KIRKE ESCAPES
Kirke's jealousy of Ralph Denham had dated from the earliest
commencement of their ill-fated voyage; and Ralph had not been as
way-wise as an older person might have wished him to be in avoiding
occasions for arousing it. His own dislike to Kirke's character; his
scarcely concealed contempt of him for throwing away the chances in life
which he himself longed so ardently to possess; the notice taken of him
by Mr. Gilchrist, and of which he was so proud,--all tended to inflame
Kirke's ill-will towards him.
Ralph had tried, unavailingly but persistently, to draw little Jackson
from his influence, and Jackson's services were useful to Kirke.
The two old Cornish seamen kept aloof from the elder apprentice, and did
many little things for their countryman, as they regarded Denham; and
Kershaw, just a trifle older and higher in the service than Kirke, took
to Denham, laughed and joked with him, sought his society, and made of
him a companion.
Kirke felt his seclusion, and resented it upon Denham. Such feelings
feed upon themselves, and grow apace.
Little Jackson's sudden death was a shock; and, somewhat softened at
heart, though too proud to confess to the fact, Kirke would have been
glad of comfort and sympathy Ralph had no idea of this, but, repulsed
on his first evidence of kindly feeling, made no further attempt at
consolation; and Kirke, in his loneliness, raged the more bitterly in
secret because Denham had not found out that he wanted him.
So one thing acted and reacted upon another, and culminated upon the
unhappy night in the boats.
Envying Ralph's pluck and heroism, admiring him for it; emulous of their
comrades' appreciation of his gallant daring, he yet could not bring
himself to imitate it, for he felt so afraid to die,--he dreaded so
terribly what came after death, which he considered certain upon that
raft.
He knew that he was not fit to die,--his whole ill-spent life rose up,
in one instant, with awful clearness before his mental vision, and he
dared not face its consequences. He believed in spite of himself, and
his faith brought him nothing but fear.
He hung back, and then resented the plainly-expressed scorn of Kershaw
and the sailors. Mellish, with the authority of captain delegated to
him, stopped their taunts with a high hand, but was powerless to alter
the expression of contempt upon their faces. Accustomed through all his
early life to the surface respect paid to him as a gentleman's son, he
could not bear the lack of deference now displayed by the men whom he
regarded as his inferiors; and, when the watch was changed, and Kershaw
yielded to him the tiller, saying, "Here, take the ropes, I suppose you
aren't afraid of _them_," the climax was reached.
Half-frenzied with pride, anger, jealousy and fear, he drew out his
knife, severed the rope without thought of anyone but his rival, saw in
one flash that he had practically murdered six helpless and inoffensive
fellow-creatures, and remorse seized him for a prey instantaneously.
No one in the boat suspected him, it was supposed that the rope was
weak or rotten, and gave of itself from the strain upon it. A shark
might have bitten it; no one knew what had happened exactly. Kirke, in
horror at his own deed, called upon the others in the boat to turn her
head, to row back, to search for the raft.
His agitation, the frantic energy with which he worked, redeemed him
somewhat in his shipmates' eyes, but may have caused him to steer
unequally, injudiciously, wide of his mark. However it happened, they
could find no trace of the raft, and, though they did for a time hear
the voices of the castaways raised on the breeze, the direction of the
wind made their whereabouts uncertain, and the sound gradually ceased
altogether.
Did that mean that they were gone? Drowned? Fled before God's
judgment-seat, to be for ever witnesses against him? God knew that he
did not mean this! But would He pardon?--could He pardon?
Still did the unhappy wretch maintain a sullen silence as to his deed.
He could not confess, and those around him were kinder to him than
usual, perceiving his sorrow, but ignorant as to its source.
Next day they were picked up by the steamer, and carried on to the
Andamans. Everyone at Port Blair was kind to them, but the word "murder"
seemed to be on the air.
"What! are you a convict?" someone would ask of butler, washerwoman,
syce, coxswain or coolie. "What are you in for?"
"Murder, Thakin" (Englishman, sir), would be the calm reply, with a
polite gesture and fascinating smile.
The convicts seemed to think no more of such a crime than of crushing
heaps of cockroaches. Oh, that he could be equally dense!
They were detained at Port Blair but a very short time, when they once
more embarked for Moulmein. Upon nearing the port, the first figure
which he descried among the groups on shore was that of Mr. Gilchrist.
He stared as if he had seen a ghost,--but it was an avenging spectre.
Within the first five minutes of their landing, Mr. Gilchrist accused
him of the crime of cutting the raft adrift; all shrank from him with
detestation, no one stood forth to say "I do not believe the charge."
Wills and Osborn confirmed Mr. Gilchrist's accusation; the two ordinary
seamen, Price and Simpson, gave testimony against him; even Ralph, upon
whose forgiving nature he fastened hope, said, "Oh, Kirke, how could you
have done such a thing!"
He was put into the police guardroom, and a watch set over him.
What could be done to him he had no idea, and imagination played strange
pranks with his fears. Should he be sent back to England, in irons, to
be tried there, where his father would be broken-hearted, his sisters
disgraced; where all would appear in the papers; and, whatever the
event, he could never hold up his head again?
Would they send him back to the Andamans, to herd with those half-savage
convicts, mutineers from Delhi, the scum of Rangoon?
Would they shoot him, or hang him, or flog him?
Image after image of terror succeeded each other, while the guard
gossipped, laughed, and dozed. These men were careless of their charge.
Where should a European go if he did escape? They paid little heed to
him, and he began to perceive that escape was possible.
Where he should go troubled him not; how he should live, how travel,
without knowledge or help, in an unknown country where his European face
would make him a marked man. He had some vague misty idea of ruby mines;
and, in his ignorance, supposed these to be scattered about all over
the country. That rubies were to be picked up by anyone, as nuggets had
been streamed out of the sand in Ballarat by the earliest adventurers,
was a fixed notion of his. He would make his way to such a place, lose
his identity among the rough miners, find some splendid jewels, make his
way to some other port a rich man, and return to England to lead a
better life.
Opportunity presented itself at last. It was the feast of the
"Tawadehutha," the most joyous of all the Burmese festivals.
Feasting and merriment lasted for three days, and holiday was observed
everywhere. Even the Commissioner was forced to keep business in
abeyance, and leave Kirke in his easy durance; perhaps the more
willingly as, his offence being so unusual a one, and his family known
to be so respectable in England, that gentleman himself was in
perplexity as to what course he ought to pursue.
So in the guardroom the offender remained, under the care of the Burmese
guard, who cared nothing for his crime, though they were afraid of
displeasing the Commissioner.
It was hard upon them that they should not be allowed to take part in
the jollity which they would have enjoyed so greatly, and their black
scowls and grumbling tones were comprehended by Kirke, although their
actual words were not understood.
The festival was a religious one, and the _raison d'être_ was that of
presenting gifts to the various pagodas, of which there are so many in
all parts of Burma.
It is regarded as a highly meritorious thing to build a pagoda, although
the erection is practically of no use. It is not a church, or temple, in
which religious services of prayer or praise are held, or any charitable
work carried on. Their very structure forbids that, for they are solid
blocks of masonry, upon which graceful cupolas and spires are erected,
painted, gilt, and decorated with many bells. These bells are gifts, and
are sometimes very costly, formed from pure gold or silver, and set with
jewels.
It is good for the soul to present these gifts; but any repairs done to
the building as it suffers from age or weather, counts to the merit of
the original constructor alone. Therefore, when any rich Burmese wishes
to make his salvation secure, he builds a new pagoda, large or small,
all by himself,--he does not care for another person's eternal welfare.
Let every man look out for himself in the kingdom of the "nats."
But gifts are another matter, _they_ are offered to the priests, and
make plenty of show both in this world and the next; so the pagoda
festival is a particularly brilliant affair, and a very picturesque one.
Long processions streamed through the street, attended by boys and girls
dancing, and bearing in their midst long bamboo poles decorated with
spires covered with tinsel paper, gilt balls, and all manner of toys,
which gave them the air of gigantic Christmas trees.
Some bore aloft pasteboard images of "nats," or beatified spirits, who
bring good luck to men, acting as guardian angels. Some carried huge,
frightful representations of "beloos," or demons, who must be
alternately conciliated and treated with every indignity to frighten
them away.
Kirke's guard rushed out to exclaim at each fresh group that trooped
past the guardhouse. Many an "Ameh!" was ejaculated, and this one was
admired, that one despised;--now great delight was manifested, then
contempt expressed in voluble jabber, and with no reference to their
prisoner.
He cared for none of these exhibitions, so childish in his eyes--which
were fatigued by the glare and noise.
White umbrellas, decorated with frills of paper lace; gold umbrellas;
long bamboos, gilt or silvered; the constant stream of gay moving
figures; the flash of tinsel in the sun; the beating of drums, carried
in carts whose wheels creaked and groaned in unison; the clashing of
bells great and small; the songs and cries of the thousands of
people,--all wearied and oppressed his brain almost beyond endurance.
The screams of delight which the guard constantly uttered, ran through
his ears with great distress; and then the climax arrived, in the sight
of a huge "silver tree," attended by prancing hobby-horses, and from the
trembling boughs of which hundreds of rupees hung quivering, each
wrapped in coloured tinsel paper, and followed by the inhabitants of the
whole country village which had furnished it, and who danced like mad
around it to the music (?) of their own voices.
Kirke could bear no more; hoping to be left alone for a little while, he
produced such silver as he had in his pocket, and presented it to the
guard, who seized it with delighted gratitude, and rushed out in vast
excitement to expend it in pickled tea, leh-pet, cheroots, and
sweetmeats of strange fashion.
They offered some on their return to their benefactor, all their sour
looks changed into smiles, but he shook his head and motioned to them to
leave him alone.
Surprised and compassionate, they seated themselves on their haunches
outside the door in the verandah, and gabbled and feasted happily while
watching the constantly passing crowds.
A pasteboard cow is drawn by oxen in the midst of richly and gaudily
dressed people; a cart bearing a huge gilded pot in which the milk
sacred to Guadama is to be cooked; a gorgeously-attired maiden, laden
with jewels, represents the milkmaid; still more and more crowds yet;
more drums, more bells, more songs, more cries, more colour and noise
and flashing lights, more beloos, more nats, more hobby-horses.
Night fell, and the revel was still maintained. Torches and fires cast a
strange and lurid light over the motley scene.
What is this terrible figure advancing? A huge snow-white serpent, a
hundred feet long, fierce fiery red eyes glaring from out the voluminous
coils of its luminous body, as it writhes on its slow onward course in
pursuance of a great rolling ball of light.
The Burmese excitement could stand no more. Springing from their heels,
they rushed down from the verandah to greet the apparition with dance
and shout like the rest. They ran, shrieking with admiration, along with
the multitude, and Kirke was left alone.
It was an opportunity not to be missed. All Moulmein and the country
side about it were in the streets, his figure would be unnoticed among
the rest; he arose hastily, and ran out from the guardhouse into the
town, where the brilliancy of lights in some parts made the obscurity
deeper than ever in others.
No one observed him, no one spoke to him; he hastened along at his
greatest speed, at first mixing with the people, then choosing the
quieter places, fearing lest any English should see him and recognise
him. Everyone was, however, attracted by the gay sights around; the
English residents were chiefly in their own bungalows, watching the
processions from their own verandahs, and distributing gifts as the
various groups paused before each house to display themselves. No one
thought of him, and he stole along in the darkness out into the vast
misty unknown country beyond the town, unperceived.
When the processions had all reached the great pagoda; when the mystery
play was over; when the old legend of Guadama being nourished by the
sacred milk was acted out; when all were tired, the lights out, the
crowds dispersed, the fun over,--the guards bethought them of their
trust, and returned to take it up again.
In dismay unutterable they found their bird was flown, nor could he be
found anywhere. In great alarm they made up the best story they could
for the Commissioner's ears; and, to their wonder, found him strangely
lenient to their misdemeanour. In truth, the great man was thus relieved
from a dilemma; he pretended as much wrath as the carelessness of the
guard deserved, but was almost grateful to them in his heart.
A search was instituted for the prisoner; but not very vigorously
prosecuted, and soon abandoned when no signs of him could be
discovered.