The usual clanking and hammering was prevalent upon the stone jetty of Port Arthur when the schooner1 bearing the returned convict, Rufus Dawes, ran alongside. On the heights above the esplanade rose the grim front of the soldiers’ barracks; beneath the soldiers’ barracks was the long range of prison buildings with their workshops and tan-pits; to the left lay the Commandant’s house, authoritative2 by reason of its embrasured terrace and guardian3 sentry4; while the jetty, that faced the purple length of the “Island of the Dead,” swarmed5 with parti-coloured figures, clanking about their enforced business, under the muskets6 of their gaolers.
Rufus Dawes had seen this prospect7 before, had learnt by heart each beauty of rising sun, sparkling water, and wooded hill. From the hideously8 clean jetty at his feet, to the distant signal station, that, embowered in bloom, reared its slender arms upwards9 into the cloudless sky, he knew it all. There was no charm for him in the exquisite10 blue of the sea, the soft shadows of the hills, or the soothing11 ripple12 of the waves that crept voluptuously13 to the white breast of the shining shore. He sat with his head bowed down, and his hands clasped about his knees, disdaining14 to look until they roused him.
“Hallo, Dawes!” says Warder Troke, halting his train of ironed yellow-jackets. “So you’ve come back again! Glad to see yer, Dawes! It seems an age since we had the pleasure of your company, Dawes!” At this pleasantry the train laughed, so that their irons clanked more than ever. They found it often inconvenient15 not to laugh at Mr. Troke’s humour. “Step down here, Dawes, and let me introduce you to your h’old friends. They’ll be glad to see yer, won’t yer, boys? Why, bless me, Dawes, we thort we’d lost yer! We thort yer’d given us the slip altogether, Dawes. They didn’t take care of yer in Hobart Town, I expect, eh, boys? We’ll look after yer here, Dawes, though. You won’t bolt any more.”
“Take care, Mr. Troke,” said a warning voice, “you’re at it again! Let the man alone!”
By virtue16 of an order transmitted from Hobart Town, they had begun to attach the dangerous prisoner to the last man of the gang, riveting17 the leg-irons of the pair by means of an extra link, which could be removed when necessary, but Dawes had given no sign of consciousness. At the sound of the friendly tones, however, he looked up, and saw a tall, gaunt man, dressed in a shabby pepper-and-salt raiment, and wearing a black handkerchief knotted round his throat. He was a stranger to him.
“I beg yer pardon, Mr. North,” said Troke, sinking at once the bully18 in the sneak19. “I didn’t see yer reverence20.”
“A parson!” thought Dawes with disappointment, and dropped his eyes.
“I know that,” returned Mr. North, coolly. “If you had, you would have been all butter and honey. Don’t trouble yourself to tell a lie; it’s quite unnecessary.”
Dawes looked up again. This was a strange parson.
“What’s your name, my man?” said Mr. North, suddenly, catching21 his eye.
Rufus Dawes had intended to scowl22, but the tone, sharply authoritative, roused his automatic convict second nature, and he answered, almost despite himself, “Rufus Dawes.”
“Oh,” said Mr. North, eyeing him with a curious air of expectation that had something pitying in it. “This is the man, is it? I thought he was to go to the Coal Mines.”
“So he is,” said Troke, “but we hain’t a goin’ to send there for a fortnit, and in the meantime I’m to work him on the chain.”
“Oh!” said Mr. North again. “Lend me your knife, Troke.”
And then, before them all, this curious parson took a piece of tobacco out of his ragged23 pocket, and cut off a “chaw” with Mr. Troke’s knife. Rufus Dawes felt what he had not felt for three days — an interest in something. He stared at the parson in unaffected astonishment24. Mr. North perhaps mistook the meaning of his fixed25 stare, for he held out the remnant of tobacco to him.
The chain line vibrated at this, and bent26 forward to enjoy the vicarious delight of seeing another man chew tobacco. Troke grinned with a silent mirth that betokened27 retribution for the favoured convict. “Here,” said Mr. North, holding out the dainty morsel28 upon which so many eyes were fixed. Rufus Dawes took the tobacco; looked at it hungrily for an instant, and then — to the astonishment of everybody — flung it away with a curse.
“I don’t want your tobacco,” he said; “keep it.”
From convict mouths went out a respectful roar of amazement29, and Mr. Troke’s eyes snapped with pride of outraged30 janitorship. “You ungrateful dog!” he cried, raising his stick.
Mr. North put up a hand. “That will do, Troke,” he said; “I know your respect for the cloth. Move the men on again.”
“Get on!” said Troke, rumbling31 oaths beneath his breath, and Dawes felt his newly-riveted chain tug32. It was some time since he had been in a chain-gang, and the sudden jerk nearly overbalanced him. He caught at his neighbour, and looking up, met a pair of black eyes which gleamed recognition. His neighbour was John Rex. Mr. North, watching them, was struck by the resemblance the two men bore to each other. Their height, eyes, hair, and complexion33 were similar. Despite the difference in name they might be related. “They might be brothers,” thought he. “Poor devils! I never knew a prisoner refuse tobacco before.” And he looked on the ground for the despised portion. But in vain. John Rex, oppressed by no foolish sentiment, had picked it up and put it in his mouth.
So Rufus Dawes was relegated34 to his old life again, and came back to his prison with the hatred35 of his kind, that his prison had bred in him, increased a hundred-fold. It seemed to him that the sudden awakening36 had dazed him, that the flood of light so suddenly let in upon his slumbering37 soul had blinded his eyes, used so long to the sweetly-cheating twilight38. He was at first unable to apprehend39 the details of his misery40. He knew only that his dream-child was alive and shuddered41 at him, that the only thing he loved and trusted had betrayed him, that all hope of justice and mercy had gone from him for ever, that the beauty had gone from earth, the brightness from Heaven, and that he was doomed42 still to live. He went about his work, unheedful of the jests of Troke, ungalled by his irons, unmindful of the groans44 and laughter about him. His magnificent muscles saved him from the lash45; for the amiable46 Troke tried to break him down in vain. He did not complain, he did not laugh, he did not weep. His “mate” Rex tried to converse47 with him, but did not succeed. In the midst of one of Rex’s excellent tales of London dissipation, Rufus Dawes would sigh wearily. “There’s something on that fellow’s mind,” thought Rex, prone48 to watch the signs by which the soul is read. “He has some secret which weighs upon him.”
It was in vain that Rex attempted to discover what this secret might be. To all questions concerning his past life — however artfully put — Rufus Dawes was dumb. In vain Rex practised all his arts, called up all his graces of manner and speech — and these were not few — to fascinate the silent man and win his confidence. Rufus Dawes met his advances with a cynical49 carelessness that revealed nothing; and, when not addressed, held a gloomy silence. Galled43 by this indifference50, John Rex had attempted to practise those ingenious arts of torment51 by which Gabbett, Vetch, or other leading spirits of the gang asserted their superiority over their quieter comrades. But he soon ceased. “I have been longer in this hell than you,” said Rufus Dawes, “and I know more of the devil’s tricks than you can show me. You had best be quiet.” Rex neglected the warning, and Rufus Dawes took him by the throat one day, and would have strangled him, but that Troke beat off the angered man with a favourite bludgeon. Rex had a wholesome53 respect for personal prowess, and had the grace to admit the provocation54 to Troke. Even this instance of self-denial did not move the stubborn Dawes. He only laughed. Then Rex came to a conclusion. His mate was plotting an escape. He himself cherished a notion of the kind, as did Gabbett and Vetch, but by common distrust no one ever gave utterance55 to thoughts of this nature. It would be too dangerous. “He would be a good comrade for a rush,” thought Rex, and resolved more firmly than ever to ally himself to this dangerous and silent companion.
One question Dawes had asked which Rex had been able to answer: “Who is that North?”
“A chaplain. He is only here for a week or so. There is a new one coming. North goes to Sydney. He is not in favour with the Bishop56.”
“How do you know?”
“By deduction,” says Rex, with a smile peculiar57 to him. “He wears coloured clothes, and smokes, and doesn’t patter Scripture58. The Bishop dresses in black, detests59 tobacco, and quotes the Bible like a concordance. North is sent here for a month, as a warming-pan for that ass52 Meekin. Ergo, the Bishop don’t care about North.”
Jemmy Vetch, who was next to Rex, let the full weight of his portion of tree-trunk rest upon Gabbett, in order to express his unrestrained admiration60 of Mr. Rex’s sarcasm61. “Ain’t the Dandy a one’er?” said he.
“Are you thinking of coming the pious62?” asked Rex. “It’s no good with North. Wait until the highly-intelligent Meekin comes. You can twist that worthy63 successor of the Apostles round your little finger!”
“Silence there!” cries the overseer. “Do you want me to report yer?”
Amid such diversions the days rolled on, and Rufus Dawes almost longed for the Coal Mines. To be sent from the settlement to the Coal Mines, and from the Coal Mines to the settlement, was to these unhappy men a “trip”. At Port Arthur one went to an out-station, as more fortunate people go to Queenscliff or the Ocean Beach now-a-days for “change of air”.
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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voluptuously
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| adv.风骚地，体态丰满地 | |
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disdaining
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| 鄙视( disdain的现在分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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riveting
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| adj.动听的，令人着迷的，完全吸引某人注意力的；n.铆接（法） | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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galled
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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44
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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45
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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46
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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48
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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51
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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detests
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的第三人称单数 ) | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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