Chapter Twenty.My Emigrant Patient’s Friend.A friend of Samson Harris, whom I met at the old settler’s house, gave me the following account of his experience in Australia. He had been a neighbour of the old settler, had prospered as well, and had returned to England about the same time.I was rather amused at his idea of being a neighbour; for, on asking a question or two, I found that they had lived a hundred miles apart, and only met about once a year, at the station of a settler about midway between them.The conversation had turned upon the dangers to be encountered in the new country, and among others snakes were mentioned.“Ah, I can tell you something about snakes, doctor,” he said. “We had a singular adventure. It was soon after we had settled out in the up country, and there was only another hut here and there in those days; but, after years of knocking about at home, trying hard to get an honest living and never succeeding, we had made up our minds to try Australia, and here we were, living in the log hut I had knocked up for myself, shepherding, and doing what little I could in the shape of gardening; for, that being my right trade, with all the beautiful rich soil lying fallow, it did seem a sin to me not to have a turn at it; so, getting what seeds I could from Sydney, and adding to the few I had brought in my chest, I managed to make quite a little Eden of the bit of land I broke up round our hut. We were not saving money—not to any extent—but there was a roof over our heads, and no rent to pay, plenty of vegetables of my own growing, and them costing nothing, plenty of work to do, and, one sort and another, always plenty to eat; so that, after what we had gone through in England, you may be sure we were willing enough to try and put up with such inconveniences as fell to our share, and, as a matter of course, there were things to encounter out in what some people would call the wilderness, though it was a wilderness that blossomed like the rose. There were times, for instance, when, like Harris, we were in dread of the blacks, who had done some very queer things here and there about; then the place was terribly lonely, and out of the way if you wanted a doctor; and Mary used to joke me because I could never get half a pint of beer, but I found I could get on just as well without it; and, my word, what a capital cup of tea we always did have!“Well, Mary came out to me one day looking that horribly ghastly that, being naturally rather too fast at fancying troubles in advance, I saw directly half a score of blacks coming to spear as, and some of them knocking out the children’s brains with their clubs—and not the first time neither. ‘Harry!’ she gasped, in a strange, harsh, cracked voice; and, as I started and looked up from my work, there was my wife coming towards me, with her arms stretched out, her eyes fixed, and a look upon her white face, that made me drop my spade and run to meet her. I caught her just as she was falling, when her eyes closed, and she gave a shiver that seemed to shake her whole body; but in a few moments the poor girl opened her eyes, and began to stare about her. There were no blacks to be seen. Little Joe was sitting in the path playing, and, though I looked along the edge of the scrub behind the house, I could see no signs of danger; so I began to think she must have been taken ill, and turned over in my own mind how I could get any help for her.“Just then her face grew contracted again as her thoughts seemed to come back, and gasping out once more, ‘Harry, Harry,’ she gave a shudder and said, ‘The baby—a snake!’“I couldn’t see myself, but I know I turned white, all the blood seeming to rush to my heart, for if there is anything of which I am afraid it is a snake, even going so far as to dislike eels, of which there was abundance in the river close at hand.“I don’t know how we got there, but the next thing I remember is standing at the hut window with Mary holding little Joe tight in her arms, and me looking through at the cradle where our little thing of nine months old was lying; and my heart seemed to be turning to ice as I saw nestled in the foot of the cradle, partly hidden in the blanket, but with some of its horrible coils full in sight, and its head resting upon them, the largest snake I had seen since I had been in the country. The feeling was something awful, and I stood there for a few moments leaning upon the rough handle of the hoe I had caught up, not able to move, for my eyes were fixed upon the head of that hideous beast, and I expected every moment that the baby would wake and make some movement sufficient to irritate the snake, and then, whether poisonous or not, I felt that the little thing must die.“What should I do? I asked myself, as the horrible feeling of helplessness wore off. If I crept in and reached the cradle-side unheard, I dared not chop at the beast for fear of injuring the child, for I could see that some of the folds lay right across it. I dared not make a noise, lest the next moment the child should awake as well as the reptile, for I knew the rapidity with which the horrible creatures could wreathe fold after fold round the object they attacked; while, if of a poisonous nature, they struck in an instant. Thoughts came swiftly enough, but they were unavailing, for to wait till the baby woke, or to go in and attack the snake, seemed equally dangerous. Even if I made a slight noise the danger seemed as great, since, though the snake might wake first and glide off, the probabilities were just as great that the child might wake at the same time.“And so I turned over the chances again and again, my eyes all the while fixed upon the two sleeping occupants of the cradle, whose pleasant warmth had evidently attracted the reptile.“‘I went in and saw it there,’ whispered my wife, and then, without taking my eyes for an instant from the snake, I whispered the one word ‘Gun,’ and she glided from my side.“I did not know then, but she told me afterwards, how she had carried the little boy to a distance and given him some flowers to play with, while she crept back to the hut, and, reaching in at the kitchen window, brought me my gun, for I had not stirred. And now, as I grasped the piece in my hand, knowing though I did that it was loaded, it seemed of no use, for I dared not fire; but, with trembling hands, I felt in my pockets to see if there was a bullet in them, and then, softly pulling out the ramrod, I unscrewed the cover of the worm and drew the wadding, reversed the piece, and let the shot fall pattering out, when I softly forced down the bullet upon the powder, examined the cap, and stood ready waiting for a chance; for I thought that the shot might have scattered, and, if ever so little, I might have injured the child in place of its enemy.“And there we stood for quite half an hour, watching intently that horrible beast comfortably nestled in the blanket, expecting momentarily that the baby would wake, while my hand trembled so that I could not hold the gun steady. One minute I was thinking that I had done wrong in changing the charge, the next minute that I was right; then I fancied that the gun might miss fire, or that I might slay my own child. A hundred horrible thoughts entered my mind before little Joe began to cry out to his mother, and she glided away, while I muttered to myself ‘Thank Heaven!’ for she was spared from seeing what followed.“As if at one and the same moment, the child and the snake woke up. I saw the baby’s hand move, and its little arms thrown out, while from the motion beneath the blanket I knew that it must have kicked a little. Then there was a rapid movement in the cradle, and as I glanced along the gun-barrel taking aim, there was the whole of the horrible reptile exposed to view, coil gliding over coil as it seemed to fill the foot of the cradle; and now, had my gun been charged with shot, I should have fired, so as to have disabled some part of the creature’s body; but with only a single bullet I felt that the head must be the part attacked when opportunity served.“Glide, glide, glide, one coil over the other quickly and easily, as if it were untying its knotted body, while now the head slowly rose from where it had lain, and crept nearer and nearer to the child’s face, the forked tongue darting in and out, and playing rapidly about the hideous mouth. I could see the glance of the snake’s eyes, and expected every moment to hear the child shriek out with terror, as the lowered head now rested over its breast. But no, the child lay perfectly still for a few moments, and then I stood trembling in every limb as I saw the snake’s head drawn back, and then begin to sway to and fro, and from side to side, the glistening neck of the beast gently undulating, whilst the tongue still darted in and out of the tight, dreadful-looking mouth.“Now was the time when I should have fired, but I was too unnerved; and laying down my gun, I seized the hoe, meaning to attack the beast with the stout handle; but my hand fell paralysed to my side as I saw the little innocent in the cradle smile and then laugh at the gently undulating head of the snake; while, as the agony grew to be greater than I could bear, in seeing the little white hands try to catch at it as it swayed to and fro, my power seemed to come back. I snatched up the gun, and as the snake’s head was drawn back preparatory to striking, I pulled the trigger, when the sharp crack of the percussion cap alone followed—perhaps providentially, for in my trembling state I might have injured the child. Then I saw a rapid writhing of the coils in the cradle, and as the tail of the snake glided over the side, everything around me seemed to swim, and I tried to catch at the wall of the hut to save myself from falling.“But that soon went off; and then, gazing in at the window, I tried to make out the whereabouts of my enemy, as I re-capped and tapped the gun, so that the powder might run up the nipple. The snake was nowhere to be seen, and darting in I seized the child, and carried it out to its mother, when, now feeling relieved of one horrible anxiety, I obtained my shot-pouch from the kitchen, rammed down a charge upon the bullet, and cautiously went in search of the reptile.“I knew that he must still be in the part of the hut we used for a sleeping-place, and, after cautiously peering about, I came upon the hole where it had taken refuge—an opening between the roughly-sawn planks laid loosely down to form a floor. Unless there was an outlet beneath the woodwork, I felt that the beast must be there; and, to make it more probable, there was our cat, that we had bought a kitten in Sydney, gazing with staring eyes down at the hole.“Just then I heard a soft rustling beneath my feet, and as I looked down, I could see between two boards the scaly body gliding along. The next moment there came the load report of the gun, the place was fall of smoke, there was a tremendous scuffling noise, and as I looked down between the boards where the charge had forced a passage through, there was no sign of the snake.“‘Harry! Harry!’ shrieked my wife just then; and on rushing out, there was the beast writhing about in the path, evidently badly wounded, while some crushed-down flowers by the hut wall showed plainly the hole of communication. I never saw snake writhe and twist as that creature did, but I was too excited then to feel afraid, and a few blows from the butt-end of the gun laid it so that there was only a little movement left in its body, which did not stop for an hour or two after I had cut off his head with the axe.“I should have liked to skin the beast, but I could not master my horror. I measured it, though: fourteen feet three inches long it was, and as thick as my arm; while, as to its weight, I saw the cradle rock to and fro heavily as it glided over the side.“Snakes are scarce now in that part; for there isn’t a man in Queensland who does not wage war against them, and where there was one settler then, there are now scores. But all the same, if I had my time to come over again, knowing what I do, I should not hesitate for a moment if I were not doing well here. Snakes are bad, doctor, and the blacks are worse; but it was a free and healthy life out there, and one always felt as if one was getting on.”“And not only felt,” said Harris smiling, “one was getting on. Yes, I agree with Harry Maine, I’d go out again to-morrow without a murmur; though, in my time, there weren’t any of your sort, doctor, within a hundred miles.”“How did you manage, then, if you were ill?”“We never were ill, doctor; and few as the medical men were, they seemed to be enough.”
A friend of Samson Harris, whom I met at the old settler’s house, gave me the following account of his experience in Australia. He had been a neighbour of the old settler, had prospered as well, and had returned to England about the same time.
I was rather amused at his idea of being a neighbour; for, on asking a question or two, I found that they had lived a hundred miles apart, and only met about once a year, at the station of a settler about midway between them.
The conversation had turned upon the dangers to be encountered in the new country, and among others snakes were mentioned.
“Ah, I can tell you something about snakes, doctor,” he said. “We had a singular adventure. It was soon after we had settled out in the up country, and there was only another hut here and there in those days; but, after years of knocking about at home, trying hard to get an honest living and never succeeding, we had made up our minds to try Australia, and here we were, living in the log hut I had knocked up for myself, shepherding, and doing what little I could in the shape of gardening; for, that being my right trade, with all the beautiful rich soil lying fallow, it did seem a sin to me not to have a turn at it; so, getting what seeds I could from Sydney, and adding to the few I had brought in my chest, I managed to make quite a little Eden of the bit of land I broke up round our hut. We were not saving money—not to any extent—but there was a roof over our heads, and no rent to pay, plenty of vegetables of my own growing, and them costing nothing, plenty of work to do, and, one sort and another, always plenty to eat; so that, after what we had gone through in England, you may be sure we were willing enough to try and put up with such inconveniences as fell to our share, and, as a matter of course, there were things to encounter out in what some people would call the wilderness, though it was a wilderness that blossomed like the rose. There were times, for instance, when, like Harris, we were in dread of the blacks, who had done some very queer things here and there about; then the place was terribly lonely, and out of the way if you wanted a doctor; and Mary used to joke me because I could never get half a pint of beer, but I found I could get on just as well without it; and, my word, what a capital cup of tea we always did have!
“Well, Mary came out to me one day looking that horribly ghastly that, being naturally rather too fast at fancying troubles in advance, I saw directly half a score of blacks coming to spear as, and some of them knocking out the children’s brains with their clubs—and not the first time neither. ‘Harry!’ she gasped, in a strange, harsh, cracked voice; and, as I started and looked up from my work, there was my wife coming towards me, with her arms stretched out, her eyes fixed, and a look upon her white face, that made me drop my spade and run to meet her. I caught her just as she was falling, when her eyes closed, and she gave a shiver that seemed to shake her whole body; but in a few moments the poor girl opened her eyes, and began to stare about her. There were no blacks to be seen. Little Joe was sitting in the path playing, and, though I looked along the edge of the scrub behind the house, I could see no signs of danger; so I began to think she must have been taken ill, and turned over in my own mind how I could get any help for her.
“Just then her face grew contracted again as her thoughts seemed to come back, and gasping out once more, ‘Harry, Harry,’ she gave a shudder and said, ‘The baby—a snake!’
“I couldn’t see myself, but I know I turned white, all the blood seeming to rush to my heart, for if there is anything of which I am afraid it is a snake, even going so far as to dislike eels, of which there was abundance in the river close at hand.
“I don’t know how we got there, but the next thing I remember is standing at the hut window with Mary holding little Joe tight in her arms, and me looking through at the cradle where our little thing of nine months old was lying; and my heart seemed to be turning to ice as I saw nestled in the foot of the cradle, partly hidden in the blanket, but with some of its horrible coils full in sight, and its head resting upon them, the largest snake I had seen since I had been in the country. The feeling was something awful, and I stood there for a few moments leaning upon the rough handle of the hoe I had caught up, not able to move, for my eyes were fixed upon the head of that hideous beast, and I expected every moment that the baby would wake and make some movement sufficient to irritate the snake, and then, whether poisonous or not, I felt that the little thing must die.
“What should I do? I asked myself, as the horrible feeling of helplessness wore off. If I crept in and reached the cradle-side unheard, I dared not chop at the beast for fear of injuring the child, for I could see that some of the folds lay right across it. I dared not make a noise, lest the next moment the child should awake as well as the reptile, for I knew the rapidity with which the horrible creatures could wreathe fold after fold round the object they attacked; while, if of a poisonous nature, they struck in an instant. Thoughts came swiftly enough, but they were unavailing, for to wait till the baby woke, or to go in and attack the snake, seemed equally dangerous. Even if I made a slight noise the danger seemed as great, since, though the snake might wake first and glide off, the probabilities were just as great that the child might wake at the same time.
“And so I turned over the chances again and again, my eyes all the while fixed upon the two sleeping occupants of the cradle, whose pleasant warmth had evidently attracted the reptile.
“‘I went in and saw it there,’ whispered my wife, and then, without taking my eyes for an instant from the snake, I whispered the one word ‘Gun,’ and she glided from my side.
“I did not know then, but she told me afterwards, how she had carried the little boy to a distance and given him some flowers to play with, while she crept back to the hut, and, reaching in at the kitchen window, brought me my gun, for I had not stirred. And now, as I grasped the piece in my hand, knowing though I did that it was loaded, it seemed of no use, for I dared not fire; but, with trembling hands, I felt in my pockets to see if there was a bullet in them, and then, softly pulling out the ramrod, I unscrewed the cover of the worm and drew the wadding, reversed the piece, and let the shot fall pattering out, when I softly forced down the bullet upon the powder, examined the cap, and stood ready waiting for a chance; for I thought that the shot might have scattered, and, if ever so little, I might have injured the child in place of its enemy.
“And there we stood for quite half an hour, watching intently that horrible beast comfortably nestled in the blanket, expecting momentarily that the baby would wake, while my hand trembled so that I could not hold the gun steady. One minute I was thinking that I had done wrong in changing the charge, the next minute that I was right; then I fancied that the gun might miss fire, or that I might slay my own child. A hundred horrible thoughts entered my mind before little Joe began to cry out to his mother, and she glided away, while I muttered to myself ‘Thank Heaven!’ for she was spared from seeing what followed.
“As if at one and the same moment, the child and the snake woke up. I saw the baby’s hand move, and its little arms thrown out, while from the motion beneath the blanket I knew that it must have kicked a little. Then there was a rapid movement in the cradle, and as I glanced along the gun-barrel taking aim, there was the whole of the horrible reptile exposed to view, coil gliding over coil as it seemed to fill the foot of the cradle; and now, had my gun been charged with shot, I should have fired, so as to have disabled some part of the creature’s body; but with only a single bullet I felt that the head must be the part attacked when opportunity served.
“Glide, glide, glide, one coil over the other quickly and easily, as if it were untying its knotted body, while now the head slowly rose from where it had lain, and crept nearer and nearer to the child’s face, the forked tongue darting in and out, and playing rapidly about the hideous mouth. I could see the glance of the snake’s eyes, and expected every moment to hear the child shriek out with terror, as the lowered head now rested over its breast. But no, the child lay perfectly still for a few moments, and then I stood trembling in every limb as I saw the snake’s head drawn back, and then begin to sway to and fro, and from side to side, the glistening neck of the beast gently undulating, whilst the tongue still darted in and out of the tight, dreadful-looking mouth.
“Now was the time when I should have fired, but I was too unnerved; and laying down my gun, I seized the hoe, meaning to attack the beast with the stout handle; but my hand fell paralysed to my side as I saw the little innocent in the cradle smile and then laugh at the gently undulating head of the snake; while, as the agony grew to be greater than I could bear, in seeing the little white hands try to catch at it as it swayed to and fro, my power seemed to come back. I snatched up the gun, and as the snake’s head was drawn back preparatory to striking, I pulled the trigger, when the sharp crack of the percussion cap alone followed—perhaps providentially, for in my trembling state I might have injured the child. Then I saw a rapid writhing of the coils in the cradle, and as the tail of the snake glided over the side, everything around me seemed to swim, and I tried to catch at the wall of the hut to save myself from falling.
“But that soon went off; and then, gazing in at the window, I tried to make out the whereabouts of my enemy, as I re-capped and tapped the gun, so that the powder might run up the nipple. The snake was nowhere to be seen, and darting in I seized the child, and carried it out to its mother, when, now feeling relieved of one horrible anxiety, I obtained my shot-pouch from the kitchen, rammed down a charge upon the bullet, and cautiously went in search of the reptile.
“I knew that he must still be in the part of the hut we used for a sleeping-place, and, after cautiously peering about, I came upon the hole where it had taken refuge—an opening between the roughly-sawn planks laid loosely down to form a floor. Unless there was an outlet beneath the woodwork, I felt that the beast must be there; and, to make it more probable, there was our cat, that we had bought a kitten in Sydney, gazing with staring eyes down at the hole.
“Just then I heard a soft rustling beneath my feet, and as I looked down, I could see between two boards the scaly body gliding along. The next moment there came the load report of the gun, the place was fall of smoke, there was a tremendous scuffling noise, and as I looked down between the boards where the charge had forced a passage through, there was no sign of the snake.
“‘Harry! Harry!’ shrieked my wife just then; and on rushing out, there was the beast writhing about in the path, evidently badly wounded, while some crushed-down flowers by the hut wall showed plainly the hole of communication. I never saw snake writhe and twist as that creature did, but I was too excited then to feel afraid, and a few blows from the butt-end of the gun laid it so that there was only a little movement left in its body, which did not stop for an hour or two after I had cut off his head with the axe.
“I should have liked to skin the beast, but I could not master my horror. I measured it, though: fourteen feet three inches long it was, and as thick as my arm; while, as to its weight, I saw the cradle rock to and fro heavily as it glided over the side.
“Snakes are scarce now in that part; for there isn’t a man in Queensland who does not wage war against them, and where there was one settler then, there are now scores. But all the same, if I had my time to come over again, knowing what I do, I should not hesitate for a moment if I were not doing well here. Snakes are bad, doctor, and the blacks are worse; but it was a free and healthy life out there, and one always felt as if one was getting on.”
“And not only felt,” said Harris smiling, “one was getting on. Yes, I agree with Harry Maine, I’d go out again to-morrow without a murmur; though, in my time, there weren’t any of your sort, doctor, within a hundred miles.”
“How did you manage, then, if you were ill?”
“We never were ill, doctor; and few as the medical men were, they seemed to be enough.”
Chapter Twenty One.My Patient the Prison Warder.“To tell you the truth, doctor,” said a grey old patient of mine, “I don’t think I was ever fit to be a prison warder: I’m too soft. All the same, though, I’ve been at it for twenty-five years; and I’m head warder now, and could retire when I like upon a pension. I don’t know how I drifted into it, but I did. A dozen times over I’ve wanted to get into something else, but it has always seemed as if I was forced to stay on for the rest of my days. It’s been worse for me because I’ve always lived in the prison. It’s a dull life, perhaps; not that I feel it, for, according to my way of thinking, it is not the occupation, but the man’s heart which makes him dull. Depend upon it, hands and a thoughtful mind were not given us for nothing, and the more I think, the nearer I come to the conclusion that the busy life is the happy one after all. Now here I am, with plenty to take up my time in my duties, and plenty of studies of character within reach shut up all ready for me in the different cells.“Gloomy place this, you’ll say, barred and bolted to keep any friends from getting in unasked; but I’m contented enough, and too busy generally to find fault.“Yes, you may depend upon it your busy man is the happiest, for I’ve seen it again and again. The greatest punishment you can inflict upon a man is to shut him up with nothing to do, nothing to employ his time with, nothing to hinder the constant drag, drag of his thoughts, pulling him towards the past.“Not always borrow and contrition, but recollections of drinking-bouts and successful robberies and their profits, debaucheries, and then longings for liberty once more. Of course, now and then we do get a really repentant fellow—not one of your cringing, fawning rascals, who turn up their eyes and feel so much better for the chaplain’s words, and so carefully learn all his texts; but honest rogues—men who have been sent here for their term of imprisonment, and who feel the bitterness and shame of their position—men who shudder as the barber’s scissors crop their hair, and who soon show in their appearance how their punishment is telling upon them. They don’t get fat and sleek, and jump up to make bows when you enter their cell, but hide all their troubles in their hearts, and go about their duties silently and doggedly.“We had such a man here not long back now—Amos Ridding, in for poaching—and how that poor fellow beat against his cage bars! Poor fellow! I believe he was not a bad one at heart, but he had got himself mixed up with a poaching gang, and a keeper having been half killed, Amos was taken, and rightly or wrongly sent here for two years.“We can soon pick out what I call the canters, and act accordingly; while where we see a poor fellow taking his confinement to heart, why, knowing how it tells on his mind, I do all I can for him to brighten him up—setting him at odd jobs about the place, gardening, and so on; while if he knows a trade, one that can be worked at in here, speaking to the governor, we set him to do something in that way, never letting him stand still for tools or material.“But this poor fellow was unmanageable; he would work as hard as I liked, and as long as I liked, but the moment he was by himself he was pining again, fretting for his wife and children, and wearing himself away to skin and bone. I did not know what to do with him, and grew quite troubled at last, for I began to be afraid of having a summons from one of the under-warders, telling me that in a fit of that weary, despairing madness which comes upon men, poor Ridding had made away with himself.“The summons came at last, but in a different form; for one morning I was roused at five o’clock to be told that the bird had beaten down the wires, and had escaped, and I had to go and tell the governor.“‘Why, how did he manage it?’ I exclaimed angrily.“‘Come and see,’ said the warder, and I went to the cell where the prisoner had been locked in the night before at eight o’clock, and then apparently he must have gone to work at once with an old nail at the setting of one of the iron bars in the window till he picked it slowly out, and then wrenched out first one and then another, leaving a passage big enough to allow his body to pass. The blankets and rug were gone, while a piece of the former yet hung to one of the bars, evidently having been used to let the prisoner down into the yard below.“We were not long in reaching the lesser yard, which was about twenty feet beneath his window, and surrounded on all sides by high buildings. Here it was evident that he had made his way into the long passage between the workshops, a place covered in for the whole length with iron bars. But about half-way down we found where he had leaped up and caught the bars, and evidently, by placing his feet against them and forcing while he held on with his hands, strained till the iron gave way sufficiently for him to force his body through, when he would be able to lower himself into the large yard, where the high wall is, whose top is covered with loose heavy bricks, which are sure to fall if an attempt at escape is made.“Not a brick was out of place, though, as far as I could see, till one of the men pointed out where three had fallen, and then, feeling satisfied in my own mind that the prisoner had escaped, I returned with the governor to his office, and sent out notices to the police.“All at once one of the men ran in. ‘Found him, sir,’ he said.“‘How? where?’ I said. ‘Is he in a cell?’“‘No, sir,’ said the warder, ‘he’s a-top of the prison.’“I jumped up, and hurried into the yard, to find men at watch, for some people had caught sight of the poor fellow’s head from a neighbouring house, and given notice to the gatekeeper.“It was now plain enough that the prisoner had reached the top of the high wall, and then, probably from its being daylight, been afraid to descend, so he had climbed from thence, by means of a water-pipe, right on to the top of the prison, and was now lying concealed in one of the gutters.“I sent up three men to the top of the prison, and then went up one of the buildings to see the capture made. I did not have to wait long before first one head and then another appeared above the trap-door, till the three men were upon the roof, which is rather extensive, consisting of high slated ridges, separated by wide lead gutters.“The noise they made must have aroused the prisoner, for I saw him start up all at once, as if from sleep, and stand facing his pursuers.“‘Of course he’ll give up, poor fellow,’ I muttered to myself; but I was mistaken, for the next moment I saw him scramble up one side of a ridge and slide down the other, in a way which showed that submission was far from his intention.“Not to be outdone, the three men separated, and as one followed in the prisoner’s steps, the others tried to cut him off right and left.“But for duty, I felt so much sympathy for the poor fellow, that I should have said, ‘Let him go.’ But all I could do was to gaze horror-stricken at the scene going on about thirty feet from where I stood. Once a warder was near enough to touch the prisoner, but he eluded the grasp, and led his pursuers right to the end of the building, each man, in the excitement of the chase, running fearlessly along the coping of the parapet, or dashing up and down the ridges in a way that chilled me with horror, as I thought of a fall full fifty feet into the stone-yard below.“‘Thank God!’ I ejaculated at last, for at the second race round the building I saw one of the men drop behind a projection in hiding, and then, as the prisoner came round, the warder leaped up, caught him by the throat, and I thought all was over. But directly after I shuddered as I saw a deadly struggle going on within a foot of the parapet, and felt that the next moment must see the pair falling headlong to the ground. It was almost a relief to see them go down heavily into the gutter, and the prisoner leap up and continue his flight, pursued by the other two men, who had lagged behind to cut off their quarry.“But a new plan was now being adopted by the pursuers, who crawled on hands and knees between the ridges, one going one way, the other another way, while to my astonishment I saw the prisoner stop at the corner where the brick-burdened wall touched the building, and let down a rope of knotted blanket, hitherto hidden in the lead gutter, to which it was somehow secured. The next instant the poor fellow was over the side, swinging backwards and forwards, and turning round and round as he lowered himself quickly, staring upwards at the men, who now came up and looked over at him.“In that moment of peril I could do nothing but look on, for I felt, I may say, that something was going to happen. My hands were wet, the big drops stood upon my brow, while, when Ridding swung round, and I saw his dilated eyes, I shuddered again, just as the weak-knotted rope parted, and he fell with his back striking the wall, and dislodging some of the loose bricks, when I turned away from the window to run down; but not quickly enough to avoid hearing the sickening crash of the poor fellow’s fall upon the hard flags in the yard.“The doctor was standing over Ridding when I went into his cell, and then, answering my inquiring look with a slight raising of the eyelids and a shake of the head, he went out and left me with the poor fellow, who smiled as I leant over his bed.“‘Are you in much pain?’ I said.“‘Only in one place,’ he whispered, touching his breast; and then no more was said for a minute or two, when I spoke a few encouraging words.“‘No use, sir, no use,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t be cross with me. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I wanted to be with the wife and little ones once more. Tell ’em how it was.’“The next morning the poor fellow was free—free from prison bonds—earthly bonds—all; and I was so upset with that affair that I sent in my resignation. It was returned to me with a note begging that I would reconsider my determination: and I did. But we have some most heart-rending cases at times.”
“To tell you the truth, doctor,” said a grey old patient of mine, “I don’t think I was ever fit to be a prison warder: I’m too soft. All the same, though, I’ve been at it for twenty-five years; and I’m head warder now, and could retire when I like upon a pension. I don’t know how I drifted into it, but I did. A dozen times over I’ve wanted to get into something else, but it has always seemed as if I was forced to stay on for the rest of my days. It’s been worse for me because I’ve always lived in the prison. It’s a dull life, perhaps; not that I feel it, for, according to my way of thinking, it is not the occupation, but the man’s heart which makes him dull. Depend upon it, hands and a thoughtful mind were not given us for nothing, and the more I think, the nearer I come to the conclusion that the busy life is the happy one after all. Now here I am, with plenty to take up my time in my duties, and plenty of studies of character within reach shut up all ready for me in the different cells.
“Gloomy place this, you’ll say, barred and bolted to keep any friends from getting in unasked; but I’m contented enough, and too busy generally to find fault.
“Yes, you may depend upon it your busy man is the happiest, for I’ve seen it again and again. The greatest punishment you can inflict upon a man is to shut him up with nothing to do, nothing to employ his time with, nothing to hinder the constant drag, drag of his thoughts, pulling him towards the past.
“Not always borrow and contrition, but recollections of drinking-bouts and successful robberies and their profits, debaucheries, and then longings for liberty once more. Of course, now and then we do get a really repentant fellow—not one of your cringing, fawning rascals, who turn up their eyes and feel so much better for the chaplain’s words, and so carefully learn all his texts; but honest rogues—men who have been sent here for their term of imprisonment, and who feel the bitterness and shame of their position—men who shudder as the barber’s scissors crop their hair, and who soon show in their appearance how their punishment is telling upon them. They don’t get fat and sleek, and jump up to make bows when you enter their cell, but hide all their troubles in their hearts, and go about their duties silently and doggedly.
“We had such a man here not long back now—Amos Ridding, in for poaching—and how that poor fellow beat against his cage bars! Poor fellow! I believe he was not a bad one at heart, but he had got himself mixed up with a poaching gang, and a keeper having been half killed, Amos was taken, and rightly or wrongly sent here for two years.
“We can soon pick out what I call the canters, and act accordingly; while where we see a poor fellow taking his confinement to heart, why, knowing how it tells on his mind, I do all I can for him to brighten him up—setting him at odd jobs about the place, gardening, and so on; while if he knows a trade, one that can be worked at in here, speaking to the governor, we set him to do something in that way, never letting him stand still for tools or material.
“But this poor fellow was unmanageable; he would work as hard as I liked, and as long as I liked, but the moment he was by himself he was pining again, fretting for his wife and children, and wearing himself away to skin and bone. I did not know what to do with him, and grew quite troubled at last, for I began to be afraid of having a summons from one of the under-warders, telling me that in a fit of that weary, despairing madness which comes upon men, poor Ridding had made away with himself.
“The summons came at last, but in a different form; for one morning I was roused at five o’clock to be told that the bird had beaten down the wires, and had escaped, and I had to go and tell the governor.
“‘Why, how did he manage it?’ I exclaimed angrily.
“‘Come and see,’ said the warder, and I went to the cell where the prisoner had been locked in the night before at eight o’clock, and then apparently he must have gone to work at once with an old nail at the setting of one of the iron bars in the window till he picked it slowly out, and then wrenched out first one and then another, leaving a passage big enough to allow his body to pass. The blankets and rug were gone, while a piece of the former yet hung to one of the bars, evidently having been used to let the prisoner down into the yard below.
“We were not long in reaching the lesser yard, which was about twenty feet beneath his window, and surrounded on all sides by high buildings. Here it was evident that he had made his way into the long passage between the workshops, a place covered in for the whole length with iron bars. But about half-way down we found where he had leaped up and caught the bars, and evidently, by placing his feet against them and forcing while he held on with his hands, strained till the iron gave way sufficiently for him to force his body through, when he would be able to lower himself into the large yard, where the high wall is, whose top is covered with loose heavy bricks, which are sure to fall if an attempt at escape is made.
“Not a brick was out of place, though, as far as I could see, till one of the men pointed out where three had fallen, and then, feeling satisfied in my own mind that the prisoner had escaped, I returned with the governor to his office, and sent out notices to the police.
“All at once one of the men ran in. ‘Found him, sir,’ he said.
“‘How? where?’ I said. ‘Is he in a cell?’
“‘No, sir,’ said the warder, ‘he’s a-top of the prison.’
“I jumped up, and hurried into the yard, to find men at watch, for some people had caught sight of the poor fellow’s head from a neighbouring house, and given notice to the gatekeeper.
“It was now plain enough that the prisoner had reached the top of the high wall, and then, probably from its being daylight, been afraid to descend, so he had climbed from thence, by means of a water-pipe, right on to the top of the prison, and was now lying concealed in one of the gutters.
“I sent up three men to the top of the prison, and then went up one of the buildings to see the capture made. I did not have to wait long before first one head and then another appeared above the trap-door, till the three men were upon the roof, which is rather extensive, consisting of high slated ridges, separated by wide lead gutters.
“The noise they made must have aroused the prisoner, for I saw him start up all at once, as if from sleep, and stand facing his pursuers.
“‘Of course he’ll give up, poor fellow,’ I muttered to myself; but I was mistaken, for the next moment I saw him scramble up one side of a ridge and slide down the other, in a way which showed that submission was far from his intention.
“Not to be outdone, the three men separated, and as one followed in the prisoner’s steps, the others tried to cut him off right and left.
“But for duty, I felt so much sympathy for the poor fellow, that I should have said, ‘Let him go.’ But all I could do was to gaze horror-stricken at the scene going on about thirty feet from where I stood. Once a warder was near enough to touch the prisoner, but he eluded the grasp, and led his pursuers right to the end of the building, each man, in the excitement of the chase, running fearlessly along the coping of the parapet, or dashing up and down the ridges in a way that chilled me with horror, as I thought of a fall full fifty feet into the stone-yard below.
“‘Thank God!’ I ejaculated at last, for at the second race round the building I saw one of the men drop behind a projection in hiding, and then, as the prisoner came round, the warder leaped up, caught him by the throat, and I thought all was over. But directly after I shuddered as I saw a deadly struggle going on within a foot of the parapet, and felt that the next moment must see the pair falling headlong to the ground. It was almost a relief to see them go down heavily into the gutter, and the prisoner leap up and continue his flight, pursued by the other two men, who had lagged behind to cut off their quarry.
“But a new plan was now being adopted by the pursuers, who crawled on hands and knees between the ridges, one going one way, the other another way, while to my astonishment I saw the prisoner stop at the corner where the brick-burdened wall touched the building, and let down a rope of knotted blanket, hitherto hidden in the lead gutter, to which it was somehow secured. The next instant the poor fellow was over the side, swinging backwards and forwards, and turning round and round as he lowered himself quickly, staring upwards at the men, who now came up and looked over at him.
“In that moment of peril I could do nothing but look on, for I felt, I may say, that something was going to happen. My hands were wet, the big drops stood upon my brow, while, when Ridding swung round, and I saw his dilated eyes, I shuddered again, just as the weak-knotted rope parted, and he fell with his back striking the wall, and dislodging some of the loose bricks, when I turned away from the window to run down; but not quickly enough to avoid hearing the sickening crash of the poor fellow’s fall upon the hard flags in the yard.
“The doctor was standing over Ridding when I went into his cell, and then, answering my inquiring look with a slight raising of the eyelids and a shake of the head, he went out and left me with the poor fellow, who smiled as I leant over his bed.
“‘Are you in much pain?’ I said.
“‘Only in one place,’ he whispered, touching his breast; and then no more was said for a minute or two, when I spoke a few encouraging words.
“‘No use, sir, no use,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t be cross with me. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I wanted to be with the wife and little ones once more. Tell ’em how it was.’
“The next morning the poor fellow was free—free from prison bonds—earthly bonds—all; and I was so upset with that affair that I sent in my resignation. It was returned to me with a note begging that I would reconsider my determination: and I did. But we have some most heart-rending cases at times.”
Chapter Twenty Two.My Patient the Sailor.“Why, how can you expect to be free from a few pains, old fellow?” I said to a regular ancient sea-dog, whom I used to attend. “Here you’ve been knocking about all over the world for best part of a hundred years, I suppose, and you can’t expect to be fresh and well now.”“Well, you see, doctor,” said the old fellow, “that’s what troubles me. I’m—let’s see—eighty-four, or five, or six—I’m blest if I know exactly; and I’ve hardly known ache or pain, and it does seem hard, after having a clean bill of health so long, to be having my crew on the sick list now.”“Why, you ungrateful old rascal!” I said, as I saw the mirthful twinkle in the old fellow’s eyes. “There, I’ll see what I can do for you;” and I did manage to allay the old fellow’s rheumatic pains, which in spite of his grumbling he had borne like a martyr.“I shall begin to think that a sailor’s life is the healthiest career in the world,” I said one day as I looked at the fine vigorous old fellow, who had all his faculties as perfect as a man of five-and-forty. “You’ve had your share of adventures, though, I suppose?”“Ay, ay, sir, I have indeed,” he said, combing his thin hair with the waxy end of his pipe.“Never in the Royal Navy, were you?”“Oh, yes, doctor, I was not always in the merchant service. They tried to get me more than once.”“What—made you good offers?”“Good offers, doctor? No, they tried to press me, as they used in those days.”“To be sure; yes,” I said. “You lived in the days of the press-gangs?”“That I did, doctor, bad luck to ’em! Why, let me see, it’s as near as can be sixty year ago since we came slowly up the Thames with the tide, and after a deal of hauling, yoho-ing, and dodging, we got the old ship into London Docks, after being at sea two year, and a-going a’most round the world. Sick of it I was, and longing to get ashore, for there was more than one as I was wishing to see and get a word with—folks, too, as were as anxious to get a sight of me; and though a quietish, steadyish sort of a fellow, I felt as if I should have gone wild with the bit of work I had to do, while my mate, Harry Willis, was most as bad. Poor chap! he’s been dead and gone now this many a long year: had his number called and gone aloft. A good fellow was Harry, and the rest of that day him and I was knocking about in the ship, coiling down and doing all sorts of little jobs, such as are wanted after a long voyage, when there’s a great cargo aboard.“One day passed, then another, and another, and mighty savage we were at being kept so long before we could get off; but the time came at last, and only just taking a few things each in a handkerchief, we slipped over the ship’s side, dropped on to the wharf, and were off.“Well, being reg’lar old shipmates, you see, it was only natural that we should drop into a little public-house that was down Wapping way, to take a glass or two by way of a treat, and see about a night’s lodging where we could be together, as it was quite evening, and we’d some way to go into the country both of us, and meant to leave it till morning. A nice little place it was, close aside a wharf, where the tide came up, and ship after ship—colliers I think they were—lay in tiers, moored head and stern; in short, just such a place as a sailor would choose for a quiet glass and a night’s lodging, being snug and cosy-looking. But there, for the matter of that, after a poor fellow’s had years at sea, knocking about in the close forks’ll of a ship, everything looks snug and cosy ashore.“It didn’t take us long bargaining about our beds, and then, leaving our kits with the landlady, we strolled out and had a walk here, and a walk there, till close upon eleven, when I says to Harry, ‘I’m for hammocks, lad. What do you say?’ ‘Same as you do,’ he says; and we turned back meaning to have one more glass o’ grog apiece, and then to turn in. It wasn’t far to the house, and soon as we got in sight we began to dawdle slowly along, looking at the ships here and there, just seen as they were by moonlight, while plenty of ’em showed a lantern out in the stream.“‘What’s those fellows hanging about our place for?’ says Harry; for just then we come in sight of a good score of chaps waiting about the outside of the public, while another peep at ’em showed as they were king’s men, and most of ’em had got cutlasses.“‘Thought ours was a quiet house,’ I says; ‘I hope they ain’t going to stop about long.’“‘Not they,’ says Harry; ‘come on.’“So we went up to the house, and, being first, I was going in, when a tall chap lays a hand on my shoulder, with a ‘Come along, my lad, we’ve been waiting for you.’“‘What?’ I says, starting; for just then, for the first time, something shot through me, as it were, and in that short moment I saw all that it meant, and that was, that after years of service in a merchantman we were to be seized by force and dragged aboard a tender to serve the king, whether we would or no; for this party we had come across was a press-gang. But I had no more time to think. Half a dozen fellows had tight hold of me directly, and if I had wanted to struggle, it would have been no use. Harry wasn’t so quiet, though. Like me, he had seen it all in a moment, and as one of the gang laid a hand upon him, he dashed it off, cried to me to help him, and the next moment there was a sharp struggle going on—one which roused me to fight; for it was such a struggle as any man would engage in for his liberty in those good old times, when a sailor was not safe if he walked the streets of a seafaring town.“Harry was a strong fellow, and fought hard; one man went heavily down, then three went down together. Poor Harry was one of them, while a head struck the stones a most awful blow, such as seemed enough to kill any fellow; but it was not Harry’s, for the next moment he was up, and before a soul could stop him, he gave a shout, and leaped clean off the wharf where we were, right into the water. Then there was a splash, and you could see the stream all dancing like broken lights where the lamps and moon shone, and then all was still for a few moments, till the officer of the gang called to his men to run down the steps and bring round the boat. ‘Hold tight by that one,’ he shouted, and the next minute, with some of his gang, he was paddling about on the look-out for Harry, who had never, as far as we could see, come up again to the surface.“I did not want to run then, but stood still, with the men as held me, looking anxiously out for my poor mate; for it seemed to me then that after all the dangers we two had been through from storms out in the wide ocean, the poor fellow was to lose his life in such a way as this—fighting for his liberty when he was about to be treated like a slave. It’s fine language that writers use about Britannia ruling the waves, and our gallant tars and noble seamen, and the deeds they have done, but they never stop to think of the cruelty with which those brave fellows were treated, dragged off to serve the king in a quarrel that they knew nothing about, while after being forced into the service it was death for mutiny if a poor fellow refused to obey.“Things of the past, these, and times are altered for the better now in the navy; but in them good old times there were black doings, and no wonder there were plenty of mutinies. Here were we, two hardworking sailors fresh home from sea, seized for all the world like blacks, and to be made slaves of for years to come, whilst people were always boasting of the land of the free. Thank goodness, some of those things are better now, and it was time that they should be, for I saw enough of a ship of war in days to come.“But it was not to be then; for when, after a minute or so, there was no sign of poor Harry, the blood seemed to rise up in my eyes, and in a savage fit of passion I wrested myself from the two men who held me tightly; for I had been standing quiet, and they were taken up with the doings of their mates, and did not expect that I should make a struggle for it now. So I twisted myself free, hit out right and left, and tumbled one fellow off the wharf into the water, and then, before anybody could stay me, I dashed off.“But I was not free yet, I had to pass the steps, from which two of the gang ran to stop me; but I had good way on then, and as one of them made a blow at me with a cudgel, I came down upon him like a ram, tumbled him over too, and then was racing along the street with half a dozen of the gang shouting and running after me like mad.“It was a hard run that, up one lane and down another, hard as I could tear, with the hot breath panting out of my chest, and a burning feeling strong on me, as if I’d swallowed live coals. But it was for liberty, and the thought of what would follow if I was caught made me dash on faster every time I felt ready to sink and give in. Whenever I looked over my shoulder I could see one or two of the gang after me, but at last there was only one, and him it seemed as if I couldn’t tire out, for there he always was just about the same distance behind, taking step for step with me. We were neither of us going fast now for want of breath, and the perspiration ran down my face; but every time I tried to shake him off it seemed of no use, and every time I turned round to look, there he was still hunting me down like a dog. I tried doubling down a court, but he was close after me; turned down one street and up another, but there he was still; and the more I tried the closer he seemed to get to me.“Well, this seemed to make me savage, and my teeth got gritting together, and as I knew that he was only one now, having outrun all his mates, and must be as tired out as I was, I said to myself, ‘If he takes me, he’ll have to fight for it.’ Then I ran down another court which turned off to the right again directly after, and then came a horrible disappointed feeling, for I saw that I was in a trap, and when I remembered the cudgel the press-gang man had, it seemed as if my chance was gone, for there was no way out at the bottom of the court.“People think quickly at a time like this, and in a moment I was hid behind a corner, and listening to the patter of the sailor’s feet as he came down the court. Next moment I put all the strength I had left in the blow I fetched him aside his head; down he went with his head upon the stones, and, jumping over him, I ran out into the street and felt that I was free.“I was sorry for the press-gang chap as soon as I had hit him; but, duty or no duty, the men then were a deal too fond of getting other poor fellows into the same scrape as themselves, and as I felt I was free, my breath seemed to come easier, and I went along the streets at a gentle trot, till I knew that I must be safe.“I wasn’t going to stop in London any more, so I made my way, late as it was, to the Great North Road, and daybreak found me trudging wearily along between the pleasant hedgerows, thinking very sadly about poor Harry, who came from the next village to mine in Hertfordshire, and turning it over in my mind how I should tell his poor old folks about their lad being drowned at home here when trying to get clear of the press-gang. It seemed so hard, and I’m afraid I said more than one queer thing against the king and all his sarvice as I trudged along homewards; but, in spite of all, the morning was so bright and cheery, the country looked so green and sweet, and the birds sang so, that I couldn’t feel down-hearted long; while, having no kit to carry, I got fast over the ground, only stopping once to have a good hearty breakfast at a roadside public-house, and early that afternoon I was at home.“I’m not going to keep you long now, while as to the fuss made over a sailor at home after a long voyage, that’s a matter of course. Next day I started off to walk six miles to Harry’s friends, to tell them the sad news; and a hard job that seemed, for they were nice old people, and of a better class—the old man doing a bit of farming in his way—and, as he afterwards told me, there was plenty for Harry to do at home, only he would go to sea. ‘Poor old chap,’ I thought, ‘it does seem hard,’ and twenty times over I was ready to turn back, for I felt that I couldn’t tell the old folks the bitter news.“Last of all I stood resting on a stile, thinking it over, and going through the whole scene—even seeming to hear the poor fellow’s cry as he leaped right into the water. It was only after a hard fight I could wind myself up to the right pitch, when, for fear that my heart should fail again, I ran hard right up to the little place, and walked into the kitchen where the old folks were sitting at dinner.“‘News of Harry?’ they both cried, jumping up; and then they read it all in my blank face, and the poor old woman was down on her knees sobbing, with her apron over her head, and the old man trying to comfort her. They didn’t ask no questions, and the words all seemed to stick in my throat as I tried to speak, and say that, after all, it might not be so bad as I felt sure it was. Last of all, with a regular wail, the old lady burst out—“‘Dead—dead—dead! Oh, my poor—poor boy!’“‘Not this time, mother,’ shouted a cheery voice, and I got such a slap on the back as nearly sent me on to my nose, and I says, says I—“‘Well, if that’s Harry’s ghost he’s a reg’lar down-right hard hitter.’“‘How did I manage it?’ says Harry just half an hour after, as we were all sitting at dinner, except the old lady, who would wait on us, so as she could get behind Hal now and then, and have a stroke at his curly hair—‘how did I manage it? why, I jumped right slap off the wharf.’“‘Well, I saw that,’ I says.“‘And then I dived till I felt about choked, when I thought I’d rise, and I came up against what I’m sure was the keel of a brig, but I kicked out again and came up t’other side.’“‘What, dived right under the brig?’ I says. ‘I ain’t a marine, Harry.’“‘True as you sit there,’ he says; and then, as I could hear the gang shouting, I let myself float with the tide down through the shipping; and I got nearly jammed between two schooners. But after a bit I worked myself through, and now swimming, and now easing myself along by the anchor chains, I got to where there was a landing-place between two great warehouses, and crept up the slippery stone steps dripping like a rat; and then, to tell the truth, I forgot all about you till I’d tramped half-way where I stopped and went to bed while my things were dried for me; when I went fast asleep and slept for hours till too late to go on home. And this morning, so as not to be a bad shipmate, I came through Southton village, and told you know who that you was took, for I couldn’t face your old people.“‘You told Lucy as I was taken?’ I says, jumping up.“‘Yes,’ he says, ‘I did.’“But I didn’t wait to hear no more, for I ran out of the house like mad to go and prove that I was not taken, for somehow or another I’d felt too bashful to go to Southton, though I meant to have gone that day; while when I got there Lucy had gone three miles to comfort, as she thought, my old folks. But I needn’t tell you any more about that.“It was a narrow escape, though, for I met several fellows after who were pressed that very night, and it was five years before they got their liberty again.”
“Why, how can you expect to be free from a few pains, old fellow?” I said to a regular ancient sea-dog, whom I used to attend. “Here you’ve been knocking about all over the world for best part of a hundred years, I suppose, and you can’t expect to be fresh and well now.”
“Well, you see, doctor,” said the old fellow, “that’s what troubles me. I’m—let’s see—eighty-four, or five, or six—I’m blest if I know exactly; and I’ve hardly known ache or pain, and it does seem hard, after having a clean bill of health so long, to be having my crew on the sick list now.”
“Why, you ungrateful old rascal!” I said, as I saw the mirthful twinkle in the old fellow’s eyes. “There, I’ll see what I can do for you;” and I did manage to allay the old fellow’s rheumatic pains, which in spite of his grumbling he had borne like a martyr.
“I shall begin to think that a sailor’s life is the healthiest career in the world,” I said one day as I looked at the fine vigorous old fellow, who had all his faculties as perfect as a man of five-and-forty. “You’ve had your share of adventures, though, I suppose?”
“Ay, ay, sir, I have indeed,” he said, combing his thin hair with the waxy end of his pipe.
“Never in the Royal Navy, were you?”
“Oh, yes, doctor, I was not always in the merchant service. They tried to get me more than once.”
“What—made you good offers?”
“Good offers, doctor? No, they tried to press me, as they used in those days.”
“To be sure; yes,” I said. “You lived in the days of the press-gangs?”
“That I did, doctor, bad luck to ’em! Why, let me see, it’s as near as can be sixty year ago since we came slowly up the Thames with the tide, and after a deal of hauling, yoho-ing, and dodging, we got the old ship into London Docks, after being at sea two year, and a-going a’most round the world. Sick of it I was, and longing to get ashore, for there was more than one as I was wishing to see and get a word with—folks, too, as were as anxious to get a sight of me; and though a quietish, steadyish sort of a fellow, I felt as if I should have gone wild with the bit of work I had to do, while my mate, Harry Willis, was most as bad. Poor chap! he’s been dead and gone now this many a long year: had his number called and gone aloft. A good fellow was Harry, and the rest of that day him and I was knocking about in the ship, coiling down and doing all sorts of little jobs, such as are wanted after a long voyage, when there’s a great cargo aboard.
“One day passed, then another, and another, and mighty savage we were at being kept so long before we could get off; but the time came at last, and only just taking a few things each in a handkerchief, we slipped over the ship’s side, dropped on to the wharf, and were off.
“Well, being reg’lar old shipmates, you see, it was only natural that we should drop into a little public-house that was down Wapping way, to take a glass or two by way of a treat, and see about a night’s lodging where we could be together, as it was quite evening, and we’d some way to go into the country both of us, and meant to leave it till morning. A nice little place it was, close aside a wharf, where the tide came up, and ship after ship—colliers I think they were—lay in tiers, moored head and stern; in short, just such a place as a sailor would choose for a quiet glass and a night’s lodging, being snug and cosy-looking. But there, for the matter of that, after a poor fellow’s had years at sea, knocking about in the close forks’ll of a ship, everything looks snug and cosy ashore.
“It didn’t take us long bargaining about our beds, and then, leaving our kits with the landlady, we strolled out and had a walk here, and a walk there, till close upon eleven, when I says to Harry, ‘I’m for hammocks, lad. What do you say?’ ‘Same as you do,’ he says; and we turned back meaning to have one more glass o’ grog apiece, and then to turn in. It wasn’t far to the house, and soon as we got in sight we began to dawdle slowly along, looking at the ships here and there, just seen as they were by moonlight, while plenty of ’em showed a lantern out in the stream.
“‘What’s those fellows hanging about our place for?’ says Harry; for just then we come in sight of a good score of chaps waiting about the outside of the public, while another peep at ’em showed as they were king’s men, and most of ’em had got cutlasses.
“‘Thought ours was a quiet house,’ I says; ‘I hope they ain’t going to stop about long.’
“‘Not they,’ says Harry; ‘come on.’
“So we went up to the house, and, being first, I was going in, when a tall chap lays a hand on my shoulder, with a ‘Come along, my lad, we’ve been waiting for you.’
“‘What?’ I says, starting; for just then, for the first time, something shot through me, as it were, and in that short moment I saw all that it meant, and that was, that after years of service in a merchantman we were to be seized by force and dragged aboard a tender to serve the king, whether we would or no; for this party we had come across was a press-gang. But I had no more time to think. Half a dozen fellows had tight hold of me directly, and if I had wanted to struggle, it would have been no use. Harry wasn’t so quiet, though. Like me, he had seen it all in a moment, and as one of the gang laid a hand upon him, he dashed it off, cried to me to help him, and the next moment there was a sharp struggle going on—one which roused me to fight; for it was such a struggle as any man would engage in for his liberty in those good old times, when a sailor was not safe if he walked the streets of a seafaring town.
“Harry was a strong fellow, and fought hard; one man went heavily down, then three went down together. Poor Harry was one of them, while a head struck the stones a most awful blow, such as seemed enough to kill any fellow; but it was not Harry’s, for the next moment he was up, and before a soul could stop him, he gave a shout, and leaped clean off the wharf where we were, right into the water. Then there was a splash, and you could see the stream all dancing like broken lights where the lamps and moon shone, and then all was still for a few moments, till the officer of the gang called to his men to run down the steps and bring round the boat. ‘Hold tight by that one,’ he shouted, and the next minute, with some of his gang, he was paddling about on the look-out for Harry, who had never, as far as we could see, come up again to the surface.
“I did not want to run then, but stood still, with the men as held me, looking anxiously out for my poor mate; for it seemed to me then that after all the dangers we two had been through from storms out in the wide ocean, the poor fellow was to lose his life in such a way as this—fighting for his liberty when he was about to be treated like a slave. It’s fine language that writers use about Britannia ruling the waves, and our gallant tars and noble seamen, and the deeds they have done, but they never stop to think of the cruelty with which those brave fellows were treated, dragged off to serve the king in a quarrel that they knew nothing about, while after being forced into the service it was death for mutiny if a poor fellow refused to obey.
“Things of the past, these, and times are altered for the better now in the navy; but in them good old times there were black doings, and no wonder there were plenty of mutinies. Here were we, two hardworking sailors fresh home from sea, seized for all the world like blacks, and to be made slaves of for years to come, whilst people were always boasting of the land of the free. Thank goodness, some of those things are better now, and it was time that they should be, for I saw enough of a ship of war in days to come.
“But it was not to be then; for when, after a minute or so, there was no sign of poor Harry, the blood seemed to rise up in my eyes, and in a savage fit of passion I wrested myself from the two men who held me tightly; for I had been standing quiet, and they were taken up with the doings of their mates, and did not expect that I should make a struggle for it now. So I twisted myself free, hit out right and left, and tumbled one fellow off the wharf into the water, and then, before anybody could stay me, I dashed off.
“But I was not free yet, I had to pass the steps, from which two of the gang ran to stop me; but I had good way on then, and as one of them made a blow at me with a cudgel, I came down upon him like a ram, tumbled him over too, and then was racing along the street with half a dozen of the gang shouting and running after me like mad.
“It was a hard run that, up one lane and down another, hard as I could tear, with the hot breath panting out of my chest, and a burning feeling strong on me, as if I’d swallowed live coals. But it was for liberty, and the thought of what would follow if I was caught made me dash on faster every time I felt ready to sink and give in. Whenever I looked over my shoulder I could see one or two of the gang after me, but at last there was only one, and him it seemed as if I couldn’t tire out, for there he always was just about the same distance behind, taking step for step with me. We were neither of us going fast now for want of breath, and the perspiration ran down my face; but every time I tried to shake him off it seemed of no use, and every time I turned round to look, there he was still hunting me down like a dog. I tried doubling down a court, but he was close after me; turned down one street and up another, but there he was still; and the more I tried the closer he seemed to get to me.
“Well, this seemed to make me savage, and my teeth got gritting together, and as I knew that he was only one now, having outrun all his mates, and must be as tired out as I was, I said to myself, ‘If he takes me, he’ll have to fight for it.’ Then I ran down another court which turned off to the right again directly after, and then came a horrible disappointed feeling, for I saw that I was in a trap, and when I remembered the cudgel the press-gang man had, it seemed as if my chance was gone, for there was no way out at the bottom of the court.
“People think quickly at a time like this, and in a moment I was hid behind a corner, and listening to the patter of the sailor’s feet as he came down the court. Next moment I put all the strength I had left in the blow I fetched him aside his head; down he went with his head upon the stones, and, jumping over him, I ran out into the street and felt that I was free.
“I was sorry for the press-gang chap as soon as I had hit him; but, duty or no duty, the men then were a deal too fond of getting other poor fellows into the same scrape as themselves, and as I felt I was free, my breath seemed to come easier, and I went along the streets at a gentle trot, till I knew that I must be safe.
“I wasn’t going to stop in London any more, so I made my way, late as it was, to the Great North Road, and daybreak found me trudging wearily along between the pleasant hedgerows, thinking very sadly about poor Harry, who came from the next village to mine in Hertfordshire, and turning it over in my mind how I should tell his poor old folks about their lad being drowned at home here when trying to get clear of the press-gang. It seemed so hard, and I’m afraid I said more than one queer thing against the king and all his sarvice as I trudged along homewards; but, in spite of all, the morning was so bright and cheery, the country looked so green and sweet, and the birds sang so, that I couldn’t feel down-hearted long; while, having no kit to carry, I got fast over the ground, only stopping once to have a good hearty breakfast at a roadside public-house, and early that afternoon I was at home.
“I’m not going to keep you long now, while as to the fuss made over a sailor at home after a long voyage, that’s a matter of course. Next day I started off to walk six miles to Harry’s friends, to tell them the sad news; and a hard job that seemed, for they were nice old people, and of a better class—the old man doing a bit of farming in his way—and, as he afterwards told me, there was plenty for Harry to do at home, only he would go to sea. ‘Poor old chap,’ I thought, ‘it does seem hard,’ and twenty times over I was ready to turn back, for I felt that I couldn’t tell the old folks the bitter news.
“Last of all I stood resting on a stile, thinking it over, and going through the whole scene—even seeming to hear the poor fellow’s cry as he leaped right into the water. It was only after a hard fight I could wind myself up to the right pitch, when, for fear that my heart should fail again, I ran hard right up to the little place, and walked into the kitchen where the old folks were sitting at dinner.
“‘News of Harry?’ they both cried, jumping up; and then they read it all in my blank face, and the poor old woman was down on her knees sobbing, with her apron over her head, and the old man trying to comfort her. They didn’t ask no questions, and the words all seemed to stick in my throat as I tried to speak, and say that, after all, it might not be so bad as I felt sure it was. Last of all, with a regular wail, the old lady burst out—
“‘Dead—dead—dead! Oh, my poor—poor boy!’
“‘Not this time, mother,’ shouted a cheery voice, and I got such a slap on the back as nearly sent me on to my nose, and I says, says I—
“‘Well, if that’s Harry’s ghost he’s a reg’lar down-right hard hitter.’
“‘How did I manage it?’ says Harry just half an hour after, as we were all sitting at dinner, except the old lady, who would wait on us, so as she could get behind Hal now and then, and have a stroke at his curly hair—‘how did I manage it? why, I jumped right slap off the wharf.’
“‘Well, I saw that,’ I says.
“‘And then I dived till I felt about choked, when I thought I’d rise, and I came up against what I’m sure was the keel of a brig, but I kicked out again and came up t’other side.’
“‘What, dived right under the brig?’ I says. ‘I ain’t a marine, Harry.’
“‘True as you sit there,’ he says; and then, as I could hear the gang shouting, I let myself float with the tide down through the shipping; and I got nearly jammed between two schooners. But after a bit I worked myself through, and now swimming, and now easing myself along by the anchor chains, I got to where there was a landing-place between two great warehouses, and crept up the slippery stone steps dripping like a rat; and then, to tell the truth, I forgot all about you till I’d tramped half-way where I stopped and went to bed while my things were dried for me; when I went fast asleep and slept for hours till too late to go on home. And this morning, so as not to be a bad shipmate, I came through Southton village, and told you know who that you was took, for I couldn’t face your old people.
“‘You told Lucy as I was taken?’ I says, jumping up.
“‘Yes,’ he says, ‘I did.’
“But I didn’t wait to hear no more, for I ran out of the house like mad to go and prove that I was not taken, for somehow or another I’d felt too bashful to go to Southton, though I meant to have gone that day; while when I got there Lucy had gone three miles to comfort, as she thought, my old folks. But I needn’t tell you any more about that.
“It was a narrow escape, though, for I met several fellows after who were pressed that very night, and it was five years before they got their liberty again.”
Chapter Twenty Three.My Patient Who Never Pays—Myself.I finish the transcription of my notes with something of regret, for the task has taken me back through many pleasant chapters of my own life, and to days when I too had my adventures and fights with the dark shadow casting his own shadow—the shadow of a shade across those whom he was marking for his own. It has brought up those stern struggles where it has been an uphill fight for days and days, striving hard, and rejoicing over every inch that has been gained—inches perhaps lost the next hour, when one has seen, in spite of every effort and the aid of all that could be brought to bear from the well-earned knowledge of others, a patient gradually slipping from one’s grasp, and stood gazing helplessly and wondering what to do.This has often been my fate, and with a feeling of being humbled, I have thought how little we know even now of the secrets of nature, and how powerless a doctor is at times. But even then, when a case has seemed hopeless, a sudden flash or flicker of the expiring flame has renewed hope, and cautiously, and with endless care lest the effort to relieve should result in extinguishing the faint dying light, one has tried again to feed the lamp with oil, the tiniest portion at a time, perhaps feeling a kind of awe as the result has been watched for, and the faint spark has seemed to have been driven forth. Then the flickering has begun once more, grown stronger, sunk, risen, sunk lower—lower, darkness has fallen in the room, and one’s heart has sunk in unison with the dying flame—dying? No: that next flash has been more lasting. It was brighter, too. There can be no doubt now. Pour in more oil with tender hand; feed the flickering flame; watch it night and day; no care can be too great; for the enemy is ever on the watch, and a moment’s want of attention may result in the undoing of all that has been done. And when at last the lamp of life burns more strongly and the dark shade has fled—vanquished, driven away, there is a triumph, a joy indescribable, which rewards surgeons, or the learned in medicine, alone more than pecuniary recompense or notoriety can compass.Nothing can be more sad than the feelings engendered when, in spite of all, one’s efforts have been in vain; but nothing, on the other hand, can be more purely delightful than the looks of satisfaction and relief in the eyes of wives, parents, children—all by whom the invalid is held dear. If ever gratitude is shown it is then; and the doctor goes away feeling that he has not lived quite in vain.A hundred pleasant recollections—ay, and a hundred sad ones—have been evoked during the writing out of those notes; while, in turn, my old patients have stood before me, and I have felt the strong, earnest grip of their hands with that heart-felt earnest “Thank you, doctor!” which has meant so much. As I said at the commencement of these pages, I believe in, and esteem the sturdy working man, and for a patient I would wish for none better, on account of his genuine trust and faith in him who is working for his cure. I said, too, that I had once felt a strong desire to become an army surgeon, for the sake of the experience it would give me; but I think I have shown that amongst the privates of the vast army of work-a-day toilers, there is practice sufficient to satisfy the most exacting; and though the surgeon may not have to deal with sword-cut, bayonet, and bullet wound, there is enough work for busy hand and brain at home in his noble profession, whose mission it is to relieve the sick and wounded in the great battle of life.The End.
I finish the transcription of my notes with something of regret, for the task has taken me back through many pleasant chapters of my own life, and to days when I too had my adventures and fights with the dark shadow casting his own shadow—the shadow of a shade across those whom he was marking for his own. It has brought up those stern struggles where it has been an uphill fight for days and days, striving hard, and rejoicing over every inch that has been gained—inches perhaps lost the next hour, when one has seen, in spite of every effort and the aid of all that could be brought to bear from the well-earned knowledge of others, a patient gradually slipping from one’s grasp, and stood gazing helplessly and wondering what to do.
This has often been my fate, and with a feeling of being humbled, I have thought how little we know even now of the secrets of nature, and how powerless a doctor is at times. But even then, when a case has seemed hopeless, a sudden flash or flicker of the expiring flame has renewed hope, and cautiously, and with endless care lest the effort to relieve should result in extinguishing the faint dying light, one has tried again to feed the lamp with oil, the tiniest portion at a time, perhaps feeling a kind of awe as the result has been watched for, and the faint spark has seemed to have been driven forth. Then the flickering has begun once more, grown stronger, sunk, risen, sunk lower—lower, darkness has fallen in the room, and one’s heart has sunk in unison with the dying flame—dying? No: that next flash has been more lasting. It was brighter, too. There can be no doubt now. Pour in more oil with tender hand; feed the flickering flame; watch it night and day; no care can be too great; for the enemy is ever on the watch, and a moment’s want of attention may result in the undoing of all that has been done. And when at last the lamp of life burns more strongly and the dark shade has fled—vanquished, driven away, there is a triumph, a joy indescribable, which rewards surgeons, or the learned in medicine, alone more than pecuniary recompense or notoriety can compass.
Nothing can be more sad than the feelings engendered when, in spite of all, one’s efforts have been in vain; but nothing, on the other hand, can be more purely delightful than the looks of satisfaction and relief in the eyes of wives, parents, children—all by whom the invalid is held dear. If ever gratitude is shown it is then; and the doctor goes away feeling that he has not lived quite in vain.
A hundred pleasant recollections—ay, and a hundred sad ones—have been evoked during the writing out of those notes; while, in turn, my old patients have stood before me, and I have felt the strong, earnest grip of their hands with that heart-felt earnest “Thank you, doctor!” which has meant so much. As I said at the commencement of these pages, I believe in, and esteem the sturdy working man, and for a patient I would wish for none better, on account of his genuine trust and faith in him who is working for his cure. I said, too, that I had once felt a strong desire to become an army surgeon, for the sake of the experience it would give me; but I think I have shown that amongst the privates of the vast army of work-a-day toilers, there is practice sufficient to satisfy the most exacting; and though the surgeon may not have to deal with sword-cut, bayonet, and bullet wound, there is enough work for busy hand and brain at home in his noble profession, whose mission it is to relieve the sick and wounded in the great battle of life.
The End.
|Chapter 1| |Chapter 2| |Chapter 3| |Chapter 4| |Chapter 5| |Chapter 6| |Chapter 7| |Chapter 8| |Chapter 9| |Chapter 10| |Chapter 11| |Chapter 12| |Chapter 13| |Chapter 14| |Chapter 15| |Chapter 16| |Chapter 17| |Chapter 18| |Chapter 19| |Chapter 20| |Chapter 21| |Chapter 22| |Chapter 23|