“‘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., which is, being interpreted, Port Arthur, the ‘Villain’s Home’.”
“Poor fellow!” said Sylvia.
“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 father, I request you will read attentively before you proceed any further.’”
“Hullo!” said Frere, pulling out his pocket-book, “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 well-disposed 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 vituperation in their productions.’”
“That’s for your benefit, Frere,” said Vickers, with a smile. “You remember what was said about your presence at the race meetings?” “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 evil-minded 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 well-being 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, whether of mercy or revenge, to step between him and his duty.’”
“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 your sins be as scarlet they shall be whiter than snow.’”
“Is that all?” said Frere.
“That is all, sir, and a very touching letter it is.”
“So it is,” said Frere. “Now let me have it a moment, Mr. Meekin.”
He took the paper, and referring to the numbers of the texts which he had written in his pocket-book, 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 hope,’ etc. Have you got it?”
“Yes,” says Meekin, astonished, while all heads bent over the table.
“Well, now, his text is the eighteenth verse of the thirty-fifth Psalm, isn’t it? Count eighteen words on, then underscore five consecutive ones. You’ve done that?”
“A moment—sixteen—seventeen—eighteen, ‘authorities’.”
“Count and score in the same way until you come to the word ‘Texts’ somewhere. Vickers, I’ll trouble you for the claret.”
“Yes,” said Meekin, after a pause. “Here it is—‘the texts of Scripture quoted by our chaplain’. But surely Mr. Frere—”
“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 many words in it?”
“‘Lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt’,” said Meekin, a little scandalized. “Fourteen words.”
“Count fourteen words on, then, and score the fourteenth. I’m up to this text-quoting business.”
“The word ‘£1000’,” said Meekin. “Yes.”
“Then there’s another text. Thirty-eighth—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?”
“The fifth Psalm.”
“Every fifth word then. Go on, my dear sir—go on. ‘Method’ of ‘escape’, yes. The hundredth Ps
alm means a full stop. What verse? Seventy-four. Count seventy-four words and score.”
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 crimsoning face:—
“‘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 revenge.’”
“Well,” said Maurice, looking round with a grin, “what do you think of that?”
“Most remarkable!” said Mr. Pounce.
“How did you find it out, Frere?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” says Frere; meaning that it was a great deal. “I’ve studied a good many of these things, and this one is clumsy to some I’ve seen. But it’s pious, isn’t it, Meekin?”
Mr. Meekin arose in wrath.
“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 slang, “I’ll tell you. He had a Bible, I suppose, while he was writing?”
“I certainly permitted him the use of the Sacred Volume, Captain Frere. I should have judged it inconsistent with the character of my Office to have refused it to him.”
“Of course. And that’s just where you parsons are always putting your foot into it. If you’d put your ‘Office’ into your pocket and open your eyes a bit—”
“Maurice! My dear Maurice!”
“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 rose in disgust, not unmixed with self-laudation.
“Dear me, it is really very terrible,” says Meekin, who was not ill-meaning, but only self-complacent—“very terrible indeed.”
“But unhappily true,” said Mr. Pounce. “An olive? Thanks.”
“Upon me soul!” burst out honest McNab, “the hail seestem seems to be maist ill-calculated tae advance the wark o’ reeformation.”
“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 beside his wine glass, and bore it off.
“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 any man on the island.”
“I see, Captain Frere, that you have studied the criminal classes.”
“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 falls to the ground.”
“I suppose it must be so,” said poor Meekin.
“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 tyranny. I’m sure it would.”
“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 when they don’t.”
“Terrible!” says the clergyman with a shudder. “You speak of them as if they were wild beasts.”
“So they are,” said Maurice Frere, calmly.
CHAPTER X
WHAT BECAME OF THE MUTINEERS OF THE “OSPREY”
AT the bottom of the long luxuriant garden-ground 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 OF THE TEN CONVICTS WHO SEIZED THE BRIG OSPREY, AT MACQUARIE HARBOUR, IN VAN DIEMEN’S LAND, RELATED BY ONE OF THE SAID CONVICTS WHILE LYING UNDER SENTENCE FOR THIS OFFENCE IN THE GAOL AT HOBART TOWN.”
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 timidity lasted but an instant.
*
“When orders arrived from head-quarters 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. The Commandant’s wife and child were also aboard.”
*
“How strangely it reads,” thought the girl.
*
“On the 12th of January, 1834, we set sail, and in the afternoon anchored safely outside the Gates; but a breeze setting in from the north-west 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 a-fishing. There were then only Mr. Bates and the other two soldiers aboard, and it was proposed by William Cheshire to seize the vessel.
I was at first unwilling, thinking that loss of life might ensue; but Cheshire and the others, knowing that I was acquainted with navigation—having in happier days lived much on the sea—threatened me if I refused to join. A song was started in the 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 made them but too accustomed.”
*
“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 jolly-boat. As she swung off the davits, Captain Frere came alongside in the whale-boat, 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 whale-boat, 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 jolly-boat, we transferred Captain Frere into her, and being ourselves in the whale-boat, compelled Captain Frere and Mr. Bates to row ashore. We then took the jolly-boat in tow, and returned to the brig, a strict watch being kept for fear that they should rescue the vessel from us.
For the Term of His Natural Life Page 30
