DEAD AND BURIED.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 2181, 5 November 1897, Page 3

DEAD AND BURIED.

PROM THE "CONFESSIONS OF AN OLD BURGLAR." Archie, out on license, hoisted his modest swag on his shoulders, and soon left Fremantle, with the sombre prison, behind him. He humped his load up country a bit. fell in with two kindred spirits, and took to cattle lifting for a living—Archie, Nat the Stockman, and Bob the Duffer. They drove a man's cattle off his station by night, burnt out. the brands, and sold them to some other man a hundred miles away. Business was easy under such favorable conditions; the firm helped themselves: they paid nothing; they sold cheap. And sometimes for a change they stuck a man up and relieved him of his gold ! and valuables. The gang soon got to be notorious: loud rose a hue-and-cry. So hot it grew that at last they made devious routes to a den in the trackless bush—a snug and cosy cavern, which nature's mimicry seemed to have fortified against police and their alarums. Soon wearying of this sluggard's life, one morning Archie jrot his which : was in a secret paddock some few chains away, clapped the saddle on. buckled spurs to boots, and rode off to get news of the enemy. As he drew near the camp a little before sundown his quick eye caught sight of a thin spiral of smoke curling up heavenwards amongst the gums. "The fools!" he caled—for it was against orders to light a lire till after nightfall, and no billy ever boiled by day. But it was wors* 1 than that. He hadn't gone many paces whsn he noted broken boughs, fresh leaves newly fallen dabbled in pools of blood. "The bloodhounds!" criod Archie, and reckless of consequences put spurs to his jaded horse and galloped up to the fire.

"The bloodhounds!" he cried again. The cave mouth gaped at him : the tkick clothing of clambering shrubs which had covered it was torn away: the ground was churned up with horses' hoofs; strewn with bloody blankets and tattered remnants. Swiftly he dismounted, lied his horse up to a tree, and darted into the cave. All was confusion, hews of twigs and leaf scattered to the winds : empty bottlcs.mouldy chunks of damper.shirts, shoes, spurs, pipes, tobacco, tea, sugar, flour—all the lumber of a bushman's camp—even a pack of greasy cards—a couple of papers from the old country. Not one of them could speak, but to Archie each was eloquent enough. Kicking these to right and left, Archie strode fiercely to the end of the cave, groped In the darkness for a moment, and from a deep fissure withdrew a long stocking. This was the treasure chest, which he regarded intently for a moment, suspending it in the air as if to weigh its content?.

"No, I'll only take my share, like a hone&t man," said he to himself. "Beside—l may be copped myself—aye—l'll leave some for a rainy day." Nevertheless, he hesitated, paltered with his conscience, argued that Nat and Bob would get life for their littfe games; maybe hanged if murder had been done. What was money to them? They'd give tfie whole stocking-full for a smoke. They'd give the plant away for a stick of tobacco. Aye—he would nay —he wouldn't and, having debated with himself longer than a prudent man would have done, at last helped himself to a portion of notes and sold, flung the stocking back into the fissure, stumbled out of the cave, mounted his horse, and was at once lost in the gloom of the forest.

In that parched speck of the spinning globe it was an eighteen days' wonderviz., the capture of Xat and Bob the cattle duffer (they got "life" for the third time); the providential escape of the restless Archie. On the ninth day. whilst the hue-and-cry for the missing man was at its very hottest, a very respectable fellow stepped aboard the barque Schiehallion, homeward bound, lying at Fremantle waiting for a fair wind. Shepherd, stock rider, rail splitter, bush faller, general utility man. he gave himself out to be, and thus did his outside bespeak him: he wore a Scotch cap. a suit of Scotch tweed: he spoke Scotch; was distinguished from his fel-low-men by a crooked hump on his broad back. The ,-kipper asked him thirty guineas for the trip home. The Scotchman chattered, talked of the bawbees, offered pounds; and got his way. "You'd skin a louse." muttered the'captain, pacing the poop in his pyjamas. He was a poor man, though ; an odd passenger was a perquisite, and he had to think of bawbees himself. At last his patience was exhausted, and he said shortly. "See here. Mister " "Donald Macvittie." "Mr Macvittie—there's a spare bunk in the bosun's house—forrad there—him and the cook, and a sick passenger's goin' home—you can have that for the pounds." "Tt's verra close quarters. Captain!"

"Well, you can sleep aft with the steward for another ten." However. Donald Macvittie shook his head, bit off a chew of tobacco, took thought for a minute or two, and closed with the captain's offer. He went ashore at once, and was soon back again with his baggage—to wit. a paddle, a stock-whip or two. and a long bag. neatly packed, and covered with oilskin. He strode straight to the bosun's house, chucked his baggage on a bunk, and sat down on the cook's chest. He was cutting up some tobacco with an ugly knife, when the bosun a hairy fellow, black with work, shoved his face in and cried. "3d ate. you're wanted aft —the old man'd like to see you in the cabin." "Oh!" grunted the passenger, carefully stuck his knife into its leather sheath, put his hand to his hump as if it were paining him. and walked leisurely aft and into the captain's cabin. The captain was talking to two men in police uniform. "He ain't aboard us, you're satisfied. I hope. Been all over the ship, haven't you?—another drop of whisky—say when—here's to you " "And good voyage. Captain." "Here's one of my passengers—Mr Macvittiethese are officers from Fremantle—they're come abroad to look for Archie Sloss, the bushranger—you're not him, eh?" And there was a roar of hilarious laughter. * I The two searchers had caught sight of I the poor Scotchman's hump, and it tickled them. "Mebbe ye'd like to feel it. gentlemen," said the passenger with a snarl. "Put yer hands on it—do." They only laughed the louder. "All right, Scottie—off you go. Here, you can take one of these with you for a present. There's two hundred pounds waiftin' for somebody." And with a grin one of them thrust a broad sheet into his hands, offering that considerable sum for the capture of Archibald Sloss. escaped convict, robber, and so on. So Scottie, otherwise Donald Macvittie, went as he was bade, stuffed the broad sheet into his pocket, cut up his tobacco, filled his pipe, and stood smoking, peering moodily over sea and land. A few minutes later the two officers dropped into their boat and were pulled aboard a Yankee whaler. Donald watched them with a grim smile, spat in the water with a sudden burst of energy, and muttered to him-

self, "Ye won't find him theer, ye bloodhounds." As the grey dawn stole over the Indian Ocean the Schiehallion was homeward boundOn! Sally Brown was a bright mulatto, Way! heigh! Roll and go. The strains of the.chanty—sung so lustily— reached the very shore, and fell on the ears of many a man in irons, straining at his burden. Despite his hump, which boded but a grudging messmate, Donald Macvittie proved himself excellent company. The cook sold him many a tit-bit from the skipper's dishes—hot rolls for breakfast, broiled bacon, prime cuts, spoonfuls of savoury sea-pie. The hairy bosun and he were sworn friends, though Donald stripped him of his very shirt at cut-throat euchre, and other games that seamen love. And at dog-watches on njponlit nights he span them many a yarn of wild bush life, of wicked convicts, shootings, stabbings, murder, and sudden death. But of all the desperadoes give him that Archie Sloss as all the talk was about. He were a one. Tie cared for nowt nor nobody. Not him. Even Donald trembled as he spoke of his nefarious deeds. And the sick passenger worshipped the shepherd with the crooked back. Who save him cooling draughts of limejuice on torrid days? Donald. Who helped dress him? Donald. Who led him out on deck when the ship was on an even heel and gave'him airings? Donald. Who alone listened patiently to his pulings? Donald. Who smoothed his rough pillow for him? Donald. Who wedged him into his hard bunk when the ship was rolling? Donald. Who fanned him with a bit of canvas on'blistering tropic days? Donald. But whiter and sicker he grew with every knot of that wild waste of waters they traversed: the cook shook his head and said he was croaking; the hairy bosun talked about Davy Jones's Locker ; the skipper offered him black draughts and Epsom salts; even the faithful Donald said with a grunt he were Homeward Bound.

One wild night the cook was cussing in his galley: the hairy bosun was cussing on deck; the crew were cussing up aloft: the skipper was holding on to a lifeline on the poop, bawling till he was hoarse. Donald was reading in his bunk by the flickering flame of a spitting-, spirting, stinking slush lamp. The sick man lay groaning and moaning overhead. Now the ship was high in air, then sunk into the belly of the deep; turned this way, then that; fell with a thud to port, then to starboard, as the thundering seas buffeted her. Now they Sot below and hoisted her up; then they soared heavenwards and dropped like a load of earth upon her. Clank of scupper port, hiss of rushing water, hoarse cries and hurried tramp of crew and hairy bosun—what horrid tumult! In the midst of it Donald saw a skeleton hand motioning to him. He got up, and, getting a good grip of the bunk's edge, got up to see what was the matter. •'lm goin' fast, Donald," said the sick man in a whisper. Donald couldn't gainsay him. and was silent. "Donald—quick—there's three hundred pound in my box—will you give it to my mother?" "Aye," said Donald; "wheer may she be found?" And he told him. adding, "Now feel under my pillow. Donald." Donald felt, and brought out a Bible. "Kiss the book. Donald." Donald kissed it. "Good-bye, Donald; Heaven will reward you."

Then a great sea came thundering against the door, and threatened to make matchwood of it. The wat*r poured in through crack and crevice and creaking timber, and washed up to the sick man's blanket. "Oh!" he gasped. "Oh!" But Donald never budged, though he was up to his knees in water. Suddenly he shook the sick man. "Oh!" he murmured. "Mercy, mercy!" "Look at me," roared Donald. "Listen!" The sick man was alive again, and listened. "If I do that job for ye. T want my reward down below." "Oh!" "Not money!" "No!" "I'm Archie Sloss. what they're huntin' down." "Oh! ! !" "Look at me. mon and never fear. Davy Jones hisself's not so bad as they mek him out." "No!"—and a look of hope came over the sick man's face. "I'll take care of your money, and deliver it true to my oath. You—you'll take my name. What d'ye say?" The sick man nodded. "Kiss the book on it." And he kissed the book on it. "I'll so and fetch the cook, and heTl take your deppositions. Mind, you're that black hearted villain—Archie Sloss —convict, bushranger, cattle lifter—what's broke his ticket, and can't be found." The sick man nodded again. At that moment came a lull in the storm: the door was unlocked, and in rushed the cook, like some strange seagod, covered from head to foot in dripping oil-skins, with the water pouring from him. "Cook, see here, he's dyin'—and who is he, d'ye Ihink?" The cook swore some foul oath and took no heed. "Cook! Cook!" and Donald seized him by the neck in his excitement. "See. it's Archie Sloss we've had as mate—tell him." he roared to the dying man. Donald made a dive for the Bible; the "depposition" was writ down on the flyleaf, in the presence of the awestruck cook, duly signed by the sick passenger, and witnessed in shaking letters. What a shipwreck scrawl it was! He died at eight bells—morning. At eight bells—noon— they sewed him up in; his hammock: the elemental roar was now a sullen moaning as if the whole universe were in dull pain: the barque was tumbling like a dead thing amongst the fretful waters. The skipper, sore-eyed from want of sleep, mumbled a broken word or two of prayer, cried "Heave!" to the weary men, and into the deep went all that remained of Archie Sloss—convict-lifer. "Log it," said the captain to the mate. So the mate logged it, and Archie was forgotten till a detective boarded them off Ciavesend. He made a copy of the entry, searched the ship for lags, and went ashore with the news. Did it not appear in the public prints of that period? The next night Donald Macvittie—all but his hump— appeared in a small town close to London, and after making some inquiries, knocked at the door to which lie had been directed. An old woman answered his summons and bade him enter. "I've a message from your son, missus, name of Wagstaff." Then ho planked down on the table a canvas parcel. • "Count it, missus; there should be three hundred pounds." After a painful scene the dead man's friend went his way, and as he walked by himself he talked to himself. I This is what he said again and again. "Archie—whoever heard the like on it

afore? They won't hunt yez down no more—excep' it's underground—ye're a man what's dead and berried."—"Westminster Gazette."