In the breathless stillness of a tropical afternoon, when the air washot and heavy, and the sky brazen and cloudless, the shadow of theMalabar lay solitary on the surface of the glittering sea.
The sun--who rose on the left hand every morning a blazing ball, to moveslowly through the unbearable blue, until he sank fiery red in minglingglories of sky and ocean on the right hand--had just got low enough topeep beneath the awning that covered the poop-deck, and awaken a youngman, in an undress military uniform, who was dozing on a coil of rope.
"Hang it!" said he, rising and stretching himself, with the weary sighof 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 theship.
Save for the man at the wheel and the guard at the quarter-railing,he was alone on the deck. A few birds flew round about the vessel, andseemed to pass under her stern windows only to appear again at her bows.A lazy albatross, with the white water flashing from his wings, rosewith a dabbling sound to leeward, and in the place where he had beenglided the hideous fin of a silently-swimming shark. The seams of thewell-scrubbed deck were sticky with melted pitch, and the brass plate ofthe compass-case sparkled in the sun like a jewel. There was no breeze,and as the clumsy ship rolled and lurched on the heaving sea, her idlesails flapped against her masts with a regularly recurring noise, andher bowsprit would seem to rise higher with the water's swell, todip again with a jerk that made each rope tremble and tauten. On theforecastle, some half-dozen soldiers, in all varieties of undress, wereplaying at cards, smoking, or watching the fishing-lines hanging overthe catheads.
So far the appearance of the vessel differed in no wise from that of anordinary transport. But in the waist a curious sight presented itself.It was as though one had built a cattle-pen there. At the foot of theforemast, and at the quarter-deck, a strong barricade, loop-holed andfurnished with doors for ingress and egress, ran across the deck frombulwark to bulwark. Outside this cattle-pen an armed sentry stood onguard; inside, standing, sitting, or walking monotonously, within rangeof the shining barrels in the arm chest on the poop, were some sixty menand boys, dressed in uniform grey. The men and boys were prisoners ofthe Crown, and the cattle-pen was their exercise ground. Their prisonwas down the main hatchway, on the 'tween decks, and the barricade,continued down, made its side walls.
It was the fag end of the two hours' exercise graciously permitted eachafternoon by His Majesty King George the Fourth to prisoners of theCrown, and the prisoners of the Crown were enjoying themselves. It wasnot, perhaps, so pleasant as under the awning on the poop-deck, butthat sacred shade was only for such great men as the captain and hisofficers, Surgeon Pine, Lieutenant Maurice Frere, and, most importantpersonages of all, Captain Vickers and his wife.
That the convict leaning against the bulwarks would like to have beenable to get rid of his enemy the sun for a moment, was probable enough.His companions, sitting on the combings of the main-hatch, or crouchedin careless fashion on the shady side of the barricade, were laughingand talking, with blasphemous and obscene merriment hideous tocontemplate; but he, with cap pulled over his brows, and hands thrustinto the pockets of his coarse grey garments, held aloof from theirdismal joviality.
The sun poured his hottest rays on his head unheeded, and though everycranny 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 groaningvessel had escaped from the rollers of the Bay of Biscay, and themiserable hundred and eighty creatures among whom he was classed hadbeen freed from their irons, and allowed to sniff fresh air twice a day.
The low-browed, coarse-featured ruffians grouped about the deck castmany a leer of contempt at the solitary figure, but their remarks wereconfined to gestures only. There are degrees in crime, and Rufus Dawes,the convicted felon, who had but escaped the gallows to toil for all hislife in irons, was a man of mark. He had been tried for the robbery andmurder of Lord Bellasis. The friendless vagabond's lame story of findingon the Heath a dying man would not have availed him, but for the curiousfact sworn to by the landlord of the Spaniards' Inn, that the murderednobleman had shaken his head when asked if the prisoner was hisassassin. The vagabond was acquitted of the murder, but condemned todeath for the robbery, and London, who took some interest in thetrial, considered him fortunate when his sentence was commuted totransportation for life.
It was customary on board these floating prisons to keep each man'scrime a secret from his fellows, so that if he chose, and the caprice ofhis gaolers allowed him, he could lead a new life in his adoptedhome, without being taunted with his former misdeeds. But, like otherexcellent devices, the expedient was only a nominal one, and few out ofthe doomed hundred and eighty were ignorant of the offence which theircompanions had committed. The more guilty boasted of their superiorityin vice; the petty criminals swore that their guilt was blacker than itappeared. Moreover, a deed so bloodthirsty and a respite so unexpected,had invested the name of Rufus Dawes with a grim distinction, which hissuperior mental abilities, no less than his haughty temper and powerfulframe, combined to support. A young man of two-and-twenty owning to nofriends, and existing among them but by the fact of his criminality,he was respected and admired. The vilest of all the vile horde pennedbetween decks, if they laughed at his "fine airs" behind his back,cringed and submitted when they met him face to face--for in a convictship the greatest villain is the greatest hero, and the only nobilityacknowledged by that hideous commonwealth is that Order of the Halterwhich is conferred by the hand of the hangman.
The young man on the poop caught sight of the tall figure leaningagainst the bulwarks, and it gave him an excuse to break the monotony ofhis employment.
"Here, you!" he called with an oath, "get out of the gangway!" RufusDawes was not in the gangway--was, in fact, a good two feet from it, butat the sound of Lieutenant Frere's voice he started, and went obedientlytowards the hatchway.
"Touch your hat, you dog!" cries Frere, coming to the quarter-railing."Touch your damned hat! Do you hear?"
Rufus Dawes touched his cap, saluting in half military fashion. "I'llmake some of you fellows smart, if you don't have a care," went on theangry Frere, half to himself. "Insolent blackguards!"
And then the noise of the sentry, on the quarter-deck below him,grounding arms, turned the current of his thoughts. A thin, tall,soldier-like man, with a cold blue eye, and prim features, came out ofthe cuddy below, handing out a fair-haired, affected, mincing lady,of middle age. Captain Vickers, of Mr. Frere's regiment, ordered forservice in Van Diemen's Land, was bringing his lady on deck to get anappetite for dinner.
Mrs. Vickers was forty-two (she owned to thirty-three), and had beena garrison-belle for eleven weary years before she married prim JohnVickers. The marriage was not a happy one. Vickers found his wifeextravagant, vain, and snappish, and she found him harsh, disenchanted,and commonplace. A daughter, born two years after their marriage, wasthe only link that bound the ill-assorted pair. Vickers idolized littleSylvia, and when the recommendation of a long sea-voyage for his failinghealth induced him to exchange into the --th, he insisted upon bringingthe child with him, despite Mrs. Vickers's reiterated objections on thescore of educational difficulties. "He could educate her himself, ifneed be," he said; "and she should not stay at home."
So Mrs. Vickers, after a hard struggle, gave up the point and her dreamsof Bath together, and followed her husband with the best grace she couldmuster. When fairly out to sea she seemed reconciled to her fate, andemployed the intervals between scolding her daughter and her maid, infascinating the boorish young Lieutenant, Maurice Frere.
Fascination was an integral portion of Julia Vickers's nature;admiration was all she lived for: and even in a convict ship, with herhusband at her elbow, she must flirt, or perish of mental inanition.There was no harm in the creature. She was simply a vain, middle-agedwoman, and Frere took her attentions for what they were
worth. Moreover,her good feeling towards him was useful, for reasons which will shortlyappear.
Running down the ladder, cap in hand, he offered her his assistance.
"Thank you, Mr. Frere. These horrid ladders. I really--he, he--quitetremble at them. Hot! Yes, dear me, most oppressive. John, thecamp-stool. Pray, Mr. Frere--oh, thank you! Sylvia! Sylvia! John, haveyou my smelling salts? Still a calm, I suppose? These dreadful calms!"
This semi-fashionable slip-slop, within twenty yards of the wild beasts'den, on the other side of the barricade, sounded strange; but Mr. Frerethought nothing of it. Familiarity destroys terror, and the incurableflirt, fluttered her muslins, and played off her second-rate graces,under the noses of the grinning convicts, with as much complacency asif she had been in a Chatham ball-room. Indeed, if there had beennobody else near, it is not unlikely that she would have disdainfullyfascinated the 'tween-decks, and made eyes at the most presentable ofthe convicts there.
Vickers, with a bow to Frere, saw his wife up the ladder, and thenturned for his daughter.
She was a delicate-looking child of six years old, with blue eyes andbright hair. Though indulged by her father, and spoiled by hermother, the natural sweetness of her disposition saved her from beingdisagreeable, and the effects of her education as yet only showedthemselves in a thousand imperious prettinesses, which made her thedarling of the ship. Little Miss Sylvia was privileged to go anywhereand do anything, and even convictism shut its foul mouth in herpresence. Running to her father's side, the child chattered with all thevolubility of flattered self-esteem. She ran hither and thither, askedquestions, invented answers, laughed, sang, gambolled, peered into thecompass-case, felt in the pockets of the man at the helm, put her tinyhand into the big palm of the officer of the watch, even ran down to thequarter-deck and pulled the coat-tails of the sentry on duty.
At last, tired of running about, she took a little striped leather ballfrom the bosom of her frock, and calling to her father, threw it upto him as he stood on the poop. He returned it, and, shouting withlaughter, clapping her hands between each throw, the child kept up thegame.
The convicts--whose slice of fresh air was nearly eaten--turned witheagerness to watch this new source of amusement. Innocent laughter andchildish prattle were strange to them. Some smiled, and nodded withinterest in the varying fortunes of the game. One young lad could hardlyrestrain himself from applauding. It was as though, out of the sultryheat which brooded over the ship, a cool breeze had suddenly arisen.
In the midst of this mirth, the officer of the watch, glancing round thefast crimsoning horizon, paused abruptly, and shading his eyes with hishand, looked out intently to the westward.
Frere, who found Mrs. Vickers's conversation a little tiresome, andhad been glancing from time to time at the companion, as though inexpectation of someone appearing, noticed the action.
"What is it, Mr. Best?"
"I don't know exactly. It looks to me like a cloud of smoke." And,taking the glass, he swept the horizon.
"Let me see," said Frere; and he looked also.
On the extreme horizon, just to the left of the sinking sun, rested, orseemed to rest, a tiny black cloud. The gold and crimson, splashedall about the sky, had overflowed around it, and rendered a clear viewalmost impossible.
"I can't quite make it out," says Frere, handing back the telescope. "Wecan see as soon as the sun goes down a little."
Then Mrs. Vickers must, of course, look also, and was prettily affectedabout the focus of the glass, applying herself to that instrument withmuch girlish giggling, and finally declaring, after shutting one eyewith her fair hand, that positively she "could see nothing but sky, andbelieved that wicked Mr. Frere was doing it on purpose."
By and by, Captain Blunt appeared, and, taking the glass from hisofficer, looked through it long and carefully. Then the mizentop wasappealed to, and declared that he could see nothing; and at last the sunwent down with a jerk, as though it had slipped through a slit in thesea, and the black spot, swallowed up in the gathering haze, was seen nomore.
As the sun sank, the relief guard came up the after hatchway, and therelieved guard prepared to superintend the descent of the convicts. Atthis moment Sylvia missed her ball, which, taking advantage of a suddenlurch of the vessel, hopped over the barricade, and rolled to the feetof Rufus Dawes, who was still leaning, apparently lost in thought,against the side.
The bright spot of colour rolling across the white deck caught his eye;stooping mechanically, he picked up the ball, and stepped forward toreturn it. The door of the barricade was open and the sentry--a youngsoldier, occupied in staring at the relief guard--did not notice theprisoner pass through it. In another instant he was on the sacredquarter-deck.
Heated with the game, her cheeks aglow, her eyes sparkling, her goldenhair afloat, Sylvia had turned to leap after her plaything, but even asshe turned, from under the shadow of the cuddy glided a rounded whitearm; and a shapely hand caught the child by the sash and drew her back.The next moment the young man in grey had placed the toy in her hand.
Maurice Frere, descending the poop ladder, had not witnessed this littleincident; on reaching the deck, he saw only the unexplained presence ofthe convict uniform.
"Thank you," said a voice, as Rufus Dawes stooped before the poutingSylvia.
The convict raised his eyes and saw a young girl of eighteen or nineteenyears of age, tall, and well developed, who, dressed in a loose-sleevedrobe of some white material, was standing in the doorway. She had blackhair, coiled around a narrow and flat head, a small foot, white skin,well-shaped hands, and large dark eyes, and as she smiled at him, herscarlet lips showed her white even teeth.
He knew her at once. She was Sarah Purfoy, Mrs. Vickers's maid, but henever had been so close to her before; and it seemed to him that he wasin the presence of some strange tropical flower, which exhaled a heavyand intoxicating perfume.
For an instant the two looked at each other, and then Rufus Dawes wasseized from behind by his collar, and flung with a shock upon the deck.
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 himselfwith an effort, for his assailant was Mr. Maurice Frere.
"What the devil do you do here?" asked the gentleman with an oath. "Youlazy, skulking hound, what brings you here? If I catch you putting yourfoot on the quarter-deck again, I'll give you a week in irons!"
Rufus Dawes, pale with rage and mortification, opened his mouth tojustify himself, but he allowed the words to die on his lips. What wasthe 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 ofthe name of the defaulting sentry.
The convict, wiping the blood from his face, turned on his heel withouta word, and went back through the strong oak door into his den. Frereleant forward and took the girl's shapely hand with an easy gesture, butshe drew it away, with a flash of her black eyes.
"You coward!" she said.
The stolid soldier close beside them heard it, and his eye twinkled.Frere bit his thick lips with mortification, as he followed the girlinto the cuddy. Sarah Purfoy, however, taking the astonished Sylvia bythe hand, glided into her mistress's cabin with a scornful laugh, andshut the door behind her.
CHAPTER II. SARAH PURFOY.
For the Term of His Natural Life Page 3