For the Term of His Natural Life

by Marcus Andrew Hislop Clarke

  It was late in the afternoon when Sarah Purfoy awoke from her uneasyslumber. She had been dreaming of the deed she was about to do, and wasflushed and feverish; but, mindful of the consequences which hung uponthe success or failure of the enterprise, she rallied herself, bathedher face and hands, and ascended with as calm an air as she could assumeto the poop-deck.

  Nothing was changed since yesterday. The sentries' arms glittered inthe pitiless sunshine, the ship rolled and creaked on the swell of thedreamy sea, and the prison-cage on the lower deck was crowded with thesame cheerless figures, disposed in the attitudes of the day before.Even Mr. Maurice Frere, recovered from his midnight fatigues, waslounging on the same coil of rope, in precisely the same position.

  Yet the eye of an acute observer would have detected some differencebeneath this outward varnish of similarity. The man at the wheellooked round the horizon more eagerly, and spit into the swirling,unwholesome-looking water with a more dejected air than before. Thefishing-lines still hung dangling over the catheads, but nobody touchedthem. The soldiers and sailors on the forecastle, collected in knots,had no heart even to smoke, but gloomily stared at each other. Vickerswas in the cuddy writing; Blunt was in his cabin; and Pine, with twocarpenters at work under his directions, was improvising increasedhospital accommodation. The noise of mallet and hammer echoed in thesoldiers' berth ominously; the workmen might have been making coffins.The prison was strangely silent, with the lowering silence whichprecedes a thunderstorm; and the convicts on deck no longer toldstories, nor laughed at obscene jests, but sat together, moodilypatient, as if waiting for something. Three men--two prisoners anda soldier--had succumbed since Rufus Dawes had been removed to thehospital; and though as yet there had been no complaint or symptomof panic, the face of each man, soldier, sailor, or prisoner, wore anexpectant look, as though he wondered whose turn would come next. On theship--rolling ceaselessly from side to side, like some wounded creature,on the opaque profundity of that stagnant ocean--a horrible shadow hadfallen. The Malabar seemed to be enveloped in an electric cloud, whosesullen gloom a chance spark might flash into a blaze that should consumeher.

  The woman who held in her hands the two ends of the chain that wouldproduce this spark, paused, came up upon deck, and, after a glanceround, leant against the poop railing, and looked down into thebarricade. As we have said, the prisoners were in knots of four andfive, 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 continuationof a previous remark. "Flash as ever, and looking this way, too."

  "I don't see no wipe," said the practical Moocher.

  "Patience is a virtue, most noble knuckler!" says the Crow, withaffected carelessness. "Give the young woman time."

  "Blowed if I'm going to wait no longer," says the giant, licking hiscoarse 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'saboard, and we've got all ready. What's the use o' waitin'? Orfice, orno orfice, I'm for bizness at once!--"

  "--There, look at that," he added, with an oath, as the figure ofMaurice Frere appeared side by side with that of the waiting-maid, andthe two turned away up the deck together.

  "It's all right, you confounded muddlehead!" cried the Crow, losingpatience with his perverse and stupid companion. "How can she give usthe office with that cove at her elbow?"

  Gabbett's only reply to this question was a ferocious grunt, and asudden elevation of his clenched fist, which caused Mr. Vetch to retreatprecipitately. The giant did not follow; and Mr. Vetch, folding hisarms, and assuming an attitude of easy contempt, directed his attentionto Sarah Purfoy. She seemed an object of general attraction, for at thesame moment a young soldier ran up the ladder to the forecastle, andeagerly bent his gaze in her direction.

  Maurice Frere had come behind her and touched her on the shoulder. Sincetheir conversation the previous evening, he had made up his mind to befooled no longer. The girl was evidently playing with him, and he wouldshow her that he was not to be trifled with.

  "Well, Sarah!"

  "Well, Mr. Frere," dropping her hand, and turning round with a smile.

  "How well you are looking to-day! Positively lovely!"

  "You have told me that so often," says she, with a pout. "Have younothing else to say?"

  "Except that I love you." This in a most impassioned manner.

  "That is no news. I know you do."

  "Curse it, Sarah, what is a fellow to do?" His profligacy was failinghim rapidly. "What is the use of playing fast and loose with a fellowthis way?"

  "A 'fellow' should be able to take care of himself, Mr. Frere. I didn'task you to fall in love with me, did I? If you don't please me, it isnot your fault, perhaps."

  "What do you mean?"

  "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 likeme."

  "Spare!" cries Frere, in amazement. "Why, damme, you won't let a fellowspare! I'd spare fast enough, if that was all." She cast her eyes downto the deck and a modest flush rose in her cheeks. "I have so much todo," she said, in a half-whisper. "There are so many eyes upon me, Icannot stir without being seen."

  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 soldieron the forecastle, and though the distance was too great for her todistinguish his features, she guessed who he was--Miles was jealous.Frere, smiling with delight at her change of manner, came close toher, and whispered in her ear. She affected to start, and took theopportunity of exchanging a signal with the Crow.

  "I will come at eight o'clock," said she, with modestly averted face.

  "They relieve the guard at eight," he said deprecatingly.

  She tossed her head. "Very well, then, attend to your guard; I don'tcare."

  "But, Sarah, consider--"

  "As if a woman in love ever considers!" said she, turning upon him aburning glance, which in truth might have melted a more icy man than he.--She loved him then! What a fool he would be to refuse. To get her tocome was the first object; how to make duty fit with pleasure would beconsidered afterwards. Besides, the guard could relieve itself for oncewithout his supervision.

  "Very well, at eight then, dearest."

  "Hush!" said she. "Here comes that stupid captain."

  And as Frere left her, she turned, and with her eyes fixed on theconvict barricade, dropped the handkerchief she held in her hand overthe poop railing. It fell at the feet of the amorous captain, and with aquick upward glance, that worthy fellow picked it up, and brought it toher.

  "Oh, thank you, Captain Blunt," said she, and her eyes spoke more thanher tongue.

  "Did you take the laudanum?" whispered Blunt, with a twinkle in his eye.

  "Some of it," said she. "I will bring you back the bottle to-night."

  Blunt walked aft, humming cheerily, and saluted Frere with a slap on theback. The two men laughed, each at his own thoughts, but their laughteronly made the surrounding gloom seem deeper than before.

  Sarah Purfoy, casting her eyes toward the barricade, observed a changein the position of the three men. They were together once more, and theCrow, having taken off his prison cap, held it at arm's length withone hand, while he wiped his brow with the other. Her signal had beenobserved.

  During all this, Rufus Dawes, removed to the hospital, was lying flat onhis back, staring at the deck above him, trying to think of something hewanted to say.

  When the sudden faintness, which was the prelude to his sickness, hadoverpowered him, he remembered being torn out of his bunk by fiercehands--remembered a vision of savage faces, and the presence ofsome danger that menaced him. He remembered that, while lying onhis blankets, struggling with the coming fever, he had overheard aconversation of vital importance to himself and to the ship, but ofthe purport of that c
onversation he had not the least idea. In vain hestrove to remember--in vain his will, struggling with delirium, broughtback snatches and echoes of sense; they slipped from him again as fastas caught. He was oppressed with the weight of half-recollected thought.He knew that a terrible danger menaced him; that could he but force hisbrain to reason connectedly for ten consecutive minutes, he could givesuch information as would avert that danger, and save the ship. But,lying with hot head, parched lips, and enfeebled body, he was as onepossessed--he could move nor hand nor foot.

  The place where he lay was but dimly lighted. The ingenuity of Pine hadconstructed a canvas blind over the port, to prevent the sun strikinginto the cabin, and this blind absorbed much of the light. He could butjust see the deck above his head, and distinguish the outlines of threeother berths, apparently similar to his own. The only sounds that brokethe 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 thenoise 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 fourhundred pounds; but, my good sir, four hundred pounds to a man in myposition is not worth the getting. Why, I've given four hundred poundsfor a freak of my girl Sarah! Is it right, eh, Jezebel? She's agood girl, though, as girls go. Mrs. Lionel Crofton, of the Crofts,Sevenoaks, Kent--Sevenoaks, Kent--Seven----"

  A gleam of light broke in on the darkness which wrapped Rufus Dawes'stortured brain. The man was John Rex, his berth mate. With an effort hespoke.

  "Rex!"

  "Yes, yes. I'm coming; don't be in a hurry. The sentry's safe, and thehowitzer is but five paces from the door. A rush upon deck, lads, andshe's ours! That is, mine. Mine and my wife's, Mrs. Lionel Crofton,of Seven Crofts, no oaks--Sarah Purfoy, lady's-maid and nurse--ha!ha!--lady's-maid and nurse!"

  This last sentence contained the name-clue to the labyrinth in whichRufus Dawes's bewildered intellects were wandering. "Sarah Purfoy!"He remembered now each detail of the conversation he had so strangelyoverheard, and how imperative it was that he should, without delay,reveal the plot that threatened the ship. How that plot was to becarried out, he did not pause to consider; he was conscious that he washanging over the brink of delirium, and that, unless he made himselfunderstood before his senses utterly deserted him, all was lost.

  He attempted to rise, but found that his fever-thralled limbs refused toobey the impulse of his will. He made an effort to speak, but his tongueclove to the roof of his mouth, and his jaws stuck together. He couldnot raise a finger nor utter a sound. The boards over his head wavedlike a shaken sheet, and the cabin whirled round, while the patch oflight at his feet bobbed up and down like the reflection from a waveringcandle. He closed his eyes with a terrible sigh of despair, and resignedhimself to his fate. At that instant the sound of hammering ceased, andthe door opened. It was six o'clock, and Pine had come to have a lastlook at his patients before dinner. It seemed that there was somebodywith him, for a kind, though somewhat pompous, voice remarked upon thescantiness of accommodation, and the "necessity--the absolute necessity"of complying with the King's Regulations.

  Honest Vickers, though agonized for the safety of his child, would notabate 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 fromthe cabin where his child lay. Mrs. Vickers--weeping and bewailingherself coquettishly at garrison parties--had often said that "poor dearJohn was such a disciplinarian, quite a slave to the service."

  "Here they are," said Pine; "six of 'em. This fellow"--going to theside of Rex--"is the worst. If he had not a constitution like a horse, Idon't think he could live out the night."

  "Three, eighteen, seven, four," muttered Rex; "dot and carry one. Isthat an occupation for a gentleman? No, sir. Good night, my lord, goodnight. Hark! The clock is striking nine; five, six, seven, eight! Well,you've had your day, and can't complain."

  "A dangerous fellow," says Pine, with the light upraised. "A verydangerous fellow--that is, he was. This is the place, you see--a regularrat-hole; but what can one do?"

  "Come, let us get on deck," said Vickers, with a shudder of disgust.

  Rufus Dawes felt the sweat break out into beads on his forehead. Theysuspected nothing. They were going away. He must warn them. With aviolent effort, in his agony he turned over in the bunk and thrust outhis hand from the blankets.

  "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 helifted a pannikin to the blackened, froth-fringed lips. The cool draughtmoistened his parched gullet, and the convict made a last effort tospeak.

  "Sarah Purfoy--to-night--the prison--MUTINY!"

  The last word, almost shrieked out, in the sufferer's desperate effortsto articulate, recalled the wandering senses of John Rex. "Hush!" hecried. "Is that you, Jemmy? Sarah's right. Wait till she gives theword."

  "He's raving," said Vickers.

  Pine caught the convict by the shoulder. "What do you say, my man? Amutiny of the prisoners!"

  With his mouth agape and his hands clenched, Rufus Dawes, incapable offurther speech, made a last effort to nod assent, but his head fell uponhis 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 ateach other, in mingled incredulity and alarm, and then he was floatingdown the cool brown river of his boyhood, on his way--in company withSarah Purfoy and Lieutenant Frere--to raise the mutiny of the Hydaspes,that lay on the stocks in the old house at Hampstead.

  CHAPTER IX. WOMAN'S WEAPONS.