For the Term of His Natural Life

by Marcus Andrew Hislop Clarke

  The morning sun, bright and fierce, looked down upon a curious sight. Ina stone-yard was a little group of persons--Troke, Burgess, Macklewain,Kirkland, and Rufus Dawes.

  Three wooden staves, seven feet high, were fastened together in the formof a triangle. The structure looked not unlike that made by gypsies toboil their kettles. To this structure Kirkland was bound. His feet werefastened with thongs to the base of the triangle; his wrists, boundabove his head, at the apex. His body was then extended to its fullestlength, and his white back shone in the sunlight. During his tying up hehad said nothing--only when Troke pulled off his shirt he shivered.

  "Now, prisoner," said Troke to Dawes, "do your duty."

  Rufus Dawes looked from the three stern faces to Kirkland's white back,and his face grew purple. In all his experience he had never been askedto flog before. He had been flogged often enough.

  "You don't want me to flog him, sir?" he said to the Commandant.

  "Pick up the cat, sir!" said Burgess, astonished; "what is the meaningof this?" Rufus Dawes picked up the heavy cat, and drew its knottedlashes between his fingers.

  "Go on, Dawes," whispered Kirkland, without turning his head. "You areno more than another man."

  "What does he say?" asked Burgess.

  "Telling him to cut light, sir," said Troke, eagerly lying; "they alldo it." "Cut light, eh! We'll see about that. Get on, my man, and looksharp, or I'll tie you up and give you fifty for yourself, as sure asGod made little apples."

  "Go on, Dawes," whispered Kirkland again. "I don't mind."

  Rufus Dawes lifted the cat, swung it round his head, and brought itsknotted cords down upon the white back.

  "Wonn!" cried Troke.

  The white back was instantly striped with six crimson bars. Kirklandstifled a cry. It seemed to him that he had been cut in half.

  "Now then, you scoundrel!" roared Burgess; "separate your cats! What doyou mean by flogging a man that fashion?"

  Rufus Dawes drew his crooked fingers through the entangled cords, andstruck again. This time the blow was more effective, and the bloodbeaded on the skin.

  The boy did not cry; but Macklewain saw his hands clutch the stavestightly, and the muscles of his naked arms quiver.

  "Tew!"

  "That's better," said Burgess.

  The third blow sounded as though it had been struck upon a piece of rawbeef, and the crimson turned purple.

  "My God!" said Kirkland, faintly, and bit his lips.

  The flogging proceeded in silence for ten strikes, and then Kirklandgave a screech like a wounded horse.

  "Oh!...Captain Burgess!...Dawes!...Mr. Troke!...Oh, my God!... Oh!oh!...Mercy!...Oh, Doctor!...Mr. North!...Oh! Oh! Oh!"

  "Ten!" cried Troke, impassively counting to the end of the first twenty.

  The lad's back, swollen into a lump, now presented the appearance of aripe peach which a wilful child had scored with a pin. Dawes, turningaway from his bloody handiwork, drew the cats through his fingers twice.They were beginning to get clogged a little.

  "Go on," said Burgess, with a nod; and Troke cried "Wonn!" again.

  Roused by the morning sun streaming in upon him, Mr. North openedhis bloodshot eyes, rubbed his forehead with hands that trembled, andsuddenly awakening to a consciousness of his promised errand, rolledoff the bed and rose to his feet. He saw the empty brandy bottle onhis wooden dressing-table, and remembered what had passed. With shakinghands 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 cloveto the roof of his mouth. He shuddered as he viewed his pale face andred eyes in the little looking-glass, and hastily tried the door. He hadretained sufficient sense in his madness to lock it, and his conditionhad been unobserved. Stealing into the sitting-room, he saw that theclock pointed to half-past six. The flogging was to have taken placeat half-past five. Unless accident had favoured him he was already toolate. Fevered with remorse and anxiety, he hurried past the room whereMeekin yet slumbered, and made his way to the prison. As he entered theyard, Troke called "Ten!" Kirkland had just got his fiftieth lash.

  "Stop!" cried North. "Captain Burgess, I call upon you to stop."

  "You're rather late, Mr. North," retorted Burgess. "The punishment isnearly over." "Wonn!" cried Troke again; and North stood by, biting hisnails and grinding his teeth, during six more lashes.

  Kirkland ceased to yell now, and merely moaned. His back was like abloody sponge, while in the interval between lashes the swollen fleshtwitched like that of a new-killed bullock. Suddenly, Macklewain saw hishead droop on his shoulder. "Throw him off! Throw him off!" he cried,and Troke hurried to loosen the thongs.

  "Fling some water over him!" said Burgess; "he's shamming."

  A bucket of water made Kirkland open his eyes. "I thought so," saidBurgess. "Tie him up again."

  "No. Not if you are Christians!" cried North.

  He met with an ally where he least expected one. Rufus Dawes flung downthe dripping cat. "I'll flog no more," said he.

  "What?" roared Burgess, furious at this gross insolence.

  "I'll flog no more. Get someone else to do your blood work for you. Iwon't."

  "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 backcools."

  Rufus Dawes, with a glance at North, pulled off his shirt without aword, and stretched himself at the triangles. His back was not whiteand smooth, like Kirkland's had been, but hard and seamed. He had beenflogged before. Troke appeared with Gabbett--grinning. Gabbett likedflogging. It was his boast that he could flog a man to death on a placeno bigger than the palm of his hand. He could use his left hand equallywith his right, and if he got hold of a "favourite", would "cross thecuts".

  Rufus Dawes planted his feet firmly on the ground, took fierce grasp onthe staves, and drew in his breath. Macklewain spread the garments ofthe two men upon the ground, and, placing Kirkland upon them, turned towatch this new phase in the morning's amusement. He grumbled a littlebelow his breath, for he wanted his breakfast, and when the Commandantonce began to flog there was no telling where he would stop. Rufus Dawestook five-and-twenty lashes without a murmur, and then Gabbett "crossedthe cuts". This went on up to fifty lashes, and North felt himselfstricken with admiration at the courage of the man. "If it had not beenfor that cursed brandy," thought he, with bitterness of self-reproach,"I might have saved all this." At the hundredth lash, the giant paused,expecting the order to throw off, but Burgess was determined to "breakthe man's spirit".

  "I'll make you speak, you dog, if I cut your heart out!" he cried. "Goon, prisoner."

  For twenty lashes more Dawes was mute, and then the agony forced fromhis labouring breast a hideous cry. But it was not a cry for mercy, asthat of Kirkland's had been. Having found his tongue, the wretched mangave vent to his boiling passion in a torrent of curses. He shriekedimprecation upon Burgess, Troke, and North. He cursed all soldiersfor tyrants, all parsons for hypocrites. He blasphemed his God and hisSaviour. With a frightful outpouring of obscenity and blasphemy, hecalled on the earth to gape and swallow his persecutors, for Heaven toopen 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 ofbeast-like rage. He seemed to have abandoned his humanity. He foamed,he raved, he tugged at his bonds until the strong staves shook again; hewrithed himself round upon the triangles and spat impotently at Burgess,who jeered at his torments. North, with his hands to his ears, crouchedagainst the corner of the wall, palsied with horror. It seemed to himthat the passions of hell raged around him. He would fain have fled, buta horrible fascination held him back.

  In the midst of this--when the cat was hissing its loudest--Burgesslaughing his hardest, and the wretch on the triangles filling the airwith his cries, North saw Kirkland look at him with
what he thought asmile. Was it a smile? He leapt forward, and uttered a cry of dismay soloud that all turned.

  "Hullo!" says Troke, running to the heap of clothes, "the young 'un'sslipped his wind!"

  Kirkland was dead.

  "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 newlytortured men grew desperate. This one, however, was silent with thelast lash; only in taking his shirt from under the body of the boy, hemuttered, "Dead!" and in his tone there seemed to be a touch ofenvy. Then, flinging his shirt over his bleeding shoulders, he walkedout--defiant to the last.

  "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 turnedrather pale when he saw North's threatening face.

  "It isn't my fault, Mr. North," he said. "I didn't know that the lad waschicken-hearted." But North turned away in disgust, and Macklewain andBurgess pursued their homeward route together.

  "Strange that he should drop like that," said the Commandant.

  "Yes, unless he had any internal disease," said the surgeon.

  "Disease of the heart, for instance," said Burgess.

  "I'll post-mortem him and see."

  "Come in and have a nip, Macklewain. I feel quite qualmish," saidBurgess. And the two went into the house amid respectful salutes fromeither side. Mr. North, in agony of mind at what he considered theconsequence of his neglect, slowly, and with head bowed down, as onebent on a painful errand, went to see the prisoner who had survived. Hefound him kneeling on the ground, prostrated. "Rufus Dawes."

  At the low tone Rufus Dawes looked up, and, seeing who it was, waved himoff.

  "Don't speak to me," he said, with an imprecation that made North'sflesh creep. "I've told you what I think of you--a hypocrite, who standsby while a man is cut to pieces, and then comes and whines religion tohim."

  North stood in the centre of the cell, with his arms hanging down, andhis head bent.

  "You are right," he said, in a low tone. "I must seem to you ahypocrite. I a servant of Christ? A besotted beast rather! I am not cometo whine religion to you. I am come to--to ask your pardon. I might havesaved you from punishment--saved that poor boy from death. I wanted tosave him, God knows! But I have a vice; I am a drunkard. I yielded tomy temptation, and--I was too late. I come to you as one sinful man toanother, to ask you to forgive me." And North suddenly flung himselfdown beside the convict, and, catching his blood-bespotted hands in hisown, cried, "Forgive me, brother!"

  Rufus Dawes, too much astonished to speak, bent his black eyes upon theman who crouched at his feet, and a ray of divine pity penetrated hisgloomy soul. He seemed to catch a glimpse of misery more profound thanhis own, and his stubborn heart felt human sympathy with this erringbrother. "Then in this hell there is yet a man," said he; and ahand-grasp passed between these two unhappy beings. North arose, and,with averted face, passed quickly from the cell. Rufus Dawes looked athis hand which his strange visitor had taken, and something glitteredthere. It was a tear. He broke down at the sight of it, and when theguard came to fetch the tameless convict, they found him on his knees ina corner, sobbing like a child.

  CHAPTER XVI. KICKING AGAINST THE PRICKS.