for the term of his natural life- 第78部分

〃He　must　die。〃

〃Either　you　or　he；〃　laughs　Gabbett。　　〃Give　me　the　axe。〃

〃No；　no；〃　said　the　Crow；　his　thin；　malignant　face　distorted　by　a　horrible　resolution。　　〃I'll　keep　the　axe。　　Stand　back！　You　shall　hold　him；　and　I'll　do　the　job。〃

Sanders；　seeing　them　approach；　knew　his　end　was　come；　and　submitted；　crying；　〃Give　me　half　an　hour　to　pray　for　myself。〃　They　consent；　and　the　bewildered　wretch　knelt　down　and　folded　his　hands　like　a　child。　His　big；　stupid　face　worked　with　emotion。　　His　great　cracked　lips　moved　in　desperate　agony。　　He　wagged　his　head　from　side　to　side；　in　pitiful　confusion　of　his　brutalized　senses。　　〃I　can't　think　o'　the　words；　Jem！〃

〃Pah；〃　snarled　the　cripple；　swinging　the　axe；　〃we　can't　starve　here　all　night。〃

Four　days　had　passed；　and　the　two　survivors　of　this　awful　journey　sat　watching　each　other。　　The　gaunt　giant；　his　eyes　gleaming　with　hate　and　hunger；　sat　sentinel　over　the　dwarf。　　The　dwarf；　chuckling　at　his　superior　sagacity；　clutched　the　fatal　axe。　　For　two　days　they　had　not　spoken　to　each　other。　　For　two　days　each　had　promised　himself　that　on　the　next　his　companion　must　sleepand　die。　　Vetch　comprehended　the　devilish　scheme　of　the　monster　who　had　entrapped　five　of　his　fellow…beings　to　aid　him　by　their　deaths　to　his　own　safety；　and　held　aloof。　Gabbett　watched　to　snatch　the　weapon　from　his　companion；　and　make　the　odds　even　once　and　for　ever。　　In　the　day…time　they　travelled　on；　seeking　each　a　pretext　to　creep　behind　the　other。　　In　the　night…time　when　they　feigned　slumber；　each　stealthily　raising　a　head　caught　the　wakeful　glance　of　his　companion。　　Vetch　felt　his　strength　deserting　him；　and　his　brain　overpowered　by　fatigue。　　Surely　the　giant；　muttering；　gesticulating；　and　slavering　at　the　mouth；　was　on　the　road　to　madness。　　Would　the　monster　find　opportunity　to　rush　at　him；　and；　braving　the　blood…stained　axe；　kill　him　by　main　force？　or　would　he　sleep；　and　be　himself　a　victim？　Unhappy　Vetch！　　It　is　the　terrible　privilege　of　insanity　to　be　sleepless。

On　the　fifth　day；　Vetch；　creeping　behind　a　tree；　takes　off　his　belt；　and　makes　a　noose。　　He　will　hang　himself。　　He　gets　one　end　of　the　belt　over　a　bough；　and　then　his　cowardice　bids　him　pause。　　Gabbett　approaches；　he　tries　to　evade　him；　and　steal　away　into　the　bush。　　In　vain。　The　insatiable　giant；　ravenous　with　famine；　and　sustained　by　madness；　is　not　to　be　shaken　off。　　Vetch　tries　to　run；　but　his　legs　bend　under　him。　The　axe　that　has　tried　to　drink　so　much　blood　feels　heavy　as　lead。　He　will　fling　it　away。　　Nohe　dares　not。　　Night　falls　again。　　He　must　rest；　or　go　mad。　　His　limbs　are　powerless。　　His　eyelids　are　glued　together。　He　sleeps　as　he　stands。　　This　horrible　thing　must　be　a　dream。　He　is　at　Port　Arthur；　or　will　wake　on　his　pallet　in　the　penny　lodging…house　he　slept　at　when　a　boy。　　Is　that　the　Deputy　come　to　wake　him　to　the　torment　of　living？　It　is　not　timesurely　not　time　yet。　　He　sleepsand　the　giant；　grinning　with　ferocious　joy；　approaches　on　clumsy　tiptoe　and　seizes　the　coveted　axe。

On　the　north　coast　of　Van　Diemen's　Land　is　a　place　called　St　Helen's　Point；　and　a　certain　skipper；　being　in　want　of　fresh　water；　landing　there　with　a　boat's　crew；　found　on　the　banks　of　the　creek　a　gaunt　and　blood…stained　man；　clad　in　tattered　yellow；　who　carried　on　his　back　an　axe　and　a　bundle。　　When　the　sailors　came　within　sight　of　him；　he　made　signs　to　them　to　approach；　and；　opening　his　bundle　with　much　ceremony；　offered　them　some　of　its　contents。　　Filled　with　horror　at　what　the　maniac　displayed；　they　seized　and　bound　him。　　At　Hobart　Town　he　was　recognized　as　the　only　survivor　of　the　nine　desperadoes　who　had　escaped　from　Colonel　Arthur's　〃Natural　Penitentiary〃。



END　OF　BOOK　THE　THIRD






BOOK　IV。NORFOLK　ISLAND。　　1846。




CHAPTER　I。

EXTRACTED　FROM　THE　DIARY　OF　THE　REV。　JAMES　NORTH。



Bathurst；　February　11th；　1846。

In　turning　over　the　pages　of　my　journal；　to　note　the　good　fortune　that　has　just　happened　to　me；　I　am　struck　by　the　utter　desolation　of　my　life　for　the　last　seven　years。

Can　it　be　possible　that　I；　James　North；　the　college…hero；　the　poet；　the　prizeman；　the　Heaven　knows　what　else；　have　been　content　to　live　on　at　this　dreary　spotan　animal；　eating　and　drinking；　for　tomorrow　I　die？　Yet　it　has　been　so。　　My　world；　that　world　of　which　I　once　dreamt　so　much；　has　beenhere。　　My　famewhich　was　to　reach　the　ends　of　the　earth　has　penetrated　to　the　neighbouring　stations。　　I　am　considered　a　〃good　preacher〃　by　my　sheep…feeding　friends。　　It　is　kind　of　them。

Yet；　on　the　eve　of　leaving　it；　I　confess　that　this　solitary　life　has　not　been　without　its　charms。　　I　have　had　my　books　and　my　thoughts　though　at　times　the　latter　were　but　grim　companions。　　I　have　striven　with　my　familiar　sin；　and　have　not　always　been　worsted。　　Melancholy　reflection。　〃Not　always！〃　　〃But　yet〃　is　as　a　gaoler　to　bring　forth　some　monstrous　malefactor。　　I　vowed；　however；　that　I　would　not　cheat　myself　in　this　diary　of　mine；　and　I　will　not。　　No　evasions；　no　glossings　over　of　my　own　sins。　This　journal　is　my　confessor；　and　I　bare　my　heart　to　it。

It　is　curious　the　pleasure　I　feel　in　setting　down　here　in　black　and　white　these　agonies　and　secret　cravings　of　which　I　dare　not　speak。　It　is　for　the　same　reason；　I　suppose；　that　murderers　make　confession　to　dogs　and　cats；　that　people　with　something　〃on　their　mind〃　are　given　to　thinking　aloud；　that　the　queen　of　Midas　must　needs　whisper　to　the　sedges　the　secret　of　her　husband's　infirmity。　　Outwardly　I　am　a　man　of　God；　pious　and　grave　and　softly　spoken。　　Inwardlywhat？　　The　mean；　cowardly；　weak　sinner　that　this　book　knows　me。。。Imp！　I　could　tear　you　in　pieces！。。。One　of　these　days　I　will。　　In　the　meantime；　I　will　keep　you　under　lock　and　key；　and　you　shall　hug　my　secrets　close。　　No；　old　friend；　with　whom　I　have　communed　so　long；　forgive　me；　forgive　me。　You　are　to　me　instead　of　wife　or　priest。　　I　tell　to　your　cold　blue　pages　how　much　was　it　I　bought　you　for　in　Parramatta；　rascal？these　stories；　longings；　remorses；　which　I　would　fain　tell　to　human　ear　could　I　find　a　human　being　as　discreet　as　thou。　　It　has　been　said　that　a　man　dare　not　write　all　his　thoughts　and　deeds；　the　words　would　blister　the　paper。　Yet　your　sheets　are　smooth　enough；　you　fat　rogue！　Our　neighbours　of　Rome　know　human　nature。　　A　man　must　confess。　　One　reads　of　wretches　who　have　carried　secrets　in　their　bosoms　for　years；　and　blurted　them　forth　at　last。　　I；　shut　up　here　without　companionship；　without　sympathy；　without　letters；　cannot　lock　up　my　soul；　and　feed　on　my　own　thoughts。　They　will　out；　and　so　I　whisper　them　to　thee。

What　art　thou；　thou　tremendous　power　Who　dost　inhabit　us　without　our　leave；　And　art；　within　ourselves；　another　self；　A　master　self　that　loves　to　domineer？

What？　　Conscience？　　That　is　a　word　to　frighten　children。　　The　conscience　of　each　man　is　of　his　own　making。　　My　friend　the　shark…toothed　cannibal　whom　Staples　brought　in　his　whaler　to　Sydney　would　have　found　his　conscience　reproach　him　sorely　did　he　refuse　to　partake　of　the　feasts　made　sacred　by　the　customs　of　his　ancestors　A　spark　of　divinity？　The　divinity　that；　according　to　received　doctrine；　sits　apart；　enthroned　amid　sweet　music；　and　leaves　poor　humanity　to　earn　its　condemnation　as　it　may？　　I'll　have　none　of　thatthough　I　preach　it。　　One　must　soothe　the　vulgar　senses　of　the　people　Priesthood　has　its　〃pious　frauds〃。　The　Master　spoke　in　parables。　　Wit？　　The　wit　that　sees　how　ill…balanced　are　our　actions　and　our　aspirations？　　The　devilish　wit　born　of　our　own　brain；　that　sneers　at　us　for　our　own　failings？　　Perhaps　madness？　More　likely；　for　there　are　few　men　who　are　not　mad　one　hour　of　the　waking　twelve。　If　differing　from　the　judgment　of　the　majority　of　mankind　in　regard　to　familiar　things　be　madness；　I　suppose　I　am　mador　too　wise。　The　speculation　draws　near　to　hair…splitting。　　James　North；　recall　your　early　recklessness；　your　ruin；　and　your　redemption；　bring　your　mind　back　to　earth。　　Circumstances　have　made　you　what　you　are；　and　will　shape　your　destiny　for　you　without　your　interference。　　That's　comfortably　settled！

Now　supposingto　take　another　canter　on　my　night…marethat　man　is　the　slave　of　circumstances　（a　doctrine　which　I　am　inclined　to　believe；　though　unwilling　to　confess）；　what　circumstance　can　have　brought　about　the　sudden　awakening　of　the　powers　that　be　to　James　North's　fitness　for　duty？


HOBART　TOWN；　Jan。　12th。

〃DEAR　NORTH；I　have　much　pleasure　in　informing　you　that　you　can　be　appointed　Protestant　chaplain　at　Norfolk　Island；　if　you　like。　　It　seems　that　they　did　not　get　on　well　with　the　last　man；　and　when　my　advic　was　asked；　I　at　once　recommended　you　for　the　office。　The　pay　is　small；　but　you　have　a　house　and　so　on。　It　is　certainly　better　than　Bathurst；　and　indeed　is　considered　rather　a　prize　in　the　clerical　lottery。

〃There　is　to　be　an　investigation　into　affairs　down　there。　　Poor　old　Prattwho　went　down；　as　you　know；　at　the　earnest　solicitation　of　the　Governmentseems　to　have　become　absurdly　lenient　with　the　prisoners；　and　it　is　reported　that　the　island　is　in　a　frightful　state。　　Sir　Eardley　is　looking　out　for　some　disciplinarian　to　take　the　place　in　hand。

〃In　the　meantime；　the　chaplaincy　is　vacant；　and　I　thought　of　you。〃　


I　must　consider　this　seeming　good　fortune　further。

February　19th。I　accept。　　There　is　work　to　be　done　among　those　unhappy　men　that　may　be　my　purgation。　　The　authorities　shall　hear　me　yetthough　inquiry　was　stifled　at　Port　Arthur。　　By　the　way；　a　Pharaoh　had　arisen　who　knows　not　Joseph。　　It　is　evident　that　the　meddlesome　parson；　who　complained　of　men　being　flogged　to　death；　is　forgotten；　as　the　men　are！　　How　many　ghosts　must　haunt　the　dismal　loneliness　of　that　prison　shore！　　Poor　Burgess　is　gone　the　way　of　all　flesh。　　I　wonder　if　his　spirit　revisits　the　scenes　of　its　violences？　　I　have　written　〃poor〃　Burgess。

It　is　strange　how　we　pity　a　man　gone　out　of　this　life。　　Enmity　is　extinguished　when　one　can　but　remember　injuries。　　If　a　man　had　injured　me；　the　fact　of　his　living　at　all　would　be　sufficient　grounds　for　me　to　hate　him；　if　I　had　injured　him；　I　should　hate　him　still　more。　　Is　that　the　reason　I　hate　myself　at　timesmy　greatest　enemy；　and　one　whom　I　have　injured　beyond　forgiveness？　　There　are　offences　against　one's　own　nature　that　are　not　to　be　forgiven。　　Isn't　it　Tacitu