And Gray replied, “I am twenty-two to-day.”
His air was so different to the reckless, daring manner of men hardened in crime, and every one felt the force of the words he uttered in his defence.
“I acknowledge my crimes,” he said; “but I have been very unfortunate.”
His open countenance when his eyes were raised, for shame and sorrow usually weighed them down; his slight boyish frame, attenuated by illness; his air of deep humility—humility without fear—for every question was answered unhesitatingly and honestly; the gentle way in which he met the accusations of the chief witness against him, a man who hoped to purchase his own freedom by the blood of his fellow creature; and the straightforward manner in which he related his history from the time he and Lyle had been cast ashore from the Trafalgar, taking more blame to himself in the matter of gunpowder traffic; than he deserved, were all adjuncts in his favour with the honourable court; but, alas! there was the damning evidence to prove the life he had lived for the last six months, and nothing to confirm his assertion that he deprecated his occupation or position.
Under present circumstances, Gray was not permitted to occupy his little chamber in the kind missionary’s cottage; but Ormsby—no longer the thoughtless, selfish Ormsby—gave up his hut to the poor young prisoner, who, patient and resigned, sat within, looking through the open door upon the distant plains of Kafirland.
He was fettered, and safely guarded by sentries, who would fain have avoided their sad duty.
Mr Trail sat beside him—the Bible he had been reading was closed upon his knee—the two were silent now—“thoughts too deep for words” filled the breasts of both. The missionary’s eyes were overflowing with a sorrow he could not repress, and the tears fell drop by drop upon his sleeve.—The deserter took no notice of this; he continued to gaze upon the plains. Between him and the great space beyond was spread the camp-ground—the troops with glittering arms—the sturdy burghers scattered in somewhat disorderly fashion—the Fingo warriors dancing their untiring dance and chanting their war-song. But he noted not this stir—his interests were no longer of earth—his eyes were lifted above those vacant green plains to those “aisles of light,” beyond which men have a vague idea that God dwells in heaven.
At the foot of the camp-ground the waters of the two rivers spread east and west; eastward the stream widened considerably, foaming and tumbling over gigantic blocks of stone; westward the current was comparatively smooth and shallow; precipitous banks, intersected with kloofs, formed the boundary on the opposite side, the cliffs overhanging the eastward being densely-wooded.
The ground above these cliffs sloped up to a long green ridge, sharply defined against the clear breezy sky of a Cape autumn day. The young prisoner’s eye swept this ridge with a purposeless look; but the sentries who watched him, following that look, were surprised to perceive several men on horseback with one in the midst, whom they soon discovered to be unarmed and bound upon the saddle he bestrode. This body of men inclined to the bank leading to the smoother waters of the river, dipped suddenly into a gorge, and did not reappear till they ascended the slight declivity at the extremity of the encampment. The horses, somewhat jaded, flagged in their pace till they came in full sight of the troops, when the party, some fifty strong, cantered to the guard-house, demanding to see the commanding officer of the troops, to whom they desired to deliver up Lee the convict.
Bound in limb, but with the dauntless spirit blazing in his eye, Jasper was led into the guard-house, and there, surrounded by his captors and the soldiers, awaited the arrival of the officer who was to receive him.