THE STRANGER’S STORY.
That evening a number of people were in the principal parlor of the
Brandon Inn. It was a cool evening in October; and there was a fire near
which the partner of Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. had seated himself.
Clark had come in at the first of the evening and had been there ever
since, talking volubly and laughing boisterously. The others were more
or less talkative, but none of them rivaled Clark. They were nearly
all Brandon people; and in their treatment of Clark there was a certain
restraint which the latter either did not wish or care to notice. As
for the stranger he sat apart in silence without regarding any one in
particular, and giving no indication whether he was listening to what
was going on or was indifferent to it all. From time to time Clark threw
glances in his direction, and once or twice he tried to draw some of the
company out to make remarks about him; but the company seemed reluctant
to touch upon the subject, and merely listened with patience.
Clark had evidently a desire in his mind to be very entertaining and
lively. With this intent he told a number of stories, most of which were
intermingled with allusions to the company present, together with the
stranger. At last he gazed at the latter in silence for some little
time, and then turned to the company.
“There’s one among us that hasn’t opened his mouth this evening. I call
it unsociable. I move that the party proceed to open it forthwith. Who
seconds the motion? Don’t all speak at once.”
The company looked at one another, but no one made any reply.
“What! no one speaks! All right; silence gives consent;” and with these
words Clark advanced toward the stranger. The latter said nothing, but
sat in a careless attitude.
“Friend!” said Clark, standing before the stranger, “we’re all friends
here--we wish to be sociable--we think you are too silent--will you be
kind enough to open your mouth? If you won’t tell a story, perhaps you
will be good enough to sing us a song?”
The stranger sat upright.
“Well,” said he; in the same peculiar harsh voice and slow tone with
which he had spoken to Potts, “the request is a fair one, and I shall be
happy to open my mouth. I regret to state that having no voice I shall
be unable to give you a song, but I’ll be glad to tell a story, if the
company will listen.”
“The company will feel honored,” said Clark, in a mocking tone, as he
resumed his seat.
The stranger arose, and, going to the fire-place, picked up a piece of
charcoal.
Clark sat in the midst of the circle, looking at him with a sneering
smile. “It’s rather an odd story,” said the stranger, “and I only heard
it the other day; perhaps you won’t believe it, but it’s true.”
“Oh, never mind the truth of it!” exclaimed Clark--“push along.”
The stranger stepped up to the wall over the fire-place.
“Before I begin I wish to make a few marks, which I will explain in
process of time. My story is connected with these.”
He took his charcoal and made upon the wall the following marks:
[Illustration: ^ /|\ [three lines, forming short arrow]
R [sans-serif R]
+ [plus sign] ]
He then turned, and stood for a moment in silence.
The effect upon Clark was appalling. His face turned livid, his arms
clutched violently at the seat of his chair, his jaw fell, and his eyes
were fixed on the marks as though fascinated by them.
The stranger appeared to take no notice of him.
“These marks,” said he, “were, or rather are, upon the back of a friend
of mine, about whom I am going to tell a little story.
“The first (/|\) is the Queen’s mark, put on certain prisoners out in
Botany Bay, who are totally insubordinate.
“The second (R) signifies ‘run away,’ and is put on those who have
attempted to escape.
“The third (+) indicates a murderous assault on the guards. When they
don’t hang the culprit they put this on, and those who are branded in
this way have nothing but hard work, in chains for life.
“These marks are on the back of a friend of mine, whose name I need not
mention, but for convenience sake I will call him Clark.”
Clark didn’t even resent this, but sat mute, with a face of awful
expectation.
“My friend Clark had led a life of strange vicissitudes,” said
the stranger, “having slipped through the meshes of the law very
successfully a great number of times, but finally he was caught, and
sent to Botany Bay. He served his time out, and left; but, finally,
after a series of very extraordinary adventures in India, and some odd
events in the Indian Ocean, he came to England. Bad luck followed him,
however. He made an attempt at burglary, and was caught, convicted, and
sent back again to his old station at Botany Bay.
“Of course he felt a strong reluctance to stay in such a place, and
therefore began to plan an escape; he made one attempt, which was
unsuccessful. He then laid a plot with two other notorious offenders.
Each of these three had been branded with those letters which I have
marked. One of these was named Stubbs, and another Wilson, the third was
this Clark. No one knew how they met to make their arrangements, for the
prison regulations are very strict; but; they did meet, and managed
to confer together. They contrived to get rid of the chains that were
fastened around their ankles, and one stormy night they started off and
made a run for it.
“The next day the guards were out in pursuit with dogs. They went all
day long on their track over a very rough country, and finally came to a
river. Here they prepared to pass the night.
“On rising early on the following morning they saw something moving
on the top of a hill on the opposite side of the river. On watching it
narrowly they saw three men. They hurried on at once in pursuit. The
fugitives kept well ahead, however, as was natural; and since they were
running for life and freedom they made a better pace.
“But they were pretty well worn out. They had taken no provisions with
them, and had not calculated on so close a pursuit. They kept ahead
as best they could, and at last reached a narrow river that ran down
between cliffs through a gully to the sea. The cliffs on each side were
high and bold. But they had to cross it; so down on one side they went,
and up the other.
“Clark and Stubbs got up first. Wilson was just reaching the top when
the report of a gun was heard, and a bullet struck him in the
arm. Groaning in his agony he rushed on trying to keep up with his
companions.
“Fortunately for them night came on. They hurried on all night, scarcely
knowing where they were going, Wilson in an agony trying to keep up with
them. Toward morning they snatched a little rest under a rock near a
brook and then hurried forward.
“For two days more they hastened on, keeping out of reach of their
pursuers, yet still knowing that they were followed, or at least fearing
it. They had gone over a wild country along the coast, and keeping a
northward direction. At length, after four days of wandering, they
came to a little creek by the sea-shore. There were three houses here
belonging to fishermen. They rushed into the first hut and implored food
and drink. The men were off to Sydney, but the kind-hearted women gave
them what they had. They were terrified at the aspect of these wretched
men, whose natural ferocity had been heightened by hardship, famine, and
suffering. Gaunt and grim as they were, they seemed more terrible than
three wild beasts. The women knew that they were escaped convicts.
[Illustration: HE TOOK HIS CHARCOAL AND MADE UPON THE WALL THE FOLLOWING
MARKS.]
“There was a boat lying on the beach. To this the first thoughts of
the fugitives were directed. They filled a cask of water and put it
on board. They demanded some provisions from the fisherman’s wife. The
frightened woman gave them some fish and a few ship-biscuits. They were
about to forage for themselves when Wilson, who had been watching, gave
the alarm.
“Their pursuers were upon them. They had to run for it at once. They had
barely time to rush to the boat and get out a little distance when the
guard reached the bench. The latter fired a few shots after them, but
the shots took no effect.
“The fugitives put out to sea in the open boat. They headed north,
for they hoped to catch some Australian ship and be taken up. Their
provisions were soon exhausted. Fortunately it was the rainy season, so
that they had a plentiful supply of water, with which they managed to
keep their cask filled; but that did not prevent them from suffering the
agonies of famine. Clark and Stubbs soon began to look at Wilson with
looks that made him quiver with terror. Naturally enough, gentlemen;
you see they were starving. Wilson was the weakest of the three, and
therefore was at their mercy. They tried, however, to catch fish. It was
of no use. There seemed to be no fish in those seas, or else the bits of
bread crumb which they put down were not an attractive bait.
“The two men began to look at Wilson with the eyes of fiends--eyes that
flamed with foul desire, beaming from deep, hollow orbits which famine
had made. The days passed. One morning Wilson lay dead.”
The stranger paused for a moment, amidst an awful silence.
“The lives of these two were preserved a little longer,” he added, in
slow, measured tones.
“They sailed on. In a few days Clark and Stubbs began to look at one
another. You will understand, gentlemen, that it was an awful thing for
these men to cast at each other the same glances which they once cast
on Wilson. Each one feared the other; each watched his chance, and each
guarded against his companion.
“They could no longer row. The one sat in the bow, the other in the
stern, glaring at one another. My friend Clark was a man of singular
endurance. But why go into particulars? Enough; the boat drifted on, and
at last only one was left.
“A ship was sailing from Australia, and the crew saw a boat drifting. A
man was there. They stopped and picked him up. The boat was stained with
blood. Tokens of what that blood was lay around. There were other things
in the boat which chilled the blood of the sailors. They took Clark on
board. He was mad at first, and raved in his delirium. They heard him
tell of what he had done. During that voyage no one spoke to him. They
touched at Cape Town, and put him ashore.
“My friend is yet alive and well. How do you like my story?”
The stranger sat down. A deep stillness followed, which was suddenly
broken by something, half groan and half curse. It was Clark.
He lifted himself heavily from his chair, his face livid and his eyes
bloodshot, and staggered out of the room.