In the house of Major Vickers, Commandant of Macquarie Harbour, therewas, on this evening of December 3rd, unusual gaiety.
Lieutenant Maurice Frere, late in command at Maria Island, hadunexpectedly come down with news from head-quarters. The Ladybird,Government schooner, visited the settlement on ordinary occasions twicea year, and such visits were looked forward to with no little eagernessby the settlers. To the convicts the arrival of the Ladybird meantarrival of new faces, intelligence of old comrades, news of how theworld, from which they were exiled, was progressing. When the Ladybirdarrived, the chained and toil-worn felons felt that they were yet human,that the universe was not bounded by the gloomy forests which surroundedtheir prison, but that there was a world beyond, where men, likethemselves, smoked, and drank, and laughed, and rested, and were Free.When the Ladybird arrived, they heard such news as interested them--thatis to say, not mere foolish accounts of wars or ship arrivals, or citygossip, but matters appertaining to their own world--how Tom was withthe road gangs, Dick on a ticket-of-leave, Harry taken to the bush, andJack hung at the Hobart Town Gaol. Such items of intelligence were theonly news they cared to hear, and the new-comers were well posted up insuch matters. To the convicts the Ladybird was town talk, theatre,stock quotations, and latest telegrams. She was their newspaper andpost-office, the one excitement of their dreary existence, the one linkbetween their own misery and the happiness of their fellow-creatures. Tothe Commandant and the "free men" this messenger from the outer lifewas scarcely less welcome. There was not a man on the island who did notfeel his heart grow heavier when her white sails disappeared behind theshoulder of the hill.
On the present occasion business of more than ordinary importance hadprocured for Major Vickers this pleasurable excitement. It had beenresolved by Governor Arthur that the convict establishment should bebroken up. A succession of murders and attempted escapes had calledpublic attention to the place, and its distance from Hobart Townrendered it inconvenient and expensive. Arthur had fixed upon Tasman'sPeninsula--the earring of which we have spoken--as a future convictdepot, and naming it Port Arthur, in honour of himself, had sent downLieutenant Maurice Frere with instructions for Vickers to convey theprisoners of Macquarie Harbour thither.
In order to understand the magnitude and meaning of such an order asthat with which Lieutenant Frere was entrusted, we must glance at thesocial condition of the penal colony at this period of its history.
Nine years before, Colonel Arthur, late Governor of Honduras, hadarrived at a most critical moment. The former Governor, Colonel Sorrell,was a man of genial temperament, but little strength of character. Hewas, moreover, profligate in his private life; and, encouraged by hisexample, his officers violated all rules of social decency. It wascommon for an officer to openly keep a female convict as his mistress.Not only would compliance purchase comforts, but strange stories wereafloat concerning the persecution of women who dared to choose their ownlovers. To put down this profligacy was the first care of Arthur; and inenforcing a severe attention to etiquette and outward respectability, heperhaps erred on the side of virtue. Honest, brave, and high-minded,he was also penurious and cold, and the ostentatious good humour ofthe colonists dashed itself in vain against his polite indifference. Inopposition to this official society created by Governor Arthur was thatof the free settlers and the ticket-of-leave men. The latter were morenumerous than one would be apt to suppose. On the 2nd November, 1829,thirty-eight free pardons and fifty-six conditional pardons appeared onthe books; and the number of persons holding tickets-of-leave, on the26th of September the same year, was seven hundred and forty-five.
Of the social condition of these people at this time it is impossible tospeak without astonishment. According to the recorded testimony of manyrespectable persons-Government officials, military officers, and freesettlers-the profligacy of the settlers was notorious. Drunkenness wasa prevailing vice. Even children were to be seen in the streetsintoxicated. On Sundays, men and women might be observed standing roundthe public-house doors, waiting for the expiration of the hours ofpublic worship, in order to continue their carousing. As for thecondition of the prisoner population, that, indeed, is indescribable.Notwithstanding the severe punishment for sly grog-selling, it wascarried on to a large extent. Men and women were found intoxicatedtogether, and a bottle of brandy was considered to be cheaply bought atthe price of twenty lashes. In the factory--a prison for females--thevilest abuses were committed, while the infamies current, as mattersof course, in chain gangs and penal settlements, were of too horriblea nature to be more than hinted at here. All that the vilest and mostbestial of human creatures could invent and practise, was in thisunhappy country invented and practised without restraint and withoutshame.
Seven classes of criminals were established in 1826, when the newbarracks for prisoners at Hobart Town were finished. The first classwere allowed to sleep out of barracks, and to work for themselves onSaturday; the second had only the last-named indulgence; the third wereonly allowed Saturday afternoon; the fourth and fifth were "refractoryand disorderly characters--to work in irons;" the sixth were "men ofthe most degraded and incorrigible character--to be worked in irons, andkept entirely separate from the other prisoners;" while the seventh werethe refuse of this refuse--the murderers, bandits, and villains, whomneither chain nor lash could tame. They were regarded as socially dead,and shipped to Hell's Gates, or Maria Island. Hells Gates was the mostdreaded of all these houses of bondage. The discipline at the place wasso severe, and the life so terrible, that prisoners would risk all toescape from it. In one year, of eighty-five deaths there, only thirtywere from natural causes; of the remaining dead, twenty-seven weredrowned, eight killed accidentally, three shot by the soldiers, andtwelve murdered by their comrades. In 1822, one hundred and sixty-ninemen out of one hundred and eighty-two were punished to the extent of twothousand lashes. During the ten years of its existence, one hundredand twelve men escaped, out of whom sixty-two only were found-dead.The prisoners killed themselves to avoid living any longer, and if sofortunate as to penetrate the desert of scrub, heath, and swamp, whichlay between their prison and the settled districts, preferred death torecapture. Successfully to transport the remnant of this desperate bandof doubly-convicted felons to Arthur's new prison, was the mission ofMaurice Frere.
He was sitting by the empty fire-place, with one leg carelessly thrownover the other, entertaining the company with his usual indifferent air.The six years that had passed since his departure from England had givenhim a sturdier frame and a fuller face. His hair was coarser, his faceredder, and his eye more hard, but in demeanour he was little changed.Sobered he might be, and his voice had acquired that decisive, insuredtone which a voice exercised only in accents of command invariablyacquires, but his bad qualities were as prominent as ever. His fiveyears' residence at Maria Island had increased that brutality ofthought, and overbearing confidence in his own importance, for which hehad been always remarkable, but it had also given him an assured air ofauthority, which covered the more unpleasant features of his character.He was detested by the prisoners--as he said, "it was a word and a blowwith him"--but, among his superiors, he passed for an officer, honestand painstaking, though somewhat bluff and severe.
"Well, Mrs. Vickers," he said, as he took a cup of tea from the handsof that lady, "I suppose you won't be sorry to get away from this place,eh? Trouble you for the toast, Vickers!"
"No indeed," says poor Mrs. Vickers, with the old girlishness shadowedby six years; "I shall be only too glad. A dreadful place! John'sduties, however, are imperative. But the wind! My dear Mr. Frere, you'veno idea of it; I wanted to send Sylvia to Hobart Town, but John wouldnot let her go."
"By the way, how is Miss Sylvia?" asked Frere, with the patronising airwhich men of his stamp adopt when they speak of children.
"Not very well, I'm sorry to say," returned Vickers. "You see, it'slonely for her here. There are no children of her own age, with theexception of the pilot's little girl, and she cann
ot associate with her.But I did not like to leave her behind, and endeavoured to teach hermyself."
"Hum! There was a-ha-governess, or something, was there not?" saidFrere, staring into his tea-cup. "That maid, you know--what was hername?"
"Miss Purfoy," said Mrs. Vickers, a little gravely. "Yes, poor thing! Asad story, Mr. Frere."
Frere's eye twinkled.
"Indeed! I left, you know, shortly after the trial of the mutineers, andnever heard the full particulars." He spoke carelessly, but he awaitedthe reply with keen curiosity.
"A sad story!" repeated Mrs. Vickers. "She was the wife of that wretchedman, Rex, and came out as my maid in order to be near him. She wouldnever tell me her history, poor thing, though all through the dreadfulaccusations made by that horrid doctor--I always disliked that man--Ibegged her almost on my knees. You know how she nursed Sylvia and poorJohn. Really a most superior creature. I think she must have been agoverness."
Mr. Frere raised his eyebrows abruptly, as though he would say,Governess! Of course. Happy suggestion. Wonder it never occurred tome before. "However, her conduct was most exemplary--really mostexemplary--and during the six months we were in Hobart Town she taughtlittle Sylvia a great deal. Of course she could not help her wretchedhusband, you know. Could she?"
"Certainly not!" said Frere heartily. "I heard something about him too.Got into some scrape, did he not? Half a cup, please."
"Miss Purfoy, or Mrs. Rex, as she really was, though I don't suppose Rexis her real name either--sugar and milk, I think you said--came intoa little legacy from an old aunt in England." Mr. Frere gave a littlebluff nod, meaning thereby, Old aunt! Exactly. Just what might have beenexpected. "And left my service. She took a little cottage on the NewTown road, and Rex was assigned to her as her servant."
"I see. The old dodge!" says Frere, flushing a little. "Well?"
"Well, the wretched man tried to escape, and she helped him. He was toget to Launceston, and so on board a vessel to Sydney; but they took theunhappy creature, and he was sent down here. She was only fined, but itruined her."
"Ruined her?"
"Well, you see, only a few people knew of her relationship to Rex, andshe was rather respected. Of course, when it became known, what withthat dreadful trial and the horrible assertions of Dr. Pine--you willnot believe me, I know, there was something about that man I neverliked--she was quite left alone. She wanted me to bring her down here toteach Sylvia; but John thought that it was only to be near her husband,and wouldn't allow it."
"Of course it was," said Vickers, rising. "Frere, if you'd like tosmoke, we'll go on the verandah.--She will never be satisfied until shegets that scoundrel free."
"He's a bad lot, then?" says Frere, opening the glass window, andleading the way to the sandy garden. "You will excuse my roughness, Mrs.Vickers, but I have become quite a slave to my pipe. Ha, ha, it's wifeand child to me!"
"Oh, a very bad lot," returned Vickers; "quiet and silent, but readyfor any villainy. I count him one of the worst men we have. With theexception of one or two more, I think he is the worst."
"Why don't you flog 'em?" says Frere, lighting his pipe in the gloom."By George, sir, I cut the hides off my fellows if they show anynonsense!"
"Well," says Vickers, "I don't care about too much cat myself. Barton,who was here before me, flogged tremendously, but I don't think itdid any good. They tried to kill him several times. You remember thosetwelve fellows who were hung? No! Ah, of course, you were away."
"What do you do with 'em?"
"Oh, flog the worst, you know; but I don't flog more than a man a week,as a rule, and never more than fifty lashes. They're getting quieternow. Then we iron, and dumb-cells, and maroon them."
"Do what?"
"Give them solitary confinement on Grummet Island. When a man gets verybad, we clap him into a boat with a week's provisions and pull him overto Grummet. There are cells cut in the rock, you see, and the fellowpulls up his commissariat after him, and lives there by himself for amonth or so. It tames them wonderfully."
"Does it?" said Frere. "By Jove! it's a capital notion. I wish I had aplace of that sort at Maria."
"I've a fellow there now," says Vickers; "Dawes. You remember him, ofcourse--the ringleader of the mutiny in the Malabar. A dreadful ruffian.He was most violent the first year I was here. Barton used to floga good deal, and Dawes had a childish dread of the cat. When I camein--when was it?--in '29, he'd made a sort of petition to be sent backto the settlement. Said that he was innocent of the mutiny, and that theaccusation against him was false."
"The old dodge," said Frere again. "A match? Thanks."
"Of course, I couldn't let him go; but I took him out of the chain-gang,and put him on the Osprey. You saw her in the dock as you came in. Heworked for some time very well, and then tried to bolt again."
"The old trick. Ha! ha! don't I know it?" says Mr. Frere, emitting astreak of smoke in the air, expressive of preternatural wisdom.
"Well, we caught him, and gave him fifty. Then he was sent to thechain-gang, cutting timber. Then we put him into the boats, buthe quarrelled with the coxswain, and then we took him back to thetimber-rafts. About six weeks ago he made another attempt--together withGabbett, the man who nearly killed you--but his leg was chafed with theirons, and we took him. Gabbett and three more, however, got away."
"Haven't you found 'em?" asked Frere, puffing at his pipe.
"No. But they'll come to the same fate as the rest," said Vickers, witha sort of dismal pride. "No man ever escaped from Macquarie Harbour."
Frere laughed. "By the Lord!" said he, "it will be rather hard for 'emif they don't come back before the end of the month, eh?"
"Oh," said Vickers, "they're sure to come--if they can come at all; butonce lost in the scrub, a man hasn't much chance for his life."
"When do you think you will be ready to move?" asked Frere.
"As soon as you wish. I don't want to stop a moment longer than I canhelp. It is a terrible life, this."
"Do you think so?" asked his companion, in unaffected surprise. "I likeit. It's dull, certainly. When I first went to Maria I was dreadfullybored, but one soon gets used to it. There is a sort of satisfactionto me, by George, in keeping the scoundrels in order. I like to see thefellows' eyes glint at you as you walk past 'em. Gad, they'd tear me topieces, if they dared, some of 'em!" and he laughed grimly, as thoughthe hate he inspired was a thing to be proud of.
"How shall we go?" asked Vickers. "Have you got any instructions?"
"No," says Frere; "it's all left to you. Get 'em up the best way youcan, Arthur said, and pack 'em off to the new peninsula. He thinks youtoo far off here, by George! He wants to have you within hail."
"It's dangerous taking so many at once," suggested Vickers.
"Not a bit. Batten 'em down and keep the sentries awake, and they won'tdo any harm."
"But Mrs. Vickers and the child?"
"I've thought of that. You take the Ladybird with the prisoners, andleave me to bring up Mrs. Vickers in the Osprey."
"We might do that. Indeed, it's the best way, I think. I don't like thenotion of having Sylvia among those wretches, and yet I don't like toleave her."
"Well," says Frere, confident of his own ability to accomplish anythinghe might undertake, "I'll take the Ladybird, and you the Osprey. Bringup Mrs. Vickers yourself."
"No, no," said Vickers, with a touch of his old pomposity, "that won'tdo. By the King's Regulations--"
"All right," interjected Frere, "you needn't quote 'em. 'The officercommanding is obliged to place himself in charge'--all right, my dearsir. I've no objection in life."
"It was Sylvia that I was thinking of," said Vickers.
"Well, then," cries the other, as the door of the room inside opened,and a little white figure came through into the broad verandah. "Hereshe is! Ask her yourself. Well, Miss Sylvia, will you come and shakehands with an old friend?"
The bright-haired baby of the Malabar had become a bright-haired childof some el
even years old, and as she stood in her simple white dress inthe glow of the lamplight, even the unaesthetic mind of Mr. Frere wasstruck by her extreme beauty. Her bright blue eyes were as bright and asblue as ever. Her little figure was as upright and as supple as a willowrod; and her innocent, delicate face was framed in a nimbus of that finegolden hair--dry and electrical, each separate thread shining with alustre of its own--with which the dreaming painters of the middle agesendowed and glorified their angels.
"Come and give me a kiss, Miss Sylvia!" cries Frere. "You haven'tforgotten me, have you?"
But the child, resting one hand on her father's knee, surveyed Mr. Frerefrom head to foot with the charming impertinence of childhood, and then,shaking her head, inquired: "Who is he, papa?"
"Mr. Frere, darling. Don't you remember Mr. Frere, who used to play ballwith you on board the ship, and who was so kind to you when you weregetting well? For shame, Sylvia!"
There was in the chiding accents such an undertone of tenderness, thatthe reproof fell harmless.
"I remember you," said Sylvia, tossing her head; "but you were nicerthen than you are now. I don't like you at all."
"You don't remember me," said Frere, a little disconcerted, andaffecting to be intensely at his ease. "I am sure you don't. What is myname?"
"Lieutenant Frere. You knocked down a prisoner who picked up my ball. Idon't like you."
"You're a forward young lady, upon my word!" said Frere, with a greatlaugh. "Ha! ha! so I did, begad, I recollect now. What a memory you'vegot!"
"He's here now, isn't he, papa?" went on Sylvia, regardless ofinterruption. "Rufus Dawes is his name, and he's always in trouble. Poorfellow, I'm sorry for him. Danny says he's queer in his mind."
"And who's Danny?" asked Frere, with another laugh.
"The cook," replied Vickers. "An old man I took out of hospital. Sylvia,you talk too much with the prisoners. I have forbidden you once or twicebefore."
"But Danny is not a prisoner, papa--he's a cook," says Sylvia, nothingabashed, "and he's a clever man. He told me all about London, where theLord Mayor rides in a glass coach, and all the work is done by free men.He says you never hear chains there. I should like to see London, papa!"
"So would Mr. Danny, I have no doubt," said Frere.
"No--he didn't say that. But he wants to see his old mother, he says.Fancy Danny's mother! What an ugly old woman she must be! He says he'llsee her in Heaven. Will he, papa?"
"I hope so, my dear."
"Papa!"
"Yes."
"Will Danny wear his yellow jacket in Heaven, or go as a free man?"
Frere burst into a roar at this.
"You're an impertinent fellow, sir!" cried Sylvia, her bright eyesflashing. "How dare you laugh at me? If I was papa, I'd give you half anhour at the triangles. Oh, you impertinent man!" and, crimson with rage,the spoilt little beauty ran out of the room. Vickers looked grave, butFrere was constrained to get up to laugh at his ease.
"Good! 'Pon honour, that's good! The little vixen!--Half an hour at thetriangles! Ha-ha! ha, ha, ha!"
"She is a strange child," said Vickers, "and talks strangely for herage; but you mustn't mind her. She is neither girl nor woman, you see;and her education has been neglected. Moreover, this gloomy place andits associations--what can you expect from a child bred in a convictsettlement?"
"My dear sir," says the other, "she's delightful! Her innocence of theworld is amazing!"
"She must have three or four years at a good finishing school at Sydney.Please God, I will give them to her when we go back--or send her toEngland if I can. She is a good-hearted girl, but she wants polishingsadly, I'm afraid."
Just then someone came up the garden path and saluted.
"What is it, Troke?"
"Prisoner given himself up, sir."
"Which of them?"
"Gabbett. He came back to-night."
"Alone?" "Yes, sir. The rest have died--he says."
"What's that?" asked Frere, suddenly interested.
"The bolter I was telling you about--Gabbett, your old friend. He'sreturned."
"How long has he been out?"
"Nigh six weeks, sir," said the constable, touching his cap.
"Gad, he's had a narrow squeak for it, I'll be bound. I should like tosee him."
"He's down at the sheds," said the ready Troke--"a 'good conduct'burglar. You can see him at once, gentlemen, if you like."
"What do you say, Vickers?"
"Oh, by all means."
CHAPTER IV. THE BOLTER.
For the Term of His Natural Life Page 16