrated at this, and bent forward to enjoy the vicarious delight of seeing another man chew

tobacco. Troke grinned with a silent mirth that betokened retribution for the favoured convict. "Here," said

Mr. North, holding out the dainty morsel upon which so many eyes were fixed. Rufus Dawes took the

tobacco; looked at it hungrily for an instant, and then to the astonishment of everybody flung it away

From convict mouths went out a respectful roar of amazement, and Mr. Troke's eyes snapped with pride of

Mr. North put up a hand. "That will do, Troke," he said; "I know your respect for the cloth. Move the men on

"Get on!" said Troke, rumbling oaths beneath his breath, and Dawes felt his newlyriveted chain tug. It was

some time since he had been in a chaingang, and the sudden jerk nearly overbalanced him. He caught 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. "Poor devils! I never knew a prisoner refuse 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

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 sweetlycheating twilight. He was at first unable to apprehend the details of his misery. He knew

only that his dreamchild 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 for ever, 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 Troke, ungalled by his irons, unmindful of the groans and laughter about him. His magnificent

muscles saved him from the lash; for the amiable Troke 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

It was in vain that Rex attempted to discover what this 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. Galled by this indifference, John Rex had attempted to practise those

ingenious arts of torment by which Gabbett, Vetch, or other leading spirits of the gang asserted their

superiority over their quieter comrades. But 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 Troke 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 Troke. Even this instance of selfdenial 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 Gabbett and Vetch, 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

"By deduction," says Rex, with a smile peculiar to him. "He wears coloured clothes, and smokes, and doesn't

patter Scripture. The Bishop dresses in black, detests tobacco, and quotes the Bible like a concordance. North

is sent here for a month, as a warmingpan for that ass Meekin. Ergo, the Bishop don't care about North."

Jemmy Vetch, who was next to Rex, let the full weight of his portion of treetrunk rest upon Gabbett, in

order to express his unrestrained admiration of Mr. Rex's sarcasm. "Ain't the Dandy a one'er?" said he.

"Are you thinking of coming the pious?" asked Rex. "It's no good with North. Wait until the

highlyintelligent Meekin comes. You can twist that worthy successor of the Apostles round your little

Amid such diversions the days rolled on, and Rufus Dawes almost longed 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

RUFUS Dawes had been a fortnight at the settlement when a newcomer appeared on the chaingang. This

was a young man of about twenty 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 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 was a bachelor of the "old school", confessed to an amiable weakness for blasphemy, and was

given to condemning the convicts' 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 far 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

He was received with suspicion by the gang, who did not like whitehanded prisoners. Troke, by way of

experiment in human nature, perhaps, placed him next to Gabbett. The day was got through in the usual way,

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 muster bell rang, and the gang broke up, Rufus

Dawes, on his silent way to his 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.

"I'm not to go in there?" says the exbank clerk, drawing back in dismay from the cloud of foul faces which

"By the Lord, but you are, then!" says Troke. "The Governor says a night in there'll take the starch out of ye.

"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 twentytwo, 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

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

"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

"What, Kirkland!" cried North, who was ignorant of the vengeance of the Commandant. "What do you do

But Kirkland could do nothing but cry, "Oh, Mr. North! For God's sake, Mr. North!" and beat on the bars

"Very sorry, your reverence; but your reverence knows that I daren't 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

North rushed away to the Commandant, and the instant his back was turned, Hailes, the watchman, flung

"Take that!" he cried, dealing Kirkland a blow on the head with his keys, that stretched him senseless.

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

"But, my good sir," protested North, restraining his impulse to overstep the bounds of modesty in his

language to his superior officer, "you know the character of the men in that ward. You can guess what that

"Impertinent young beggar!" said Burgess. "Do him good, curse him! Mr. North, I'm sorry you should have

North returned to the prison disconsolately, found the dutiful Hailes at his post, and all quiet.

"Fretted hisself to sleep, yer reverence," said Hailes, in accents of parental concern. "Poor young chap! It's

In the morning, Rufus Dawes, coming to his place on the chaingang, 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."

"Kill you," returned Dawes, in a tone of surprise at so preposterous a question.

"Now then, Miss Nancy," said one of the men, "what's the matter with you!" Kirkland shuddered, and his

"Silence!" cried Troke. "No. 44, 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?"

"Care! Man, do you believe in a God?" "No," said Dawes, "not here. Hold up, my lad. If you fall, we must

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 Gabbett stretched out an iron hand, and plucked

Something in the tone or manner of 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

"You young vermin you shall pay for this," cries Troke. "You'll see if you won't remember this day."

"Oh, Mr. North," says Kirkland, "why did you stop me? I'd better be dead than stay another night in that

"You'll get it, my lad," said Gabbett, when the runaway was brought back. "Your blessed hide'll feel for this,

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 exbank

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 Macklewain to be ready

"Troke pick out some likely man, will you? That last fellow you had ought to have been tied up himself.

"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 fiveandtwenty 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'll lay it on," he added. "He's one of the smartest

"YOU will find this a terrible place, Mr. Meekin," said North to his supplanter, as they walked across to the

"I thought it was a little paradise," said Meekin. "Captain Frere says that the scenery is delightful." "So it is,"

"Poor, abandoned wretches," says Meekin, "I suppose not. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon that bank!

"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

Mr. North sighed again. "You have not been long in the colony, Mr. Meekin. I doubt forgive me for

"An admirable one! A most admirable one!" said Meekin. "There were a few matters I noticed in Hobart

Town that did not quite please me the frequent use of profane language for instance but on the whole I

North pursed up his lips. "Yes, it is very complete," he said; "almost too complete. But I am always in a

"If you please," said Meekin gravely. He had heard from the Bishop that Mr. North was an illconditioned

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 neckcloths were of no consequence. The dinner went off successfully. Burgess

desirous, perhaps, of favourably impressing the chaplain whom the Bishop delighted to honour shut off

his blasphemy for a while, and was urbane enough. "You'll find us rough, Mr. Meekin," he said, "but you'll

"Like B ranger's?" asked Meekin, with a smile. Captain Burgess had never heard of B ranger, but he smiled

"Or like Sancho Panza'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

"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. Meekin

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

"Frere! I should say so!" returned Burgess, with a laugh, modelled upon Maurice Frere's own. "I was

"Miss Vickers, a charming young person. They are going to Sydney, where Captain Frere has some interest,

"Captain Frere takes a deep interest in all relating to convict discipline," went on Meekin, unheeding the

"Yes, one oughtn't to leave the colony without seeing it," says Burgess; "it's worth seeing."

"So Captain Frere 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 Meekin. "In fact, the ringleader, John Rex, gave me his confession,

"Well now!" said Meekin, with asperity, "I don't agree with you. Everybody seems to be against that poor

fellow Captain Frere 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

"Oh! there's no fear of him," said Burgess cheerily; "if he grows uproarious, we'll soon give him a touch of

"I suppose severity is necessary," returned Meekin; "though to my ears a flogging sounds a little distasteful. It

"It's a punishment for brutes," said Burgess, and laughed, pleased with the nearest approach to an epigram he

Here attention was called by the strange behaviour of Mr. North. He had risen, and, without apology, flung

wide the window, as though he gasped for air. "Hullo, North! what's the matter?"

"Nothing," said North, recovering himself with an effort. "A spasm. I have these attacks at times." "Have

"No, no, it will pass. No, I say. Well, if you insist." And seizing the tumbler offered to him, he halffilled it

The Reverend Meekin eyed his clerical brother with horror. The Reverend Meekin was not accustomed to

clergymen who wore black neckties, smoked clay pipes, chewed tobacco, and drank neat brandy out of

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

By and by, a short figure, smoking a cheroot, came up out of the dark, and proved to be Dr. Macklewain, who

had been prevented from attending the dinner by reason of an accident to a constable at Norfolk Bay, which

"Confound it another of my best men," grumbled Burgess. "Macklewain, have a glass of wine." But

"I must also be thinking of repose," said Meekin; "the journey though most enjoyable has fatigued

"No? Then I shall send round for you in the morning, Mr. Meekin. Good night. Macklewain, I want to speak

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, Macklewain rejoined them. "Another

"That young butlerfellow of his." "What, Kirkland?" cried North. "You don't mean to say he's going to flog

"Oh, this must be stopped," cried North, in great alarm. "He can't stand it. I tell you, he'll die, Macklewain."

"Perhaps you'll have the goodness to allow me to be the best judge of that," returned Macklewain, drawing up

"My dear sir," replied North, alive to the importance of conciliating the surgeon, "you haven't seen him lately.

Mr. Meekin expressed some alarm; but Dr. Macklewain 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

"Well, he'll be put into the hospital for a week or so tomorrow," said Macklewain, "and that'll give him a

"If Burgess flogs him I'll report it to the Governor," cries North, in great heat. "The condition of those

"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 Macklewain. "We can't flog a whole dormitory on suspicion. I can't help

"I'll go back and see Burgess," said North. "Mr. Meekin, here's the gate, and your room is on the right hand.

"Pray, don't hurry," said Meekin politely. "You are on an errand of mercy, you know. Everything must give

"Yes, yes. Call the servant if you want anything. He sleeps at the back," and North hurried off.

"An impulsive gentleman," said Meekin to Macklewain, as the sound of Mr. North's footsteps died away in

"There is something wrong about him, but I can't make out what it is. He has the strangest fits at times.

"Cancer in the stomach! dear me, how dreadful!" says Meekin. "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

"And let us hope poor Mr. North will succeed in his labour of love," said Meekin, shutting the little gate, "and

"I have come to beg you not to do so, sir. The lad has been cruelly punished already. He attempted suicide

"Well, that's just what I'm flogging him for. I'll teach my prisoners to attempt suicide!"

"Captain Burgess," protested North, "I assure you that he does not deserve punishment. I have seen him, and

"Look here, Mr. North, I don't interfere with what you do to the prisoner's souls; don't you interfere with what

"Captain Burgess, you have no right to mock at my office." "Then don't you interfere with me, sir."

"Then, Captain Burgess," cried North, his pale face flushing, "I tell you the boy's blood will be on your head.

"Damn your impertinence, 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

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 insult 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

The two men looked at each other, and presently Burgess's eyes fell before those of the chaplain.

"Miserable blasphemer," says North, "I tell you that you shall not flog the boy."

"Show Mr. North out," he said, "and go down to the Barracks, and tell Troke that Kirkland is to have a

"The Government may go to , and you, too!" roared Burgess. "Get out!" And God's viceregent at Port

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

let into this den of horrors." He reached his cottage, and lighted the lamp in the little sittingroom. All was

silent, save that from the adjoining chamber came the sound of Meekin's gentlemanly snore. North took down

a book from the shelf and tried to read, but the letters ran together. "I wish I hadn't taken that brandy," he

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. O, 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 teaspoonful of this in a pannikin of water and drank it. It relieved him for a while.

"I must keep my wits for tomorrow. The life of that lad depends upon it. Meekin, too, will suspect. I will lie

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

clocktickings. 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 teaspoonful," he said, "to allay the craving."

Twice he paused on the way to the sittingroom, 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

He had no cancer. His disease was a more terrible one. The Reverend James North gentleman, scholar,

THE morning sun, bright and fierce, looked down upon a curious sight. In a stoneyard was a little group of

Three wooden staves, seven feet high, were fastened together in the form of a triangle. The structure looked

not unlike that made by gipsies 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

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.

"Pick up the cat, sir!" said Burgess, astonished; "what is the meaning of this?" Rufus Dawes picked up the

"Go on, Dawes," whispered Kirkland, without turning his head. "You are no more than another man."

"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

Rufus Dawes lifted the cat, swung it round his head, and brought its knotted cords down upon the white back.

The white back was instantly striped with six crimson bars. Kirkland stifled a cry. It seemed to him that he

"Now then, you scoundrel!" roared Burgess; "separate your cats! What do you mean by flogging a man that

Rufus Dawes drew his crooked fingers through the entangled cords, and struck again. This time the blow was

The boy did not cry; but Macklewain saw his hands clutch the staves tightly, and the muscles of his naked

The third blow sounded as though it had been struck upon a piece of raw beef, and the crimson turned purple.

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.

The lad's back, swollen into a lump, now presented the appearance of a ripe peach which a wilful child had

scored with a pin. Dawes, turning away from his bloody handiwork, drew the cats through his fingers twice.

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 dressingtable, 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 lookingglass, 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 sittingroom, he saw that the

clock pointed to halfpast six. The flogging was to have taken place at halfpast five. Unless accident had

favoured him he was already too late. Fevered with remorse and anxiety, he hurried past the room where

Meekin yet slumbered, and made his way to the prison. As he entered the yard, Troke called "Ten!" Kirkland

"You're rather late, Mr. North," retorted Burgess. "The punishment is nearly over." "Wonn!" cried Troke

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 newkilled bullock. Suddenly, Macklewain saw his

head droop on his shoulder. "Throw him off! Throw him off!" he cried, and Troke hurried to loosen the

A bucket of water made Kirkland open his eyes. "I thought so," said Burgess. "Tie him up again."

He met with an ally where he least expected one. Rufus Dawes flung down the dripping cat. "I'll flog no

"Tie him up!" cried 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 the top of 'em; and he shall look on while his back cools."

Rufus Dawes, 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 seamed. He had been

flogged before. Troke 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

Rufus Dawes planted his feet firmly on the ground, took fierce grasp on the staves, and drew in his breath.

Macklewain 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

Dawes took fiveandtwenty 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 selfreproach, "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

"I'll make you speak, you dog, if I cut your heart out!" he cried. "Go on, prisoner."

For twenty lashes more Dawes was mute, and then the agony forced from his labouring 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 beastlike rage. He seemed to have abandoned

his humanity. He foamed, he raved, he tugged at his bonds until the strong staves shook again; he writhed

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 fain 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.

"Hullo!" says Troke, running to the heap of clothes, "the young 'un's slipped his wind!"

"Throw him off!" says Burgess, aghast at the unfortunate accident; and Gabbett reluctantly untied the thongs

that bound Rufus Dawes. 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

"Game, ain't he?" said one constable to the other, as they pushed him, not ungently, into an empty cell, there

to wait for the hospital guard. The body of Kirkland was taken away in silence, and Burgess turned rather

"It isn't my fault, Mr. North," he said. "I didn't know that the lad was chickenhearted." But North turned

away in disgust, and Macklewain and Burgess pursued their homeward route together.

"Come in and have a nip, Macklewain. 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 Dawes."

"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 and whines religion to him."

North stood in the centre 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 whine 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

Rufus Dawes, 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 this erring brother. "Then in this hell there is yet a

man," said he; and a handgrasp passed between these two unhappy beings. North arose, and, with averted

face, passed quickly from the cell. Rufus Dawes 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.

THE morning after this, the Rev. Mr. North departed in the schooner for Hobart Town. Between the officious

chaplain and the Commandant the events of the previous day had fixed a great gulf. Burgess knew that North

meant to report the death of Kirkland, and guessed that he would not be backward in relating the story to such

persons in Hobart Town as would most readily repeat it. "Blank awkward the fellow's dying," he confessed to

himself. "If he hadn't died, nobody would have bothered about him." A sinister truth. North, on the other

hand, comforted himself with the belief that the fact of the convict's death under the lash would cause

indignation and subsequent inquiry. "The truth must come out if they only ask," thought he. Selfdeceiving

North! Four years a Government chaplain, and not yet attained to a knowledge of a Government's method of

"asking" about such matters! Kirkland's mangled flesh would have fed the worms before the ink on the last

Burgess, however, touched with selfish regrets, determined to baulk the parson at the outset. He would send

down an official "return" of the unfortunate occurrence by the same vessel that carried his enemy, and thus

get the ear of the Office. Meekin, walking on the evening of the flogging past the wooden shed where the

body lay, saw Troke bearing buckets filled with darkcoloured water, and heard a great splashing and

"Doctor's bin postmorticing the prisoner what was flogged this morning, sir," said Troke, "and we're cleanin'

Meekin sickened, and walked on. He had heard that unhappy Kirkland possessed unknown disease of the

heart, and had unhappily died before receiving his allotted punishment. His duty was to comfort Kirkland's

soul; he had nothing to do with Kirkland's slovenly unhandsome body, and so he went for a walk on the pier,

that the breeze might blow his momentary sickness away from him. On the pier he saw North talking to

Father Flaherty, the Roman Catholic chaplain. Meekin had been taught to look upon a priest as a shepherd

might look upon a wolf, and passed with a distant bow. The pair were apparently talking on the occurrence of

the morning, for he heard Father Flaherty say, with a shrug of his round shoulders, "He woas not one of moi

people, Mr. North, and the Govermint would not suffer me to interfere with matters relating to Prhotestint

prisoners." "The wretched creature was a Protestant," thought Meekin. "At least then his immortal soul was

not endangered by belief in the damnable heresies of the Church of Rome." So he passed on, giving

goodhumoured Denis Flaherty, the son of the buttermerchant of Kildrum, a wide berth and searoom, lest

he should pounce down upon him unawares, and with Jesuitical argument and silken softness of speech,

convert him by force to his own state of error as was the wellknown custom of those intellectual

gladiators, the Priests of the Catholic Faith. North, on his side, left Flaherty with regret. He had spent many a

pleasant hour with him, and knew him for a narrowminded, conscientious, yet laughterloving creature,

whose God was neither his belly nor his breviary, but sometimes in one place and sometimes in the other,

according to the hour of the day, and the fasts appointed for due mortification of the flesh. "A man who

would do Christian work in a jogtrot parish, or where men lived too easily to sin harshly, but utterly unfit to

cope with Satan, as the British Government had transported him," was North's sadly satirical reflection upon

Father Flaherty, as Port Arthur faded into indistinct beauty behind the swiftsailing schooner. "God help

He was right. North, the drunkard and selftormented, had a power for good, of which Meekin and the other

knew nothing. Not merely were the men incompetent and selfindulgent, but they understood nothing of that

frightful capacity for agony which is deep in the soul of every evildoer. They might strike the rock as they

chose with sharpestpointed machinemade pick of warranted Gospel manufacture, stamped with the

approval of eminent divines of all ages, but the water of repentance and remorse would not gush for them.

They possessed not the frail rod which alone was powerful to charm. They had no sympathy, no knowledge,

no experience. He who would touch the hearts of men must have had his own heart seared. The missionaries

of mankind have ever been great sinners before they earned the divine right to heal and bless. Their weakness

was made their strength, and out of their own agony of repentance came the knowledge which made them

masters and saviours of their kind. It was the agony of the Garden and the Cross that gave to the world's

Preacher His kingdom in the hearts of men. The crown of divinity is a crown of thorns.

North, on his arrival, went straight to the house of Major Vickers. "I have a complaint to make, sir," he said.

"I wish to lodge it formally with you. A prisoner has been flogged to death at Port Arthur. I saw it done."

Vickers bent his brow. "A serious accusation, Mr. North. I must, of course, receive it with respect, coming

from you, but I trust that you have fully considered the circumstances of the case. I always understood

North shook his head. He would not accuse Burgess. He would let the events speak for themselves. "I only

"Yes, my dear sir, I know. Very proper indeed on your part, if you think any injustice has been done; but

have you considered the expense, the delay, the immense trouble and dissatisfaction all this will give?"

"No trouble, no expense, no dissatisfaction, should stand in the way of humanity and justice," cried North.

"Of course not. But will justice be done? Are you sure you can prove your case? Mind, I admit nothing

against Captain Burgess, whom I have always considered a most worthy and zealous officer; but, supposing

"Who are they?" "Myself, Dr. Macklewain, the constable, and two prisoners, one of whom was flogged

himself. He will speak the truth, I believe. The other man I have not much faith in."

"Very well; then there is only a prisoner and Dr. Macklewain; for if there has been foul play the

convictconstable will not accuse the authorities. Moreover, the doctor does not agree with you."

"No. You see, then, my dear sir, how necessary it is not to be hasty in matters of this kind. I really think

pardon me for my plainness that your goodness of heart has misled you. Captain Burgess sends a report of

the case. He says the man was sentenced to a hundred lashes for gross insolence and disobedience of orders,

that the doctor was present during the punishment, and that the man was thrown off by his directions after he

had received fiftysix lashes. That, after a short interval, he was found to be dead, and that the doctor made a

"Here is the medical certificate," said Vickers, holding it out, "accompanied by the copies of the evidence of

Poor North took the papers and read them slowly. They were apparently straightforward enough. Aneurism of

the ascending aorta was given as the cause of death; and the doctor frankly admitted that had he known the

deceased to be suffering from that complaint he would not have permitted him to receive more than

twentyfive lashes. "I think Macklewain is an honest man," said North, doubtfully. "He would not dare to

return a false certificate. Yet the circumstances of the case the horrible condition of the prisoners the

"I cannot enter into these questions, Mr. North. My position here is to administer the law to the best of my

North bowed his head to the reproof. In some sort of justly unjust way, he felt that he deserved it. "I can say

no more, sir. I am afraid I am helpless in this matter as I have been in others. I see that the evidence is

against me; but it is my duty to carry my efforts as far as I can, and I will do so." Vickers bowed stiffly and

wished him good morning. Authority, however wellmeaning in private life, has in its official capacity a

natural dislike to those dissatisfied persons who persist in pushing inquiries to extremities.

North, going out with saddened spirits, met in the passage a beautiful young girl. It was Sylvia, coming to

visit her father. He lifted his hat and looked after her. He guessed that she was the daughter of the man he had

left the wife of the Captain Frere concerning whom he had heard so much. North was a man whose

morbidly excited brain was prone to strange fancies; and it seemed to him that beneath the clear blue eyes

that flashed upon him for a moment, lay a hint of future sadness, in which, in some strange way, he himself

was to bear part. He stared after her figure until it disappeared; and long after the dainty presence of the

young bride trimly booted, tightwaisted, and neatlygloved had faded, with all its sunshine of gaiety

and health, from out of his mental vision, he still saw those blue eyes and that cloud of golden hair.

SYLVIA had become the wife of Maurice Frere. The wedding created excitement in the convict settlement,

for Maurice Frere, though oppressed by the secret shame at open matrimony which affects men of his

character, could not in decency seeing how "good a thing for him" was this wealthy alliance demand

unceremonious nuptials. So, after the fashion of the town there being no "continent" or "Scotland"

adjacent as a hiding place for bridal blushes the alliance was entered into with due pomp of ball and

supper; bride and bridegroom departing through the golden afternoon to the nearest of Major Vickers's

stations. Thence it had been arranged they should return after a fortnight, and take ship for Sydney.

Major Vickers, affectionate though he was to the man whom he believed to be the saviour of his child, had no

notion of allowing him to live on Sylvia's fortune. He had settled his daughter's portion ten thousand

pounds upon herself and children, and had informed Frere that he expected him to live upon an income of

his own earning. After many consultations between the pair, it had been arranged that a civil appointment in

Sydney would best suit the bridegroom, who was to sell out of the service. This notion was Frere's own. He

never cared for military duty, and had, moreover, private debts to no inconsiderable amount. By selling his

commission he would be enabled at once to pay these debts, and render himself eligible for any wellpaid

post under the Colonial Government that the interest of his fatherinlaw, and his own reputation as a

convict disciplinarian, might procure. Vickers would fain have kept his daughter with him, but he unselfishly

acquiesced in the scheme, admitting that Frere's plea as to the comforts she would derive from the society to

"You can come over and see us when we get settled, papa," said Sylvia, with a young matron's pride of place,

"and we can come and see you. Hobart Town is very pretty, but I want to see the world."

"You should go to London, Poppet," said Maurice, "that's the place. Isn't it, sir?"

"Oh, London!" cries Sylvia, clapping her hands. "And Westminster Abbey, and the Tower, and St. James's

Palace, and Hyde Park, and Fleetstreet!" "'Sir,' said Dr. Johnson, 'let us take a walk down Fleetstreet.' Do

you remember, in Mr. Croker's book, Maurice? No, you don't I know, because you only looked at the

pictures, and then read Pierce Egan's account of the Topping Fight between Bob Gaynor and Ned Neal, or

"Little girls should be seen and not heard," said Maurice, between a laugh and a blush. "You have no business

"Why not?" she asked, with a gaiety which already seemed a little strained; "husband and wife should have

no secrets from each other, sir. Besides, I want you to read my books. I am going to read Shelley to you."

This little scene took place at the dinnertable of Frere's cottage, in New Town, to which Major Vickers had

"I don't want to go to Port Arthur," said the bride, later in the evening. "Maurice, there can be no necessity to

"Well," said Maurice. "I want to have a look at the place. I ought to be familiar with all phases of convict

"There is likely to be a report ordered upon the death of a prisoner," said Vickers. "The chaplain, a fussy but

wellmeaning person, has been memorializing about it. You may as well do it as anybody else, Maurice."

"The most delightful place in the island, my dear. I was there for a few days once, and I really was charmed."

It was remarkable so Vickers thought how each of these newlymated ones had caught something of

the other's manner of speech. Sylvia was less choice in her mode of utterance; Frere more so. He caught

"But those dogs, and sharks, and things. Oh, Maurice, haven't we had enough of convicts?"

"Enough! Why, I'm going to make my living out of 'em," said Maurice, with his most natural manner.

"Play something, darling," said her father; and so the girl, sitting down to the piano, trilled and warbled in her

pure young voice, until the Port Arthur question floated itself away upon waves of melody, and was heard of

no more for that time. But upon pursuing the subject, Sylvia found her husband firm. He wanted to go, and he

would go. Having once assured himself that it was advantageous to him to do a certain thing, the native

obstinacy of the animal urged him to do it despite all opposition from others, and Sylvia, having had her first

"cry" over the question of the visit, gave up the point. This was the first difference of their short married life,

and she hastened to condone it. In the sunshine of Love and Marriage for Maurice at first really loved her;

and love, curbing the worst part of him, brought to him, as it brings to all of us, that gentleness and

abnegation of self which is the only token and assurance of a love aught but animal Sylvia's fears and

doubts melted away, as the mists melt in the beams of morning. A young girl, with passionate fancy, with

honest and noble aspiration, but with the dark shadow of her early mental sickness brooding upon her

childlike nature, Marriage made her a woman, by developing in her a woman's trust and pride in the man to

whom she had voluntarily given herself. Yet byandby out of this sentiment arose a new and strange source

of anxiety. Having accepted her position as a wife, and put away from her all doubts as to her own capacity

for loving the man to whom she had allied herself, she began to be haunted by a dread lest he might do

something which would lessen the affection she bore him. On one or two occasions she had been forced to

confess that her husband was more of an egotist than she cared to think. He demanded of her no great

sacrifices had he done so she would have found, in making them, the pleasure that women of her nature

always find in such selfmortification but he now and then intruded on her that disregard for the feeling

of others which was part of his character. He was fond of her almost too passionately fond, for her staider

liking but he was unused to thwart his own will in anything, least of all in those seeming trifles, for the

consideration of which true selfishness bethinks itself. Did she want to read when he wanted to walk, he

goodhumouredly put aside her book, with an assumption that a walk with him must, of necessity, be the

most pleasing thing in the world. Did she want to walk when he wanted to rest, he laughingly set up his

laziness as an allsufficient plea for her remaining within doors. He was at no pains to conceal his weariness

when she read her favourite books to him. If he felt sleepy when she sang or played, he slept without apology.

If she talked about a subject in which he took no interest, he turned the conversation remorselessly. He would

not have wittingly offended her, but it seemed to him natural to yawn when he was weary, to sleep when he

was fatigued, and to talk only about those subjects which interested him. Had anybody told him that he was

selfish, he would have been astonished. Thus it came about that Sylvia one day discovered that she led two

lives one in the body, and one in the spirit and that with her spiritual existence her husband had no

share. This discovery alarmed her, but then she smiled at it. "As if Maurice could be expected to take interest

in all my silly fancies," said she; and, despite a harassing thought that these same fancies were not foolish, but

were the best and brightest portion of her, she succeeded in overcoming her uneasiness. "A man's thoughts

are different from a woman's," she said; "he has his business and his worldly cares, of which a woman knows

As for Maurice, he grew sometimes rather troubled in his mind. He could not understand his wife. Her nature

was an enigma to him; her mind was a puzzle which would not be pieced together with the rectangular

correctness of ordinary life. He had known her from a child, had loved her from a child, and had committed a

mean and cruel crime to obtain her; but having got her, he was no nearer to the mystery of her than before.

She was all his own, he thought. Her golden hair was for his fingers, her lips were for his caress, her eyes

looked love upon him alone. Yet there were times when her lips were cold to his kisses, and her eyes looked

disdainfully upon his coarser passion. He would catch her musing when he spoke to her, much as she would

catch him sleeping when she read to him but she awoke with a start and a blush at her forgetfulness,

which he never did. He was not a man to brood over these things; and, after some reflective pipes and

ineffectual rubbings of his head, he "gave it up". How was it possible, indeed, for him to solve the mental

enigma when the woman herself was to him a physical riddle? It was extraordinary that the child he had seen

growing up by his side day by day should be a young woman with little secrets, now to be revealed to him for

the first time. He found that she had a mole on her neck, and remembered that he had noticed it when she was

a child. Then it was a thing of no moment, now it was a marvellous discovery. He was in daily wonderment

at the treasure he had obtained. He marvelled at her feminine devices of dress and adornment. Her dainty

The fact was that the patron of Sarah Purfoy had not met with many virtuous women, and had but just

THE hospital of Port Arthur was not a cheerful place, but to the tortured and unnerved Rufus Dawes it

seemed a paradise. There at least despite the roughness and contempt with which his gaolers ministered to

him he felt that he was considered. There at least he was free from the enforced companionship of the

men whom he loathed, and to whose level he felt, with mental agony unspeakable, that he was daily sinking.

Throughout his long term of degradation he had, as yet, aided by the memory of his sacrifice and his love,

preserved something of his selfrespect, but he felt that he could not preserve it long. Little by little he had

come to regard himself as one out of the pale of love and mercy, as one tormented of fortune, plunged into a

deep into which the eye of Heaven did not penetrate. Since his capture in the garden of Hobart Town, he had

given loose rein to his rage and his despair. "I am forgotten or despised; I have no name in the world; what

matter if I become like one of these?" It was under the influence of this feeling that he had picked up the cat

at the command of Captain Burgess. As the unhappy Kirkland had said, "As well you as another"; and truly,

what was he that he should cherish sentiments of honour or humanity? But he had miscalculated his own

capacity for evil. As he flogged, he blushed; and when he flung down the cat and stripped his own back for

punishment, he felt a fierce joy in the thought that his baseness would be atoned for in his own blood. Even

when, unnerved and faint from the hideous ordeal, he flung himself upon his knees in the cell, he regretted

only the impotent ravings that the torture had forced from him. He could have bitten out his tongue for his

blasphemous utterings not because they were blasphemous, but because their utterance, by revealing his

agony, gave their triumph to his tormentors. When North found him, he was in the very depth of this

abasement, and he repulsed his comforter not so much because he had seen him flogged, as because he

had heard him cry. The selfreliance and force of will which had hitherto sustained him through his

selfimposed trial had failed him he felt at the moment when he needed it most; and the man who had

with unflinched front faced the gallows, the desert, and the sea, confessed his debased humanity beneath the

physical torture of the lash. He had been flogged before, and had wept in secret at his degradation, but he now

for the first time comprehended how terrible that degradation might be made, for he realized how the agony

of the wretched body can force the soul to quit its last poor refuge of assumed indifference, and confess itself

Not many months before, one of the companions of the chain, suffering under Burgess's tender mercies, had

killed his mate when at work with him, and, carrying the body on his back to the nearest gang, had

surrendered himself going to his death thanking God he had at last found a way of escape from his

miseries, which no one would envy him save his comrades. The heart of Dawes had been filled with

horror at a deed so bloody, and he had, with others, commented on the cowardice of the man that would thus

shirk the responsibility of that state of life in which it had pleased man and the devil to place him. Now he

understood how and why the crime had been committed, and felt only pity. Lying awake with back that

burned beneath its lotioned rags, when lights were low, in the breathful silence of the hospital, he registered

in his heart a terrible oath that he would die ere he would again be made such hideous sport for his enemies.

In this frame of mind, with such shreds of honour and worth as had formerly clung to him blown away in the

whirlwind of his passion, he bethought him of the strange man who had deigned to clasp his hand and call

him "brother". He had wept no unmanly tears at this sudden flow of tenderness in one whom he had thought

as callous as the rest. He had been touched with wondrous sympathy at the confession of weakness made to

him, in a moment when his own weakness had overcome him to his shame. Soothed by the brief rest that his

fortnight of hospital seclusion had afforded him, he had begun, in a languid and speculative way, to turn his

thoughts to religion. He had read of martyrs who had borne agonies unspeakable, upheld by their confidence

in Heaven and God. In his old wild youth he had scoffed at prayers and priests; in the hate to his kind that had

grown upon him with his later years he had despised a creed that told men to love one another. "God is love,

my brethren," said the chaplain on Sundays, and all the week the thongs of the overseer cracked, and the cat

hissed and swung. Of what practical value was a piety that preached but did not practise? It was admirable for

the "religious instructor" to tell a prisoner that he must not give way to evil passions, but must bear his

punishment with meekness. It was only right that he should advise him to "put his trust in God". But as a

hardened prisoner, convicted of getting drunk in an unlicensed house of entertainment, had said, "God's

Rufus Dawes had smiled at the spectacle of priests admonishing men, who knew what he knew and had seen

what he had seen, for the trivialities of lying and stealing. He had believed all priests impostors or fools, all

religion a mockery and a lie. But now, finding how utterly his own strength had failed him when tried by the

rude test of physical pain, he began to think that this Religion which was talked of so largely was not a mere

bundle of legend and formulae, but must have in it something vital and sustaining. Broken in spirit and

weakened in body, with faith in his own will shaken, he longed for something to lean upon, and turned as

all men turn when in such case to the Unknown. Had now there been at hand some Christian priest, some

Christianspirited man even, no matter of what faith, to pour into the ears of this poor wretch words of

comfort and grace; to rend away from him the garment of sullenness and despair in which he had wrapped

himself; to drag from him a confession of his unworthiness, his obstinacy, and his hasty judgment, and to

cheer his fainting soul with promise of immortality and justice, he might have been saved from his after fate;

but there was no such man. He asked for the chaplain. North was fighting the Convict Department, seeking

vengeance for Kirkland, and (victim of "clerks with the cold spurt of the pen") was pushed hither and thither,

referred here, snubbed there, bowed out in another place. Rufus Dawes, half ashamed of himself for his

request, waited a long morning, and then saw, respectfully ushered into his cell as his soul's physician

"I asked for the chaplain," said Rufus Dawes, his anger with himself growing apace. "I am the chaplain,"

returned Meekin, with dignity, as who should say "none of your brandydrinking, peajacketed Norths,

"Mr. North has left, sir," said Meekin, dryly, "but I will hear what you have to say. There is no occasion to

Rufus Dawes shifted himself on the wooden bench, and resting his scarcelyhealed back against the wall,

smiled bitterly. "Don't be afraid, sir; I am not going to harm you," he said. "I only wanted to talk a little."

"Do you read your Bible, Dawes?" asked Meekin, by way of reply. "It would be better to read your Bible than

"But is your mind softened by its teachings? Do you realize the Infinite Mercy of God, Who has compassion,

Dawes, upon the greatest sinners?" The convict made a move of impatience. The old, sickening, barren cant

of piety was to be recommenced then. He came asking for bread, and they gave him the usual stone.

"Because I think sometimes that if there is, He must often be dissatisfied at the way things are done here,"

"I can listen to no mutinous observations, prisoner," said Meekin. "Do not add blasphemy to your other

crimes. I fear that all conversation with you, in your present frame of mind, would be worse than useless. I

will mark a few passages in your Bible, that seem to me appropriate to your condition, and beg you to

Rufus Dawes felt his heart grow sick. North had gone, then. The only man who had seemed to have a heart in

his bosom had gone. The only man who had dared to clasp his horny and bloodstained hand, and call him

"brother", had gone. Turning his head, he saw through the window wide open and unbarred, for Nature, at

Port Arthur, had no need of bars the lovely bay, smooth as glass, glittering in the afternoon sun, the long

quay, spotted with groups of particoloured chaingangs, and heard, mingling with the soft murmur of the

waves, and the gentle rustling of the trees, the neverceasing clashing of irons, and the eternal click of

hammer. Was he to be for ever buried in this whitened sepulchre, shut out from the face of Heaven and

The appearance of Hailes broke his reverie. "Here's a book for you," said he, with a grin. "Parson sent it."

Rufus Dawes took the Bible, and, placing it on his knees, turned to the places indicated by slips of paper,

"Parson says he'll come and hear you tomorrer, and you're to keep the book clean."

"Keep the book clean!" and "hear him!" Did Meekin think that he was a charity school boy? The utter

incapacity of the chaplain to understand his wants was so sublime that it was nearly ridiculous enough to

make him laugh. He turned his eyes downwards to the texts. Good Meekin, in the fullness of his stupidity,

had selected the fiercest denunciations of bard and priest. The most notable of the Psalmist's curses upon his

enemies, the most furious of Isaiah's ravings anent the forgetfulness of the national worship, the most terrible

thunderings of apostle and evangelist against idolatry and unbelief, were grouped together and presented to

Dawes to soothe him. All the material horrors of Meekin's faith stripped, by force of dissociation from the

context, of all poetic feeling and local colouring were launched at the suffering sinner by Meekin's

ignorant hand. The miserable man, seeking for consolation and peace, turned over the leaves of the Bible

only to find himself threatened with "the pains of Hell", "the neverdying worm", "the unquenchable fire",

"the bubbling brimstone", the "bottomless pit", from out of which the "smoke of his torment" should ascend

for ever and ever. Before his eyes was held no image of a tender Saviour (with hands soft to soothe, and eyes

brimming with ineffable pity) dying crucified that he and other malefactors might have hope, by thinking on

such marvellous humanity. The worthy Pharisee who was sent to him to teach him how mankind is to be

redeemed with Love, preached only that harsh Law whose barbarous power died with the gentle Nazarene on

Repelled by this unlookedfor ending to his hopes, he let the book fall to the ground. "Is there, then, nothing

but torment for me in this world or the next?" he groaned, shuddering. Presently his eyes sought his right

hand, resting upon it as though it were not his own, or had some secret virtue which made it different from

the other. "He would not have done this? He would not have thrust upon me these savage judgments, these

dreadful threats of Hell and Death. He called me 'Brother'!" And filled with a strange wild pity for himself,

and yearning love towards the man who befriended him, he fell to nursing the hand on which North's tears

"Have you learned these texts, my man?" said he, cheerfully, willing not to be angered with his uncouth and

Rufus Dawes pointed with his foot to the Bible, which still lay on the floor as he had left it the night before.

"I would learn no such words as those. I would rather forget them." "Forget them! My good man, I "

Rufus Dawes sprang up in sudden wrath, and pointing to his cell door with a gesture that chained and

degraded as he was had something of dignity in it, cried, "What do you know about the feelings of such as

I? Take your book and yourself away. When I asked for a priest, I had no thought of you. Begone!"

Meekin, despite the halo of sanctity which he felt should surround him, found his gentility melt all of a

sudden. Adventitious distinctions had disappeared for the instant. The pair had become simply man and man,

and the sleek priestmaster quailing before the outraged manhood of the convictpenitent, picked up his

"That man Dawes is very insolent," said the insulted chaplain to Burgess. "He was brutal to me today

"Was he?" said Burgess. "Had too long a spell, I expect. I'll send him back to work tomorrow."

THE "employment" at Port Arthur consisted chiefly of agriculture, shipbuilding, and tanning. Dawes, who

was in the chaingang, was put to chaingang labour; that is to say, bringing down logs from the forest, or

"lumbering" timber on the wharf. This work was not light. An ingenious calculator had discovered that the

pressure of the log upon the shoulder was wont to average 125 lbs. Members of the chaingang were dressed

in yellow, and by way of encouraging the others had the word "Felon" stamped upon conspicuous

This was the sort of life Rufus Dawes led. In the summertime he rose at halfpast five in the morning, and

worked until six in the evening, getting threequarters of an hour for breakfast, and one hour for dinner. Once

a week he had a clean shirt, and once a fortnight clean socks. If he felt sick, he was permitted to "report his

case to the medical officer". If he wanted to write a letter he could ask permission of the Commandant, and

send the letter, open, through that Almighty Officer, who could stop it if he thought necessary. If he felt

himself aggrieved by any order, he was "to obey it instantly, but might complain afterwards, if he thought fit,

to the Commandant". In making any complaint against an officer or constable it was strictly ordered that a

prisoner "must be most respectful in his manner and language, when speaking of or to such officer or

constable". He was held responsible only for the safety of his chains, and for the rest was at the mercy of his

gaoler. These gaolers owning right of search, entry into cells at all hours, and other droits of seigneury

were responsible only to the Commandant, who was responsible only to the Governor, that is to say, to

nobody but God and his own conscience. The jurisdiction of the Commandant included the whole of

Tasman's Peninsula, with the islands and waters within three miles thereof; and save the making of certain

A word as to the position and appearance of this place of punishment. Tasman's Peninsula is, as we have said

before, in the form of an earring with a double drop. The lower drop is the larger, and is ornamented, so to

speak, with bays. At its southern extremity is a deep indentation called Maingon Bay, bounded east and west

by the organpipe rocks of Cape Raoul, and the giant form of Cape Pillar. From Maingon Bay an arm of the

ocean cleaves the rocky walls in a northerly direction. On the western coast of this seaarm was the

settlement; in front of it was a little island where the dead were buried, called The Island of the Dead. Ere the

incoming convict passed the purple beauty of this convict Golgotha, his eyes were attracted by a point of

grey rock covered with white buildings, and swarming with life. This was Point Puer, the place of

confinement for boys from eight to twenty years of age. It was astonishing many honest folks averred

how ungrateful were these juvenile convicts for the goods the Government had provided for them. From the

extremity of Long Bay, as the extension of the seaarm was named, a convictmade tramroad ran due north,

through the nearly impenetrable thicket to Norfolk Bay. In the mouth of Norfolk Bay was Woody Island. This

was used as a signal station, and an armed boat's crew was stationed there. To the north of Woody Island lay

Onetree Point the southernmost projection of the drop of the earring; and the sea that ran between

narrowed to the eastward until it struck on the sandy bar of Eaglehawk Neck. Eaglehawk Neck was the link

that connected the two drops of the earring. It was a strip of sand four hundred and fifty yards across. On its

eastern side the blue waters of Pirates' Bay, that is to say, of the Southern Ocean, poured their unchecked

force. The isthmus emerged from a wild and terrible coastline, into whose bowels the ravenous sea had

bored strange caverns, resonant with perpetual roar of tortured billows. At one spot in this wilderness the

ocean had penetrated the wall of rock for two hundred feet, and in stormy weather the salt spray rose through

a perpendicular shaft more than five hundred feet deep. This place was called the Devil's Blowhole. The

upper drop of the earring was named Forrestier's Peninsula, and was joined to the mainland by another

isthmus called East Bay Neck. Forrestier's Peninsula was an almost impenetrable thicket, growing to the

Eaglehawk Neck was the door to the prison, and it was kept bolted. On the narrow strip of land was built a

guardhouse, where soldiers from the barrack on the mainland relieved each other night and day; and on

stages, set out in the water in either side, watchdogs were chained. The station officer was charged "to pay

special attention to the feeding and care" of these useful beasts, being ordered "to report to the Commandant

whenever any one of them became useless". It may be added that the bay was not innocent of sharks.

Westward from Eaglehawk Neck and Woody Island lay the dreaded Coal Mines. Sixty of the "marked men"

were stationed here under a strong guard. At the Coal Mines was the northernmost of that ingenious series of

semaphores which rendered escape almost impossible. The wild and mountainous character of the peninsula

offered peculiar advantages to the signalmen. On the summit of the hill which overlooked the guardtowers

of the settlement was a gigantic gumtree stump, upon the top of which was placed a semaphore. This

semaphore communicated with the two wings of the prison Eaglehawk Neck and the Coal Mines by

sending a line of signals right across the peninsula. Thus, the settlement communicated with Mount Arthur,

Mount Arthur with Onetree Hill, Onetree Hill with Mount Communication, and Mount Communication

with the Coal Mines. On the other side, the signals would run thus the settlement to Signal Hill, Signal

Hill to Woody Island, Woody Island to Eaglehawk. Did a prisoner escape from the Coal Mines, the guard at

Eaglehawk Neck could be aroused, and the whole island informed of the "bolt" in less than twenty minutes.

With these advantages of nature and art, the prison was held to be the most secure in the world. Colonel

Arthur reported to the Home Government that the spot which bore his name was a "natural penitentiary". The

worthy disciplinarian probably took as a personal compliment the polite forethought of the Almighty in thus

considerately providing for the carrying out of the celebrated "Regulations for Convict Discipline".

ONE afternoon everactive semaphores transmitted a piece of intelligence which set the peninsula agog.

Captain Frere, having arrived from headquarters, with orders to hold an inquiry into the death of Kirkland,

was not unlikely to make a progress through the stations, and it behoved the keepers of the Natural

Penitentiary to produce their Penitents in good case. Burgess was in high spirits at finding so congenial a soul

"It's only a nominal thing, old man," Frere said to his former comrade, when they met. "That parson has made

"I am glad to have the opportunity of showing you and Mrs. Frere the place," returned Burgess. "I must try

and make your stay as pleasant as I can, though I'm afraid that Mrs. Frere will not find much to amuse her."

"Frankly, Captain Burgess," said Sylvia, "I would rather have gone straight to Sydney. My husband,

"You will not have much society," said Meekin, who was of the welcoming party. "Mrs. Datchett, the wife of

one of our stipendiaries, is the only lady here, and I hope to have the pleasure of making you acquainted with

her this evening at the Commandant's. Mr. McNab, whom you know, is in command at the Neck, and cannot

"I have planned a little party," said Burgess, "but I fear that it will not be so successful as I could wish."

Sylvia was compelled to smile at the compliment, made in the presence of some twenty prisoners, who were

carrying the various trunks and packages up the hill, and she remarked that the said prisoners grinned at the

Commandant's clumsy courtesy. "I don't like Captain Burgess, Maurice," she said, in the interval before

dinner. "I dare say he did flog that poor fellow to death. He looks as if he could do it."

"Nonsense!" said Maurice, pettishly; "he's a good fellow enough. Besides, I've seen the doctor's certificate.

It's a trumpedup story. I can't understand your absurd sympathy with prisoners."

"No, certainly not a set of lying scoundrels. You are always whining over them, Sylvia. I don't like it, and

Sylvia said nothing. Maurice was often guilty of these small brutalities, and she had learnt that the best way

to meet them was by silence. Unfortunately, silence did not mean indifference, for the reproof was unjust, and

nothing stings a woman's fine sense like an injustice. Burgess had prepared a feast, and the "Society" of Port

Arthur was present. Father Flaherty, Meekin, Doctor Macklewain, and Mr. and Mrs. Datchett had been

"I've a fellow who was a professional gardener," said Burgess to Sylvia during the dinner, "and I make use of

"We have a professional artist also," said Macklewain, with a sort of pride. "That picture of the 'Prisoner of

"I've got the place full of curiosities," said Burgess; "quite a collection. I'll show them to you tomorrow.

"That is some of Rex's handiwork," said Meekin. "He is very clever at these trifles. He made me a

"We will go down to the Neck tomorrow or next day, Mrs. Frere," said Burgess, "and you shall see the

"Yes don't look so astonished. You'll see it tomorrow. Oh, you Hobart Town ladies don't know what we

"What about this Kirkland business?" Frere asked. "I suppose I can have half an hour with you in the

morning, and take the depositions?" "Any time you like, my dear fellow," said Burgess. "It's all the same to

"I don't want to make more fuss than I can help," Frere said apologetically the dinner had been good

"but I must send these people up a 'full, true and particular', don't you know."

"Of course," cried Burgess, with friendly nonchalance. "That's all right. I want Mrs. Frere to see Point Puer."

"Exactly. Nearly three hundred of 'em. We'll go down tomorrow, and you shall be my witness, Mrs. Frere,

"Indeed," said Sylvia, protesting, "I would rather not. I I don't take the interest in these things that I ought,

"Nonsense!" said Frere, with a scowl. "We'll come, Burgess, of course." The next two days were devoted to

sightseeing. Sylvia was taken through the hospital and the workshops, shown the semaphores, and shut up

by Maurice in a "dark cell". Her husband and Burgess seemed to treat the prison like a tame animal, whom

they could handle at their leisure, and whose natural ferocity was kept in check by their superior intelligence.

This bringing of a young and pretty woman into immediate contact with bolts and bars had about it an

incongruity which pleased them. Maurice penetrated everywhere, questioned the prisoners, jested with the

With such graceful rattlings of dry bones, they got by and by to Point Puer, where a luncheon had been

An unlucky accident had occurred at Point Puer that morning, however, and the place was in a suppressed

ferment. A refractory little thief named Peter Brown, aged twelve years, had jumped off the high rock and

drowned himself in full view of the constables. These "jumpings off" had become rather frequent lately, and

Burgess was enraged at one happening on this particular day. If he could by any possibility have brought the

corpse of poor little Peter Brown to life again, he would have soundly whipped it for its impertinence.

"It is most unfortunate," he said to Frere, as they stood in the cell where the little body was laid, "that it

"Oh," says Frere, frowning down upon the young face that seemed to smile up at him. "It can't be helped. I

know those young devils. They'd do it out of spite. What sort of a character had he?"

Johnson bringing it, the two saw Peter Brown's iniquities set down in the neatest of running hand, and the

record of his punishments ornamented in quite an artistic way with flourishes of red ink

"20th November, disorderly conduct, 12 lashes. 24th November, insolence to hospital attendant, diet reduced.

4th December, stealing cap from another prisoner, 12 lashes. 15th December, absenting himself at roll call,

two days' cells. 23rd December, insolence and insubordination, two days' cells. 8th January, insolence and

insubordination, 12 lashes. 20th January, insolence and insubordination, 12 lashes. 22nd February, insolence

and insubordination, 12 lashes and one week's solitary. 6th March, insolence and insubordination, 20 lashes."

Just so! The magnificent system starved and tortured a child of twelve until he killed himself. That was the

After luncheon the party made a progress. Everything was most admirable. There was a long schoolroom,

where such men as Meekin taught how Christ loved little children; and behind the schoolroom were the cells

and the constables and the little yard where they gave their "twenty lashes". Sylvia shuddered at the array of

faces. From the stolid nineteen years old booby of the Kentish hopfields, to the wizened, shrewd, ten years

old Bohemian of the London streets, all degrees and grades of juvenile vice grinned, in untamable

wickedness, or snuffed in affected piety. "Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of

such is the Kingdom of Heaven," said, or is reported to have said, the Founder of our Established Religion.

Of such it seemed that a large number of Honourable Gentlemen, together with Her Majesty's faithful

commons in Parliament assembled, had done their best to create a Kingdom of Hell .

After the farce had been played again, and the children had stood up and sat down, and sung a hymn, and told

how many twice five were, and repeated their belief in "One God the Father Almighty, maker of Heaven and

Earth", the party reviewed the workshops, and saw the church, and went everywhere but into the room where

the body of Peter Brown, aged twelve, lay starkly on its wooden bench, staring at the gaol roof which was

Just outside this room, Sylvia met with a little adventure. Meekin had stopped behind, and Burgess, being

suddenly summoned for some official duty, Frere had gone with him, leaving his wife to rest on a bench that,

placed at the summit of the cliff, overlooked the sea. While resting thus, she became aware of another

presence, and, turning her head, beheld a small boy, with his cap in one hand and a hammer in the other. The

appearance of the little creature, clad in a uniform of grey cloth that was too large for him, and holding in his

withered little hand a hammer that was too heavy for him, had something pathetic about it.

"We thought you might have seen him, mum," said the little figure, opening its blue eyes with wonder at the

"Cranky Brown, mum," returned the child; "him as did it this morning. Me and Billy knowed him, mum; he

"What do you mean, child?" said she, with a strange terror at her heart; and then, filled with pity at the aspect

of the little being, she drew him to her, with sudden womanly instinct, and kissed him. He looked up at her

"Mother used to," was the reply, "but she's at home. Oh, mum," with a sudden crimsoning of the little face,

And taking courage from the bright young face, he gravely marched to an angle of the rock, and brought out

The young wife felt the tears rush to her eyes. "You two poor babies!" she cried. And then, forgetting that she

was a lady, dressed in silk and lace, she fell on her knees in the dust, and, folding the friendless pair in her

"What is the matter, Sylvia?" said Frere, when he came up. "You've been crying."

When they were alone that evening, she told him of the two little boys, and he laughed. "Artful little

humbugs," he said, and supported his argument by so many illustrations of the precocious wickedness of

Unfortunately, when Sylvia went away, Tommy and Billy put into execution a plan which they had carried in

The bigger boy took his little handkerchief from his neck, and with it bound his own left hand to his

"Lord, have pity on them two fatherless children!" repeated Tommy. "Let's say it together."

And so the two babies knelt on the brink of the cliff, and, raising the bound hands together, looked up at the

sky, and ungrammatically said, "Lord have pity on we two fatherless children!" And then they kissed each

The intelligence, transmitted by the everactive semaphore, reached the Commandant in the midst of dinner,

"These are the two poor things I saw in the morning," cried Sylvia. "Oh, Maurice, these two poor babies

"Mr. Meekin! How can you talk like that? Poor little creatures! Oh, it's horrible! Maurice, take me away."

And she burst into a passion of weeping. "I can't help it, ma'am," says Burgess, rudely, ashamed. "It ain't my

"She's nervous," says Frere, leading her away. "You must excuse her. Come and lie down, dearest."

"Oh, yes, we can. I insist. Maurice, if you love me, take me away." "Well," said Maurice, moved by her

He spoke to Burgess. "Burgess, this matter has unsettled my wife, so that she wants to leave at once. I must

"Well," says Burgess, "if the wind only holds, the brig could go round to Pirates' Bay and pick you up. You'll

"I think that would be best," said Frere. "We'll start tomorrow, please, and if you'll give me a pen and ink I'll

"Oh yes, quite," said Frere. "I must recommend more careful supervision at Point Puer, though. It will never

So a neatly written statement of the occurrence was appended to the ledgers in which the names of William

Tomkins and Thomas Grove were entered. Macklewain held an inquest, and nobody troubled about them any

more. Why should they? The prisons of London were full of such Tommys and Billys.

Sylvia passed through the rest of her journey in a dream of terror. The incident of the children had shaken her

nerves, and she longed to be away from the place and its associations. Even Eaglehawk Neck with its curious

dog stages and its "natural pavement", did not interest her. McNab's blandishments were wearisome. She

shuddered as she gazed into the boiling abyss of the Blowhole, and shook with fear as the Commandant's

"train" rattled over the dangerous tramway that wound across the precipice to Long Bay. The "train" was

composed of a number of low wagons pushed and dragged up the steep inclines by convicts, who drew

themselves up in the wagons when the trucks dashed down the slope, and acted as drags. Sylvia felt degraded

at being thus drawn by human beings, and trembled when the lash cracked, and the convicts answered to the

sting like cattle. Moreover, there was among the foremost of these beasts of burden a face that had dimly

haunted her girlhood, and only lately vanished from her dreams. This face looked on her she thought

with bitterest loathing and scorn, and she felt relieved when at the midday halt its owner was ordered to fall

out from the rest, and was with four others rechained for the homeward journey. Frere, struck with the

appearance of the five, said, "By Jove, Poppet, there are our old friends Rex and Dawes, and the others. They

won't let 'em come all the way, because they are such a desperate lot, they might make a rush for it." Sylvia

comprehended now the face was the face of Dawes; and as she looked after him, she saw him suddenly raise

his hands above his head with a motion that terrified her. She felt for an instant a great shock of pitiful

recollection. Staring at the group, she strove to recall when and how Rufus Dawes, the wretch from whose

clutches her husband had saved her, had ever merited her pity, but her clouded memory could not complete

the picture, and as the wagons swept round a curve, and the group disappeared, she awoke from her reverie

"Maurice," she whispered, "how is it that the sight of that man always makes me sad?"

Her husband frowned, and then, caressing her, bade her forget the man and the place and her fears. "I was

wrong to have insisted on your coming," he said. They stood on the deck of the Sydneybound vessel the

next morning, and watched the "Natural Penitentiary" grow dim in the distance. "You were not strong

"Dawes," said John Rex, "you love that girl! Now that you've seen her another man's wife, and have been

harnessed like a beast to drag him along the road, while he held her in his arms! now that you've seen and

"You'd better. You'll never get out of this place any other way. Come, be a man; join us!"

"It is your only chance. Why refuse it? Do you want to live here all your life?"

Rex shrugged his shoulders and walked away. "If you think to get any good out of that 'inquiry', you are

mightily mistaken," said he, as he went. "Frere has put a stopper upon that, you'll find." He spoke truly.

Nothing more was heard of it, only that, some six months afterwards, Mr. North, when at Parramatta,

received an official letter (in which the expenditure of wax and printing and paper was as large as it could be

made) which informed him that the "ComptrollerGeneral of the Convict Department had decided that

further inquiry concerning the death of the prisoner named in the margin was unnecessary", and that some

gentleman with an utterly illegible signature "had the honour to be his most obedient servant".

MAURICE found his favourable expectations of Sydney fully realized. His notable escape from death at

Macquarie Harbour, his alliance with the daughter of so respected a colonist as Major Vickers, and his

reputation as a convict disciplinarian rendered him a man of note. He received a vacant magistracy, and

became even more noted for hardness of heart and artfulness of prison knowledge than before. The convict

population spoke of him as "that Frere," and registered vows of vengeance against him, which he laughed

One anecdote concerning the method by which he shepherded his flock will suffice to show his character and

his value. It was his custom to visit the prisonyard at Hyde Park Barracks twice a week. Visitors to convicts

were, of course, armed, and the two pistolbutts that peeped from Frere's waistcoat attracted many a longing

eye. How easy would it be for some fellow to pluck one forth and shatter the smiling, hateful face of the

noted disciplinarian! Frere, however, brave to rashness, never would bestow his weapons more safely, but

lounged through the yard with his hands in the pockets of his shootingcoat, and the deadly butts ready to the

One day a man named Kavanagh, a captured absconder, who had openly sworn in the dock the death of the

magistrate, walked quickly up to him as he was passing through the yard, and snatched a pistol from his belt.

The yard caught its breath, and the attendant warder, hearing the click of the lock, instinctively turned his

head away, so that he might not be blinded by the flash. But Kavanagh did not fire. At the instant when his

hand was on the pistol, he looked up and met the magnetic glance of Frere's imperious eyes. An effort, and

the spell would have been broken. A twitch of the finger, and his enemy would have fallen dead. There was

an instant when that twitch of the finger could have been given, but Kavanagh let that instant pass. The

dauntless eye fascinated him. He played with the pistol nervously, while all remained stupefied. Frere stood,

Kavanagh, down whose white face the sweat was pouring, burst into a hideous laugh of relieved terror, and

Frere slowly drew one hand from his pocket, took the cocked pistol and levelled it at his recent assailant.

Kavanagh fell on his knees. "For God's sake, Captain Frere!" Frere looked down on the trembling wretch, and

then uncocked the pistol, with a laugh of ferocious contempt. "Get up, you dog," he said. "It takes a better

man than you to best me. Bring him up in the morning, Hawkins, and we'll give him fiveandtwenty."

As he went out so great is the admiration for Power the poor devils in the yard cheered him.

One of the first things that this useful officer did upon his arrival in Sydney was to inquire for Sarah Purfoy.

To his astonishment, he discovered that she was the proprietor of large export warehouses in Pittstreet,

owned a neat cottage on one of the points of land which jutted into the bay, and was reputed to possess a

banking account of no inconsiderable magnitude. He in vain applied his brains to solve this mystery. His

castoff mistress had not been rich when she left Van Diemen's Land at least, so she had assured him, and

appearances bore out her assurance. How had she accumulated this sudden wealth? Above all, why had she

thus invested it? He made inquiries at the banks, but was snubbed for his pains. Sydney banks in those days

did some queer business. Mrs. Purfoy had come to them "fully accredited," said the manager with a smile.

"But where did she get the money?" asked the magistrate. "I am suspicious of these sudden fortunes. The

woman was a notorious character in Hobart Town, and when she left hadn't a penny."

"My dear Captain Frere," said the acute banker his father had been one of the builders of the "Rum

Hospital" "it is not the custom of our bank to make inquiries into the previous history of its customers.

The bills were good, you may depend, or we should not have honoured them. Good morning!"

"The bills!" Frere saw but one explanation. Sarah had received the proceeds of some of Rex's rogueries. Rex's

letter to his father and the mention of the sum of money "in the old house in Blue Anchor Yard" flashed

across his memory. Perhaps Sarah had got the money from the receiver and appropriated it. But why invest it

in an oil and tallow warehouse? He had always been suspicious of the woman, because he had never

understood her, and his suspicions redoubled. Convinced that there was some plot hatching, he determined to

use all the advantages that his position gave him to discover the secret and bring it to light. The name of the

man to whom Rex's letters had been addressed was "Blicks". He would find out if any of the convicts under

his care had heard of Blicks. Prosecuting his inquiries in the proper direction, he soon obtained a reply. Blicks

was a London receiver of stolen goods, known to at least a dozen of the black sheep of the Sydney fold. He

was reputed to be enormously wealthy, had often been tried, but never convicted. Frere was thus not much

nearer enlightenment than before, and an incident occurred a few months afterwards which increased his

bewilderment He had not been long established in his magistracy, when Blunt came to claim payment for the

voyage of Sarah Purfoy. "There's that schooner going begging, one may say, sir," said Blunt, when the office

Now the Franklin was a vessel of three hundred and twenty tons which plied between Norfolk Island and

Sydney, as the Osprey had plied in the old days between Macquarie Harbour and Hobart Town. "I am afraid

that is rather stiff, Blunt," said Frere. "That's one of the best billets going, you know. I doubt if I have enough

interest to get it for you. Besides," he added, eyeing the sailor critically, "you are getting oldish for that sort

Phineas Blunt stretched his arms wide, and opened his mouth, full of sound white teeth. "I am good for

twenty years more yet, sir," he said. "My father was trading to the Indies at seventyfive years of age. I'm

hearty enough, thank God; for, barring a drop of rum now and then, I've no vices to speak of. However, I ain't

in a hurry, Captain, for a month or so; only I thought I'd jog your memory a bit, d ye see." "Oh, you're not in a

"Well," said Blunt, shifting on his seat, uneasy under Frere's convictdisciplined eye, "I've got a job on

"Oh, that's it, is it? Your old line of business. And who employs you now?" There was no suspicion in the

tone, and had Blunt chosen to evade the question, he might have done so without difficulty, but he replied as

one who had anticipated such questioning, and had been advised how to answer it.

"She's got a couple of ships now, Captain, and she made me skipper of one of 'em. We look for

beshdellamare, and take a turn at harpooning sometimes." Frere stared at Blunt, who stared at the window.

There was so the instinct of the magistrate told him some strange project afoot. Yet that common sense

which so often misleads us, urged that it was quite natural Sarah should employ whaling vessels to increase

her trade. Granted that there was nothing wrong about her obtaining the business, there was nothing strange

about her owning a couple of whaling vessels. There were people in Sydney, of no better origin, who owned

"I'm expecting to get the word every day," returned Blunt, apparently relieved, "and I thought I'd just come

and see you first, in case of anything falling in." Frere played with a penknife on the table in silence for a

while, allowing it to fall through his fingers with a series of sharp clicks, and then he said, "Where does she

"Blest if I know!" said Blunt, in unaffected simplicity. "That's beyond me. She says she saved it. But that's all

"Because, if there's any game on, she'd better take care," he cried, relapsing, in his excitement, into the

convict vernacular. "She knows me. Tell her that I've got my eyes on her. Let her remember her bargain. If

she runs any rigs on me, let her take care." In his suspicious wrath he so savagely and unwarily struck

downwards with the open penknife that it shut upon his fingers, and cut him to the bone.

"I'll tell her," said Blunt, wiping his brow. "I'm sure she wouldn't go to sell you. But I'll look in when I come

back, sir." When he got outside he drew a long breath. "By the Lord Harry, but it's a ticklish game to play,"

he said to himself, with a lively recollection of the dreaded Frere's vehemence; "and there's only one woman

Maurice Frere, oppressed with suspicions, ordered his horse that afternoon, and rode down to see the cottage

which the owner of "Purfoy Stores" had purchased. He found it a low white building, situated four miles from

the city, at the extreme end of a tongue of land which ran into the deep waters of the harbour. A garden

carefully cultivated, stood between the roadway and the house, and in this garden he saw a man digging.

"If you don't believe me, ask at the house," was the reply, given in the uncourteous tone of a free man.

Frere pushed his horse through the gate, and walked up the broad and wellkept carriage drive. A

manservant in livery, answering his ring, told him that Mrs. Purfoy had gone to town, and then shut the door

in his face. Frere, more astonished than ever at these outward and visible signs of independence, paused,

indignant, feeling half inclined to enter despite opposition. As he looked through the break of the trees, he

saw the masts of a brig lying at anchor off the extremity of the point on which the house was built, and

understood that the cottage commanded communication by water as well as by land. Could there be a special

motive in choosing such a situation, or was it mere chance? He was uneasy, but strove to dismiss his alarm.

Sarah had kept faith with him so far. She had entered upon a new and more reputable life, and why should he

seek to imagine evil where perhaps no evil was? Blunt was evidently honest. Women like Sarah Purfoy often

emerged into a condition of comparative riches and domestic virtue. It was likely that, after all, some wealthy

merchant was the real owner of the house and garden, pleasure yacht, and tallow warehouse, and that he had

The experienced convict disciplinarian did not rate the ability of John Rex high enough.

From the instant the convict had heard his sentence of life banishment, he had determined upon escaping, and

had brought all the powers of his acute and unscrupulous intellect to the consideration of the best method of

achieving his purpose. His first care was to procure money. This he thought to do by writing to Blick, but

when informed by Meekin of the fate of his letter, he adopted the to him less pleasant alternative of

It was peculiar to the man's hard and ungrateful nature that, despite the attachment of the woman who had

followed him to his place of durance, and had made it the object of her life to set him free, he had cherished

for her no affection. It was her beauty that had attracted him, when, as Mr. Lionel Crofton, he swaggered in

the nightsociety of London. Her talents and her devotion were secondary considerations useful to him as

attributes of a creature he owned, but not to be thought of when his fancy wearied of its choice. During the

twelve years which had passed since his rashness had delivered him into the hands of the law at the house of

Green, the coiner, he had been oppressed with no regrets for her fate. He had, indeed, seen and suffered so

much that the old life had been put away from him. When, on his return, he heard that Sarah Purfoy was still

in Hobart Town, he was glad, for he knew that he had an ally who would do her utmost to help him she

had shown that on board the Malabar. But he was also sorry, for he remembered that the price she would

demand for her services was his affection, and that had cooled long ago. However, he would make use of her.

His pretended piety had accomplished the end he had assumed it for. Despite Frere's exposure of his

cryptograph, he had won the confidence of Meekin; and into that worthy creature's ear he poured a strange

and sad story. He was the son, he said, of a clergyman of the Church of England, whose real name, such was

his reverence for the cloth, should never pass his lips. He was transported for a forgery which he did not

commit. Sarah Purfoy was his wife his erring, lost and yet loved wife. She, an innocent and trusting girl,

had determined strong in the remembrance of that promise she had made at the altar to follow her

husband to his place of doom, and had hired herself as lady'smaid to Mrs. Vickers. Alas! fever prostrated

that husband on a bed of sickness, and Maurice Frere, the profligate and the villain, had taken advantage of

the wife's unprotected state to ruin her! Rex darkly hinted how the seducer made his power over the sick and

helpless husband a weapon against the virtue of the wife and so terrified poor Meekin that, had it not

"happened so long ago", he would have thought it necessary to look with some disfavour upon the boisterous

"I bear him no illwill, sir," said Rex. "I did at first. There was a time when I could have killed him, but when

I had him in my power, I as you know forbore to strike. No, sir, I could not commit murder!"

"Very proper," says Meekin, "very proper indeed." "God will punish him in His own way, and His own

"My great sorrow is for the poor woman. She is in Sydney, I have heard, living respectably, sir; and my heart

bleeds for her." Here Rex heaved a sigh that would have made his fortune on the boards.

John Rex appeared to hesitate, to struggle with himself, and finally to take a deep resolve. "No, Mr. Meekin, I

"You know the orders, sir the Commandant reads all the letters sent. Could I write to my poor Sarah what

"It is true, sir," said Rex, letting his head sink on his breast. The next day, Meekin, blushing with the

consciousness that what he was about to do was wrong, said to his penitent, "If you will promise to write

nothing that the Commandant might not see, Rex, I will send your letter to your wife."

"Heaven bless you, sir,". said Rex, and took two days to compose an epistle which should tell Sarah Purfoy

how to act. The letter was a model of composition in one way. It stated everything clearly and succinctly. Not

a detail that could assist was omitted not a line that could embarrass was suffered to remain. John Rex's

scheme of six months' deliberation was set down in the clearest possible manner. He brought his letter

unsealed to Meekin. Meekin looked at it with an interest that was half suspicion. "Have I your word that there

John Rex was a bold man, but at the sight of the deadly thing fluttering open in the clergyman's hand, his

knees knocked together. Strong in his knowledge of human nature, however, he pursued his desperate plan.

"Read it, sir," he said turning away his face reproachfully. "You are a gentleman. I can trust you."

"No, Rex," said Meekin, walking loftily into the pitfall; "I do not read private letters." It was sealed, and John

In a month Mr. Meekin received a letter, beautifully written, from "Sarah Rex", stating briefly that she had

heard of his goodness, that the enclosed letter was for her husband, and that if it was against the rules to give

it him, she begged it might be returned to her unread. Of course Meekin gave it to Rex, who next morning

handed to Meekin a most touching pious production, begging him to read it. Meekin did so, and any

suspicions he may have had were at once disarmed. He was ignorant of the fact that the pious letter contained

a private one intended for John Rex only, which letter John Rex thought so highly of, that, having read it

The plan of escape was after all a simple one. Sarah Purfoy was to obtain from Blicks the moneys he held in

trust, and to embark the sum thus obtained in any business which would suffer her to keep a vessel hovering

round the southern coast of Van Diemen's Land without exciting suspicion. The escape was to be made in the

winter months, if possible, in June or July. The watchful vessel was to be commanded by some trustworthy

person, who was to frequently land on the southeastern side, and keep a lookout for any extraordinary

appearance along the coast. Rex himself must be left to run the gauntlet of the dogs and guards unaided.

"This seems a desperate scheme," wrote Rex, "but it is not so wild as it looks. I have thought over a dozen

others, and rejected them all. This is the only way. Consider it well. I have my own plan for escape, which is

easy if rescue be at hand. All depends upon placing a trustworthy man in charge of the vessel. You ought to

know a dozen such. I will wait eighteen months to give you time to make all arrangements." The eighteen

months had now nearly passed over, and the time for the desperate attempt drew near. Faithful to his cruel

philosophy, John Rex had provided scapegoats, who, by their vicarious agonies, should assist him to his

He had discovered that of the twenty men in his gang eight had already determined on an effort for freedom.

The names of these eight were Gabbett, Vetch, Bodenham, Cornelius, Greenhill, Sanders, called the

"Moocher", Cox, and Travers. The leading spirits were Vetch and Gabbett, who, with profound reverence,

requested the "Dandy" to join. John Rex, ever suspicious, and feeling repelled by the giant's strange

eagerness, at first refused, but by degrees allowed himself to appear to be drawn into the scheme. He would

urge these men to their fate, and take advantage of the excitement attendant on their absence to effect his own

escape. "While all the island is looking for these eight boobies, I shall have a good chance to slip away

unmissed." He wished, however, to have a companion. Some strong man, who, if pressed hard, would turn

and keep the pursuers at bay, would be useful without doubt; and this comradevictim he sought in Rufus

Beginning, as we have seen, from a purely selfish motive, to urge his fellowprisoner to abscond with him,

John Rex gradually found himself attracted into something like friendliness by the sternness with which his

overtures were repelled. Always a keen student of human nature, the scoundrel saw beneath the roughness

with which it had pleased the unfortunate man to shroud his agony, how faithful a friend and how ardent and

undaunted a spirit was concealed. There was, moreover, a mystery about Rufus Dawes which Rex, the reader

"Have you no friends whom you would wish to see?" he asked, one evening, when Rufus Dawes had proved

"Pooh! Pluck up a spirit," cried Rex. "It can't fail. I've been thinking of it for eighteen months, and it can't

"Who are going?" asked the other, his eyes fixed on the ground. John Rex enumerated the eight, and Dawes

raised his head. "I won't go. I have had two trials at it; I don't want another. I would advise you not to attempt

"Gabbett bolted twice before," said Rufus Dawes, shuddering at the remembrance of the ghastly object he

had seen in the sunlit glen at Hell's Gates. "Others went with him, but each time he returned alone."

"Yes; but how? They were all without food. How came the surviving monster to live six weeks?"

John Rex grew a shade paler, and did not reply. He recollected the sanguinary legend that pertained to

Gabbett's rescue. But he did not intend to make the journey in his company, so, after all, he had no cause for

"How can I prove it?" cried Rufus Dawes, roughly impatient. "There are crimes committed which are never

"Well," said Rex, rising, as if weary of the discussion, "have it your own way, then. You know best. The

private detective game is hard work. I, myself, have gone on a wildgoose chase before now. There's a

mystery about a certain shipbuilder's son which took me four months to unravel, and then I lost the thread."

John Rex paused in wonderment at the eager interest with which the question was put, and then hastened to

take advantage of this new opening for conversation. "A queer story. A wellknown character in my time

Rufus Dawes bit his lips to avoid showing his emotion. This was the second time that the name of his dead

father had been spoken in his hearing. "I think I remember something of him," he said, with a voice that

"A curious story," said Rex, plunging into past memories. "Amongst other matters, I dabbled a little in the

Private Inquiry line of business, and the old man came to me. He had a son who had gone abroad a wild

"To a certain extent. I hunted him through Paris into Brussels, from Brussels to Antwerp, from Antwerp back

to Paris. I lost him there. A miserable end to a long and expensive search. I got nothing but a portmanteau

with a lot of letters from his mother. I sent the particulars to the shipbuilder, and by all accounts the news

"Came to the queerest end of all. The old man had left him his fortune a large one, I believe but he'd

left Europe, it seems, for India, and was lost in the Hydaspes. Frere was his cousin." "Ah!"

"By Gad, it annoys me when I think of it," continued Rex, feeling, by force of memory, once more the

adventurer of fashion. "With the resources I had, too. Oh, a miserable failure! The days and nights I've spent

walking about looking for Richard Devine, and never catching a glimpse of him. The old man gave me his

son's portrait, with full particulars of his early life, and I suppose I carried that ivory gimcrack in my breast

for nearly three months, pulling it out to refresh my memory every halfhour. By Gad, if the young

gentleman was anything like his picture, I could have sworn to him if I'd met him in Timbuctoo."

"Do you think you'd know him again?" asked Rufus Dawes in a low voice, turning away his head.

There may have been something in the attitude in which the speaker had put himself that awakened memory,

or perhaps the subdued eagerness of the tone, contrasting so strangely with the comparative inconsequence of

the theme, that caused John Rex's brain to perform one of those feats of automatic synthesis at which we

afterwards wonder. The profligate son the likeness to the portrait the mystery of Dawes's life! These

were the links of a galvanic chain. He closed the circuit, and a vivid flash revealed to him THE MAN.

Warder Troke, coming up, put his hand on Rex's shoulder. "Dawes," he said, "you're wanted at the yard"; and

then, seeing his mistake, added with a grin, "Curse you two; you're so much alike one can't tell t'other from

which." Rufus Dawes walked off moodily; but John Rex's evil face turned pale, and a strange hope made his

heart leap. "Gad, Troke's right; we are alike. I'll not press him to escape any more."

THE Pretty Mary as ugly and evilsmelling a tub as ever pitched under a southerly burster had been

lying on and off Cape Surville for nearly three weeks. Captain Blunt was getting wearied. He made strenuous

efforts to find the oysterbeds of which he was ostensibly in search, but no success attended his efforts. In

vain did he take boat and pull into every cove and nook between the Hippolyte Reef and Schouten's Island. In

vain did he run the Pretty Mary as near to the rugged cliffs as he dared to take her, and make perpetual

expeditions to the shore. In vain did he in his eagerness for the interests of Mrs. Purfoy clamber up the

rocks, and spend hours in solitary soundings in Blackman's Bay. He never found an oyster. "If I don't find

something in three or four days more," said he to his mate, "I shall go back again. It's too dangerous cruising

On the same evening that Captain Blunt made this resolution, the watchman at Signal Hill saw the arms of

The semaphore was furnished with three revolving arms, fixed one above the other. The upper one denoted

units, and had six motions, indicating ONE to SIX. The middle one denoted tens, TEN to SIXTY. The lower

The lower and upper arms whirled out. That meant THREE HUNDRED AND SIX. A ball ran up to the top

"WITH ARMS!" Jones said, translating as he read. "Come here, Harry! here's a go!"

But Harry did not reply, and, looking down, the watchman saw a dark figure suddenly fill the doorway. The

boasted semaphore had failed this time, at all events. The "bolters" had arrived as soon as the signal! The man

sprang at his carbine, but the intruder had already possessed himself of it. "It's no use making a fuss, Jones!

Jones knew the voice. It was that of John Rex. "Reply, can't you?" said Rex coolly. "Captain Burgess is in a

hurry." The arms of the semaphore at the settlement were, in fact, gesticulating with comical vehemence.

Jones took the strings in his hands, and, with his signalbook open before him, was about to acknowledge the

message, when Rex stopped him. "Send this message," he said. "NOT SEEN! SIGNAL SENT TO

EAGLEHAWK!" Jones paused irresolutely. He was himself a convict, and dreaded the inevitable cat that he

knew would follow this false message. "If they finds me out " he said. Rex cocked the carbine with so

decided a meaning in his black eyes that Jones who could be brave enough on occasions banished his

hesitation at once, and began to signal eagerly. There came up a clinking of metal, and a murmur from below.

"All right. Get those irons off, and then we'll talk, boys. I'm putting salt on old Burgess's tail." The rough jest

was received with a roar, and Jones, looking momentarily down from his window on the staging, saw, in the

waning light, a group of men freeing themselves from their irons with a hammer taken from the guardhouse;

while two, already freed, were casting buckets of water on the beacon woodpile. The sentry was lying

"Now," said the leader of this surprise party, "signal to Woody Island." Jones perforce obeyed. "Say, 'AN

Jones comprehending at once the force of this manoeuvre, which would have the effect of distracting

attention from the Neck executed the order with a grin. "You're a knowing one, Dandy," said he. John Rex

acknowledged the compliment by uncocking the carbine. "Hold out your hands! Jemmy Vetch!" "Ay, ay,"

replied the Crow, from beneath. "Come up and tie our friend Jones. Gabbett, have you got the axes?" "There's

only one," said Gabbett, with an oath. "Then bring that, and any tucker you can lay your hands on. Have you

tied him? On we go then." And in the space of five minutes from the time when unsuspecting Harry had been

silently clutched by two forms, who rushed upon him out of the shadows of the huts, the Signal Hill Station

At the settlement Burgess was foaming. Nine men to seize the Long Bay boat, and get half an hour's start of

the alarm signal, was an unprecedented achievement! What could Warder Troke have been about! Warder

Troke, however, found eight hours afterwards, disarmed, gagged, and bound in the scrub, had been guilty of

no negligence. How could he tell that, at a certain signal from Dandy Jack, the nine men he had taken to

Stewart's Bay would "rush" him; and, before he could draw a pistol, truss him like a chicken? The worst of

the gang, Rufus Dawes, had volunteered for the hated duties of piledriving, and Troke had felt himself

secure. How could he possibly guess that there was a plot, in which Rufus Dawes, of all men, had refused to

Constables, mounted and on foot, were despatched to scour the bush round the settlement. Burgess, confident

from the reply of the Signal Hill semaphore, that the alarm had been given at Eaglehawk Isthmus, promised

himself the recapture of the gang before many hours; and, giving orders to keep the communications going,

retired to dinner. His convict servants had barely removed the soup when the result of John Rex's ingenuity

"Perhaps the fools can't see," said Burgess. "Fire the beacon and saddle my horse." The beacon was fired.

All right at Mount Arthur, Mount Communication, and the Coal Mines. To the westward the line was clear.

But at Signal Hill was no answering light. Burgess stamped with rage. "Get me my boat's crew ready; and tell

the Mines to signal to Woody Island." As he stood on the jetty, a breathless messenger brought the reply. "A

OBEDIENCE TO ORDERS!" Burgess understood it at once. The fellows had decoyed the Eaglehawk guard.

"Give way, men!" And the boat, shooting into the darkness, made for Long Bay. "I won't be far behind 'em,"

Between Eaglehawk and Signal Hill were, for the absconders, other dangers. Along the indented coast of Port

Bunche were four constables' stations. These stations mere huts within signalling distance of each other

fringed the shore, and to avoid them it would be necessary to make a circuit into the scrub. Unwilling as

he was to lose time, John Rex saw that to attempt to run the gauntlet of these four stations would be

destruction. The safety of the party depended upon the reaching of the Neck while the guard was weakened

by the absence of some of the men along the southern shore, and before the alarm could be given from the

eastern arm of the peninsula. With this view, he ranged his men in single file; and, quitting the road near

Norfolk Bay, made straight for the Neck. The night had set in with a high westerly wind, and threatened rain.

It was pitch dark; and the fugitives were guided only by the dull roar of the sea as it beat upon Descent

Beach. Had it not been for the accident of a westerly gale, they would not have had even so much assistance.

The Crow walked first, as guide, carrying a musket taken from Harry. Then came Gabbett, with an axe;

followed by the other six, sharing between them such provisions as they had obtained at Signal Hill. John

Rex, with the carbine, and Troke's pistols, walked last. It had been agreed that if attacked they were to run

each one his own way. In their desperate case, disunion was strength. At intervals, on their left, gleamed the

lights of the constables' stations, and as they stumbled onward they heard plainer and more plainly the hoarse

After nearly two hours of painful progress, Jemmy Vetch stopped, and whispered them to approach. They

were on a sandy rise. To the left was a black object a constable's hut; to the right was a dim white line

the ocean; in front was a row of lamps, and between every two lamps leapt and ran a dusky, indistinct body.

Instinctively they crouched down, lest even at that distance the two sentries, so plainly visible in the red light

As he spoke, a long low howl broke from one of the chained hounds, and the whole kennel burst into hideous

outcry. John Rex, who perhaps was the bravest of the party, shuddered. "They have smelt us," he said. "We

"Right you are," he said. "I'll leave my mark on some of them before this night's out!"

On the opposite shore lights began to move, and the fugitives could hear the hurrying tramp of feet.

"Make for the righthand side of the jetty," said Rex in a fierce whisper. "I think I see a boat there. It is our

only chance now. We can never break through the station. Are we ready? Now! All together!"

Gabbett was fast outstripping the others by some three feet of distance. There were eleven dogs, two of whom

were placed on stages set out in the water, and they were so chained that their muzzles nearly touched. The

giant leapt into the line, and with a blow of his axe split the skull of the beast on his right hand. This action

unluckily took him within reach of the other dog, which seized him by the thigh.

The giant uttered a cry of rage and pain, and fell with the dog under him. It was, however, the dog who had

pulled him down, and the musketball intended for him struck Travers in the jaw. The unhappy villain fell

Gabbett clutched the mastiff's throat with iron hand, and forced him to loose his hold; then, bellowing with

fury, seized his axe and sprang forward, mangled as he was, upon the nearest soldier. Jemmy Vetch had been

beforehand with him. Uttering a low snarl of hate, he fired, and shot the sentry through the breast. The others

Burgess, hurried down the tramroad by his men, had tarried at Signal Hill only long enough to loose the

surprised guard from their bonds, and taking the Woody Island boat was pulling with a fresh crew to the

The Crow saw the danger, and, flinging himself into the water, desperately seized McNab's boat.

"In with you for your lives!" he cried. Another volley from the guard spattered the water around the fugitives,

but in the darkness the illaimed bullets fell harmless. Gabbett swung himself over the sheets, and seized an

"Cox, Bodenham, Greenhill! Now, push her off! Jump, Tom, jump!" and as Burgess leapt to land, Cornelius

"Lift her over the Bar, men!" he shouted. "With a will So!" And, raised in twelve strong arms, the

"We've five minutes' start," said Vetch coolly, as he saw the Commandant take his place in the stern sheets.

The soldiers on the Neck fired again almost at random, but the blaze of their pieces only served to show the

Commandant's boat a hundred yards astern of that of the mutineers, which had already gained the deep water

Then, for the first time, the six prisoners became aware that John Rex was not among them.

At the moment when, seeing Burgess's boat near the sandspit, he had uttered the warning cry heard by

Vetch, he turned back into the darkness, and made for the water's edge at a point some distance from the

Neck. His desperate hope was that, the attention of the guard being concentrated on the escaping boat, he

might, favoured by the darkness and the confusion swim to the peninsula. It was not a very marvellous

feat to accomplish, and he had confidence in his own powers. Once safe on the peninsula, his plans were

formed. But, owing to the strong westerly wind, which caused an incoming tide upon the isthmus, it was

necessary for him to attain some point sufficiently far to the southward to enable him, on taking the water, to

be assisted, not impeded, by the current. With this view, he hurried over the sandy hummocks at the entrance

to the Neck, and ran backwards towards the sea. In a few strides he had gained the hard and sandy shore, and,

pausing to listen, heard behind him the sound of footsteps. He was pursued. The footsteps stopped, and then a

It was McNab, who, seeing Rex's retreat, had daringly followed him. John Rex drew from his breast Troke's

At the instant that Rex raised the weapon to fire, a vivid flash of lightning showed him, on his right hand, on

the ghastly and pallid ocean, two boats, the hindermost one apparently within a few yards of him. The men

looked like corpses. In the distance rose Cape Surville, and beneath Cape Surville was the hungry sea. The

scene vanished in an instant swallowed up almost before he had realized it. But the shock it gave him

made him miss his aim, and, flinging away the pistol with a curse, he turned down the path and fled. McNab

followed. The path had been made by frequent passage from the station, and Rex found it tolerably easy

running. He had acquired like most men who live much in the dark that catlike perception of

obstacles which is due rather to increased sensitiveness of touch than increased acuteness of vision. His feet

accommodated themselves to the inequalities of the ground; his hands instinctively outstretched themselves

towards the overhanging boughs; his head ducked of its own accord to any obtrusive sapling which bent to

obstruct his progress. His pursuer was not so fortunate. Twice did John Rex laugh mentally, at a crash and

scramble that told of a fall, and once in a valley where trickled a little stream that he had cleared almost

without an effort he heard a splash that made him laugh outright. The track now began to go uphill, and

Rex redoubled his efforts, trusting to his superior muscular energy to shake off his pursuer. He breasted the

rise, and paused to listen. The crashing of branches behind him had ceased, and it seemed that he was alone.

He had gained the summit of the cliff. The lights of the Neck were invisible. Below him lay the sea. Out of

the black emptiness came puffs of sharp salt wind. The tops of the rollers that broke below were blown off

and whirled away into the night white patches, swallowed up immediately in the increasing darkness.

From the north side of the bay was borne the hoarse roar of the breakers as they dashed against the

perpendicular cliffs which guarded Forrestier's Peninsula. At his feet arose a frightful shrieking and whistling,

broken at intervals by reports like claps of thunder. Where was he? Exhausted and breathless, he sank down

into the rough scrub and listened. All at once, on the track over which he had passed, he heard a sound that

He thrust his hand to his breast for the remaining pistol, and uttered a cry of alarm. He had dropped it. He felt

round about him in the darkness for some stick or stone that might serve as a weapon. In vain. His fingers

clutched nothing but prickly scrub and coarse grass. The sweat ran down his face. With staring eyeballs, and

bristling hair, he stared into the darkness, as if he would dissipate it by the very intensity of his gaze. The

noise was repeated, and, piercing through the roar of wind and water, above and below him, seemed to be

close at hand. He heard a man's voice cheering the dog in accents that the gale blew away from him before he

could recognize them. It was probable that some of the soldiers had been sent to the assistance of McNab.

Capture, then, was certain. In his agony, the wretched man almost promised himself repentance, should he

escape this peril. The dog, crashing through the underwood, gave one short, sharp howl, and then ran mute.

The darkness had increased the gale. The wind, ravaging the hollow heaven, had spread between the

lightnings and the sea an impenetrable curtain of black cloud. It seemed possible to seize upon this curtain

and draw its edge yet closer, so dense was it. The white and raging waters were blotted out, and even the

lightning seemed unable to penetrate that intense blackness. A large, warm drop of rain fell upon Rex's

outstretched hand, and far overhead rumbled a wrathful peal of thunder. The shrieking which he had heard a

few moments ago had ceased, but every now and then dull but immense shocks, as of some mighty bird

flapping the cliff with monstrous wings, reverberated around him, and shook the ground where he stood. He

looked towards the ocean, and a tall misty Form white against the allpervading blackness beckoned

and bowed to him. He saw it distinctly for an instant, and then, with an awful shriek, as of wrathful despair, it

sank and vanished. Maddened with a terror he could not define, the hunted man turned to meet the material

With a ferocious gasp, the dog flung himself upon him. John Rex was borne backwards, but, in his

desperation, he clutched the beast by the throat and belly, and, exerting all his strength, flung him off. The

brute uttered one howl, and seemed to lie where he had fallen; while above his carcase again hovered that

white and vaporous column. It was strange that McNab and the soldier did not follow up the advantage they

had gained. Courage perhaps he should defeat them yet! He had been lucky to dispose of the dog so

easily. With a fierce thrill of renewed hope, he ran forward; when at his feet, in his face, arose that misty

Form, breathing chill warning, as though to wave him back. The terror at his heels drove him on. A few steps

more, and he should gain the summit of the cliff. He could feel the sea roaring in front of him in the gloom.

The column disappeared; and in a lull of wind, uprose from the place where it had been such a hideous

medley of shrieks, laughter, and exultant wrath, that John Rex paused in horror. Too late. The ground gave

way it seemed beneath his feet. He was falling clutching, in vain, at rocks, shrubs, and grass. The

cloudcurtain lifted, and by the lightning that leaped and played about the ocean, John Rex found an

explanation of his terrors, more terrible than they themselves had been. The track he had followed led to that

portion of the cliff in which the sea had excavated the tunnelspout known as the Devil's Blowhole.

Clinging to a tree that, growing halfway down the precipice, had arrested his course, he stared into the

abyss. Before him already high above his head was a gigantic arch of cliff. Through this arch he saw,

at an immense distance below him, the raging and pallid ocean. Beneath him was an abyss splintered with

black rocks, turbid and raucous with tortured water. Suddenly the bottom of this abyss seemed to advance to

meet him; or, rather, the black throat of the chasm belched a volume of leaping, curling water, which

mounted to drown him. Was it fancy that showed him, on the surface of the rising column, the mangled

The chasm into which John Rex had fallen was shaped like a huge funnel set up on its narrow end. The sides

of this funnel were rugged rock, and in the banks of earth lodged here and there upon projections, a scrubby

vegetation grew. The scanty growth paused abruptly halfway down the gulf, and the rock below was

perpetually damp from the upthrown spray. Accident had the convict been a Meekin, we might term it

Providence had lodged him on the lowest of these banks of earth. In calm weather he would have been out

of danger, but the lightning flash revealed to his terrorsharpened sense a black patch of dripping rock on the

side of the chasm some ten feet above his head. It was evident that upon the next rising of the waterspout

The roaring column mounted with hideous swiftness. Rex felt it rush at him and swing him upward. With

both arms round the tree, he clutched the sleeves of his jacket with either hand. Perhaps if he could maintain

his hold he might outlive the shock of that suffocating torrent. He felt his feet rudely seized, as though by the

hand of a giant, and plucked upwards. Water gurgled in his ears. His arms seemed about to be torn from their

sockets. Had the strain lasted another instant, he must have loosed his hold; but, with a wild hoarse shriek, as

though it was some seamonster baffled of its prey, the column sank, and left him gasping, bleeding,

halfdrowned, but alive. It was impossible that he could survive another shock, and in his agony he

unclasped his stiffened fingers, determined to resign himself to his fate. At that instant, however, he saw on

the wall of rock that hollowed on his right hand, a red and lurid light, in the midst of which fantastically

bobbed hither and thither the gigantic shadow of a man. He cast his eyes upwards and saw, slowly

descending into the gulf, a blazing bush tied to a rope. McNab was taking advantage of the pause in the

A despairing hope seized John Rex. In another instant the light would reveal his figure, clinging like a limpet

to the rock, to those above. He must be detected in any case; but if they could lower the rope sufficiently, he

might clutch it and be saved. His dread of the horrible death that was beneath him overcame his resolution to

avoid recapture. The longdrawn agony of the retreating water as it was sucked back again into the throat of

the chasm had ceased, and he knew that the next tremendous pulsation of the sea below would hurl the

spuming destruction up upon him. The gigantic torch slowly descended, and he had already drawn in his

breath for a shout which should make itself heard above the roar of the wind and water, when a strange

appearance on the face of the cliff made him pause. About six feet from him glowing like molten gold in

the gusty glow of the burning tree a round sleek stream of water slipped from the rock into the darkness,

like a serpent from its hole. Above this stream a dark spot defied the torchlight, and John Rex felt his heart

leap with one last desperate hope as he comprehended that close to him was one of those tortuous drives

which the wormlike action of the sea bores in such caverns as that in which he found himself. The drive,

opened first to the light of the day by the natural convulsion which had raised the mountain itself above ocean

level, probably extended into the bowels of the cliff. The stream ceased to let itself out of the crevice; it was

then likely that the rising column of water did not penetrate far into this wonderful hidingplace.

Endowed with a wisdom, which in one placed in less desperate position would have been madness, John Rex

shouted to his pursuers. "The rope! the rope!" The words, projected against the sides of the enormous funnel,

were pitched high above the blast, and, reduplicated by a thousand echoes, reached the ears of those above.

The soldier whipped the end of the bullockhide lariat round the tree to which he held, and began to oscillate

it, so that the blazing bush might reach the ledge on which the daring convict sustained himself. The groan

which preceded the fierce belching forth of the torrent was cast up to them from below.

"God be gude to the puir felly!" said the pious young Scotchman, catching his breath.

A white spume was visible at the bottom of the gulf, and the groan changed into a rapidly increasing bellow.

John Rex, eyeing the blazing pendulum, that with longer and longer swing momentarily neared him, looked

up to the black heaven for the last time with a muttered prayer. The bush the flame fanned by the motion

flung a crimson glow upon his frowning features which, as he caught the rope, had a sneer of triumph on

them. "Slack out! slack out!" he cried; and then, drawing the burning bush towards him, attempted to stamp

The soldier set his body against the tree trunk, and gripped the rope hard, turning his head away from the

fiery pit below him. "Hold tight, your honour," he muttered to McNab. "She's coming!"

The bellow changed into a roar, the roar into a shriek, and with a gust of wind and spray, the seething sea

leapt up out of the gulf. John Rex, unable to extinguish the flame, twisted his arm about the rope, and the

instant before the surface of the rising water made a momentary floor to the mouth of the cavern, he spurned

the cliff desperately with his feet, and flung himself across the chasm. He had already clutched the rock, and

thrust himself forward, when the tremendous volume of water struck him. McNab and the soldier felt the

sudden pluck of the rope and saw the light swing across the abyss. Then the fury of the waterspout burst with

a triumphant scream, the tension ceased, the light was blotted out, and when the column sank, there dangled

at the end of the lariat nothing but the drenched and blackened skeleton of the sheoak bough. Amid a terrific

peal of thunder, the long pentup rain descended, and a sudden ghastly rending asunder of the clouds showed

far below them the heaving ocean, high above them the jagged and glistening rocks, and at their feet the black

They pulled up the useless rope in silence; and another dead tree lighted and lowered showed them nothing.

GABBETT, guided by the Crow, had determined to beach the captured boat on the southern point of Cape

Surville. It will be seen by those who have followed the description of the topography of Colonel Arthur's

Penitentiary, that nothing but the desperate nature of the attempt could have justified so desperate a measure.

The perpendicular cliffs seemed to render such an attempt certain destruction; but Vetch, who had been

employed in building the pier at the Neck, knew that on the southern point of the promontory was a strip of

beach, upon which the company might, by good fortune, land in safety. With something of the decision of his

leader, Rex, the Crow determined at once that in their desperate plight this was the only measure, and setting

his teeth as he seized the oar that served as a rudder, he put the boat's head straight for the huge rock that

Save for the faint phosphorescent radiance of the foaming waves, the darkness was intense, and Burgess for

some minutes pulled almost at random in pursuit. The same tremendous flash of lightning which had saved

the life of McNab, by causing Rex to miss his aim, showed to the Commandant the whaleboat balanced on

the summit of an enormous wave, and apparently about to be flung against the wall of rock which

magnified in the flash seemed frightfully near to them. The next instant Burgess himself his boat lifted

by the swiftly advancing billow saw a wild waste of raging seas scooped into abysmal troughs, in which

the bulk of a leviathan might wallow. At the bottom of one of these valleys of water lay the mutineers' boat,

looking, with its outspread oars, like some sixlegged insect floating in a pool of ink. The great cliff, whose

every scar and crag was as distinct as though its huge bulk was but a yard distant, seemed to shoot out from

its base towards the struggling insect, a broad, flat straw, that was a strip of dry land. The next instant the

rushing water, carrying the sixlegged atom with it, creamed up over this strip of beach; the giant crag, amid

the thundercrash which followed upon the lightning, appeared to stoop down over the ocean, and as it

stooped, the billow rolled onwards, the boat glided down into the depths, and the whole phantasmagoria was

Burgess his hair bristling with terror shouted to put the boat about, but he might with as much reason

have shouted at an avalanche. The wind blew his voice away, and emptied it violently into the air. A snarling

billow jerked the oar from his hand. Despite the desperate efforts of the soldiers, the boat was whirled up the

mountain of water like a leaf on a waterspout, and a second flash of lightning showed them what seemed a

group of dolls struggling in the surf, and a walnutshell bottom upwards was driven by the recoil of the

waves towards them. For an instant all thought that they must share the fate which had overtaken the unlucky

convicts; but Burgess succeeded in trimming the boat, and, awed by the peril he had so narrowly escaped,

gave the order to return. As the men set the boat's head to the welcome line of lights that marked the Neck, a

black spot balanced upon a black line was swept under their stern and carried out to sea. As it passed them,

this black spot emitted a cry, and they knew that it was one of the shattered boat's crew clinging to an oar.

"He was the only one of 'em alive," said Burgess, bandaging his sprained wrist two hours afterwards at the

He was mistaken, however. Fate had in reserve for the crew of villains a less merciful death than that of

drowning. Aided by the lightning, and that wonderful "good luck" which urges villainy to its destruction,

Vetch beached the boat, and the party, bruised and bleeding, reached the upper portion of the shore in safety.

Of all this number only Cox was lost. He was pulling strokeoar, and, being something of a laggard, stood in

the way of the Crow, who, seeing the importance of haste in preserving his own skin, plucked the man

backwards by the collar, and passed over his sprawling body to the shore. Cox, grasping at anything to save

himself, clutched an oar, and the next moment found himself borne out with the overturned whaleboat by

the undertow. He was drifted past his only hope of rescue the guardboat with a velocity that forbade

all attempts at rescue, and almost before the poor scoundrel had time to realize his condition, he was in the

best possible way of escaping the hanging that his comrades had so often humorously prophesied for him.

Being a strong and vigorous villain, however, he clung tenaciously to his oar, and even unbuckling his leather

belt, passed it round the slip of wood that was his salvation, girding himself to it as firmly as he was able. In

this condition, plus a swoon from exhaustion, he was descried by the helmsman of the Pretty Mary, a few

miles from Cape Surville, at daylight next morning. Blunt, with a wild hope that this waif and stray might be

the lover of Sarah Purfoy, dead, lowered a boat and picked him up. Nearly bisected by the belt, gorged with

salt water, frozen with cold, and having two ribs broken, the victim of Vetch's murderous quickness retained

sufficient life to survive Blunt's remedies for nearly two hours. During that time he stated that his name was

Cox, that he had escaped from Port Arthur with eight others, that John Rex was the leader of the expedition,

that the others were all drowned, and that he believed John Rex had been retaken. Having placed Blunt in

possession of these particulars, he further said that it pricked him to breathe, cursed Jemmy Vetch, the

settlement, and the sea, and so impenitently died. Blunt smoked three pipes, and then altered the course of the

Pretty Mary two points to the eastward, and ran for the coast. It was possible that the man for whom he was

searching had not been retaken, and was even now awaiting his arrival. It was clearly his duty hearing of

the planned escape having been actually attempted not to give up the expedition while hope remained.

The Pretty Mary, hugging the coast as closely as she dared, crawled in the thin breeze all day, and saw

nothing. It would be madness to land at Cape Surville, for the whole station would be on the alert; so Blunt,

as night was falling, stood off a little across the mouth of Pirates' Bay. He was walking the deck, groaning at

the folly of the expedition, when a strange appearance on the southern horn of the bay made him come to a

sudden halt. There was a furnace blazing in the bowels of the mountain! Blunt rubbed his eyes and stared. He

Jem a Sydney man, who had never been round that coast before briefly remarked, "Lighthouse."

Blunt stumped into the cabin and got out his charts. No lighthouse was laid down there, only a mark like an

anchor, and a note, "Remarkable Hole at this Point." A remarkable hole indeed; a remarkable "lime kiln"

Blunt called up his mate, William Staples, a fellow whom Sarah Purfoy's gold had bought body and soul.

William Staples looked at the waxing and waning glow for a while, and then said, in tones trembling with

greed, "It's a fire. Lie to, and lower away the jollyboat. Old man, that's our bird for a thousand pounds!"

"Goin' ahoysterin', sir?" said one of the crew, with a grin, as Blunt threw a bundle into the sternsheets.

Staples thrust his tongue into his cheek. The object of the voyage was now pretty well understood among the

carefully picked crew. Blunt had not chosen men who were likely to betray him, though, for that matter, Rex

"What's in the bundle, old man?" asked Will Staples, after they had got clear of the ship.

"Clothes," returned Blunt. "We can't bring him off, if it is him, in his canaries. He puts on these duds, d'ye

"Go easy, man," said Blunt, as they neared the shore. "They're all awake at Eaglehawk; and if those cursed

dogs give tongue there'll be a boat out in a twinkling. It's lucky the wind's off shore."

Staples lay on his oar and listened. The night was moonless, and the ship had already disappeared from view.

They were approaching the promontory from the southeast, and this isthmus of the guarded Neck was

hidden by the outlying cliff. In the southwestern angle of this cliff, about midway between the summit and

the sea, was an arch, which vomited a red and flickering light, that faintly shone upon the sea in the track of

the boat. The light was lambent and uncertain, now sinking almost into insignificance, and now leaping up

with a fierceness that caused a deep glow to throb in the very heart of the mountain. Sometimes a black figure

would pass across this gigantic furnacemouth, stooping and rising, as though feeding the fire. One might

have imagined that a door in Vulcan's Smithy had been left inadvertently open, and that the old hero was

"And what will Madam say?" returned daredevil Will Staples who would have plunged into Mount Erebus

had he been paid for it. Thus appealed to in the name of his ruling passion, Blunt turned his head, and the

THE lift of the waterspout had saved John Rex's life. At the moment when it struck him he was on his hands

and knees at the entrance of the cavern. The wave, gushing upwards, at the same time expanded, laterally,

and this lateral force drove the convict into the mouth of the subterranean passage. The passage trended

downwards, and for some seconds he was rolled over and over, the rush of water wedging him at length into

a crevice between two enormous stones, which overhung a still more formidable abyss. Fortunately for the

preservation of his hardfoughtfor life, this very fury of incoming water prevented him from being washed

out again with the recoil of the wave. He could hear the water dashing with frightful echoes far down into the

depths beyond him, but it was evident that the two stones against which he had been thrust acted as

breakwaters to the torrent poured in from the outside, and repelled the main body of the stream in the fashion

he had observed from his position on the ledge. In a few seconds the cavern was empty.

Painfully extricating himself, and feeling as yet doubtful of his safety, John Rex essayed to climb the

twinblocks that barred the unknown depths below him. The first movement he made caused him to shriek

aloud. His left arm with which he clung to the rope hung powerless. Ground against the ragged

entrance, it was momentarily paralysed. For an instant the unfortunate wretch sank despairingly on the wet

and rugged floor of the cave; then a terrible gurgling beneath his feet warned him of the approaching torrent,

and, collecting all his energies, he scrambled up the incline. Though nigh fainting with pain and exhaustion,

he pressed desperately higher and higher. He heard the hideous shriek of the whirlpool which was beneath

him grow louder and louder. He saw the darkness grow darker as the rising waterspout covered the mouth

of the cave. He felt the salt spray sting his face, and the wrathful tide lick the hand that hung over the shelf on

which he fell. But that was all. He was out of danger at last! And as the thought blessed his senses, his eyes

closed, and the wonderful courage and strength which had sustained the villain so long exhaled in stupor.

When he awoke the cavern was filled with the soft light of dawn. Raising his eyes, he beheld, high above his

head, a roof of rock, on which the reflection of the sunbeams, playing upwards through a pool of water, cast

flickering colours. On his right hand was the mouth of the cave, on his left a terrific abyss, at the bottom of

which he could hear the sea faintly lapping and washing. He raised himself and stretched his stiffened limbs.

Despite his injured shoulder, it was imperative that he should bestir himself. He knew not if his escape had

been noticed, or if the cavern had another inlet, by which McNab, returning, might penetrate. Moreover, he

was wet and famished. To preserve the life which he had torn from the sea, he must have fire and food. First

he examined the crevice by which he had entered. It was shaped like an irregular triangle, hollowed at the

base by the action of the water which in such storms as that of the preceding night was forced into it by the

rising of the sea. John Rex dared not crawl too near the edge, lest he should slide out of the damp and

slippery orifice, and be dashed upon the rocks at the bottom of the Blowhole. Craning his neck, he could

see, a hundred feet below him, the sullenly frothing water, gurgling, spouting, and creaming, in huge turbid

eddies, occasionally leaping upwards as though it longed for another storm to send it raging up to the man

who had escaped its fury. It was impossible to get down that way. He turned back into the cavern, and began

to explore in that direction. The twinrocks against which he had been hurled were, in fact, pillars which

supported the roof of the waterdrive. Beyond them lay a great grey shadow which was emptiness, faintly

illumined by the sealight cast up through the bottom of the gulf. Midway across the grey shadow fell a

strange beam of dusky brilliance, which cast its flickering light upon a wilderness of waving seaweeds.

Even in the desperate position in which he found himself, there survived in the vagabond's nature sufficient

poetry to make him value the natural marvel upon which he had so strangely stumbled. The immense

promontory, which, viewed from the outside, seemed as solid as a mountain, was in reality but a hollow cone,

reft and split into a thousand fissures by the unsuspected action of the sea for centuries. The Blowhole was

but an insignificant cranny compared with this enormous chasm. Descending with difficulty the steep incline,

he found himself on the brink of a gallery of rock, which, jutting out over the pool, bore on its moist and

weedbearded edges signs of frequent submersion. It must be low tide without the rock. Clinging to the

rough and rootlike algae that fringed the evermoist walls, John Rex crept round the projection of the

gallery, and passed at once from dimness to daylight. There was a broad loophole in the side of the

honeycombed and waveperforated cliff. The cloudless heaven expanded above him; a fresh breeze kissed

his cheek and, sixty feet below him, the sea wrinkled all its lazy length, sparkling in myriad wavelets beneath

the bright beams of morning. Not a sign of the recent tempest marred the exquisite harmony of the picture.

Not a sign of human life gave evidence of the grim neighbourhood of the prison. From the recess out of

which he peered nothing was visible but a sky of turquoise smiling upon a sea of sapphire.

The placidity of Nature was, however, to the hunted convict a new source of alarm. It was a reason why the

Blowhole and its neighbourhood should be thoroughly searched. He guessed that the favourable weather

would be an additional inducement to McNab and Burgess to satisfy themselves as to the fate of their late

prisoner. He turned from the opening, and prepared to descend still farther intO the rock pathway. The

sunshine had revived and cheered him, and a sort of instinct told him that the cliff, so honeycombed above,

could not be without some gully or chink at its base, which at low tide would give upon the rocky shore. It

grew darker as he descended, and twice he almost turned back in dread of the gulfs on either side of him. It

seemed to him, also, that the gullet of weedclad rock through which he was crawling doubled upon itself,

and led only into the bowels of the mountain. Gnawed by hunger, and conscious that in a few hours at most

the rising tide would fill the subterranean passage and cut off his retreat, he pushed desperately onwards. He

had descended some ninety feet, and had lost, in the devious windings of his downward path, all but the

reflection of the light from the gallery, when he was rewarded by a glimpse of sunshine striking upwards. He

parted two enormous masses of seaweed, whose bubbleheaded fronds hung curtainwise across his path, and

found himself in the very middle of the narrow cleft of rock through which the sea was driven to the

Blowhole. At an immense distance above him was the arch of cliff. Beyond that arch appeared a segment of

the ragged edge of the circular opening, down which he had fallen. He looked in vain for the funnelmouth

whose friendly shelter had received him. It was now indistinguishable. At his feet was a long rift in the solid

rock, so narrow that he could almost have leapt across it. This rift was the channel of a swift black current

which ran from the sea for fifty yards under an arch eight feet high, until it broke upon the jagged rocks that

lay blistering in the sunshine at the bottom of the circular opening in the upper cliff. A shudder shook the

limbs of the adventurous convict. He comprehended that at high tide the place where he stood was under

water, and that the narrow cavern became a subaqueous pipe of solid rock forty feet long, through which

The narrow strip of rock at the base of the cliff was as flat as a table. Here and there were enormous hollows

like pans, which the retreating tide had left full of clear, still water. The crannies of the rock were inhabited

by small white crabs, and John Rex found to his delight that there was on this little shelf abundance of

mussels, which, though lean and acrid, were sufficiently grateful to his famished stomach. Attached to the flat

surfaces of the numerous stones, moreover, were coarse limpets. These, however, John Rex found too salt to

be palatable, and was compelled to reject them. A larger variety, however, having a succulent body as thick

as a man's thumb, contained in long razorshaped shells, were in some degree free from this objection, and

he soon collected the materials for a meal. Having eaten and sunned himself, he began to examine the

enormous rock, to the base of which he had so strangely penetrated. Rugged and worn, it raised its huge

breast against wind and wave, secure upon a broad pedestal, which probably extended as far beneath the sea

as the massive column itself rose above it. Rising thus, with its shaggy drapery of seaweed clinging about its

knees, it seemed to be a motionless but sentient being some monster of the deep, a Titan of the ocean

condemned ever to front in silence the fury of that illimitable and rarelytravelled sea. Yet silent and

motionless as he was the hoary ancient gave hint of the mysteries of his revenge. Standing upon the broad

and seagirt platform where surely no human foot but his had ever stood in life, the convict saw, many feet

above him, pitched into a cavity of the huge sunblistered boulders, an object which his sailor eye told him at

once was part of the top hamper of some large ship. Crusted with shells, and its ruin so overrun with the ivy

of the ocean that its ropes could barely be distinguished from the weeds with which they were encumbered,

this relic of human labour attested the triumph of nature over human ingenuity. Perforated below by the

relentless sea, exposed above to the full fury of the tempest; set in solitary defiance to the waves, that rolling

from the icevolcano of the Southern Pole, hurled their gathered might unchecked upon its iron front, the

great rock drew from its lonely warfare the materials of its own silent vengeance. Clasped in iron arms, it

held its prey, snatched from the jaws of the alldevouring sea. One might imagine that, when the doomed

ship, with her crew of shrieking souls, had splintered and gone down, the deaf, blind giant had clutched this

fragment, upheaved from the seething waters, with a thrill of savage and terrible joy.

John Rex, gazing up at this memento of a forgotten agony, felt a sensation of the most vulgar pleasure.

"There's wood for my fire!" thought he; and mounting to the spot, he essayed to fling down the splinters of

timber upon the platform. Long exposed to the sun, and flung high above the watermark of recent storms,

the timber had dried to the condition of touchwood, and would burn fiercely. It was precisely what he

required. Strange accident that had for years stored, upon a desolate rock, this fragment of a vanished and

longforgotten vessel, that it might aid at last to warm the limbs of a villain escaping from justice!

Striking the disintegrated mass with his ironshod heel, John Rex broke off convenient portions; and making

a bag of his shirt by tying the sleeves and neck, he was speedily staggering into the cavern with a supply of

fuel. He made two trips, flinging down the wood on the floor of the gallery that overlooked the sea, and was

returning for a third, when his quick ear caught the dip of oars. He had barely time to lift the seaweed curtain

that veiled the entrance to the chasm, when the Eaglehawk boat rounded the promontory. Burgess was in the

sternsheets, and seemed to be making signals to someone on the top of the cliff. Rex, grinning behind his

veil, divined the manoeuvre. McNab and his party were to search above, while the Commandant examined

the gulf below. The boat headed direct for the passage, and for an instant John Rex's undaunted soul shivered

at the thought that, perhaps, after all, his pursuers might be aware of the existence of the cavern. Yet that was

unlikely. He kept his ground, and the boat passed within a foot of him, gliding silently into the gulf. He

observed that Burgess's usually florid face was pale, and that his left sleeve was cut open, showing a bandage

on the arm. There had been some fighting, then, and it was not unlikely that all his fellowdesperadoes had

been captured! He chuckled at his own ingenuity and good sense. The boat, emerging from the archway,

entered the pool of the Blowhole, and, held with the full strength of the party, remained stationary. John Rex

watched Burgess scan the rocks and eddies, saw him signal to McNab, and then, with much relief, beheld the

He was so intent upon watching this dangerous and difficult operation that he was oblivious of an

extraordinary change which had taken place in the interior of the cavern. The water which, an hour ago, had

left exposed a long reef of black hummockrocks, was now spread in one foamflecked sheet over the

ragged bottom of the rude staircase by which he had descended. The tide had turned, and the sea, apparently

sucked in through some deeper tunnel in the portion of the cliff which was below water, was being forced

into the vault with a rapidity which bid fair to shortly submerge the mouth of the cave. The convict's feet

were already wetted by the incoming waves, and as he turned for one last look at the boat he saw a green

billow heave up against the entrance to the chasm, and, almost blotting out the daylight, roll majestically

through the arch. It was high time for Burgess to take his departure if he did not wish his whaleboat to be

cracked like a nut against the roof of the tunnel. Alive to his danger, the Commandant abandoned the search

after his late prisoner's corpse, and he hastened to gain the open sea. The boat, carried backwards and

upwards on the bosom of a monstrous wave, narrowly escaped destruction, and John Rex, climbing to the

gallery, saw with much satisfaction the broad back of his outwitted gaoler disappear round the sheltering

promontory. The last efforts of his pursuers had failed, and in another hour the only accessible entrance to the

His gaolers were convinced of his death, and would search for him no more. So far, so good. Now for the last

desperate venture the escape from the wonderful cavern which was at once his shelter and his prison.

Piling his wood together, and succeeding after many efforts, by the aid of a flint and the ring which yet clung

to his ankle, in lighting a fire, and warming his chilled limbs in its cheering blaze, he set himself to meditate

upon his course of action. He was safe for the present, and the supply of food that the rock afforded was

amply sufficient to sustain life in him for many days, but it was impossible that he could remain for many

days concealed. He had no fresh water, and though, by reason of the soaking he had received, he had hitherto

felt little inconvenience from this cause, the salt and acrid mussels speedily induced a raging thirst, which he

could not alleviate. It was imperative that within fortyeight hours at farthest he should be on his way to the

peninsula. He remembered the little stream into which in his flight of the previous night he had so

nearly fallen, and hoped to be able, under cover of the darkness, to steal round the reef and reach it

unobserved. His desperate scheme was then to commence. He had to run the gauntlet of the dogs and guards,

gain the peninsula, and await the rescuing vessel. He confessed to himself that the chances were terribly

against him. If Gabbett and the others had been recaptured as he devoutly trusted the coast would be

comparatively clear; but if they had escaped, he knew Burgess too well to think that he would give up the

chase while hope of retaking the absconders remained to him. If indeed all fell out as he had wished, he had

still to sustain life until Blunt found him if haply Blunt had not returned, wearied with useless and

As night came on, and the firelight showed strange shadows waving from the corners of the enormous vault,

while the dismal abysses beneath him murmured and muttered with uncouth and ghastly utterance, there fell

upon the lonely man the terror of Solitude. Was this marvellous hidingplace that he had discovered to be his

sepulchre? Was he a monster amongst his fellowmen to die some monstrous death, entombed in this

mysterious and terrible cavern of the sea? He had tried to drive away these gloomy thoughts by sketching out

for himself a plan of action but in vain. In vain he strove to picture in its completeness that as yet

vague design by which he promised himself to wrest from the vanished son of the wealthy shipbuilder

his name and heritage. His mind, filled with forebodings of shadowy horror, could not give the subject the

calm consideration which it needed. In the midst of his schemes for the baffling of the jealous love of the

woman who was to save him, and the getting to England, in shipwrecked and foreign guise, as the longlost

heir to the fortune of Sir Richard Devine, there arose ghastly and awesome shapes of death and horror, with

whose terrible unsubstantiality he must grapple in the lonely recesses of that dismal cavern. He heaped fresh

wood upon his fire, that the bright light might drive out the gruesome things that lurked above, below, and

around him. He became afraid to look behind him, lest some shapeless mass of midsea birth some

voracious polype, with farreaching arms and jellied mouth ever open to devour might slide up over the

edge of the dripping caves below, and fasten upon him in the darkness. His imagination always

sufficiently vivid, and spurred to an unnatural effect by the exciting scenes of the previous night painted

each patch of shadow, clinging batlike to the humid wall, as some globular seaspider ready to drop upon

him with its viscid and claycold body, and drain out his chilled blood, enfolding him in rough and hairy

arms. Each splash in the water beneath him, each sigh of the multitudinous and melancholy sea, seemed to

prelude the laborious advent of some misshapen and ungainly abortion of the ooze. All the sensations

induced by lapping water and regurgitating waves took material shape and surrounded him. All creatures that

could be engendered by slime and salt crept forth into the firelight to stare at him. Red dabs and splashes that

were living beings, having a strange phosphoric light of their own, glowed upon the floor. The livid

encrustations of a hundred years of humidity slipped from off the walls and painfully heaved their mushroom

surfaces to the blaze. The red glow of the unwonted fire, crimsoning the wet sides of the cavern, seemed to

attract countless blisterous and transparent shapelessnesses, which elongated themselves towards him.

Bloodless and bladdery things ran hither and thither noiselessly. Strange carapaces crawled from out of the

rocks. All the horrible unseen life of the ocean seemed to be rising up and surrounding him. He retreated to

the brink of the gulf, and the glare of the upheld brand fell upon a rounded hummock, whose coronal of silky

weed outfloating in the water looked like the head of a drowned man. He rushed to the entrance of the

gallery, and his shadow, thrown into the opening, took the shape of an avenging phantom, with arms upraised

to warn him back. The naturalist, the explorer, or the shipwrecked seaman would have found nothing frightful

in this exhibition of the harmless life of the Australian ocean. But the convict's guilty conscience, long

suppressed and derided, asserted itself in this hour when it was alone with Nature and Night. The bitter

intellectual power which had so long supported him succumbed beneath imagination the unconscious

religion of the soul. If ever he was nigh repentance it was then. Phantoms of his past crimes gibbered at him,

and covering his eyes with his hands, he fell shuddering upon his knees. The brand, loosening from his grasp,

dropped into the gulf, and was extinguished with a hissing noise. As if the sound had called up some spirit

"John Rex!" The hair on the convict's flesh stood up, and he cowered to the earth.

It was a human voice! Whether of friend or enemy he did not pause to think. His terror overmastered all

Arrived at the foot of the cliff, Blunt and Staples found themselves in almost complete darkness, for the light

of the mysterious fire, which had hitherto guided them, had necessarily disappeared. Calm as was the night,

and still as was the ocean, the sea yet ran with silent but dangerous strength through the channel which led to

the Blowhole; and Blunt, instinctively feeling the boat drawn towards some unknown peril, held off the

shelf of rocks out of reach of the current. A sudden flash of fire, as from a flourished brand, burst out above

them, and floating downwards through the darkness, in erratic circles, came an atom of burning wood. Surely

Blunt, in desperate anxiety, determined to risk all upon one venture. "John Rex!" he shouted up through his

rounded hands. The light flashed again at the eyehole of the mountain, and on the point above them

appeared a wild figure, holding in its hands a burning log, whose fierce glow illumined a face so contorted by

"The poor devil seems halfcrazy," said Will Staples, under his breath; and then aloud, "We're FRIENDS!" A

few moments sufficed to explain matters. The terrors which had oppressed John Rex disappeared in human

presence, and the villain's coolness returned. Kneeling on the rock platform, he held parley.

"It is impossible for me to come down now," he said. "The tide covers the only way out of the cavern."

"No, nor you neither," said Rex, shuddering at the thought of trusting himself to that horrible whirlpool.

"What's to be done? You can't come down that wall." "Wait until morning," returned Rex coolly. "It will be

dead low tide at seven o'clock. You must send a boat at six, or thereabouts. It will be low enough for me to

" Won't come here, my man. They've got their work to do in watching the Neck and exploring after my

"Thought to be so, which is as well better for me, perhaps. If they don't see your ship, or your boat, you're

"It's Death if I'm caught!" returned the other, with a sinister laugh. "But there's no danger if you are cautious.

No one looks for rats in a terrier's kennel, and there's not a station along the beach from here to Cape Pillar.

Take your vessel out of eyeshot of the Neck, bring the boat up Descent Beach, and the thing's done."

"You wouldn't like to stop here till morning? It is rather lonely," suggested Rex, absolutely making a jest of

"Then good night. I'll put my fire out, in case somebody else might see it, who wouldn't be as kind as you

"Not a word, the ungrateful dog," asserted Blunt, adding, with some heat, "That's the way with women.

They'll go through fire and water for a man that doesn't care a snap of his fingers for 'em; but for any poor

fellow who risks his neck to pleasure 'em they've nothing but sneers! I wish I'd never meddled in the

"There are no fools like old fools," thought Will Staples, looking back through the darkness at the place

At eight o'clock the next morning the Pretty Mary stood out to sea with every stitch of canvas set, alow and

aloft. The skipper's fishing had come to an end. He had caught a shipwrecked seaman, who had been brought

on board at daylight, and was then at breakfast in the cabin. The crew winked at each other when the haggard

mariner, attired in garments that seemed remarkably well preserved, mounted the side. But they, none of

"Where are we bound for?" asked John Rex, smoking Staples's pipe in lingering puffs of delight. "I'm entirely

"My orders are to cruise about the whaling grounds until I meet my consort," returned Blunt sullenly, "and

put you aboard her. She'll take you back to Sydney. I'm victualled for a twelvemonths' trip."

"Right!" cried Rex, clapping his preserver on the back. "I'm bound to get to Sydney somehow; but, as the

Philistines are abroad, I may as well tarry in Jericho till my beard be grown. Don't stare at my Scriptural

quotation, Mr. Staples," he added, inspirited by creature comforts, and secure amid his purchased friends. "I

assure you that I've had the very best religious instruction. Indeed, it is chiefly owing to my worthy spiritual

pastor and master that I am enabled to smoke this very villainous tobacco of yours at the present moment!"

IT was not until they had scrambled up the beach to safety that the absconders became fully aware of the loss

of another of their companions. As they stood on the break of the beach, wringing the water from their

"The fool fell overboard," said Jemmy Vetch shortly. "He never had as much sense in that skull of his as

would keep it sound on his shoulders." Gabbett scowled. "That's three of us gone," he said, in the tones of a

They summed up their means of defence against attack. Sanders and Greenhill had knives. Gabbett still

retained the axe in his belt. Vetch had dropped his musket at the Neck, and Bodenham and Cornelius were

There was but one bag of provisions. It contained a piece of salt pork, two loaves, and some uncooked

The inspection over, the six proceeded up the shore, and encamped under the lee of a rock. Bodenham was

for lighting a fire, but Vetch, who, by tacit consent, had been chosen leader of the expedition, forbade it,

saying that the light might betray them. "They'll think we're drowned, and won't pursue us," he said. So all

Morning breaks clear and bright, and free for the first time in ten years they comprehend that their

terrible journey has begun. "Where are we to go? How are we to live?" asked Bodenham, scanning the barren

bush that stretches to the barren sea. "Gabbett, you've been out before how's it done?"

"We'll make the shepherds' huts, and live on their tucker till we get a change o' clothes," said Gabbett evading

"Steady, lads," said prudent Vetch; "we must sneak round yon sandhills, and so creep into the scrub. If

"It does seem close," said Bodenham; "I could pitch a stone on to the guardhouse. Goodbye, you Bloody

Spot!" he adds, with sudden rage, shaking his fist vindictively at the Penitentiary; "I don't want to see you no

Vetch divides the provisions, and they travel all that day until dark night. The scrub is prickly and dense.

Their clothes are torn, their hands and feet bleeding. Already they feel outwearied. No one pursuing, they

light a fire, and sleep. The second day they come to a sandy spit that runs out into the sea, and find that they

have got too far to the eastward, and must follow the shore line to East Bay Neck. Back through the scrub

they drag their heavy feet. That night they eat the last crumb of the loaf. The third day at high noon after

some toilsome walking they reach a big hill, now called Collins' Mount, and see the upper link of the

earring, the isthmus of East Bay Neck, at their feet. A few rocks are on their right hand, and blue in the lovely

distance lies hated Maria Island. "We must keep well to the eastward," said Greenhill, "or we shall fall in

with the settlers and get taken." So, passing the isthmus, they strike into the bush along the shore, and

tightening their belts over their gnawing bellies, camp under some lowlying hills.

The fourth day is notable for the indisposition of Bodenham, who is a bad walker, and, falling behind, delays

the party by frequent cooees. Gabbett threatens him with a worse fate than sore feet if he lingers. Luckily,

that evening Greenhill espies a hut, but, not trusting to the friendship of the occupant, they wait until he quits

it in the morning, and then send Vetch to forage. Vetch, secretly congratulating himself on having by his

counsel prevented violence, returns bending under half a bag of flour. "You'd better carry the flour," said he

to Gabbett, "and give me the axe." Gabbett eyes him for a while, as if struck by his puny form, but finally

gives the axe to his mate Sanders. That day they creep along cautiously between the sea and the hills,

camping at a creek. Vetch, after much search, finds a handful of berries, and adds them to the main stock.

Half of this handful is eaten at once, the other half reserved for "tomorrow". The next day they come to an

arm of the sea, and as they struggle northward, Maria Island disappears, and with it all danger from

telescopes. That evening they reach the camping ground by twos and threes; and each wonders between the

paroxysms of hunger if his face is as haggard, and his eyes as bloodshot, as those of his neighbour.

On the seventh day, Bodenham says his feet are so bad he can't walk, and Greenhill, with a greedy look at the

berries, bids him stay behind. Being in a very weak condition, he takes his companion at his word, and drops

off about noon the next day. Gabbett, discovering this defection, however, goes back, and in an hour or so

appears, driving the wretched creature before him with blows, as a sheep is driven to the shambles. Greenhill

remonstrates at another mouth being thus forced upon the party, but the giant silences him with a hideous

glance. Jemmy Vetch remembers that Greenhill accompanied Gabbett once before, and feels uncomfortable.

He gives hint of his suspicions to Sanders, but Sanders only laughs. It is horribly evident that there is an

The ninth sun of their freedom, rising upon sandy and barren hillocks, bristling thick with cruel scrub, sees

the six faminestricken wretches cursing their God, and yet afraid to die. All around is the fruitless,

shadeless, shelterless bush. Above, the pitiless heaven. In the distance, the remorseless sea. Something

terrible must happen. That grey wilderness, arched by grey heaven stooping to grey sea, is a fitting keeper of

hideous secrets. Vetch suggests that Oyster Bay cannot be far to the eastward the line of ocean is

deceitfully close and though such a proceeding will take them out of their course, they resolve to make for

it. After hobbling five miles, they seem no nearer than before, and, nigh dead with fatigue and starvation, sink

despairingly upon the ground. Vetch thinks Gabbett's eyes have a wolfish glare in them, and instinctively

draws off from him. Said Greenhill, in the course of a dismal conversation, "I am so weak that I could eat a

On the tenth day Bodenham refuses to stir, and the others, being scarce able to drag along their limbs, sit on

the ground about him. Greenhill, eyeing the prostrate man, said slowly, "I have seen the same done before,

Vetch, hearing his savage comrade give utterance to a thought all had secretly cherished, speaks out, crying,

"Oh," said Gabbett, with a grin, "I'll warrant you that, but you must all have a hand in it."

Gabbett, Sanders and Greenhill then go aside, and presently Sanders, coming to the Crow, said, "He

"Ay, but Bodenham's feet are sore," said Sanders, "and 'tis a pity to leave him."

Having no fire, they make a little breakwind; and Vetch, halfdozing behind this at about three in the

No one but Gabbett and Greenhill would eat that night. That savage pair, however, make a fire, fling ghastly

fragments on the embers, and eat the broil before it is right warm. In the morning the frightful carcase is

divided. That day's march takes place in silence, and at midday halt Cornelius volunteers to carry the billy,

affecting great restoration from the food. Vetch gives it to him, and in half an hour afterwards Cornelius is

missing. Gabbett and Greenhill pursue him in vain, and return with curses. "He'll die like a dog," said

Greenhill, "alone in the bush." Jemmy Vetch, with his intellect acute as ever, thinks that Cornelius may prefer

The twelfth morning dawns wet and misty, but Vetch, seeing the provision running short, strives to be

cheerful, telling stories of men who have escaped greater peril. Vetch feels with dismay that he is the weakest

of the party, but has some sort of ludicrohorrible consolation in remembering that he is also the leanest.

They come to a creek that afternoon, and look, until nightfall, in vain for a crossingplace. The next day

Gabbett and Vetch swim across, and Vetch directs Gabbett to cut a long sapling, which, being stretched

They cannot kindle a fire, for Greenhill, who carries the tinder, has allowed it to get wet. The giant swings his

axe in savage anger at enforced cold, and Vetch takes an opportunity to remark privately to him what a big

On the fourteenth day they can scarcely crawl, and their limbs pain them. Greenhill, who is the weakest, sees

Gabbett and the Moocher go aside to consult, and crawling to the Crow, whimpers: "For God's sake, Jemmy,

"I can't help you," says Vetch, looking about in terror. "Think of poor Tom Bodenham."

"But he was no murderer. If they kill me, I shall go to hell with Tom's blood on my soul." He writhes on the

ground in sickening terror, and Gabbett arriving, bids Vetch bring wood for the fire. Vetch, going, sees

Greenhill clinging to wolfish Gabbett's knees, and Sanders calls after him, "You will hear it presently, Jem."

The nervous Crow puts his hand to his ears, but is conscious of a dull crash and a groan. When he comes

back, Gabbett is putting on the dead man's shoes, which are better than his own.

Two more days pass, and the three, eyeing each other suspiciously, resume their march. The third day the

sixteenth of their awful journey such portions of the carcase as they have with them prove unfit to eat.

"We must all die together," said Sanders quickly, "before anything else must happen."

Vetch marks the terror concealed in the words, and when the dreaded giant is out of earshot, says, "For God's

sake, let's go on alone, Alick. You see what sort of a cove that Gabbett is he'd kill his father before he'd

They made for the bush, but the giant turned and strode towards them. Vetch skipped nimbly on one side, but

Gabbett struck the Moocher on the forehead with the axe. "Help! Jem, help!" cried the victim, cut, but not

fatally, and in the strength of his desperation tore the axe from the monster who bore it, and flung it to Vetch.

They fare again through the horrible bush until nightfall, when Vetch, in a strange voice, called the giant to

"No, no," said the Crow, his thin, malignant face distorted by a horrible resolution. "I'll keep the axe. Stand

Sanders, seeing them approach, knew his end was come, and submitted, crying, "Give me half an hour to

pray for myself." They consent, and the bewildered wretch knelt down and folded his hands like a child. His

big, stupid face worked with emotion. His great cracked lips moved in desperate agony. He wagged his head

from side to side, in pitiful confusion of his brutalized senses. "I can't think o' the words, Jem!"

Four days had passed, and the two survivors of this awful journey sat watching each other. The gaunt giant,

his eyes gleaming with hate and hunger, sat sentinel over the dwarf. The dwarf, chuckling at his superior

sagacity, clutched the fatal axe. For two days they had not spoken to each other. For two days each had

promised himself that on the next his companion must sleep and die. Vetch comprehended the devilish

scheme of the monster who had entrapped five of his fellowbeings to aid him by their deaths to his own

safety, and held aloof. Gabbett watched to snatch the weapon from his companion, and make the odds even

once and for ever. In the daytime they travelled on, seeking each a pretext to creep behind the other. In the

nighttime when they feigned slumber, each stealthily raising a head caught the wakeful glance of his

companion. Vetch felt his strength deserting him, and his brain overpowered by fatigue. Surely the giant,

muttering, gesticulating, and slavering at the mouth, was on the road to madness. Would the monster find

opportunity to rush at him, and, braving the bloodstained axe, kill him by main force? or would he sleep,

and be himself a victim? Unhappy Vetch! It is the terrible privilege of insanity to be sleepless.

On the fifth day, Vetch, creeping behind a tree, takes off his belt, and makes a noose. He will hang himself.

He gets one end of the belt over a bough, and then his cowardice bids him pause. Gabbett approaches; he tries

to evade him, and steal away into the bush. In vain. The insatiable giant, ravenous with famine, and sustained

by madness, is not to be shaken off. Vetch tries to run, but his legs bend under him. The axe that has tried to

drink so much blood feels heavy as lead. He will fling it away. No he dares not. Night falls again. He must

rest, or go mad. His limbs are powerless. His eyelids are glued together. He sleeps as he stands. This horrible

thing must be a dream. He is at Port Arthur, or will wake on his pallet in the penny lodginghouse he slept at

when a boy. Is that the Deputy come to wake him to the torment of living? It is not time surely not time

yet. He sleeps and the giant, grinning with ferocious joy, approaches on clumsy tiptoe and seizes the

On the north coast of Van Diemen's Land is a place called St Helen's Point, and a certain skipper, being in

want of fresh water; landing there with a boat's crew, found on the banks of the creek a gaunt and

bloodstained man, clad in tattered yellow, who carried on his back an axe and a bundle. When the sailors

came within sight of him, he made signs to them to approach, and, opening his bundle with much ceremony,

offered them some of its contents. Filled with horror at what the maniac displayed, they seized and bound

him. At Hobart Town he was recognized as the only survivor of the nine desperadoes who had escaped from

BATHURST, February 11th, 1846. IN turning over the pages of my journal, to note the good fortune that has

just happened to me, I am struck by the utter desolation of my life for the last seven years.

Can it be possible that I, James North, the collegehero, the poet, the prizeman, the Heaven knows what else,

have been content to live on at this dreary spot an animal, eating and drinking, for tomorrow I die? Yet it

has been so. My world, that world of which I once dreamt so much, has been here. My fame which

was to reach the ends of the earth has penetrated to the neighbouring stations. I am considered a "good

Yet, on the eve of leaving it, I confess that this solitary life has not been without its charms. I have had my

books and my thoughts though at times the latter were but grim companions, I have striven with my

familiar sin, and have not always been worsted. Melancholy reflection. "Not always!" "But yet" is as a gaoler

to bring forth some monstrous malefactor. I vowed, however, that I would not cheat myself in this diary of

mine, and I will not. No evasions, no glossings over of my own sins. This journal is my confessor, and I bare

It is curious the pleasure I feel in setting down here in black and white these agonies and secret cravings of

which I dare not speak. It is for the same reason, I suppose, that murderers make confession to dogs and cats,

that people with something "on their mind" are given to thinking aloud, that the queen of Midas must needs

whisper to the sedges the secret of her husband's infirmity. Outwardly I am a man of God, pious and grave

and softly spoken. Inwardly what? The mean, cowardly, weak sinner that this book knows me...Imp! I

could tear you in pieces!...One of these days I will. In the meantime, I will keep you under lock and key, and

you shall hug my secrets close. No, old friend, with whom I have communed so long, forgive me, forgive me.

You are to me instead of wife or priest. I tell to your cold blue pages how much was it I bought you for in

Parramatta, rascal? these stories, longings, remorses, which I would fain tell to human ear could I find a

human being as discreet as thou. It has been said that a man dare not write all his thoughts and deeds; the

words would blister the paper. Yet your sheets are smooth enough, you fat rogue! Our neighbours of Rome

know human nature. A man must confess. One reads of wretches who have carried secrets in their bosoms for

years, and blurted them forth at last. I, shut up here without companionship, without sympathy, without

letters, cannot lock up my soul, and feed on my own thoughts. They will out, and so I whisper them to thee.

What art thou, thou tremendous power Who dost inhabit us without our leave, And art, within ourselves,

What? Conscience? That is a word to frighten children. The conscience of each man is of his own making.

My friend the sharktoothed cannibal whom Staples brought in his whaler to Sydney would have found his

conscience reproach him sorely did he refuse to partake of the feasts made sacred by the customs of his

ancestors A spark of divinity? The divinity that, according to received doctrine; Sits apart, enthroned amid

sweet music, and leaves poor humanity to earn its condemnation as it may? I'll have none of that though I

preach it. One must soothe the vulgar senses of the people Priesthood has its "pious frauds". The Master

spoke in parables. Wit? The wit that sees how illbalanced are our actions and our aspirations? The devilish

wit born of our own brain, that sneers at us for our own failings? Perhaps madness? More likely, for there are

few men who are not mad one hour of the waking twelve. If differing from the judgment of the majority of

mankind in regard to familiar things be madness, I suppose I am mad or too wise. The speculation draws

near to hairsplitting. James North, recall your early recklessness, your ruin, and your redemption; bring your

mind back to earth. Circumstances have made you what you are, and will shape your destiny for you without

Now supposing to take another canter on my nightmare that man is the slave of circumstances (a

doctrine which I am inclined to believe, though unwilling to confess); what circumstance can have brought

about the sudden awakening of the powers that be to James North's fitness for duty?HOBART TOWN, Jan.

12th."DEAR NORTH, I have much pleasure in informing you that you can be appointed Protestant

chaplain at Norfolk Island, if you like. It seems that they did not get on well with the last man, and when my

advice was asked, I at once recommended you for the office. The pay is small, but you have a house and so

on. It is certainly better than Bathurst, and indeed is considered rather a prize in the clerical lottery."There is

to be an investigation into affairs down there. Poor old Pratt who went down, as you know, at the earnest

solicitation of the Government seems to have become absurdly lenient with the prisoners, and it is

reported that the island is in a frightful state. Sir Eardley is looking out for some disciplinarian to take the

place in hand."In the meantime, the chaplaincy is vacant, and I thought of you."

February 19th. I accept. There is work to be done among those unhappy men that may be my purgation.

The authorities shall hear me yet though inquiry was stifled at Port Arthur. By the way, a Pharaoh had

arisen who knows not Joseph. It is evident that the meddlesome parson, who complained of men being

flogged to death, is forgotten, as the men are! How many ghosts must haunt the dismal loneliness of that

prison shore! Poor Burgess is gone the way of all flesh. I wonder if his spirit revisits the scenes of its

It is strange how we pity a man gone out of this life. Enmity is extinguished when one can but remember

injuries. If a man had injured me, the fact of his living at all would be sufficient grounds for me to hate him;

if I had injured him, I should hate him still more. Is that the reason I hate myself at times my greatest

enemy, and one whom I have injured beyond forgiveness? There are offences against one's own nature that

are not to be forgiven. Isn't it Tacitus who says "the hatred of those most nearly related is most inveterate"?

February 27th, 11.30 p.m. Nine Creeks Station. I do like to be accurate in names, dates, etc. Accuracy is a

virtue. To exercise it, then. Station ninety miles from Bathurst. I should say about 4,000 head of cattle.

Luxury without refinement. Plenty to eat, drink, and read. Hostess's name Carr. She is a wellpreserved

creature, about thirtyfour years of age, and a clever woman not in a poetical sense, but in the widest

worldly acceptation of the term. At the same time, I should be sorry to be her husband. Women have no

business with a brain like hers that is, if they wish to be women and not sexual monsters. Mrs. Carr is not

a lady, though she might have been one. I don't think she is a good woman either. It is possible, indeed, that

she has known the factory before now. There is a mystery about her, for I was informed that she was a Mrs.

Purfoy, the widow of a whaling captain, and had married one of her assigned servants, who had deserted her

five years ago, as soon as he obtained his freedom. A word or two at dinner set me thinking. She had received

some English papers, and, accounting for her preoccupied manner, grimly said, "I think I have news of my

husband." I should not like to be in Carr's shoes if she has news of him! I don't think she would suffer

indignity calmly. After all, what business is it of mine? I was beguiled into taking more wine at dinner than I

needed. Confessor, do you hear me? But I will not allow myself to be carried away. You grin, you fat

March 3rd. A place called Jerrilang, where I have a head and heartache. "One that hath let go himself

from the hold and stay of reason, and lies open to the mercy of all temptations."

March 20th. Sydney. At Captain Frere's. Seventeen days since I have opened you, beloved and

detested companion of mine. I have more than half a mind to never open you again! To read you is to recall

to myself all I would most willingly forget; yet not to read you would be to forget all that which I should for

The last week has made a new man of me. I am no longer morose, despairing, and bitter, but genial, and on

good terms with fortune. It is strange that accident should have induced me to stay a week under the same

roof with that vision of brightness which has haunted me so long. A meeting in the street, an introduction, an

The circumstances which form our fortunes are certainly curious things. I had thought never again to meet the

bright young face to which I felt so strange an attraction and lo! here it is smiling on me daily. Captain

Frere should be a happy man. Yet there is a skeleton in this house also. That young wife, by nature so lovable

and so mirthful, ought not to have the sadness on her face that twice today has clouded it. He seems a

passionate and boorish creature, this wonderful convict disciplinarian. His convicts poor devils are

doubtless disciplined enough. Charming little Sylvia, with your quaint wit and weird beauty, he is not good

March 21st. I have read family prayers every night since I have been here my black coat and white tie

gave me the natural preeminence in such matters and I feel guilty every time I read. I wonder what the

little lady of the devotional eyes would say if she knew that I am a miserable hypocrite, preaching that which

I do not practise, exhorting others to believe those marvels which I do not believe? I am a coward not to

throw off the saintly mask, and appear as a Freethinker. Yet, am I a coward? I urge upon myself that it is for

the glory of God I hold my peace. The scandal of a priest turned infidel would do more harm than the reign of

reason would do good. Imagine this trustful woman for instance she would suffer anguish at the thoughts

of such a sin, though another were the sinner. "If anyone offend one of these little ones it were better for him

that a millstone be hanged about his neck and that he be cast into the sea." Yet truth is truth, and should be

spoken should it not, malignant monitor, who remindest me how often I fail to speak it? Surely among all

his army of blackcoats our worthy Bishop must have some men like me, who cannot bring their reason to

March 22nd. This unromantic Captain Frere had had some romantic incidents in his life, and he is fond of

dilating upon them. It seems that in early life he expected to have been left a large fortune by an uncle who

had quarrelled with his heir. But the uncle dies on the day fixed for the altering of the will, the son

disappears, and is thought to be drowned. The widow, however, steadfastly refuses to believe in any report of

the young man's death, and having a lifeinterest in the property, holds it against all comers. My poor host in

consequence comes out here on his pay, and, three years ago, just as he is hoping that the death of his aunt

may give him opportunity to enforce a claim as next of kin to some portion of the property, the longlost son

returns, is recognized by his mother and the trustees, and installed in due heirship! The other romantic story is

connected with Frere's marriage. He told me after dinner tonight how his wife had been wrecked when a

child, and how he had saved her life, and defended her from the rude hands of an escaped convict one of

the monsters our monstrous system breeds. "That was how we fell in love," said he, tossing off his wine

"An auspicious opportunity," said I. To which he nodded. He is not overburdened with brains, I fancy. Let me

A long low white house, surrounded by a blooming garden. Wide windows opening on a lawn. The ever

glorious, ever changing sea beneath. It is evening. I am talking with Mrs. Frere, of theories of social reform,

of picture galleries, of sunsets, and new books. There comes a sound of wheels on the gravel. It is the

magistrate returned from his convict discipline. We hear him come briskly up the steps, but we go on

talking. (I fancy there was a time when the lady would have run to meet him.) He enters, coldly kisses his

wife, and disturbs at once the current of our thoughts. "It has been hot today. What, still no letter from

headquarters, Mr. North! I saw Mrs. Golightly in town, Sylvia, and she asked for you. There is to be a ball

at Government House. We must go." Then he departs, and is heard in the distance indistinctly cursing

because the water is not hot enough, or because Dawkins, his convict servant, has not brushed his trousers

sufficiently. We resume our chat, but he returns all hungry, and bluff, and whiskerbrushed. "Dinner. Haha!

I'm ready for it. North take Mrs. Frere." By and by it is, "North, some sherry? Sylvia, the soup is spoilt again.

Did you go out today? No?" His eyebrows contract here, and I know he says inwardly, "Reading some

trashy novel, I suppose." However, he grins, and obligingly relates how the police have captured Cockatoo

After dinner the disciplinarian and I converse of dogs and horses, gamecocks, convicts, and moving

accidents by flood and field. I remember old college feats, and strive to keep pace with him in the relation of

athletics. What hypocrites we are! for all the time I am longing to get to the drawingroom, and finish my

criticism of the new poet, Mr. Tennyson, to Mrs. Frere. Frere does not read Tennyson nor anybody else.

Adjourned to the drawingroom, we chat Mrs. Frere and I until supper. (He eats supper.) She is a

charming companion, and when I talk my best I can talk, you must admit, O Familiar her face lightens

up with an interest I rarely see upon it at other times. I feel cooled and soothed by this companionship. The

quiet refinement of this house, after bullocks and Bathurst, is like the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.

Mrs. Frere is about fiveandtwenty. She is rather beneath the middle height, with a slight, girlish figure.

This girlish appearance is enhanced by the fact that she has bright fair hair and blue eyes. Upon conversation

with her, however, one sees that her face has lost much of the delicate plumpness which it probably owned in

youth. She has had one child, born only to die. Her cheeks are thin, and her eyes have a tinge of sadness,

which speak of physical pain or mental grief. This thinness of face makes the eyes appear larger and the brow

broader than they really are. Her hands are white and painfully thin. They must have been plump and pretty

Captain Frere seems to have absorbed all his wife's vitality. (Who quotes the story of Lucius Claudius

Hermippus, who lived to a great age by being constantly breathed on by young girls? I suppose Burton

who quotes everything.) In proportion as she has lost her vigour and youth, he has gained strength and

heartiness. Though he is at least forty years of age, he does not look more than thirty. His face is ruddy, his

eyes bright, his voice firm and ringing. He must be a man of considerable strength and I should say of

more than ordinary animal courage and animal appetite. There is not a nerve in his body which does not

twang like a piano wire. In appearance, he is tall, broad, and bluff, with red whiskers and reddish hair slightly

touched with grey. His manner is loud, coarse, and imperious; his talk of dogs, horses, and convicts. What a

March 30th. A letter from Van Diemen's Land. "There is a row in the pantry," said Frere, with his

accustomed slang. It seems that the ComptrollerGeneral of Convicts has appointed a Mr. Pounce to go down

and make a report on the state of Norfolk Island. I am to go down with him, and shall receive instructions to

that effect from the ComptrollerGeneral. I have informed Frere of this, and he has written to Pounce to

come and stay on his way down. There has been nothing but convict discipline talked since. Frere is great

upon this point, and wearies me with his explanations of convict tricks and wickedness. He is celebrated for

his knowledge of such matters. Detestable wisdom! His servants hate him, but they obey him without a

murmur. I have observed that habitual criminals like all savage beasts cower before the man who has

once mastered them. I should not be surprised if the Van Diemen's Land Government selected Frere as their

April 4th. Nothing worth recording until today. Eating, drinking, and sleeping. Despite my fortyseven

years, I begin to feel almost like the James North who fought the bargee and took the gold medal. What a

drink water is! The fons Bandusioe splendidior vitreo was better than all the Massic, Master Horace! I doubt

if your celebrated liquor, bottled when Manlius was consul, could compare with it.

But to my notable facts. I have found out tonight two things which surprise me. One is that the convict who

attempted the life of Mrs. Frere is none other than the unhappy man whom my fatal weakness caused to be

flogged at Port Arthur, and whose face comes before me to reproach me even now. The other that Mrs. Carr

is an old acquaintance of Frere's. The latter piece of information I obtained in a curious way. One night, while

Mrs. Frere was not there, we were talking of clever women. I broached my theory, that strong intellect in

"Desire in man," said I, "should be Volition in women: Reason, Intuition; Reverence, Devotion; Passion,

Love. The woman should strike a lower keynote, but a sharper sound. Man has vigour of reason, woman

quickness of feeling. The woman who possesses masculine force of intellect is abnormal." He did not half

comprehend me, I could see, but he agreed with the broad view of the case. "I only knew one woman who

was really 'strongminded', as they call it," he said, "and she was a regular bad one."

"This one was, though stock, lock, and barrel. But as sharp as a needle, sir, and as immovable as a rock. A

fine woman, too." I saw by the expression of the man's face that he owned ugly memories, and pressed him

further. "She's up country somewhere," he said. "Married her assigned servant, I was told, a fellow named

Carr. I haven't seen her for years, and don't know what she may be like now, but in the days when I knew her

she was just what you describe." (Let it be noted that I had described nothing.) "She came out in the ship with

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I had met her, but I don't know what induced me to be silent. There

are passages in the lives of men of Captain Frere's complexion, which don't bear descanting on. I expect there

have been in this case, for he changed the subject abruptly, as his wife came in. Is it possible that these two

creatures the notable disciplinarian and the wife of the assigned servant could have been more than

friends in youth? Quite possible. He is the sort of man for gross amours. (A pretty way I am abusing my

host!) And the supple woman with the dark eyes would have been just the creature to enthral him. Perhaps

some such story as this may account in part for Mrs. Frere's sad looks. Why do I speculate on such things? I

seem to do violence to myself and to insult her by writing such suspicions. If I was a Flagellant now, I would

don hairshirt and up flail. "For this sort cometh not out but by prayer and fasting."

April 7th. Mr. Pounce has arrived full of the importance of his mission. He walks with the air of a

minister of state on the eve of a vacant garter, hoping, wondering, fearing, and dignified even in his

dubitancy. I am as flippant as a schoolgirl concerning this fatuous official, and yet Heaven knows I

feel deeply enough the importance of the task he has before him. One relieves one's brain by these whirlings

of one's mental limbs. I remember that a prisoner at Hobart Town, twice condemned and twice reprieved,

jumped and shouted with frenzied vehemence when he heard his sentence of death was finally pronounced.

April 10th. We had a state dinner last night. The conversation was about nothing in the world but

convicts. I never saw Mrs. Frere to less advantage. Silent, distraite, and sad. She told me after dinner that she

disliked the very name of "convict" from early associations. "I have lived among them all my life," she said,

"but that does not make it the better for me. I have terrible fancies at times, Mr. North, that seem

halfmemories. I dread to be brought in contact with prisoners again. I am sure that some evil awaits me at

I laughed, of course, but it would not do. She holds to her own opinion, and looks at me with horror in her

"I am nervous," she replied, with that candour of voice and manner I have before remarked in her, "and I have

We sat silent for a while, and then she suddenly turned her large eyes on me, and said calmly, "Mr. North,

what death shall I die?" The question was an echo of my own thoughts I have some foolish (?) fancies as

to physiognomy and it made me start. What death, indeed? What sort of death would one meet with

widelyopened eyes, parted lips, and brows bent as though to rally fastflying courage? Not a peaceful death

surely. I brought my black coat to my aid. "My dear lady, you must not think of such things. Death is but a

She sighed, slowly awaking as though from some momentary trance. Checking herself on the verge of tears,

she rallied, turned the conversation, and finding an excuse for going to the piano, dashed into a waltz. This

unnatural gaiety ended, I fancy, in an hysterical fit. I heard her husband afterwards recommending sal

volatile. He is the sort of man who would recommend sal volatile to the Pythoness if she consulted him.

April 26th. All has been arranged, and we start tomorrow. Mr. Pounce is in a condition of painful

dignity. He seems afraid to move lest motion should thaw his official ice. Having found out that I am the

"chaplain", he has refrained from familiarity. My selflove is wounded, but my patience relieved. Query:

Would not the majority of mankind rather be bored by people in authority than not noticed by them? James

North declines to answer for his part. I have made my farewells to my friends, and on looking back on the

pleasant hours I have spent, felt saddened. It is not likely that I shall have many such pleasant hours. I feel

like a vagabond who, having been allowed to sit by a cheerful fireside for a while, is turned out into the wet

and windy streets, and finds them colder than ever. What were the lines I wrote in her album?

"As some poor tavernhaunter drenched in wine With staggering footsteps through the streets returning,

Seeing through blinding rain a beacon shine From household lamp in happy window burning,

"Pauses an instant at the reddened pane To gaze on that sweet scene of love and duty, Then turns into the

Yes, those were the lines. With more of truth in them than she expected; and yet what business have I

THE lost son of Sir Richard Devine had returned to England, and made claim to his name and fortune. In

other words, John Rex had successfully carried out the scheme by which he had usurped the rights of his old

Smoking his cigar in his bachelor lodgings, or pausing in a calculation concerning a race, John Rex often

wondered at the strange ease with which he had carried out so monstrous and seemingly difficult an

imposture. After he was landed in Sydney, by the vessel which Sarah Purfoy had sent to save him, he found

himself a slave to a bondage scarcely less galling than that from which he had escaped the bondage of

enforced companionship with an unloved woman. The opportune death of one of her assigned servants

enabled Sarah Purfoy to instal the escaped convict in his room. In the strange state of society which prevailed

of necessity in New South Wales at that period, it was not unusual for assigned servants to marry among the

free settlers, and when it was heard that Mrs. Purfoy, the widow of a whaling captain, had married John Carr,

her storekeeper, transported for embezzlement, and with two years of his sentence yet to run, no one

expressed surprise. Indeed, when the year after, John Carr blossomed into an "expiree", master of a fine wife

and a fine fortune, there were many about him who would have made his existence in Australia pleasant

enough. But John Rex had no notion of remaining longer than he could help, and ceaselessly sought means of

escape from this second prisonhouse. For a long time his search was unsuccessful. Much as she loved the

scoundrel, Sarah Purfoy did not scruple to tell him that she had bought him and regarded him as her property.

He knew that if he made any attempt to escape from his marriagebonds, the woman who had risked so much

to save him would not hesitate to deliver him over to the authorities, and state how the opportune death of

John Carr had enabled her to give name and employment to John Rex, the absconder. He had thought once

that the fact of her being his wife would prevent her from giving evidence against him, and that he could thus

"I know you don't care for me now, John," she said, with grim complacency; "but your life is in my hands,

In vain, in his secret eagerness to be rid of her, he raged and chafed. He was tied hand and foot. She held his

money, and her shrewd wit had more than doubled it. She was allpowerful, and he could but wait until her

death or some lucky accident should rid him of her, and leave him free to follow out the scheme he had

matured. "Once rid of her," he thought, in his solitary rides over the station of which he was the nominal

owner, "the rest is easy. I shall return to England with a plausible story of shipwreck, and shall doubtless be

received with open arms by the dear mother from whom I have been so long parted. Richard Devine shall

To be rid of her was not so easy. Twice he tried to escape from his thraldom, and was twice brought back. "I

have bought you, John," his partner had laughed, "and you don't get away from me. Surely you can be content

with these comforts. You were content with less once. I am not so ugly and repulsive, am I?"

She tapped her strong white fingers sharply on the table. "Go to England? No, no. That is what you would

like to do. You would be master there. You would take my money, and leave me to starve. I know you, Jack.

We stop here, dear. Here, where I can hand you over to the first trooper as an escaped convict if you are not

"Oh, I don't mind your abuse. Abuse me if you like, Jack. Beat me if you will, but don't leave me, or it will be

"To love such a villain? I don't know that. I love you because you are a villain. A better man would be

"I wish to Heaven I'd never left Port Arthur. Better there than this dog's life."

"Go back, then. You have only to say the word!" And so they would wrangle, she glorying in her power over

the man who had so long triumphed over her, and he consoling himself with the hope that the day was not far

distant which should bring him at once freedom and fortune. One day the chance came to him. His wife was

ill, and the ungrateful scoundrel stole five hundred pounds, and taking two horses reached Sydney, and

Having escaped thraldom, John Rex proceeded to play for the great stake of his life with the utmost caution.

He went to the Continent, and lived for weeks together in the towns where Richard Devine might possibly

have resided, familiarizing himself with streets, making the acquaintance of old inhabitants, drawing into his

own hands all loose ends of information which could help to knit the meshes of his net the closer. Such loose

ends were not numerous; the prodigal had been too poor, too insignificant, to leave strong memories behind

him. Yet Rex knew well by what strange accidents the deceit of an assumed identity is often penetrated.

Some old comrade or companion of the lost heir might suddenly appear with keen questions as to trifles

which could cut his flimsy web to shreds, as easily as the sword of Saladin divided the floating silk. He could

not afford to ignore the most insignificant circumstances. With consummate skill, piece by piece he built up

the story which was to deceive the poor mother, and to make him possessor of one of the largest private

This was the tale he hit upon. He had been saved from the burning Hydaspes by a vessel bound for Rio.

Ignorant of the death of Sir Richard, and prompted by the pride which was known to be a leading feature of

his character, he had determined not to return until fortune should have bestowed upon him wealth at least

equal to the inheritance from which he had been ousted. In Spanish America he had striven to accumulate that

wealth in vain. As vequero, traveller, speculator, sailor, he had toiled for fourteen years, and had failed. Worn

out and penitent, he had returned home to find a corner of English earth in which to lay his weary bones. The

tale was plausible enough, and in the telling of it he was armed at all points. There was little fear that the

navigator of the captured Osprey, the man who had lived in Chile and "cut out" cattle on the Carrum Plains,

would prove lacking in knowledge of riding, seamanship, or Spanish customs. Moreover, he had determined

The will under which Richard Devine inherited was dated in 1807, and had been made when the testator was

in the first hopeful glow of paternity. By its terms Lady Devine was to receive a life interest of three thousand

a year in her husband's property which was placed in the hands of two trustees until her eldest son died

or attained the age of twentyfive years. When either of these events should occur, the property was to be

realized, Lady Devine receiving a sum of a hundred thousand pounds, which, invested in Consols for her

benefit, would, according to Sir Richard's prudent calculation exactly compensate for her loss of interest, the

remainder going absolutely to the son, if living, to his children or next of kin if dead. The trustees appointed

were Lady Devine's father, Colonel Wotton Wade, and Mr. Silas Quaid, of the firm of Purkiss and Quaid

Thavies Inn, Sir Richard's solicitors. Colonel Wade, before his death had appointed his son, Mr. Francis

Wade, to act in his stead. When Mr. Quaid died, the firm of Purkiss and Quaid (represented in the Quaid

branch of it by a smart Londonbred nephew) declined further responsibility; and, with the consent of Lady

Devine, Francis Wade continued alone in his trust. Sir Richard's sister and her husband, Anthony Frere, of

Bristol, were long ago dead, and, as we know, their representative, Maurice Frere, content at last in the lot

that fortune had sent him, had given up all thought of meddling with his uncle's business. John Rex, therefore,

in the person of the returned Richard, had but two persons to satisfy, his putative uncle, Mr. Francis Wade,

This he found to be the easiest task possible. Francis Wade was an invalid virtuoso, who detested business,

and whose ambition was to be known as man of taste. The possessor of a small independent income, he had

resided at North End ever since his father's death, and had made the place a miniature Strawberry Hill. When,

at his sister's urgent wish, he assumed the sole responsibility of the estate, he put all the floating capital into 3

per cents., and was content to see the interest accumulate. Lady Devine had never recovered the shock of the

circumstances attending Sir Richard's death and, clinging to the belief in her son's existence, regarded herself

as the mere guardian of his interests, to be displaced at any moment by his sudden return. The retired pair

lived thus together, and spent in charity and bricabrac about a fourth of their mutual income. By both of

them the return of the wanderer was hailed with delight. To Lady Devine it meant the realization of a lifelong

hope, become part of her nature. To Francis Wade it meant relief from a responsibility which his simplicity

always secretly loathed, the responsibility of looking after another person's money.

"I shall not think of interfering with the arrangements which you have made, my dear uncle," said Mr. John

Rex, on the first night of his reception. "It would be most ungrateful of me to do so. My wants are very few,

"See them at once, Richard; see them at once. I am no man of business, you know, but I think you will find

Richard, however, put off the visit from day to day. He desired to have as little to do with lawyers as possible.

He had resolved upon his course of action. He would get money from his mother for immediate needs, and

when that mother died he would assert his rights. "My rough life has unfitted me for drawingrooms, dear

mother," he said. "Do not let there be a display about my return. Give me a corner to smoke my pipe, and I

am happy." Lady Devine, with a loving tender pity, for which John Rex could not altogether account,

consented, and "Mr. Richard" soon came to be regarded as a martyr to circumstances, a man conscious of his

own imperfections, and one whose imperfections were therefore lightly dwelt upon. So the returned prodigal

had his own suite of rooms, his own servants, his own bank account, drank, smoked, and was merry. For five

or six months he thought himself in Paradise. Then he began to find his life insufferably weary. The burden

of hypocrisy is very heavy to bear, and Rex was compelled perpetually to bear it. His mother demanded all

his time. She hung upon his lips; she made him repeat fifty times the story of his wanderings. She was never

tired of kissing him, of weeping over him, and of thanking him for the "sacrifice" he had made for her.

"We promised never to speak of it more, Richard," the poor lady said one day, "but if my lifelong love can

"Hush, dearest mother," said John Rex, who did not in the least comprehend what it was all about. "Let us say

Lady Devine wept quietly for a while, and then went away, leaving the man who pretended to be her son

much bewildered and a little frightened. There was a secret which he had not fathomed between Lady Devine

and her son. The mother did not again refer to it, and, gaining courage as the days went on, Rex grew bold

enough to forget his fears. In the first stages of his deception he had been timid and cautious. Then the

soothing influence of comfort, respect, and security came upon him, and almost refined him. He began to feel

as he had felt when Mr. Lionel Crofton was alive. The sensation of being ministered to by a loving woman,

who kissed him night and morning, calling him "son" of being regarded with admiration by rustics, with

envy by respectable folk of being deferred to in all things was novel and pleasing. They were so good

to him that he felt at times inclined to confess all, and leave his case in the hands of the folk he had injured.

Yet he thought such a course would be absurd. It would result in no benefit to anyone, simply in

misery to himself. The true Richard Devine was buried fathoms deep in the greedy ocean of

convictdiscipline, and the waves of innumerable punishments washed over him. John Rex flattered himself

that he had usurped the name of one who was in fact no living man, and that, unless one should rise from the

dead, Richard Devine could never return to accuse him. So flattering himself, he gradually became bolder,

and by slow degrees suffered his true nature to appear. He was violent to the servants, cruel to dogs and

horses, often wantonly coarse in speech, and brutally regardless of the feelings of others. Governed, like most

women, solely by her feelings, Lady Devine had at first been prodigal of her affection to the man she

believed to be her injured son. But his rash acts of selfishness, his habits of grossness and selfindulgence,

gradually disgusted her. For some time she poor woman fought against this feeling, endeavouring to

overcome her instincts of distaste, and arguing with herself that to permit a detestation of her unfortunate son

to arise in her heart was almost criminal; but she was at length forced to succumb.

For the first year Mr. Richard conducted himself with great propriety, but as his circle of acquaintance and

his confidence in himself increased, he now and then forgot the part he was playing. One day Mr. Richard

went to pass the day with a sporting friend, only too proud to see at his table so wealthy and wonderful a

man. Mr. Richard drank a good deal more than was good for him, and returned home in a condition of

disgusting drunkenness. I say disgusting, because some folks have the art of getting drunk after a humorous

fashion, that robs intoxication of half its grossness. For John Rex to be drunk was to be himself coarse and

cruel. Francis Wade was away, and Lady Devine had retired for the night, when the dogcart brought home

"Mr. Richard". The virtuous butlerporter, who opened the door, received a blow in the chest and a demand

for "Brandy!" The groom was cursed, and ordered to instant oblivion. Mr. Richard stumbled into the

diningroom veiled in dim light as a diningroom which was "sitting up" for its master ought to be

and ordered "more candles!" The candles were brought, after some delay, and Mr. Richard amused himself

by spilling their meltings upon the carpet. "Let's have 'luminashon!" he cried; and climbing with muddy boots

upon the costly chairs, scraping with his feet the polished table, attempted to fix the wax in the silver sconces,

"Damn the table!" said Rex. "Buy 'nother table. What's table t'you?" "Oh, certainly, sir," replied the man.

"Have some! Good brandy! Send for servantsh and have dance. D'you dance, Tomkins?"

"Then you shall dance now, Tomkins. You'll dance upon nothing one day, Tomkins! Here! Halloo! Mary!

"Don't you think it's time for bed, Mr. Richard?" one of the men ventured to suggest.

"No!" roared the exconvict, emphatically, "I don't! I've gone to bed at daylight far too long. We'll have

'luminashon! I'm master here. Master everything. Richard 'Vine's my name. Isn't it, Tomkins, you villain?"

"Course it is, and make you know it too! I'm no painterpicture, crockery chap. I'm genelman! Genelman

seen the world! Knows what's what. There ain't much I ain't fly to. Wait till the old woman's dead, Tomkins,

and you shall see!" More swearing, and awful threats of what the inebriate would do when he was in

possession. "Bring up some brandy!" Crash goes the bottle in the fireplace. "Light up the droringrooms;

we'll have dance! I'm drunk! What's that? If you'd gone through what I have, you'd be glad to be drunk. I look

a fool" this to his image in another glass. "I ain't though, or I wouldn't be here. Curse you, you grinning

idiot" crash goes his fist through the mirror "don't grin at me. Play up there! Where's old woman?

"Lady Devine has gone to bed, Mr. Richard," cried Tomkins, aghast, attempting to bar the passage to the

Tomkins, attempting to restrain him, is instantly hurled into a cabinet of rare china, and the drunken brute

essays the stairs. The other servants seize him. He curses and fights like a demon. Doors bang open, lights

gleam, maids hover, horrified, asking if it's "fire?" and begging for it to be "put out". The whole house is in

an uproar, in the midst of which Lady Devine appears, and looks down upon the scene. Rex catches sight of

her; and bursts into blasphemy. She withdraws, strangely terrified; and the animal, torn, bloody, and

blasphemous, is at last got into his own apartments, the groom, whose face had been seriously damaged in the

The next morning Lady Devine declined to see her son, though he sent a special apology to her.

"I am afraid I was a little overcome by wine last night," said he to Tomkins . "Well, you was, sir," said

"A very little wine makes me quite ill, Tomkins. Did I do anything very violent?"

"You cussed a good deal, Mr. Richard. Most gents do when they've bin hum dining out, Mr. Richard."

"What a fool I am," thought John Rex, as he dressed. "I shall spoil everything if I don't take care." He was

right. He was going the right way to spoil everything. However, for this bout he made amends money

soothed the servants' hall, and apologies and time won Lady Devine's forgiveness.

"I cannot yet conform to English habits, my dear mother," said Rex, "and feel at times out of place in your

quiet home. I think that if you can spare me a little money I should like to travel."

Lady Devine with a sense of relief for which she blamed herself assented, and supplied with letters of

Fairly started in the world of dissipation and excess, he began to grow reckless. When a young man, he had

been singularly free from the vice of drunkenness; turning his sobriety as he did all his virtues to

vicious account; but he had learnt to drink deep in the loneliness of the bush. Master of a large sum of money,

he had intended to spend it as he would have spent it in his younger days. He had forgotten that since his

death and burial the world had not grown younger. It was possible that Mr. Lionel Crofton might have

discovered some of the old set of fools and knaves with whom he had once mixed. Many of them were alive

and flourishing. Mr. Lemoine, for instance, was respectably married in his native island of Jersey, and had

But Mr. Lemoine would not care to recognize Mr. Lionel Crofton, the gambler and rake, in his proper person,

and it was not expedient that his acquaintance should be made in the person of Richard Devine, lest by some

unlucky chance he should recognize the cheat. Thus poor Lionel Crofton was compelled to lie still in his

grave, and Mr. Richard Devine, trusting to a big beard and more burly figure to keep his secret, was

compelled to begin his friendship with Mr. Lionel's whilom friends all over again. In Paris and London there

were plenty of people ready to become hailfellowwellmet with any gentleman possessing money. Mr.

Richard Devine's history was whispered in many a boudoir and clubroom. The history, however, was not

always told in the same way. It was generally known that Lady Devine had a son, who, being supposed to be

dead, had suddenly returned, to the confusion of his family. But the manner of his return was told in many

In the first place, Mr. Francis Wade, wellknown though he was, did not move in that brilliant circle which

had lately received his nephew. There are in England many men of fortune, as large as that left by the old

shipbuilder, who are positively unknown in that little world which is supposed to contain all the men worth

knowing. Francis Wade was a man of mark in his own coterie. Among artists, bricabrac sellers,

antiquarians, and men of letters he was known as a patron and man of taste. His bankers and his lawyers

knew him to be of independent fortune, but as he neither mixed in politics, "went into society", betted, or

speculated in merchandise, there were several large sections of the community who had never heard his

name. Many respectable moneylenders would have required "further information" before they would

discount his bills; and "clubmen" in general save, perhaps, those ancient quidnuncs who know everybody,

from Adam downwards had but little acquaintance with him. The advent of Mr. Richard Devine a

coarse person of unlimited means had therefore chief influence upon that sinister circle of male and

female rogues who form the "halfworld". They began to inquire concerning his antecedents, and, failing

satisfactory information, to invent lies concerning him. It was generally believed that he was a black sheep, a

man whose family kept him out of the way, but who was, in a pecuniary sense, "good" for a considerable

Thus taken upon trust, Mr. Richard Devine mixed in the very best of bad society, and had no lack of

agreeable friends to help him to spend money. So admirably did he spend it, that Francis Wade became at last

alarmed at the frequent drafts, and urged his nephew to bring his affairs to a final settlement. Richard Devine

in Paris, Hamburg, or London, or elsewhere could never be got to attack business, and Mr. Francis

Wade grew more and more anxious. The poor gentleman positively became ill through the anxiety

consequent upon his nephew's dissipations. "I wish, my dear Richard, that you would let me know what to

do," he wrote. "I wish, my dear uncle, that you would do what you think best," was his nephew's reply. "Will

Mr. Wade began to repent of his too easy taking of matters in the beginning. Not that he had a suspicion of

Rex, but that he had remembered that Dick was always a loose fish. The even current of the dilettante's life

became disturbed. He grew pale and holloweyed. His digestion was impaired. He ceased to take the interest

in china which the importance of that article demanded. In a word, he grew despondent as to his fitness for

his mission in life. Lady Ellinor saw a change in her brother. He became morose, peevish, excitable. She went

privately to the family doctor, who shrugged his shoulders. "There is no danger," said he, "if he is kept quiet;

keep him quiet, and he will live for years; but his father died of heart disease, you know." Lady Ellinor, upon

this, wrote a long letter to Mr. Richard, who was at Paris, repeated the doctor's opinions, and begged him to

come over at once. Mr. Richard replied that some horseracing matter of great importance occupied his

attention, but that he would be at his rooms in Clarges Street (he had long ago established a town house) on

the 14th, and would "go into matters". "I have lost a good deal of money lately, my dear mother," said Mr.

Richard, "and the present will be a good opportunity to make a final settlement." The fact was that John Rex,

now three years in undisturbed possession, considered that the moment had arrived for the execution of his

grand coup the carrying off at one swoop of the whole of the fortune he had gambled for.

MAY 12TH LANDED today at Norfolk Island, and have been introduced to my new abode, situated

some eleven hundred miles from Sydney. A solitary rock in the tropical ocean, the island seems, indeed, a fit

place of banishment. It is about seven miles long and four broad. The most remarkable natural object is, of

course, the Norfolk Island pine, which rears its stately head a hundred feet above the surrounding forest. The

appearance of the place is very wild and beautiful, bringing to my mind the description of the romantic

islands of the Pacific, which old geographers dwell upon so fondly. Lemon, lime, and guava trees abound,

also oranges, grapes, figs, bananas, peaches, pomegranates, and pineapples. The climate just now is hot and

muggy. The approach to Kingstown as the barracks and huts are called is properly difficult. A long

low reef probably originally a portion of the barren rocks of Nepean and Philip Islands, which rise east

and west of the settlement fronts the bay and obstructs the entrance of vessels. We were landed in boats

through an opening in this reef, and our vessel stands on and off within signalling distance. The surf washes

almost against the walls of the military roadway that leads to the barracks. The social aspect of the place fills

me with horror. There seems neither discipline nor order. On our way to the Commandant's house we passed

a low dilapidated building where men were grinding maize, and at the sight of us they commenced whistling,

hooting, and shouting, using the most disgusting language. Three warders were near, but no attempt was

made to check this unseemly exhibition. May 14th. I sit down to write with as much reluctance as though

I were about to relate my experience of a journey through a sewer. First to the prisoners' barracks, which

stand on an area of about three acres, surrounded by a lofty wall. A road runs between this wall and the sea.

The barracks are three storeys high, and hold seven hundred and ninety men (let me remark here that there

are more than two thousand men on the island). There are twentytwo wards in this place. Each ward runs

the depth of the building, viz., eighteen feet, and in consequence is simply a funnel for hot or cold air to blow

through. When the ward is filled, the men's heads lie under the windows. The largest ward contains a hundred

men, the smallest fifteen. They sleep in hammocks, slung close to each other as on board ship, in two lines,

with a passage down the centre. There is a wardsman to each ward. He is selected by the prisoners, and is

generally a man of the worst character. He is supposed to keep order, but of course he never attempts to do

so; indeed, as he is locked up in the ward every night from six o'clock in the evening until sunrise, without

light, it is possible that he might get maltreated did he make himself obnoxious.

The barracks look upon the Barrack Square, which is filled with lounging prisoners. The windows of the

hospitalward also look upon Barrack Square, and the prisoners are in constant communication with the

patients. The hospital is a low stone building, capable of containing about twenty men, and faces the beach. I

placed my hands on the wall, and found it damp. An ulcerous prisoner said the dampness was owing to the

heavy surf constantly rolling so close beneath the building. There are two gaols, the old and the new. The old

gaol stands near the sea, close to the landingplace. Outside it, at the door, is the Gallows. I touched it as I

passed in. This engine is the first thing which greets the eyes of a newlyarrived prisoner. The new gaol is

barely completed, is of pentagonal shape, and has eighteen radiating cells of a pattern approved by some

wiseacre in England, who thinks that to prevent a man from seeing his fellowmen is not the way to drive him

mad. In the old gaol are twentyfour prisoners, all heavily ironed, awaiting trial by the visiting Commission,

from Hobart Town. Some of these poor ruffians, having committed their offences just after the last sitting of

At six o'clock we saw the men mustered. I read prayers before the muster, and was surprised to find that some

of the prisoners attended, while some strolled about the yard, whistling, singing, and joking. The muster is a

farce. The prisoners are not mustered outside and then marched to their wards, but they rush into the barracks

indiscriminately, and place themselves dressed or undressed in their hammocks. A convict suboverseer then

calls out the names, and somebody replies. If an answer is returned to each name, all is considered right. The

lights are taken away, and save for a few minutes at eight o'clock, when the goodconduct men are let in, the

ruffians are left to their own devices until morning. Knowing what I know of the customs of the convicts, my

heart sickens when I in imagination put myself in the place of a newlytransported man, plunged from six at

May 15th. There is a place enclosed between high walls adjoining the convict barracks, called the Lumber

Yard. This is where the prisoners mess. It is roofed on two sides, and contains tables and benches. Six

hundred men can mess here perhaps, but as seven hundred are always driven into it, it follows that the

weakest men are compelled to sit on the ground. A more disorderly sight than this yard at meal times I never

beheld. The cookhouses are adjoining it, and the men bake their mealbread there. Outside the cookhouse

door the firewood is piled, and fires are made in all directions on the ground, round which sit the prisoners,

frying their rations of fresh pork, baking their hominy cakes, chatting, and even smoking.

The Lumber Yard is a sort of Alsatia, to which the hunted prisoner retires. I don't think the boldest constable

on the island would venture into that place to pick out a man from the seven hundred. If he did go in I don't

May 16th. A suboverseer, a man named Hankey, has been talking to me. He says that there are some

forty of the oldest and worst prisoners who form what he calls the "Ring", and that the members of this Ring

are bound by oath to support each other, and to avenge the punishment of any of their number. In proof of his

assertions he instanced two cases of English prisoners who had refused to join in some crime, and had

informed the Commandant of the proceedings of the Ring. They were found in the morning strangled in their

hammocks. An inquiry was held, but not a man out of the ninety in the ward would speak a word. I dread the

task that is before me. How can I attempt to preach piety and morality to these men? How can I attempt even

May 17th. Visited the wards today, and returned in despair. The condition of things is worse than I

expected. It is not to be written. The newlyarrived English prisoners and some of their histories are most

touching are insulted by the language and demeanour of the hardened miscreants who are the refuse of

Port Arthur and Cockatoo Island. The vilest crimes are perpetrated as jests. These are creatures who openly

defy authority, whose language and conduct is such as was never before seen or heard out of Bedlam. There

are men who are known to have murdered their companions, and who boast of it. With these the English farm

labourer, the riotous and ignorant mechanic, the victim of perjury or mistake, are indiscriminately herded.

With them are mixed Chinamen from Hong Kong, the Aborigines of New Holland, West Indian blacks,

Greeks, Caffres, and Malays, soldiers for desertion, idiots, madmen, pigstealers, and pickpockets. The

dreadful place seems set apart for all that is hideous and vile in our common nature. In its recklessness, its

insubordination, its filth, and its despair, it realizes to my mind the popular notion of Hell.

May 21st. Entered today officially upon my duties as Religious Instructor at the Settlement.

An occurrence took place this morning which shows the dangerous condition of the Ring. I accompanied Mr.

Pounce to the Lumber Yard, and, on our entry, we observed a man in the crowd round the cookhouse

deliberately smoking. The Chief Constable of the Island my old friend Troke, of Port Arthur seeing

that this exhibition attracted Pounce's notice, pointed out the man to an assistant. The assistant, Jacob

Gimblett, advanced and desired the prisoner to surrender the pipe. The man plunged his hands into his

pockets, and, with a gesture of the most profound contempt, walked away to that part of the messshed where

No one moved, but the man at the gate that leads through the carpenter's shop into the barracks, called to us

to come out, saying that the prisoners would never suffer the man to be taken. Pounce, however, with more

determination than I gave him credit for, kept his ground, and insisted that so flagrant a breach of discipline

should not be suffered to pass unnoticed. Thus urged, Mr. Troke pushed through the crowd, and made for the

The yard was buzzing like a disturbed hive, and I momentarily expected that a rush would be made upon us.

In a few moments the prisoner appeared, attended by, rather than in the custody of, the Chief Constable of the

island. He advanced to the unlucky assistant constable, who was standing close to me, and asked, "What have

you ordered me to gaol for?" The man made some reply, advising him to go quietly, when the convict raised

his fist and deliberately felled the man to the ground. "You had better retire, gentlemen," said Troke. "I see

We made for the gate, and the crowd closed in like a sea upon the two constables. I fully expected murder,

but in a few moments Troke and Gimblett appeared, borne along by a mass of men, dusty, but unharmed, and

having the convict between them. He sulkily raised a hand as he passed me, either to rectify the position of

his straw hat, or to offer a tardy apology. A more wanton, unprovoked, and flagrant outrage than that of

which this man was guilty I never witnessed. It is customary for "the old dogs", as the experienced convicts

are called, to use the most opprobrious language to their officers, and to this a deaf ear is usually turned, but I

never before saw a man wantonly strike a constable. I fancy that the act was done out of bravado. Troke

informed me that the man's name is Rufus Dawes, and that he is the leader of the Ring, and considered the

worst man on the island; that to secure him he (Troke) was obliged to use the language of expostulation; and

that, but for the presence of an officer accredited by his Excellency, he dared not have acted as he had done.

This is the same man, then, whom I injured at Port Arthur. Seven years of "discipline" don't seem to have

done him much good. His sentence is "life" a lifetime in this place! Troke says that he was the terror of

Port Arthur, and that they sent him here when a "weeding" of the prisoners was made. He has been here four

May 24th. After prayers, I saw Dawes. He was confined in the Old Gaol, and seven others were in the cell

with him. He came out at my request, and stood leaning against the doorpost. He was much changed from

the man I remember. Seven years ago he was a stalwart, upright, handsome man. He has become a

beetlebrowed, sullen, slouching ruffian. His hair is grey, though he cannot be more than forty years of age,

and his frame has lost that just proportion of parts which once made him almost graceful. His face has also

grown like other convict faces how hideously alike they all are! and, save for his black eyes and a

peculiar trick he had of compressing his lips, I should not have recognized him. How habitual sin and misery

suffice to brutalize "the human face divine"! I said but little, for the other prisoners were listening, eager, as it

appeared to me, to witness my discomfiture. It is evident that Rufus Dawes had been accustomed to meet the

ministrations of my predecessors with insolence. I spoke to him for a few minutes, only saying how foolish it

was to rebel against an authority superior in strength to himself. He did not answer, and the only emotion he

evinced during the interview was when I reminded him that we had met before. He shrugged one shoulder, as

if in pain or anger, and seemed about to speak, but, casting his eyes upon the group in the cell, relapsed into

silence again. I must get speech with him alone. One can do nothing with a man if seven other devils worse

I sent for Hankey, and asked him about cells. He says that the gaol is crowded to suffocation. "Solitary

confinement" is a mere name. There are six men, each sentenced to solitary confinement, in a cell together.

The cell is called the "nunnery". It is small, and the six men were naked to the waist when I entered, the

perspiration pouring in streams off their naked bodies! It is disgusting to write of such things.

June 26th. Pounce has departed in the Lady Franklin for Hobart Town, and it is rumoured that we are to

have a new Commandant. The Lady Franklin is commanded by an old man named Blunt, a proteg of

Frere's, and a fellow to whom I have taken one of my inexplicable and unreasoning dislikes.

Saw Rufus Dawes this morning. He continues sullen and morose. His papers are very bad. He is perpetually

up for punishment. I am informed that he and a man named Eastwood, nicknamed "Jacky Jacky", glory in

being the leaders of the Ring, and that they openly avow themselves weary of life. Can it be that the

unmerited flogging which the poor creature got at Port Arthur has aided, with other sufferings, to bring him

to this horrible state of mind? It is quite possible. Oh, James North, remember your own crime, and pray

Heaven to let you redeem one soul at least, to plead for your own at the Judgment Seat.

June 30th. I took a holiday this afternoon, and walked in the direction of Mount Pitt. The island lay at my

feet like as sings Mrs. Frere's favourite poet "a summer isle of Eden lying in dark purple sphere of

sea". Sophocles has the same idea in the Philoctetes, but I can't quote it. Note: I measured a pine

twentythree feet in circumference. I followed a little brook that runs from the hills, and winds through thick

undergrowths of creeper and blossom, until it reaches a lovely valley surrounded by lofty trees, whose

branches, linked together by the luxurious grapevine, form an arching bower of verdure. Here stands the

ruin of an old hut, formerly inhabited by the early settlers; lemons, figs, and guavas are thick; while amid the

shrub and cane a large convolvulus is entwined, and stars the green with its purple and crimson flowers. I sat

down here, and had a smoke. It seems that the former occupant of my rooms at the settlement read French;

for in searching for a book to bring with me I never walk without a book I found and pocketed a

volume of Balzac. It proved to be a portion of the Vie Prive series, and I stumbled upon a story called La

Fausse Maitresse. With calm belief in the Paris of his imagination where Marcas was a politician,

Nucingen a banker, Gobseck a moneylender, and Vautrin a candidate for some such place as this Balzac

introduces me to a Pole by name Paz, who, loving the wife of his friend, devotes himself to watch over her

happiness and her husband's interest. The husband gambles and is profligate. Paz informs the wife that the

leanness which hazard and debauchery have caused to the domestic exchequer is due to his extravagance, the

husband having lent him money. She does not believe, and Paz feigns an intrigue with a circusrider in order

to lull all suspicions. She says to her adored spouse, "Get rid of this extravagant friend! Away with him! He is

a profligate, a gambler! A drunkard!" Paz finally departs, and when he has gone, the lady finds out the poor

Pole's worth. The story does not end satisfactorily. Balzac was too great a master of his art for that. In real life

the curtain never falls on a comfortablyfinished drama. The play goes on eternally.

I have been thinking of the story all evening. A man who loves his friend's wife, and devotes his energies to

increase her happiness by concealing from her her husband's follies! Surely none but Balzac would have hit

upon such a notion. "A man who loves his friend's wife." Asmodeus, I write no more! I have ceased to

converse with thee for so long that I blush to confess all that I have in my heart. I will not confess it, so

AUGUST 24th. THERE has been but one entry in my journal since the 30th June, that which records the

So great have been the changes which have taken place that I scarcely know how to record them. Captain

Frere has realized my worst anticipations. He is brutal, vindictive, and domineering. His knowledge of

prisons and prisoners gives him an advantage over Burgess, otherwise he much resembles that murderous

animal. He has but one thought to keep the prisoners in subjection. So long as the island is quiet, he cares

not whether the men live or die. "I was sent down here to keep order," said he to me, a few days after his

He has done it, I must admit; but at a cost of a legacy of hatred to himself that he may some day regret to

have earned. He has organized three parties of police. One patrols the fields, one is on guard at stores and

public buildings, and the third is employed as a detective force. There are two hundred soldiers on the island.

And the officer in charge, Captain McNab, has been induced by Frere to increase their duties in many ways.

The cords of discipline are suddenly drawn tight. For the disorder which prevailed when I landed, Frere has

substituted a sudden and excessive rigour. Any officer found giving the smallest piece of tobacco to a

prisoner is liable to removal from the island..The tobacco which grows wild has been rooted up and destroyed

lest the men should obtain a leaf of it. The privilege of having a pannikin of hot water when the gangs came

in from field labour in the evening has been withdrawn. The shepherds, hutkeepers, and all other prisoners,

whether at the stations of Longridge or the Cascades (where the English convicts are stationed) are forbidden

to keep a parrot or any other bird. The plaiting of straw hats during the prisoners' leisure hours is also

prohibited. At the settlement where the "old hands" are located railed boundaries have been erected, beyond

which no prisoner must pass unless to work. Two days ago Job Dodd, a negro, let his jacket fall over the

boundary rails, crossed them to recover it, and was severely flogged. The floggings are hideously frequent.

On flogging mornings I have seen the ground where the men stood at the triangles saturated with blood, as if

a bucket of blood had been spilled on it, covering a space three feet in diameter, and running out in various

directions, in little streams two or three feet long. At the same time, let me say, with that strict justice I force

myself to mete out to those whom I dislike, that the island is in a condition of abject submission. There iS not

much chance of mutiny. The men go to their work without a murmur, and slink to their dormitories like

whipped hounds to kennel. The gaols and solitary (!) cells are crowded with prisoners, and each day sees

The method by which Captain Frere has brought about this repose of desolation is characteristic of him. He

sets every man as a spy upon his neighbour, awes the more daring into obedience by the display of a

ruffianism more outrageous than their own, and, raising the worst scoundrels in the place to office, compels

them to find "cases" for punishment. Perfidy is rewarded. It has been made part of a convictpoliceman's

duty to search a fellowprisoner anywhere and at any time. This searching is often conducted in a wantonly

rough and disgusting manner; and if resistance be offered, the man resisting can be knowcked down by a

blow from the searcher's bludgeon. Inquisitorial vigilance and indiscriminating harshness prevail everywhere,

and the lives of hundreds of prisoners are reduced to a continual agony of terror and selfloathing.

"It is impossible, Captain Frere," said I one day, during the initiation of this system, "to think that these

He replied, "They must do their duty. If they are indulgent to the prisoners, they know I shall flog 'em. If they

do what I tell 'em, they'll make themselves so hated that they'd have their own father up to the triangles to

"You treat them then like slavekeepers of a wild beast den. They must flog the animals to avoid being

"Ay," said he, with his coarse laugh, "and having once flogged 'em, they'd do anything rather than be put in

It is horrible to think of this sort of logic being used by a man who has a wife, and friends and enemies. It is

the logic that the Keeper of the Tormented would use, I should think. I am sick unto death of the place. It

makes me an unbeliever in the social charities. It takes out of penal science anything it may possess of

August 26th. Saw Rufus Dawes again today. His usual bearing is ostentatiously rough and brutal. He has

sunk to a depth of selfabasement in which he takes a delight in his degradation. This condition is one

He is working in the chaingang to which Hankey was made suboverseer. Blind Mooney, an ophthalmic

prisoner, who was removed from the gang to hospital, told me that there was a plot to murder Hankey, but

that Dawes, to whom he had shown some kindness, had prevented it. I saw Hankey and told him of this,

asking him if he had been aware of the plot. He said "No," falling into a great tremble. "Major Pratt promised

I asked him why Dawes defended him; and after some trouble he told me, exacting from me a promise that I

would not acquaint the Commandant. It seems that one morning last week, Hankey had gone up to Captain

Frere's house with a return from Troke, and coming back through the garden had plucked a flower. Dawes

had asked him for this flower, offering two days' rations for it. Hankey, who is not a badhearted man, gave

There must be some way to get at this man's heart, bad as he seems to be. August 28th. Hankey was

murdered yesterday. He applied to be removed from the gaolgang, but Frere refused. "I never let my men

'funk'," he said. "If they've threatened to murder you, I'll keep you there another month in spite of 'em."

Someone who overheard this reported it to the gang, and they set upon the unfortunate gaoler yesterday, and

beat his brains out with their shovels. Troke says that the wretch who was foremost cried, "There's for you;

and if your master don't take care, he'll get served the same one of these days!" The gang were employed at

building a reef in the sea, and were working up to their armpits in water. Hankey fell into the surf, and never

This occurrence has spread consternation among the overseers, and they have addressed a "round robin" to

The way Frere has dealt with this petition is characteristic of him, and fills me at once with admiration and

disgust. He came down with it in his hand to the gaolgang, walked into the yard, shut the gate, and said,

"I've just got this from my overseers. They say they're afraid you'll murder them as you murdered Hankey.

Now, if you want to murder, murder me. Here I am. Step out, one of you." All this, said in a tone of the most

galling contempt, did not move them. I saw a dozen pairs of eyes flash hatred, but the bulldog courage of

the man overawed them here, as, I am told, it had done in Sydney. It would have been easy to kill him then

and there, and his death, I am told, is sworn among them; but no one raised a finger. The only man who

moved was Rufus Dawes, and he checked himself instantly. Frere, with a recklessness of which I did not

think him capable, stepped up to this terror of the prison, and ran his hands lightly down his sides, as is the

custom with constables when "searching" a man. Dawes who is of a fierce temper turned crimson at

this and, I thought, would have struck him, but he did not. Frere then still unarmed and alone

proceeded to the man, saying, "Do you think of bolting again, Dawes? Have you made any more boats?"

"You Devil!" said the chained man, in a voice pregnant with such weight of unborn murder, that the gang

winced. "You'll find me one," said Frere, with a laugh; and, turning to me, continued, in the same jesting

I was speechless at his audacity, and must have shown my disgust in my face, for he coloured slightly, and as

we were leaving the yard, he endeavoured to excuse himself, by saying that it was no use preaching to stones,

and such doublydyed villains as this Dawes were past hope. "I know the ruffian of old," said he. "He came

out in the ship from England with me, and tried to raise a mutiny on board. He was the man who nearly

murdered my wife. He has never been out of irons except then and when he escaped for the last

A monstrous wretch and criminal, evidently, and yet I feel a strange sympathy with this outcast.

THE town house of Mr. Richard Devine was in Clarges Street. Not that the very modest mansion there

situated was the only establishment of which Richard Devine was master. Mr. John Rex had expensive tastes.

He neither shot nor hunted, so he had no capital invested in Scotch moors or Leicestershire huntingboxes.

But his stables were the wonder of London, he owned almost a racing village near Doncaster, kept a yacht at

Cowes, and, in addition to a house in Paris, paid the rent of a villa at Brompton. He belonged to several clubs

of the faster sort, and might have lived like a prince at any one of them had he been so minded; but a constant

and haunting fear of discovery which three years of unquestioned ease and unbridled riot had not

dispelled led him to prefer the privacy of his own house, where he could choose his own society. The

house in Clarges Street was decorated in conformity with the tastes of its owner. The pictures were pictures

of horses, the books were records of races, or novels purporting to describe sporting life. Mr. Francis Wade,

waiting, on the morning of the 20th April, for the coming of his nephew, sighed as he thought of the cultured

Mr. Richard appeared in his dressinggown. Three years of good living and hard drinking had deprived his

figure of its athletic beauty. He was past forty years of age, and the sudden cessation from severe bodily toil

to which in his active life as a convict and squatter he had been accustomed, had increased Rex's natural

proneness to fat, and instead of being portly he had become gross. His cheeks were inflamed with the

frequent application of hot and rebellious liquors to his blood. His hands were swollen, and not so steady as

of yore. His whiskers were streaked with unhealthy grey. His eyes, bright and black as ever, lurked in a

thicket of crow's feet. He had become prematurely bald a sure sign of mental or bodily excess. He spoke

"Ha, ha! My dear uncle, sit down. Delighted to see you. Have you breakfasted? of course you have. I was

up rather late last night. Quite sure you won't have anything. A glass of wine? No then sit down and tell

"Thank you, Richard," said the old gentleman, a little stiffly, "but I want some serious talk with you. What do

you intend to do with the property? This indecision worries me. Either relieve me of my trust, or be guided by

"Well, the fact is," said Richard, with a very ugly look on his face, "the fact is and you may as well know

"Pushed for money!" cried Mr. Wade, in horror. "Why, Purkiss said the property was worth twenty thousand

"So it might have been five years ago but my horseracing, and betting, and other amusements,

concerning which you need not too curiously inquire, have reduced its value considerably."

He spoke recklessly and roughly. It was evident that success had but developed his ruffianism. His

"dandyism" was only comparative. The impulse of poverty and scheming which led him to affect the

"gentleman" having been removed, the natural brutality of his nature showed itself quite freely. Mr. Francis

Wade took a pinch of snuff with a sharp motion of distaste. "I do not want to hear of your debaucheries," he

"What is got over the devil's back goes under his belly," replied Mr. Richard, coarsely. "My old father got his

money by dirtier ways than these in which I spend it. As villainous an old scoundrel and skinflint as ever

"Ay, but by pure accident. He didn't mean it. If he hadn't died in the nick of time, that unhung murderous

villain, Maurice Frere, would have come in for it. By the way," he added, with a change of tone, "do you ever

"I have not heard for some years," said Mr. Wade. "He is something in the Convict Department at Sydney, I

think." "Is he?" said Mr. Richard, with a shiver. "Hope he'll stop there. Well, but about business. The fact is,

"Sell North End House!" cried poor Mr. Wade, in bewilderment. "You'd sell it? Why, the carvings by

"I can't help that," laughed Mr. Richard, ringing the bell. "I want cash, and cash I must have. Breakfast,

Francis Wade was breathless with astonishment. Educated and reared as he had been, he would as soon have

thought of proposing to sell St. Paul's Cathedral as to sell the casket which held his treasures of art his

"Plenty of people. I shall cut it up into building allotments. Besides, they are talking of a suburban line, with a

terminus at St. John's Wood, which will cut the garden in half. You are quite sure you've breakfasted? Then

"I'm thinking of a trip to America," said Mr. Richard, cracking an egg. "I am sick of Europe. After all, what is

the good of a man like me pretending to belong to 'an old family', with 'a seat' and all that humbug? Money is

the thing now, my dear uncle. Hard cash! That's the ticket for soup, you may depend."

"To buy my mother's life interest as provided, realize upon the property, and travel," said Mr. Richard,

"You amaze me, Richard. You confound me. Of course you can do as you please. But so sudden a

determination. The old house vases coins pictures scattered I really Well, it is your

"I mean to do as I please," soliloquized Rex, as he resumed his breakfast. "Let him sell his rubbish by

auction, and go and live abroad, in Germany or Jerusalem if he likes, the farther the better for me. I'll sell the

"Come in! Curse it, how nervous I'm getting. What's that? Letters? Give them to me; and why the devil don't

He drank some of the spirit greedily, and then began to open his correspondence.

"Cussed brute," said Mr. Smithers, outside the door. "He couldn't use wuss langwidge if he was a dook, dam

"When did this come?" asked Mr. Richard, holding out a letter more than usually disfigured with stampings.

"Lars night, sir. It's bin to 'Amstead, sir, and come down directed with the h'others." The angry glare of the

"Nothing, you infernal ass and idiot," burst out Mr. Richard, white with rage, "except that I should have had

this instantly. Can't you see it's marked urgent? Can you read? Can you spell? There, that will do. No lies. Get

Left to himself again, Mr. Richard walked hurriedly up and down the chamber, wiped his forehead, drank a

tumbler of brandy, and finally sat down and reread the letter. It was short, but terribly to the purpose."THE

GEORGE HOTEL, PLYMOUTH, 17th April, 1846. "MY DEAR JACK, "I have found you out, you see.

Never mind how just at present. I know all about your proceedings, and unless Mr. Richard Devine receives

his "wife" with due propriety, he'll find himself in the custody of the police. Telegraph, dear, to Mrs. Richard

Devine, at above address. "Yours as ever, Jack, "SARAH. "To Richard Devine, Esq., "North End House,

The blow was unexpected and severe. It was hard, in the very high tide and flush of assured success, to be

thus plucked back into the old bondage. Despite the affectionate tone of the letter, he knew the woman with

whom he had to deal. For some furious minutes he sat motionless, gazing at the letter. He did not speak

men seldom do under such circumstances but his thoughts ran in this fashion: "Here is this cursed woman

again! Just as I was congratulating myself on my freedom. How did she discover me? Small use asking that.

What shall I do? I can do nothing. It is absurd to run away, for I shall be caught. Besides, I've no money. My

account at Mastermann's is overdrawn two thousand pounds. If I bolt at all, I must bolt at once within

twentyfour hours. Rich as I am, I don't suppose I could raise more than five thousand pounds in that time.

These things take a day or two, say fortyeight hours. In fortyeight hours I could raise twenty thousand

pounds, but fortyeight hours is too long. Curse the woman! I know her! How in the fiend's name did she

discover me? It's a bad job. However, she's not inclined to be gratuitiously disagreeable. How lucky I never

married again! I had better make terms and trust to fortune. After all, she's been a good friend to me. Poor

Sally! I might have rotted on that infernal Eaglehawk Neck if it hadn't been for her. She is not a bad sort.

Handsome woman, too. I may make it up with her. I shall have to sell off and go away after all. It might

be worse. I dare say the property's worth three hundred thousand pounds. Not bad for a start in America.

And I may get rid of her yet. Yes. I must give in. Oh, curse her! [ringing the bell] Smithers!"

[Smithers appears.] "A telegraph form and a cab! Stay. Pack me a dressingbag. I shall be away for a day or

so. [Sotto voce] I'd better see her myself. [ Aloud] Bring me a Bradshaw! [Sotto voce] Damn the

THOUGH the house of the Commandant of Norfolk Island was comfortable and well furnished, and though,

of necessity, all that was most hideous in the "discipline" of the place was hidden, the loathing with which

Sylvia had approached the last and most dreaded abiding place of the elaborate convict system, under which

it had been her misfortune to live, had not decreased. The sights and sounds of pain and punishment

surrounded her. She could not look out of her windows without a shudder. She dreaded each evening when

her husband returned, lest he should blurt out some new atrocity. She feared to ask him in the morning

whither he was going, lest he should thrill her with the announcement of some fresh punishment.

"I wish, Maurice, we had never come here," said she, piteously, when he recounted to her the scene of the

gaolgang. "These unhappy men will do you some frightful injury one of these days."

"Stuff!" said her husband. "They've not the courage. I'd take the best man among them, and dare him to touch

"I cannot think how you like to witness so much misery and villainy. It is horrible to think of."

"Our tastes differ, my dear. Jenkins! Confound you! Jenkins, I say." The convictservant entered. "Where

is the chargebook? I've told you always to have it ready for me. Why don't you do as you are told? You idle,

"Don't answer me, sir. Give me the book." Taking it and running his finger down the leaves, he commented

on the list of offences to which he would be called upon in the morning to mete out judgment.

"Meeraseek, having a pipe the rascally Hindoo scoundrel! Benjamin Pellett, having fat in his

possession. Miles Byrne, not walking fast enough. We must enliven Mr. Byrne. Thomas Twist, having a

pipe and striking a light. W. Barnes, not in place at muster; says he was 'washing himself' I'll wash him!

John Richards, missing muster and insolence. John Gateby, insolence and insubordination. James Hopkins,

insolence and foul language. Rufus Dawes, gross insolence, refusing to work. Ah! we must look after you.

You are a parson's man now, are you? I'll break your spirit, my man, or I'll Sylvia!"

"That infernal villain and reprobate, Dawes. He is fitting himself faster for " She interrupted him.

"Maurice, I wish you would not use such language. You know I dislike it." She spoke coldly and sadly, as

"Oh, dear! My Lady Proper! can't bear to hear her husband swear. How refined we're getting!"

"There, I did not mean to annoy you," said she, wearily. "Don't let us quarrel, for goodness' sake."

He went away noisily, and she sat looking at the carpet wearily. A noise roused her. She looked up and saw

North. Her face beamed instantly. "Ah! Mr. North, I did not expect you. What brings you here? You'll stay to

dinner, of course." (She rang the bell without waiting for a reply.) "Mr. North dines here; place a chair for

"Here it is," said North, producing a volume of 'Monte Cristo'. She seized the book with avidity, and, after

"It belongs to my predecessor," said North, as though in answer to her thought. "He seems to have been a

"There are French novels and French novels," said North. "Stupid people confound the good with the bad. I

remember a worthy friend of mine in Sydney who soundly abused me for reading 'Rabelais', and when I

asked him if he had read it, he said that he would sooner cut his hand off than open it. Admirable judge of its

"It is a romance, but, in my opinion, a very fine one. The notion of the sailor being taught in prison by the

priest, and sent back into the world an accomplished gentleman, to work out his vengeance, is superb."

"No, now you are telling me," laughed she; and then, with feminine perversity, "Go on, what is the story?"

"Only that of an unjustly imprisoned man, who, escaping by a marvel, and becoming rich as Dr. Johnson

says, 'beyond the dreams of avarice' devotes his life and fortune to revenge himself."

"And he ?" "She was the wife of his greatest enemy, and Dant s spared her because he loved her."

There was an awkward silence for a moment, which each seemed afraid to break. North bit his lips, as though

regretting what he had said. Mrs. Frere beat her foot on the floor, and at length, raising her eyes, and meeting

those of the clergyman fixed upon her face, rose hurriedly, and went to meet her returning husband.

"Come to dinner, of course!" said Frere, who, though he disliked the clergyman, yet was glad of anybody

"Ah! She reads too many books; she's always reading books. It is not a good thing to be always poring over

print, is it, North? You have some influence with her; tell her so. Come, I am hungry."

He spoke with that affectation of jollity with which husbands of his calibre veil their bad temper.

Sylvia had her defensive armour on in a twinkling. "Of course, you two men will be against me. When did

two men ever disagree upon the subject of wifely duties? However, I shall read in spite of you. Do you know,

Mr. North, that when I married I made a special agreement with Captain Frere that I was not to be asked to

sew on buttons for him?" "Indeed!" said North, not understanding this change of humour.

"And she never has from that hour," said Frere, recovering his suavity at the sight of food. "I never have a

North perused his plate uncomfortably. A saying of omniscient Balzac occurred to him. "Le grand cueil est

le ridicule," and his mind began to sound all sorts of philosophical depths, not of the most clerical character.

After dinner Maurice launched out into his usual topic convict discipline. It was pleasant for him to get a

listener; for his wife, cold and unsympathetic, tacitly declined to enter into his schemes for the subduing of

the refractory villains. "You insisted on coming here," she would say. "I did not wish to come. I don't like to

talk of these things. Let us talk of something else." When she adopted this method of procedure, he had no

alternative but to submit, for he was afraid of her, after a fashion. In this illassorted match he was only

apparently the master. He was a physical tyrant. For him, a creature had but to be weak to be an object of

contempt; and his gross nature triumphed over the finer one of his wife. Love had long since died out of their

life. The young, impulsive, delicate girl, who had given herself to him seven years before, had been changed

into a weary, suffering woman. The wife is what her husband makes her, and his rude animalism had made

her the nervous invalid she was. Instead of love, he had awakened in her a distaste which at times amounted

to disgust. We have neither the skill nor the boldness of that profound philosopher whose autopsy of the

human heart awoke North's contemplation, and we will not presume to set forth in bare English the story of

this marriage of the Minotaur. Let it suffice to say that Sylvia liked her husband least when he loved her

most. In this repulsion lay her power over him. When the animal and spiritual natures cross each other, the

nobler triumphs in fact if not in appearance. Maurice Frere, though his wife obeyed him, knew that he was

inferior to her, and was afraid of the statue he had created. She was ice, but it was the artificial ice that

chemists make in the midst of a furnace. Her coldness was at once her strength and her weakness. When she

Unwitting of the thoughts that possessed his guest, Frere chatted amicably. North said little, but drank a good

deal. The wine, however, rendered him silent, instead of talkative. He drank that he might forget unpleasant

memories, and drank without accomplishing his object. When the pair proceeded to the room where Mrs.

Frere awaited them, Frere was boisterously goodhumoured, North silently misanthropic.

"Sing something, Sylvia!" said Frere, with the ease of possession, as one who should say to a living

"Oh, Mr. North doesn't care for music, and I'm not inclined to sing. Singing seems out of place here."

"Nonsense," said Frere. "Why should it be more out of place here than anywhere else?"

"Mrs. Frere means that mirth is in a manner unsuited to these melancholy surroundings," said North, out of

"Melancholy surroundings!" cried Frere, staring in turn at the piano, the ottomans, and the lookingglass.

"Well, the house isn't as good as the one in Sydney, but it's comfortable enough."

"You don't understand me, Maurice," said Sylvia. "This place is very gloomy to me. The thought of the

"What stuff!" said Frere, now thoroughly roused. "The ruffians deserve all they get and more. Why should

"Poor men! How do we know the strength of their temptation, the bitterness of their repentance?"

"Evildoers earn their punishment," says North, in a hard voice, and taking up a book suddenly. "They must

"Mercy!" cried Frere. "I am not here to be merciful; I am here to keep these scoundrels in order, and by the

"Maurice, do not talk like that. Think how slight an accident might have made any one of us like one of these

"Nothing," returned the clergyman, gasping "a sudden faintness!" The windows were thrown open, and

the chaplain gradually recovered, as he did in Burgess's parlour, at Port Arthur, seven years ago. "I am liable

to these attacks. A touch of heart disease, I think. I shall have to rest for a day or so." "Ah, take a spell," said

North, sitting, gasping and pale, smiles in a ghastly manner. "I I will. If I do not appear for a week, Mrs.

The ambiguous "it" appears to annoy him, for he flushes painfully, replying, "Sometimes longer. It is, a

um uncertain," in a confused and shamefaced manner, and is luckily relieved by the entry of Jenkins.

"Dawes, sir, 's been violent and assaulted Mr. Troke. Mr. Troke said you'd left orders to be told at onst of the

"Quite right. Where is he?" "In the cells, I think, sir. They had a hard fight to get him there, I am told, your

"Had they? Give my compliments to Mr. Troke, and tell him that I shall have the pleasure of breaking Mr.

"Maurice," said Sylvia, who had been listening to the conversation in undisguised alarm, "do me a favour?

"What makes you take a fancy to him?" asks her husband, with sudden unnecessary fierceness.

"Because his is one of the names which have been from my childhood synonymous with suffering and

torture, because whatever wrong he may have done, his lifelong punishment must have in some degree

She spoke with an eager pity in her face that transfigured it. North, devouring her with his glance, saw tears

in her eyes. "Does this look as if he had made atonement?" said Frere coarsely, slapping the letter.

"He is a bad man, I know, but " she passed her hand over her forehead with the old troubled gesture "he

"Nonsense," said Frere, rising decisively. "Your fancies mislead you. Let me hear you no more. The man is

rebellious, and must be lashed back again to his duty. Come, North, we'll have a nip before you start."

"Mr. North, will not you plead for me?" suddenly cried poor Sylvia, her selfpossession overthrown. "You

But North, who seemed to have suddenly recalled his soul from some place where it had been wandering,

draws himself aside, and with dry lips makes shift to say, "I cannot interfere with your husband, madam," and

"You've made old North quite ill," said Frere, when he byandby returns, hoping by bluff ignoring of

roughness on his own part to avoid reproach from his wife. "He drank half a bottle of brandy to steady his

THE insubordination of which Rufus Dawes had been guilty was, in this instance, insignificant. It was the

custom of the newlyfledged constables of Captain Frere to enter the wards at night, armed with cutlasses,

tramping about, and making a great noise. Mindful of the report of Pounce, they pulled the men roughly from

their hammocks, examined their persons for concealed tobacco, and compelled them to open their mouths to

see if any was inside. The men in Dawes's gang to which Mr. Troke had an especial objection were

often searched more than once in a night, searched going to work, searched at meals, searched going to

prayers, searched coming out, and this in the roughest manner. Their sleep broken, and what little

selfrespect they might yet presume to retain harried out of them, the objects of this incessant persecution

The great aim of Troke was to catch Dawes tripping, but the leader of the "Ring" was far too wary. In vain

had Troke, eager to sustain his reputation for sharpness, burst in upon the convict at all times and seasons. He

had found nothing. In vain had he laid traps for him; in vain had he "planted" figs of tobacco, and attached

long threads to them, waited in a bush hard by, until the pluck at the end of his line should give token that the

fish had bitten. The experienced "old hand" was too acute for him. Filled with disgust and ambition, he

determined upon an ingenious little trick. He was certain that Dawes possessed tobacco; the thing was to find

it upon him. Now, Rufus Dawes, holding aloof, as was his custom, from the majority of his companions, had

made one friend if so mindless and battered an old wreck could be called a friend Blind Mooney.

Perhaps this oddlyassorted friendship was brought about by two causes one, that Mooney was the only

man on the island who knew more of the horrors of convictism than the leader of the Ring; the other, that

Mooney was blind, and, to a moody, sullen man, subject to violent fits of passion and a constant suspicion of

all his fellowcreatures, a blind companion was more congenial than a sharpeyed one.

Mooney was one of the "First Fleeters". He had arrived in Sydney fiftyseven years before, in the year 1789,

and when he was transported he was fourteen years old. He had been through the whole round of servitude,

had worked as a bondsman, had married, and been "up country", had been again sentenced, and was a sort of

dismal patriarch of Norfolk Island, having been there at its former settlement. He had no friends. His wife

was long since dead, and he stated, without contradiction, that his master, having taken a fancy to her, had

despatched the uncomplaisant husband to imprisonment. Such cases were not uncommon.

One of the many ways in which Rufus Dawes had obtained the affection of the old blind man was a gift of

such fragments of tobacco as he had himself from time to time secured. Troke knew this; and on the evening

in question hit upon an excellent plan. Admitting himself noiselessly into the boatshed, where the gang

slept, he crept close to the sleeping Dawes, and counterfeiting Mooney's mumbling utterance asked for "some

tobacco". Rufus Dawes was but half awake, and on repeating his request, Troke felt something put into his

hand. He grasped Dawes's arm, and struck a light. He had got his man this time. Dawes had conveyed to his

fancied friend a piece of tobacco almost as big as the top joint of his little finger. One can understand the

feelings of a man entrapped by such base means. Rufus Dawes no sooner saw the hated face of Warder Troke

peering over his hammock, then he sprang out, and exerting to the utmost his powerful muscles, knocked Mr.

Troke fairly off his legs into the arms of the incoming constables. A desperate struggle took place, at the

end of which the convict, overpowered by numbers, was borne senseless to the cells, gagged, and chained to

the ringbolt on the bare flags. While in this condition he was savagely beaten by five or six constables.

To this maimed and manacled rebel was the Commandant ushered by Troke the next morning.

"Ha! ha! my man," said the Commandant. "Here you are again, you see. How do you like this sort of thing?"

"You shall have fifty lashes, my man," said Frere. "We'll see how you feel then!" The fifty were duly

One hundred and twenty lashes were inflicted in the course of the morning, but still the sullen convict refused

to speak. He was then treated to fourteen days' solitary confinement in one of the new cells. On being brought

out and confronted with his tormentor, he merely laughed. For this he was sent back for another fourteen

days; and still remaining obdurate, was flogged again, and got fourteen days more. Had the chaplain then

visited him, he might have found him open to consolation, but the chaplain so it was stated was sick.

When brought out at the conclusion of his third confinement, he was found to be in so exhausted a condition

that the doctor ordered him to hospital. As soon as he was sufficiently recovered, Frere visited him, and

finding his "spirit" not yet "broken", ordered that he should be put to grind maize. Dawes declined to work.

So they chained his hand to one arm of the grindstone and placed another prisoner at the other arm. As the

"You're not such a pebble as folks seemed to think," grinned Frere, pointing to the turning wheel.

Upon which the indomitable poor devil straightened his sorelytried muscles, and prevented the wheel from

turning at all. Frere gave him fifty more lashes, and sent him the next day to grind cayenne pepper. This was

a punishment more dreaded by the convicts than any other. The pungent dust filled their eyes and lungs,

causing them the most excruciating torments. For a man with a raw back the work was one continued agony.

"No fear," said the other, rejoiced at this proof of his power. "You've given in; that's all I wanted. Troke, take

"I would have come to see you before," said the clergyman, "but I have been very ill."

In truth he looked so. He had had a fever, it seemed, and they had shaved his beard, and cropped his hair.

Dawes could see that the haggard, wasted man had passed through some agony almost as great as his own.

The next day Frere visited him, complimented him on his courage, and offered to make him a constable.

Dawes turned his scarred back to his torturer, and resolutely declined to answer.

"I am afraid you have made an enemy of the Commandant," said North, the next day. "Why not accept his

Dawes cast on him a glance of quiet scorn. "And betray my mates? I'm not one of that sort."

The clergyman spoke to him of hope, of release, of repentance, and redemption. The prisoner laughed.

"Who's to redeem me?" he said, expressing his thoughts in phraseology that to ordinary folks might seem

blasphemous. "It would take a Christ to die again to save such as I." North spoke to him of immortality.

"There is another life," said he. "Do not risk your chance of happiness in it. You have a future to live for,

"I hope not," said the victim of the "system". "I want to rest to rest, and never to be disturbed again." His

"spirit" was broken enough by this time. Yet he had resolution enough to refuse Frere's repeated offers. "I'll

North pityingly implored the stubborn mind to have mercy on the lacerated body, but without effect. His own

wayward heart gave him the key to read the cipher of this man's life. "A noble nature ruined," said he to

Dawes, on his part, seeing how different from other black coats was this priest at once so ardent and so

gloomy, so stern and so tender began to speculate on the cause of his monitor's sunken cheeks, fiery eyes,

and preoccupied manner, to wonder what grief inspired those agonized prayers, those eloquent and daring

supplications, which were daily poured out over his rude bed. So between these two the priest and the

One day this bond was drawn so close as to tug at both their heartstrings. The chaplain had a flower in his

coat. Dawes eyed it with hungry looks, and, as the clergyman was about to quit the room, said, "Mr. North,

will you give me that rosebud?" North paused irresolutely, and finally, as if after a struggle with himself, took

it carefully from his buttonhole, and placed it in the prisoner's brown, scarred hand. In another instant

Dawes, believing himself alone, pressed the gift to his lips. North returned abruptly, and the eyes of the pair

met. Dawes flushed crimson, but North turned white as death. Neither spoke, but each was drawn close to the

OCTOBER 21st. I am safe for another six months if I am careful, for my last bout lasted longer than I

expected. I suppose one of these days I shall have a paroxysm that will kill me. I shall not regret it.

I wonder if this familiar of mine I begin to detest the expression will accuse me of endeavouring to

make a case for myself if I say that I believe my madness to be a disease? I do believe it. I honestly can no

more help getting drunk than a lunatic can help screaming and gibbering. It would be different with me,

perhaps, were I a contented man, happily married, with children about me, and family cares to distract me.

But as I am a lonely, gloomy being, debarred from love, devoured by spleen, and tortured with repressed

desires I become a living torment to myself. I think of happier men, with fair wives and clinging children,

of men who are loved and who love, of Frere for instance and a hideous wild beast seems to stir within

me, a monster, whose cravings cannot be satisfied, can only be drowned in stupefying brandy.

Penitent and shattered, I vow to lead a new life; to forswear spirits, to drink nothing but water. Indeed, the

sight and smell of brandy make me ill. All goes well for some weeks, when I grow nervous, discontented,

moody. I smoke, and am soothed. But moderation is not to be thought of; little by little I increase the dose of

tobacco. Five pipes a day become six or seven. Then I count up to ten and twelve, then drop to three or four,

then mount to eleven at a leap; then lose count altogether. Much smoking excites the brain. I feel clear,

bright, gay. My tongue is parched in the morning, however, and I use liquor to literally "moisten my clay". I

drink wine or beer in moderation, and all goes well. My limbs regain their suppleness, my hands their

coolness, my brain its placidity. I begin to feel that I have a will. I am confident, calm, and hopeful. To this

condition succeeds one of the most frightful melancholy. I remain plunged, for an hour together, in a stupor

of despair. The earth, air, sea, all appear barren, colourless. Life is a burden. I long to sleep, and sleeping

struggle to awake, because of the awful dreams which flap about me in the darkness. At night I cry, "Would

to God it were morning!" In the morning, "Would to God it were evening!" I loathe myself, and all around

me. I am nerveless, passionless, bowed down with a burden like the burden of Saul. I know well what will

restore me to life and ease restore me, but to cast me back again into a deeper fit of despair. I drink. One

glass my blood is warmed, my heart leaps, my hand no longer shakes. Three glasses I rise with hope in

my soul, the evil spirit flies from me. I continue pleasing images flock to my brain, the fields break into

flower, the birds into song, the sea gleams sapphire, the warm heaven laughs. Great God! what man could

By an effort, I shake off the desire to drink deeper, and fix my thoughts on my duties, on my books, on the

wretched prisoners. I succeed perhaps for a time; but my blood, heated by the wine which is at once my

poison and my life, boils in my veins. I drink again, and dream. I feel all the animal within me stirring. In the

day my thoughts wander to all monstrous imaginings. The most familiar objects suggest to me loathsome

thoughts. Obscene and filthy images surround me. My nature seems changed. By day I feel myself a wolf in

sheep's clothing; a man possessed by a devil, who is ready at any moment to break out and tear him to pieces.

At night I become a satyr. While in this torment I at once hate and fear myself. One fair face is ever before

me, gleaming through my hot dreams like a flying moon in the sultry midnight of a tropic storm. I dare not

trust myself in the presence of those whom I love and respect, lest my wild thoughts should find vent in

wilder words. I lose my humanity. I am a beast. Out of this depth there is but one way of escape. Downwards.

I must drench the monster I have awakened until he sleeps again. I drink and become oblivious. In these last

paroxysms there is nothing for me but brandy. I shut myself up alone and pour down my gullet huge draughts

of spirit. It mounts to my brain. I am a man again! and as I regain my manhood, I topple over dead drunk.

But the awakening! Let me not paint it. The delirium, the fever, the selfloathing, the prostration, the despair.

I view in the lookingglass a haggard face, with red eyes. I look down upon shaking hands, flaccid muscles,

and shrunken limbs. I speculate if I shall ever be one of those grotesque and melancholy beings, with bleared

eyes and running noses, swollen bellies and shrunken legs! Ugh! it is too likely.

October 22nd. Have spent the day with Mrs. Frere. She is evidently eager to leave the place as eager as

I am. Frere rejoices in his murderous power, and laughs at her expostulations. I suppose men get tired of their

wives. In my present frame of mind I am at a loss to understand how a man could refuse a wife anything.

I do not think she can possibly care for him. I am not a selfish sentimentalist, as are the majority of seducers.

I would take no woman away from a husband for mere liking. Yet I think there are cases in which a man who

loved would be justified in making a woman happy at the risk of his own soul, I suppose.

Making her happy! Ay, that's the point. Would she be happy? There are few men who can endure to be "cut",

slighted, pointed at, and women suffer more than men in these regards. I, a grizzled man of forty, am not such

an arrant ass as to suppose that a year of guilty delirium can compensate to a gentlynurtured woman for the

loss of that social dignity which constitutes her best happiness. I am not such an idiot as to forget that there

may come a time when the woman I love may cease to love me, and having no tie of selfrespect, social

position, or family duty, to bind her, may inflict upon her seducer that agony which he has taught her to

inflict upon her husband. Apart from the question of the sin of breaking the seventh commandment, I doubt if

the worst husband and the most unhappy home are not better, in this social condition of ours, than the most

devoted lover. A strange subject this for a clergyman to speculate upon! If this diary should ever fall into the

hands of a real Godfearing, honest booby, who never was tempted to sin by finding that at middleage he

November 4th. In one of the turnkey's rooms in the new gaol is to be seen an article of harness, which at

first creates surprise to the mind of the beholder, who considers what animal of the brute creation exists of so

diminutive a size as to admit of its use. On inquiry, it will be found to be a bridle, perfect in headband,

throatlash, etc., for a human being. There is attached to this bridle a round piece of cross wood, of almost

four inches in length, and one and a half in diameter. This again, is secured to a broad strap of leather to cross

the mouth. In the wood there is a small hole, and, when used, the wood IS inserted in the mouth, the small

hole being the only breathing space. This being secured with the various straps and buckles, a more complete

I was in the gaol last evening at eight o'clock. I had been to see Rufus Dawes, and returning, paused for a

moment to speak to Hailey. Gimblett, who robbed Mr. Vane of two hundred pounds, was present, he was at

that time a turnkey, holding a thirdclass pass, and in receipt of two shillings per diem. Everything was quite

still. I could not help remarking how quiet the gaol was, when Gimblett said, "There's someone speaking. I

know who that is." And forthwith took from its pegs one of the bridles just described, and a pair of handcuffs.

I followed him to one of the cells, which he opened, and therein was a man lying on his straw mat, undressed,

and to all appearance fast asleep. Gimblett ordered him to get up and dress himself. He did so, and came into

the yard, where Gimblett inserted the ironwood gag in his mouth. The sound produced by his breathing

through it (which appeared to be done with great difficulty) resembled a low, indistinct whistle. Gimblett led

him to the lamppost in the yard, and I saw that the victim of his wanton tyranny was the poor blind wretch

Mooney. Gimblett placed him with his back against the lamppost, and his arms being taken round, were

secured by handcuffs round the post. I was told that the old man was to remain in this condition for three

hours. I went at once to the Commandant. He invited me into his drawingroom an invitation which I had

the good sense to refuse but refused to listen to any plea for mercy. "The old impostor is always making

RUFUS DAWES hearing, when "on the chain" the next day, of the wanton torture of his friend, uttered no

threat of vengeance, but groaned only. "I am not so strong as I was," said he, as if in apology for his lack of

spirit. "They have unnerved me." And he looked sadly down at his gaunt frame and trembling hands.

"I can't stand it no longer," said Mooney, grimly. "I've spoken to Bland, and he's of my mind. You know what

Rufus Dawes stared at the sightless orbs turned inquiringly to his own. The fingers of his hand, thrust into his

bosom, felt a token which lay there. A shudder thrilled him. "No, no. Not now," he said.

"You're not afeard, man?" asked Mooney, stretching out his hand in the direction of the voice. "You're not

going to shirk?" The other avoided the touch, and shrank away, still staring. "You ain't going to back out after

"Is Bland willing?" asked Dawes, looking round, as if to seek some method of escape from the glare of those

"No; let's have it over," urged the old man, with a strange eagerness. "I'm tired o' this."

Rufus Dawes cast a wistful glance towards the wall behind which lay the house of the Commandant. "Leave

They had been so occupied in their conversation that neither had observed the approach of their common

enemy. "What are you hiding there?" cried Frere, seizing Dawes by the wrist. "More tobacco, you dog?" The

hand of the convict, thus suddenly plucked from his bosom, opened involuntarily, and a withered rose fell to

the earth. Frere at once, indignant and astonished, picked it up. "Hallo! What the devil's this? You've not been

robbing my garden for a nosegay, Jack?" The Commandant was wont to call all convicts "Jack" in his

Rufus Dawes uttered one dismal cry, and then stood trembling and cowed. His companions, hearing the

exclamation of rage and grief that burst from him, looked to see him snatch back the flower or perform some

act of violence. Perhaps such was his intention, but he did not execute it. One would have thought that there

was some charm about this rose so strangely cherished, for he stood gazing at it, as it twirled between Captain

Frere's strong fingers, as though it fascinated him. "You're a pretty man to want a rose for your buttonhole!

Are you going out with your sweetheart next Sunday, Mr. Dawes?" The gang laughed. "How did you get

this?" Dawes was silent. "You'd better tell me." No answer. "Troke, let us see if we can't find Mr. Dawes's

tongue. Pull off your shirt, my man. I expect that's the way to your heart eh, boys?"

At this elegant allusion to the lash, the gang laughed again, and looked at each other astonished. It seemed

possible that the leader of the Ring was going to turn milksop. Such, indeed, appeared to be the case, for

Dawes, trembling and pale, cried, "Don't flog me again, sir! I picked it up in the yard. It fell out of your coat

one day." Frere smiled with an inward satisfaction at the result of his spiritbreaking. The explanation was

probably the correct one. He was in the habit of wearing flowers in his coat and it was impossible that the

convict should have obtained one by any other means. Had it been a fig of tobacco now, the astute

Commandant knew plenty of men who would have brought it into the prison. But who would risk a flogging

for so useless a thing as a flower? "You'd better not pick up any more, Jack," he said. "We don't grow flowers

for your amusement." And contemptuously flinging the rose over the wall, he strode away.

The gang, left to itself for a moment, bestowed their attention upon Dawes. Large tears were silently rolling

down his face, and he stood staring at the wall as one in a dream. The gang curled their lips. One fellow,

more charitable than the rest, tapped his forehead and winked. "He's going cranky," said this goodnatured

man, who could not understand what a sane prisoner had to do with flowers. Dawes recovered himself, and

the contemptuous glances of his companions seemed to bring back the colour to his cheeks.

Since the "tobacco trick", Mooney and Dawes had been placed in the new prison, together with a man named

Bland, who had already twice failed to kill himself. When old Mooney, fresh from the torture of the

gagandbridle, lamented his hard case, Bland proposed that the three should put in practice a scheme in

which two at least must succeed. The scheme was a desperate one, and attempted only in the last extremity. It

was the custom of the Ring, however, to swear each of its members to carry out to the best of his ability this

last invention of the convictdisciplined mind should two other members crave his assistance.

That evening, when the celldoor was securely locked, and the absence of a visiting gaoler might be counted

upon for an hour at least, Bland produced a straw, and held it out to his companions. Dawes took it, and

"The longest is the one," said the blind man. "Come on, boys, and dip in the luckybag!"

It was evident that lots were to be drawn to determine to whom fortune would grant freedom. The men drew

in silence, and then Bland and Dawes looked at each other. The prize had been left in the bag. Mooney

fortunate old fellow retained the longest straw. Bland's hand shook as he compared notes with his

companion. There was a moment's pause, during which the blank eyeballs of the blind man fiercely searched

Bland, seemingly terrified at the danger which fate had decreed that he should run, tore the fatal lot into

fragments with an oath, and sat gnawing his knuckles in excess of abject terror. Mooney stretched himself out

upon his plankbed. "Come on, mate," he said. Bland extended a shaking hand, and caught Rufus Dawes by

"No, no," said Dawes, almost as pale as his companion. "I've run my chance fairly. 'Twas your own

proposal." The coward who, confident in his own luck, would seem to have fallen into the pit he had dug for

The notion seemed to sober the senses of the old man, exalted too fiercely by his good fortune.

"Ay!" he said. "Pray! A good thought!" and he knelt down; and shutting his blind eyes 'twas as though he

was dazzled by some strong light unseen by his comrades, moved his lips silently. The silence was at last

broken by the footsteps of the warder in the corridor. Bland hailed it as a reprieve from whatever act of daring

he dreaded. "We must wait until he goes," he whispered eagerly. "He might look in."

Dawes nodded, and Mooney, whose quick ear apprised him very exactly of the position of the approaching

gaoler, rose from his knees radiant. The sour face of Gimblett appeared at the trap celldoor. "All right?" he

"All right," was the reply, and Mooney added, "Goodnight, Mr. Gimblett." "I wonder what is making the old

The sound of his echoing footsteps had scarcely died away, when upon the ears of the two less fortunate

casters of lots fell the dull sound of rending woollen. The lucky man was tearing a strip from his blanket. "I

think this will do," said he, pulling it between his hands to test its strength. "I am an old man." It was possible

that he debated concerning the descent of some abyss into which the strip of blanket was to lower him. "Here,

Bland, catch hold. Where are ye? don't be fainthearted, man. It won't take ye long."

It was quite dark now in the cell, but as Bland advanced his face was like a white mask floating upon the

darkness, it was so ghastly pale. Dawes pressed his lucky comrade's hand, and withdrew to the farthest

corner. Bland and Mooney were for a few moments occupied with the rope doubtless preparing for escape

by means of it. The silence was broken only by the convulsive jangling of Bland's irons he was

shuddering violently. At last Mooney spoke again, in strangely soft and subdued tones.

"Ay, and a Heaven, lad. I think I shall go there. You will, old chap, for you've been good to me God bless

When Troke came in the morning he saw what had occurred at a glance, and hastened to remove the corpse

"We drew lots," said Rufus Dawes, pointing to Bland, who crouched in the corner farthest from his victim,

"I hope so," said Rufus Dawes. The scheme of escape hit upon by the convict intellect was simply this. Three

men being together, lots were drawn to determine whom should be murdered. The drawer of the longest straw

was the "lucky" man. He was killed. The drawer of the next longest straw was the murderer. He was hanged.

The unlucky one was the witness. He had, of course, an excellent chance of being hung also, but his doom

JOHN REX FOUND the "George" disagreeably prepared for his august arrival. Obsequious waiters took his

dressingbag and overcoat, the landlord himself welcomed him at the door. Two naval gentlemen came out

of the coffeeroom to stare at him. "Have you any more luggage, Mr. Devine?" asked the landlord, as he

flung open the door of the best drawingroom. It was awkwardly evident that his wife had no notion of

A suppertable laid for two people gleamed bright from the cheeriest corner. A fire crackled beneath the

marble mantelshelf. The latest evening paper lay upon a chair; and, brushing it carelessly with her costly

"Well, Mr. Richard Devine," said she, "you did not expect to see me again, did you?"

Although, on his journey down, he had composed an elaborate speech wherewith to greet her, this unnatural

"Hush, my dear Richard it must be Richard now, I suppose. This is not the time for explanations. Besides,

the waiter might hear you. Let us have some supper; you must be hungry, I am sure." He advanced to the

table mechanically. "But how fat you are!" she continued. "Too good living, I suppose. You were not so fat at

Port Ar Oh, I forgot, my dear! Come and sit down. That's right. I have told them all that I am your

wife, for whom you have sent. They regard me with some interest and respect in consequence. Don't spoil

He was about to utter an imprecation, but she stopped him by a glance. "No bad language, John, or I shall

ring for a constable. Let us understand one another, my dear. You may be a very great man to other people,

but to me you are merely my runaway husband an escaped convict. If you don't eat your supper civilly, I

"Sarah!" he burst out, "I never meant to desert you. Upon my word. It is all a mistake. Let me explain."

"There is no need for explanations yet, Jack I mean Richard. Have your supper. Ah! I know what you

She poured out half a tumbler of brandy, and gave it to him. He took the glass from her hand, drank the

contents, and then, as though warmed by the spirit, laughed. "What a woman you are, Sarah. I have been a

"You have been an ungrateful villain," said she, with sudden passion, "a hardened, selfish villain."

"Don't touch me!" "'Pon my word, you are a fine creature, and I was a fool to leave you." The compliment

seemed to soothe her, for her tone changed somewhat. "It was a wicked, cruel act, Jack. You whom I saved

"I admit it. It was." "You admit it. Have you no shame then? Have you no pity for me for what I have

"Don't you? You never thought about me at all. I have cared this much, John Rex bah! the door is shut

close enough that I have spent a fortune in hunting you down; and now I have found you, I will make you

With a readiness which showed that she had already prepared an answer to the question, she unlocked a

writingcase, which was on the side table, and took from it a newspaper. "By one of those strange accidents

which are the ruin of men like you. Among the papers sent to the overseer from his English friends was this

She held out an illustrated journal a Sunday organ of sporting opinion and pointed to a portrait

engraved on the centre page. It represented a broadshouldered, bearded man, dressed in the fashion affected

by turfites and lovers of horseflesh, standing beside a pedestal on which were piled a variety of racing cups

and trophies. John Rex read underneath this work of art the name, MR. RICHARD DEVINE THE

"The portrait was sufficiently like you to induce me to make inquiries, and when I found that Mr. Richard

Devine had suddenly returned from a mysterious absence of fourteen years, I set to work in earnest. I have

"There is not a single act of your life, John Rex, that I do not know," she continued, with heat. "I have traced

you from the day you stole out of my house until now. I know your continental trips, your journeyings here

and there in search of a lost clue. I pieced together the puzzle, as you have done, and I know that, by some

foul fortune, you have stolen the secret of a dead man to ruin an innocent and virtuous family."

"It is well to taunt, but you have got to the end of your tether now, Jack. I have communicated with the

woman whose son's fortune you have stolen. I expect to hear from Lady Devine in a day or so."

"Yes; and if my husband does not come back and live with me quietly, I shall call the police."

John Rex sprang up. "Who will believe you, idiot?" he cried. "I'll have you sent to gaol as an impostor."

"You forget, my dear," she returned, playing coquettishly with her rings, and glancing sideways as she spoke,

"that you have already acknowledged me as your wife before the landlord and the servants. It is too late for

that sort of thing. Oh, my dear Jack, you think you are very clever, but I am as clever as you."

Smothering a curse, he sat down beside her. "Listen, Sarah. What is the use of fighting like a couple of

"So am I." "Well, so much the better. We will join our riches together. I admit that I was a fool and a cur to

leave you; but I played for a great stake. The name of Richard Devine was worth nearly half a million in

money. It is mine. I won it. Share it with me! Sarah, you and I defied the world years ago. Don't let us quarrel

now. I was ungrateful. Forget it. We know by this time that we are not either of us angels. We started in life

together do you remember, Sally, when I met you first? determined to make money. We have

succeeded. Why then set to work to destroy each other? You are handsomer than ever, I have not lost my

wits. Is there any need for you to tell the world that I am a runaway convict, and that you are well, no, of

course there is no need. Kiss and be friends, Sarah. I would have escaped you if I could, I admit. You have

found me out. I accept the position. You claim me as your husband. You say you are Mrs. Richard Devine.

Very well, I admit it. You have all your life wanted to be a great lady. Now is your chance!" Much as she had

cause to hate him, well as she knew his treacherous and ungrateful character, little as she had reason to trust

him, her strange and distempered affection for the scoundrel came upon her again with gathering strength. As

she sat beside him, listening to the familiar tones of the voice she had learned to love, greedily drinking in the

promise of a future fidelity which she was well aware was made but to be broken, her memory recalled the

past days of trust and happiness, and her woman's fancy once more invested the selfish villain she had

reclaimed with those attributes which had enchained her wilful and wayward affections. The unselfish

devotion which had marked her conduct to the swindler and convict was, indeed, her one redeeming virtue;

and perhaps she felt dimly poor woman that it were better for her to cling to that, if she lost all the

world beside. Her wish for vengeance melted under the influence of these thoughts. The bitterness of

despised love, the shame and anger of desertion, ingratitude, and betrayal, all vanished. The tears of a sweet

forgiveness trembled in her eyes, the unreasoning love of her sex faithful to nought but love, and faithful

to love in death shook in her voice. She took his coward hand and kissed it, pardoning all his baseness

John Rex had conquered, and he smiled as he embraced her. "I wish I had," said he; "it would have saved me

"Your preference has one drawback, Sarah," he said, when the meal was concluded, and the two sat down to

consider their immediate course of action, "it doubles the chance of detection."

"People have accepted me without inquiry, but I am afraid not without dislike. Mr. Francis Wade, my uncle,

never liked me; and I fear I have not played my cards well with Lady Devine. When they find I have a

mysterious wife their dislike will become suspicion. Is it likely that I should have been married all these years

"Very unlikely," returned Sarah calmly, "and that is just the reason why you have not been married all these

years. Really," she added, with a laugh, "the male intellect is very dull. You have already told ten thousand

"Why, my dear Richard, you surely cannot have forgotten that you married me last year on the Continent? By

the way, it was last year that you were there, was it not? I am the daughter of a poor clergyman of the Church

of England; name anything you please and you met me where shall we say? Baden, Aix, Brussels?

Cross the Alps, if you like, dear, and say Rome." John Rex put his hand to his head. "Of course I am

"Well, we will alter all that," she returned with a laugh, which her anxious glance at him belied. "You are

"Then, having settled these little preliminaries, you take me up to London and introduce me to your relatives

"Bold! Nonsense! The only safe one. People don't, as a rule, suspect unless one is mysterious. You must do it;

I have arranged for your doing it. The waiters here all know me as your wife. There is not the least danger

unless, indeed, you are married already?" she added, with a quick and angry suspicion.

"You need not be alarmed. I was not such a fool as to marry another woman while you were alive had I

even seen one I would have cared to marry. But what of Lady Devine? You say you have told her."

"I have told her to communicate with Mrs. Carr, Post Office, Torquay, in order to hear something to her

advantage. If you had been rebellious, John, the 'something' would have been a letter from me telling her who

you really are. Now you have proved obedient, the 'something' will be a begging letter of a sort which she has

already received hundreds, and which in all probability she will not even answer. What do you think of that,

"You deserve success, Sarah," said the old schemer, in genuine admiration. "By Jove, this is something like

"Or Mr. and Mrs. Skinner, eh, John?" she said, with as much tenderness in her voice as though she had been a

virtuous matron recalling her honeymoon. "That was an unlucky name, wasn't it, dear? You should have

taken my advice there." And immersed in recollection of their past rogueries, the worthy pair pensively

"Next for, as you say, my presence doubles the danger we will contrive to withdraw quietly from

England. The introduction to your mother over, and Mr. Francis disposed of, we will go to Hampstead, and

live there for a while. During that time you must turn into cash as much property as you dare. We will then go

abroad for the 'season' and stop there. After a year or so on the Continent you can write to our agent to sell

more property; and, finally, when we are regarded as permanent absentees and three or four years will

bring that about we will get rid of everything, and slip over to America. Then you can endow a charity if

John Rex burst into a laugh. "An excellent plan. I like the idea of the charity the Devine Hospital, eh?"

"By the way, how did you find out the particulars of this man's life. He was burned in the Hydaspes, wasn't

"No," said Rex, with an air of pride. "He was transported in the Malabar under the name of Rufus Dawes.

You remember him. It is a long story. The particulars weren't numerous, and if the old lady had been half

sharp she would have bowled me out. But the fact was she wanted to find the fellow alive, and was willing to

take a good deal on trust. I'll tell you all about it another time. I think I'll go to bed now; I'm tired, and my

She rose and placed her hand on the bell. "What are you going to do?" he said uneasily.

"I am going to do nothing. You are going to telegraph to your servants to have the house in London prepared

John Rex stayed her hand with a sudden angry gesture. "This is all devilish fine," he said, "but suppose it

"That is your affair, John. You need not go on with this business at all, unless you like. I had rather you

"I am not as rich as you are, but, with my station and so on, I am worth seven thousand a year. Come back to

Australia with me, and let these poor people enjoy their own again. Ah, John, it is the best thing to do, believe

"A fine scheme!" cried he. "Give up half a million of money, and go back to Australia! You must be mad!"

As he wrote, John Rex felt gloomily that, though he had succeeded in recalling her affection, that affection

DECEMBER 7th. I have made up my mind to leave this place, to bury myself again in the bush, I

suppose, and await extinction. I try to think that the reason for this determination is the frightful condition of

misery existing among the prisoners; that because I am daily horrified and sickened by scenes of torture and

infamy, I decide to go away; that, feeling myself powerless to save others, I wish to spare myself. But in this

journal, in which I bind myself to write nothing but truth, I am forced to confess that these are not the

reasons. I will write the reason plainly: "I covet my neighbour's wife." It does not look well thus written. It

looks hideous. In my own breast I find numberless excuses for my passion. I said to myself, "My neighbour

does not love his wife, and her unloved life is misery. She is forced to live in the frightful seclusion of this

accursed island, and she is dying for want of companionship. She feels that I understand and appreciate her,

that I could love her as she deserves, that I could render her happy. I feel that I have met the only woman who

has power to touch my heart, to hold me back from the ruin into which I am about to plunge, to make me

useful to my fellows a man, and not a drunkard." Whispering these conclusions to myself, I am urged to

brave public opinion, and make two lives happy. I say to myself, or rather my desires say to me "What sin

is there in this? Adultery? No; for a marriage without love is the coarsest of all adulteries. What tie binds a

man and woman together that formula of license pronounced by the priest, which the law has recognized

as a 'legal bond'? Surely not this only, for marriage is but a partnership a contract of mutual fidelity

and in all contracts the violation of the terms of the agreement by one of the contracting persons absolves the

other. Mrs. Frere is then absolved, by her husband's act. I cannot but think so. But is she willing to risk the

shame of divorce or legal offence? Perhaps. Is she fitted by temperament to bear such a burden of contumely

as must needs fall upon her? Will she not feel disgust at the man who entrapped her into shame? Do not the

comforts which surround her compensate for the lack of affections?" And so the torturing catechism

Of course I am wrong; of course I outrage my character as a priest; of course I endanger according to the

creed I teach my soul and hers. But priests, unluckily, have hearts and passions as well as other men.

Thank God, as yet, I have never expressed my madness in words. What a fate is mine! When I am in her

presence I am in torment; when I am absent from her my imagination pictures her surrounded by a thousand

graces that are not hers, but belong to all the women of my dreams to Helen, to Juliet, to Rosalind. Fools

that we are of our own senses! When I think of her I blush; when I hear her name my heart leaps, and I grow

pale. Love! What is the love of two pure souls, scarce conscious of the Paradise into which they have fallen,

to this maddening delirium? I can understand the poison of Circe's cup; it is the sweettorment of a forbidden

love like mine! Away gross materialism, in which I have so long schooled myself! I, who laughed at passion

as the outcome of temperament and easy living I, who thought in my intellect, to sound all the depths and

shoals of human feeling I, who analysed my own soul scoffed at my own yearnings for an immortality

am forced to deify the senseless power of my creed, and believe in God, that I may pray to Him. I know

now why men reject the cold impersonality that reason tells us rules the world it is because they love. To

die, and be no more; to die, and rendered into dust, be blown about the earth; to die and leave our love

defenceless and forlorn, till the bright soul that smiled to ours is smothered in the earth that made it! No! To

love is life eternal. God, I believe in Thee! Aid me! Pity me! Sinful wretch that I am, to have denied Thee!

See me on my knees before Thee! Pity me, or let me die! December 9th. I have been visiting the two

condemned prisoners, Dawes and Bland, and praying with them. O Lord, let me save one soul that may plead

with Thee for mine! Let me draw one being alive out of this pit! I weep I weary Thee with my prayers, O

Lord! Look down upon me. Grant me a sign. Thou didst it in old times to men who were not more fervent in

their supplications than am I. So says Thy Book. Thy Book which I believe which I believe. Grant me a

sign one little sign, O Lord! I will not see her. I have sworn it. Thou knowest my grief my agony

my despair. Thou knowest why I love her. Thou knowest how I strive to make her hate me. Is that not a

sacrifice? I am so lonely a lonely man, with but one creature that he loves yet, what is mortal love to

Thee? Cruel and implacable, Thou sittest in the heavens men have built for Thee, and scornest them! Will not

all the burnings and slaughters of the saints appease Thee? Art Thou not sated with blood and tears, O God of

vengeance, of wrath, and of despair! Kind Christ, pity me. Thou wilt for Thou wast human! Blessed

Saviour, at whose feet knelt the Magdalen! Divinity, who, most divine in Thy despair, called on Thy cruel

God to save Thee by the memory of that moment when Thou didst deem Thyself forsaken forsake not

I can write no more. I will pray to Thee with my lips. I will shriek my supplications to Thee. I will call upon

Thee so loud that all the world shall hear me, and wonder at Thy silence unjust and unmerciful God!

December 14th. What blasphemies are these which I have uttered in my despair? Horrible madness that

has left me prostrate, to what heights of frenzy didst thou not drive my soul! Like him of old time, who

wandered among the tombs, shrieking and tearing himself, I have been possessed by a devil. For a week I

have been unconscious of aught save torture. I have gone about my daily duties as one who in his dreams

repeats the accustomed action of the day, and knows it not. Men have looked at me strangely. They look at

me strangely now. Can it be that my disease of drunkenness has become the disease of insanity? Am I mad,

or do I but verge on madness? O Lord, whom in my agonies I have confessed, leave me my intellect let

me not become a drivelling spectacle for the curious to point at or to pity! At least, in mercy, spare me a little.

Let not my punishment overtake me here. Let her memories of me be clouded with a sense of my rudeness or

my brutality; let me for ever seem to her the ungrateful ruffian I strive to show myself but let her not

ON or about the 8th of December, Mrs. Frere noticed a sudden and unaccountable change in the manner of

the chaplain. He came to her one afternoon, and, after talking for some time, in a vague and unconnected

manner, about the miseries of the prison and the wretched condition of some of the prisoners, began to

"I do not wish to think of him," said she, with a shudder. "I have the strangest, the most horrible dreams about

him. He is a bad man. He tried to murder me when a child, and had it not been for my husband, he would

have done so. I have only seen him once since then at Hobart Town, when he was taken." "He sometimes

speaks to me of you," said North, eyeing her. "He asked me once to give him a rose plucked in your garden."

"Oh, no! Why should I be angry?" she laughed constrainedly. "It was a strange fancy for the man to have,

"Mr. North!" Terrified at the wild gleam in his eyes, she had risen hastily. "You are talking very strangely."

"Oh, don't be alarmed, madam. I am not drunk!" he pronounced the word with a fierce energy. "I had

Deeply wounded and astonished at this extraordinary outburst, Sylvia allowed him to stride away without a

word. She saw him pass through the garden and slam the little gate, but she did not see the agony on his face,

or the passionate gesture with which when out of eyeshot he lamented the voluntary abasement of

himself before her. She thought over his conduct with growing fear. It was not possible that he was

intoxicated such a vice was the last one of which she could have believed him guilty. It was more

probable that some effects of the fever, which had recently confined him to his house, yet lingered. So she

thought; and, thinking, was alarmed to realize of how much importance the wellbeing of this man was to

The next day he met her, and, bowing, passed swiftly. This pained her. Could she have offended him by some

unlucky word? She made Maurice ask him to dinner, and, to her astonishment, he pleaded illness as an

excuse for not coming. Her pride was hurt, and she sent him back his books and music. A curiosity that was

unworthy of her compelled her to ask the servant who carried the parcel what the clergyman had said. "He

said nothing only laughed." Laughed! In scorn of her foolishness! His conduct was ungentlemanly and

intemperate. She would forget, as speedily as possible, that such a being had ever existed. This resolution

So a week passed, and Mr. North did not return. Unluckily for the poor wretch, the very selfsacrifice he had

made brought about the precise condition of things which he was desirous to avoid. It is possible that, had the

acquaintance between them continued on the same staid footing, it would have followed the lot of most

acquaintanceships of the kind other circumstances and other scenes might have wiped out the memory of

all but common civilities between them, and Sylvia might never have discovered that she had for the chaplain

any other feeling but that of esteem. But the very fact of the sudden wrenching away of her soulcompanion,

showed her how barren was the solitary life to which she had been fated. Her husband, she had long ago

admitted, with bitter selfcommunings, was utterly unsuited to her. She could find in his society no

enjoyment, and for the sympathy which she needed was compelled to turn elsewhere. She understood that his

love for her had burnt itself out she confessed, with intensity of selfdegradation, that his apparent

affection had been born of sensuality, and had perished in the fires it had itself kindled. Many women have,

unhappily, made some such discovery as this, but for most women there is some distracting occupation. Had

it been Sylvia's fate to live in the midst of fashion and society, she would have found relief in the

conversation of the witty, or the homage of the distinguished. Had fortune cast her lot in a city, Mrs. Frere

might have become one of those charming women who collect around their suppertables whatever of male

intellect is obtainable, and who find the husband admirably useful to open his own champagne bottles. The

celebrated women who have stepped out of their domestic circles to enchant or astonish the world, have

almost invariably been cursed with unhappy homes. But poor Sylvia was not destined to this fortune. Cast

back upon herself, she found no surcease of pain in her own imaginings, and meeting with a man sufficiently

her elder to encourage her to talk, and sufficiently clever to induce her to seek his society and his advice, she

learnt, for the first time, to forget her own griefs; for the first time she suffered her nature to expand under the

sun of a congenial influence. This sun, suddenly withdrawn, her soul, grown accustomed to the warmth and

light, shivered at the gloom, and she looked about her in dismay at the dull and barren prospect of life which

lay before her. In a word, she found that the society of North had become so far necessary to her that to be

deprived of it was a grief notwithstanding that her husband remained to console her.

After a week of such reflections, the barrenness of life grew insupportable to her, and one day she came to

Maurice and begged to be sent back to Hobart Town. "I cannot live in this horrible island," she said. "I am

getting ill. Let me go to my father for a few months, Maurice." Maurice consented. His wife was looking ill,

and Major Vickers was an old man a rich old man who loved his only daughter. It was not undesirable

that Mrs. Frere should visit her father; indeed, so little sympathy was there between the pair that, the first

astonishment over, Maurice felt rather glad to get rid of her for a while. "You can go back in the Lady

Franklin if you like, my dear," he said. "I expect her every day." At this decision much to his surprise

she kissed him with more show of affection than she had manifested since the death of her child.

The news of the approaching departure became known, but still North did not make his appearance. Had it

not been a step beneath the dignity of a woman, Mrs. Frere would have gone herself and asked him the

meaning of his unaccountable rudeness, but there was just sufficient morbidity in the sympathy she had for

him to restrain her from an act which a young girl though not more innocent would have dared without

hesitation. Calling one day upon the wife of the surgeon, however, she met the chaplain face to face, and with

the consummate art of acting which most women possess, rallied him upon his absence from her house. The

behaviour of the poor devil, thus stabbed to the heart, was curious. He forgot gentlemanly behaviour and the

respect due to a woman, flung one despairingly angry glance at her and abruptly retired. Sylvia flushed

crimson, and endeavoured to excuse North on account of his recent illness. The surgeon's wife looked

askance, and turned the conversation. The next time Sylvia bowed to this lady, she got a chilling salute in

return that made her blood boil. "I wonder how I have offended Mrs. Field?" she asked Maurice. "She almost

cut me today." "Oh, the old cat!" returned Maurice. "What does it matter if she did?" However, a few days

afterwards, it seemed that it did matter, for Maurice called upon Field and conversed seriously with him. The

issue of the conversation being reported to Mrs. Frere, the lady wept indignant tears of wounded pride and

shame. It appeared that North had watched her out of the house, returned, and related in a "stumbling,

hesitating way", Mrs. Field said how he disliked Mrs. Frere, how he did not want to visit her, and how

flighty and reprehensible such conduct was in a married woman of her rank and station. This act of baseness

or profound nobleness achieved its purpose. Sylvia noticed the unhappy priest no more. Between the

Commandant and the chaplain now arose a coolness, and Frere set himself, by various petty tyrannies, to

disgust North, and compel him to a resignation of his office. The convictgaolers speedily marked the

difference in the treatment of the chaplain, and their demeanour changed. For respect was substituted

insolence; for alacrity, sullenness; for prompt obedience, impertinent intrusion. The men whom North

favoured were selected as special subjects for harshness, and for a prisoner to be seen talking to the

clergyman was sufficient to ensure for him a series of tyrannies. The result of this was that North saw the

souls he laboured to save slipping back into the gulf; beheld the men he had half won to love him meet him

with averted faces; discovered that to show interest in a prisoner was to injure him, not to serve him. The

unhappy man grew thinner and paler under this ingenious torment. He had deprived himself of that love

which, guilty though it might be, was, nevertheless, the only true love he had known; and he found that,

having won this victory, he had gained the hatred of all living creatures with whom he came in contact. The

authority of the Commandant was so supreme that men lived but by the breath of his nostrils. To offend him

was to perish and the man whom the Commandant hated must be hated also by all those who wished to exist

in peace. There was but one being who was not to be turned from his allegiance the convict murderer,

Rufus Dawes, who awaited death. For many days he had remained mute, broken down beneath his weight of

sorrow or of sullenness; but North, bereft of other love and sympathy, strove with that fighting soul, if haply

he might win it back to peace. It seemed to the fancy of the priest a fancy distempered, perhaps, by

excess, or superhumanly exalted by mental agony that this convict, over whom he had wept, was given to

him as a hostage for his own salvation. "I must save him or perish," he said. "I must save him, though I

Frere, unable to comprehend the reason of the calmness with which the doomed felon met his taunts and

torments, thought that he was shamming piety to gain some indulgence of meat and drink, and redoubled his

severity. He ordered Dawes to be taken out to work just before the hour at which the chaplain was

accustomed to visit him. He pretended that the man was "dangerous", and directed a gaoler to be present at all

interviews, "lest the chaplain might be murdered". He issued an order that all civil officers should obey the

challenges of convicts acting as watchmen; and North, coming to pray with his penitent, would be stopped

ten times by grinning felons, who, putting their faces within a foot of his, would roar out, "Who goes there?"

and burst out laughing at the reply. Under pretence of watching more carefully over the property of the

chaplain, he directed that any convict, acting as constable, might at any time "search everywhere and

anywhere" for property supposed to be in the possession of a prisoner. The chaplain's servant was a prisoner,

of course; and North's drawers were ransacked twice in one week by Troke. North met these impertinences

with unruffled brow, and Frere could in no way account for his obstinacy, until the arrival of the Lady

Franklin explained the chaplain's apparent coolness. He had sent in his resignation two months before, and

the saintly Meekin had been appointed in his stead. Frere, unable to attack the clergyman, and indignant at the

THE method and manner of Frere's revenge became a subject of whispered conversation on the island. It was

reported that North had been forbidden to visit the convict, but that he had refused to accept the prohibition,

and by a threat of what he would do when the returning vessel had landed him in Hobart Town, had

compelled the Commandant to withdraw his order. The Commandant, however, speedily discovered in Rufus

Dawes signs of insubordination, and set to work again to reduce still further the "spirit" he had so ingeniously

"broken". The unhappy convict was deprived of food, was kept awake at nights, was put to the hardest

labour, was loaded with the heaviest irons. Troke, with devilish malice, suggested that, if the tortured wretch

would decline to see the chaplain, some amelioration of his condition might be effected; but his suggestions

were in vain. Fully believing that his death was certain, Dawes clung to North as the saviour of his agonized

soul, and rejected all such insidious overtures. Enraged at this obstinacy, Frere sentenced his victim to the

Now the rumour of the obduracy of this undaunted convict who had been recalled to her by the clergyman at

their strange interview, had reached Sylvia's ears. She had heard gloomy hints of the punishments inflicted on

him by her husband's order, and as constantly revolving in her mind was that last conversation with the

chaplain she wondered at the prisoner's strange fancy for a flower, her brain began to thrill with those

undefined and dreadful memories which had haunted her childhood. What was the link between her and this

murderous villain? How came it that she felt at times so strange a sympathy for his fate, and that he who

had attempted her life cherished so tender a remembrance of her as to beg for a flower which her hand had

She questioned her husband concerning the convict's misdoings, but with the petulant brutality which he

invariably displayed when the name of Rufus Dawes intruded itself into their conversation, Maurice Frere

harshly refused to satisfy her. This but raised her curiosity higher. She reflected how bitter he had always

seemed against this man she remembered how, in the garden at Hobart Town, the hunted wretch had

caught her dress with words of assured confidence she recollected the fragment of cloth he passionately

flung from him, and which her affianced lover had contemptuously tossed into the stream. The name of

"Dawes", detested as it had become to her, bore yet some strange association of comfort and hope. What

secret lurked behind the twilight that had fallen upon her childish memories? Deprived of the advice of North

to whom, a few weeks back, she would have confided her misgivings she resolved upon a project that,

for her, was most distasteful. She would herself ViSit the gaol and judge how far the rumours of her

One sultry afternoon, when the Commandant had gone on a visit of inspection, Troke, lounging at the door of

Troke was preparing a lie. The imperious voice, and the clear, steady gaze, confused him.

Troke grew more confused. It was evident that he was most unwilling to open the door. "The Commandant

"Do you wish me to complain to the Commandant?" cries Sylvia, with a touch of her old spirit, and jumped

hastily at the conclusion that the gaolers were, perhaps, torturing the convict for their own entertainment.

Thus commanded, Troke, with a hasty growl of its "being no affair of his, and he hoped Mrs. Frere would tell

the captain how it happened" flung open the door of a cell on the right hand of the doorway. It was so dark

that, at first, Sylvia could distinguish nothing but the outline of a framework, with something stretched upon

it that resembled a human body. Her first thought was that the man was dead, but this was not so he

groaned. Her eyes, accustoming themselves to the gloom, began to see what the "punishment" was. Upon the

floor was placed an iron frame about six feet long, and two and a half feet wide, with round iron bars, placed

transversely, about twelve inches apart. The man she came to seek was bound in a horizontal position upon

this frame, with his neck projecting over the end of it. If he allowed his head to hang, the blood rushed to his

brain, and suffocated him, while the effort to keep it raised strained every muscle to agony pitch. His face

was purple, and he foamed at the mouth. Sylvia uttered a cry. "This is no punishment; it's murder! Who

"Loose him, I say! Hailey! you, sir, there!" The noise had brought several warders to the spot. "Do you

hear me? Do you know who I am? Loose him, I say!" In her eagerness and compassion she was on her knees

by the side of the infernal machine, plucking at the ropes with her delicate fingers. "Wretches, you have cut

his flesh! He is dying! Help! You have killed him!" The prisoner, in fact, seeing this angel of mercy stooping

over him, and hearing close to him the tones of a voice that for seven years he had heard but in his dreams,

had fainted. Troke and Hailey, alarmed by her vehemence, dragged the stretcher out into the light, and hastily

cut the lashings. Dawes rolled off like a log, and his head fell against Mrs. Frere. Troke roughly pulled him

aside, and called for water. Sylvia, trembling with sympathy and pale with passion, turned upon the crew.

"Wretches!" cried Sylvia, "you shall hear more of this. Oh, oh! I am sick!" she felt for the wall "I I

" North watched her with agony on his face, but did not move. "I faint. I " she uttered a despairing

cry that was not without a touch of anger. "Mr. North! do you not see? Oh! Take me home take me

home!" and she would have fallen across the body of the tortured prisoner had not North caught her in his

arms. Rufus Dawes, awaking from his stupor, saw, in the midst of a sunbeam which penetrated a window in

the corridor, the woman who came to save his body supported by the priest who came to save his soul; and

staggering to his knees, he stretched out his hands with a hoarse cry. Perhaps something in the action brought

back to the dimmed remembrance of the Commandant's wife the image of a similar figure stretching forth its

hands to a frightened child in the mysterious faroff time. She started, and pushing back her hair, bent a

wistful, terrified gaze upon the face of the kneeling man, as though she would fain read there an explanation

of the shadowy memory which haunted her. It is possible that she would have spoken, but North thinking

the excitement had produced one of those hysterical crises which were common to her gently drew her,

still gazing, back towards the gate. The convict's arms fell, and an undefinable presentiment of evil chilled

him as he beheld the priest emotion pallid in his cheeks slowly draw the fair young creature from out

the sunlight into the grim shadow of the heavy archway. For an instant the gloom swallowed them, and it

seemed to Dawes that the strange wild man of God had in that instant become a man of Evil blighting the

brightness and the beauty of the innocence that clung to him. For an instant and then they passed out of

the prison archway into the free air of heaven and the sunlight glowed golden on their faces.

"What is it?" she whispered, more in answer to her own thoughts than to his question "what is it that links

me to that man? What deed what terror what memory? I tremble with crowding thoughts, that die ere

She passed her hand across her brow, sighing heavily, as one awaking from a disturbed slumber

shuddered, and withdrew her arm from his. North interpreted the action correctly, and the blood rushed to his

face. "Pardon me, you cannot walk alone; you will fall. I will leave you at the gate."

In truth she would have fallen had he not again assisted her. She turned upon him eyes whose reproachful

sorrow had almost forced him to a confession, but he bowed his head and held silence. They reached the

house, and he placed her tenderly in a chair. "Now you are safe, madam, I will leave you."

She burst into tears. "Why do you treat me thus, Mr. North? What have I done to make you hate me?"

"Hate you!" said North, with trembling lips. "Oh, no, I do not do not hate you. I am rude in my speech,

abrupt in my manner. You must forget it, and and me." A horse's feet crashed upon the gravel, and an

instant after Maurice Frere burst into the room. Returning from the Cascades, he had met Troke, and learned

the release of the prisoner. Furious at this usurpation of authority by his wife, his selfesteem wounded by the

thought that she had witnessed his mean revenge upon the man he had so infamously wronged, and his

natural brutality enhanced by brandy, he had made for the house at full gallop, determined to assert his

authority. Blind with rage, he saw no one but his wife. "What the devil's this I hear? You have been meddling

"Captain Frere!" said North, stepping forward to assert the restraining presence of a stranger. Frere started,

astonished at the intrusion of the chaplain. Here was another outrage of his dignity, another insult to his

supreme authority. In its passion, his gross mind leapt to the worst conclusion. "You here, too! What do you

want here with my wife! This is your quarrel, is it?" His eyes glanced wrathfully from one to the other;

and he strode towards North. "You infernal hypocritical lying scoundrel, if it wasn't for your black coat, I'd

"Maurice!" cried Sylvia, in an agony of shame and terror, striving to place a restraining hand upon his arm.

He turned upon her with so fiercely infamous a curse that North, pale with righteous rage, seemed prompted

to strike the burly ruffian to the earth. For a moment, the two men faced each other, and then Frere, muttering

threats of vengeance against each and all convicts, gaolers, wife, and priest flung the suppliant woman

violently from him, and rushed from the room. She fell heavily against the wall, and as the chaplain raised

"Oh," cried Sylvia, covering her face with trembling hands, "let me leave this place!"

North, enfolding her in his arms, strove to soothe her with incoherent words of comfort. Dizzy with the blow

she had received, she clung to him sobbing. Twice he tried to tear himself away, but had he loosed his hold

she would have fallen. He could not hold her bruised, suffering, and in tears thus against his heart, and

keep silence. In a torrent of agonized eloquence the story of his love burst from his lips. "Why should you be

thus tortured?" he cried. "Heaven never willed you to be mated to that boor you, whose life should be all

sunshine. Leave him leave him. He has cast you off. We have both suffered. Let us leave this dreadful

They looked at each other she felt the fever of his blood, she read his passion in his eyes, she

comprehended the "hatred" he had affected for her, and, deadly pale, drew back the cold hand he held.

"Go!" she murmured. "If you love me, leave me leave me! Do not see me or speak to me again " her

MAURICE FRERE'S passion had spent itself in that last act of violence. He did not return to the prison, as he

promised himself, but turned into the road that led to the Cascades. He repented him of his suspicions. There

was nothing strange in the presence of the chaplain. Sylvia had always liked the man, and an apology for his

conduct had doubtless removed her anger. To make a mountain out of a molehill was the act of an idiot. It

was natural that she should release Dawes women were so tenderhearted. A few wellchosen,

calmlyuttered platitudes anent the necessity for the treatment that, to those unaccustomed to the desperate

wickedness of convicts, must appear harsh, would have served his turn far better than bluster and abuse.

Moreover, North was to sail in the Lady Franklin, and might put in execution his threats of official complaint,

unless he was carefully dealt with. To put Dawes again to the torture would be to show to Troke and his

friends that the "Commandant's wife" had acted without the "Commandant's authority", and that must not be

shown. He would now return and patch up a peace. His wife would sail in the same vessel with North, and he

would in a few days be left alone on the island to pursue his "discipline" unchecked. With this intent he

returned to the prison, and gravely informed poor Troke that he was astonished at his barbarity. "Mrs. Frere,

who most luckily had appointed to meet me this evening at the prison, tells me that the poor devil Dawes had

"Yes, you fool, but I didn't order you to keep the man there for nine hours, did I? Why, you scoundrel, you

might have killed him!" Troke scratched his head in bewilderment. "Take his irons off, and put him in a

separate cell in the old gaol. If a man is a murderer, that is no reason you should take the law into your own

hands, is it? You'd better take care, Mr. Troke." On the way back he met the chaplain, who, seeing him, made

for a bypath in curious haste. "Halloo!" roared Frere. "Hi! Mr. North!" Mr. North paused, and the

Commandant made at him abruptly. "Look here, sir, I was rude to you just now devilish rude. Most

ungentlemanly of me. I must apologize." North bowed, without speaking, and tried to pass.

"You must excuse my violence," Frere went on. "I'm badtempered, and I didn't like my wife interfering.

Women, don't you know, don't see these things don't understand these scoundrels." North again bowed.

"Why, dn it, how savage you look! Quite ghastly, bigod! I must have said most outrageous things. Forget

"I cannot enter your house again, sir," said North, in tones more agitated than the occasion would seem to

Frere shrugged his great shoulders with a clumsy affectation of good humour, and held out his hand. "Well,

shake hands, parson. You'll have to take care of Mrs. Frere on the voyage, and we may as well make up our

"Let me pass, sir!" cried North, with heightened colour; and ignoring the proffered hand, strode savagely on.

"You've a d d fine temper for a parson," said Frere to himself. "However, if you won't, you won't. Hang

me if I'll ask you again." Nor, when he reached home, did he fare better in his efforts at reconciliation with

his wife. Sylvia met him with the icy front of a woman whose pride has been wounded too deeply for tears.

"Say no more about it," she said. "I am going to my father. If you want to explain your conduct, explain it to

"Come, Sylvia," he urged; "I was a brute, I know. Forgive me." "It is useless to ask me," she said; "I cannot. I

He attempted to embrace her, but she withdrew herself loathingly from his arms. He swore a great oath at her,

and, too obstinate to argue farther, sulked. Blunt, coming in about some ship matters, the pair drank rum.

Sylvia went to her room and occupied herself with some minor details of clothespacking (it is wonderful

how women find relief from thoughts in household care), while North, poor fool, seeing from his window the

light in hers, sat staring at it, alternately cursing and praying. In the meantime, the unconscious cause of all of

this Rufus Dawes sat in his new cell, wondering at the chance which had procured him comfort, and

blessing the fair hands that had brought it to him. He doubted not but that Sylvia had interceded with his

tormentor, and by gentle pleading brought him ease. "God bless her," he murmured. "I have wronged her all

these years. She did not know that I suffered." He waited anxiously for North to visit him, that he might have

his belief confirmed. "I will get him to thank her for me," he thought. But North did not come for two whole

days. No one came but his gaolers; and, gazing from his prison window upon the sea that almost washed its

walls, he saw the schooner at anchor, mocking him with a liberty he could not achieve. On the third day,

however, North came. His manner was constrained and abrupt. His eyes wandered uneasily, and he seemed

"I do not think you owe any thanks to her. Your irons were removed by the Commandant's order."

"But by her persuasion. I feel sure of it. Ah, I was wrong to think she had forgotten me. Ask her for her

"Forgiveness!" said North, recalling the scene in the prison. "What have you done to need her forgiveness?"

"I doubted her," said Rufus Dawes. "I thought her ungrateful and treacherous. I thought she delivered me

again into the bondage from whence I had escaped. I thought she had betrayed me betrayed me to the

"No, I had vowed to bury the knowledge of it in my own breast it was too bitter to speak."

"Ay, and hers! I made the boat that carried her to freedom. I held her in my arms, and took the bread from my

"She has forgotten it, perhaps, for she was but a child. But you will remind her, will you not? You will do me

justice in her eyes before I die? You will get her forgiveness for me?" North could not explain why such an

"She is going away in the schooner," said he, concealing the fact of his own departure. "I will see her before

"God bless you, sir," said poor Dawes. "Now pray with me"; and the wretched priest mechanically repeated

The next day he told his penitent that Mrs. Frere had forgiven him. This was a lie. He had not seen her; but

what should a lie be to him now? Lies were needful in the tortuous path he had undertaken to tread. Yet the

deceit he was forced to practise cost him many a pang. He had succumbed to his passion, and to win the love

for which he yearned had voluntarily abandoned truth and honour; but standing thus alone with his sin, he

despised and hated himself. To deaden remorse and drown reflection, he had recourse to brandy, and though

the fierce excitement of his hopes and fears steeled him against the stupefying action of the liquor, he was

rendered by it incapable of calm reflection. In certain nervous conditions our mere physical powers are proof

against the action of alcohol, and though ten times more drunk than the toper, who, incoherently stammering,

reels into the gutter, we can walk erect and talk with fluency. Indeed, in this artificial exaltation of the

sensibilities, men often display a brilliant wit, and an acuteness of comprehension, calculated to delight their

friends, and terrify their physicians. North had reached this condition of braindrunkenness. In plain terms,

The days passed swiftly, and Blunt's preparations for sea were completed. There were two stern cabins in the

schooner, one of which was appropriated to Mrs. Frere, while the other was set apart for North. Maurice had

not attempted to renew his overtures of friendship, and the chaplain had not spoken. Mindful of Sylvia's last

words, he had resolved not to meet her until fairly embarked upon the voyage which he intended should link

their fortunes together. On the morning of the 19th December, Blunt declared himself ready to set sail, and in

Rufus Dawes, gazing from his window upon the schooner that lay outside the reef, thought nothing of the fact

that, after the Commandant's boat had taken away the Commandant's wife another boat should put off with

the chaplain. It was quite natural that Mr. North should desire to bid his friends farewell, and through the hot,

still afternoon he watched for the returning boat, hoping that the chaplain would bring him some message

from the woman whom he was never to see more on earth. The hours wore on, however, and no breath of

wind ruffled the surface of the sea. The day was exceedingly close and sultry, heavy dun clouds hung on the

horizon, and it seemed probable that unless a thunderstorm should clear the air before night, the calm would

continue. Blunt, however, with a true sailor's obstinacy in regard to weather, swore there would be a breeze,

and held to his purpose of sailing. The hot afternoon passed away in a sultry sunset, and it was not until the

shades of evening had begun to fall that Rufus Dawes distinguished a boat detach itself from the sides of the

schooner, and glide through the oily water to the jetty. The chaplain was returning, and in a few hours

perhaps would be with him, to bring him the message of comfort for which his soul thirsted. He stretched out

his unshackled limbs, and throwing himself upon his stretcher, fell to recalling the past his boatbuilding,

North, however, was not returning to bring to the prisoner a message of comfort, but he was returning on

purpose to see him, nevertheless. The unhappy man, torn by remorse and passion, had resolved upon a course

of action which seemed to him a penance for his crime of deceit. He determined to confess to Dawes that the

message he had brought was wholly fictitious, that he himself loved the wife of the Commandant, and that

with her he was about to leave the island for ever. "I am no hypocrite," he thought, in his exaltation. "If I

choose to sin, I will sin boldly; and this poor wretch, who looks up to me as an angel, shall know me for my

The notion of thus destroying his own fame in the eyes of the man whom he had taught to love him, was

pleasant to his diseased imagination. It was the natural outcome of the morbid condition of mind into which

he had drifted, and he provided for the complete execution of his scheme with cunning born of the mischief

working in his brain. It was desirable that the fatal stroke should be dealt at the last possible instant; that he

should suddenly unveil his own infamy, and then depart, never to be seen again. To this end he had invented

an excuse for returning to the shore at the latest possible moment. He had purposely left in his room a

dressingbag the sort of article one is likely to forget in the hurry of departure from one's house, and so

certain to remember when the time comes to finally prepare for settling in another. He had ingeniously

extracted from Blunt the fact that "he didn't expect a wind before dark, but wanted all shipshape and

aboard", and then, just as darkness fell, discovered that it was imperative for him to go ashore. Blunt cursed,

"There'll be a breeze in less than two hours," said he. "You've plenty of time, but if you're not back before the

first puff, I'll sail without you, as sure as you're born." North assured him of his punctuality. "Don't wait for

me, Captain, if I'm not here," said he with the lightness of tone which men use to mask anxiety. "I'd take him

at his word, Blunt," said the Commandant, who was affably waiting to take final farewell of his wife. "Give

way there, men," he shouted to the crew, "and wait at the jetty. If Mr. North misses his ship through your

laziness, you'll pay for it." So the boat set off, North laughing uproariously at the thought of being late. Frere

observed with some astonishment that the chaplain wrapped himself in a boat cloak that lay in the stern

sheets. "Does the fellow want to smother himself in a night like this!" was his remark. The truth was that,

though his hands and head were burning, North's teeth chattered with cold. Perhaps this was the reason why,

when landed and out of eyeshot of the crew, he produced a pocketflask of rum and eagerly drank. The spirit

gave him courage for the ordeal to which he had condemned himself; and with steadied step, he reached the

"I want to see the prisoner Dawes. I have a special message for him. I have come ashore on purpose."

"The ship will sail in two hours, man, and I shall miss her," said North, indignant at being frustrated in his

"Upon my honour, sir, I daren't," said Gimblett, who was not without his good points. " You know what

North was in despair, but a bright thought struck him a thought that, in his soberer moments, would never

have entered his head he would buy admission. He produced the rum flask from beneath the sheltering

cloak. "Come, don't talk nonsense to me, Gimblett. You don't suppose I would come here without authority.

Here, take a pull at this, and let me through." Gimblett's features relaxed into a smile. "Well, sir, I suppose it's

all right, if you say so," said he. And clutching the rum bottle with one hand, he opened the door of Dawes's

North entered, and as the door closed behind him, the prisoner, who had been lying apparently asleep upon

Rufus Dawes had dreamt a dream. Alone, amid the gathering glooms, his fancy had recalled the past, and had

peopled it with memories. He thought that he was once more upon the barren strand where he had first met

with the sweet child he loved. He lived again his life of usefulness and honour. He saw himself working at

the boat, embarking, and putting out to sea. The fair head of the innocent girl was again pillowed on his

breast; her young lips again murmured words of affection in his greedy ear. Frere was beside him, watching

him, as he had watched before. Once again the grey sea spread around him, barren of succour. Once again, in

the wild, wet morning, he beheld the American brig bearing down upon them, and saw the bearded faces of

the astonished crew. He saw Frere take the child in his arms and mount upon the deck; he heard the shout of

delight that went up, and pressed again the welcoming hands which greeted the rescued castaways. The deck

was crowded. All the folk he had ever known were there. He saw the white hair and stern features of Sir

Richard Devine, and beside him stood, wringing her thin hands, his weeping mother. Then Frere strode

forward, and after him John Rex, the convict, who, roughly elbowing through the crowd of prisoners and

gaolers, would have reached the spot where stood Sir Richard Devine, but that the corpse of the murdered

Lord Bellasis arose and thrust him back. How the hammers clattered in the shipbuilder's yard! Was it a coffin

they were making? Not for Sylvia surely not for her! The air grows heavy, lurid with flame, and black with

smoke. The Hydaspes is on fire! Sylvia clings to her husband. Base wretch, would you shake her off! Look

up; the midnight heaven is glittering with stars; above the smoke the air breathes delicately! One step

another! Fix your eyes on mine so to my heart! Alas! she turns; he catches at her dress. What! It is a

priest a priest who, smiling with infernal joy, would drag her to the flaming gulf that yawns for him.

The dreamer leaps at the wretch's throat, and crying, "Villain, was it for this fate I saved her?" and awakes

to find himself struggling with the monster of his dream, the idol of his waking senses "Mr. North."

North, paralysed no less by the suddenness of the attack than by the words with which it was accompanied,

let fall his cloak, and stood trembling before the prophetic accusation of the man whose curses he had come

"I was dreaming," said Rufus Dawes. "A terrible dream! But it has passed now. The message you have

brought me a message, have you not? Why what ails you? You are pale your knees tremble. Did my

North recovered himself with a great effort. "It is nothing. Let us talk, for my time is short. You have thought

me a good man one blessed of God, one consecrated to a holy service; a man honest, pure, and truthful. I

have returned to tell you the truth. I am none of these things." Rufus Dawes sat staring, unable to comprehend

this madness. "I told you that the woman you loved for you do love her sent you a message of

"Wrecked my own soul!" cried North, wildly, stung by the reproachful agony of the tone. "Do not cling to

me. My task is done. You will hate me now. That is my wish I merit it. Let me go, I say. I shall be too

"Too late! For what?" He looked at the cloak through the open window came the voices of the men in the

boat the memory of the rose, of the scene in the prison, flashed across him, and he understood it all.

"Let me go," repeated North, in a hoarse voice. Rufus Dawes stepped between him and the door. "No,

madman, I will not let you go, to do this great wrong, to kill this innocent young soul, who God help her

loves you!" North, confounded at this sudden reversal of their position towards each other, crouched

bewildered against the wall. "I say you shall not go! You shall not destroy your own soul and hers! You love

"In God's name " cried the unhappy priest, striving to stop his ears. "Ay, in God's name! In the name of

that God whom in my torments I had forgotten! In the name of that God whom you taught me to remember!

That God who sent you to save me from despair, gives me strength to save you in my turn! Oh, Mr. North

my teacher my friend my brother by the sweet hope of mercy which you preached to me, be

North lifted agonized eyes. "But I love her! Love her, do you hear? What do you know of love?"

"Love!" cried Rufus Dawes, his pale face radiant. "Love! Oh, it is you who do not know it. Love is the

sacrifice of self, the death of all desire that is not for another's good. Love is Godlike! You love? no, no,

your love is selfishness, and will end in shame! Listen, I will tell you the history of such a love as yours."

North, enthralled by the other's overmastering will, fell back trembling. "I will tell you the secret of my life,

THE house in Clarges Street was duly placed at the disposal of Mrs. Richard Devine, who was installed in it,

to the profound astonishment and disgust of Mr. Smithers and his fellowservants. It now only remained that

the lady should be formally recognized by Lady Devine. The rest of the ingenious programme would follow

as a matter of course. John Rex was well aware of the position which, in his assumed personality, he

occupied in society. He knew that by the world of servants, of waiters, of those to whom servants and waiters

could babble; of such turfites and menabouttown as had reason to inquire concerning Mr. Richard's

domestic affairs no opinion could be expressed, save that "Devine's married somebody, I hear," with

variations to the same effect. He knew well that the really great world, the Society, whose scandal would

have been socially injurious, had long ceased to trouble itself with Mr. Richard Devine's doings in any

particular. If it had been reported that the Leviathan of the Turf had married his washerwoman, Society would

only have intimated that "it was just what might have been expected of him". To say the truth, however, Mr.

Richard had rather hoped that disgusted at his brutality Lady Devine would have nothing more to do

with him, and that the ordeal of presenting his wife would not be necessary. Lady Devine, however, had

resolved on a different line of conduct. The intelligence concerning Mr. Richard Devine's threatened

proceedings seemed to nerve her to the confession of the dislike which had been long growing in her mind;

seemed even to aid the formation of those doubts, the shadows of which had now and then cast themselves

upon her belief in the identity of the man who called himself her son. "His conduct is brutal," said she to her

"It is more than brutal; it is unnatural," returned Francis Wade, and stole a look at her. "Moreover, he is

"So he says," continued the other, producing the letter sent to him by Rex at Sarah's dictation. "He writes to

me stating that his wife, whom he married last year abroad, has come to England, and wishes us to receive

"But that would be a declaration of war," said poor Francis, twisting an Italian onyx which adorned his

Lady Devine stopped suddenly, with the gesture of one who has finally made a difficult and longconsidered

"But, my dear Ellinor," cried her brother, in some alarm at this unwonted decision, "I am afraid that you can't

Francis Wade gasped. "If he is the man! It is true I have sometimes thought Oh, Ellinor, can it be that

She came to him and leant upon him for support, as she had leant upon her son in the garden where they now

stood, nineteen years ago. "I do not know, I am afraid to think. But between Richard and myself is a secret

a shameful secret, Frank, known to no other living person. If the man who threatens me does not know that

"He knows that he has neither part nor lot in the fortune of the man who was my husband."

"I will tell you if there be need to do so," said the unhappy lady. "But I cannot now. I never meant to speak of

it again, even to him. Consider that it is hard to break a silence of nearly twenty years. Write to this man, and

tell him that before I receive his wife, I wish to see him alone. No do not let him come here until the truth

It was with some trepidation that Mr. Richard, sitting with his wife on the afternoon of the 3rd May, 1846,

awaited the arrival of his mother. He had been very nervous and unstrung for some days past, and the

prospect of the coming interview was, for some reason he could not explain to himself, weighty with fears.

"What does she want to come alone for? And what can she have to say?" he asked himself. "She cannot

suspect anything after all these years, surely?" He endeavoured to reason with himself, but in vain; the knock

at the door which announced the arrival of his pretended mother made his heart jump.

"You've been nipping too much for the last five years, Dick." (She had quite schooled her tongue to the new

The brandy revived him, and he rose with affected heartiness. "My dear mother, allow me to present to you

" He paused, for there was that in Lady Devine's face which confirmed his worst fears.

"I wish to speak to you alone," she said, ignoring with steady eyes the woman whom she had ostensibly come

John Rex hesitated, but Sarah saw the danger, and hastened to confront it. "A wife should be a husband's best

friend, madam. Your son married me of his own free will, and even his mother can have nothing to say to

him which it is not my duty and privilege to hear. I am not a girl as you can see, and I can bear whatever

Lady Devine bit her pale lips. She saw at once that the woman before her was not gentlyborn, but she felt

also that she was a woman of higher mental calibre than herself. Prepared as she was for the worst, this

sudden and open declaration of hostilities frightened her, as Sarah had calculated. She began to realize that if

she was to prove equal to the task she had set herself, she must not waste her strength in skirmishing. Steadily

refusing to look at Richard's wife, she addressed herself to Richard. "My brother will be here in half an hour,"

she said, as though the mention of his name would better her position in some way. "But I begged him to

"I want to tell you that I forbid you to carry out the plan you have for breaking up Sir Richard's property."

"Forbid me!" cried Rex, much relieved. "Why, I only want to do what my father's will enables me to do."

"Your father's will enables you to do nothing of the sort, and you know it." She spoke as though rehearsing a

"Oh, nonsense!" cries John Rex, in sheer amazement. "I have a lawyer's opinion on it."

"At Hampstead!" said Rex, grown suddenly pale. "This day nineteen years ago. No! What do you mean?"

"Do you not remember?" she continued, leaning forward eagerly, and speaking almost fiercely. "Do you not

remember the reason why you left the house where you were born, and which you now wish to sell to

John Rex stood dumbfounded, the blood suffusing his temples. He knew that among the secrets of the man

whose inheritance he had stolen was one which he had never gained the secret of that sacrifice to which

Lady Devine had once referred and he felt that this secret was to be revealed to crush him now.

Sarah, trembling also, but more with rage than terror, swept towards Lady Devine. "Speak out!" she said, "if

you have anything to say! Of what do you accuse my husband?" "Of imposture!" cried Lady Devine, all her

outraged maternity nerving her to abash her enemy. "This man may be your husband, but he is not my son!"

Now that the worst was out, John Rex, choking with passion, felt all the devil within him rebelling against

defeat. "You are mad," he said. "You have recognized me for three years, and now, because I want to claim

that which is my own, you invent this lie. Take care how you provoke me. If I am not your son you have

"You shall have your rights! You shall have what the law allows you! Oh, how blind I have been all these

years. Persist in your infamous imposture. Call yourself Richard Devine still, and I will tell the world the

shameful secret which my son died to hide. Be Richard Devine! Richard Devine was a bastard, and the law

There was no doubting the truth of her words. It was impossible that even a woman whose home had been

desecrated, as hers had been, would invent a lie so selfcondemning. Yet John Rex forced himself to appear

to doubt, and his dry lips asked, "If then your husband was not the father of your son, who was?"

John Rex gasped for breath. His hand, tugging at his neckcloth, rent away the linen that covered his choking

throat. The whole horizon of his past was lit up by a lightning flash which stunned him. His brain, already

enfeebled by excess, was unable to withstand this last shock. He staggered, and but for the cabinet against

which he leant, would have fallen. The secret thoughts of his heart rose to his lips, and were uttered

A dreadful silence fell, and then Lady Devine, stretching out her hands towards the selfconfessed murderer,

with a sort of frightful respect, said in a whisper, in which horror and supplication were strangely mingled,

But John Rex, wagging his head from side to side, like a beast in the shambles that has received a mortal

stroke, made no reply. Sarah Purfoy, awed as she was by the dramatic force of the situation, nevertheless

remembered that Francis Wade might arrive at any moment, and saw her last opportunity for safety. She

"Will you promise to keep the confession which you have heard secret, until we have left England?"

"I promise anything. In God's name, woman, if you have a woman's heart, speak! Where is my son?"

Sarah Purfoy rose over the enemy who had defeated her, and said in level, deliberate accents, "They call him

Rufus Dawes. He is a convict at Norfolk Island, transported for life for the murder which you have heard my

SARAH flew to Rex. "Rouse yourself, John, for Heaven's sake. We have not a moment." John Rex passed his

Nervously watching the prostrate figure on the floor, she hurried on bonnet, cloak, and veil, and in a

"Give you up? No. But the police will be after us as soon as that woman can speak, and her brother summon

his lawyer. I know what her promise is worth. We have only got about fifteen hours start."

She repressed the terrible fear that tugged at her heart, and strove to rally him.

"You've been drinking too much, John. Now sit still and be good, while I go and get some money for you."

She hurried into the bank, and her name secured her an interview with the manager at once.

"That's a rich woman," said one of the clerks to his friend. "A widow, too! Chance for you, Tom," returned

the other; and, presently, from out the sacred presence came another clerk with a request for "a draft on

Sydney for three thousand, less premium", and bearing a cheque signed "Sarah Carr" for �200, which he

From the bank she was taken to Green's Shipping Office. "I want a cabin in the first ship for Sydney, please."

The shippingclerk looked at a board. "The Highflyer goes in twelve days, madam, and there is one cabin

He smiled. "I am afraid that is impossible," said he. Just then one of the partners came out of his private room

with a telegram in his hand, and beckoned the shippingclerk. Sarah was about to depart for another office,

"Just the thing for you, ma'am," said he. "We have got a telegram from a gentleman who has a first cabin in

the Dido, to say that his wife has been taken ill, and he must give up his berth."

"Tomorrow morning. She is at Plymouth, waiting for the mails. If you go down tonight by the mailtrain

She produced her notes. "Pray count it yourself. We have been delayed in the same manner ourselves. My

husband is a great invalid, but I was not so fortunate as to get someone to refund us our passagemoney."

"What name did you say?" asked the clerk, counting. "Mr. and Mrs. Carr. Thank you," and he handed her the

"Thank you," said Sarah, with a bewitching smile, and swept down to her cab again. John Rex was gnawing

his nails in sullen apathy. She displayed the passageticket. "You are saved. By the time Mr. Francis Wade

gets his wits together, and his sister recovers her speech, we shall be past pursuit."

"To Sydney!" cries Rex angrily, looking at the warrant. "Why there of all places in God's earth?"

Sarah surveyed him with an expression of contempt. "Because your scheme has failed. Now this is mine. You

have deserted me once; you will do so again in any other country. You are a murderer, a villain, and a

coward, but you suit me. I save you, but I mean to keep you. I will bring you to Australia, where the first

trooper will arrest you at my bidding as an escaped convict. If you don't like to come, stay behind. I don't

care. I am rich. I have done no wrong. The law cannot touch me Do you agree? Then tell the man to drive

to Silver's in Cornhill for your outfit." Having housed him at last all gloomy and despondent in a quiet

tavern near the railway station, she tried to get some information as to this last revealed crime.

"I had found out from my mother that I was his natural son, and one day riding home from a pigeon match I

told him so. He taunted me and I struck him. I did not mean to kill him, but he was an old man, and in my

passion I struck hard. As he fell, I thought I saw a horseman among the trees, and I galloped off. My illluck

"Not by me. But, for God's sake, talk no more about it. I am sick my brain is going round. I want to

"Be careful, please! Lift him gently!" said Mrs. Carr, as the boat ranged alongside the Dido, gaunt and grim,

"What's the matter?" asked the officer of the watch, perceiving the bustle In the boat.

It was so. There was no fear that John Rex would escape again from the woman he had deceived. The

infernal genius of Sarah Purfoy had saved her lover at last but saved him only that she might nurse him till

he died died ignorant even of her tenderness, a mere animal, lacking the intellect he had in his selfish

"THAT is my story. Let it plead with you to turn you from your purpose, and to save her. The punishment

of sin falls not upon the sinner only. A deed once done lives in its consequence for ever, and this tragedy of

shame and crime to which my felon's death is a fitting end, is but the outcome of a selfish sin like yours!"

It had grown dark in the prison, and as he ceased speaking, Rufus Dawes felt a trembling hand seize his own.

"Let me hold your hand! Sir Richard Devine did not murder your father. He was murdered by a horseman

"Because I saw the murder committed, because don't let go my hand I robbed the body."

"In my youth I was a gambler. Lord Bellasis won money from me, and to pay him I forged two bills of

exchange. Unscrupulous and cruel, he threatened to expose me if I did not give him double the sum. Forgery

was death in those days, and I strained every nerve to buy back the proofs of my folly. I succeeded. I was to

meet Lord Bellasis near his own house at Hampstead on the night of which you speak, to pay the money and

receive the bills. When I saw him fall I galloped up, but instead of pursuing his murderer I rifled his

pocketbook of my forgeries. I was afraid to give evidence at the trial, or I might have saved you. Ah!

"Speak!" cried North. "Speak, or you will make me mad. Reproach me! Spurn me! Spit upon me! You cannot

think worse of me than I do myself." But the other, his head buried in his hands, did not answer, and with a

Nearly an hour had passed since the chaplain had placed the rum flask in his hand, and Gimblett observed,

with semidrunken astonishment, that it was not yet empty. He had intended, in the first instance, to have

taken but one sup in payment of his courtesy for Gimblett was conscious of his own weakness in the

matter of strong waters but as he waited and waited, the one sup became two, and two three, and at length

more than half the contents of the bottle had moistened his gullet, and maddened him for more. Gimblett was

in a quandary. If he didn't finish the flask, he would be oppressed with an everlasting regret. If he did finish it

he would be drunk; and to be drunk on duty was the one unpardonable sin. He looked across the darkness of

the sea, to where the rising and falling light marked the schooner. The Commandant was a long way off! A

faint breeze, which had according to Blunt's prophecy arisen with the night, brought up to him the

voices of the boat's crew from the jetty below him. His friend Jack Mannix was coxswain of her. He would

give Jack a drink. Leaving the gate, he advanced unsteadily to the edge of the embankment, and, putting his

head over, called out to his friend. The breeze, however, which was momentarily freshening, carried his voice

away; and Jack Mannix, hearing nothing, continued his conversation. Gimblett was just drunk enough to be

virtuously indignant at this incivility, and seating himself on the edge of the bank, swallowed the remainder

of the rum at a draught. The effect upon his enforcedly temperate stomach was very touching. He made one

feeble attempt to get upon his legs, cast a reproachful glance at the rum bottle, essayed to drink out of its

spirituous emptiness, and then, with a smile of reckless contentment, cursed the island and all its contents,

North, coming out of the prison, did not notice the absence of the gaoler; indeed, he was not in a condition to

notice anything. Bareheaded, without his cloak, with staring eyes and clenched hands, he rushed through the

gates into the night as one who flies headlong from some fearful vision. It seemed that, absorbed in his own

thoughts, he took no heed of his steps, for instead of taking the path which led to the sea, he kept along the

more familiar one that led to his own cottage on the hill. "This man a convict!" he cried. "He is a hero a

martyr! What a life! Love! Yes, that is love indeed! Oh, James North, how base art thou in the eyes of God

beside this despised outcast!" And so muttering, tearing his grey hair, and beating his throbbing temples with

clenched hands, he reached his own room, and saw, by the light of the newborn moon, the dressingbag and

candle standing on the table as he had left them. They brought again to his mind the recollection of the task

that was before him. He lighted the candle, and, taking the bag in his hand, cast one last look round the

chamber which had witnessed his futile struggles against that baser part of himself which had at last

triumphed. It was so. Fate had condemned him to sin, and he must now fulfil the doom he might once have

averted. Already he fancied he could see the dim speck that was the schooner move slowly away from the

prison shore. He must not linger; they would be waiting for him at the jetty. As he turned, the moonbeams

as yet unobscured by the rapidly gathering clouds flung a silver streak across the sea, and across that streak

North saw a boat pass. Was his distracted brain playing him false? in the stern sat, wrapped in a cloak, the

figure of a man! A fierce gust of wind drove the searack over the moon, and the boat disappeared, as though

swallowed up by the gathering storm. North staggered back as the truth struck him.

He remembered how he had said, "I will redeem him with my own blood!" Was it possible that a just Heaven

had thus decided to allow the man whom a coward had condemned, to escape, and to punish the coward who

remained? Oh, this man deserved freedom; he was honest, noble, truthful! How different from himself a

hateful selflover, an unchaste priest, a drunkard. The lookingglass, in which the saintly face of Meekin was

soon to be reflected, stood upon the table, and North, peering into it, with one hand mechanically thrust into

the bag, started in insane rage at the pale face and bloodshot eyes he saw there. What a hateful wretch he had

become! The last fatal impulse of insanity which seeks relief from its own hideous self came upon him, and

"It is better so," he muttered, addressing, with fixed eyes, his own detested image. "I have examined you long

enough. I have read your heart, and written out your secrets! You are but a shell the shell that holds a

corrupted and sinful heart. He shall live; you shall die!" The rapid motion of his arm overturned the candle,

and all was dark. Rufus Dawes, overpowered by the revelation so suddenly made to him, had remained for a

few moments motionless in his cell, expecting to hear the heavy clang of the outer door, which should

announce to him the departure of the chaplain. But he did not hear it, and it seemed to him that the air in the

cell had grown suddenly cooler. He went to the door, and looked into the narrow corridor, expecting to see

the scowling countenance of Gimblett. To his astonishment the door of the prison was wide open, and not a

soul in sight. His first thought was of North. Had the story he had told, coupled with the entreaties he had

He looked around. The night was falling suddenly; the wind was mounting; from beyond the bar came the

hoarse murmur of an angry sea. If the schooner was to sail that night, she had best get out into deep waters.

Where was the chaplain? Pray Heaven the delay had been sufficient, and they had sailed without him. Yet

they would be sure to meet. He advanced a few steps nearer, and looked about him. Was it possible that, in

his madness, the chaplain had been about to commit some violence which had drawn the trusty Gimblett from

"Hi! Hiho! Hillo there!" roared somebody from the jetty below. "Be that you, Muster Noarth? We ain't too

From the uncurtained windows of the chaplain's house on the hill beamed the newlylighted candle. They in

the boat did not see it, but it brought to the prisoner a wild hope that made his heart bound. He ran back to the

cell, clapped on North's wideawake, and flinging the cloak hastily about him, came quickly down the steps.

"Jump in, sir," said unsuspecting Mannix, thinking only of the flogging he had been threatened with. "It'll be

a dirty night, this night! Put this over your knees, sir. Shove her off! Give way!" And they were afloat. But

one glimpse of moonlight fell upon the slouched hat and cloaked figure, and the boat's crew, engaged in the

dangerous task of navigating the reef in the teeth of the rising gale, paid no attention to the chaplain.

"By George, lads, we're but just in time!" cried Mannix; and they laid alongside the schooner, black in

blackness. "Up ye go, yer honour, quick!" The wind had shifted, and was now off the shore. Blunt, who had

begun to repent of his obstinacy, but would not confess it, thought the next best thing to riding out the gale

was to get out to open sea. "Damn the parson," he had said, in all heartiness; "we can't wait all night for him.

Heave ahead, Mr. Johnson!" And so the anchor was atrip as Rufus Dawes ran up the side.

The Commandant, already pulling off in his own boat, roared a coarse farewell. "Goodbye, North! It was

The chaplain indeed spoke to no one, and plunging down the hatchway, made for the stern cabins. "Close

shave, your reverence!" said a respectful somebody, opening a door. It was; but the clergyman did not say so.

He doublelocked the door, and hardly realizing the danger he had escaped, flung himself on the bunk,

panting. Over his head he heard the rapid tramp of feet and the cheery "Yo hioh! and a rumbelow!"

of the men at the capstan. He could smell the sea, and through the open window of the cabin could

distinguish the light in the chaplain's house on the hill. The trampling ceased, the vessel began to move

slowly the Commandant's boat appeared below him for an instant, making her way back the Lady

Franklin had set sail. With his eyes fixed on the tiny light, he strove to think what was best to be done. It was

hopeless to think that he could maintain the imposture which, favoured by the darkness and confusion, he had

hitherto successfully attempted. He was certain to be detected at Hobart Town, even if he could lie concealed

during his long and tedious voyage. That mattered little, however. He had saved Sylvia, for North had been

left behind. Poor North! As the thought of pity came to him, the light he looked at was suddenly

extinguished, and Rufus Dawes, compelled thereto as by an irresistible power, fell upon his knees and prayed

"That's a gun from the shore," said Partridge the mate, "and they're burning a red light. There's a prisoner

"Lieto!" cried old Blunt, with a tremendous oath. "We'll have suthin' else to do. Look there!"

The sky to the northward was streaked with a belt of livid green colour, above which rose a mighty black

BLUNT, recognising the meteoric heralds of danger, had begun to regret his obstinacy. He saw that a

Along the south coast of the Australian continent, though the usual westerly winds and gales of the highest

latitudes prevail during the greater portion of the year, hurricanes are not infrequent. Gales commence at NW

with a low barometer, increasing at W and SW, and gradually veering to the south. True cyclones occur at

New Zealand. The log of the Adelaide for 29th February, 1870, describes one which travelled at the rate of

ten miles an hour, and had all the veerings, calm centre, etc., of a true tropical hurricane. Now a cyclone

occurring off the west coast of New Zealand would travel from the New Hebrides, where such storms are

hideously frequent, and envelop Norfolk Island, passing directly across the track of vessels coming from

South America to Sydney. It was one of these rotatory storms, an escaped tempest of the tropics, which

The ominous calm which had brooded over the island during the day had given place to a smart breeze from

the northeast, and though the schooner had been sheltered at her anchorage under the lee of the island (the

"harbour" looked nearly due south), when once fairly out to sea, Blunt saw it would be impossible to put back

in the teeth of the gale. Haply, however, the full fury of the storm would not overtake them till they had

Rufus Dawes, exhausted with the excitement through which he had passed, had slept for two or three hours,

when he was awakened by the motion of the vessel going on the other tack. He rose to his feet, and found

himself in complete darkness. Overhead was the noise of trampling feet, and he could distinguish the hoarse

tones of Blunt bellowing orders. Astonished at the absence of the moonlight which had so lately silvered the

sea, he flung open the cabin window and looked out. As we have said, the cabin allotted to North was one of

the two stern cabins, and from it the convict had a full view of the approaching storm.

The sight was one of wild grandeur. The huge, black cloud which hung in the horizon had changed its shape.

Instead of a curtain it was an arch. Beneath this vast and magnificent portal shone a dull phosphoric light.

Across this livid space pale flashes of sheetlightning passed noiselessly. Behind it was a dull and

threatening murmur, made up of the grumbling of thunder, the falling of rain, and the roar of contending wind

and water. The lights of the prisonisland had disappeared, so rapid had been the progress of the schooner

under the steady breeze, and the ocean stretched around, black and desolate. Gazing upon this gloomy

expanse, Rufus Dawes observed a strange phenomenon lightning appeared to burst upwards from the

sullen bosom of the sea. At intervals, the darklyrolling waves flashed fire, and streaks of flame shot

upwards. The wind increased in violence, and the arch of light was fringed with rain. A dull, red glow hung

around, like the reflection of a conflagration. Suddenly, a tremendous peal of thunder, accompanied by a

terrific downfall of rain, rattled along the sky. The arch of light disappeared, as though some invisible hand

had shut the slide of a giant lantern. A great wall of water rushed roaring over the level plain of the sea, and

with an indescribable medley of sounds, in which tones of horror, triumph, and torture were blended, the

Rufus Dawes comprehended that the elements had come to save or destroy him. In that awful instant the

natural powers of the man rose equal to the occasion. In a few hours his fate would be decided, and it was

necessary that he should take all precaution. One of two events seemed inevitable; he would either be

drowned where he lay, or, should the vessel weather the storm, he would be forced upon the deck, and the

desperate imposture he had attempted be discovered. For the moment despair overwhelmed him, and he

contemplated the raging sea as though he would cast himself into it, and thus end his troubles. The tones of a

woman's voice recalled him to himself. Cautiously unlocking the cabin door, he peered out. The cuddy was

lighted by a swinging lamp which revealed Sylvia questioning one of the women concerning the storm. As

Rufus Dawes looked, he saw her glance, with an air half of hope, half of fear, towards the door behind which

he lurked, and he understood that she expected to see the chaplain. Locking the door, he proceeded hastily to

dress himself in North's clothes. He would wait until his aid was absolutely required, and then rush out. In the

darkness, Sylvia would mistake him for the priest. He could convey her to the boat if recourse to the boats

should be rendered necessary and then take the hazard of his fortune. While she was in danger, his place

From the deck of the vessel the scene was appalling. The clouds had closed in. The arch of light had

disappeared, and all was a dull, windy blackness. Gigantic seas seemed to mount in the horizon and sweep

towards and upon them. It was as though the ship lay in the vortex of a whirlpool, so high on either side of

her were piled the rough pyramidical masses of sea. Mighty gusts arose claps of wind which seemed like

strokes of thunder. A sail loosened from its tackling was torn away and blown out to sea, disappearing like a

shred of white paper to leeward. The mercury in the barometer marked 29:50. Blunt, who had been at the rum

bottle, swore great oaths that no soul on board would see another sun; and when Partridge rebuked him for

The howling of the wind was benumbing; the very fury of sound enfeebled while it terrified. The sailors,

horrorstricken, crawled about the deck, clinging to anything they thought most secure. It was impossible to

raise the head to look to windward. The eyelids were driven together, and the face stung by the swift and

biting spray. Men breathed this atmosphere of salt and wind, and became sickened. Partridge felt that orders

were useless the man at his elbow could not have heard them. The vessel lay almost on her beam ends,

with her helm up, stripped even of the sails which had been furled upon the yards. Mortal hands could do

By five o'clock in the morning the gale had reached its height. The heavens showered out rain and lightnings

rain which the wind blew away before it reached the ocean, lightnings which the ravenous and

mountainous waves swallowed before they could pierce the gloom. The ship lay over on her side, held there

by the madly rushing wind, which seemed to flatten down the sea, cutting off the top of the waves, and

breaking them into fine white spray which covered the ocean like a thick cloud, as high as the topmast heads.

Each gust seemed unsurpassable in intensity, but was succeeded, after a pause, that was not a lull but a gasp,

by one of more frantic violence. The barometer stood at 27:82. The ship was a mere labouring, crazy wreck,

that might sink at any moment. At halfpast three o'clock the barometer had fallen to 27:62. Save when

lighted by occasional flashes of sheetlightning, which showed to the cowed wretches their awestricken

faces, this tragedy of the elements was performed in a darkness which was almost palpable.

Suddenly the mercury rose to 29:90, and, with one awful shriek, the wind dropped to a calm. The Lady

Franklin had reached the centre of the cyclone. Partridge, glancing to where the great body of drunken Blunt

rolled helplessly lashed to the wheel, felt a strange selfish joy thrill him. If the ship survived the drunken

captain would be dismissed, and he, Partridge, the gallant, would reign in his stead. The schooner, no longer

steadied by the wind, was at the mercy of every sea. Volumes of water poured over her. Presently she heeled

over, for, with a triumphant scream, the wind leapt on to her from a fresh quarter. Following its usual course,

the storm returned upon its track. The hurricane was about to repeat itself from the northwest.

The sea, pouring down through the burst hatchway, tore the door of the cuddy from its hinges. Sylvia found

herself surrounded by a wildlysurging torrent which threatened to overwhelm her. She shrieked aloud for

aid, but her voice was inaudible even to herself. Clinging to the mast which penetrated the little cuddy, she

fixed her eyes upon the door behind which she imagined North was, and whispered a last prayer for succour.

The door opened, and from out the cabin came a figure clad in black. She looked up, and the light of the

expiring lamp showed her a face that was not that of the man she hoped to see. Then a pair of dark eyes

beaming ineffable love and pity were bent upon her, and a pair of dripping arms held her above the brine as

In the terror of that moment the cloud which had so long oppressed her brain passed from it. The action of the

strange man before her completed and explained the action of the convict chained to the Port Arthur

coalwagons, of the convict kneeling in the Norfolk Island torturechamber. She remembered the terrible

experience of Macquarie Harbour. She recalled the evening of the boatbuilding, when, swung into the air by

stalwart arms, she had promised the rescuing prisoner to plead for him with her kindred. Regaining her

memory thus, all the agony and shame of the man's long life of misery became at once apparent to her. She

understood how her husband had deceived her, and with what base injustice and falsehood he had bought her

young love. No question as to how this doublycondemned prisoner had escaped from the hideous isle of

punishment she had quitted occurred to her. She asked not even in her thoughts how it had been given

to him to supplant the chaplain in his place on board the vessel. She only considered, in her sudden

awakening, the story of his wrongs, remembered only his marvellous fortitude and love, knew only, in this

last instant of her pure, illfated life, that as he had saved her once from starvation and death, so had he come

again to save her from sin and from despair. Whoever has known a deadly peril will remember how swiftly

thought then travelled back through scenes clean forgotten, and will understand how Sylvia's retrospective

vision merged the past into the actual before her, how the shock of recovered memory subsided in the grateful

The eyes of the man and woman met in one long, wild gaze. Sylvia stretched out her white hands and smiled,

and Richard Devine understood in his turn the story of the young girl's joyless life, and knew how she had

In the great crisis of our life, when, brought face to face with annihilation, we are suspended gasping over the

great emptiness of death, we become conscious that the Self which we think we knew so well has strange and

unthoughtof capacities. To describe a tempest of the elements is not easy, but to describe a tempest of the

soul is impossible. Amid the fury of such a tempest, a thousand memories, each bearing in its breast the

corpse of some dead deed whose influence haunts us yet, are driven like feathers before the blast, as

unsubstantial and as unregarded. The mists which shroud our self knowledge become transparent, and we

are smitten with sudden lightninglike comprehension of our own misused power over our fate.

This much we feel and know, but who can coldly describe the hurricane which thus o'erwhelms him? As well

ask the drowned mariner to tell of the marvels of midsea when the great deeps swallowed him and the

darkness of death encompassed him round about. These two human beings felt that they had done with life.

Together thus, alone in the very midst and presence of death, the distinctions of the world they were about to

leave disappeared. Then vision grew clear. They felt as beings whose bodies had already perished, and as

they clasped hands their freed souls, recognizing each the loveliness of the other, rushed tremblingly together.

Borne before the returning whirlwind, an immense wave, which glimmered in the darkness, spouted up and

towered above the wreck. The wretches who yet clung to the deck looked shuddering up into the bellying

AT DAYDAWN the morning after the storm, the rays of the rising sun fell upon an object which floated on

This object was a portion of the mainmast head of the Lady Franklin, and entangled in the rigging were two

corpses a man and a woman. The arms of the man were clasped round the body of the woman, and her

head lay on his breast. The Prison Island appeared but as a long low line on the distant horizon. The tempest

was over. As the sun rose higher the air grew balmy, the ocean placid; and, golden in the rays of the new