Rex told Mr. Meekin, who, the next day, did him the honour to visithim, that, "under Providence, he owed his escape from death to the kindmanner in which Captain Frere had spoken of him."
"I hope your escape will be a warning to you, my man," said Mr. Meekin,"and that you will endeavour to make the rest of your life, thus sparedby the mercy of Providence, an atonement for your early errors."
"Indeed I will, sir," said John Rex, who had taken Mr. Meekin's measurevery accurately, "and it is very kind of you to condescend to speak soto a wretch like me."
"Not at all," said Meekin, with affability; "it is my duty. I am aMinister of the Gospel."
"Ah! sir, I wish I had attended to the Gospel's teachings when I wasyounger. I might have been saved from all this."
"You might, indeed, poor man; but the Divine Mercy is infinite--quiteinfinite, and will be extended to all of us--to you as well as to me."(This with the air of saying, "What do you think of that!") "Rememberthe penitent thief, Rex--the penitent thief."
"Indeed I do, sir."
"And read your Bible, Rex, and pray for strength to bear yourpunishment."
"I will, Mr. Meekin. I need it sorely, sir--physical as well asspiritual strength, sir--for the Government allowance is sadlyinsufficient."
"I will speak to the authorities about a change in your dietary scale,"returned Meekin, patronizingly. "In the meantime, just collect togetherin your mind those particulars of your adventures of which you spoke,and have them ready for me when next I call. Such a remarkable historyought not to be lost."
"Thank you kindly, sir. I will, sir. Ah! I little thought when Ioccupied the position of a gentleman, Mr. Meekin"--the cunning scoundrelhad been piously grandiloquent concerning his past career--"that Ishould be reduced to this. But it is only just, sir."
"The mysterious workings of Providence are always just, Rex," returnedMeekin, who preferred to speak of the Almighty with well-bred vagueness.
"I am glad to see you so conscious of your errors. Good morning."
"Good morning, and Heaven bless you, sir," said Rex, with his tongue inhis cheek for the benefit of his yard mates; and so Mr. Meekin trippedgracefully away, convinced that he was labouring most successfully inthe Vineyard, and that the convict Rex was really a superior person.
"I will send his narrative to the Bishop," said he to himself. "It willamuse him. There must be many strange histories here, if one could butfind them out."
As the thought passed through his brain, his eye fell upon the"notorious Dawes", who, while waiting for the schooner to take him backto Port Arthur, had been permitted to amuse himself by breaking stones.The prison-shed which Mr. Meekin was visiting was long and low, roofedwith iron, and terminating at each end in the stone wall of the gaol. Atone side rose the cells, at the other the outer wall of the prison. Fromthe outer wall projected a weatherboard under-roof, and beneath thiswere seated forty heavily-ironed convicts. Two constables, with loadedcarbines, walked up and down the clear space in the middle, and anotherwatched from a sort of sentry-box built against the main wall. Everyhalf-hour a third constable went down the line and examined the irons.The admirable system of solitary confinement--which in average casesproduces insanity in the space of twelve months--was as yet unknown inHobart Town, and the forty heavily-ironed men had the pleasure of seeingeach other's faces every day for six hours.
The other inmates of the prison were at work on the roads, or otherwisebestowed in the day time, but the forty were judged too desperate to belet loose. They sat, three feet apart, in two long lines, each man witha heap of stones between his outstretched legs, and cracked the pebblesin leisurely fashion. The double row of dismal woodpeckers tapping atthis terribly hollow beech-tree of penal discipline had a semi-ludicrousappearance. It seemed so painfully absurd that forty muscular men shouldbe ironed and guarded for no better purpose than the cracking of acartload of quartz-pebbles. In the meantime the air was heavy with angryglances shot from one to the other, and the passage of the parsonwas hailed by a grumbling undertone of blasphemy. It was consideredfashionable to grunt when the hammer came in contact with the stone, andunder cover of this mock exclamation of fatigue, it was convenientto launch an oath. A fanciful visitor, seeing the irregularly risinghammers along the line, might have likened the shed to the interior ofsome vast piano, whose notes an unseen hand was erratically fingering.Rufus Dawes was seated last on the line--his back to the cells, his faceto the gaol wall. This was the place nearest the watching constable,and was allotted on that account to the most ill-favoured. Some of hiscompanions envied him that melancholy distinction.
"Well, Dawes," says Mr. Meekin, measuring with his eye the distancebetween the prisoner and himself, as one might measure the chain of someferocious dog. "How are you this morning, Dawes?"
Dawes, scowling in a parenthesis between the cracking of two stones, wasunderstood to say that he was very well.
"I am afraid, Dawes," said Mr. Meekin reproachfully, "that you have doneyourself no good by your outburst in court on Monday. I understand thatpublic opinion is quite incensed against you."
Dawes, slowly arranging one large fragment of bluestone in a comfortablebasin of smaller fragments, made no reply.
"I am afraid you lack patience, Dawes. You do not repent of youroffences against the law, I fear."
The only answer vouchsafed by the ironed man--if answer it could becalled--was a savage blow, which split the stone into sudden fragments,and made the clergyman skip a step backward.
"You are a hardened ruffian, sir! Do you not hear me speak to you?"
"I hear you," said Dawes, picking up another stone.
"Then listen respectfully, sir," said Meekin, roseate with celestialanger. "You have all day to break those stones."
"Yes, I have all day," returned Rufus Dawes, with a dogged lookupward, "and all next day, for that matter. Ugh!" and again the hammerdescended.
"I came to console you, man--to console you," says Meekin, indignant atthe contempt with which his well-meant overtures had been received. "Iwanted to give you some good advice!"
The self-important annoyance of the tone seemed to appeal to whatevervestige of appreciation for the humorous, chains and degradation hadsuffered to linger in the convict's brain, for a faint smile crossed hisfeatures.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "Pray, go on."
"I was going to say, my good fellow, that you have done yourself a greatdeal of injury by your ill-advised accusation of Captain Frere, and theuse you made of Miss Vickers's name."
A frown, as of pain, contracted the prisoner's brows, and he seemedwith difficulty to put a restraint upon his speech. "Is there to beno inquiry, Mr. Meekin?" he asked, at length. "What I stated was thetruth--the truth, so help me God!"
"No blasphemy, sir," said Meekin, solemnly. "No blasphemy, wretched man.Do not add to the sin of lying the greater sin of taking the name of theLord thy God in vain. He will not hold him guiltless, Dawes. He will nothold him guiltless, remember. No, there is to be no inquiry."
"Are they not going to ask her for her story?" asked Dawes, with apitiful change of manner. "They told me that she was to be asked. Surelythey will ask her."
"I am not, perhaps, at liberty," said Meekin, placidly unconscious ofthe agony of despair and rage that made the voice of the strong manbefore him quiver, "to state the intentions of the authorities, but Ican tell you that Miss Vickers will not be asked anything about you. Youare to go back to Port Arthur on the 24th, and to remain there."
A groan burst from Rufus Dawes; a groan so full of torture that even thecomfortable Meekin was thrilled by it.
"It is the Law, you know, my good man. I can't help it," he said. "Youshouldn't break the Law, you know."
"Curse the Law!" cries Dawes. "It's a Bloody Law; it's--there, I begyour pardon," and he fell to cracking his stones again, with a laughthat was more terrible in its bitter hopelessness of winning attentionor sympathy, than any outburst of passion could have been.
"Come," sa
ys Meekin, feeling uneasily constrained to bring forth some ofhis London-learnt platitudes. "You can't complain. You have broken theLaw, and you must suffer. Civilized Society says you sha'n't do certainthings, and if you do them you must suffer the penalty CivilizedSociety imposes. You are not wanting in intelligence, Dawes, more's thepity--and you can't deny the justice of that."
Rufus Dawes, as if disdaining to answer in words, cast his eyes roundthe yard with a glance that seemed to ask grimly if Civilized Societywas progressing quite in accordance with justice, when its civilizationcreated such places as that stone-walled, carbine-guarded prison-shed,and filled it with such creatures as those forty human beasts, doomed tospend the best years of their manhood cracking pebbles in it.
"You don't deny that?" asked the smug parson, "do you, Dawes?"
"It's not my place to argue with you, sir," said Dawes, in a tone ofindifference, born of lengthened suffering, so nicely balanced betweencontempt and respect, that the inexperienced Meekin could not tellwhether he had made a convert or subjected himself to an impertinence;"but I'm a prisoner for life, and don't look at it in the same way thatyou do."
This view of the question did not seem to have occurred to Mr. Meekin,for his mild cheek flushed. Certainly, the fact of being a prisoner forlife did make some difference. The sound of the noonday bell, however,warned him to cease argument, and to take his consolations out of theway of the mustering prisoners.
With a great clanking and clashing of irons, the forty rose and stoodeach by his stone-heap. The third constable came round, rapping theleg-irons of each man with easy nonchalance, and roughly pulling up thecoarse trousers (made with buttoned flaps at the sides, like Mexicancalzoneros, in order to give free play to the ankle fetters), so thathe might assure himself that no tricks had been played since his lastvisit. As each man passed this ordeal he saluted, and clanked, withwide-spread legs, to the place in the double line. Mr. Meekin, thoughnot a patron of field sports, found something in the scene that remindedhim of a blacksmith picking up horses' feet to examine the soundness oftheir shoes.
"Upon my word," he said to himself, with a momentary pang of genuinecompassion, "it is a dreadful way to treat human beings. I don't wonderat that wretched creature groaning under it. But, bless me, it is nearone o'clock, and I promised to lunch with Major Vickers at two. How timeflies, to be sure!"
CHAPTER VII. RUFUS DAWES'S IDYLL.
For the Term of His Natural Life Page 37