For the Term of His Natural Life

by Marcus Andrew Hislop Clarke

  The next morning Rufus Dawes was stirring by daylight. He first got hiscatgut wound upon a piece of stick, and then, having moved his frailfloats alongside the little rock that served as a pier, he took afishing line and a larger piece of stick, and proceeded to draw adiagram on the sand. This diagram when completed represented a rudeoutline of a punt, eight feet long and three broad. At certain distanceswere eight points--four on each side--into which small willow rods weredriven. He then awoke Frere and showed the diagram to him.

  "Get eight stakes of celery-top pine," he said. "You can burn them whereyou cannot cut them, and drive a stake into the place of each of thesewillow wands. When you have done that, collect as many willows as youcan get. I shall not be back until tonight. Now give me a hand with thefloats."

  Frere, coming to the pier, saw Dawes strip himself, and piling hisclothes upon the stuffed goat-skin, stretch himself upon the reedbundles, and, paddling with his hands, push off from the shore. Theclothes floated high and dry, but the reeds, depressed by the weightof the body, sank so that the head of the convict alone appeared abovewater. In this fashion he gained the middle of the current, and theout-going tide swept him down towards the mouth of the harbour.

  Frere, sulkily admiring, went back to prepare the breakfast--they wereon half rations now, Dawes having forbidden the slaughtered goat to beeaten, lest his expedition should prove unsuccessful--wondering at thechance which had thrown this convict in his way. "Parsons would call it'a special providence,'" he said to himself. "For if it hadn't been forhim, we should never have got thus far. If his 'boat' succeeds, we'reall right, I suppose. He's a clever dog. I wonder who he is." Histraining as a master of convicts made him think how dangerous such a manwould be on a convict station. It would be difficult to keep a fellowof such resources. "They'll have to look pretty sharp after him if theyever get him back," he thought. "I'll have a fine tale to tell of hisingenuity." The conversation of the previous day occurred to him. "Ipromised to ask for a free pardon. He wouldn't have it, though. Tooproud to accept it at my hands! Wait until we get back. I'll teach himhis place; for, after all, it is his own liberty that he is working foras well as mine--I mean ours." Then a thought came into his head thatwas in every way worthy of him. "Suppose we took the boat, and lefthim behind!" The notion seemed so ludicrously wicked that he laughedinvoluntarily.

  "What is it, Mr. Frere?"

  "Oh, it's you, Sylvia, is it? Ha, ha, ha! I was thinking ofsomething--something funny."

  "Indeed," said Sylvia, "I am glad of that. Where's Mr. Dawes?"

  Frere was displeased at the interest with which she asked the question.

  "You are always thinking of that fellow. It's Dawes, Dawes, Dawes allday long. He has gone."

  "Oh!" with a sorrowful accent. "Mamma wants to see him."

  "What about?" says Frere roughly. "Mamma is ill, Mr. Frere."

  "Dawes isn't a doctor. What's the matter with her?"

  "She is worse than she was yesterday. I don't know what is the matter."

  Frere, somewhat alarmed, strode over to the little cavern.

  The "lady of the Commandant" was in a strange plight. The cavern waslofty, but narrow. In shape it was three-cornered, having two sides opento the wind. The ingenuity of Rufus Dawes had closed these sides withwicker-work and clay, and a sort of door of interlaced brushwood hung atone of them. Frere pushed open this door and entered. The poor woman waslying on a bed of rushes strewn over young brushwood, and was moaningfeebly. From the first she had felt the privation to which she wassubjected most keenly, and the mental anxiety from which she sufferedincreased her physical debility. The exhaustion and lassitude towhich she had partially succumbed soon after Dawes's arrival, had nowcompletely overcome her, and she was unable to rise.

  "Cheer up, ma'am," said Maurice, with an assumption of heartiness. "Itwill be all right in a day or two."

  "Is it you? I sent for Mr. Dawes."

  "He is away just now. I am making a boat. Did not Sylvia tell you?"

  "She told me that he was making one."

  "Well, I--that is, we--are making it. He will be back again tonight. CanI do anything for you?"

  "No, thank you. I only wanted to know how he was getting on. I must gosoon--if I am to go. Thank you, Mr. Frere. I am much obliged to you.This is a--he-e--dreadful place to have visitors, isn't it?"

  "Never mind," said Frere, again, "you will be back in Hobart Town in afew days now. We are sure to get picked up by a ship. But you must cheerup. Have some tea or something."

  "No, thank you--I don't feel well enough to eat. I am tired."

  Sylvia began to cry.

  "Don't cry, dear. I shall be better by and by. Oh, I wish Mr. Dawes wasback."

  Maurice Frere went out indignant. This "Mr." Dawes was everybody, itseemed, and he was nobody. Let them wait a little. All that day, workinghard to carry out the convict's directions, he meditated a thousandplans by which he could turn the tables. He would accuse Dawesof violence. He would demand that he should be taken back as an"absconder". He would insist that the law should take its course, andthat the "death" which was the doom of all who were caught in the act ofescape from a penal settlement should be enforced. Yet if they got safeto land, the marvellous courage and ingenuity of the prisoner would tellstrongly in his favour. The woman and child would bear witness to histenderness and skill, and plead for him. As he had said, the convictdeserved a pardon. The mean, bad man, burning with wounded vanity andundefined jealousy, waited for some method to suggest itself, by whichhe might claim the credit of the escape, and snatch from the prisoner,who had dared to rival him, the last hope of freedom.

  Rufus Dawes, drifting with the current, had allowed himself to coastalong the eastern side of the harbour until the Pilot Station appearedin view on the opposite shore. By this time it was nearly seven o'clock.He landed at a sandy cove, and drawing up his raft, proceeded to unpackfrom among his garments a piece of damper. Having eaten sparingly, anddried himself in the sun, he replaced the remains of his breakfast,and pushed his floats again into the water. The Pilot Station lay somedistance below him, on the opposite shore. He had purposely madehis second start from a point which would give him this advantage ofposition; for had he attempted to paddle across at right angles, thestrength of the current would have swept him out to sea. Weak as he was,he several times nearly lost his hold on the reeds. The clumsy bundlepresenting too great a broadside to the stream, whirled round andround, and was once or twice nearly sucked under. At length, however,breathless and exhausted, he gained the opposite bank, half a mile belowthe point he had attempted to make, and carrying his floats out of reachof the tide, made off across the hill to the Pilot Station.

  Arrived there about midday, he set to work to lay his snares. Thegoats, with whose hides he hoped to cover the coracle, were sufficientlynumerous and tame to encourage him to use every exertion. He carefullyexamined the tracks of the animals, and found that they converged toone point--the track to the nearest water. With much labour he cut downbushes, so as to mask the approach to the waterhole on all sides savewhere these tracks immediately conjoined. Close to the water, and atunequal distances along the various tracks, he scattered the salt he hadobtained by his rude distillation of sea-water. Between this scatteredsalt and the points where he judged the animals would be likely toapproach, he set his traps, made after the following manner. He tookseveral pliant branches of young trees, and having stripped them ofleaves and twigs, dug with his knife and the end of the rude paddle hehad made for the voyage across the inlet, a succession of holes, about afoot deep. At the thicker end of these saplings he fastened, by a pieceof fishing line, a small cross-bar, which swung loosely, like the stickhandle which a schoolboy fastens to the string of his pegtop. Forcingthe ends of the saplings thus prepared into the holes, he filled in andstamped down the earth all around them. The saplings, thus anchored asit were by the cross-pieces of stick, not only stood firm, but resistedall his efforts to withdraw them. To the thin ends of these saplingshe b
ound tightly, into notches cut in the wood, and secured by amultiplicity of twisting, the catgut springes he had brought from thecamping ground. The saplings were then bent double, and the gutted endssecured in the ground by the same means as that employed to fix thebutts. This was the most difficult part of the business, for it wasnecessary to discover precisely the amount of pressure that would holdthe bent rod without allowing it to escape by reason of this elasticity,and which would yet "give" to a slight pull on the gut. After manyfailures, however, this happy medium was discovered; and Rufus Dawes,concealing his springes by means of twigs, smoothed the disturbed sandwith a branch and retired to watch the effect of his labours. About twohours after he had gone, the goats came to drink. There were five goatsand two kids, and they trotted calmly along the path to the water. Thewatcher soon saw that his precautions had been in a manner wasted. Theleading goat marched gravely into the springe, which, catching him roundhis neck, released the bent rod, and sprang him off his legs into theair. He uttered a comical bleat, and then hung kicking. Rufus Dawes,though the success of the scheme was a matter of life and death, burstout laughing at the antics of the beast. The other goats bounded off atthis sudden elevation of their leader, and three more were entrapped ata little distance. Rufus Dawes now thought it time to secure his prize,though three of the springes were as yet unsprung. He ran down to theold goat, knife in hand, but before he could reach him the barely-driedcatgut gave way, and the old fellow, shaking his head with grotesquedismay, made off at full speed. The others, however, were secured andkilled. The loss of the springe was not a serious one, for three trapsremained unsprung, and before sundown Rufus Dawes had caught four moregoats. Removing with care the catgut that had done such good service, hedragged the carcases to the shore, and proceeded to pack them upon hisfloats. He discovered, however, that the weight was too great, and thatthe water, entering through the loops of the stitching in the hide, hadso soaked the rush-grass as to render the floats no longer buoyant. Hewas compelled, therefore, to spend two hours in re-stuffing the skinwith such material as he could find. Some light and flock-like seaweed,which the action of the water had swathed after the fashion of haybandsalong the shore, formed an excellent substitute for grass, and,having bound his bundle of rushes lengthwise, with the goat-skin as acentre-piece, he succeeded in forming a sort of rude canoe, upon whichthe carcases floated securely.

  He had eaten nothing since the morning, and the violence of hisexertions had exhausted him. Still, sustained by the excitement of thetask he had set himself, he dismissed with fierce impatience the thoughtof rest, and dragged his weary limbs along the sand, endeavouring tokill fatigue by further exertion. The tide was now running in, and heknew it was imperative that he should regain the further shore while thecurrent was in his favour. To cross from the Pilot Station at low waterwas impossible. If he waited until the ebb, he must spend another dayon the shore, and he could not afford to lose an hour. Cutting a longsapling, he fastened to one end of it the floating bundle, and thusguided it to a spot where the beach shelved abruptly into deep water.It was a clear night, and the risen moon large and low, flung a ripplingstreak of silver across the sea. On the other side of the bay allwas bathed in a violet haze, which veiled the inlet from which he hadstarted in the morning. The fire of the exiles, hidden behind a pointof rock, cast a red glow into the air. The ocean breakers rolled in uponthe cliffs outside the bar, with a hoarse and threatening murmur; andthe rising tide rippled and lapped with treacherous melody along thesand. He touched the chill water and drew back. For an instant hedetermined to wait until the beams of morning should illumine thatbeautiful but treacherous sea, and then the thought of the helplesschild, who was, without doubt, waiting and watching for him on theshore, gave new strength to his wearied frame; and fixing his eyes onthe glow that, hovering above the dark tree-line, marked her presence,he pushed the raft before him out into the sea. The reeds sustainedhim bravely, but the strength of the current sucked him underneath thewater, and for several seconds he feared that he should be compelledto let go his hold. But his muscles, steeled in the slow fireof convict-labour, withstood this last strain upon them, and,half-suffocated, with bursting chest and paralysed fingers, he preservedhis position, until the mass, getting out of the eddies along theshore-line, drifted steadily down the silvery track that led to thesettlement. After a few moments' rest, he set his teeth, and urged hisstrange canoe towards the shore. Paddling and pushing, he graduallyedged it towards the fire-light; and at last, just when his stiffenedlimbs refused to obey the impulse of his will, and he began to driftonwards with the onward tide, he felt his feet strike firm ground.Opening his eyes--closed in the desperation of his last efforts--hefound himself safe under the lee of the rugged promontory which hidthe fire. It seemed that the waves, tired of persecuting him, had, withdisdainful pity, cast him ashore at the goal of his hopes. Looking back,he for the first time realized the frightful peril he had escaped, andshuddered. To this shudder succeeded a thrill of triumph. "Why had hestayed so long, when escape was so easy?" Dragging the carcases abovehigh-water mark, he rounded the little promontory and made for the fire.The recollection of the night when he had first approached it came uponhim, and increased his exultation. How different a man was he now fromthen! Passing up the sand, he saw the stakes which he had directed Frereto cut whiten in the moonshine. His officer worked for him! In his ownbrain alone lay the secret of escape! He--Rufus Dawes--the scarred,degraded "prisoner", could alone get these three beings back tocivilization. Did he refuse to aid them, they would for ever remain inthat prison, where he had so long suffered. The tables were turned--hehad become a gaoler! He had gained the fire before the solitary watcherthere heard his footsteps, and spread his hands to the blaze in silence.He felt as Frere would have felt, had their positions been reversed,disdainful of the man who had stopped at home.

  Frere, starting, cried, "It is you! Have you succeeded?"

  Rufus Dawes nodded.

  "What! Did you catch them?"

  "There are four carcases down by the rocks. You can have meat forbreakfast to-morrow!"

  The child, at the sound of the voice, came running down from the hut."Oh, Mr. Dawes! I am so glad! We were beginning to despair--mamma andI."

  Dawes snatched her from the ground, and bursting into a joyous laugh,swung her into the air. "Tell me," he cried, holding up the child withtwo dripping arms above him, "what you will do for me if I bring you andmamma safe home again?"

  "Give you a free pardon," says Sylvia, "and papa shall make you hisservant!" Frere burst out laughing at this reply, and Dawes, with achoking sensation in his throat, put the child upon the ground andwalked away.

  This was in truth all he could hope for. All his scheming, all hiscourage, all his peril, would but result in the patronage of a great manlike Major Vickers. His heart, big with love, with self-denial, and withhopes of a fair future, would have this flattering unction laid to it.He had performed a prodigy of skill and daring, and for his reward hewas to be made a servant to the creatures he had protected. Yet whatmore could a convict expect? Sylvia saw how deeply her unconscious handhad driven the iron, and ran up to the man she had wounded. "And, Mr.Dawes, remember that I shall love you always." The convict, however, hismomentary excitement over, motioned her away; and she saw him stretchhimself wearily under the shadow of a rock.

  CHAPTER XV. THE CORACLE.