PORT ARTHUR.
"Good-bye, Mr. Goodchild. Be sure and carry out our instructions and,
above all things, wire if you hear anything of Wyckliffe," said Hal, as
he and Reg stepped on board the little steamer.
"You can depend on me, gentlemen. Good-bye, and God bless you," answered
he from the pier.
"Now then, skipper, full speed ahead."
"Ay, ay, sir. Let her go, boy."
Once more the boys were on the deep. As the little boat steamed ahead,
increasing the distance between them and the pier, they watched the
figure of Goody standing by the gas-lamp. He had resisted all their
endeavours to make him go to bed, and insisted on coming down to the
pier to see them off.
"What time do you reckon to get there, skipper?" asked Reg, as they
prepared to turn in.
"About day-break, sir. I'll call you," answered the skipper, as he took
the wheel.
A gruff voice bawling "All for shore," wakened them the next morning
and, mounting to the deck they found the steamer was just entering the
picturesque little bay. The sun was gilding the line of rugged hills
that surrounded the bay and glinting on the water, and they both
exclaimed in delight at the lovely scene before them.
The steamer was made fast alongside the little pier and, accompanied by
the skipper they made their way to the hotel, an old building standing
on the slope of the hill, a few hundred yards away.
"Mornin', skipper. You're early," said a rough old fellow, appearing in
the doorway.
"So we are, Clarke."
"Is there any conveyance to be had here to take us to Port Arthur?"
asked Hal.
"None, unless you wire to old Brown at the Port to bring his cart over."
"Then we'll walk. Where's the road?"
"Go right ahead, then turn to the right and follow the telegraph wire.
It will take you right into the Port," said Clarke, pointing out the
direction.
"I suppose you don't know if there is a yacht lying there?"
"Yes there is, or at least there was yesterday. It belongs to a young
fellow named Wyckliffe, who sent word he was coming my way to-day, as he
expected a lady," answered Clarke, with a smile.
"Well, good-bye, we will be back some time to-day," as they started on
their journey.
They found the road very hilly, and monotonous, lined on either side
with thick scrub and dotted here and there with the solitary house of a
selector. Having completed the ascent of a fairly high hill, they got
their first view of Port Arthur, where it lay in a small valley
surrounded with rough and mountainous country. Huge masses of ruins lay
in all directions, for it was on the shores of this loveliest of bays
that the early convict settlement was made. This fair spot, one of
Nature's most exuberant freaks, was the scene, in that fearful past, of
many a deed of atrocious barbarity. Very few houses still remain entire.
Many familiar English trees surround the blackened ruins of the little
church, which was destroyed by fire some years ago. Round its deserted
walls the ivy still clings, hiding its ruins with a tender cloak of
greenery as one who says, "_Je meurs ou je m'attache._"
"I can't see anything of the yacht," said Reg, as he glanced anxiously
round the bay.
"No, none of the boats there could be called a yacht. Say, where's the
hotel?" asked he of an old fellow standing by.
"That's it, straight ahead," said the man, pointing to what appeared to
be a private residence. In former days it had been the house of the
Governor of that noble settlement.
"Good-morning sir," said Hal, to a man who was holding up the door of
the hotel with his shoulder.
"Good-morning gentlemen," and he straightened himself and stood on one
side.
"This is a pretty place."
"Yes it is, sir."
"We were expecting to find a friend of ours here with his yacht, but we
can't see anything of him."
"What was his name?" asked the landlord, for it was he.
"Wyckliffe," answered Hal, carelessly, though the nerves of both he and
Reg were strained to the utmost.
"He's gone, gentlemen. You are too late."
A smothered oath burst from Reg's lips.
"How long was he here?" asked Hal, entering and sitting down.
"Let's see, this is Thursday. He came here on Tuesday evening, and
sailed the yacht round from Hobart. But I say, gentlemen, do you happen
to know anybody named Dick Burton?" said the landlord, with a cunning
smile.
"Yes, why?" said Reg.
"Well, he sent this wire to Wyckliffe," and he took down a telegram from
a shelf behind him, and handed it to Hal, who read:--
"Wyckliffe, Launceston, or Hobart. Two men enquiring. Morris one.
Fancy they left for Tasmania. Dick Burton."
"How did you get hold of this?" asked Hal.
"Well, that's a long story. Do you want breakfast?"
"Yes, we do."
"Then I'll go and order it, and come back and tell you all about it."
"Done again!" said Reg, looking at Hal, when the landlord, whose name
was Camden, had disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
"Yes, there's no doubt of that, old chap."
"Now then, gentlemen," said Camden, returning, "I suppose you are D's.?"
"No, we are not, rest assured of that."
"Last Tuesday night a yacht sailed into the bay and anchored off shore.
I recognised it as belonging to Macpherson, of Hobart, who was in the
habit of letting it out. A small boat put off and brought ashore a young
fellow in flannels, who came up to this house and called for a drink,
asking me to join him. In the course of conversation he told me he
intended making a few days' stay here, and visiting the ruins. He put up
here till yesterday, and made himself very agreeable, and became quite
popular, for he seemed to have plenty of coin, and was very free with
it. He appeared to make the acquaintance of most of the girls in the
neighbourhood, and be very popular with them, too. Well, about two
o'clock yesterday we were all in here, and Wyckliffe was in the middle
of a funny yarn when the old postmaster came in with a telegram for
him, which he said had been sent on from Hobart, where it had been
delayed. Wyck took the telegram, but before opening it said, 'Now, boys,
drink up, for I have a lady visitor coming, and we'll drink to her safe
journey.' The toast was drunk, and Wyck leisurely opened the telegram. I
never saw such a change in a man in my life. In an instant he was turned
from a jolly, good-hearted fellow, to a noisy, angry bully. His crew
were all in the bar drinking, and, by Jove, he made the fellows fly.
'Make up my account at once,' says he to me, and 'get ready to sail on
the spot' says he to his men in the same breath. He fussed and fumed
about, and seemed fairly mad with rage. The fellows here really thought
he was mad, for several tried to persuade him not to start, as they
feared dirty weather, but he snapped them up and took no notice of them.
In his anxiety he dropped the telegram, and without being seen I pushed
it under the counter with my foot. An hour later the yacht was under
sail, with two reefs in her mainsail and a small jib set."
They had followed this narrative with interest, and as they went into
breakfast Camden asked:
"If you are not connected with the police, who are you?"
"We are merely here to save a young lady from that villain's clutches,"
said Reg.
"Then I am glad you came," said Camden, heartily, "for I should never
have felt easy if I had been in any way connected with that business."
They sent a wire to Goody and sat down to an appetising breakfast of
fried flounders, a dish that an epicure in need of a new sensation for
his appetite is recommended to journey to Port Arthur to try. Hal and
Reg both did excellent justice to the fare, much to the satisfaction and
delight of Mrs. Camden, their landlord's wife. After their repast they
decided to take the chance offered them of inspecting the prisons, and
asked Camden to procure them a guide.
"There's the very man for you," said Camden, pointing to an old fellow
sitting in the bar, whom they at once recognised as the man they had met
when entering the Port.
"What's your name, old chap?" asked Hal, going towards him.
"My name is Thomas St. Clair Jones," he answered, with dignity.
"Well, Mr. Thomas St. Clair Jones, have another pint."
"I'm not in the habit of drinking with strangers, but as you are a
gentleman like myself, I don't mind," and he graciously handed his pot
to be filled.
"Now then, Jones, button up your coat, pull up your breeches, put your
hat on straight, and lead the way," said Hal, in an imperious voice. To
the surprise of Reg Jones did exactly as he was told, pulled himself
together, and obediently led the way out.
"I thought as much," said Hal to his friend. "He's a lag and has been
used to obey orders."
The procession halted in front of a dilapidated-looking building,
commonly known as the Police Station. In answer to a knock an antiquated
sergeant appeared and entrusted Jones with the keys after a whispered
colloquy in which one could distinguish the word "halves." Jones
preceded them with the keys, but had not gone far when Hal called out to
him:
"Say, Jones: what were you sent out for?"
Jones cast a withering glance at the speaker, which softened from
indignation to injured innocence in so dramatic a manner that Hal
almost felt sorry he had spoken. Then he silently turned and resumed his
road to the prisons.
"Jones, come back," said Hal, in his voice of authority, which again was
instantly obeyed. "I ask again, what were you sent out here for; and I
may say if you do not answer my question this yellow boy will stay in my
pocket."
"I came out here on a visit, sir."
"Jones, you are a liar. Come on, Reg, he does not want this money."
"Oh! well, sir, since you put it that way, and since I know you are
gentlemen, I will confide in you. It was like this: One day I was
standing at a street corner wondering where my next meal would come
from, when a swell joker comes along, and says to me: 'Do you want to
earn a bob?' 'Rather, sir,' says I, 'how?' 'By just follering me and
carrying this parcel.' 'Right!' says I, and I started off after him,
pleased as anything at earning a bob so easily; but I had not gone far
when a bobby comes up and says, 'Here's the man,' and he arrested me,
what for I don't know. All I do know was, that I was brought before a
beak and charged with stealing. I told him the whole story, but all he
said was, 'ten years' penal servitude.' That's how I come out here, so
help me G--"
"I don't wonder at the magistrate not believing you, Jones. You are an
infernal, grey-headed, mouldy old liar. That yarn is as old as the
hills, and since you cannot speak the truth we will go by ourselves,"
said Hal, coming forward and taking the keys from his hands.
"Hold on, Hal," said Reg. "Don't be too hard on the old chap."
"My dear Reg, I really can't stand such----"
"Oh, give him another chance. Come here, Jones. You see you have
disgusted this gentleman. Now, out with the whole truth, or you'll lose
your tip."
"Well, I can't see what it's to do with you," said Jones, in a sulkily
aggressive tone. "But if you wants it so very particular, I'll tell you.
I was poaching, and was nabbed. A keeper happened to be wounded, and
they said I did it. I didn't say I didn't do it. That's all."
"That's better, Jones; now we are satisfied."
They spent an hour or two wandering with great interest over the ruins:
now inside the huge penitentiary, now in the prison church. Everywhere
ruin and desolation stared them in the face. All over the settlement
vast walls lay crumbling to pieces, due almost as much to the
destructive curiosity of the thousands of tourists, who flock here in
the summer months, as to the effacing fingers of Time.
Camden met them on their return, and told them they had just sufficient
time to dine before a butcher's cart would start for Port Arthur, in
which they could have a lift to Norfolk Bay. Two hours later they were
again on the _Tarantula_ making for Hobart.