The Governor hadn’t been very long in the colony, and they tried it on all roads to get him to go back on his promise to me. They began bullying, and flattering, and preaching at him if such a notorious criminal as Richard Marston was to be allowed to go forth with a free pardon after a comparatively short—short, think of that, short!—imprisonment, what a bad example it will be to the rising generation, and so on.

They managed to put the thing back for a week or two till I was nearly drove mad with fretting, and being doubtful which way it would go.

Lucky for me it was, and for some other people as well, the Governor was one of those men that takes a bit of trouble and considers over a thing before he says yes or no. When he says a thing he sticks to it. When he goes forward a step he puts his foot down, and all the blowing, and cackle, and yelping in the world won’t shift him.

Whether the Chief Secretary would have taken my side if he’d known what a dust the thing would have raised, and how near his Ministers—or whatever they call ‘em—was to going out along with poor Dick Marston, I can’t tell. Some people say he wouldn’t. Anyhow, he stuck to his word; and the Governor just said he’d given his decision about the matter, and he hadn’t the least intention of altering it—which showed he knew something of the world, as well as intended to be true to his own opinions. The whole thing blew over after a bit, and the people of the country soon found out that there wasn’t such another Governor (barrin’ one) as the Queen had the sending out of.

The day it was all settled the head gaoler comes to me, and says he, “Richard Marston, the Governor and Council has been graciously pleased to order that you be discharged from her Majesty’s gaol upon the completion of twelve years of imprisonment; the term of three years’ further imprisonment being remitted on account of your uniform good conduct while in the said gaol. You are now free!”