At the bottom of the long luxuriant garden-ground was a rustic seat
abutting upon the low wall that topped the lane. The branches of the
English trees (planted long ago) hung above it, and between their
rustling boughs one could see the reach of the silver river. Sitting
with her face to the bay and her back to the house, Sylvia opened the
manuscript she had carried off from Meekin, and began to read. It was
written in a firm, large hand, and headed--
“A NARRATIVE OF THE SUFFERINGS AND ADVENTURES OF CERTAIN OF THE TEN
CONVICTS WHO SEIZED THE BRIG OSPREY, AT MACQUARIE HARBOUR, IN VAN
DIEMEN'S LAND, RELATED BY ONE OF THE SAID CONVICTS WHILE LYING UNDER
SENTENCE FOR THIS OFFENCE IN THE GAOL AT HOBART TOWN.”
Sylvia, having read this grandiloquent sentence, paused for a moment.
The story of the mutiny, which had been the chief event of her
childhood, lay before her, and it seemed to her that, were it related
truly, she would comprehend something strange and terrible, which had
been for many years a shadow upon her memory. Longing, and yet fearing,
to proceed, she held the paper, half unfolded, in her hand, as, in her
childhood, she had held ajar the door of some dark room, into which she
longed and yet feared to enter. Her timidity lasted but an instant.
* * * * *
“When orders arrived from head-quarters to break up the penal settlement
of Macquarie Harbour, the Commandant (Major Vickers, --th Regiment) and
most of the prisoners embarked on board a colonial vessel, and set
sail for Hobart Town, leaving behind them a brig that had been built at
Macquarie Harbour, to be brought round after them, and placing Captain
Maurice Frere in command. Left aboard her was Mr. Bates, who had acted
as pilot at the settlement, also four soldiers, and ten prisoners, as
a crew to work the vessel. The Commandant's wife and child were also
aboard.”
* * * * *
“How strangely it reads,” thought the girl.
* * * * *
“On the 12th of January, 1834, we set sail, and in the afternoon
anchored safely outside the Gates; but a breeze setting in from
the north-west caused a swell on the Bar, and Mr. Bates ran back to
Wellington Bay. We remained there all next day; and in the afternoon
Captain Frere took two soldiers and a boat, and went a-fishing. There
were then only Mr. Bates and the other two soldiers aboard, and it
was proposed by William Cheshire to seize the vessel. I was at first
unwilling, thinking that loss of life might ensue; but Cheshire and the
others, knowing that I was acquainted with navigation--having in happier
days lived much on the sea--threatened me if I refused to join. A song
was started in the folksle, and one of the soldiers, coming to listen
to it, was seized, and Lyon and Riley then made prisoner of the
sentry. Forced thus into a project with which I had at first but little
sympathy, I felt my heart leap at the prospect of freedom, and would
have sacrificed all to obtain it. Maddened by the desperate hopes that
inspired me, I from that moment assumed the command of my wretched
companions; and honestly think that, however culpable I may have been in
the eyes of the law, I prevented them from the display of a violence to
which their savage life had unhappily made them but too accustomed.”
* * * * *
“Poor fellow,” said Sylvia, beguiled by Master Rex's specious
paragraphs, “I think he was not to blame.”
* * * * *
“Mr. Bates was below in the cabin, and on being summoned by Cheshire to
surrender, with great courage attempted a defence. Barker fired at him
through the skylight, but fearful of the lives of the Commandant's
wife and child, I struck up his musket, and the ball passed through the
mouldings of the stern windows. At the same time, the soldiers whom we
had bound in the folksle forced up the hatch and came on deck. Cheshire
shot the first one, and struck the other with his clubbed musket. The
wounded man lost his footing, and the brig lurching with the rising
tide, he fell into the sea. This was--by the blessing of God--the only
life lost in the whole affair.
“Mr. Bates, seeing now that we had possession of the deck, surrendered,
upon promise that the Commandant's wife and child should be put ashore
in safety. I directed him to take such matters as he needed, and
prepared to lower the jolly-boat. As she swung off the davits, Captain
Frere came alongside in the whale-boat, and gallantly endeavoured to
board us, but the boat drifted past the vessel. I was now determined to
be free--indeed, the minds of all on board were made up to carry through
the business--and hailing the whale-boat, swore to fire into her unless
she surrendered. Captain Frere refused, and was for boarding us again,
but the two soldiers joined with us, and prevented his intention. Having
now got the prisoners into the jolly-boat, we transferred Captain Frere
into her, and being ourselves in the whale-boat, compelled Captain Frere
and Mr. Bates to row ashore. We then took the jolly-boat in tow, and
returned to the brig, a strict watch being kept for fear that they
should rescue the vessel from us.
“At break of day every man was upon deck, and a consultation took place
concerning the parting of the provisions. Cheshire was for leaving them
to starve, but Lesly, Shiers, and I held out for an equal division.
After a long and violent controversy, Humanity gained the day, and the
provisions were put into the whale-boat, and taken ashore. Upon the
receipt of the provisions, Mr. Bates thus expressed himself: 'Men, I did
not for one moment expect such kind treatment from you, regarding the
provisions you have now brought ashore for us, out of so little which
there was on board. When I consider your present undertaking, without
a competent navigator, and in a leaky vessel, your situation seems most
perilous; therefore I hope God will prove kind to you, and preserve
you from the manifold dangers you may have to encounter on the stormy
ocean.' Mrs. Vickers also was pleased to say that I had behaved kindly
to her, that she wished me well, and that when she returned to
Hobart Town she would speak in my favour. They then cheered us on our
departure, wishing we might be prosperous on account of our humanity in
sharing the provisions with them.
“Having had breakfast, we commenced throwing overboard the light cargo
which was in the hold, which employed us until dinnertime. After dinner
we ran out a small kedge-anchor with about one hundred fathoms of line,
and having weighed anchor, and the tide being slack, we hauled on the
kedge-line, and succeeded in this manner by kedging along, and we
came to two islands, called the Cap and Bonnet. The whole of us then
commenced heaving the brig short, sending the whale-boat to take her
in tow, after we had tripped the anchor. By this means we got her safe
across the Bar. Scarcely was this done when a light breeze sprang up
from the south-west, and firing a musket to apprize the party we had
left of our safety, we made sail and put out to sea.”
Having read thus far, Sylvia paused in an agony of recollection. She
remembered the firing of the musket, and that her mother had wept over
her. But beyond this all was uncertainty. Memories slipped across her
mind like shadows--she caught at them, and they were gone. Yet the
reading of this strange story made her nerves thrill. Despite the
hypocritical grandiloquence and affected piety of the narrative, it
was easy to see that, save some warping of facts to make for himself
a better case, and to extol the courage of the gaolers who had him at
their mercy, the narrator had not attempted to better his tale by the
invention of perils. The history of the desperate project that had
been planned and carried out five years before was related with grim
simplicity which (because it at once bears the stamp of truth, and
forces the imagination of the reader to supply the omitted details
of horror), is more effective to inspire sympathy than elaborate
description. The very barrenness of the narration was hideously
suggestive, and the girl felt her heart beat quicker as her poetic
intellect rushed to complete the terrible picture sketched by the
convict. She saw it all--the blue sea, the burning sun, the slowly
moving ship, the wretched company on the shore; she heard--Was that a
rustling in the bushes below her? A bird! How nervous she was growing!
“Being thus fairly rid--as we thought--of our prison life, we cheerfully
held consultation as to our future course. It was my intention to get
among the islands in the South Seas, and scuttling the brig, to pass
ourselves off among the natives as shipwrecked seamen, trusting to God's
mercy that some homeward bound vessel might at length rescue us. With
this view, I made James Lesly first mate, he being an experienced
mariner, and prepared myself, with what few instruments we had, to take
our departure from Birches Rock. Having hauled the whale-boat alongside,
we stove her, together with the jolly-boat, and cast her adrift.
This done, I parted the landsmen with the seamen, and, steering east
south-east, at eight p.m. we set our first watch. In little more than an
hour after this came on a heavy gale from the south-west. I, and others
of the landsmen, were violently sea-sick, and Lesly had some difficulty
in handling the brig, as the boisterous weather called for two men at
the helm. In the morning, getting upon deck with difficulty, I found
that the wind had abated, but upon sounding the well discovered much
water in the hold. Lesly rigged the pumps, but the starboard one only
could be made to work. From that time there were but two businesses
aboard--from the pump to the helm. The gale lasted two days and a night,
the brig running under close-reefed topsails, we being afraid to shorten
sail lest we might be overtaken by some pursuing vessel, so strong was
the terror of our prison upon us.
“On the 16th, at noon, I again forced myself on deck, and taking a
meridian observation, altered the course of the brig to east and by
south, wishing to run to the southward of New Zealand, out of the usual
track of shipping; and having a notion that, should our provisions hold
out, we might make the South American coast, and fall into Christian
hands. This done, I was compelled to retire below, and for a week lay
in my berth as one at the last gasp. At times I repented my resolution,
Fair urging me to bestir myself, as the men were not satisfied with our
course. On the 21st a mutiny occurred, led by Lyons, who asserted
we were heading into the Pacific, and must infallibly perish. This
disaffected man, though ignorant of navigation, insisted upon steering
to the south, believing that we had run to the northward of the
Friendly Islands, and was for running the ship ashore and beseeching
the protection of the natives. Lesly in vain protested that a southward
course would bring us into icefields. Barker, who had served on board
a whaler, strove to convince the mutineers that the temperature of such
latitudes was too warm for such an error to escape us. After much noise,
Lyons rushed to the helm, and Russen, drawing one of the pistols taken
from Mr. Bates, shot him dead, upon which the others returned to their
duty. This dreadful deed was, I fear, necessary to the safety of the
brig; and had it occurred on board a vessel manned by free-men, would
have been applauded as a stern but needful measure.
“Forced by these tumults upon deck, I made a short speech to the crew,
and convinced them that I was competent to perform what I had promised
to do, though at the time my heart inwardly failed me, and I longed for
some sign of land. Supported at each arm by Lesly and Barker, I took an
observation, and altered our course to north by east, the brig running
eleven knots an hour under single-reefed topsails, and the pumps hard at
work. So we ran until the 31st of January, when a white squall took us,
and nearly proved fatal to all aboard.
“Lesly now committed a great error, for, upon the brig righting (she
was thrown upon her beam ends, and her spanker boom carried away), he
commanded to furl the fore-top sail, strike top-gallant yards, furl the
main course, and take a reef in the maintopsail, leaving her to scud
under single-reefed maintopsail and fore-sail. This caused the vessel to
leak to that degree that I despaired of reaching land in her, and prayed
to the Almighty to send us speedy assistance. For nine days and nights
the storm continued, the men being utterly exhausted. One of the two
soldiers whom we had employed to fish the two pieces of the spanker
boom, with some quartering that we had, was washed overboard and
drowned. Our provision was now nearly done, but the gale abating on
the ninth day, we hastened to put provisions on the launch. The sea
was heavy, and we were compelled to put a purchase on the fore and main
yards, with preventers to windward, to ease the launch in going over the
side. We got her fairly afloat at last, the others battening down the
hatches in the brig. Having dressed ourselves in the clothes of Captain
Frere and the pilot, we left the brig at sundown, lying with her channel
plates nearly under water.
“The wind freshening during the night, our launch, which might, indeed,
be termed a long-boat, having been fitted with mast, bowsprit, and main
boom, began to be very uneasy, shipping two seas one after the other.
The plan we could devise was to sit, four of us about, in the stern
sheets, with our backs to the sea, to prevent the water pooping us. This
itself was enough to exhaust the strongest men. The day, however, made
us some amends for the dreadful night. Land was not more than ten miles
from us; approaching as nearly as we could with safety, we hauled our
wind, and ran along in, trusting to find some harbour. At half-past two
we sighted a bay of very curious appearance, having two large rocks at
the entrance, resembling pyramids. Shiers, Russen, and Fair landed, in
hopes of discovering fresh water, of which we stood much in need. Before
long they returned, stating that they had found an Indian hut, inside
of which were some rude earthenware vessels. Fearful of surprise, we lay
off the shore all that night, and putting into the bay very early in the
morning, killed a seal. This was the first fresh meat I had tasted for
four years. It seemed strange to eat it under such circumstances. We
cooked the flippers, heart, and liver for breakfast, giving some to
a cat which we had taken with us out of the brig, for I would not,
willingly, allow even that animal to perish. After breakfast, we got
under weigh; and we had scarcely been out half an hour when we had a
fresh breeze, which carried us along at the rate of seven knots an hour,
running from bay to bay to find inhabitants. Steering along the shore,
as the sun went down, we suddenly heard the bellowing of a bullock, and
James Barker, whom, from his violent conduct, I thought incapable of
such sentiment, burst into tears.
“In about two hours we perceived great fires on the beach and let go
anchor in nineteen fathoms of water. We lay awake all that night. In the
morning, we rowed further inshore, and moored the boat to some seaweed.
As soon as the inhabitants caught sight of us, they came down to the
beach. I distributed needles and thread among the Indians, and on my
saying 'Valdivia,' a woman instantly pointed towards a tongue of land to
the southward, holding up three fingers, and crying 'leaghos'! which I
conjectured to be three leagues; the distance we afterwards found it to
be.
“About three o'clock in the afternoon, we weathered the point pointed
out by the woman, and perceived a flagstaff and a twelve-gun battery
under our lee. I now divided among the men the sum of six pounds ten
shillings that I had found in Captain Frere's cabin, and made another
and more equal distribution of the clothing. There were also two
watches, one of which I gave to Lesly, and kept the other for myself. It
was resolved among us to say that we were part crew of the brig Julia,
bound for China and wrecked in the South Seas. Upon landing at the
battery, we were heartily entertained, though we did not understand one
word of what they said. Next morning it was agreed that Lesly, Barker,
Shiers, and Russen should pay for a canoe to convey them to the town,
which was nine miles up the river; and on the morning of the 6th March
they took their departure. On the 9th March, a boat, commanded by a
lieutenant, came down with orders that the rest of us should be conveyed
to town; and we accordingly launched the boat under convoy of the
soldiers, and reached the town the same evening, in some trepidation. I
feared lest the Spaniards had obtained a clue as to our real character,
and was not deceived--the surviving soldier having betrayed us. This
fellow was thus doubly a traitor--first, in deserting his officer, and
then in betraying his comrades.
“We were immediately escorted to prison, where we found our four
companions. Some of them were for brazening out the story of shipwreck,
but knowing how confused must necessarily be our accounts, were we
examined separately, I persuaded them that open confession would be our
best chance of safety. On the 14th we were taken before the Intendente
or Governor, who informed us that we were free, on condition that we
chose to live within the limits of the town. At this intelligence I felt
my heart grow light, and only begged in the name of my companions that
we might not be given up to the British Government; 'rather than which,'
said I, 'I would beg to be shot dead in the palace square.' The Governor
regarded us with tears in his eyes, and spoke as follows: 'My poor men,
do not think that I would take that advantage over you. Do not make an
attempt to escape, and I will be your friend, and should a vessel come
tomorrow to demand you, you shall find I will be as good as my word. All
I have to impress upon you is, to beware of intemperance, which is
very prevalent in this country, and when you find it convenient, to
pay Government the money that was allowed you for subsistence while in
prison.'
“The following day we all procured employment in launching a vessel of
three hundred tons burden, and my men showed themselves so active
that the owner said he would rather have us than thirty of his own
countrymen; which saying pleased the Governor, who was there with almost
the whole of the inhabitants and a whole band of music, this vessel
having been nearly three years on the stocks. After she was launched,
the seamen amongst us helped to fit her out, being paid fifteen dollars
a month, with provisions on board. As for myself, I speedily obtained
employment in the shipbuilder's yard, and subsisted by honest industry,
almost forgetting, in the unwonted pleasures of freedom, the sad reverse
of fortune which had befallen me. To think that I, who had mingled among
gentlemen and scholars, should be thankful to labour in a shipwright's
yard by day, and sleep on a bundle of hides by night! But this is
personal matter, and need not be obtruded.
“In the same yard with me worked the soldier who had betrayed us, and I
could not but regard it as a special judgment of Heaven when he one
day fell from a great height and was taken up for dead, dying in much
torment in a few hours. The days thus passed on in comparative happiness
until the 20th of May, 1836, when the old Governor took his departure,
regretted by all the inhabitants of Valdivia, and the Achilles, a
one-and-twenty-gun brig of war, arrived with the new Governor. One of
the first acts of this gentleman was to sell our boat, which was moored
at the back of Government-house. This proceeding looked to my mind
indicative of ill-will; and, fearful lest the Governor should deliver us
again into bondage, I resolved to make my escape from the place. Having
communicated my plans to Barker, Lesly, Riley, Shiers, and Russen, I
offered the Governor to get built for him a handsome whale-boat, making
the iron work myself. The Governor consented, and in a little more
than a fortnight we had completed a four-oared whale-boat, capable of
weathering either sea or storm. We fitted her with sails and provisions
in the Governor's name, and on the 4th of July, being a Saturday night,
we took our departure from Valdivia, dropping down the river shortly
after sunset. Whether the Governor, disgusted at the trick we had
played him, decided not to pursue us, or whether--as I rather think--our
absence was not discovered until the Monday morning, when we were beyond
reach of capture, I know not, but we got out to sea without hazard,
and, taking accurate bearings, ran for the Friendly Islands, as had been
agreed upon amongst us.
“But it now seemed that the good fortune which had hitherto attended
us had deserted us, for after crawling for four days in sultry
weather, there fell a dead calm, and we lay like a log upon the sea for
forty-eight hours. For three days we remained in the midst of the ocean,
exposed to the burning rays of the sun, in a boat without water or
provisions. On the fourth day, just as we had resolved to draw lots
to determine who should die for the sustenance of the others, we were
picked up by an opium clipper returning to Canton. The captain,
an American, was most kind to us, and on our arrival at Canton, a
subscription was got up for us by the British merchants of that city,
and a free passage to England obtained for us. Russen, however, getting
in drink, made statements which brought suspicion upon us. I had imposed
upon the Consul with a fictitious story of a wreck, but had stated that
my name was Wilson, forgetting that the sextant which had been
preserved in the boat had Captain Bates's name engraved upon it. These
circumstances together caused sufficient doubts in the Consul's mind to
cause him to give directions that, on our arrival in London, we were
to be brought before the Thames Police Court. There being no evidence
against us, we should have escaped, had not a Dr. Pine, who had been
surgeon on board the Malabar transport, being in the Court, recognized
me and swore to my identity. We were remanded, and, to complete the
chain of evidence, Mr. Capon, the Hobart Town gaoler, was, strangely
enough, in London at the time, and identified us all. Our story was
then made public, and Barker and Lesly, turning Queen's evidence against
Russen, he was convicted of the murder of Lyons, and executed. We
were then placed on board the Leviathan hulk, and remained there until
shipped in the Lady Jane, which was chartered, with convicts, for Van
Diemen's Land, in order to be tried in the colony, where the offence was
committed, for piratically seizing the brig Osprey, and arrived here on
the 15th December, 1838.”
* * * * *
Coming, breathless, to the conclusion of this wonderful relation, Sylvia
suffered her hand to fall into her lap, and sat meditative. The history
of this desperate struggle for liberty was to her full of vague horror.
She had never before realized among what manner of men she had lived.
The sullen creatures who worked in the chain-gangs, or pulled in the
boats--their faces brutalized into a uniform blankness--must be very
different men from John Rex and his companions. Her imagination pictured
the voyage in the leaky brig, the South American slavery, the midnight
escape, the desperate rowing, the long, slow agony of starvation,
and the heart-sickness that must have followed upon recapture and
imprisonment. Surely the punishment of “penal servitude” must have been
made very terrible for men to dare such hideous perils to escape
from it. Surely John Rex, the convict, who, alone, and prostrated
by sickness, quelled a mutiny and navigated a vessel through a
storm-ravaged ocean, must possess qualities which could be put to better
use than stone-quarrying. Was the opinion of Maurice Frere the correct
one after all, and were these convict monsters gifted with unnatural
powers of endurance, only to be subdued and tamed by unnatural and
inhuman punishments of lash and chain? Her fancies growing amid the fast
gathering gloom, she shuddered as she guessed to what extremities of
evil might such men proceed did an opportunity ever come to them to
retaliate upon their gaolers. Perhaps beneath each mask of servility and
sullen fear that was the ordinary prison face, lay hid a courage and a
despair as mighty as that which sustained those ten poor wanderers over
the Pacific Ocean. Maurice had told her that these people had their
secret signs, their secret language. She had just seen a specimen of
the skill with which this very Rex--still bent upon escape--could send
a hidden message to his friends beneath the eyes of his gaolers. What
if the whole island was but one smouldering volcano of revolt and
murder--the whole convict population but one incarnated conspiracy,
bound together by crime and suffering! Terrible to think of--yet not
impossible.
Oh, how strangely must the world have been civilized, that this most
lovely corner of it must needs be set apart as a place of banishment for
the monsters that civilization had brought forth and bred! She cast her
eyes around, and all beauty seemed blotted out from the scene before
her. The graceful foliage melting into indistinctness in the gathering
twilight, appeared to her horrible and treacherous. The river seemed to
flow sluggishly, as though thickened with blood and tears. The shadow of
the trees seemed to hold lurking shapes of cruelty and danger. Even the
whispering breeze bore with it sighs, and threats, and mutterings of
revenge. Oppressed by a terror of loneliness, she hastily caught up the
manuscript, and turned to seek the house, when, as if summoned from the
earth by the power of her own fears, a ragged figure barred her passage.
To the excited girl this apparition seemed the embodiment of the unknown
evil she had dreaded. She recognized the yellow clothing, and marked the
eager hands outstretched to seize her. Instantly upon her flashed the
story that three days since had set the prison-town agog. The desperado
of Port Arthur, the escaped mutineer and murderer, was before her, with
unchained arms, free to wreak his will of her.
“Sylvia! It is you! Oh, at last! I have escaped, and come to ask--What?
Do you not know me?”
Pressing both hands to her bosom, she stepped back a pace, speechless
with terror.
“I am Rufus Dawes,” he said, looking in her face for the grateful smile
of recognition that did not come--“Rufus Dawes.”
The party at the house had finished their wine, and, sitting on the
broad verandah, were listening to some gentle dullness of the clergyman,
when there broke upon their ears a cry.
“What's that?” said Vickers.
Frere sprang up, and looked down the garden. He saw two figures that
seemed to struggle together. One glance was enough, and, with a shout,
he leapt the flower-beds, and made straight at the escaped prisoner.
Rufus Dawes saw him coming, but, secure in the protection of the girl
who owed to him so much, he advanced a step nearer, and loosing his
respectful clasp of her hand, caught her dress.
“Oh, help, Maurice, help!” cried Sylvia again.
Into the face of Rufus Dawes came an expression of horror-stricken
bewilderment. For three days the unhappy man had contrived to keep life
and freedom, in order to get speech with the one being who, he thought,
cherished for him some affection. Having made an unparalleled escape
from the midst of his warders, he had crept to the place where lived the
idol of his dreams, braving recapture, that he might hear from her two
words of justice and gratitude. Not only did she refuse to listen to
him, and shrink from him as from one accursed, but, at the sound of
his name, she summoned his deadliest foe to capture him. Such monstrous
ingratitude was almost beyond belief. She, too,--the child he had nursed
and fed, the child for whom he had given up his hard-earned chance of
freedom and fortune, the child of whom he had dreamed, the child whose
image he had worshipped--she, too, against him! Then there was no
justice, no Heaven, no God! He loosed his hold of her dress, and,
regardless of the approaching footsteps, stood speechless, shaking from
head to foot. In another instant Frere and McNab flung themselves upon
him, and he was borne to the ground. Though weakened by starvation, he
shook them off with scarce an effort, and, despite the servants who came
hurrying from the alarmed house, might even then have turned and
made good his escape. But he seemed unable to fly. His chest heaved
convulsively, great drops of sweat beaded his white face, and from his
eyes tears seemed about to break. For an instant his features worked
convulsively, as if he would fain invoke upon the girl, weeping on her
father's shoulder, some hideous curse. But no words came--only thrusting
his hand into his breast, with a supreme gesture of horror and aversion,
he flung something from him. Then a profound sigh escaped him, and he
held out his hands to be bound.
There was something so pitiable about this silent grief that, as they
led him away, the little group instinctively averted their faces, lest
they should seem to triumph over him.