Rufus Dawes hearing, when "on the chain" the next day, of the wantontorture 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 ofspirit. "They have unnerved me." And he looked sadly down at his gauntframe and trembling hands.
"I can't stand it no longer," said Mooney, grimly. "I've spoken toBland, and he's of my mind. You know what we resolved to do. Let's doit."
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 laythere. A shudder thrilled him. "No, no. Not now," he said.
"You're not afeard, man?" asked Mooney, stretching out his hand in thedirection of the voice. "You're not going to shirk?" The other avoidedthe touch, and shrank away, still staring. "You ain't going to back outafter you swored it, Dawes? You're not that sort. Dawes, speak, man!"
"Is Bland willing?" asked Dawes, looking round, as if to seek somemethod of escape from the glare of those unspeculative eyes.
"Ay, and ready. They flogged him again yesterday."
"Leave it till to-morrow," said Dawes, at length.
"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 thehouse of the Commandant. "Leave it till to-morrow," he repeated, withhis hand still in his breast.
They had been so occupied in their conversation that neither hadobserved the approach of their common enemy. "What are you hidingthere?" cried Frere, seizing Dawes by the wrist. "More tobacco, youdog?" The hand of the convict, thus suddenly plucked from his bosom,opened involuntarily, and a withered rose fell to the earth. Frere atonce, indignant and astonished, picked it up. "Hallo! What the devil'sthis? You've not been robbing my garden for a nosegay, Jack?" TheCommandant was wont to call all convicts "Jack" in his moments offacetiousness. It was a little humorous way he had.
Rufus Dawes uttered one dismal cry, and then stood trembling and cowed.His companions, hearing the exclamation of rage and grief that burstfrom him, looked to see him snatch back the flower or perform some actof violence. Perhaps such was his intention, but he did not executeit. One would have thought that there was some charm about this rose sostrangely cherished, for he stood gazing at it, as it twirled betweenCaptain Frere's strong fingers, as though it fascinated him. "You're apretty man to want a rose for your buttonhole! Are you going out withyour sweetheart next Sunday, Mr. Dawes?" The gang laughed. "How did youget 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, myman. I expect that's the way to your heart--eh, boys?"
At this elegant allusion to the lash, the gang laughed again, and lookedat each other astonished. It seemed possible that the leader of the"Ring" was going to turn milksop. Such, indeed, appeared to be thecase, 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." Freresmiled with an inward satisfaction at the result of his spirit-breaking.The explanation was probably the correct one. He was in the habit ofwearing flowers in his coat and it was impossible that the convictshould have obtained one by any other means. Had it been a fig oftobacco now, the astute Commandant knew plenty of men who would havebrought it into the prison. But who would risk a flogging for so uselessa 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 flingingthe rose over the wall, he strode away.
The gang, left to itself for a moment, bestowed their attention uponDawes. Large tears were silently rolling down his face, and he stoodstaring at the wall as one in a dream. The gang curled their lips. Onefellow, more charitable than the rest, tapped his forehead andwinked. "He's going cranky," said this good-natured man, who could notunderstand what a sane prisoner had to do with flowers. Dawes recoveredhimself, and the contemptuous glances of his companions seemed to bringback the colour to his cheeks.
"We'll do it to-night," whispered he to Mooney, and Mooney smiled withpleasure.
Since the "tobacco trick", Mooney and Dawes had been placed in the newprison, together with a man named Bland, who had already twice failedto kill himself. When old Mooney, fresh from the torture of thegag-and-bridle, lamented his hard case, Bland proposed that the threeshould put in practice a scheme in which two at least must succeed. Thescheme was a desperate one, and attempted only in the last extremity.It was the custom of the Ring, however, to swear each of its membersto carry out to the best of his ability this last invention of theconvict-disciplined mind should two other members crave his assistance.
The scheme--like all great ideas--was simplicity itself.
That evening, when the cell-door was securely locked, and the absenceof a visiting gaoler might be counted upon for an hour at least, Blandproduced a straw, and held it out to his companions. Dawes took it, andtearing it into unequal lengths, handed the fragments to Mooney.
"The longest is the one," said the blind man. "Come on, boys, and dip inthe lucky-bag!"
It was evident that lots were to be drawn to determine to whom fortunewould grant freedom. The men drew in silence, and then Bland andDawes looked at each other. The prize had been left in the bag.Mooney--fortunate old fellow--retained the longest straw. Bland's handshook as he compared notes with his companion. There was a moment'spause, during which the blank eyeballs of the blind man fiercelysearched the gloom, as if in that awful moment they could penetrate it.
"I hold the shortest," said Dawes to Bland. "'Tis you that must do it."
"I'm glad of that," said Mooney.
Bland, seemingly terrified at the danger which fate had decreed thathe should run, tore the fatal lot into fragments with an oath, andsat gnawing his knuckles in excess of abject terror. Mooney stretchedhimself out upon his plank-bed. "Come on, mate," he said. Bland extendeda shaking hand, and caught Rufus Dawes by the sleeve.
"You have more nerve than I. You do it."
"No, no," said Dawes, almost as pale as his companion. "I've run mychance fairly. 'Twas your own proposal." The coward who, confident inhis own luck, would seem to have fallen into the pit he had dug forothers, sat rocking himself to and fro, holding his head in his hands.
"By Heaven, I can't do it," he whispered, lifting a white, wet face.
"What are you waiting for?" said fortunate Mooney. "Come on, I'm ready."
"I--I--thought you might like to--to--pray a bit," said Bland.
The notion seemed to sober the senses of the old man, exalted toofiercely by his good fortune.
"Ay!" he said. "Pray! A good thought!" and he knelt down; andshutting his blind eyes--'twas as though he was dazzled by some stronglight--unseen by his comrades, moved his lips silently. The silence wasat last broken by the footsteps of the warder in the corridor. Blandhailed it as a reprieve from whatever act of daring he dreaded. "We mustwait until he goes," he whispered eagerly. "He might look in."
Dawes nodded, and Mooney, whose quick ear apprised him very exactly ofthe position of the approaching gaoler, rose from his knees radiant. Thesour face of Gimblett appeared at the trap cell-door.
"All right?" he asked, somewhat--so the three thought--less sourly thanusual.
"All right," was the reply, and Mooney added, "Good-night, Mr.Gimblett."
"I wonder what is making the old man so cheerful," thought Gimblett, ashe got into the next corridor.
The sound of his echoing footsteps had scarcely died away, when upon theears of the two less fortunate casters of lots fell the dull sound ofrending woollen. The lucky man was tearing a strip from his blanket. "Ithink this will do," said he, pulling it between his hands to test itsstrength. "I am an old man." It was possible that he debated concerningthe descent of some abyss into which the strip of blanket was to lowerhim. "Here, Bland, catch hold. Where are ye?--don't be faint-hearted,man. It won't take ye long."
It was quite dark now in the cell, but as Bland
advanced his face waslike a white mask floating upon the darkness, it was so ghastly pale.Dawes pressed his lucky comrade's hand, and withdrew to the farthestcorner. Bland and Mooney were for a few moments occupied with therope--doubtless preparing for escape by means of it. The silencewas broken only by the convulsive jangling of Bland's irons--he wasshuddering violently. At last Mooney spoke again, in strangely soft andsubdued tones.
"Dawes, lad, do you think there is a Heaven?"
"I know there is a Hell," said Dawes, without turning his face.
"Ay, and a Heaven, lad. I think I shall go there. You will, old chap,for you've been good to me--God bless you, you've been very good to me."
* * * * *
When Troke came in the morning he saw what had occurred at a glance, andhastened to remove the corpse of the strangled Mooney.
"We drew lots," said Rufus Dawes, pointing to Bland, who crouched in thecorner farthest from his victim, "and it fell upon him to do it. I'm thewitness."
"They'll hang you for all that," said Troke.
"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 bemurdered. The drawer of the longest straw was the "lucky" man. He waskilled. The drawer of the next longest straw was the murderer. He washanged. The unlucky one was the witness. He had, of course, an excellentchance of being hung also, but his doom was not so certain, and hetherefore looked upon himself as unfortunate.
CHAPTER X. A MEETING.
For the Term of His Natural Life Page 84
