May 21st.--Entered to-day officially upon my duties as ReligiousInstructor at the Settlement.
An occurrence took place this morning which shows the dangerouscondition of the Ring. I accompanied Mr. Pounce to the Lumber Yard,and, on our entry, we observed a man in the crowd round the cook-housedeliberately smoking. The Chief Constable of the Island--my old friendTroke, of Port Arthur--seeing that this exhibition attracted Pounce'snotice, pointed out the man to an assistant. The assistant, JacobGimblett, advanced and desired the prisoner to surrender the pipe. Theman plunged his hands into his pockets, and, with a gesture of the mostprofound contempt, walked away to that part of the mess-shed where the"Ring" congregate.
"Take the scoundrel to gaol!" cried Troke.
No one moved, but the man at the gate that leads through the carpenter'sshop into the barracks, called to us to come out, saying that theprisoners would never suffer the man to be taken. Pounce, however, withmore determination than I gave him credit for, kept his ground, andinsisted that so flagrant a breach of discipline should not be sufferedto pass unnoticed. Thus urged, Mr. Troke pushed through the crowd, andmade for the spot whither the man had withdrawn himself.
The yard was buzzing like a disturbed hive, and I momentarily expectedthat a rush would be made upon us. In a few moments the prisonerappeared, attended by, rather than in the custody of, the ChiefConstable of the island. He advanced to the unlucky assistant constable,who was standing close to me, and asked, "What have you ordered me togaol for?" The man made some reply, advising him to go quietly, when theconvict raised his fist and deliberately felled the man to the ground."You had better retire, gentlemen," said Troke. "I see them getting outtheir knives."
We made for the gate, and the crowd closed in like a sea upon the twoconstables. I fully expected murder, but in a few moments Troke andGimblett appeared, borne along by a mass of men, dusty, but unharmed,and having the convict between them. He sulkily raised a hand as hepassed me, either to rectify the position of his straw hat, or to offera tardy apology. A more wanton, unprovoked, and flagrant outrage thanthat of which this man was guilty I never witnessed. It is customary for"the old dogs", as the experienced convicts are called, to use themost opprobrious language to their officers, and to this a deaf earis usually turned, but I never before saw a man wantonly strike aconstable. I fancy that the act was done out of bravado. Troke informedme that the man's name is Rufus Dawes, and that he is the leader of theRing, and considered the worst man on the island; that to secure him he(Troke) was obliged to use the language of expostulation; and that, butfor the presence of an officer accredited by his Excellency, he darednot have acted as he had done.
This is the same man, then, whom I injured at Port Arthur. Seven yearsof "discipline" don't seem to have done him much good. His sentence is"life"--a lifetime in this place! Troke says that he was the terrorof Port Arthur, and that they sent him here when a "weeding" of theprisoners was made. He has been here four years. Poor wretch!
For the Term of His Natural Life Page 69