For the Term of His Natural Life

by Marcus Andrew Hislop Clarke

  Rufus Dawes had been a fortnight at the settlement when a new-comerappeared on the chain-gang. This was a young man of about twenty yearsof age, thin, fair, and delicate. His name was Kirkland, and he belongedto what were known as the "educated" prisoners. He had been a clerk ina banking house, and was transported for embezzlement, though, by some,grave doubts as to his guilt were entertained. The Commandant, CaptainBurgess, had employed him as butler in his own house, and his fate wasconsidered a "lucky" one. So, doubtless, it was, and might have been,had not an untoward accident occurred. Captain Burgess, who was abachelor of the "old school", confessed to an amiable weakness forblasphemy, and was given to condemning the convicts' eyes and limbs withindiscriminate violence. Kirkland belonged to a Methodist family andowned a piety utterly out of place in that region. The language ofBurgess made him shudder, and one day he so far forgot himself and hisplace as to raise his hands to his ears. "My blank!" cried Burgess. "Youblank blank, is that your blank game? I'll blank soon cure you of that!"and forthwith ordered him to the chain-gang for "insubordination".

  He was received with suspicion by the gang, who did not likewhite-handed prisoners. Troke, by way of experiment in human nature,perhaps, placed him next to Gabbett. The day was got through in theusual way, and Kirkland felt his heart revive.

  The toil was severe, and the companionship uncouth, but despite hisblistered hands and aching back, he had not experienced anything so veryterrible after all. When the muster bell rang, and the gang broke up,Rufus Dawes, on his silent way to his separate cell, observed a notablechange of custom in the disposition of the new convict. Instead ofplacing him in a cell by himself, Troke was turning him into the yardwith the others.

  "I'm not to go in there?" says the ex-bank clerk, drawing back in dismayfrom the cloud of foul faces which lowered upon him.

  "By the Lord, but you are, then!" says Troke. "The Governor says a nightin there'll take the starch out of ye. Come, in yer go."

  "But, Mr. Troke--"

  "Stow your gaff," says Troke, with another oath, and impatientlystriking the lad with his thong--"I can't argue here all night. Get in."So Kirkland, aged twenty-two, and the son of Methodist parents, went in.

  Rufus Dawes, among whose sinister memories this yard was numbered,sighed. So fierce was the glamour of the place, however, that whenlocked into his cell, he felt ashamed for that sigh, and strove to erasethe memory of it. "What is he more than anybody else?" said the wretchedman to himself, as he hugged his misery close.

  About dawn the next morning, Mr. North--who, amongst other vagaries notapproved of by his bishop, had a habit of prowling about the prisonat unofficial hours--was attracted by a dispute at the door of thedormitory.

  "What's the matter here?" he asked.

  "A prisoner refractory, your reverence," said the watchman. "Wants tocome out."

  "Mr. North! Mr. North!" cried a voice, "for the love of God, let me outof this place!"

  Kirkland, ghastly pale, bleeding, with his woollen shirt torn, and hisblue eyes wide open with terror, was clinging to the bars.

  "Oh, Mr. North! Mr. North! Oh, Mr. North! Oh, for God's sake, Mr.North!"

  "What, Kirkland!" cried North, who was ignorant of the vengeance of theCommandant. "What do you do here?"

  But Kirkland could do nothing but cry,--"Oh, Mr. North! For God's sake,Mr. North!" and beat on the bars with white and sweating hands.

  "Let him out, watchman!" said North.

  "Can't sir, without an order from the Commandant."

  "I order you, sir!" North cried, indignant.

  "Very sorry, your reverence; but your reverence knows that I daren't dosuch a thing." "Mr. North!" screamed Kirkland. "Would you see meperish, body and soul, in this place? Mr. North! Oh, you ministers ofChrist--wolves in sheep's clothing--you shall be judged for this!"

  "Let him out!" cried North again, stamping his foot.

  "It's no good," returned the gaoler. "I can't. If he was dying, Ican't."

  North rushed away to the Commandant, and the instant his back wasturned, Hailes, the watchman, flung open the door, and darted into thedormitory.

  "Take that!" he cried, dealing Kirkland a blow on the head with hiskeys, that stretched him senseless. "There's more trouble with youbloody aristocrats than enough. Lie quiet!"

  The Commandant, roused from slumber, told Mr. North that Kirkland mightstop where he was, and that he'd thank the chaplain not to wake himup in the middle of the night because a blank prisoner set up a blankhowling.

  "But, my good sir," protested North, restraining his impulse to overstepthe bounds of modesty in his language to his superior officer, "you knowthe character of the men in that ward. You can guess what that unhappyboy has suffered."

  "Impertinent young beggar!" said Burgess. "Do him good, curse him! Mr.North, I'm sorry you should have had the trouble to come here, but willyou let me go to sleep?"

  North returned to the prison disconsolately, found the dutiful Hailes athis post, and all quiet.

  "What's become of Kirkland?" he asked.

  "Fretted hisself to sleep, yer reverence," said Hailes, in accents ofparental concern. "Poor young chap! It's hard for such young 'uns."

  In the morning, Rufus Dawes, coming to his place on the chain-gang, wasstruck by the altered appearance of Kirkland. His face was of a greenishtint, and wore an expression of bewildered horror.

  "Cheer up, man!" said Dawes, touched with momentary pity. "It's no goodbeing in the mopes, you know."

  "What do they do if you try to bolt?" whispered Kirkland.

  "Kill you," returned Dawes, in a tone of surprise at so preposterous aquestion.

  "Thank God!" said Kirkland.

  "Now then, Miss Nancy," said one of the men, "what's the matter withyou!" Kirkland shuddered, and his pale face grew crimson.

  "Oh," he said, "that such a wretch as I should live!"

  "Silence!" cried Troke. "No. 44, if you can't hold your tongue I'll giveyou something to talk about. March!"

  The work of the gang that afternoon was the carrying of some heavy logsto the water-side, and Rufus Dawes observed that Kirkland was exhaustedlong before the task was accomplished. "They'll kill you, you littlebeggar!" said he, not unkindly. "What have you been doing to get intothis scrape?"

  "Have you ever been in that--that place I was in last night?" askedKirkland.

  Rufus Dawes nodded.

  "Does the Commandant know what goes on there?"

  "I suppose so. What does he care?"

  "Care! Man, do you believe in a God?" "No," said Dawes, "not here. Holdup, my lad. If you fall, we must fall over you, and then you're donefor."

  He had hardly uttered the words, when the boy flung himself beneath thelog. In another instant the train would have been scrambling over hiscrushed body, had not Gabbett stretched out an iron hand, and pluckedthe would-be suicide from death.

  "Hold on to me, Miss Nancy," said the giant, "I'm big enough to carrydouble."

  Something in the tone or manner of the speaker affected Kirkland todisgust, for, spurning the offered hand, he uttered a cry and then,holding up his irons with his hands, he started to run for the water.

  "Halt! you young fool," roared Troke, raising his carbine. But Kirklandkept steadily on for the river. Just as he reached it, however, thefigure of Mr. North rose from behind a pile of stones. Kirkland jumpedfor the jetty, missed his footing, and fell into the arms of thechaplain.

  "You young vermin--you shall pay for this," cries Troke. "You'll see ifyou won't remember this day."

  "Oh, Mr. North," says Kirkland, "why did you stop me? I'd better be deadthan stay another night in that place."

  "You'll get it, my lad," said Gabbett, when the runaway was broughtback. "Your blessed hide'll feel for this, see if it don't."

  Kirkland only breathed harder, and looked round for Mr. North, but Mr.North had gone. The new chaplain was to arrive that afternoon, and itwas incumbent on him to be at the reception. Troke reported the ex-bankclerk that night to Burgess, a
nd Burgess, who was about to go to dinnerwith the new chaplain, disposed of his case out of hand. "Tried to bolt,eh! Must stop that. Fifty lashes, Troke. Tell Macklewain to be ready--orstay, I'll tell him myself--I'll break the young devil's spirit, blankhim."

  "Yes, sir," said Troke. "Good evening, sir."

  "Troke--pick out some likely man, will you? That last fellow you hadought to have been tied up himself. His flogging wouldn't have killed aflea."

  "You can't get 'em to warm one another, your honour," says Troke.

  "They won't do it."

  "Oh, yes, they will, though," says Burgess, "or I'll know the reasonwhy. I won't have my men knocked up with flogging these rascals. If thescourger won't do his duty, tie him up, and give him five-and-twenty forhimself. I'll be down in the morning myself if I can."

  "Very good, your honour," says Troke.

  Kirkland was put into a separate cell that night; and Troke, by way ofassuring him a good night's rest, told him that he was to have "fifty"in the morning. "And Dawes'll lay it on," he added. "He's one of thesmartest men I've got, and he won't spare yer, yer may take your oath ofthat."

  CHAPTER XIV. Mr. NORTH'S DISPOSITION.