Chapter IX: John Rex's Letter Home

by Marcus Clarke

　　The "little gathering" of which Major Vickers had spoken to Mr. Meekin, had grown into something larger than he had anticipated. Instead of a quiet dinner at which his own household, his daughter's betrothed, and the stranger clergyman only should be present, the Major found himself entangled with Mesdames Protherick and Jellicoe, Mr. McNab of the garrison, and Mr. Pounce of the civil list. His quiet Christmas dinner had grown into an evening party.

　　The conversation was on the usual topic.

　　"Heard anything about that fellow Dawes?" asked Mr. Pounce.

　　"Not yet," says Frere, sulkily, "but he won't be out long. I've got a dozen men up the mountain."

　　"I suppose it is not easy for a prisoner to make good his escape?" says Meekin.

　　"Oh, he needn't be caught," says Frere, "if that's what you mean; but he'll starve instead. The bushranging days are over now, and it's a precious poor look-out for any man to live upon luck in the bush."

　　"Indeed, yes," says Mr. Pounce, lapping his soup. "This island seems specially adapted by Providence for a convict settlement; for with an admirable climate, it carries little indigenous vegetation which will support human life."

　　"Wull," said McNab to Sylvia, "I don't think Prauvidence had any thocht o' caunveect deesiplin whun He created the cauleny o' Van Deemen's Lan'."

　　"Neither do I," said Sylvia.

　　"I don't know," says Mrs. Protherick. "Poor Protherick used often to say that it seemed as if some Almighty Hand had planned the Penal Settlements round the coast, the country is so delightfully barren."

　　"Ay, Port Arthur couldn't have been better if it had been made on purpose," says Frere; "and all up the coast from Tenby to St. Helen's there isn't a scrap for human being to make a meal on. The West Coast is worse. By George, sir, in the old days, I remember--"

　　"By the way," says Meekin, "I've got something to show you. Rex's confession. I brought it down on purpose."

　　"Rex's confession!"

　　"His account of his adventures after he left Macquarie Harbour. I am going to send it to the Bishop."

　　"Oh, I should like to see it," said Sylvia, with heightened colour. "The story of these unhappy men has a personal interest for me."

　　"A forbidden subject, Poppet."

　　"No, papa, not altogether forbidden; for it does not affect me now as it used to do. You must let me read it, Mr. Meekin."

　　"A pack of lies, I expect," said Frere, with a scowl. "That scoundrel Rex couldn't tell the truth to save his life."

　　"You misjudge him, Captain Frere," said Meekin. "All the prisoners are not hardened in iniquity like Rufus Dawes. Rex is, I believe, truly penitent, and has written a most touching letter to his father."

　　"A letter!" said Vickers. "You know that, by the King's--no, the Queen's Regulations, no letters are allowed to be sent to the friends of prisoners without first passing through the hands of the authorities."

　　"I am aware of that, Major, and for that reason have brought it with me, that you may read it for yourself. It seems to me to breathe a spirit of true piety."

　　"Let's have a look at it," said Frere.

　　"Here it is," returned Meekin, producing a packet; "and when the cloth is removed, I will ask permission of the ladies to read it aloud. It is most interesting."

　　A glance of surprise passed between the ladies Protherick and Jellicoe. The idea of a convict's letter proving interesting! Mr. Meekin was new to the ways of the place.

　　Frere, turning the packet between his finger, read the address:-

　　John Rex, sen.,

　　Care of Mr. Blicks,

　　38, Bishopsgate Street Within,

　　London.