For the Term of His Natural Life Part 45

"Amen!" says Meekin piously. "Let us hope He will; and now, leddies, the letter. I will read you the Confession afterwards." Opening the packet with the satisfaction of a Gospel vineyard labourer who sees his first vine sprouting, the good creature began to read aloud:

"'Hobart Town, "'December 27, 1838. "'My Dear Father,--Through all the chances, changes, and vicissitudes of my chequered life, I never had a task so painful to my mangled feelings as the present one, of addressing you from this doleful spot--my sea-girt prison, on the beach of which I stand a monument of destruction, driven by the adverse winds of fate to the confines of black despair, and into the vortex of galling misery.'"

"Poetical!" said Frere.

"'I am just like a gigantic tree of the forest which has stood many a wintry blast, and stormy tempest, but now, alas! I am become a withered trunk, with all my greenest and tenderest branches lopped off. Though fast attaining middle age, I am not filling an envied and honoured post with credit and respect. No--I shall be soon wearing the garb of degradation, and the badge and brand of infamy at P.A., which is, being interpreted, Port Arthur, the 'Villain's Home'."

"Poor fellow!" said Sylvia.

"Touching, is it not?" a.s.sented Meekin, continuing--

"'I am, with heartrending sorrow and anguish of soul, ranged and mingled with the Outcasts of Society. My present circ.u.mstances and pictures you will find well and truly drawn in the 102nd Psalm, commencing with the 4th verse to the 12th inclusive, which, my dear father, I request you will read attentively before you proceed any further.'"

"Hullo!" said Frere, pulling out his pocket-book, "what's that? Read those numbers again." Mr. Meekin complied, and Frere grinned. "Go on,"

he said. "I'll show you something in that letter directly."

"'Oh, my dear father, avoid, I beg of you, the reading of profane books.

Let your mind dwell upon holy things, and a.s.siduously study to grow in grace. Psalm lxxiii 2. Yet I have hope even in this, my desolate condition. Psalm x.x.xv 18. "For the Lord our G.o.d is merciful, and inclineth His ear unto pity".'"

"Blasphemous dog!" said Vickers. "You don't believe all that, Meekin, do you?" The parson reproved him gently. "Wait a moment, sir, until I have finished."

"'Party spirit runs very high, even in prison in Van Diemen's Land. I am sorry to say that a licentious press invariably evinces a very great degree of contumely, while the authorities are held in respect by all well-disposed persons, though it is often endeavoured by some to bring on them the hatred and contempt of prisoners. But I am glad to tell you that all their efforts are without avail; but, nevertheless, do not read in any colonial newspaper. There is so much scurrility and vituperation in their productions.'"

"That's for your benefit, Frere," said Vickers, with a smile. "You remember what was said about your presence at the race meetings?"

"Of course," said Frere. "Artful scoundrel! Go on, Mr. Meekin, pray."

"'I am aware that you will hear accounts of cruelty and tyranny, said, by the malicious and the evil-minded haters of the Government and Government officials, to have been inflicted by gaolers on convicts. To be candid, this is not the dreadful place it has been represented to be by vindictive writers. Severe flogging and heavy chaining is sometimes used, no doubt, but only in rare cases; and nominal punishments are marked out by law for slight breaches of discipline. So far as I have an opportunity of judging, the lash is never bestowed unless merited.'"

"As far as he is concerned, I don't doubt it!" said Frere, cracking a walnut.

"'The texts of Scripture quoted by our chaplain have comforted me much, and I have much to be grateful for; for after the rash attempt I made to secure my freedom, I have reason to be thankful for the mercy shown to me. Death--dreadful death of soul and body--would have been my portion; but, by the mercy of Omnipotence, I have been spared to repentance--John iii. I have now come to bitterness. The chaplain, a pious gentleman, says it never really pays to steal. "Lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt." Honesty is the best policy, I am convinced, and I would not for 1,000 repeat my evil courses--Psalm x.x.xviii 14. When I think of the happy days I once pa.s.sed with good Mr. Blicks, in the old house in Blue Anchor Yard, and reflect that since that happy time I have recklessly plunged in sin, and stolen goods and watches, studs, rings, and jewellery, become, indeed, a common thief, I tremble with remorse, and fly to prayer--Psalm v. Oh what sinners we are! Let me hope that now I, by G.o.d's blessing placed beyond temptation, will live safely, and that some day I even may, by the will of the Lord Jesus, find mercy for my sins. Some kind of madness has method in it, but madness of sin holds us without escape. Such is, dear father, then, my hope and trust for my remaining life here--Psalm c 74.

I owe my bodily well-being to Captain Maurice Frere, who was good enough to speak of my conduct in reference to the Osprey, when, with s.h.i.+ers, Barker, and others, we captured that vessel. Pray for Captain Frere, my dear father. He is a good man, and though his public duty is painful and trying to his feelings, yet, as a public functionary, he could not allow his private feelings, whether of mercy or revenge, to step between him and his duty.'"

"Confound the rascal!" said Frere, growing crimson.

"'Remember me most affectionately to Sarah and little William, and all friends who yet cherish the recollection of me, and bid them take warning by my fate, and keep from evil courses. A good conscience is better than gold, and no amount can compensate for the misery incident to a return to crime. Whether I shall ever see you again, dear father, is more than uncertain; for my doom is life, unless the Government alter their plans concerning me, and allow me an opportunity to earn my freedom by hard work.

"'The blessing of G.o.d rest with you, my dear father, and that you may be washed white in the blood of the Lamb is the prayer of your

"'Unfortunate Son,' "John Rex" 'P.S.---Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be whiter than snow.'"

"Is that all?" said Frere.

"That is all, sir, and a very touching letter it is."

"So it is," said Frere. "Now let me have it a moment, Mr. Meekin."

He took the paper, and referring to the numbers of the texts which he had written in his pocket-book, began to knit his brows over Mr. John Rex's impious and hypocritical production. "I thought so," he said, at length. "Those texts were never written for nothing. It's an old trick, but cleverly done."

"What do you mean?" said Meekin. "Mean!" cries Frere, with a smile at his own acuteness. "This precious composition contains a very gratifying piece of intelligence for Mr. Blicks, whoever he is. Some receiver, I've no doubt. Look here, Mr. Meekin. Take the letter and this pencil, and begin at the first text. The 102nd Psalm, from the 4th verse to the 12th inclusive, doesn't he say? Very good; that's nine verses, isn't it? Well, now, underscore nine consecutive words from the second word immediately following the next text quoted, 'I have hope,' etc. Have you got it?"

"Yes," says Meekin, astonished, while all heads bent over the table.

"Well, now, his text is the eighteenth verse of the thirty-fifth Psalm, isn't it? Count eighteen words on, then underscore five consecutive ones. You've done that?"

"A moment--sixteen--seventeen--eighteen, 'authorities'."

"Count and score in the same way until you come to the word 'Texts'

somewhere. Vickers, I'll trouble you for the claret."

"Yes," said Meekin, after a pause. "Here it is--'the texts of Scripture quoted by our chaplain'. But surely Mr. Frere--"

"Hold on a bit now," cries Frere. "What's the next quotation?--John iii. That's every third word. Score every third word beginning with 'I'

immediately following the text, now, until you come to a quotation. Got it? How many words in it?"

"'Lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt'," said Meekin, a little scandalized. "Fourteen words."

"Count fourteen words on, then, and score the fourteenth. I'm up to this text-quoting business."

"The word '1000'," said Meekin. "Yes."

"Then there's another text. Thirty-eighth--isn't it?--Psalm and the fourteenth verse. Do that the same way as the other--count fourteen words, and then score eight in succession. Where does that bring you?"

"The fifth Psalm."

"Every fifth word then. Go on, my dear sir--go on. 'Method' of 'escape', yes. The hundredth Psalm means a full stop. What verse? Seventy-four.

Count seventy-four words and score."

There was a pause for a few minutes while Mr. Meekin counted. The letter had really turned out interesting.

"Read out your marked words now, Meekin. Let's see if I'm right." Mr.

Meekin read with gradually crimsoning face:--

"'I have hope even in this my desolate condition... in prison Van Diemen's Land... the authorities are held in... hatred and contempt of prisoners... read in any colonial newspaper... accounts of cruelty and tyranny... inflicted by gaolers on convicts... severe flogging and heavy chaining... for slight breaches of discipline...I... come... the pious... it... pays...1,000... in the old house in Blue Anchor Yard... stolen goods and watches studs rings and jewellery... are... now... placed... safely...I...

will... find... some... method of escape... then... for revenge.'"

"Well," said Maurice, looking round with a grin, "what do you think of that?"

"Most remarkable!" said Mr. Pounce.

"How did you find it out, Frere?"

"Oh, it's nothing," says Frere; meaning that it was a great deal. "I've studied a good many of these things, and this one is clumsy to some I've seen. But it's pious, isn't it, Meekin?"

Mr. Meekin arose in wrath.

"It's very ungracious on your part, Captain Frere. A capital joke, I have no doubt; but permit me to say I do not like jesting on such matters. This poor fellow's letter to his aged father to be made the subject of heartless merriment, I confess I do not understand. It was confided to me in my sacred character as a Christian pastor."