For the Term of His Natural Life

by Marcus Andrew Hislop Clarke

  There is no need to dwell upon the mental agonies of that miserablenight. Perhaps, of all the five, the one least qualified to endureit realized the prospect of suffering most acutely. Mrs.Vickers--lay-figure and noodle as she was--had the keen instinct ofapproaching danger, which is in her sex a sixth sense. She was a womanand a mother, and owned a double capacity for suffering. Her feminineimagination pictured all the horrors of death by famine, and havingrealized her own torments, her maternal love forced her to live themover again in the person of her child. Rejecting Bates's offer of apea-jacket and Frere's vague tenders of assistance, the poor womanwithdrew behind a rock that faced the sea, and, with her daughter in herarms, resigned herself to her torturing thoughts. Sylvia, recoveredfrom her terror, was almost content, and, curled in her mother's shawl,slept. To her little soul this midnight mystery of boats and muskets hadall the flavour of a romance. With Bates, Frere, and her mother so closeto her, it was impossible to be afraid; besides, it was obvious thatpapa--the Supreme Being of the settlement--must at once return andseverely punish the impertinent prisoners who had dared to insult hiswife and child, and as Sylvia dropped off to sleep, she caught herself,with some indignation, pitying the mutineers for the tremendous scrapethey had got themselves into. How they would be flogged when papa cameback! In the meantime this sleeping in the open air was novel and ratherpleasant.

  Honest Bates produced a piece of biscuit, and, with all the generosityof his nature, suggested that this should be set aside for the sole useof the two females, but Mrs. Vickers would not hear of it. "We must allshare alike," said she, with something of the spirit that she knew herhusband would have displayed under like circumstance; and Frerewondered at her apparent strength of mind. Had he been gifted with moreacuteness, he would not have wondered; for when a crisis comes to oneof two persons who have lived much together, the influence of the noblerspirit makes itself felt. Frere had a tinder-box in his pocket, and hemade a fire with some dry leaves and sticks. Grimes fell asleep, and thetwo men sitting at their fire discussed the chances of escape. Neitherliked to openly broach the supposition that they had been finallydeserted. It was concluded between them that unless the brig sailed inthe night--and the now risen moon showed her yet lying at anchor--theconvicts would return and bring them food. This supposition provedcorrect, for about an hour after daylight they saw the whale-boatpulling towards them.

  A discussion had arisen amongst the mutineers as to the propriety of atonce making sail, but Barker, who had been one of the pilot-boat crew,and knew the dangers of the Bar, vowed that he would not undertake tosteer the brig through the Gates until morning; and so the boats beingsecured astern, a strict watch was set, lest the helpless Bates shouldattempt to rescue the vessel. During the evening--the excitementattendant upon the outbreak having passed away, and the magnitude of thetask before them being more fully apparent to their minds--a feeling ofpity for the unfortunate party on the mainland took possession of them.It was quite possible that the Osprey might be recaptured, in which casefive useless murders would have been committed; and however callousin bloodshed were the majority of the ten, not one among them couldcontemplate in cold blood, without a twinge of remorse, the death of theharmless child of the Commandant.

  John Rex, seeing how matters were going, made haste to take to himselfthe credit of mercy. He ruled, and had always ruled, his ruffians notso much by suggesting to them the course they should take, as by leadingthem on the way they had already chosen for themselves. "I propose,"said he, "that we divide the provisions. There are five of them andtwelve of us. Then nobody can blame us."

  "Ay," said Porter, mindful of a similar exploit, "and if we're taken,they can tell what we have done. Don't let our affair be like that ofthe Cypress, to leave them to starve." "Ay, ay," says Barker, "you'reright! When Fergusson was topped at Hobart Town, I heard old Troke saythat if he'd not refused to set the tucker ashore, he might ha' got offwith a whole skin."

  Thus urged, by self-interest, as well as sentiment, to mercy, theprovision was got upon deck by daylight, and a division was made. Thesoldiers, with generosity born of remorse, were for giving half to themarooned men, but Barker exclaimed against this. "When the schoonerfinds they don't get to headquarters, she's bound to come back and lookfor 'em," said he; "and we'll want all the tucker we can get, maybe,afore we sights land."

  This reasoning was admitted and acted upon. There was in theharness-cask about fifty pounds of salt meat, and a third of thisquantity, together with half a small sack of flour, some tea and sugarmixed together in a bag, and an iron kettle and pannikin, was placedin the whale-boat. Rex, fearful of excesses among his crew, had alsolowered down one of the two small puncheons of rum which the store-roomcontained. Cheshire disputed this, and stumbling over a goat that hadbeen taken on board from Philip's Island, caught the creature by theleg, and threw it into the sea, bidding Rex take that with him also. Rexdragged the poor beast into the boat, and with this miscellaneouscargo pushed off to the shore. The poor goat, shivering, began to bleatpiteously, and the men laughed. To a stranger it would have appearedthat the boat contained a happy party of fishermen, or coast settlers,returning with the proceeds of a day's marketing.

  Laying off as the water shallowed, Rex called to Bates to come for thecargo, and three men with muskets standing up as before, ready to resistany attempt at capture, the provisions, goat and all, were carriedashore. "There!" says Rex, "you can't say we've used you badly, forwe've divided the provisions." The sight of this almost unexpectedsuccour revived the courage of the five, and they felt grateful. Afterthe horrible anxiety they had endured all that night, they were preparedto look with kindly eyes upon the men who had come to their assistance.

  "Men," said Bates, with something like a sob in his voice, "I didn'texpect this. You are good fellows, for there ain't much tucker aboard, Iknow."

  "Yes," affirmed Frere, "you're good fellows."

  Rex burst into a savage laugh. "Shut your mouth, you tyrant," said he,forgetting his dandyism in the recollection of his former suffering. "Itain't for your benefit. You may thank the lady and the child for it."

  Julia Vickers hastened to propitiate the arbiter of her daughter'sfate. "We are obliged to you," she said, with a touch of quiet dignityresembling her husband's; "and if I ever get back safely, I will takecare that your kindness shall be known."

  The swindler and forger took off his leather cap with quite an air. Itwas five years since a lady had spoken to him, and the old time when hewas Mr. Lionel Crofton, a "gentleman sportsman", came back again foran instant. At that moment, with liberty in his hand, and fortune allbefore him, he felt his self-respect return, and he looked the lady inthe face without flinching.

  "I sincerely trust, madam," said he, "that you will get back safely. MayI hope for your good wishes for myself and my companions?"

  Listening, Bates burst into a roar of astonished enthusiasm. "What adog it is!" he cried. "John Rex, John Rex, you were never made to be aconvict, man!"

  Rex smiled. "Good-bye, Mr. Bates, and God preserve you!"

  "Good-bye," says Bates, rubbing his hat off his face, "and I--I--damme,I hope you'll get safe off--there! for liberty's sweet to every man."

  "Good-bye, prisoners!" says Sylvia, waving her handkerchief; "and I hopethey won't catch you, too."

  So, with cheers and waving of handkerchiefs, the boat departed.

  In the emotion which the apparently disinterested conduct of John Rexhad occasioned the exiles, all earnest thought of their own positionhad vanished, and, strange to say, the prevailing feeling was that ofanxiety for the ultimate fate of the mutineers. But as the boat grewsmaller and smaller in the distance, so did their consciousness of theirown situation grow more and more distinct; and when at last the boat haddisappeared in the shadow of the brig, all started, as if from a dream,to the wakeful contemplation of their own case.

  A council of war was held, with Mr. Frere at the head of it, and thepossessions of the little party were thrown into common stock. Th
e saltmeat, flour, and tea were placed in a hollow rock at some distance fromthe beach, and Mr. Bates was appointed purser, to apportion to each,without fear or favour, his stated allowance. The goat was tethered witha piece of fishing line sufficiently long to allow her to browse. Thecask of rum, by special agreement, was placed in the innermost recessof the rock, and it was resolved that its contents should not be touchedexcept in case of sickness, or in last extremity. There was no lack ofwater, for a spring ran bubbling from the rocks within a hundred yardsof the spot where the party had landed. They calculated that, withprudence, their provisions would last them for nearly four weeks.

  It was found, upon a review of their possessions, that they had amongthem three pocket knives, a ball of string, two pipes, matches and a figof tobacco, fishing lines with hooks, and a big jack-knife which Frerehad taken to gut the fish he had expected to catch. But they saw withdismay that there was nothing which could be used axe-wise among theparty. Mrs. Vickers had her shawl, and Bates a pea-jacket, but Frereand Grimes were without extra clothing. It was agreed that each shouldretain his own property, with the exception of the fishing lines, whichwere confiscated to the commonwealth.

  Having made these arrangements, the kettle, filled with water from thespring, was slung from three green sticks over the fire, and a pannikinof weak tea, together with a biscuit, served out to each of the party,save Grimes, who declared himself unable to eat. Breakfast over, Batesmade a damper, which was cooked in the ashes, and then another councilwas held as to future habitation.

  It was clearly evident that they could not sleep in the open air. It wasthe middle of summer, and though no annoyance from rain was apprehended,the heat in the middle of the day was most oppressive. Moreover, it wasabsolutely necessary that Mrs. Vickers and the child should have someplace to themselves. At a little distance from the beach was a sandyrise, that led up to the face of the cliff, and on the eastern side ofthis rise grew a forest of young trees. Frere proposed to cut downthese trees, and make a sort of hut with them. It was soon discovered,however, that the pocket knives were insufficient for this purpose, butby dint of notching the young saplings and then breaking them down, theysucceeded, in a couple of hours, in collecting wood enough to roofover a space between the hollow rock which contained the provisions andanother rock, in shape like a hammer, which jutted out within fiveyards of it. Mrs. Vickers and Sylvia were to have this hut as asleeping-place, and Frere and Bates, lying at the mouth of the larder,would at once act as a guard to it and them. Grimes was to make forhimself another hut where the fire had been lighted on the previousnight.

  When they got back to dinner, inspirited by this resolution, they foundpoor Mrs. Vickers in great alarm. Grimes, who, by reason of the dintin his skull, had been left behind, was walking about the sea-beach,talking mysteriously, and shaking his fist at an imaginary foe. On goingup to him, they discovered that the blow had affected his brain, for hewas delirious. Frere endeavoured to soothe him, without effect; and atlast, by Bates's advice, the poor fellow was rolled in the sea. The coldbath quelled his violence, and, being laid beneath the shade of a rockhard by, he fell into a condition of great muscular exhaustion, andslept.

  The damper was then portioned out by Bates, and, together with a smallpiece of meat, it formed the dinner of the party. Mrs. Vickers reportedthat she had observed a great commotion on board the brig, and thoughtthat the prisoners must be throwing overboard such portions of the cargoas were not absolutely necessary to them, in order to lighten her. Thisnotion Bates declared to be correct, and further pointed out that themutineers had got out a kedge-anchor, and by hauling on the kedge-line,were gradually warping the brig down the harbour. Before dinner wasover a light breeze sprang up, and the Osprey, running up the union-jackreversed, fired a musket, either in farewell or triumph, and, spreadingher sails, disappeared round the western horn of the harbour.

  Mrs. Vickers, taking Sylvia with her, went away a few paces, and leaningagainst the rugged wall of her future home, wept bitterly. Bates andFrere affected cheerfulness, but each felt that he had hitherto regardedthe presence of the brig as a sort of safeguard, and had never fullyrealized his own loneliness until now.

  The necessity for work, however, admitted of no indulgence of vainsorrow, and Bates setting the example, the pair worked so hard that bynightfall they had torn down and dragged together sufficient brushwoodto complete Mrs. Vickers's hut. During the progress of this work theywere often interrupted by Grimes, who persisted in vague rushes at them,exclaiming loudly against their supposed treachery in leaving him at themercy of the mutineers. Bates also complained of the pain caused by thewound in his forehead, and that he was afflicted with a giddiness whichhe knew not how to avert. By dint of frequently bathing his head at thespring, however, he succeeded in keeping on his legs, until the work ofdragging together the boughs was completed, when he threw himself on theground, and declared that he could rise no more.

  Frere applied to him the remedy that had been so successfully tried uponGrimes, but the salt water inflamed his wound and rendered his conditionworse. Mrs. Vickers recommended that a little spirit and water shouldbe used to wash the cut, and the cask was got out and broached for thatpurpose. Tea and damper formed their evening meal; and by the light ofa blazing fire, their condition looked less desperate. Mrs. Vickershad set the pannikin on a flat stone, and dispensed the tea with anaffectation of dignity which would have been absurd had it not beenheart-rending. She had smoothed her hair and pinned the white shawlabout her coquettishly; she even ventured to lament to Mr. Frere thatshe had not brought more clothes. Sylvia was in high spirits, andscorned to confess hunger. When the tea had been drunk, she fetchedwater from the spring in the kettle, and bathed Bates's head with it. Itwas resolved that, on the morrow, a search should be made for some placefrom which to cast the fishing line, and that one of the number shouldfish daily.

  The condition of the unfortunate Grimes now gave cause for the greatestuneasiness. From maundering foolishly he had taken to absolute violence,and had to be watched by Frere. After much muttering and groaning, thepoor fellow at last dropped off to sleep, and Frere, having assistedBates to his sleeping-place in front of the rock, and laid him down ona heap of green brushwood, prepared to snatch a few hours' slumber.Wearied by excitement and the labours of the day, he slept heavily, but,towards morning, was awakened by a strange noise.

  Grimes, whose delirium had apparently increased, had succeeded inforcing his way through the rude fence of brushwood, and had thrownhimself upon Bates with the ferocity of insanity. Growling to himself,he had seized the unfortunate pilot by the throat, and the pair werestruggling together. Bates, weakened by the sickness that had followedupon his wound in the head, was quite unable to cope with his desperateassailant, but calling feebly upon Frere for help, had made shift to layhold upon the jack-knife of which we have before spoken. Frere, startingto his feet, rushed to the assistance of the pilot, but was too late.Grimes, enraged by the sight of the knife, tore it from Bates'sgrasp, and before Frere could catch his arm, plunged it twice into theunfortunate man's breast.

  "I'm a dead man!" cried Bates faintly.

  The sight of the blood, together with the exclamation of his victim,recalled Grimes to consciousness. He looked in bewilderment at thebloody weapon, and then, flinging it from him, rushed away towards thesea, into which he plunged headlong.

  Frere, aghast at this sudden and terrible tragedy, gazed after him, andsaw from out the placid water, sparkling in the bright beams of morning,a pair of arms, with outstretched hands, emerge; a black spot, that wasa head, uprose between these stiffening arms, and then, with a horriblecry, the whole disappeared, and the bright water sparkled as placidly asbefore. The eyes of the terrified Frere, travelling back to the woundedman, saw, midway between this sparkling water and the knife that lay onthe sand, an object that went far to explain the maniac's sudden burstof fury. The rum cask lay upon its side by the remnants of last night'sfire, and close to it was a clout, with which the head of t
he woundedman had been bound. It was evident that the poor creature, wanderingin his delirium, had come across the rum cask, drunk a quantity of itscontents, and been maddened by the fiery spirit.

  Frere hurried to the side of Bates, and lifting him up, strove tostaunch the blood that flowed from his chest. It would seem that he hadbeen resting himself on his left elbow, and that Grimes, snatching theknife from his right hand, had stabbed him twice in the right breast.He was pale and senseless, and Frere feared that the wound was mortal.Tearing off his neck-handkerchief, he endeavoured to bandage the wound,but found that the strip of silk was insufficient for the purpose. Thenoise had roused Mrs. Vickers, who, stifling her terror, made haste totear off a portion of her dress, and with this a bandage of sufficientwidth was made. Frere went to the cask to see if, haply, he could obtainfrom it a little spirit with which to moisten the lips of the dying man,but it was empty. Grimes, after drinking his fill, had overturnedthe unheaded puncheon, and the greedy sand had absorbed every drop ofliquor. Sylvia brought some water from the spring, and Mrs. Vickersbathing Bates's head with this, he revived a little. By-and-by Mrs.Vickers milked the goat--she had never done such a thing before in allher life--and the milk being given to Bates in a pannikin, he drank iteagerly, but vomited it almost instantly. It was evident that he wassinking from some internal injury.

  None of the party had much appetite for breakfast, but Frere, whosesensibilities were less acute than those of the others, ate a piece ofsalt meat and damper. It struck him, with a curious feeling of pleasantselfishness, that now Grimes had gone, the allowance of provisions wouldbe increased, and that if Bates went also, it would be increased stillfurther. He did not give utterance to his thoughts, however, but satwith the wounded man's head on his knees, and brushed the settling fliesfrom his face. He hoped, after all, that the pilot would not die, forhe should then be left alone to look after the women. Perhaps some suchthought was agitating Mrs. Vickers also. As for Sylvia, she made nosecret of her anxiety.

  "Don't die, Mr. Bates--oh, don't die!" she said, standing piteouslynear, but afraid to touch him. "Don't leave mamma and me alone in thisdreadful place!"

  Poor Bates, of course, said nothing, but Frere frowned heavily, and Mrs.Vickers said reprovingly, "Sylvia!" just as if they had been in the oldhouse on distant Sarah Island.

  In the afternoon Frere went away to drag together some wood for thefire, and when he returned he found the pilot near his end. Mrs. Vickerssaid that for an hour he had lain without motion, and almost withoutbreath. The major's wife had seen more than one death-bed, and was calmenough; but poor little Sylvia, sitting on a stone hard by, shook withterror. She had a dim notion that death must be accompanied by violence.As the sun sank, Bates rallied; but the two watchers knew that it wasbut the final flicker of the expiring candle. "He's going!" saidFrere at length, under his breath, as though fearful of awaking hishalf-slumbering soul. Mrs. Vickers, her eyes streaming with silenttears, lifted the honest head, and moistened the parched lips with hersoaked handkerchief. A tremor shook the once stalwart limbs, and thedying man opened his eyes. For an instant he seemed bewildered, andthen, looking from one to the other, intelligence returned to hisglance, and it was evident that he remembered all. His gaze rested uponthe pale face of the affrighted Sylvia, and then turned to Frere. Therecould be no mistaking the mute appeal of those eloquent eyes.

  "Yes, I'll take care of her," said Frere.

  Bates smiled, and then, observing that the blood from his wound hadstained the white shawl of Mrs. Vickers, he made an effort to move hishead. It was not fitting that a lady's shawl should be stained with theblood of a poor fellow like himself. The fashionable fribble, with quickinstinct, understood the gesture, and gently drew the head back upon herbosom. In the presence of death the woman was womanly. For a moment allwas silent, and they thought he had gone; but all at once he opened hiseyes and looked round for the sea.

  "Turn my face to it once more," he whispered; and as they raised him,he inclined his ear to listen. "It's calm enough here, God bless it," hesaid; "but I can hear the waves a-breaking hard upon the Bar!"

  And so his head dropped, and he died.

  As Frere relieved Mrs. Vickers from the weight of the corpse, Sylvia ranto her mother. "Oh, mamma, mamma," she cried, "why did God let him diewhen we wanted him so much?"

  Before it grew dark, Frere made shift to carry the body to the shelterof some rocks at a little distance, and spreading the jacket over theface, he piled stones upon it to keep it steady. The march of events hadbeen so rapid that he scarcely realized that since the previous eveningtwo of the five human creatures left in this wilderness had escapedfrom it. As he did realize it, he began to wonder whose turn it would benext.

  Mrs. Vickers, worn out by the fatigue and excitement of the day, retiredto rest early; and Sylvia, refusing to speak to Frere, followed hermother. This manifestation of unaccountable dislike on the part of thechild hurt Maurice more than he cared to own. He felt angry with her fornot loving him, and yet he took no pains to conciliate her. It was witha curious pleasure that he remembered how she must soon look up to himas her chief protector. Had Sylvia been just a few years older, theyoung man would have thought himself in love with her.

  The following day passed gloomily. It was hot and sultry, and a dullhaze hung over the mountains. Frere spent the morning in scooping agrave in the sand, in which to inter poor Bates. Practically awake tohis own necessities, he removed such portions of clothing from the bodyas would be useful to him, but hid them under a stone, not liking to letMrs. Vickers see what he had done. Having completed the grave by midday,he placed the corpse therein, and rolled as many stones as possible tothe sides of the mound. In the afternoon he cast the fishing line fromthe point of a rock he had marked the day before, but caught nothing.Passing by the grave, on his return, he noticed that Mrs. Vickers hadplaced at the head of it a rude cross, formed by tying two pieces ofstick together.

  After supper--the usual salt meat and damper--he lit an economical pipe,and tried to talk to Sylvia. "Why won't you be friends with me, missy?"he asked.

  "I don't like you," said Sylvia. "You frighten me."

  "Why?"

  "You are not kind. I don't mean that you do cruel things; but youare--oh, I wish papa was here!" "Wishing won't bring him!" says Frere,pressing his hoarded tobacco together with prudent forefinger.

  "There! That's what I mean! Is that kind? 'Wishing won't bring him!' Oh,if it only would!"

  "I didn't mean it unkindly," says Frere. "What a strange child you are."

  "There are persons," says Sylvia, "who have no Affinity for each other.I read about it in a book papa had, and I suppose that's what it is. Ihave no Affinity for you. I can't help it, can I?"

  "Rubbish!" Frere returned. "Come here, and I'll tell you a story."

  Mrs. Vickers had gone back to her cave, and the two were alone by thefire, near which stood the kettle and the newly-made damper. The child,with some show of hesitation, came to him, and he caught and placed heron his knee. The moon had not yet risen, and the shadows cast by theflickering fire seemed weird and monstrous. The wicked wish to frightenthis helpless creature came to Maurice Frere.

  "There was once," said he, "a Castle in an old wood, and in this Castlethere lived an Ogre, with great goggle eyes."

  "You silly man!" said Sylvia, struggling to be free. "You are trying tofrighten me!"

  "And this Ogre lived on the bones of little girls. One day a little girlwas travelling the wood, and she heard the Ogre coming. 'Haw! haw! Haw!haw!'"

  "Mr. Frere, let me down!"

  "She was terribly frightened, and she ran, and ran, and ran, until allof a sudden she saw--"

  A piercing scream burst from his companion. "Oh! oh! What's that?" shecried, and clung to her persecutor.

  Beyond the fire stood the figure of a man. He staggered forward, andthen, falling on his knees, stretched out his hands, and hoarselyarticulated one word--"Food." It was Rufus Dawes.

  The sound of a huma
n voice broke the spell of terror that was on thechild, and as the glow from the fire fell upon the tattered yellowgarments, she guessed at once the whole story. Not so Maurice Frere. Hesaw before him a new danger, a new mouth to share the scanty provision,and snatching a brand from the fire he kept the convict at bay. ButRufus Dawes, glaring round with wolfish eyes, caught sight of the damperresting against the iron kettle, and made a clutch at it. Frere dashedthe brand in his face. "Stand back!" he cried. "We have no food tospare!"

  The convict uttered a savage cry, and raising the iron gad, plungedforward desperately to attack this new enemy; but, quick as thought, thechild glided past Frere, and, snatching the loaf, placed it in the handsof the starving man, with "Here, poor prisoner, eat!" and then, turningto Frere, she cast upon him a glance so full of horror, indignation, andsurprise, that the man blushed and threw down the brand.

  As for Rufus Dawes, the sudden apparition of this golden-haired girlseemed to have transformed him. Allowing the loaf to slip through hisfingers, he gazed with haggard eyes at the retreating figure of thechild, and as it vanished into the darkness outside the circle offirelight, the unhappy man sank his face upon his blackened, hornyhands, and burst into tears.

  CHAPTER XII. "MR." DAWES.