No Man's Land

But as creepy as Port Arthur is, it is still not half as scary as the Isle of the Dead. This completely deserted island is just a kilometer off shore from Port Arthur. And its name pretty much reflects what the island is all about. here is where all of Port Arthur's dead are buried. It's the official cemetery. At least it was from 1830 right up to 1877. Almost 1,800 prisoners were buried here in the most undignified fashion in mass graves. A further 180 'free' people were buried in individuals plots. The British often chose the most notorious convict in Port Arthur to live on the Isle of the Dead by himself and work as the resident grave digger. one of the last prisoners hand picked for the job was Mark Jeffrey. This Irishman was a big, hulking man, short on temper and long on nerve. This hot head, dare devil was hard to tame and the British were glad to banish the trouble maker to the Isle of the Dead. He spent the entire week on the deserted island alone, except for Sunday, when they came to get him by boat to attend church at Port Arthur. For a long while the arrangement worked like a charm. The Irishman enjoyed his freedom alone on the deserted island and the British enjoyed peace and order at Port Arthur. But out of the blue early one mid week morning, the British authorities at Port Arthur spotted a distress signal coming from the Isle of the Dead. A detachment of reluctant guards were ordered to row across to the island to investigate what was wrong. They headed off slowly, dreading a confrontation with the fiestyIrishman.

But when they got there, they were surprised to find Jeffrey in a wild, agitated state of terror. He begged them to take him off the island and imprison him in Port Arthur. It was sometime before they managed to piece together the reason behind Jeffrey's terrified state. It had happened the night before. He was asleep in his hut when he was rudely awoken. The hut was shaking and rocking from side to side. The bewildered Jeffrey looked out to see what was causing this, but all he saw was darkness surrounding the hut. Yet the hut continued to rack and sway from this invisible force. Jeffrey's confusion quickly crystalised to fear. And just about then a fiery red glow lit up the whole hut. That was it for the big man, he scrambled out of the hut. That's when he was confronted by the unthinkable. The Devil himself was out there, eyes smloudering, horns erect, encircled in sulfurous smoke. On hearing Jeffrey's story, the guards were puzzled. They knew the Irishman was not drunk, the only logical explanation they could think of for such a tall tale. There was no booze available on the island. They simply concluded his mind had become 'unhinged by crime and suffering.' They decided not to force him to stay on the dead man's island. Jeffrey was ferried back to Port Arthur where he remained, meek as a mouse. Gone was his fiesty spirit and hot temper. He was never the same again.