Volume Four—Chapter Eight.
A Convict Rising.
“Ah, Mr O’Hara,” said Bayle, holding out his hand, “I have not seen you for months. Why do you not give me a call?”
“Because I am a convict, sir,” said the young Irishman, paying no heed to the extended hand.
“Oh, yes; but that is past now,” said Bayle. “One doesn’t look upon you as one would upon a thief or a swindler, and even if you had been both these worthies, a man of my cloth comes to preach forgiveness, and is ready to hold out the right hand to every man who is sorry for the past.”
“But I am not sorry for the past, sir,” said O’Hara firmly.
“I’ve studied it all,” said Bayle quietly, “and the rising was a mistake.”
“Don’t talk about it, please, sir,” said O’Hara hotly. “You are an Englishman. You could not gaze upon that trouble, for which I was transported, from an Irishman’s point of view.”
“Then we will not talk about it,” said Bayle; “but come, I am no enemy of your country.”
“I should say, sir, that you were never any man’s enemy but your own,” said O’Hara dryly.
Bayle smiled.
“There, shake hands,” he said. “How has the world been using you?”
“Better lately, sir. I am comfortable enough in the Government office, and now I am helping the commission that is investigating the prison affairs. And you, sir?”
“Oh, I am busy enough, and happy enough. Then it was you I caught sight of in the prison yard a month ago? I thought it was; but it gave me such a chill that I would not look.”
“Why, sir?”
“I was afraid that you had gone backwards, and were there again.”
O’Hara’s hard, care-lined face relaxed, and there was a pleasant smile on his countenance when he spoke again. “I heard about you, sir, in the lines.”
“Indeed!”
“The men talked a good deal about you.”
“Yes?” said Bayle good-humouredly. “I’m afraid they laugh at me and my notions.”
“They do,” said O’Hara thoughtfully. “Poor wretches! But you have made more impression and gained more influence, sir, than you think.”
“I wish I could feel so,” said Bayle with a sigh.
“If you will take my opinion, sir, you will feel so,” said O’Hara. “I’m glad I met you, sir, for I have been a great deal in the prison lately, and I can’t help thinking there is something wrong.”
“Something wrong?”
“Yes, sir. I believe the men are meditating a rising.”
“A rising? In Heaven’s name, what do they expect to do?”
“Obtain the mastery, sir, or seize upon a vessel or two, and escape to some other land.”
“But have you good reason for suspecting this?”
“No other reason than suspicion—the suspicion that comes from knowing their ways and habits. Such a rising took place when I was there years ago.”
“Well?”
“It was suppressed, and the poor wretches who were in it made their case worse, as they would now.”
“But the authorities must be warned.”
“They have been warned,” said O’Hara quietly. “I am not one of them now, and knowing what I do of the musket and bayonet and the lash, I lost no time in laying my suspicions before my superiors. Yes,” he said, “I was right, was I not?”
“Right? Unquestionably. Such men, until they have been proved, have no right to be free. Then that is the meaning of the extra sentries I have seen.”
“That is it, sir; but if the sentries were doubled again, I’m afraid the mistaken men would carry out their notions, unless some strong influence were brought to bear. Why don’t you try to get hold of the ringleaders, sir, and show them the madness of the attempt?”
“I will,” said Bayle quickly, and they parted; but they were not separated a hundred yards before there was a shout, and Bayle turned to see O’Hara running after him swiftly.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m afraid I have spoken too late, sir. I heard a shot out yonder, beyond that house where the new road is being made. A strong gang has been at work there for a fortnight past. Do you hear that?”
Two distant shots in quick succession were heard, and Christie Bayle turned pale, for the sounds came from beyond the house pointed out, and that house was Hallam’s.
“We had better go and give the alarm at the governor’s office.”
“No, no,” said Bayle. “We may be in time to help up here. Come quickly, man; run!”
It seemed madness to O’Hara; but there was a decision in Bayle’s order that did not seem to brook contradiction, and being a quick, lithe man, he ran step for step with his companion, as they made their way amongst the park-like growth of the hill-side in the direction of the spot whence the sounds had come.
Bayle had a very misty idea of what he meant to do, and once or twice the thought came that, after all, this might be only some one amusing himself with a gun after the beautifully-plumaged birds that were common enough in the neighbourhood then.
These ideas were quickly overthrown, for soon they could see the uniforms of the convict guard in the distance, and the gleam of a bayonet, followed by another shot, and some figures running down the side of one of the valleys leading to the shore.
It was now that Bayle realised his intentions, and they were to go to the help of those who were at Hallam’s house, in case it should be attacked.
As they came nearer, though, it was evident that the fight which was in progress was more to the right of the house, and becoming fiercer, for some half-dozen shots were fired in a volley from a ravine down amongst some trees, the hills being occupied by a swarm of men.
All at once three figures came out of the house on the slope, and as he advanced Bayle made out that they were Hallam, Crellock, and one who was unmistakable from his undress uniform.
When they came out it was evident that the latter was urging his companions to follow him; but they stopped back, and he dashed on, down into the ravine.
It was heavy running for Bayle, and the young officer was far ahead of him; but he hurried on, O’Hara keeping well up to his side, and together they saw him meet a couple of the retreating guard, who stopped at his command, faced round, and accompanied him, the three plunging down among the bushes and disappearing from the sight of Bayle and his companion.
“The men will be very dangerous,” said O’Hara. “We shall find them armed with picks, spades, and hammers.”
“They will not hurt me,” panted Bayle, “and we may save bloodshed.”
“I don’t think they will hurt me,” said the young Irishman grimly. “Are you going on, sir?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Then I will risk it, too.”
They were going forward all the time, hurrying down into the valley, and leaving Hallam’s house away to the left, with Hallam and Crellock watching the proceedings, they having a view from their commanding position of that which was hidden from Bayle and his friend.
As they ran on, though, they heard another shot or two, and a loud shouting, while a couple of hundred yards on ahead they could see four of the guard retreating along the slope, pursued by about a dozen of the convicts, another party coming towards them, a glimpse of a bayonet showing that others of the guard were being driven back towards Hallam’s house, while in another minute it was plain that Eaton had not been able to join forces with the men.
In fact the convicts had divided into two parties, and these, going in opposite directions, were driving their guards before them with furious shouts.
A little army of two pensioners, led by an officer armed with a cane, had but a poor chance of success against some five-and-twenty savage men, whose passions had been raised to volcanic point by seeing a couple of their number shot down at the beginning of the fray, when they had risen against the sergeant and eight men who had them in charge. Of these they had beaten down the sergeant and two of his men, and were apparently determined upon taking revenge upon those who had fired upon them, before trying to escape.
The bushes hindered the view, but at last Bayle came in full sight of Eaton and the two men just as a stone was hurled, hitting one of them in the chest, so that he went down as if shot. His companion turned to fly, but a furious shout from Eaton stopped him, and he faced the enemy again as the young officer reached over the fallen guard, took his musket, with its fixed bayonet, and stood his ground, to protect the poor fellow who was down.
It was only a matter of moments, and before Bayle could get up the convicts had made a rush, yelling furiously.
It was hard to see what took place; but as Bayle ran down the slope, his heart beating fast with apprehension, the man dropped, and Bayle had just time to strike one blow on the young officer’s behalf, as the convicts closed him in, and bore him back against the scarped face of the little ravine.
It was only one blow, but it was given with the full force of a strong arm and had the weight of a well-built man rushing down a steep slope to give it additional force.
The result was that the man Bayle struck, and another behind him, went rolling over—the former just as he had raised a spade to strike at Eaton’s defenceless head.
“You cowardly dogs!” roared Bayle, as, failing another weapon, he caught up a spade one of the convicts had let fall.
The attack was so sudden and unexpected that the men gave way, and stood glaring for a few moments, till one of their number shouted:
“It’s only the parson, boys. Down with ’em!”
But they did not come on, and, taking advantage of their hesitation, Bayle turned to Eaton.
“Quick!” he said, “get away from here.”
“No,” said the young officer hoarsely. “I can’t leave my men. Ah!”
He uttered a sharp cry, and sank down, for a piece of stone had been hurled at him with force enough to dislocate his shoulder, half stunning him with the violence of the blow.
As the young man fell the convicts uttered a yell of delight, all three of their adversaries being now hors de combat; but they were not satisfied, one of their number rushing forward to deliver a cowardly blow with the stone-hammer he bore.
Bayle did not realise for the moment that so brutal an act could be committed upon a fallen adversary, and he was so much off his guard that he only had time to make a snatch at the handle, and partly break the force of the blow, which fell on Eaton’s cap.
Then there was a quick struggle, and the convict staggered, tripped over a loose block of stone, and fell with a crash. There was an ominous murmur here, and the men stood hesitating, each disposed to make a rush and revenge the fall of his companion; but there was no leader to combine the force and lead them on, and, taking advantage of their hesitation, Bayle stooped down, lifted the insensible man, and strode away.
The convicts were taken by surprise at this act, and some were for fetching him back, but the remainder were for letting him go.
“Take the swaddy’s guns, lads, and let’s be off at once,” said one of the party, and the two muskets were seized, a convict presenting the bayonet of the piece he had secured at the breast of one of the fallen men, both of whom lay half-stunned and bleeding on the rough ground.
“Shall I, boys?” he said.
“No; hold hard,” cried a voice, and a member of the party who had been in pursuit of the other portion of the guard came up. “Tie them hand and foot, and leave them so as they can’t give warning. Who’s that going up the hill?”
“Parson and the orficer,” said one of the men.
“And who’s that running yonder?”
“That Irishman who was in with us—O’Hara.”
“Can any one shoot and bring him down? Give me a musket.”
He snatched the piece offered to him, took careful aim by resting the musket on the edge of the scarped bank, and fired.
There was the sharp report, the puff of white smoke,
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