ee, and the fellow
pulls up his commissariat after him, and lives there by himself for a
month or so. It tames them wonderfully."

"Does it?" said Frere. "By Jove! it's a capital notion. I wish I had a
place of that sort at Maria."

"I've a fellow there now," says Vickers; "Dawes. You remember him, of
course--the ringleader of the mutiny in the Malabar. A dreadful ruffian.
He was most violent the first year I was here. Barton used to flog
a good deal, and Dawes had a childish dread of the cat. When I came
in--when was it?--in '29, he'd made a sort of petition to be sent back
to the settlement. Said that he was innocent of the mutiny, and that the
accusation against him was false."

"The old dodge," said Frere again. "A match? Thanks."

"Of course, I couldn't let him go; but I took him out of the chain-gang,
and put him on the Osprey. You saw her in the dock as you came in. He
worked for some time very well, and then tried to bolt again."

"The old trick. Ha! ha! don't I know it?" says Mr. Frere, emitting a
streak of smoke in the air, expressive of preternatural wisdom.

"Well, we caught him, and gave him fifty. Then he was sent to the
chain-gang, cutting timber. Then we put him into the boats, but
he quarrelled with the coxswain, and then we took him back to the
timber-rafts. About six weeks ago he made another attempt--together with
Gabbett, the man who nearly killed you--but his leg was chafed with the
irons, and we took him. Gabbett and three more, however, got away."

"Haven't you found 'em?" asked Frere, puffing at his pipe.

"No. But they'll come to the same fate as the rest," said Vickers, with
a sort of dismal pride. "No man ever escaped from Macquarie Harbour."

Frere laughed. "By the Lord!" said he, "it will be rather hard for 'em
if they don't come back before the end of the month, eh?"

"Oh," said Vickers, "they're sure to come--if they can come at all; but
once lost in the scrub, a man hasn't much chance for his life."

"When do you think you will be ready to move?" asked Frere.

"As soon as you wish. I don't want to stop a moment longer than I can
help. It is a terrible life, this."

"Do you think so?" asked his companion, in unaffected surprise. "I like
it. It's dull, certainly. When I first went to Maria I was dreadfully
bored, but one soon gets used to it. There is a sort of satisfaction
to me, by George, in keeping the scoundrels in order. I like to see the
fellows' eyes glint at you as y