Moondyne/How a Prisoner Might Break a Bar
The days slipped into weeks as the Houguemont sailed southward down the great commercial highway of the Atlantic. The mild airs of the warmer latitudes surprised and delighted those who had only known the moist climate of Britain. As the vessel sailed close to the island of Pico, one of the Azores, the deck was crowded with gazers on the unknown land.
It was the forenoon of a lovely day. The sun shone with radiant splendour on the soaring peak and purple cliffs of Pico. The island seemed to most of those on the ship like some legendary land of fairy lore. They bad never seen any country but England, and they had never before heard even the name of this important-looking place.
On the bow of the convict ship, standing on the raised deck, which was the roof of the punishment cell or compartment, stood three men, looking up at Pico. These three, from the day of the ship's sailing, had been drawn together by inherent attraction; and now, among all the queer new friendships of the voyage, there was none stronger than theirs. And yet they were very dissimilar, inwardly and outwardly.
One was a tall man, solemn-faced and severe, dressed in sombre garments; the next was a small man, mild of face and manner, clad in old-fashioned sailor's blue; the third was a very black man, whose hair stood upright on his head when he removed his immense fur cap, and—whose body from throat to feet was clothed in furs.
Strange it was, that this seemingly discordant trio, Mr. Haggett, Officer Lodge and Ngarra-jil, had developed a mutual attraction, each for the other; and, after a few weeks at sea, had spent almost their whole waking time in each other's company.
They did not converse much, if any. Ben Lodge did not quite understand Mr. Haggett's solemn scriptural illustrations and heavy comments; Mr. Haggett did not pay much heed to Ben Lodge's dreadful tale of carnage in the Chinese bombardment; and neither of them understood Ngarra-jil, nor did he comprehend a word they said.
Yet they passed day after day in each other's company, leaning over the vessel's side or sitting on the sunny forecastle.
The presence of Officer Lodge on board needs explanation. Two days before the convict ship sailed, Mr. Wyville walked into the lock-up at Walton-le-Dale, followed by Ngarra-jil.
Officer Lodge met him with a mild, every-day air, and, pointing with a backward motion of the hand towards the cell, informed him that it was "hempty."
"Have you any relatives or others depending on you?" asked Mr. Wyville, falling into the matter-of-fact simplicity of the policeman.
"No, sir; no none as can't get along without me. I 'ave lived here alone for fifteen year. I don't know a man, though, in Walton to take my place. There's a deal of trust in this hoffice, sir; a deal of trust."
"What property do you own here?" asked Mr. Wyville.
"The donkey and water-cart is mine, though the village gave 'em to me. That's all the property."
"I need a careful man to oversee a settlement," said Mr. Wyville. "But he will have to go to Australia. He will be comfortably placed, much more so than you are here; and his engagement will be permanent. I came to offer the place to you—can you come?"
"Yessir," said Officer Lodge, as quietly as if he were asked to walk down the street. "Do you want me to start now?"
"It is now noon; I will return to London on the two o'clock train. Meanwhile, I will walk through the village." Turning to Ngarra-jil, Mr. Wyville said in his own language, "You can remain here."
Mr. Wyville walked straight to the old home of Alice Walmsley, and lingered a long time in and around the deserted and decaying cottage. There was a warm feeling in his heart, a new and happy growth, which was thrilled and strengthened as his eye fell on objects that might once have been familiar to Alice Walmsley.
As he left the place, to return for Officer Lodge, it seemed as dear to him as if he had known and loved it all his life. He turned towards it, as he walked down the road, and there was a quiet gladness in his face.
"She will leave it all behind," he murmured. "There shall be no picture of its wretchedness in her memory."
He passed to the court-house. Officer Lodge and Ngarra-jil were sitting in the office, silently looking at each other. At first, Officer Lodge had spoken to his companion; but Ngarra-jil had answered only by a gruff and unintelligible monosyllable. Then they had subsided into perfect silence.
"Are you ready?" asked Mr. Wyville.
"Yessir."
"Come."
They went to the rail-way station, and took their seats for London. Officer Lodge and Ngarra-jil sat opposite each other, and continued their acquaintance in the same silent fashion which had marked its beginning in the stationhouse.
On board the convict ship, they had attracted the lonely Mr. Haggett, who, in a patronizing manner at first, joined their company.
As these three stood near the bow of the Houguemont, looking up at the purple cliffs of lofty Pico, there rose an extraordinary commotion on the deck among the convicts.
That morning, two men, the worst and most disorderly characters in the ship, had been locked up in the punishment crib. They had first been sentenced to work at oakum picking; but they sat within the bars idle, staring out at the crowd of convicts on deck, and singing and shouting. For this they had been again reported, and the officers had now come to take them out for further punishment.
The officers stood waiting, for him who had the key of the barred door; and he was searching vainly in his pockets. After a while, it was evident that the key had been mislaid or lost. The officers could not open the barred door.
The two culprits within were the first to understand this, and they set up a howl of derision. They danced about in their den, cursing the officers and snapping their fingers at them through the bars.
At length a dreadful idea struck one of the desperate wretches. His eye had fallen on the heap of loosely-picked oakum inside the bars. With a yell he seized an armful of the inflammable material and threw it far within the cage, against a heap of tarred rope ready for picking.
The officers stood outside, watching the fellow's action with alarm. When he had gathered all the oakum into a pile, he drew from his pocket, a lucifer match, and flourished it before the officers' eyes with a grin of triumph and devilish meaning. His brutal associate within the bars, upon whom the meaning of the preparations broke suddenly at sight of the match, gave a wild shout of delight and defiance.
"Damn you!" he cried, shaking his fist at the powerless warders, "you can't help yourselves. We'll set fire to the ship before your eyes!"
The dreadful threat struck terror into the convicts on deck, who began to huddle together like sheep.
The officers looked into each other's pale faces, dumb and helpless. One of them caught hold of the massive bars of the door, and shook them with all his force. He might as well have tried to shake down tile mast.
Yelling with delight at their power, the two miscreants within piled up the pyre. Then, he who held the match selected a dry place on deck to strike it. He bent down oil his knees, and covered his action from the eyes of the officers.
In another instant he sprang to his feet, holding a blazing rope of loosely-twisted oakum. With a laugh that rang through the ship, be applied the torch to the pile of oakum, and the yellow flame licked up the ready material with fearful rapidity.
At sight of the flame, a cry of alarm rose from the huddled convicts, drowning the reports of the officers' pistols, who were shooting down the incendiaries.
It was too late. Had they used their pistols before the match was struck, they would have acted in time. To slaughter the wretches now was to insure the continuation of the fire. Were the prisoners let alone, they might have become terrified at their own danger, and have quenched the blaze before it had seized the ship.
One of the officers placed the muzzle of his pistol to the ponderous lock of the cage, and fired. The bullet destroyed the lock, but did not force it. At that moment, with a cry of success, an officer dashed through the crowd, and seized the lock. He had found the key! But it would not turn in the shattered wards. The bullet had wedged everything together, and the bolt had become a rivet.
By this time the flames had spread over the pile of tarred rope, and had fastened on the beams overhead. The pitch bubbled up between the seams of the deck, and dense volumes of smoke poured through the bars.
The alarm had spread to the convicts below, and an awful sound of affright arose from the hundreds of horrified hearts.
The officers dashed wildly to and fro. Some of the ship's crew had begun to work with axes on the roof of the cage, which was a heavily-timbered deck. The fire began to roar with the dreadful sound that denotes the untamable power of approaching conflagration.
At this moment Mr. Wyville came forward, and with one glance took in the whole scene. Everyone made way for him as he strode to the cage. The convicts prayed him, "save us!" the ultimate appeal of terror-stricken men.
He stood an instant looking at the fire—saw the mortal danger. In ten minutes more no earthly power could subdue the flames.
"Shall we open the hatches, and let the convicts come on deck?" asked the pallid chief warder, the key in his hand.
"No!" shouted Wyville, with such sudden force, that the man staggered back in dismay.
Mr. Wyville looked at the lock, and saw its condition. He shook the bars with amazing force.
A gust of flame and smoke now rushed through the bars and drove everyone back, even Mr. Wyville. He rushed forward again; then turned to the officers, who had retreated to the foremast, and called them to him. No one moved—they were cowed.
Another instant, and a tall man pushed through the crowd, and stood beside Wyville. It was Mr. Haggett. Their eyes met for one instant. They understood one another.
"What do you want?" asked Haggett, in a low, steady voice.
"The silk curtains from the dining-room—quick" answered Mr. Wyville in the same tone.
Next moment Haggett was clearing a lane for himself through and over the crowd. He disappeared towards the cabin. They knew he would return, and they kept the way open for him. In half a minute he flew back, in each hand a long red silken curtain, torn from the cabin windows.
Mr. Wyville stood waiting for him, holding in his hand a heavy iron belaying pin, which he had taken from the rail. He took one of the curtains, twisted it into a rope, and pushed one end through the bars. This end he brought out four bars off, and around these four bars he wound both curtains, one after the other.
When the curtains were entirely wound in this way, he inserted the heavy iron rod between the folds, at the two central bars, and began to turn it end over end like a lever. The first turn made the silken rope rigid; the second strained it; the third called out all the muscular power of the man. But there was nothing gained.
Mr. Wyville turned, and looked towards Haggett, who approached. Both men seized the iron lever, and pulled it down with all their force.
"This is a convict's trick," said Haggett, as they paused for breath.
Mr. Wyville made no reply, but continued the tremendous leverage. There was a cry from the convicts: they saw the massive bars yielding—the two outer bars bending towards the centre under the terrific strain.
Once again the upper end of the lever was seized by both men, and with a united effort of strength pulled and pressed down. The next turn was easily made; the mighty bars had bent like lead in the centre and then broken, leaving two gaps wide enough to allow the entrance of a man.
When this was done, Mr. Wyville and Mr. Haggett fell back, while the officers and sailors dashed into the burning cage, smothering the flames with wet sails, beneath which they trampled out the fire.
The vessel was saved, and not one minute could have been spared. In the wild uproar that followed, each one giving vent to the pent up excitement of the moment, Mr. Wyville, turning in the crowd, met the eyes of Haggett earnestly fixed on his face. He had often observed his watchfulness before; but there was another meaning in his eyes to-day.
Without a word Mr. Wyville put out his hand which Haggett grimly seized.
"Thank you," said Mr. Wyville.
That's not right," said Haggett; "you have saved all our lives."
Mr. Wyville negatively shook his head, with his usual grave smile, and was about to pass on. Mr. Haggett slowly let go his hand, still looking at him with the same strange expression. They had parted a few paces, when Haggett strode after Mr. Wyville with a new impulse, seized his hand once more in a grip of iron, and met his eye with a face working in strong emotion, every possible reef in his immense lips quivering with suppressed feeling.
"Forgive me!" he said; and without another word he dropped Mr. Wyville's hand, turned, and strode off to his room by the other side of the ship.
That night, when the excitement had died, and the usual quiet had been restored, Mr. Wyville and Sheridan walked the poop for hours. Mr. Wyville made no mention of Haggett's strange conduct.
Towards midnight they went to their rooms. The extra-ordinary events of the day bad kept them from talking about Captain Draper, though the subject had been for days uppermost in both minds.
When Mr. Wyville entered his room, his eyes fell on a letter, fixed endwise on his table to attract his attention. It was addressed to him. He opened it, and took out a photograph—the portrait of a convict in chains. There was no other enclosure.
On the back of it were written these words, in Mr. Haggett's dated four years back:—
"This is the only photograph of the man known as MOONDYNE. It was taken in West Australia, just before his latest escape from Fremantle Prison. All other photographs of this prisoner have unaccountably disappeared from the prison books."
Mr. Wyville gazed a long time at the strange present. Then he laid it on the table, locked his door, and walked meditatively to and fro his narrow room. At times he would stop and take the picture from the table, look at it with deep attention, while his lips moved as if he were addressing it.
At last he took the portrait, tore it to pieces, and, opening the window of his room, threw the pieces into the sea.