Page 411 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

like white-handed prisoners. Troke, by way of experiment
in human nature, perhaps, placed him next to Gabbett. The
day was got through in the usual way, and Kirkland felt his
heart revive.
The toil was severe, and the companionship uncouth,
but despite his blistered hands and aching back, he had not
experienced anything so very terrible after all. When the
muster bell rang, and the gang broke up, Rufus Dawes, on
his silent way to his separate cell, observed a notable change
of custom in the disposition of the new convict. Instead of
placing him in a cell by himself, Troke was turning him
into the yard with the others.
‘I’m not to go in there?’ says the ex-bank clerk, drawing
back in dismay from the cloud of foul faces which lowered
upon him.
‘By the Lord, but you are, then!’ says Troke. ‘The Gover-
nor says a night in there’ll take the starch out of ye. Come,
in yer go.’
‘But, Mr. Troke—‘
‘Stow your gaff,’ says Troke, with another oath, and im-
patiently striking the lad with his thong—‘I can’t argue here
all night. Get in.’ So Kirkland, aged twenty-two, and the
son of Methodist parents, went in.
Rufus Dawes, among whose sinister memories this
yard was numbered, sighed. So fierce was the glamour of
the place, however, that when locked into his cell, he felt
ashamed for that sigh, and strove to erase the memory of it.
‘What is he more than anybody else?’ said the wretched man
to himself, as he hugged his misery close.

10 For the Term of His Natural Life