CHAPTER XXXVI
SHE SUPS WITH HER SWEETHEART
I went quickly, that the people might see how smartly I obeyed the new captain. A few convicts roamed about the cuddy, staring as though out of curiosity into the plundered berths and at the decorations and lamps, and needlessly crushing the broken glass into the carpet as they walked. I stepped warily and got to my berth, unlocked the door, and found all right within. I could not help reflecting upon what had passed since I was last here; it seemed a week since I was in this berth, so violent, hurried, and numerous had been the incidents of that day.
I made one bundle of my woman’s attire, the other clothes and a few toilet things, and went to the captain’s cabin. Then, thought I, I shall want a mattress to lie on, so I fetched the convict’s mattress, pillow and blanket, and shut the door and sat down to wait for Tom, no one during these journeys having taken the least notice of me.
It was horribly hot, and I opened the large circular port and leaned with my head in the orifice. I now heard a noise of the rippling of water, and saw the sea of a deep shade of blue to about a mile away, where it then gleamed white and polished, the calm being still unbrushed there. The ship had caught a little air of wind; ropes were flung down overhead, the soft patter of naked, the sharp beat of shod feet actively running about sounded through the planks; the silence upon the water was now broken by the voices of men singing out as they hauled, and presently at a pistol-shot distance I saw what might have been a piece of green timber feathered with weed slowly slide past.
I looked around me, and my heart was full of pity when I thought of Captain Sutherland. I pitied him, I say, and I grieved for the women and the little children, but the soldiers and the others did not appeal to me. I took no interest in the fate of the doctor and Captain Barrett, and I never could forget that one of the soldiers had shot the poor madman, and that all would have slaughtered every convict at the word of command with less compunction than the convicts themselves had sent them adrift.
The captain’s cabin was wrecked; he had slept in a handsome mahogany bunk, and its mattress was ripped open as though the beasts who did it hoped to find money or some sort of booty hidden in the hair. Two little miniatures had been left to hang upon the bulkhead; one was the captain, the other a lady, doubtless his wife, a rather pretty, grave-looking woman. I thought of how Tom and I had sat for our miniatures, and wondered if the captain’s wife were alive, whether she would ever see her husband again. Should I ever have seen Tom again but for my resolution to hide in the ship that was to transport him? This reflection made me mad.
Whilst I sat or walked about, lost in inflaming thoughts, I heard a great noise in the cuddy and, peeping out, spied some fifteen or twenty convicts hard at work brushing and tidying up the interior. Abram just then came in with a little company of the ringleaders; I may tell you that there were perhaps twelve to fifteen heads in this uprisal, not counting Tom, whom I never would name as having had a share in it.
On hearing Abram speak, I held the door open by about an inch. The prize-fighter and his crew stood close against my cabin, talking and looking on at the convicts at work. They were arranging for their own accommodation.
‘Butler takes the captid’s cabid, that’s fair,’ said Abram. ‘His y’u’g fre’d shares it. That’s Butler’s business. Bates a’d adother wud’s provided for yodder. You a’d be,’ he continued, addressing one of the convicts, ‘will take the cabid dext to the captid’s. Right aft don’t soot be; the botion there bakes be ill. The rest of you will fide pledty of roob. I recobbe’d that the better order abogst us tosses or draws for the accommodatiod dowd-stairs. We dote wadt to be suffocated by dumbers in this part of the ship; the old quarters will be thid (thinned) by those who cub aft; with the hatch oped, the widsails dowd and the barricade id shivers, they’ll be airy edough; ad thed there’s the soldiers’ quarters.’
A few minutes later Tom came in. He shut the door and took me by the hand and kissed me; sat down, and made me sit beside him, still holding my hand, whilst he gazed at me with the full affection of his dear, noble heart. He was pale with the heat. His eyelids dropped with the weariness that was upon him. He was clad, as throughout the day, in his convict shirt and trousers.