For the Term of His Natural Life

by Marcus Andrew Hislop Clarke

  One afternoon ever-active semaphores transmitted a piece of intelligencewhich set the peninsula agog. Captain Frere, having arrived fromhead-quarters, with orders to hold an inquiry into the death ofKirkland, was not unlikely to make a progress through the stations,and it behoved the keepers of the Natural Penitentiary to producetheir Penitents in good case. Burgess was in high spirits at finding socongenial a soul selected for the task of reporting upon him.

  "It's only a nominal thing, old man," Frere said to his former comrade,when they met. "That parson has made meddling, and they want to closehis mouth."

  "I am glad to have the opportunity of showing you and Mrs. Frere theplace," returned Burgess. "I must try and make your stay as pleasantas I can, though I'm afraid that Mrs. Frere will not find much to amuseher."

  "Frankly, Captain Burgess," said Sylvia, "I would rather have gonestraight to Sydney. My husband, however, was obliged to come, and ofcourse I accompanied him."

  "You will not have much society," said Meekin, who was of the welcomingparty. "Mrs. Datchett, the wife of one of our stipendiaries, is the onlylady here, and I hope to have the pleasure of making you acquainted withher this evening at the Commandant's. Mr. McNab, whom you know, is incommand at the Neck, and cannot leave, or you would have seen him."

  "I have planned a little party," said Burgess, "but I fear that it willnot be so successful as I could wish."

  "You wretched old bachelor," said Frere; "you should get married, likeme."

  "Ah!" said Burgess, with a bow, "that would be difficult."

  Sylvia was compelled to smile at the compliment, made in the presence ofsome twenty prisoners, who were carrying the various trunks and packagesup the hill, and she remarked that the said prisoners grinned at theCommandant's clumsy courtesy. "I don't like Captain Burgess, Maurice,"she said, in the interval before dinner. "I dare say he did flog thatpoor fellow to death. He looks as if he could do it."

  "Nonsense!" said Maurice, pettishly; "he's a good fellow enough.Besides, I've seen the doctor's certificate. It's a trumped-up story. Ican't understand your absurd sympathy with prisoners."

  "Don't they sometimes deserve sympathy?"

  "No, certainly not--a set of lying scoundrels. You are always whiningover them, Sylvia. I don't like it, and I've told you before about it."

  Sylvia said nothing. Maurice was often guilty of these smallbrutalities, and she had learnt that the best way to meet them wasby silence. Unfortunately, silence did not mean indifference, for thereproof was unjust, and nothing stings a woman's fine sense like aninjustice. Burgess had prepared a feast, and the "Society" of PortArthur was present. Father Flaherty, Meekin, Doctor Macklewain, and Mr.and Mrs. Datchett had been invited, and the dining-room was resplendentwith glass and flowers.

  "I've a fellow who was a professional gardener," said Burgess to Sylviaduring the dinner, "and I make use of his talents."

  "We have a professional artist also," said Macklewain, with a sort ofpride. "That picture of the 'Prisoner of Chillon' yonder was painted byhim. A very meritorious production, is it not?"

  "I've got the place full of curiosities," said Burgess; "quite acollection. I'll show them to you to-morrow. Those napkin rings weremade by a prisoner."

  "Ah!" cried Frere, taking up the daintily-carved bone, "very neat!"

  "That is some of Rex's handiwork," said Meekin. "He is very clever atthese trifles. He made me a paper-cutter that was really a work of art."

  "We will go down to the Neck to-morrow or next day, Mrs. Frere," saidBurgess, "and you shall see the Blow-hole. It is a curious place."

  "Is it far?" asked Sylvia.

  "Oh no! We shall go in the train."

  "The train!"

  "Yes--don't look so astonished. You'll see it to-morrow. Oh, you HobartTown ladies don't know what we can do here."

  "What about this Kirkland business?" Frere asked. "I suppose I can havehalf an hour with you in the morning, and take the depositions?"

  "Any time you like, my dear fellow," said Burgess. "It's all the same tome."

  "I don't want to make more fuss than I can help," Frere saidapologetically--the dinner had been good--"but I must send these peopleup a 'full, true and particular', don't you know."

  "Of course," cried Burgess, with friendly nonchalance. "That's allright. I want Mrs. Frere to see Point Puer."

  "Where the boys are?" asked Sylvia.

  "Exactly. Nearly three hundred of 'em. We'll go down to-morrow, and youshall be my witness, Mrs. Frere, as to the way they are treated."

  "Indeed," said Sylvia, protesting, "I would rather not. I--I don'ttake the interest in these things that I ought, perhaps. They are verydreadful to me."

  "Nonsense!" said Frere, with a scowl. "We'll come, Burgess, of course."The next two days were devoted to sight-seeing. Sylvia was taken throughthe hospital and the workshops, shown the semaphores, and shut up byMaurice in a "dark cell". Her husband and Burgess seemed to treat theprison like a tame animal, whom they could handle at their leisure, andwhose natural ferocity was kept in check by their superior intelligence.This bringing of a young and pretty woman into immediate contact withbolts and bars had about it an incongruity which pleased them. Mauricepenetrated everywhere, questioned the prisoners, jested with thegaolers, even, in the munificence of his heart, bestowed tobacco on thesick.

  With such graceful rattlings of dry bones, they got by and by to PointPuer, where a luncheon had been provided.

  An unlucky accident had occurred at Point Puer that morning, however,and the place was in a suppressed ferment. A refractory little thiefnamed Peter Brown, aged twelve years, had jumped off the high rock anddrowned himself in full view of the constables. These "jumpings off" hadbecome rather frequent lately, and Burgess was enraged at one happeningon this particular day. If he could by any possibility have brought thecorpse of poor little Peter Brown to life again, he would have soundlywhipped it for its impertinence.

  "It is most unfortunate," he said to Frere, as they stood in the cellwhere the little body was laid, "that it should have happened to-day."

  "Oh," says Frere, frowning down upon the young face that seemed to smileup at him. "It can't be helped. I know those young devils. They'd do itout of spite. What sort of a character had he?"

  "Very bad--Johnson, the book."

  Johnson bringing it, the two saw Peter Brown's iniquities set downin the neatest of running hand, and the record of his punishmentsornamented in quite an artistic way with flourishes of red ink

  "20th November, disorderly conduct, 12 lashes. 24th November, insolenceto hospital attendant, diet reduced. 4th December, stealing cap fromanother prisoner, 12 lashes. 15th December, absenting himself at rollcall, two days' cells. 23rd December, insolence and insubordination, twodays' cells. 8th January, insolence and insubordination, 12 lashes.20th January, insolence and insubordination, 12 lashes. 22nd February,insolence and insubordination, 12 lashes and one week's solitary. 6thMarch, insolence and insubordination, 20 lashes."

  "That was the last?" asked Frere.

  "Yes, sir," says Johnson.

  "And then he--hum--did it?"

  "Just so, sir. That was the way of it."

  Just so! The magnificent system starved and tortured a child of twelveuntil he killed himself. That was the way of it.

  After luncheon the party made a progress. Everything was most admirable.There was a long schoolroom, where such men as Meekin taught how Christloved little children; and behind the schoolroom were the cells and theconstables and the little yard where they gave their "twenty lashes".Sylvia shuddered at the array of faces. From the stolid nineteen yearsold booby of the Kentish hop-fields, to the wizened, shrewd, ten yearsold Bohemian of the London streets, all degrees and grades of juvenilevice grinned, in untamable wickedness, or snuffed in affected piety."Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for ofsuch is the Kingdom of Heaven," said, or is reported to have said, theFounder of our Established Religion. Of such it seemed that a largenumber of Honourable Gentleme
n, together with Her Majesty's faithfulcommons in Parliament assembled, had done their best to create a Kingdomof Hell.

  After the farce had been played again, and the children had stood upand sat down, and sung a hymn, and told how many twice five were, andrepeated their belief in "One God the Father Almighty, maker of Heavenand Earth", the party reviewed the workshops, and saw the church, andwent everywhere but into the room where the body of Peter Brown, agedtwelve, lay starkly on its wooden bench, staring at the gaol roof whichwas between it and Heaven.

  Just outside this room, Sylvia met with a little adventure. Meekin hadstopped behind, and Burgess, being suddenly summoned for some officialduty, Frere had gone with him, leaving his wife to rest on a bench that,placed at the summit of the cliff, overlooked the sea. While restingthus, she became aware of another presence, and, turning her head,beheld a small boy, with his cap in one hand and a hammer in the other.The appearance of the little creature, clad in a uniform of grey cloththat was too large for him, and holding in his withered little hand ahammer that was too heavy for him, had something pathetic about it.

  "What is it, you mite?" asked Sylvia.

  "We thought you might have seen him, mum," said the little figure,opening its blue eyes with wonder at the kindness of the tone. "Him!Whom?"

  "Cranky Brown, mum," returned the child; "him as did it this morning. Meand Billy knowed him, mum; he was a mate of ours, and we wanted to knowif he looked happy."

  "What do you mean, child?" said she, with a strange terror at her heart;and then, filled with pity at the aspect of the little being, she drewhim to her, with sudden womanly instinct, and kissed him. He looked upat her with joyful surprise. "Oh!" he said.

  Sylvia kissed him again.

  "Does nobody ever kiss you, poor little man?" said she.

  "Mother used to," was the reply, "but she's at home. Oh, mum," with asudden crimsoning of the little face, "may I fetch Billy?"

  And taking courage from the bright young face, he gravely marched to anangle of the rock, and brought out another little creature, with anothergrey uniform and another hammer.

  "This is Billy, mum," he said. "Billy never had no mother. Kiss Billy."

  The young wife felt the tears rush to her eyes. "You two poor babies!"she cried. And then, forgetting that she was a lady, dressed in silkand lace, she fell on her knees in the dust, and, folding the friendlesspair in her arms, wept over them.

  "What is the matter, Sylvia?" said Frere, when he came up. "You've beencrying."

  "Nothing, Maurice; at least, I will tell you by and by."

  When they were alone that evening, she told him of the two little boys,and he laughed. "Artful little humbugs," he said, and supported hisargument by so many illustrations of the precocious wickedness ofjuvenile felons, that his wife was half convinced against her will.

  * * * * *

  Unfortunately, when Sylvia went away, Tommy and Billy put into executiona plan which they had carried in their poor little heads for some weeks.

  "I can do it now," said Tommy. "I feel strong."

  "Will it hurt much, Tommy?" said Billy, who was not so courageous.

  "Not so much as a whipping."

  "I'm afraid! Oh, Tom, it's so deep! Don't leave me, Tom!"

  The bigger boy took his little handkerchief from his neck, and with itbound his own left hand to his companion's right.

  "Now I can't leave you."

  "What was it the lady that kissed us said, Tommy?"

  "Lord, have pity on them two fatherless children!" repeated Tommy."Let's say it together."

  And so the two babies knelt on the brink of the cliff, and, raising thebound hands together, looked up at the sky, and ungrammatically said,"Lord have pity on we two fatherless children!" And then they kissedeach other, and "did it".

  * * * * *

  The intelligence, transmitted by the ever-active semaphore, reached theCommandant in the midst of dinner, and in his agitation he blurted itout.

  "These are the two poor things I saw in the morning," cried Sylvia. "Oh,Maurice, these two poor babies driven to suicide!"

  "Condemning their young souls to everlasting fire," said Meekin,piously.

  "Mr. Meekin! How can you talk like that? Poor little creatures! Oh,it's horrible! Maurice, take me away." And she burst into a passion ofweeping. "I can't help it, ma'am," says Burgess, rudely, ashamed. "Itain't my fault."

  "She's nervous," says Frere, leading her away. "You must excuse her.Come and lie down, dearest."

  "I will not stay here longer," said she. "Let us go to-morrow."

  "We can't," said Frere.

  "Oh, yes, we can. I insist. Maurice, if you love me, take me away."

  "Well," said Maurice, moved by her evident grief, "I'll try."

  He spoke to Burgess. "Burgess, this matter has unsettled my wife, sothat she wants to leave at once. I must visit the Neck, you know. Howcan we do it?"

  "Well," says Burgess, "if the wind only holds, the brig could goround to Pirates' Bay and pick you up. You'll only be a night at thebarracks."

  "I think that would be best," said Frere. "We'll start to-morrow,please, and if you'll give me a pen and ink I'll be obliged."

  "I hope you are satisfied," said Burgess.

  "Oh yes, quite," said Frere. "I must recommend more careful supervisionat Point Puer, though. It will never do to have these young blackguardsslipping through our fingers in this way."

  So a neatly written statement of the occurrence was appended to theledgers in which the names of William Tomkins and Thomas Grove wereentered. Macklewain held an inquest, and nobody troubled about them anymore. Why should they? The prisons of London were full of such Tommysand Billys.

  * * * * *