Chapter 104
"It's gang 34," said the doctor, "Jim-the-ladder's gang."
The sun had risen, the sea was glistening in its million facets, and into many a rolling wave a sea-bird dipped its corded throat. In the silvery water-way there was something floating that looked as if it might have been a tub. It was the wagon that the convict had driven into the water for a boat.
"It will sink--it's shod with thick hoops of iron," said the doctor.
The convict could be seen standing in it. He had thrown off his coat and cap, and his sleeveless arms were bare to the armpits. The civil guard ran to the cliff and fired. One shot hit. The man could be seen to tear the coa.r.s.e linen s.h.i.+rt from his breast and bind it above the wrist.
"Why does he not crouch down?" said Hugh Ritson: he did not know who this convict was, but in his heart there was a feverish desire that the prisoner should escape.
"He's a doomed man--he's in the race--it's flowing hard, and he'll drift back to the island," said the doctor.
Half an hour later a posse of the civil guard, with two a.s.sistant warders, brought the recaptured fugitive into the governor's receiving-office. The stalwart fellow strode between the warders with a firm step and head erect. He wore no jacket or cap, and on one bare arm a strip of linen was roughly tied. His breast was naked, his eyes were aflame, and save for a black streak of blood across the cheek, his face was ashy pale. But that man was not crushed by his misfortunes; he seemed to crush them.
"Take that man's number," said the governor.
"Ay, take it, and see you take it rightly," said the convict.
"It's B 2001," said the chief warder.
The governor consulted a paper that lay on his table.
"Send for the gentleman," he said to an attendant. "It's well for you that you are wanted by the law officers of the Crown," he added, turning to the prisoner.
The convict made no answer; he was neither humble nor sullen; his manner was frank but fierce, and made almost brutal by a sense of wrong.
The next
"This is the man," said the chief warder, with a deferential bow.
Hugh Ritson tried to raise his eyes, but they fell suddenly. He opened his lips to speak, but the words would not come. And meantime the wet, soiled, naked, close-cropped, blood-stained convict, flanked by armed warders, stood before him with head erect and eyes that searched his soul. The convict rested one hand on his hip and pointed with the other at Hugh Ritson's abject figure.
"What does this man want with me?" he said, and his voice was deep.
At that Hugh Ritson broke in impetuously:
"Paul, I will not outrage your sufferings by offering you my pity."
The officers looked into each other's faces.
"I want none of your pity!" said the convict, bitterly.
"No; it is I who need yours," said Hugh Ritson, in a low tone.
The convict laughed a hard laugh, and turned to the warders.
"Here, take me away--I've had enough of this."
"Listen. I have something to say to you--something to do for you, too."
The convict broke afresh into a laugh.
"Take me away, will you?"
"What if I say I am sorry for the past?" said Hugh.
"Then you are a hypocrite!" the convict answered.
Hugh Ritson drew himself up, and took his breath audibly. In one swift instant his face became discolored and his features pinched and rigid.
There was silence, and then in a low, broken tone, he said:
"Paul, you know well what sort of a man I am; don't drive me too hard. I have come here to do you a service. Remember your sufferings--"
Once again the convict broke into a cold laugh.
"Remember that others--one other--may be suffering with you."
The convict's haughty look fled like a flash of light.
"Here, take me out of this," he muttered in a low, hoa.r.s.e voice. He took a step back, but the guard closed around him. "I won't stand to listen to this man. Do you hear? I won't listen," he said hotly; "he has come to torture me--that's all!"
"I have come to undo what I have done," said Hugh. "Paul, let me undo it. Don't rouse the bad part of me at this crisis of your life and mine."
The convict paused, and said more quietly:
"Then it's your policy to undo it."
Hugh Ritson flinched. The words had gone to his heart like a spear. If he had dared to mask his motive, that thrust would have left it naked.
"I will not wrong the truth by saying I am a changed man," he answered meekly. "My motive is my own; but my act shall be all in all to you."
The convict's face lightened.
"You have used me for your vengeance," he said; "you shall not use me for your contrition also. Guards, let me out--let me out, I tell you!"
The governor interposed:
"When you leave this room you go direct to the cells."
"Ay, take me to your cells, and let me lie there and die and rot," said the convict.
"Take him away," said the governor.
"Paul, I beseech you to hear me!" cried Hugh, amid the clanking of the arms of the guard.
"Take him away!" the governor shouted again.
An hour after, B 2001 was recalled to the receiving-office. He was quiet enough now.