Chapter II

Two years earlier. It was afternoon, and the sun, climbing over the house, shone into a sickroom at Eastwood—a comfortable, cheerful, old room; from floor to ceiling was panelled oak, and the walls decorated with artist proofs of famous pictures. The two large mullioned windows were open to the summer air, and from the outside came the delicate scent of mignonette and heliotrope in the tiled _jardinières_ on the ledges. The soft Persian carpet of pale blue deadened the sound of footsteps; rugs of various harmonious hues were scattered about; and the articles of virtu and costly bric-à-brac were more suitable to a drawing-room than a bedchamber.

On the bed reclined the figure of a man, evidently in the last stage of consumption. His cheek was flushed and feverish, and his fine blue eyes were unnaturally bright with the disease which was sapping his vital energy. An old man undoubtedly, in spite of his large frame and finely moulded chest, which, though hollow and wasted, showed signs of a powerful physique at some remote period. His forehead was high and broad and powerful; his features finely chiselled; but the mouth, though benevolent-looking, was shifty and uneasy. He looked like a kind man and a good friend; but his face was haunted by a constant fear. With a pencil, he was engaged in tracing some characters on a sheet of paper; and ever and anon, at the slightest movement, even the trembling of a leaf, he looked up in agitation. The task was no light one, for his hand trembled, and his breath came and went with what was to him a violent exertion. Slowly and painfully the work went on; and as it approached completion, a smile of satisfaction shot across his sensitive mouth, at the same time a look of remorseful sorrow filled his whole face. It was only a few words on a piece of paper he was writing, but he seemed to realise the importance of his work. It was only a farewell letter; but in these few valedictory lines the happiness of two young lives was bound up. At last the task was finished, and he lay back with an air of great content.

At that moment, a woman entered the room. The sick man hid the paper hastily beneath the pillow with a look of fear on his face, pitiable to see. But the woman who entered did not look capable of inspiring any such sentiment. She was young and pretty, a trifle vain, perhaps, of her good looks and attractive appearance, but the model of what a ‘neat-handed Phillis’ should be.

Directly the dying man saw her, his expression changed to one of intense eagerness. Beckoning her to come close to him, he drew her head close to his face and said: ‘She is not about, is she? Do you think she can hear what I am saying? Sometimes I fancy she hears my very thoughts.’

‘No, sir,’ replied the maid. ‘Miss Wakefield is not in the house just now; she has gone into the village.’

‘Very good. Listen, and answer me truly. Do you ever hear from—from Nelly now? Poor child, poor child!’

The woman’s face changed from one of interest to that of shame and remorse. She looked into the old man’s face, and then burst into a fit of hot passionate tears.

‘Hush, hush!’ he cried, terrified by her vehemence. ‘For God’s sake, stop, or it will be too late, too late!’

‘O sir, I must tell you,’ sobbed the contrite woman, burying her face in the bedclothes. ‘Letters came from Miss Nelly to you, time after time; but I destroyed them all.’

‘Why?’ The voice was stern, and the girl looked up affrighted.

‘O sir, forgive me. Surely you know. Is it possible to get an order from Miss Wakefield, and not obey? Indeed, I have tried to speak, but I was afraid to do anything. Even you, sir’——

‘Ah,’ said the invalid, with a sigh of ineffable sadness, ‘I know how hard it is. The influence she has over one is wonderful, wonderful. But I am forgetting. Margaret Boulton, look me in the face. Do you love Miss Nelly as you used to do, and would you do something for her if I asked you?’

‘God be my witness, I would, sir,’ replied the girl solemnly.

‘Do you know where she is?’

‘Alas, no. It is a year since we heard.—But master, if you ask me to give her a letter or a paper, I will do so, if I have to beg my way to London to find her. I have been punished for not speaking out before. Indeed, indeed, sir, you may trust me.’

He looked into her face with a deep unfathomable glance for some moments; but the girl returned his gaze as steadily.

‘I think I can,’ he said at length. ‘Now, repeat after me: “I swear that the paper intrusted to my care shall be delivered to the person for whom it is intended; and that I will never part with it until it is safely and securely delivered.”’

The woman repeated the words with simple solemnity.

‘Now,’ he said, at the same time producing the paper he had written with such pain and care, ‘I deliver this into your hands, and may heaven bless and prosper your undertaking. Take great care, for it contains a precious secret, and never part with it while life remains.’

The paper was a curious-looking document enough, folded small, but bearing nothing outside to betray the secret it contained. We shall see in the future how it fared.

The girl glanced at the folded paper, and thrust it rapidly in her bosom. A smile of peace and tranquillity passed over the dying man’s face, and he gave her a look of intense gratitude. At this moment another woman entered the room. She was tall and thin, with a face of grave determination, and a mouth and chin denoting a firmness amounting to cruelty. There was a dangerous light in her basilisk eyes at this moment, as she gave the servant a glance of intense hate and malice—a look which seemed to search out the bottom of her soul.

‘Margaret, what are you doing here? Leave the room at once. How often have I told you never to come in here.’

Margaret left; and the woman with the snaky eyes busied herself silently about the sickroom. The dying man watched her in a dazed fascinated manner, as a bird turns to watch the motions of a serpent; and he shivered as he noticed the feline way in which she moistened her thin lips. He tried to turn his eyes away, but failed. Then, as if conscious of his feelings, the woman said: ‘Well, do you hate me worse than usual to-day?’

‘You know I never hated you, Selina,’ he replied wearily.

‘Yes, you do,’ she answered, with a sullen glowering triumph in her eyes. ‘You do hate me for the influence I have over you. You hate me because you dare not hate me. You hate me because I parted you from your beggar’s brat, and trained you to behave as a man should.’

Perfectly cowed, he watched her moistening her thin lips, till his eyes could no longer see. Presently, he felt a change creeping over him: his breath came shorter and shorter; and his chest heaved spasmodically. With one last effort he raised himself up in his bed. ‘Selina,’ he said painfully, ‘let me alone; oh, let me alone!’

‘Too late,’ she replied, not caring to disguise her triumphant tone.

He lay back with the dews of death clustering on his forehead. Suddenly, out of the gathering darkness grew perfect dazzling light; his lips moved; the words ‘Nelly, forgive!’ were audible like a whispered sigh. He was dead.

The dark woman bent over him, placing her ear to his heart; but no sound came. ‘Mine!’ she said—‘mine, mine! At last, all mine!’

The thin webs of fate’s weaving were in her hand securely—all save one. It was not worth the holding, so it floated down life’s stream, gathering as it went.

THE MALDIVE ISLANDS.

An interesting monograph, by Mr H. C. P. Bell, C.C.S., has been published by the Ceylon government, which throws a flood of light on the Maldive islands and their history. They seem to have been colonised about the beginning of the Christian era; but until the beginning of the thirteenth century, nothing certain can be established. At that time, however, the people seem to have been converted to Mohammedanism, and a connection established with the Malabar State of Cannanore, which lasted, with occasional interruptions, till about the beginning of the sixteenth century, when, with the rise of the Portuguese power in the East, the suzerainty over the group was assumed by them. With the decline of Portuguese authority and the rise of Dutch ascendency in Ceylon in the beginning of the seventeenth century, the connection with the Maldives was assumed by the latter, and remained in their hands until 1796, when it naturally passed to the English on their acquisition of Ceylon, and has continued undisturbed till the present day. The political connection, however, has been in the hands of the English almost purely formal, no interference with the internal administration of the group having been attempted.

The people are very timid, and averse from intercourse with Europeans. The only sign of dependence on Ceylon is the yearly Embassy, conveying the usual letter from the sultan to the governor of Ceylon, with the nominal tribute, consisting principally of Maldive mats and sweetmeats. A reply is sent, and a return present made of betel nuts and spices, &c. The presentation of the letter to the governor is rather curious and interesting. The Embassy lands at the custom-house at Colombo, when a procession is formed, headed by a native Ceylon force called Lascareens of the guard, venerable as a remnant of the old days of the Kandy kings, but only formidable now from the excruciating nature of their music. Then follow Maldivian and Ceylon officials, in front of the ambassador, who, clad in a long silk robe, carries the letter on a silver tray on his head. Other officials follow, and the whole procession is closed by the Maldive boatmen carrying the presents. The audience is over in a few minutes; and then, in a few days, when they have got the governor’s reply, the Maldivians return to Mali, and nothing more is heard of them for another year, except in the way of trade.

Having secured a letter of introduction from the government of Ceylon to the sultan, I chartered a schooner of about ninety tons, called the _Josephine_, and provisioned her for a long trip, as it was very uncertain when I would be able to get back, so treacherous are the currents in these seas. I engaged a European to navigate the schooner; and the native crew consisted of five men and two boys. I had likewise a cook and two boys for our own mess. The cabin was pretty roomy; but it was stuffy and hot, and full of all kinds of creeping things, so that I went into it as seldom as possible, and lived day and night under an awning on the poop. We had an uneventful voyage across, light winds and calms prevailing all the way, the only things that occurred to interest us being the glorious sunrises and sunsets. One night, however, when lying becalmed, we were startled out of sleep by a tremendous swishing of water, and there, two hundred yards from us, we saw a waterspout breaking up. The cloud was close down on the surface of the water, and condensation was so rapid that in twenty minutes it had entirely disappeared. By-and-by we sighted the north end of Mali Atoll; and here we first realised the force of the currents, for on trying to make our entrance into the lagoon, we were carried past the channel, and had to put about sharp, to avoid going on to the reef, on which the heavy swell from the open sea was breaking. We then ran for the channel between Mali and Gafor Atolls; and getting a pilot at the latter, we again tried to work into the lagoon in the former through a narrow opening. Here the schooner missed stays in one of our tacks; and before we could get way on her and try to get her round again, we were on the top of the reef. Luckily, we were in a sheltered position; but the current was running like a sluice, rendering us quite helpless; and the teeth-like points of live coral projecting upwards from the bottom looked very dangerous. Presently we caught on one; and dreading a capsize, we launched the boats at once; for there was not a point of the reef above water for miles, and no swimmer could have reached dry land in such a current. After a few anxious moments, the schooner swung free, and we dropped the anchor in a sort of pool. All the afternoon we were engaged in kedging out into the channel; and finally, after enormous labour, we got into deep water, where we anchored for the night.

The beauty of these coral reefs is something indescribable; nowhere else, either on sea or land, are such colours to be seen. On the inner edge, where there is considerable depth of water, the shade is of the deepest green; and as the water gets shallower towards the sea-face, it is lighter and lighter, till it is almost yellow just where the rollers form a fringe of white foam; and beyond all, there is the deep blue of the open sea. The whole has a sort of metallic sheen, wonderfully weird and unearthly. Curiously, too, it is only when there is a slight ripple that one can see the reefs at a distance from the deck of a vessel. When it is a dead calm, you cannot see them until you are close above them. On Gafor Atoll we saw the wreck of the screw steamer _Seagull_, lost some years ago, but still standing up on the reef, as when first she struck.

Next day we got into the lagoon, and with a fair wind, made rapid progress for a time; but the navigation was intricate, and it was next evening before we finally cast anchor at the Sultan’s island. The following day, I delivered my letter of introduction, and sent my presents to the sultan and the higher officials. During the next fortnight, whilst we lay at anchor, I received the greatest kindness and hospitality from the Maldivians; official visits were paid and returned, and all the time the sultan’s barge, rowed by sixteen men, was at my disposal. The barge was of great length, but narrow beam; and at the stern was a broad platform, projecting over the sides, with a stout post in the centre to hold on by—a necessary precaution, as the jerk of sixteen oars was very great. When I called at a house, no matter what was the hour, I was obliged to partake of tea and biscuits; and it was rather curious to see, in such remote and unfrequented places, tins of Huntley and Palmer and Peek Frean figuring on the table. After refreshments, capital Manilas were handed round, and Maltese cigarettes. On the officials returning my visits on board the schooner, the teapot was brought out; and it was a treat to see how my preserves and tinned fruits were enjoyed. But what pleased them most of all was a bottle of tonic water; and after tossing off the glass, they would rub their stomachs and say: ‘Pate ka waste bahut achcha hai,’ meaning, ‘Good for the stomach.’

The Maldivians are a quiet peaceable folk, very hospitable, though extremely afraid of Europeans, and averse from having intercourse with them. They are noted for their kindness to shipwrecked mariners; and have repeatedly earned the thanks of the Ceylon government for their conduct in this respect. They are of small stature. The women are rather inclined to plumpness, whilst many of them are very good-looking. In colour they are of a dark olive, and I noticed a good deal of mixture of race among them. They are strict Mohammedans; but the women are not kept in such seclusion as on the continent of India. Children were very numerous; and round, fat, healthy toddling things they were. The town of Mali is fairly well laid out, with good broad streets; and as the soil is pure sand, and only trodden by naked feet, cleanliness is the rule. In the houses, everything looks neat and in good order; but I must admit that I only saw those of the better class. The houses are mostly of wattle and daub, with thatched roofs overhanging the eaves; and the compounds were inclosed by a fence of cocoa-nut leaves, prettily plaited at the top.

The people live mostly on fish and rice. All the atolls swarm with various kinds of fishes, amongst which the bonito predominates; and they are very cheap. For one rupee we got almost as many as we liked to take; and for the same sum, were offered turtles that would have made an alderman’s mouth water. Cocoa-nuts abound of course; but plantains are scarce; and the only other fruits I saw were limes and melons.

The Maldivians are capital boat-builders. I was surprised to see the graceful lines of the smaller craft, and the skilful way they are handled, with the mat-sails, and heavy loads piled up above the gunwale. The sea-going vessels called _dhonies_ are not so handsome; but their huge lateen sail looks very well; and we found that they could go closer to the wind and sail better than our _Josephine_, smart though she was, and esteemed the fastest schooner in Colombo.

Common cotton cloth is woven on the atolls, and Maldivian mats are justly celebrated for the beauty of their designs and harmonious colours. They are woven with a kind of rush on a warp of coir fibre. The exports from the islands consist principally of dried fish, cocoa-nuts, coir fibre and coir yarn. For imports, rice is the principal item, together with areca nuts, sugar, cotton cloth, &c.

The botany of the Maldives is very simple, the prevailing feature being cocoa-nut trees, which grow wherever there is foothold for them. I saw also the bread-fruit tree, and several members of the Ficus tribe, such as _Elastica Indica_, _Ficus religiosa_, banian, &c.; also the common bamboo, sumach, _Thespesia propulnea_, _Plumiera_, tapeta, cassava or _Manioc colocasias_, &c. Roses were cultivated with some success. No doubt, most of the trees have been imported, though the ocean currents must also have conveyed seeds from other countries.

Of animals, there are no indigenous species. The sultan has a few imported cows of the Brahminee kind; and a horse, a present from the Ceylon government some years ago. Goats are plentiful. I saw neither dog nor cat; but a kind of rat is said to commit great havoc among the cocoa-nut trees, which they climb, and destroy the nuts. Lizards swarm in immense numbers; and when going along with a crowd, one could hardly step without putting one’s foot on a fat long-tailed specimen. Of birds there were a great many of the aquatic kind, gulls, gannets, noddies, herons, &c., and among land-birds, of course the ubiquitous crow soon makes its appearance. The kite also is seen sailing about and picking up any garbage that comes in its way. Plovers, sandpipers, &c., are also said to frequent the group; but I saw none of them. Of fishes, sharks are plentiful; and the bonito literally swarms in the lagoons. We saw also several varieties of the perch, the wrasse, &c. Turtles abound.

The configuration of the Maldive group is singular, the northern and southern portions lying in a single line of atolls, whilst in the centre there is a double row. Nearly all are of an oval shape, with the longest axis north and south. They all consist of an annular ring of coral reef, a quarter to half a mile broad, with a lagoon in the centre, of the almost uniform depth of twenty-three to twenty-five fathoms. There are many openings from the open sea to the interior, through which the currents rush with great violence. The soundings on the outer face of the reef are about two hundred and fifty to three hundred fathoms sheer, whilst at a cable’s length from the edge they are still more profound. On the inner edge, the reef drops sheer to the usual depth of the lagoon. In some of the narrow channels between the atolls you get four or five fathoms on one side of the vessel, when you can see the smallest object on the white bottom; and on the other side the line goes down to a hundred fathoms. All through the lagoons there are numerous islands dotted about, forming beautiful objects in the placid blue waters, with their pure white strip of sandy beach; then a margin of scrubby jungle, the centre being filled up with a dense thicket of cocoa-nut trees. There are also numerous patches of reefs, some of them perfect little atolls.

Notwithstanding the more modern notion of the formation of coral reefs on a foundation that is gradually rising, as exemplified by the Tortugas group, I think these Maldivian atolls are perfect examples of Darwin’s theory, that they are generally formed on land that is sinking gradually. How, otherwise, can you account for the profound depths on the outer face or the comparatively deep water on the inner edge, and all through the lagoon, when it is admitted that the little coral-‘insect’ builder cannot work in anything over ten or twelve fathoms? All the patches of reefs in the lagoons have a sheer drop to the general level of the floor. There is not a point on any of the atolls more than six to eight feet above the sea, and these only where vegetation has managed to get a hold, and in the course of time gathered a little soil about it, as leaves decayed and old plants died down and made way for fresh generations. It is said, indeed, by the Maldivians that some of the atolls show cocoa-nut trees already partly submerged; but of this I can give no testimony from personal observation.

We left Mali amid the openly expressed regret of many of the officials; and the sultan and others sent us various presents of mats, fruits, &c. Part of the sultan’s present consisted of a young bullock, which we carried to Colombo, as it was hardly fat enough to be worth killing. We had great difficulty in getting out of the atoll, in consequence of the frightful currents and light winds, and we took two days to do about twenty miles. On entering the Tulisdu channel, we ran into frightful danger, for though we thought we had given a wide berth to three contiguous patches of coral, we were right in among them before we knew what we were about. The water was rushing over them like a sluice; and although the wind was fair, our schooner yawed about so terribly, that every moment I thought we would be dashed to pieces on one of them, when she took one of her wild rushes. However, we gradually worked our way into the channel. Our great object now was to keep close up to the northern shore, so that when we got into the southerly set of the current outside, we would be able to give a wide berth to the point on the other side, and on which the heavy rollers from the open sea were breaking with great violence. In spite of every effort, however, we were gradually borne over towards the dreaded point, until at one moment, when we were on the top of the swell, we looked down the slope of it to the rugged edge of the reef, as the momentarily retreating water laid it bare. It was a bad quarter of an hour for me; and the relief was intense when I saw that at last we were steadily drawing away from the terrible danger. Another five days took us to Colombo, without anything happening which would be worth writing here; and next day I paid off the schooner, after having spent seven pleasant weeks on board of her.

HOW I BECAME A CONVICT.

I was born on the estate of Lord ——, in the north of England. My father was one of the under-gardeners, and lived in one of the lodges on the domain. As soon as I entered upon my teens, I was taken into the great house as a sort of page, where I was treated with much kindness and favour. In a while I outgrew my ‘buttons,’ and was then sent to the stables as an under-groom. Before I had reached my eighteenth birthday, my noble master died. The son who succeeded to the title and estates was quite unlike his father. A clean sweep was made in the establishment: the racing-stud was done away with; the elder servants discharged; a retrenchment was made all round; and in the change I was one of the many who had to seek work elsewhere.

My lot was next cast in the large town of B——, whither I had gone to seek employment. A successful shopkeeper, who advertised his wares by sending round the town a showy van drawn by two handsome horses, driven by a good-looking, well-dressed coachman, wanted a suitable groom to complete the show. Coming fresh and ruddy from Lord ——’s stables, I obtained the post without any trouble, and added very much, I think, to the attraction of the shopkeeper’s show as long as the bloom of youth and country air remained on my cheeks. But I found the new life very different from the old one. Coachee and I had more leisure than was good for us in this perambulating business. Hurry was no part of our duty in the delivery of parcels, and so our driver frequently turned aside into some by-street to indulge his weakness for drink. I had been accustomed to have my glass of home-brew in the servants’ hall, and up to this time I can truly say that my habits were sober. But companionship with my van-fellow led me to join him in his tippling, until at length I was almost as bad as himself. One evening, after the usual calling at our favourite houses, we were both without a copper to take a parting glass for the night. In the stable-loft, at the back of our master’s premises, a pier-glass had been stowed. It lay there for several weeks. We were in doubt about its ownership, and in our need of cash, the coachman suggested that we might raise a few shillings upon it. At first, I hesitated to take any part in the matter; but my scruples and fears were overcome by my companion. ‘Nay, lad, you have nought to fear. On pay-day we’ll get it out of pawn, and no one will be any the wiser.’

Thus persuaded, I joined in the first dishonest act of my life. As fate would have it, the pier-glass was wanted before pay-day came round. The guilt was brought home to our door, and the coachman and myself had to change our livery for a prison dress. ‘Three months’ hard labour,’ came like a death-knell upon my ears; and with a choking lump in my throat, I was lodged in the borough prison.

After the expiration of my sentence, the shame of my disgrace prevented me from going back to my father’s cottage. All the people on the estate must have heard of my crime, and how could I dare to show myself there! Much down-hearted, I walked back to the town from which I had been imprisoned. The only opening that occurred to me was to join the army. I could hide myself there, I thought. So I walked to the recruiting quarters, took the Queen’s shilling, and enlisted.

I was then under twenty years of age, and ‘a promising youngster,’ as the sergeant said. All in good time, I was sent to Aldershot. A few months’ stay there made me home-sick. I repented of the step I had taken, and I made up my mind to give up soldiering as soon as I got the chance. My difficulty was to get the clothing of a civilian. I dare not buy clothes, for my purpose would thus be made known; neither could I take a comrade into my confidence. I resolved at length to bolt and take my chance. Passing through a Hampshire village, I saw a countryman’s smock and trousers drying on a cottage hedge. ‘The very thing,’ I thought: ‘all is fair in war;’ and with such notions in my mind, I stole the articles and made off. But luck was against me. The theft was soon discovered, and I was pursued and arrested before I had gone far on the road. For this offence I was sent to Winchester jail for a couple of months. It also brought about my dismissal from the army, for the regiment was too respectable to keep a felon in its ranks.

During my imprisonment at Winchester, a circumstance took place, which, though trivial at the time, had much to do with me some time afterwards. One day, as I was taking exercise in the ring, a visitor stepped on to the ground. I immediately recognised in the stranger the chief superintendent of the prison where I had served three months. It seems that he had come from the north to prove a conviction against a man then awaiting trial in Winchester. He recognised me as quickly as I recognised him; but I little thought that such a meeting would affect my destiny. How? You shall know in good time.

From Winchester I made my way back to the north, to the town where I first fell into trouble, and was lucky enough to get employment as a ‘striker’ in some large iron-works. With wages at four shillings a day, I managed very nicely, and was comfortably off. After a while, another labourer in the same works, Joe Smith as he called himself, came to lodge in the same house as myself. Naturally we became somewhat familiar; but he was very silent about himself, so that I never got to know where he came from, or anything of his history. One day I saw that he had got possession of a watch, a far better-looking thing than I had been accustomed to see among working-men. ‘Hillo, Joe,’ said I, ‘you’re getting smart. Where did ye get that ticker from?’

‘Oh, I won it in a shilling raffle. It’s a beauty, isn’t it?’

The following Saturday afternoon, just as I was leaving the house for a stroll, Joe met me rather hurriedly, saying: ‘Tom, I’m going to Manchester till Tuesday. I haven’t much time to catch t’ train, and I just want one or two things in t’ house, and a few shillings extra like. Just run and pawn this watch for me, there’s a good lad, and we’ll both go to station together.’

‘All right, Joe,’ I said; ‘give it to me.’

‘I’ll follow thee in a minute,’ he shouted, as I hurried to the nearest pawnshop.

When I handed the watch to the shopman, he examined it closely, and once or twice looked rather queerly at me. ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked.

‘A mate of mine just gave it me to pawn,’ I answered. ‘He won it in a raffle; I expect him here directly.’

‘Boy!’ he shouted to an assistant in the shop, ‘I shall want some change; run and get some as quick as you can.’

In a few minutes the boy came back with a policeman—the ‘change’ he was sent out for, as it proved.

‘Officer,’ said the shopman, ‘this young man has just handed in a watch that’s wanted. Here’s the notice of warning sent round from the police office.’

‘What have you got to say?’ said the policeman.

‘I know nothing about it; I will take it directly to the man who gave it me.’

But on going into the street, nothing was seen of Joe. We went to the lodgings, but no Joe was there. He must have seen the officer taken to the shop, and then thought it best to run away.

‘Well, young man, you must come with me to the station. The watch is stolen, and has been found upon you;’ so said the officer, as he laid hold of my arm to take me to the lock-up.

In due time I was brought before the magistrates, charged with having stolen a watch. I told my story, which, from the smiles on the faces in court, seemed to be a very stale one.

‘Is anything known of this man?’ sharply asked one of the magistrates.

‘Yes, your worship,’ answered an official, as he read from a large book. ‘Convicted for stealing a pier-glass, April 19, 1867, and sentenced to three months’ hard labour.’

It was now October 1868, only about eighteen months after my first appearance in the same dock. I saw that this fact told against my tale.

‘You stand committed to the sessions,’ was the reply of the Bench; and I went down below, lamenting my hard luck.

A day or two after my committal to the borough prison, the chief superintendent visited my cell, note-book in hand. ‘You have been previously convicted,’ he said. ‘Once in this prison last year. Haven’t you been in Winchester jail since?’

I saw it was useless to deny it; and now I began to realise the seriousness of my position. The superintendent was getting up my criminal history for the recorder, and two convictions in so short a time would certainly insure for me a long sentence. The knowledge of my innocence in the present case made my position all the more grievous.

Each of the cells in this prison was provided with a small cistern for water, let into the outside wall, but with one of its sides flush with the interior wall. I found one of the screws, by which it was fastened, loose. Curiosity led me to try and loosen the others. This I at last accomplished. Then I took the cistern out, and saw a space in depth more than half the thickness of the wall, and large enough to admit the passage of my body. The thought of escape at once suggested itself, and I resolved to make the attempt. I carefully put back the cistern, replaced the screws, and covered them with whitewash from the walls.

Having several weeks to wait for trial, I was taken out of the cell a good deal, and was employed in many ways. One day, as I was doing a light job in the basement, I saw an iron bar about three feet long lying about. This I concealed in my clothes, and safely carried to my cell. My first object was to break the bar in two; but how was it to be done without a file? My eyes lighted upon the scrubbing-stone used for cleaning the floor. I tried the hardest piece I could find, and rubbed away with all my might. Imagine my delight when I found the iron showing signs of wear! Stone was to be had in abundance, and I persevered until success crowned my work and the iron bar lay in two pieces. I then began my attack upon the wall. The dinner-hour was usually a very safe time for prisoners to play pranks. Only one or two warders were left in charge, though the prison was a very large one and pretty full. Fortunately for my schemes, my cell was situated on the fourth landing from the basement, and in the reception ward, which at that time contained very few persons awaiting trial. Every dinner-hour, therefore, I pulled out the cistern and set to chipping away the brick wall behind it. The rubbish was carefully kept in the space thus made, and no suspicion seems to have been aroused of my movements. By the end of the week or so, I had broken away all but the thin outer edge, so that a vigorous shove would send the remaining part out.

The question now was how to get down to the ground outside. The distance from the hole to the yard below was fully sixty feet. A rope I must have somehow. All my ingenuity was called into play to get one. The rugs of my bed were double, and fastened together as if one was the lining of the other. The under ones I tore off and made into strips, which I plaited into a rope. Sundry other little things, which I found from day to day in my work about the corridors, were stealthily put aside and changed into rope. At length I had plaited what I thought sufficient. My materials were stowed away behind the cistern, and I determined to attempt an escape on the next Saturday evening. I chose that evening because it was usually the most free from any chance of interruption from the officers, and the most favourable for escaping detection, if I succeeded in reaching the crowded thoroughfares of the town.

Saturday came. Supper was served at five; the cells were locked up for the night; and by six o’clock the officers, excepting a couple left in charge, had left the building. ‘The night watchman will be on duty outside at eight,’ I said to myself; ‘I must be out of this before then. Now for it.’ I removed the cistern for the last time, pulled from their hiding-place the coils and irons, and with a thrust or two, sent the thin portion of wall into the yard below. I then fastened a bar of iron to each end of the rope. One of these, placed across the opening on the inside, afforded a safe holding; the other kept the hanging rope steady. I put my legs through the opening to descend, and managed to get through, and reached the basement yard, though not without fear and trembling. By a shake of the rope, the iron bar fell from its holding, and I was able to pull it down for my further use in scaling the outer wall. It was a November night—dark, cold, and windy. I now made for a part of the outer wall which separated the chaplain’s garden from the prison, and where there was a suitable corner for the use of my rope. I had frequently noticed this spot from the reception ward, and guessed its height to be about fifteen feet. Over this spot I threw the iron bar at the end of the rope; by good luck, it caught somehow on the other side. I mounted quickly, sailor fashion, and in another minute I was free.

The by-road from the prison joined the highway to the town about six hundred yards off and skirted the warders’ cottages. When I reached the junction I saw under the gas lamp one of the warders smoking and chatting with a policeman. At the sight my heart sank; but I quickly recovered courage, crossed the road, swinging my arms about in a careless way, and passed on safely towards the town. As I proceeded, it struck me as very foolish to venture into the lighted streets in prison dress; besides, there was no one in the town that I particularly cared to see. I therefore turned my steps in an opposite direction, and marched northwards into the country. After walking about seven miles, I took refuge for the night in an outhouse belonging to a small farm on the roadside. I hid myself in the loft among the hay and straw, and slept like a top. Early on the Sunday morning I was aroused by some one coming to milk the cows. I kept close under cover, but no one came into the loft.

As soon as darkness came on, I slipped away, and went on still northwards. All that night I tramped, scarcely meeting with a soul. By daybreak I had reached the outskirts of a large town, whose name I did not know. An empty house offered an enticing place of rest, and in I went for a few hours. By this time, I knew that the hue and cry would be abroad. Without a disguise, my liberty would be but short. The police of this unknown town would, I am sure, be now on the lookout, for the prison could not be thirty miles off. An empty house could supply me with nothing, so I resolved to go prospecting. I got through an attic window on the roof, and crawled to the nearest inhabited house. Looking through its attic window, I saw on a chair a suit of clothes—evidently some one’s Sunday suit, not yet put away. They were quickly in my grasp, and a few moments found me back again in my refuge. I was, indeed, in luck’s way, for in the trousers’ pockets were twenty-three shillings. I stowed the prison clothes up the chimney, and walked into the street dressed in the stolen suit. I hailed a cab coming down the road, and after one or two questions for information, I directed him to drive me to the barracks. Strange to say, this cabman was the owner of the clothes I had on. You may scarcely believe it; but it is quite true, as after events proved. And I paid the poor fellow with his own coin!

I enlisted in a foot regiment, under a feigned name of course. For a fortnight or so I kept pretty close to barracks; I then foolishly asked the wife of one of the sergeants to pawn the stolen clothes. It was the story of the watch over again. The theft had been reported to the police; the pawnbrokers had been warned; and now the woman’s errand transferred me from the barracks to the police station. My photograph was taken and circulated. It was recognised at the prison from which I escaped. In a day or two I was visited by my old friend the chief superintendent, who claiming me as his property, took me forthwith back to my old quarters.

‘Young man,’ said he, ‘do you know what you are likely to get for this?’

‘A few months extra, I suppose,’ I answered.

He smiled grimly, saying: ‘Seven years, as sure as anything.’

‘What! penal servitude?’ I gasped. ‘I never thought of that.’

And so it came to pass. I was sentenced to seven years’ penal servitude for ‘breaking out of prison.’ Thus I became a convict.

WESTERN AUSTRALIA AS A SETTLEMENT.

In an address, some time ago, at the Royal Institute, Sir F. Napier Broome, governor of Western Australia, spoke of the colony of Western Australia as one of the few remaining parts of the British empire in which there was still ample, almost boundless scope for enterprise and settlement. We are likely to hear a good deal about the possibilities of the country for British emigrants, in the near future. According to the contract signed by Mr Hordern for a railway of two hundred and twenty miles between Albany and Beverley, the contractor engages to introduce within seven years five thousand adults to the country. The contractor receives twelve thousand acres of land for every mile of railway completed, as payment from the government. This important railway, connecting Beverley with Albany, at the head of King George’s Sound, gives through-communication from this port of call of the Peninsular and Oriental Company’s steamers, to Perth and Freemantle, saving the rough passage round Cape Leeuwin in a coasting steamer, or the no less rough overland journey by coach.

In the light of this and other enterprises of a like kind, a few notes from Governor Broome’s address may be instructive and interesting at this time. Founded in 1829, and therefore fifty-six years old, the colony of Western Australia had, until lately, made but slow progress. At this day, only thirty-two thousand settlers are thinly scattered over the occupied portion of her vast expanse. The most pressing want of the colony, the one great need, is more people, of the right sort of course; not only more hands to labour, but more capitalists to employ them. The development of valuable industries lying ready to hand is hampered at every turn by this want of population. In round figures, the extent of Western Australia is a million square miles, the chief centres of settlement being in the south-west corner. It is the largest of the Australian colonies, and about eight times bigger than the United Kingdom. In the whole of the tract north of the Murchison River there are only seven hundred white people, scattered in four or five very small townships, and on the sheep-runs into which the occupied country is parcelled. The flocks in this northern territory are almost entirely shepherded by aboriginal natives. In the southern districts, there are some thirty towns and villages, ranging from Perth, the capital, with its six thousand inhabitants; Freemantle, the chief port, with five thousand inhabitants, to such hamlets as Beverley and Kojonup, with their ten or twelve houses apiece. Of the total territory, two thousand seven hundred square miles have been sold or granted away. Of the land still owned by the Crown, two hundred and fifty thousand square miles have been leased for sheep and cattle runs; and the colonists own a million and a half of sheep, seventy thousand cattle, and thirty-five thousand horses. There is a considerable export trade in horses to India, the Straits, and Mauritius. About seven hundred and fifty thousand square miles of Western Australia are still unutilised, and in great part unexplored.

The principal industry is wool-growing, the northern districts being particularly favourable to stock of all kinds. There are waterless areas, as elsewhere in Australia, and districts in which water is salt, or scarce; but boring for water and the storage of water, which had as yet scarcely been attempted, would give a value to what were now worthless tracts. No part of the world could boast finer or more easily grown grapes. The south-west corner of the colony is rich in timber. A very good opening exists for immigrants at Albany. The Peninsular and Oriental Company’s steamers touch at Albany once a week on their way to or from Ceylon, this being their first and last port of call in Australia.

The Hon. John Forrest, Commissioner of Crown Lands and Surveyor-general for the colony, has published a concise pamphlet giving notes and statistics about the colony, from which it appears that the legislature has voted twenty thousand pounds for the encouragement of emigration. Free passages are granted from London by the Crown agents, under certain conditions, and three hundred and fifty-seven immigrants were introduced last year, at a cost of four thousand eight hundred and sixty pounds.

We understand that the land regulations of the colony are liberal, and specially adapted to induce settlement. The conditions for settlement in Western Australia may be learned from the Emigration Agency of Western Australia, Crown Agent’s Office, London, S.W.

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