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Why, bless me, Dawes, we thort we'd lost yer! We thort yer'd given us the slip altogether, Dawes. They didn't take care of yer in Hobart Town, I expect, eh, boys? We'll look after yer here, Dawes, though. You won't bolt any more." "Take care, Mr. Troke," said a warning voice, "you're at it again! Let the man alone!"
"I'm not to go in there?" says the ex-bank clerk, drawing back in dismay from the cloud of foul faces which lowered upon him. "By the Lord, but you are, then!" says Troke. "The Governor says a night in there'll take the starch out of ye. Come, in yer go." "But, Mr. Troke "
"Stow your gaff," says Troke, with another oath, and impatiently striking the lad with his thong "I can't argue here all night. Get in." So Kirkland, aged twenty-two, and the son of Methodist parents, went in. Rufus Dawes, among whose sinister memories this yard was numbered, sighed.
Troke rightly surmised, no man could swim the bay in irons; and when the Ladybird, an hour later, passed the Grummet Rock, all on board her believed that the corpse of its late occupant was lying beneath the waves that seethed at its base. Rufus Dawes was believed to be dead by the party on board the Ladybird, and his strange escape was unknown to those still at Sarah Island.
Pounce to the Lumber Yard, and, on our entry, we observed a man in the crowd round the cook-house deliberately smoking. The Chief Constable of the Island my old friend Troke, of Port Arthur seeing that this exhibition attracted Pounce's notice, pointed out the man to an assistant. The assistant, Jacob Gimblett, advanced and desired the prisoner to surrender the pipe.
The logs began to loosen, and although the onward motion of the boat kept the chain taut, when the rowers slackened their exertions the mass parted, and Mr. Troke, hooking himself on to the side of the Ladybird, saw a huge log slip out from its fellows and disappear into the darkness.
There was no charm for him in the exquisite blue of the sea, the soft shadows of the hills, or the soothing ripple of the waves that crept voluptuously to the white breast of the shining shore. He sat with his head bowed down, and his hands clasped about his knees, disdaining to look until they roused him. "Hallo, Dawes!" says Warder Troke, halting his train of ironed yellow-jackets.
"I know there is a Hell," said Dawes, without turning his face. "Ay, and a Heaven, lad. I think I shall go there. You will, old chap, for you've been good to me God bless you, you've been very good to me." When Troke came in the morning he saw what had occurred at a glance, and hastened to remove the corpse of the strangled Mooney.
Kirkland was put into a separate cell that night; and Troke, by way of assuring him a good night's rest, told him that he was to have "fifty" in the morning. "And Dawes'll lay it on," he added. "He's one of the smartest men I've got, and he won't spare yer, yer may take your oath of that." "You will find this a terrible place, Mr.
His wife would sail in the same vessel with North, and he would in a few days be left alone on the island to pursue his "discipline" unchecked. With this intent he returned to the prison, and gravely informed poor Troke that he was astonished at his barbarity. "Mrs.
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