Page 403 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

CHAPTER XII. AT

PORT ARTHUR.

he usual clanking and hammering was prevalent upon
Tthe stone jetty of Port Arthur when the schooner bear-
ing the returned convict, Rufus Dawes, ran alongside. On
the heights above the esplanade rose the grim front of the
soldiers’ barracks; beneath the soldiers’ barracks was the
long range of prison buildings with their workshops and
tan-pits; to the left lay the Commandant’s house, author-
itative by reason of its embrasured terrace and guardian
sentry; while the jetty, that faced the purple length of the
‘Island of the Dead,’ swarmed with parti-coloured figures,
clanking about their enforced business, under the muskets
of their gaolers.
Rufus Dawes had seen this prospect before, had learnt
by heart each beauty of rising sun, sparkling water, and
wooded hill. From the hideously clean jetty at his feet, to
the distant signal station, that, embowered in bloom, reared
its slender arms upwards into the cloudless sky, he knew it
all. There was no charm for him in the exquisite blue of the
sea, the soft shadows of the hills, or the soothing ripple of
the waves that crept voluptuously to the white breast of the
shining shore. He sat with his head bowed down, and his
hands clasped about his knees, disdaining to look until they

0 For the Term of His Natural Life