CHAPTER XLIV. — THE STRANGER’S STORY.
That evening a number of people were in the principal parlor of the Brandon Inn. It was a cool evening in October; and there was a fire near which the partner of Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. had seated himself.
Clark had come in at the first of the evening and had been there ever since, talking volubly and laughing boisterously. The others were more or less talkative, but none of them rivaled Clark. They were nearly all Brandon people; and in their treatment of Clark there was a certain restraint which the latter either did not wish or care to notice. As for the stranger he sat apart in silence without regarding any one in particular, and giving no indication whether he was listening to what was going on or was indifferent to it all. From time to time Clark threw glances in his direction, and once or twice he tried to draw some of the company out to make remarks about him; but the company seemed reluctant to touch upon the subject, and merely listened with patience.
Clark had evidently a desire in his mind to be very entertaining and lively. With this intent he told a number of stories, most of which were intermingled with allusions to the company present, together with the stranger. At last he gazed at the latter in silence for some little time, and then turned to the company.
“There’s one among us that hasn’t opened his mouth this evening. I call it unsociable. I move that the party proceed to open it forthwith. Who seconds the motion? Don’t all speak at once.”
The company looked at one another, but no one made any reply.
“What! no one speaks! All right; silence gives consent;” and with these words Clark advanced toward the stranger. The latter said nothing, but sat in a careless attitude.
“Friend!” said Clark, standing before the stranger, “we’re all friends here—we wish to be sociable—we think you are too silent—will you be kind enough to open your mouth? If you won’t tell a story, perhaps you will be good enough to sing us a song?”
The stranger sat upright.
“Well,” said he; in the same peculiar harsh voice and slow tone with which he had spoken to Potts, “the request is a fair one, and I shall be happy to open my mouth. I regret to state that having no voice I shall be unable to give you a song, but I’ll be glad to tell a story, if the company will listen.”
“The company will feel honored,” said Clark, in a mocking tone, as he resumed his seat.
The stranger arose, and, going to the fire-place, picked up a piece of charcoal.
Clark sat in the midst of the circle, looking at him with a sneering smile. “It’s rather an odd story,” said the stranger, “and I only heard it the other day; perhaps you won’t believe it, but it’s true.”
“Oh, never mind the truth of it!” exclaimed Clark—“push along.”
The stranger stepped up to the wall over the fire-place.
“Before I begin I wish to make a few marks, which I will explain in process of time. My story is connected with these.”
He took his charcoal and made upon the wall the following marks:
{Illustration: ^ /|\ {three lines, forming short arrow}
R {sans-serif R}
+ {plus sign} }
He then turned, and stood for a moment in silence.
The effect upon Clark was appalling. His face turned livid, his arms clutched violently at the seat of his chair, his jaw fell, and his eyes were fixed on the marks as though fascinated by them.
The stranger appeared to take no notice of him.
“These marks,” said he, “were, or rather are, upon the back of a friend of mine, about whom I am going to tell a little story.
“The first (/|\) is the Queen’s mark, put on certain prisoners out in Botany Bay, who are totally insubordinate.
“The second (R) signifies ‘run away,’ and is put on those who have attempted to escape.
“The third (+) indicates a murderous assault on the guards. When they don’t hang the culprit they put this on, and those who are branded in this way have nothing but hard work, in chains for life.
“These marks are on the back of a friend of mine, whose name I need not mention, but for convenience sake I will call him Clark.”
Clark didn’t even resent this, but sat mute, with a face of awful expectation.
“My friend Clark had led a life of strange vicissitudes,” said the stranger, “having slipped through the meshes of the law very successfully a great number of times, but finally he was caught, and sent to Botany Bay. He served his time out, and left; but, finally, after a series of very extraordinary adventures in India, and some odd events in the Indian Ocean, he came to England. Bad luck followed him, however. He made an attempt at burglary, and was caught, convicted, and sent back again to his old station at Botany Bay.
“Of course he felt a strong reluctance to stay in such a place, and therefore began to plan an escape; he made one attempt, which was unsuccessful. He then laid a plot with two other notorious offenders. Each of these three had been branded with those letters which I have marked. One of these was named Stubbs, and another Wilson, the third was this Clark. No one knew how they met to make their arrangements, for the prison regulations are very strict; but; they did meet, and managed to confer together. They contrived to get rid of the chains that were fastened around their ankles, and one stormy night they started off and made a run for it.
“The next day the guards were out in pursuit with dogs. They went all day long on their track over a very rough country, and finally came to a river. Here they prepared to pass the night.
“On rising early on the following morning they saw something moving on the top of a hill on the opposite side of the river. On watching it narrowly they saw three men. They hurried on at once in pursuit. The fugitives kept well ahead, however, as was natural; and since they were running for life and freedom they made a better pace.
“But they were pretty well worn out. They had taken no provisions with them, and had not calculated on so close a pursuit. They kept ahead as best they could, and at last reached a narrow river that ran down between cliffs through a gully to the sea. The cliffs on each side were high and bold. But they had to cross it; so down on one side they went, and up the other.
“Clark and Stubbs got up first. Wilson was just reaching the top when the report of a gun was heard, and a bullet struck him in the arm. Groaning in his agony he rushed on trying to keep up with his companions.
“Fortunately for them night came on. They hurried on all night, scarcely knowing where they were going, Wilson in an agony trying to keep up with them. Toward morning they snatched a little rest under a rock near a brook and then hurried forward.
“For two days more they hastened on, keeping out of reach of their pursuers, yet still knowing that they were followed, or at least fearing it. They had gone over a wild country along the coast, and keeping a northward direction. At length, after four days of wandering, they came to a little creek by the sea-shore. There were three houses here belonging to fishermen. They rushed into the first hut and implored food and drink. The men were off to Sydney, but the kind-hearted women gave them what they had. They were terrified at the aspect of these wretched men, whose natural ferocity had been heightened by hardship, famine, and suffering. Gaunt and grim as they were, they seemed more terrible than three wild beasts. The women knew that they were escaped convicts.
{Illustration: HE TOOK HIS CHARCOAL AND MADE UPON THE WALL THE FOLLOWING MARKS.}
“There was a boat lying on the beach. To this the first thoughts of the fugitives were directed. They filled a cask of water and put it on board. They demanded some provisions from the fisherman’s wife. The frightened woman gave them some fish and a few ship-biscuits. They were about to forage for themselves when Wilson, who had been watching, gave the alarm.
“Their pursuers were upon them. They had to run for it at once. They had barely time to rush to the boat and get out a little distance when the guard reached the bench. The latter fired a few shots after them, but the shots took no effect.
“The fugitives put out to sea in the open boat. They headed north, for they hoped to catch some Australian ship and be taken up. Their provisions were soon exhausted. Fortunately it was the rainy season, so that they had a plentiful supply of water, with which they managed to keep their cask filled; but that did not prevent them from suffering the agonies of famine. Clark and Stubbs soon began to look at Wilson with looks that made him quiver with terror. Naturally enough, gentlemen; you see they were starving. Wilson was the weakest of the three, and therefore was at their mercy. They tried, however, to catch fish. It was of no use. There seemed to be no fish in those seas, or else the bits of bread crumb which they put down were not an attractive bait.
“The two men began to look at Wilson with the eyes of fiends—eyes that flamed with foul desire, beaming from deep, hollow orbits which famine had made. The days passed. One morning Wilson lay dead.”
The stranger paused for a moment, amidst an awful silence.
“The lives of these two were preserved a little longer,” he added, in slow, measured tones.
“They sailed on. In a few days Clark and Stubbs began to look at one another. You will understand, gentlemen, that it was an awful thing for these men to cast at each other the same glances which they once cast on Wilson. Each one feared the other; each watched his chance, and each guarded against his companion.
“They could no longer row. The one sat in the bow, the other in the stern, glaring at one another. My friend Clark was a man of singular endurance. But why go into particulars? Enough; the boat drifted on, and at last only one was left.
“A ship was sailing from Australia, and the crew saw a boat drifting. A man was there. They stopped and picked him up. The boat was stained with blood. Tokens of what that blood was lay around. There were other things in the boat which chilled the blood of the sailors. They took Clark on board. He was mad at first, and raved in his delirium. They heard him tell of what he had done. During that voyage no one spoke to him. They touched at Cape Town, and put him ashore.
“My friend is yet alive and well. How do you like my story?”
The stranger sat down. A deep stillness followed, which was suddenly broken by something, half groan and half curse. It was Clark.
He lifted himself heavily from his chair, his face livid and his eyes bloodshot, and staggered out of the room.