been able to get rid of his enemy the sun for a moment, was probable enough.
His companions, sitting on the combings of the main-hatch,
or crouched in careless fashion on the shady side of the barricade,
were laughing and talking, with blasphemous and obscene merriment
hideous to contemplate; but he, with cap pulled over his brows,
and hands thrust into the pockets of his coarse grey garments,
held aloof from their dismal joviality.

The sun poured his hottest rays on his head unheeded, and though
every cranny and seam in the deck sweltered hot pitch under the fierce heat,
the man stood there, motionless and morose, staring at the sleepy sea.
He had stood thus, in one place or another, ever since the groaning vessel
had escaped from the rollers of the Bay of Biscay, and
the miserable hundred and eighty creatures among whom he was classed
had been freed from their irons, and allowed to sniff fresh air twice a day.

The low-browed, coarse-featured ruffians grouped about the deck
cast many a leer of contempt at the solitary figure, but their remarks
were confined to gestures only. There are degrees in crime,
and Rufus Dawes, the convicted felon, who had but escaped the gallows
to toil for all his life in irons, was a man of mark. He had been tried
for the robbery and murder of Lord Bellasis. The friendless vagabond's
lame story of finding on the Heath a dying man would not have availed him,
but for the curious fact sworn to by the landlord of the Spaniards' Inn,
that the murdered nobleman had shaken his head when asked
if the prisoner was his assassin. The vagabond was acquitted
of the murder, but condemned to death for the robbery, and London,
who took some interest in the trial, considered him fortunate
when his sentence was commuted to transportation for life.