“Like Béranger’s?” asked Meekin, with a smile. Captain Burgess had never heard of Béranger, but he smiled as if he had learnt his words by heart.
“Or like Sancho Panza’s island,” said North. “You remember how justice was administered there?”
“Not at this moment, sir,” said Burgess, with dignity. He had been often oppressed by the notion that the Reverend Mr. North “chaffed” him. “Pray help yourself to wine.”
“Thank you, none,” said North, filling a tumbler with water. “I have a headache.” His manner of speech and action was so awkward that a silence fell upon the party, caused by each one wondering why Mr. North should grow confused, and drum his fingers on the table, and stare everywhere but at the decanter. Meekin–ever softly at his ease– was the first to speak. “Have you many visitors, Captain Burgess?”
“Very few. Sometimes a party comes over with a recommendation from the Governor, and I show them over the place; but, as a rule, we see no one but ourselves.”
“I asked,” said Meekin, “because some friends of mine were thinking of coming.”
“And who may they be?”
“Do you know Captain Frere?”
“Frere! I should say so!” returned Burgess, with a laugh, modelled upon Maurice Frere’s own. “I was quartered with him at Sarah Island. So he’s a friend of yours, eh?”
“I had the pleasure of meeting him in society. He is just married, you know.”
“Is he?” said Burgess. “The devil he is! I heard something about it, too.”
“Miss Vickers, a charming young person. They are going to Sydney, where Captain Frere has some interest, and Frere thinks of taking Port Arthur on his way down.”
“A strange fancy for a honeymoon trip,” said North.
“Captain Frere takes a deep interest in all relating to convict discipline,” went on Meekin, unheeding the interruption, “and is anxious that Mrs. Frere should see this place.”
“Yes, one oughtn’t to leave the colony without seeing it,” says Burgess; “it’s worth seeing.”
“So Captain Frere thinks. A romantic story, Captain Burgess. He saved her life, you know.”
“Ah! that was a queer thing, that mutiny,” said Burgess. “We’ve got the fellows here, you know.”
“I saw them tried at Hobart Town,” said Meekin. “In fact, the ringleader, John Rex, gave me his confession, and I sent it to the Bishop.”
“A great rascal,” put in North. “A dangerous, scheming, cold–blooded villain.”
“Well now!” said Meekin, with asperity, “I don’t agree with you. Everybody seems to be against that poor fellow–Captain Frere tried to make me think that his letters contained a hidden meaning, but I don’t believe they did. He seems to me to be truly penitent for his offences–a misguided, but not a hypocritical man, if my knowledge of human nature goes for anything.”
“I hope he is,” said North. “I wouldn’t trust him.”
“Oh! there’s no fear of him,” said Burgess cheerily; “if he grows uproarious, we’ll soon give him a touch of the cat.”
“I suppose severity is necessary,” returned Meekin; “though to my ears a flogging sounds a little distasteful. It is a brutal punishment.”
“It’s a punishment for brutes,” said Burgess, and laughed, pleased with the nearest approach to an epigram he ever made in his life.
Here attention was called by the strange behaviour of Mr. North. He had risen, and, without apology, flung wide the window, as though he gasped for air. “Hullo, North! what’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” said North, recovering himself with an effort. “A spasm. I have these attacks at times.” “Have some brandy,” said Burgess.
“No, no, it will pass. No, I say. Well, if you insist.” And seizing the tumbler offered to him, he half-filled it with raw spirit, and swallowed the fiery draught at a gulp.
The Reverend Meekin eyed his clerical brother with horror. The Reverend Meekin was not accustomed to clergymen who wore black neckties, smoked clay pipes, chewed tobacco, and drank neat brandy out of tumblers.
“Ha!” said North, looking wildly round upon them. “That’s better.”
“Let us go on to the verandah,” said Burgess. “It’s cooler than in the house.”
So they went on to the verandah, and looked down upon the lights of the prison, and listened to the sea lapping the shore. The Reverend Mr. North, in this cool atmosphere, seemed to recover himself, and conversation progressed with some sprightliness.
By and by, a short figure, smoking a cheroot, came up out of the dark, and proved to be Dr. Macklewain, who had been prevented from attending the dinner by reason of an accident to a constable at Norfolk Bay, which had claimed his professional attention.
“Well, how’s Forrest?” cried Burgess. “Mr. Meekin–Dr. Macklewain.”
“Dead,” said Dr. Macklewain. “Delighted to see you, Mr. Meekin.”
“Confound it–another of my best men,” grumbled Burgess. “Macklewain, have a glass of wine.” But Macklewain was tired, and wanted to get home.
“I must also be thinking of repose,” said Meekin; “the journey– though most enjoyable–has fatigued me.”
“Come on, then,” said North. “Our roads lie together, doctor.”
“You won’t have a nip of brandy before you start?” asked Burgess.
“No? Then I shall send round for you in the morning, Mr. Meekin. Good night. Macklewain, I want to speak with you a moment.”
Before the two clergymen had got half-way down the steep path that led from the Commandant’s house to the flat on which the cottages of the doctor and chaplain were built, Macklewain rejoined them. “Another flogging to-morrow,” said he grumblingly. “Up at daylight, I suppose, again.”
“Whom is he going to flog now?”
“That young butler-fellow of his.” “What, Kirkland?” cried North. “You don’t mean to say he’s going to flog Kirkland?”
“Insubordination,” says Macklewain. “Fifty lashes.”
“Oh, this must be stopped,” cried North, in great alarm. “He can’t stand it. I tell you, he’ll die, Macklewain.”
“Perhaps you’ll have the goodness to allow me to be the best judge of that,” returned Macklewain, drawing up his little body to its least insignificant stature.
“My dear sir,” replied North, alive to the importance of conciliating the surgeon, “you haven’t seen him lately. He tried to drown himself this morning.”
Mr. Meekin expressed some alarm; but Dr. Macklewain re-assured him. “That sort of nonsense must be stopped,” said he. “A nice example to set. I wonder Burgess didn’t give him a hundred.”
“He was put into the long dormitory,” said North; “you know what sort of a place that is. I declare to Heaven his agony and shame terrified me.”
“Well, he’ll be put into the hospital for a week or so to-morrow,” said Macklewain, “and that’ll give him a spell.”
“If Burgess flogs him I’ll report it to the Governor,” cries North, in great heat. “The condition of those dormitories is infamous.”
“If the boy has anything to complain of, why don’t he complain? We can’t do anything without evidence.”
“Complain! Would his life be safe if he did? Besides, he’s not the sort of creature to complain. He’d rather kill himself.”
“That’s all nonsense,” says Macklewain. “We can’t flog a whole dormitory on suspicion. I can’t help it. The boy’s made his bed, and he must lie on it.”
“I’ll go back and see Burgess,” said North. “Mr. Meekin, here’s the gate, and your room is on the right hand. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Pray, don’t hurry,” said Meekin politely. “You are on an errand of mercy, you know. Everything must give way to that. I shall find my portmanteau in my room, you said.”
“Yes, yes. Call the servant if you want anything. He sleeps at the back,” and North hurried off.
“An impulsive gentleman,” said Meekin to Macklewain, as the sound of Mr. North’s footsteps died away in the distance. Macklewain shook his head seriously.
“There is something wrong about him, but I can’t make out what it is. He has the strangest fits at times. Unless it’s a cancer in the stomach, I don’t know what it can be.”
“Cancer in the stomach! dear me, how dreadful!” says Meekin. “Ah! Doctor, we all have our crosses, have we not? How delightful the grass smells! This seems a very pleasant place, and I think I shall enjoy myself very much. Good-night.”
“Good-night, sir. I hope you will be comfortable.”
“And let us hope poor Mr. North will succeed in his labour of love,” said Meekin, shutting the little gate, “and save the unfortunate Kirkland. Good-night, once more.”
Captain Burgess was shutting his verandah-window when North hurried up.
“Captain Burgess, Macklewain tells me you are going to flog Kirkland.”
“Well, sir, what of that?” said Burgess.
“I have come to beg you not to do so, sir. The lad has been cruelly punished already. He attempted suicide to-day–unhappy creature.”
“Well, that’s just what I’m flogging him for. I’ll teach my prisoners to attempt suicide!”
“But he can’t stand it, sir. He’s too weak.”
“That’s Macklewain’s business.”
“Captain Burgess,” protested North, “I assure you that he does not deserve punishment. I have seen him, and his condition of mind is pitiable.”