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Updated: June 2, 2025
Vetch, hearing his savage comrade give utterance to a thought all had secretly cherished, speaks out, crying, "It would be murder to do it, and then, perhaps we couldn't eat it." "Oh," said Gabbett, with a grin, "I'll warrant you that, but you must all have a hand in it."
And then, his quick ears catching the jingle of arms, he said, "Stand by now for the door one rush'll do it." It was eight o'clock and the relief guard was coming from the after deck. The crowd of prisoners round the door held their breath to listen. "It's all planned," says Gabbett, in a low growl. "W'en the door h'opens we rush, and we're in among the guard afore they know where they are.
Please God, I will give them to her when we go back or send her to England if I can. She is a good-hearted girl, but she wants polishing sadly, I'm afraid." Just then someone came up the garden path and saluted. "What is it, Troke?" "Prisoner given himself up, sir." "Which of them?" "Gabbett. He came back to-night." "Alone?" "Yes, sir. The rest have died he says."
The intelligent Troke, considerately alive to the wishes of his superior officers, dragged the mass into a sitting posture. Gabbett for it was he passed one great hand over his face, and leaning exactly in the position in which Troke placed him, scowled, bewildered, at his visitors. "Well, Gabbett," says Vickers, "you've come back again, you see. When will you learn sense, eh?
The giant swings his axe in savage anger at enforced cold, and Vetch takes an opportunity to remark privately to him what a big man Greenhill is. On the fourteenth day they can scarcely crawl, and their limbs pain them. Greenhill, who is the weakest, sees Gabbett and the Moocher go aside to consult, and crawling to the Crow, whimpers: "For God's sake, Jemmy, don't let 'em murder me!"
Vetch comprehended the devilish scheme of the monster who had entrapped five of his fellow-beings to aid him by their deaths to his own safety, and held aloof. Gabbett watched to snatch the weapon from his companion, and make the odds even once and for ever. In the night-time when they feigned slumber, each stealthily raising a head caught the wakeful glance of his companion.
Of these, the giant who had the previous night asserted his authority in the prison seemed to be the chief. His name was Gabbett. He was a returned convict, now on his way to undergo a second sentence for burglary. The other two were a man named Sanders, known as the "Moocher", and Jemmy Vetch, the Crow.
Galled by this indifference, John Rex had attempted to practise those ingenious arts of torment by which Gabbett, Vetch, or other leading spirits of the gang asserted their superiority over their quieter comrades. But he soon ceased. "I have been longer in this hell than you," said Rufus Dawes, "and I know more of the devil's tricks than you can show me. You had best be quiet."
That day's march takes place in silence, and at midday halt Cornelius volunteers to carry the billy, affecting great restoration from the food. Vetch gives it to him, and in half an hour afterwards Cornelius is missing. Gabbett and Greenhill pursue him in vain, and return with curses. "He'll die like a dog," said Greenhill, "alone in the bush."
"You've killed him!" cried someone. Gabbett took another look at the purpling face and the bedewed forehead, and then sprang erect, rubbing at his right hand, as though he would rub off something sticking there. "He's got the fever!" he roared, with a terror-stricken grimace. "The what?" asked twenty voices. "The fever, ye grinning fools!" cried Gabbett. "I've seen it before to-day.
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