Page 378 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

rice rose in disgust, not unmixed with self-laudation.
‘Dear me, it is really very terrible,’ says Meekin, who was
not ill-meaning, but only self-complacent—‘very terrible
indeed.’
‘But unhappily true,’ said Mr. Pounce. ‘An olive?
Thanks.’
‘Upon me soul!’ burst out honest McNab, ‘the hail see-
stem seems to be maist ill-calculated tae advance the wark
o’ reeformation.’
‘Mr. McNab, I’ll trouble you for the port,’ said equally
honest Vickers, bound hand and foot in the chains of the
rules of the services. And so, what seemed likely to become
a dangerous discussion upon convict discipline, was stifled
judiciously at the birth. But Sylvia, prompted, perhaps, by
curiosity, perhaps by a desire to modify the parson’s cha-
grin, in passing Mr. Meekin, took up the ‘confession,’ that
lay unopened beside his wine glass, and bore it off.
‘Come, Mr. Meekin,’ said Vickers, when the door closed
behind the ladies, ‘help yourself. I am sorry the letter turned
out so strangely, but you may rely on Frere, I assure you. He
knows more about convicts than any man on the island.’
‘I see, Captain Frere, that you have studied the criminal
classes.’
‘So I have, my dear sir, and know every turn and twist
among ‘em. I tell you my maxim. It’s some French fellow’s,
too, I believe, but that don’t matter—divide to conquer. Set
all the dogs spying on each other.’ ‘Oh!’ said Meekin. ‘It’s the
only way. Why, my dear sir, if the prisoners were as faithful
to each other as we are, we couldn’t hold the island a week.