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<h2> CHAPTER VII. TYPHUS FEVER. </h2>
<p>The felon Rufus Dawes had stretched himself in his bunk and tried to
sleep. But though he was tired and sore, and his head felt like lead, he
could not but keep broad awake. The long pull through the pure air, if it
had tired him, had revived him, and he felt stronger; but for all that,
the fatal sickness that was on him maintained its hold; his pulse beat
thickly, and his brain throbbed with unnatural heat. Lying in his narrow
space—in the semi-darkness—he tossed his limbs about, and
closed his eyes in vain—he could not sleep. His utmost efforts
induced only an oppressive stagnation of thought, through which he heard
the voices of his fellow-convicts; while before his eyes was still the
burning Hydaspes—that vessel whose destruction had destroyed for
ever all trace of the unhappy Richard Devine.</p>
<p>It was fortunate for his comfort, perhaps, that the man who had been
chosen to accompany him was of a talkative turn, for the prisoners
insisted upon hearing the story of the explosion a dozen times over, and
Rufus Dawes himself had been roused to give the name of the vessel with
his own lips. Had it not been for the hideous respect in which he was
held, it is possible that he might have been compelled to give his version
also, and to join in the animated discussion which took place upon the
possibility of the saving of the fugitive crew. As it was, however, he was
left in peace, and lay unnoticed, trying to sleep.</p>
<p>The detachment of fifty being on deck—airing—the prison was
not quite so hot as at night, and many of the convicts made up for their
lack of rest by snatching a dog-sleep in the bared bunks. The four
volunteer oarsmen were allowed to "take it out."</p>
<p>As yet there had been no alarm of fever. The three seizures had excited
some comment, however, and had it not been for the counter-excitement of
the burning ship, it is possible that Pine's precaution would have been
thrown away. The "Old Hands"—who had been through the Passage before—suspected,
but said nothing, save among themselves. It was likely that the weak and
sickly would go first, and that there would be more room for those
remaining. The Old Hands were satisfied.</p>
<p>Three of these Old Hands were conversing together just behind the
partition of Dawes's bunk. As we have said, the berths were five feet
square, and each contained six men. No. 10, the berth occupied by Dawes,
was situated on the corner made by the joining of the starboard and centre
lines, and behind it was a slight recess, in which the scuttle was fixed.
His "mates" were at present but three in number, for John Rex and the
cockney tailor had been removed to the hospital. The three that remained
were now in deep conversation in the shelter of the recess. Of these, the
giant—who had the previous night asserted his authority in the
prison—seemed to be the chief. His name was Gabbett. He was a
returned convict, now on his way to undergo a second sentence for
burglary. The other two were a man named Sanders, known as the "Moocher",
and Jemmy Vetch, the Crow. They were talking in whispers, but Rufus Dawes,
lying with his head close to the partition, was enabled to catch much of
what they said.</p>
<p>At first the conversation turned on the catastrophe of the burning ship
and the likelihood of saving the crew. From this it grew to anecdote of
wreck and adventure, and at last Gabbett said something which made the
listener start from his indifferent efforts to slumber, into sudden broad
wakefulness.</p>
<p>It was the mention of his own name, coupled with that of the woman he had
met on the quarter-deck, that roused him.</p>
<p>"I saw her speaking to Dawes yesterday," said the giant, with an oath. "We
don't want no more than we've got. I ain't goin' to risk my neck for Rex's
woman's fancies, and so I'll tell her."</p>
<p>"It was something about the kid," says the Crow, in his elegant slang. "I
don't believe she ever saw him before. Besides, she's nuts on Jack, and
ain't likely to pick up with another man."</p>
<p>"If I thort she was agoin' to throw us over, I'd cut her throat as soon as
look at her!" snorts Gabbett savagely.</p>
<p>"Jack ud have a word in that," snuffles the Moocher; "and he's a curious
cove to quarrel with."</p>
<p>"Well, stow yer gaff," grumbled Mr. Gabbett, "and let's have no more
chaff. If we're for bizness, let's come to bizness."</p>
<p>"What are we to do now?" asked the Moocher. "Jack's on the sick list, and
the gal won't stir a'thout him."</p>
<p>"Ay," returned Gabbett, "that's it."</p>
<p>"My dear friends," said the Crow, "my keyind and keristian friends, it is
to be regretted that when natur' gave you such tremendously thick skulls,
she didn't put something inside of 'em. I say that now's the time. Jack's
in the 'orspital; what of that? That don't make it no better for him, does
it? Not a bit of it; and if he drops his knife and fork, why then, it's my
opinion that the gal won't stir a peg. It's on his account, not ours, that
she's been manoovering, ain't it?"</p>
<p>"Well!" says Mr. Gabbett, with the air of one who was but partly
convinced, "I s'pose it is."</p>
<p>"All the more reason of getting it off quick. Another thing, when the boys
know there's fever aboard, you'll see the rumpus there'll be. They'll be
ready enough to join us then. Once get the snapper chest, and we're right
as ninepenn'orth o' hapence."</p>
<p>This conversation, interspersed with oaths and slang as it was, had an
intense interest for Rufus Dawes. Plunged into prison, hurriedly tried,
and by reason of his surroundings ignorant of the death of his father and
his own fortune, he had hitherto—in his agony and sullen gloom—held
aloof from the scoundrels who surrounded him, and repelled their hideous
advances of friendship. He now saw his error. He knew that the name he had
once possessed was blotted out, that any shred of his old life which had
clung to him hitherto, was shrivelled in the fire that consumed the
"Hydaspes". The secret, for the preservation of which Richard Devine had
voluntarily flung away his name, and risked a terrible and disgraceful
death, would be now for ever safe; for Richard Devine was dead—lost
at sea with the crew of the ill-fated vessel in which, deluded by a
skilfully-sent letter from the prison, his mother believed him to have
sailed. Richard Devine was dead, and the secret of his birth would die
with him. Rufus Dawes, his alter ego, alone should live. Rufus Dawes, the
convicted felon, the suspected murderer, should live to claim his freedom,
and work out his vengeance; or, rendered powerful by the terrible
experience of the prison-sheds, should seize both, in defiance of gaol or
gaoler.</p>
<p>With his head swimming, and his brain on fire, he eagerly listened for
more. It seemed as if the fever which burnt in his veins had consumed the
grosser part of his sense, and given him increased power of hearing. He
was conscious that he was ill. His bones ached, his hands burned, his head
throbbed, but he could hear distinctly, and, he thought, reason on what he
heard profoundly.</p>
<p>"But we can't stir without the girl," Gabbett said. "She's got to stall
off the sentry and give us the orfice."</p>
<p>The Crow's sallow features lighted up with a cunning smile.</p>
<p>"Dear old caper merchant! Hear him talk!" said he, "as if he had the
wisdom of Solomon in all his glory? Look here!"</p>
<p>And he produced a dirty scrap of paper, over which his companions eagerly
bent their heads.</p>
<p>"Where did yer get that?"</p>
<p>"Yesterday afternoon Sarah was standing on the poop throwing bits o' toke
to the gulls, and I saw her a-looking at me very hard. At last she came
down as near the barricade as she dared, and throwed crumbs and such like
up in the air over the side. By and by a pretty big lump, doughed up
round, fell close to my foot, and, watching a favourable opportunity, I
pouched it. Inside was this bit o' rag-bag."</p>
<p>"Ah!" said Mr. Gabbett, "that's more like. Read it out, Jemmy."</p>
<p>The writing, though feminine in character, was bold and distinct. Sarah
had evidently been mindful of the education of her friends, and had
desired to give them as little trouble as possible.</p>
<p>"All is right. Watch me when I come up to-morrow evening at three bells.
If I drop my handkerchief, get to work at the time agreed on. The sentry
will be safe."</p>
<p>Rufus Dawes, though his eyelids would scarcely keep open, and a terrible
lassitude almost paralysed his limbs, eagerly drank in the whispered
sentence. There was a conspiracy to seize the ship. Sarah Purfoy was in
league with the convicts—was herself the wife or mistress of one of
them. She had come on board armed with a plot for his release, and this
plot was about to be put in execution. He had heard of the atrocities
perpetrated by successful mutineers. Story after story of such nature had
often made the prison resound with horrible mirth. He knew the characters
of the three ruffians who, separated from him by but two inches of
planking, jested and laughed over their plans of freedom and vengeance.
Though he conversed but little with his companions, these men were his
berth mates, and he could not but know how they would proceed to wreak
their vengeance on their gaolers.</p>
<p>True, that the head of this formidable chimera—John Rex, the forger—was
absent, but the two hands, or rather claws—the burglar and the
prison-breaker—were present, and the slimly-made, effeminate Crow,
if he had not the brains of the master, yet made up for his flaccid
muscles and nerveless frame by a cat-like cunning, and a spirit of
devilish volatility that nothing could subdue. With such a powerful ally
outside as the mock maid-servant, the chance of success was enormously
increased. There were one hundred and eighty convicts and but fifty
soldiers. If the first rush proved successful—and the precautions
taken by Sarah Purfoy rendered success possible—the vessel was
theirs. Rufus Dawes thought of the little bright-haired child who had run
so confidingly to meet him, and shuddered.</p>
<p>"There!" said the Crow, with a sneering laugh, "what do you think of that?
Does the girl look like nosing us now?"</p>
<p>"No," says the giant, stretching his great arms with a grin of delight, as
one stretches one's chest in the sun, "that's right, that is. That's more
like bizness."</p>
<p>"England, home and beauty!" said Vetch, with a mock-heroic air, strangely
out of tune with the subject under discussion. "You'd like to go home
again, wouldn't you, old man?"</p>
<p>Gabbett turned on him fiercely, his low forehead wrinkled into a frown of
ferocious recollection.</p>
<p>"You!" he said—"You think the chain's fine sport, don't yer? But
I've been there, my young chicken, and I knows what it means."</p>
<p>There was silence for a minute or two. The giant was plunged in gloomy
abstraction, and Vetch and the Moocher interchanged a significant glance.
Gabbett had been ten years at the colonial penal settlement of Macquarie
Harbour, and he had memories that he did not confide to his companions.
When he indulged in one of these fits of recollection, his friends found
it best to leave him to himself.</p>
<p>Rufus Dawes did not understand the sudden silence. With all his senses
stretched to the utmost to listen, the cessation of the whispered colloquy
affected him strangely. Old artillery-men have said that, after being at
work for days in the trenches, accustomed to the continued roar of the
guns, a sudden pause in the firing will cause them intense pain. Something
of this feeling was experienced by Rufus Dawes. His faculties of hearing
and thinking—both at their highest pitch—seemed to break down.
It was as though some prop had been knocked from under him. No longer
stimulated by outward sounds, his senses appeared to fail him. The blood
rushed into his eyes and ears. He made a violent, vain effort to retain
his consciousness, but with a faint cry fell back, striking his head
against the edge of the bunk.</p>
<p>The noise roused the burglar in an instant. There was someone in the
berth! The three looked into each other's eyes, in guilty alarm, and then
Gabbett dashed round the partition.</p>
<p>"It's Dawes!" said the Moocher. "We had forgotten him!"</p>
<p>"He'll join us, mate—he'll join us!" cried Vetch, fearful of
bloodshed.</p>
<p>Gabbett uttered a furious oath, and flinging himself on to the prostrate
figure, dragged it, head foremost, to the floor. The sudden vertigo had
saved Rufus Dawes's life. The robber twisted one brawny hand in his shirt,
and pressing the knuckles down, prepared to deliver a blow that should for
ever silence the listener, when Vetch caught his arm. "He's been asleep,"
he cried. "Don't hit him! See, he's not awake yet."</p>
<p>A crowd gathered round. The giant relaxed his grip, but the convict gave
only a deep groan, and allowed his head to fall on his shoulder. "You've
killed him!" cried someone.</p>
<p>Gabbett took another look at the purpling face and the bedewed forehead,
and then sprang erect, rubbing at his right hand, as though he would rub
off something sticking there.</p>
<p>"He's got the fever!" he roared, with a terror-stricken grimace.</p>
<p>"The what?" asked twenty voices.</p>
<p>"The fever, ye grinning fools!" cried Gabbett. "I've seen it before
to-day. The typhus is aboard, and he's the fourth man down!"</p>
<p>The circle of beast-like faces, stretched forward to "see the fight,"
widened at the half-uncomprehended, ill-omened word. It was as though a
bombshell had fallen into the group. Rufus Dawes lay on the deck
motionless, breathing heavily. The savage circle glared at his prostrate
body. The alarm ran round, and all the prison crowded down to stare at
him. All at once he uttered a groan, and turning, propped his body on his
two rigid arms, and made an effort to speak. But no sound issued from his
convulsed jaws.</p>
<p>"He's done," said the Moocher brutally. "He didn't hear nuffin', I'll
pound it."</p>
<p>The noise of the heavy bolts shooting back broke the spell. The first
detachment were coming down from "exercise." The door was flung back, and
the bayonets of the guard gleamed in a ray of sunshine that shot down the
hatchway. This glimpse of sunlight—sparkling at the entrance of the
foetid and stifling prison—seemed to mock their miseries. It was as
though Heaven laughed at them. By one of those terrible and strange
impulses which animate crowds, the mass, turning from the sick man, leapt
towards the doorway. The interior of the prison flashed white with
suddenly turned faces. The gloom scintillated with rapidly moving hands.
"Air! air! Give us air!"</p>
<p>"That's it!" said Sanders to his companions. "I thought the news would
rouse 'em."</p>
<p>Gabbett—all the savage in his blood stirred by the sight of flashing
eyes and wrathful faces—would have thrown himself forward with the
rest, but Vetch plucked him back.</p>
<p>"It'll be over in a moment," he said. "It's only a fit they've got." He
spoke truly. Through the uproar was heard the rattle of iron on iron, as
the guard "stood to their arms," and the wedge of grey cloth broke, in
sudden terror of the levelled muskets.</p>
<p>There was an instant's pause, and then old Pine walked, unmolested, down
the prison and knelt by the body of Rufus Dawes.</p>
<p>The sight of the familiar figure, so calmly performing its familiar duty,
restored all that submission to recognized authority which strict
discipline begets. The convicts slunk away into their berths, or
officiously ran to help "the doctor," with affectation of intense
obedience. The prison was like a schoolroom, into which the master had
suddenly returned. "Stand back, my lads! Take him up, two of you, and
carry him to the door. The poor fellow won't hurt you." His orders were
obeyed, and the old man, waiting until his patient had been safely
received outside, raised his hand to command attention. "I see you know
what I have to tell. The fever has broken out. That man has got it. It is
absurd to suppose that no one else will be seized. I might catch it
myself. You are much crowded down here, I know; but, my lads, I can't help
that; I didn't make the ship, you know."</p>
<p>"'Ear, 'ear!"</p>
<p>"It is a terrible thing, but you must keep orderly and quiet, and bear it
like men. You know what the discipline is, and it is not in my power to
alter it. I shall do my best for your comfort, and I look to you to help
me."</p>
<p>Holding his grey head very erect indeed, the brave old fellow passed
straight down the line, without looking to the right or left. He had said
just enough, and he reached the door amid a chorus of "'Ear, 'ear!"
"Bravo!" "True for you, docther!" and so on. But when he got fairly
outside, he breathed more freely. He had performed a ticklish task, and he
knew it.</p>
<p>"'Ark at 'em," growled the Moocher from his corner, "a-cheerin' at the
bloody noos!"</p>
<p>"Wait a bit," said the acuter intelligence of Jemmy Vetch. "Give 'em time.
There'll be three or four more down afore night, and then we'll see!"</p>
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