CONVICT JOE.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 29, Issue 38, 18 May 1917, Page 7

CONVICT JOE.

A SHORT STORY.

‘‘Blimy !” breathed Old Joe thickly. as he stumbled through the Dartmoor fog. “If this don’t beat potato soup, I ain’t never seen the wrong side of a prison wall !” Truly, it was a real Devonshire terror. Down there in the lowlands you could perhaps see your hand before your face. But up here, among the frowning tors of Dartmoor, the world was a meaningless, white smudge. ‘‘Give ’em the fair slip, I did,” chuckled the convict. “Jest a bit of a shindy, some shoutin', a couple o’ shots, and that was all. Ah, but it’s a rummy go,” he added contemplatively. - “Like like what ? Like knocking a man down so’s to help pick ’ira up again arterwards, as the poets’d say. Well, I don’t care. I’m a-goin’ to do my little bit, and nobody ain’t goin’ to stop me !”

In case Old Joe’s conversation may appear as bewildering as the mist in which it was uttered, let me take you into his confidence. Joseph Blakcsby, once soldier, once plumber, now convict, was escaping from Princetown Prison in order to enlist in Great Britain’s new army.

Hang it all, why should the country be done out of a good fighter just because, in a fit of mad temptation, he had once signed a name that was not his ? And why, just because of this same mad moment, should a man eat his soul out in a cold cell, when his heart ached to join ‘‘the boys” and share their glorious privations and dangers in the trenches? Old Joe, they called him. But ho

wasn’t too old to grasp a gun. A dozen or so years ago, on the broad, endless veldt, which made even Dartmoor lodk insignificant by comparison, he had fought with the best of ’em —ay, he’d fought with 'em, and starved with ’em, fed with ’em, and bled with ’em ! Two wounds and a medal he’d come away with. The modal he had sold when the plumbing business went smash ; but the old scars still remained, and one of them twinged yet in damp weal her. So Old Joe, believing that his King and country needed him, made a bolt for freedom one day, determined to answer the call that rang so insistently in his ears. As he stumbled through the mist, having given his gaolers the slip, it never occurred to him that he was acting wrongly. Though freedom, once lost, spells heaven, he had not contemplated escape until he felt a .■all that sprang from something higher than mere selfishness. He knew that he had sinned, and was willing to take the consequences. What he could not agree to was that his country should have to take thosd consequences, too. “Think I could do with a bit of a rest,” he mumbled presently, after he had travelled for what seemed to him an interminable time. “Wish I was twenty years younger. 'Blimy, ain’t it cold !’’

He sat down gingerly. His seat crunched under him in moist indignation, oozing into a little pool through his pressure. But Old Joe enjoyed it. His head began to fall forward over his arrowed chest, and ere long he was in the British trenches, up to his knees in water, with German shells bursting all around. Dartmoor did its best to keep up the delusion, for it provided many of the actual discomforts Old Joe dreamed of, if it could not at that moment run to shot and shell. But the muskets of the warders' scouring party were not far off.

Suddenly the convict woke ifp with a start. A few yards away he heard soft footsteps, and he gave himself up for lost. Straining his eyes, he discerned a dim, shadowy figure, which did not appear to belong to the scouring party ; moreover, the man was evidently alone. He wore ordinary civilian dress. “S’help me, I’ll risk it !” Jbe mumbled. “I ain’t got no chance at all if I don’t change these artistic clothes o’ mine. Bcggin’ yer pardon, stranger, of course, but it’s got to be done.”

He rose and followed cautiously. It was a more difficult job than he had anticipated. Twice the thick

mist closed upon his quarry, and the second time it seemed as though ho would never (ind him again. Then, for a brief space, the mist cleared a little, and he stumbled, to his surprise, against a small wooden hut. There was a light in it. “Well, if this don’t beat all !” the convict thought. Cautiously he crept to the little window. The man was now seated at a little bench, writing busily. For a few moments Joe watched him. Then he slipped round to the door and entered. “Pleasant afternoon,’’ he said, affably. “You don’t mind me payin’

you a visit, do you ?” The writer looked up in amazement and sprang to his feet. “Now, jest you keep calm, my hearty, and T won’t hurt you,’’ continued the convict. “All I’m after is to make a little exchange with you—y’seo ? I like the fashion o’ yer clothes bottor’n mine, so ’’

“Hands up,” cried the other sharply, "or I’ll lire !”

“ 'Blimy !” exclaimed Old Joe, as he looked down the muzzle of a revolver. “If this ain’t the blamedest luck I over struck. Fairly cornered, I am,with a dozen .men outside wantin’ to shoot me, and now you’re wantin’ to do the same in hero. Well, I must take my luck !”

As he uttered the last words, his drawling manner suddenly changed. He ducked aside, then heaved himself forward. His opponent ducked, too, still covering him with the revolver. But he did not fire.

“Stop, stop !” he - cried. “You’re too hasty. How do you know I want to hurt you ?”

Old Joe blinked. He was rather puffed, and it occurred to him abruptly that he was up against a situation that needed particularly delicate handling. “Well, I'm an escaped convict, ain’t I?” said Joe. "And I ain’t been too pleasant." "Tsch ! That’s nothing,” returned the other. "I can well understand your position, and I—l think I am sport enough to give a dog his chance." "Dog—eh ?” , "I’m sorry If you don’t like the term." "Well, I won’t quarrel with it, if it’s bulldog you mean. Now, see here, why didn’t you fire at me ? I might ’ave 'ad you senseless by now." "I’ve told you. If you agree to leave me alone, I’ll leave you." "P’r’aps your pistol ain’t loaded?" "Oh, yes it is, my man.” "Fire it, an’ see." "What a fool you are !" exclaimed the man angrily. "If I did that, it would bring up your pursuers immediately.” "You was quiffc to think o’ that, mister.” The other flushed, but instantly regained himself. "Yes, luckily for you. Now, is it a bargain ?’’ “Is what a bargain ?" “Why, that I give you freedom, if you'll give me peace ?" Old Joe hesitated. Suddenly he lurched forward again, "Steady !’’ cried the man. But Joe had achieved his object, which was to obtain a clearer sight of a sheet of paper lying on the bench. "I on’y wanted to shake yer hand, s’elp me,” he explained. “It’s really very kind o’ you, it is. Yes, "it’s a bargain. But, see ’ere, you’d better stick where you are for a bit, or you’ll meet one o’ them warders, an’ be arst awkward questions, p’r’aps. Twiggy ? Course, you ain’t seen no one ; I trust yer for that. But them warders is rummy chaps, and one good turn deserves another—eh ?”

"Thanks for the tip.,” replied his hoist coolly. "Yes, I 'dislike being worried, but if I meet a warder there’s no knowing what I may do. So you’d better clear off, at once, before I change my mind.”

"You won’t change your mind,” chuckled Old Joe, when he stood Outside the hut. "Not while you know there’s British pistols round, you German—dog !”

Despite his discovery, it was with a heavy heart that the convict left the hut. In his blind, groping way, he had believed that the word Duty in his case stood side by side with Escape. But now it stood side by side with Capture, and an end to all his splendid hopes and dreams. "Drat that spy !” he grumbled, as he struggled back in’ the direction whence, as far as he could determine, he had come, "I wish I’d never met ’im. He spoke English almost as good as me, but it was German writin’ and he wouldn’t fire that pistol. If he’d done that his own little game would have been given away. He didn’t want no pistol shots !”

The fog had lifted a little, and he was able to see his way to some extent. He was wretchedly cold by now. Hunger, too, was making itself felt. But on 'he must go, till he ran back into the net—or dropped He thought that perhaps in return for this service they might grant him his release. Possibly his case would be put before the Home Secretary. “Dear Mr. McKenna,” tie' wrote, in his mind. “All convicts ain’t bad. After what I’ve done, will you give me a chance to prove I’m no skulk ?” In the distance he saw shadowy forms. He hurried forward, with hands raised. A shot rang out. “Winged him !” cried an approaching voice.

“Rather badly, too, i’m afraid. Didn’t you see his hands were up. ?” “No, poor beggar,” said the first speaker, reaching the convict and kneeling by his side. “Let’s have the brandy. Smith.” It was five minutes before Old Joe

came round. Ho stared up info his captor’s face, and said feebly : “I was coinin’ back. There’s a German spy here.” “He’s babbling,” whispered Smith. “No, I’m not,” answered Old Joe. “He’s in a hut some way off. I found him there German papers—coinin' back to tell yer.” “That was a game thing to do, Jarvis, if it's true,” said Smith. Jarvis frowned. “It’ll go hard with you, you know, if you’re playing a prank,” ho observed. " ’Blimy !” murmured Old Joe, smiling. "I reckon it won't trouble me long ’ow ’ard it goes with me." The two warders exchanged significant glances. “Where’s this place?” asked Jarvis, “Give us a 'and, and I’ll show you,” replied Joe. They lifted him up carefully. The convict gritted his teeth, and hid from them the extent of his suffering. Other men came up. In silence this strange party advanced towards the hut of the spy. Several times it looked as though Old Joe would give out. Some of the party went ahead, but without the convict's guidance the mist proved too much for them. At last the shed was sighted. “You stay, with him, Smith,” said Jarvis. “The rest of ns will surround the place. Wait till we return.” Smith squatted by Old Joe, and looked at him sympathetically. “You’ll be all right in a jiffy," he said. "We’ll see to that.” Joe made no response. He was listening. “Why did you bolt ?” asked Smith. “Thought you’d have been about the last man to try that silly game.” “Ah !" exclaimed the convict, as a shot rang out. Smith hurried forward. A minu c or two later he returned. “That’s the end of your German, he said. “The chap was garni-, I admit, but we were too quick for him. or it would have been all up with Jarvis.He was a spy, right enough. We’ve got his papers.” "Shot ’im—eh ?” murmured Old Joe. “Then I’ve outed one German, you might say. Done my little bit. And he closed his eyes.—'Answers.'