A great bell was rung; there was
a parley with the keeper of the gate. The whole scene resembled
something which Richard remembered to have read in a book; he knew not
what, nor where. A door in the wall was opened; they led him up some
stone steps; the door closed behind him with a clang; and its locks
seemed to bite into the stone.
"This way, prisoner," said a gruff voice.
Door after door, passage after passage; a labyrinth of stone and iron.
At last he was ushered into a small chamber, unlike any thing he had
ever seen in his life. His sleeping-room at the keeper's lodge at
Crompton was palatial compared with it. The walls were stone; the floor
of a shining brown, so that it looked wet, though it was not so. His
jailer-chamberlain pointed to a low-lying hammock, stretched upon two
straps between the walls. "There, tumble in," he said; "you will have
your bath in the morning. Look alive!"
Richard obeyed him at once. "Good-night, warder," said he.
"Night!" grumbled the other; "it's morn-in'. A pretty time to be
knockin' up people at a respectable establishment. If you want any
thin'--broiled bones, or deviled kidneys"--for the man was a wag in his
quaint way--"ring this 'ere bell. As for the other rules and regulations
of her Majesty's jail, you'll learn them at breakfast-time.
Pages:
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303