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CHAPTER XI
HOW I ESCAPED

I am not going to attempt to furnish you with a description of my sensations during the first fortnight of my imprisonment. It would be quite impossible to give you any adequate idea of them. I believe for the greater part of the time I was on the verge of madness, one moment buoyed up with hope that Pete, seeing his own inevitable doom approaching, would make confession of my innocence, and the next hurled down into the depths lest he should not do it at all, and so leave me, an innocent man, to suffer undeserved punishment for the remainder of my natural existence. The day of his execution was drawing closer, and with every moment my anxiety was growing more and more unbearable. As if to make it harder, by the rules of the prison I could not appeal to him in any way. Of Sheilah I dared not think at all, and by the same token I could only speculate what had happened to my father.

One morning, however, I was destined to be enlightened on two of these subjects. The Governor, going his rounds, stopped at my cell, and when I saw him I dropped the work upon which I had been engaged and stood at attention.

'Prisoner,' he said, 'you have this morning addressed a letter to me asking if the condemned man Dempster has made any confession of your innocence. In reply I have some news to give you which I fear will greatly distress you. Dempster died suddenly this morning of aneurism of the heart, leaving no confession of any kind.'

'Dead!' I cried, hardly able to believe my ears. 'And left no confession. Then I am ruined indeed! I shall have to spend my life in prison and I am an innocent man.'

With that I fell back on my bed-place and fainted away. When I recovered, the Governor was still with me. But his face was less stern than it had been.

'My man,' he said, 'if you are innocent, as you say, your case is indeed a hard one. But you must prepare yourself for some more sad news, which I think it my duty to communicate to you.'

I looked up at him with a white face. If the truth must be known, I feared some misfortune had befallen Sheilah.

'What is it, sir?' I whispered, almost afraid to speak.

'I have to tell you that your father is also dead,' he answered; 'he was seized with a stroke of paralysis in Court and lingered until this morning, when he passed quietly away.'

Strange though it may appear, a feeling of positive relief seized me when I heard this last piece of news. I had so dreaded hearing that something had befallen Sheilah that the news of my father's death failed to affect me as keenly as it would have done at any other time. Perhaps the calmness with which I received it struck the Governor as extraordinary, for he looked at me in a curious fashion, and then, with a few brief words of advice, to which I hardly listened, left the cell. When he had gone I had plenty of leisure to think over my position, and my consternation was boundless. Now that Pete was dead, and the One-eyed Doctor could not be found, my innocence might never be proved, and in that case I should have to remain a prisoner at least for thirteen years. Pete was dead, my father was dead! The words seemed to ring in my head like a passing knell. Pete was dead, my father was dead, and I – well, I was buried alive.

According to custom I was to remain at Marksworth Gaol for a month and then be transferred for the balance of my term to Burowie Convict Prison, in the township of that name, a hundred miles distant, and in the opposite direction to Barranda. So for the rest of that month I fretted on, doing the work set me almost unconsciously, dreaming all the time of my wife and the beautiful free world outside that I was not to see, save on my journey between the gaols, for thirteen long years. The mere thought of such captivity was enough to kill any man, especially one born and bred in the bush as I had been.

At last the day, long looked for, came for me to change gaols. It was scorchingly hot, and for this reason our departure was delayed till the cool of the evening. About seven o'clock I and two more prisoners were paraded in the central yard. Our guard, consisting of a sergeant and four troopers, well mounted and equipped, paraded with us, leading the three horses which were to carry us to our destination. They were not bad looking beasts, the horses I mean, but nothing like as good as those ridden by our guards. When all was ready we were ordered to mount, and having done so our hands were manacled behind us. Then the sergeant in charge taking the lead, we started off, skirted the town and the common, and at last entered the scrub.

Throughout the journey my mind was occupied, almost without cessation, endeavouring to find an opportunity to escape. But not one presented itself. Next morning we were on our way again by the time the sun was above the horizon, jogging quietly through the scrub. And now I come to recall it, I think that was the hottest day's ride I ever remember. Little by little, however, the sun sank below the tree-tops, and at last, when we had arrived at a suitable spot, the sergeant called a halt. The troopers immediately dismounted, and we were told to follow their example. While the sergeant stood guard over us, two men unharnessed the horses and turned them loose, and the other two set about preparing the camp. Suddenly, like a flash, I saw my opportunity. The sergeant's horse, the best of the whole lot, a well-bred young chestnut, had not been hobbled, and was grazing barebacked, with his bridle still on, a short distance from the others. Thinking all was safe, the sergeant had unfastened my handcuffs for a moment to give my arms a rest. I leaned idly against a tree, keeping my eye all the time fixed upon the horse. Then suddenly I called out at the top of my voice, leaping away as I spoke.

'Great Scott, sergeant, look out for that snake!'

He jumped as if a dynamite cartridge had been exploded under his feet, and, while he was turning to look for the snake, I made a rush as hard as I could for the spot where his horse was standing. In less time than it takes to tell I had reached him, sprung upon his back, driven my heels into his sides, and was off across the plain at a racing gallop. When we had gone about fifty paces a carbine cracked in the air; but I was going too fast to be any sort of a mark for a bullet, so that did not trouble me very much. The shot, however, had one good effect; fast as my horse had hitherto been travelling, he now went even faster. Across the little open plain we dashed, into the thick scrub timber on the other side, and just as we did so I looked behind me. Short as the warning had been, two troopers were already scrambling into their saddles. Keeping well to the left, and having by this time secured the reins that at first had been flying loose about his head, I set the horse going in downright earnest. The ground was broken and by no means safe for galloping, but I trusted to be able to keep my pursuers at a distance until it was thoroughly dark, when I knew I should stand an admirable chance of giving them the slip altogether. As I left the timber, and emerged on to another bit of plain, I saw them descending the ridge behind me. What was worse, they had evidently cut a corner somehow, for now they were not more than a couple of hundred yards distant. My mind, however, was fully made up. I would risk anything, even my life, rather than be captured. If they came up with me, I was determined to fight to the death.

Once more I reached the security of the timber, but this time it was all down hill – broken ground, strewn here and there with big rocks, and the trunks of fallen trees. But if it had been paved with razor blades I believe I should have gone down it just as fast – for could I not hear the rattle of stones and the shouts of the men behind me. Suddenly my horse stuck his forelegs out and stiffened his whole body, and experience told me he had scented danger ahead. I looked over his ears, and there, straight before me, in the half dark, was a dry water-course, stretching away as far as I could see to right and left. In front it was at least thirty feet wide and sixty feet deep – a formidable jump, even on the best steeplechaser living. What was I to do? If I turned to the right or left, the men behind me would certainly head me off and capture me. If I went back up the hill I should come face to face with them; while, if I jumped, I might break my neck and so end my flight for good and all. But one thing was certain, to remain where I was meant certain capture, so at any cost I made up my mind to attempt the leap. Taking my horse by the head, I turned him round and rode him a little way up the hill. As I did so the troopers came into view, riding helter skelter, and making certain they had got me. The nearest was not more than half a dozen lengths or so from me, when I turned my animal's head down hill again.

'It's no good, Heggarstone,' he shouted, as he saw the ravine ahead. 'You can't escape, so throw up your hands.'

'Can't I,' I cried, and digging my heels into my horse's side, I set him going again at his top speed. He tried to pull off the jump, but it was no use, I'd got him too tight by the head for that, and I wouldn't let him budge an inch. He tried to stop, but I shouted at him and forced him to go on. So, seeing that there was nothing for it but to jump, he made a dash forward, gathered his legs well under him, and went at it like a shot out of a gun. With a snort he sprang into the air. I heard the little stones he dislodged go tinkling down to the bottom of the ravine, and next moment he had landed with a scramble on the opposite bank. It was a wonderful leap, and I thanked God from the bottom of my heart that I was safely over. As I reached terra firma, I turned and looked round. The two troopers had pulled their horses up and were standing watching me. One of them was raising his carbine, so I did not stop, but waved my hand to them and disappeared into the scrub. In ten minutes I had left them far behind me, and by the time darkness had fallen was far beyond their reach.

But though I had come so well out of my scrape, I was not safe yet by any manner of means. After spelling my horse alongside a pretty little creek for half-an-hour, I mounted him again, and set off in the direction I knew Barranda to lie. About nine o'clock the moon rose, and by her rays I was able to pick my path quite comfortably. I had fully planned my movements by this time. Come what might, I was going to make my way back to the township and see Sheilah once more, if only for the last time. If she cast me off and refused to have anything more to do with me – well, then, God help me, I would either kill myself or give myself up to the police and go back to serve my sentence with the additional punishment for escape, whatever it might be.

All that night I made my way through the scrub, keeping my eyes wide open for chance travellers' camps or station homesteads. Throughout the next day I lay hidden in a cave in the Ranges, hobbling my horse with his reins, so that he could not stray very far. Unfortunately I had nothing to eat, and by nightfall I was literally starving. As soon as it was dark I went on again, still keeping a constant watch about me. Towards midnight it seemed that I was on a definite track, and presently this supposition became a certainty. I could distinctly see wheel marks, and, for this reason, I knew I must be approaching a habitation of some sort. Then the outlines of a fence hove in sight, and after a little while the white roofs of buildings, glistening in the moonlight. It was a station; and, if I might judge by the number of huts and outhouses, a big one. Now, I told myself, if only I could get into the kitchen without exciting attention, I might be able to satisfy my hunger, and, perhaps, obtain a few provisions to carry along with me. Accordingly I got off my horse, and tied him carefully to the fence; then, stealthily as a thieving dingo, crept across the small paddock towards the building I had settled in my own mind was the kitchen. Every moment I expected some dog to bark and give the alarm, but all was quiet as the grave. I reached the hut, and crept round it, looking in at the side window to see if anyone slept there. I could not, however, distinguish a sign, so I went back to the door and turned the handle. It opened, and I crept in. Yes! I was right. It was the kitchen, and a fire was still glimmering on the hearth. A big, old-fashioned meat safe stood along one wall, and to this I made my way. A box of matches lay on the table, and having struck one I shaded it with my hand and commenced to explore. Cooked meat there was in abundance, and a loaf and a half of bread, which I took, with a knife I discovered in a box upon the dresser. Then out again I crept, softly closing the door behind me. A minute later I was back with my horse. Before unhitching him I had a good feed, and then stowed away the rest of my provender in my pockets. What a meal that was – never before had bread and meat tasted so good. Then, mounting and gathering up my reins, I went on again – to lie hidden all the day following and the day after that, in each case resuming my journey immediately the stars appeared. So far I had been fortunate almost beyond my expectations, but the nearer I approached the township the more afraid I became of being seen. At length, by the lay of the country, and by numerous land marks familiar to me from my youth up, I knew I could not be more than fifteen miles from my home; and accordingly I started that night almost at dusk, resolved to leave my horse in a bit of thick scrub, near where Sheilah had met with her accident the previous year, and to approach the house on foot. Reaching the timber in question, I accordingly turned my horse loose, and, after a short rest, made my way towards the homestead, which was now not more than three miles distant. Just as I reached it I heard a clock in the kitchen strike ten.

Little by little, taking infinite pains not to make a noise, I made my way along the garden fence, and then, crawling through it, went on under the old familiar pepper-trees into the verandah. A light was burning in the sitting-room, and when I was near enough, I craned my neck and looked inside. Sheilah, my wife, was there alone. She was sitting in her father's arm-chair, knitting – though, at the moment that I looked, her work lay in her lap, and she was staring into the empty fireplace. Her face was just as beautiful as ever – but, oh, so worn and sad. While I watched her she heaved a great sigh, and I saw large tears rise in her eyes. Something seemed to tell me that she was thinking of me, so creeping closer to the window I rapped softly with my fingers upon the pane. Instantly she sprang to her feet and ran to the door; another minute and she was in the verandah and in my arms.

'Oh, Jim, Jim! my husband! my dear, dear boy!' she whispered again and again. 'Thank God you have come back to me once more.'

The tears were streaming down my cheeks, and my heart was beating like a wheat flail against my ribs, but I had the presence of mind to draw her into the house and shut the door as quickly as possible. Then I disengaged myself from her arms and looked at her.

'Sheilah,' I said, 'you should not receive me in this fashion. I am not worthy.'

'Hush! hush!' she cried; 'you must never say that to me. Jim, to me you are innocent; let the world say what it will. I am convinced you did not do it.'

'But, Sheilah, I am not as innocent as you think. No, no! Do not look so scared. I did not kill the man, but I told you a lie when I said that I knew nothing of his death. I did know something about it, for I saw him murdered – but I could not say so, or I must have betrayed another man. I had sworn to Pete that I would not reveal what I had seen. So my lips were tied.'

'My own dear husband,' she said, looking up into my face, and then led the way towards the sitting-room, 'I have never thought you guilty. But come in here now – I must not let you be seen. Your escape is known to the police, and they were here looking for you only this afternoon.'

'Where is your father, Sheilah?'

'He has gone up to the township to attend a meeting of the Presbyterian Church. He may be back at any moment. First you must change your clothes. Go in there,' and as she spoke she opened the door of her own bedroom. 'You will find a suit hanging in the cupboard. While you are doing that, I will prepare a meal for you.'

I did not stop to ask how she had come to prepare for me in this way, but went into the room and changed my things as I was told to do. That done, and having folded the other hateful garments up and hidden them on the top of the cupboard, I rejoined her in the sitting-room. By this time she had a meal spread on the table for me, but I did not want to eat until I had told her the whole history of my trouble from beginning to end, without keeping anything back.

'And now, Sheilah,' I said, in conclusion of my narrative, 'Whispering Pete is dead. And what is worse, he died without exonerating me. Therefore, if I am caught, I shall have to go back to gaol again and serve my sentence to the bitter end.'

'But you must not be caught. I have taken steps to ensure your safety. As soon as you have eaten your meal you must start again. I have a saddle-horse and pack-horse ready in the stable – they have been there every night since you left here. You must take them, cross the border near Engonia, and set off by a roundabout route marked on this map for Newcastle – arriving there, you will go to this address (here she gave me a slip of paper which I deposited in my pocket) and interview the captain of the ship named upon it. I have got a friend whom I can trust implicitly to arrange it all. The captain will give you a passage to Valparaiso, and three hundred pounds when you land there. You can either settle in Chili or the South Sea Islands as you think best. In either case, when a year has elapsed, if you will let me know where you are I will join you. In the meantime, I am going to set to work to find this One-eyed Doctor, Finnan, and to prove your innocence.'

'Sheilah!' I cried, 'what can I say to you?'

'Say nothing, Jim, but do as I tell you. Remember your wife believes in you, whatever the world may say. So be brave and cautious for my sake.'

'And, Sheilah, you forgive me for that lie I told you? Oh! my darling, what misery my foolish obstinacy has brought upon us all – my father included.'

'But it will all end well yet, Jim; only you must do exactly as I tell you!'

At that moment my ear caught the sound of a footstep on the path. Sheilah heard it as soon as I did, and cried, —

'Jim, somebody is coming; you must hide. In here at once!'

She led the way to her own room, and made me go inside. A moment later I heard someone enter the room I had just quitted.

'Colin,' cried Sheilah, trying to speak in her natural voice, 'what on earth brings you down here at this time of night?'

'I have come to warn you, Sheilah,' said her cousin, 'that we have received information that your husband is on his way here. You know, don't you, that if he is discovered he will be at once arrested and taken back?'

'You would not arrest him, Colin, would you?' Sheilah asked, in agonised tones. 'Surely you could not be so cruel to me!'

Colin had evidently been studying her face.

'I'm afraid I should fail in my duty for your sake, Sheilah,' he said, after a moment's pause. 'But, my cousin, you know more than you are telling me. Sheilah! I see it all; Jim is here!'

Sheilah must have felt that she could trust him, for she answered, —

'You are right. He is here. Colin, you will not act against him?'

'Have I not told you I shall not! But remember, Sheilah, this will cost me my position. I shall send in my resignation to-morrow.'

At this I walked out, and Colin stared; but did not say that he was glad to see me.

'Jim,' my wife said, 'everything is prepared; you must go. Colin is your friend, you can trust him. Now come. Every moment you are here increases your danger.'

I went over to Colin McLeod and looked him in the face.

'McLeod,' I said, 'you are acting the part of a brave and true man. God bless you for it. Tell me one thing, do you believe me guilty of the charge upon which I was convicted?'

'No! I do not,' he answered; 'if I did I should not be helping you now.'

'Then I'll ask you to shake hands with me.'

We shook hands; and, after that, without another word, I followed Sheilah into the darkness. As she had said, two horses stood saddled and ready in the stockyard. I led them out, and, having done so, took Sheilah in my arms.

'My wife,' I said, 'my Sheilah, what a wonderful and beautiful faith is yours! Who else would have believed in me as you have done, through good and ill report!'

'It is because I love you so, and because I know you better than you know yourself that I believe in you as I do,' she answered. 'Now, Jim, darling, good-bye. Let me know what happens to you. Write, not only before you leave Australia, but when you arrive in Chili; and, for my sake, be careful. May the good God be with you and keep you safe for me. Good-bye – oh, Jim, Jim, good-bye.'

I kissed her sweet, upturned face again and again, and then, tearing myself away from her, passed through the slip panels, which she had let down for me, and with a last wave of my hand rode off into the dark night, feeling that I had left what was more than my life behind me.

Passing through old McLeod's paddock I made my way carefully along the creek side to the old ford – the place where I had fought Colin McLeod one memorable evening, and where I had spent that awful night after I had lied to Sheilah about Jarman's death and she had believed and kissed me before them all. Before I went down the steep bank to the water's edge I checked my horse and looked back across the paddocks to where I could just distinguish the outline of the house that sheltered the woman I loved. How much had happened and how terrible had been my life since I had last stood in this place and had gazed in the same direction. Then, turning my eyes across the stream, I made out the house I had built with such pride and loving care; the home to which I was to have brought my wife after the wedding that had ended so disastrously. There it stood, dark and forlorn, the very picture of loneliness, a grave of disappointed hopes if ever there was one. The garden was straggling and overgrown, the building itself already cried aloud for attention. Almost unconscious of my actions, I crossed the ford and rode up to within a few yards of it, thinking of the happy days I had spent in building it, of the good resolutions I had then formed, and the way in which I had afterwards failed in the trust reposed in me. In the darkness and silence of the night the place seemed haunted with phantoms of the past. I almost fancied I could see my father in one corner, and Pete from another, watching me, the outlaw, as I sat in my saddle under the big Gum Tree, gazing at what might once have been the very centre of all that could have made life beautiful. At last, saddened almost to the verge of despair, I urged my horse forward and quitted the spot, heaving a heavy sigh as I did so for auld lang syne, and all the happiness that might have been my portion had I only shunned Pete at the commencement of our acquaintance instead of trusting him and believing in him against my better judgment. Now, however, that it was all over and done with, there was nothing for it but for me to eat my bread of sorrow and drink my water of affliction alone. In the words of the old saying, I had made my bed, and now it was my portion to lie upon it.

Leaving the house, I made my way by a path, which I had good reason to know as well as any man living, in the direction of my old home. Like the other house it was quite dark. Not a light shone from the windows, though instinctively I turned towards those of the dining-room where my father had been wont to sit, half expecting to see one there. For my own part I did not know whether there was anyone still living in the house. My father was dead, I was cut off from the society of the living, Betty might be dead, too, for all I knew to the contrary. Repressing a groan, I turned my horse's head and set off through the scrub in the direction Sheilah had advised me to follow.

By the time the sun rose next morning I had put upwards of thirty miles between myself and Barranda township. I had travelled as quickly as possible in order that I might have more time to lay by later on, for I was determined to push on at night and to camp during the day. I had two reasons for this decision. In the first place, I wanted to give my beard a chance of growing, in order that my appearance might be altered as much as possible, and in the second, because I knew that in a district where I was so well known the chances would be a thousand to one that someone would recognise me in the daylight, and thus lead up to my recapture. For the first two or three days, however, complete success crowned my efforts. I was fortunate enough to be able to make my way across country each night without attracting attention. But a serious fright was saving up for me.

On the third day after I had said good-bye to Sheilah and Barranda township, I found myself leaving the Mallee scrub and entering more open country. Here I did not like to attract attention by camping during the day. Accordingly I made up my mind to risk meeting anyone who might know me, and, saddling my horse, started down the track. It was a warm morning, and seeing the amount of work that still lay before him, I did not push my horse too hard. I therefore jogged easily along, smoking my pipe, and thinking of Sheilah, my pretty wife, and of the old life I had left behind me. For upwards of an hour I had been following a faint track, which was now fast developing into a well-defined road. A little later I heard behind me the sound of a couple of horses coming along at a slow, swinging canter. For the reason that I was only travelling at a walk they soon caught me up, when I discovered that the new-comer was a smart, active, fresh-complexioned young fellow, obviously an Englishman, mounted on a neat bay and leading a clever-looking grey pack-horse beside him.

'Good morning,' he said, as he drew up alongside me. 'Pretty warm, ain't it? Travelling far?'

In case I should be questioned I had already decided upon the sort of answer I would return.

'I'm thinking of turning off after the next township,' I said, 'and following the river down till I strike the track for Bourke.' Then reflecting that if he were an experienced bushman he would find something wrong in this, I hastened to add, 'I should have gone in higher up, I know, and followed the coach road along the foot of the Ranges, but they say the country thereabouts is all burnt up and travelling is next door to an impossibility.'

'That is so,' he answered. 'I've come over the border myself, and had a pretty rough time of it out towards the Warrego. Are you droving?'

'Going down for a mob to take out to the Diamintina,' I answered. 'One of Blake & Furley's of Callington Plains.'

He shook his head.

'I don't know them,' he said. 'I'm next door to a new chum myself; been out on the Balloo best part of three years. Now, however, I'm going to take a jolly good holiday.'

For an hour or so we jogged on side by side, talking of horses, cattle, sheep, and half a hundred other things. Then the township came into view, and nothing would please my new friend but we must pull up at the grog shanty and take a drink. I would have made an excuse and have said good-bye to him, but he would not hear of such a thing. Accordingly, very loth, but unable to persist in my refusal for fear of exciting his suspicions, I consented and we pulled up at the Drover's Arms, as the shanty was called, and having made our horses fast to the rail outside, went in to the bar. There were two or three other men of the usual bar loafer stamp present at the time, and according to bush custom they were invited to join us in our refreshment. To my horror, as we were satisfying their curiosity as to whence we had come and whither we were going, and what the track was like further up, a police trooper entered and called for a nobbler of whiskey.

'How are you, Sergeant?' asked one of the loafers with well simulated interest. 'Any news to-day of the man you're looking for?'

The Sergeant shook his head.

'Not yet,' he answered; 'but we'll nab him before long, never fear.'

'Who are you looking for?' inquired my companion, with sudden interest.

'For Jim Heggarstone,' replied the Sergeant; 'the man who got a lifer for being mixed up with Whispering Pete in that murder case out Barranda way in Queensland. He escaped on his way to gaol, and we were told to look out for him in this direction, as it is supposed he is making south.'

My heart seemed to stand still for a moment as he turned round and ran his eye over me. I felt that I must make some remark, but what to say that would avert suspicion I could not for the very life of me think. At last I found my voice.

'What is he like – this, what's his name – Heggarfield?' I inquired, as coolly as I knew how.

The Sergeant glanced at me again as he answered, —

'Oh, a decent-sized sort of fellow. About your height, or a little taller, I should say.'

To my intense relief I was not permitted to monopolize the great man's attention for very long, as one of the loafers was desirous of learning what punishment the criminal would be likely to receive when he was captured and taken back to gaol.

'A year in irons, most likely,' I heard the Sergeant answer as I paid for the drinks and, lighting my pipe, sauntered out into the verandah, feeling ready to drop in my anxiety to be out of the township once more. As soon as my companion was ready, which seemed to me an eternity, we mounted our horses, and waving our adieux to the loafers in the bar, set off down the street, and in something less than a quarter-of-an-hour were clear of the houses and bidding each other good-bye at the spot where the three cross roads branched off. Two days later I joined a mob of fat cattle en route to Bourke, with whom I kept company until I reached the town. Then having sold my horse, saddle and bridle to the drover in charge, I found the railway station, purchased a ticket for Sydney, and placing myself on board the train was next day landed safe and sound in the capital. To make my way thence to Newcastle was a matter of small difficulty.