CHAPTERCXLVIII.THE TRIAL OF CHARLES PEACE FOR BURGLARY.The days and nights passed slowly and sadly enough with Charles Peace during the brief interval between his committal and trial.Take whatever view he would of the case he could not see any gleam of sunshine and hope for the future. It was not possible for any intelligent jury, after hearing the overwhelming evidence which would be brought forward for the prosecution, to return any other verdict than that of guilty upon the charge or charges preferred against the ill-fated man.Peace, despite his sanguine temperament, was forcibly impressed with this fact. He whined and moaned and declared himself to be an ill-used man.His relatives and friends had deserted him in the hour of extreme need—so he averred. It was the way of the world, he added, and there was therefore no reason to be surprised at a circumstance, which, to say the truth, was one of almost daily occurrence.He confessed that he had been greatly to blame, that under the influence of drink and excitement he had committed a most unwarrantable act of violence, but was at the same time truly thankful that the life of the gallant police officer had not been sacrificed. This was one of the greatest consolations he had in the hour of trouble and suffering.He affected to be so contrite, and assumed such a virtuous tone, that those about him were half disposed to believe he had been led into crime by a sudden impulse: nevertheless the facts were dead against him, and a heavy sentence would be sure to follow conviction.As the sessions drew nigh Peace became additionally nervous and anxious. He wrote off to several of his friends.So long as a man is in prison before trial and condemnation he has no work of any sort to do beyond the cleaning of his own cell and utensils.Books are allowed him, and writing materials, as before observed. Whatever a man writes is inspected and read by the governor, and every sheet of paper is counted, and has to be accounted for.This course is adopted so that prisoners may be prevented from writing letters to their friends outside without undergoing the inspection of the governor.The rule is an arbitrary one, and it does not seem to be altogether just. They have no right to be placed under such rigid surveillance before they are proved guilty.About 420,000 persons in the course of a year pass through the hands of the police in England and Wales. Of these, about 275,000 are convicted, some summarily, others after trial by jury, the former being seventeen times as numerous as the latter.The great majority of these mean nothing but the slightest punishments, generally fines; but about 70,000 are sentenced to imprisonment. Of these, 6000 in round numbers are children under sixteen years of age, nearly 1000 of whom are committed to reformatories for most of the remainder the cellular prisons probably furnish sufficient correction.Of the adults rather more than 2000 are sentenced to penal servitude.Of the 420,000 persons apprehended by the police more than 80,000 are either known or suspected to be criminals by trade, and from 50,000 to 60,000 are known to be living in total idleness and vice.This is, of course, a terrible state of things, but as yet no remedy has been found to repress crime in the metropolis or elsewhere.Peace was a criminal of the most irreclaimable, daring, and desperate order, but this was not known to the authorities at—for a certainty—the time of his arrest, but it afterwards became sufficiently manifest.At length the day arrived on which Peace was to be tried.He was in close converse with his lawyer on the preceding day, and was informed that Mr. Montague Williams would conduct the defence.The legal gentleman did not tell his client that the case was in every way a hopeless one, but bade him keep up his spirits and hope for the best.Before the court was duly opened, barristers and solicitors were to be seen ascending the staircase, ducking mysteriously into ante-rooms, and it was evident enough that there was to be a sort of legal field day.In the several robing-rooms counsel were dressing like other actors for their parts.The judge was arraying himself in his robes of office, and everybody appeared to be engaged on some important business.A court of justice is built everywhere much in the same fashion—a throne for the judge, benches right and left for the sheriff and municipal authorities, boxes on each side for the juries, separate pews for the warder and clerk of the court, convenient seats for the barristers. Then there is the witness-box, the dock, and benches piled tier over tier for the convenience of the spectators, and, as a matter of course, the ventilation is radically bad.There is also a stone hall outside in which clients congregate till their turn comes on, and witness-rooms.In addition to this, British witnesses seem to possess an inexhaustible supply of sandwiches in brown paper, and ardent spirits in old medicine bottles: upon these they feed incessantly, partly to kill time, and partly to fortify their moral courage, which they know will soon be tried in public as severely as the integrity of the prisoners.Up and down a passage which leads to the jury-room and to the private entrances into the court, one may see the attorneys in their Sunday shabby-genteel, and in great bustle and importance, running backwards and forwards, now halting to confab with gentlemen who are relations of the prisoners, or are subpœnaed witnesses—now with the barristers who wear stereotyped smiles upon their faces, as if law life was a pleasant dream.The judge entered the court and the usual formulæ had to be gone through. The benches appointed for the use of barristers were tolerably well filled.The first case to be tried was a charge of embezzlement. It did not occupy a great space of time, as it was as clear as the sun at noon-day—that is on days that luminary does condescend to shine.Peace was anxiously waiting his turn with two other fellow-prisoners. To his ineffable disgust one of these was the lad “Cakey,” as he was termed, who had so annoyed him in the exercise-yard. He was charged with picking pockets, in the practice of which he was an adept.“Strike me lucky,” said the audacious young ruffian. “I hopes as how they won’t keep us waiting long—don’t you?”“Mind your own business,” returned Peace.“Vell, there aint no call to be humpy about the matter. I spoke civilly enough—didn’t I?”“You are too fast for my book,” said Peace. “You’re like a sheep’s head—all jaw.”“Oh, carry me out and bury me dacent, but you’re as good as a play, you are, and no flies,” said the pickpocket. “Blest if you couldn’t make a fortin’ as a mummer; but I say, old man, I ’xpect you’ll get it rather ’ot. What made yer fire yer pop-gun at a ‘bobby,’ eh?”“Mind your own business, and don’t interfere with me.”“Vell, I’m sorry for yer, and I hopes as how——”“Hold your tongue, you fool,” interrupted our hero. “You’ll have enough to do to prove your innocence, I’m thinking.”“Vell, now, we agree this once. I’m of the same ’pinion. They’ll be down upon me as dead as a hammer. I’ll lay yer half a bull that they give me two ‘stretch.’ I mek up my mind to that there, but you—vell, I don’t know how it ’ill go vith you, old un; but yer had a pretty smart tussle with yer bobby—didn’t you?”“Let the gentleman be,” said the other prisoner, who, like “Cakey,” was hardly out of his teens. “Yer sees as how he don’t like it. I’m ashamed on yer. This isn’t a time for chaff—is it?”“I don’t know that it is, but it’s better than sitting like a set of mutes—aint it? It’s enough to give a fellow the hump to be sitting still a waitin’ to be placed in the dock.”The conversation, if it could be so termed, was brought to a close by a man coming in and saying to the young pickpocket—“Now then, this way.”Cakey was placed in the dock. The trial did not last half an hour. He was found guilty, and sentenced to eighteen months’ imprisonment.He considered the sentence a most lenient one, and left the court in better spirits than he had entered it. He found Peace in the passage when he was returning to the gaol.“Vat do yer think, guv’nor? Only eighteen months. There’s for you—I’ve lost my half bull.”Peace was too much wrapped up in his own thoughts to take any heed of the playful youth who was addressing him.His case was the next, and as he was placed in the dock he glanced furtively round the court.The first face he recognised was that of Robinson, the policeman, then his glance fell upon several others that were familiar to him, but he did not see any of his Sheffield friends. “So much the better,” murmured he.Mr. Poland was engaged in earnest conversation with a police-inspector, while Mr. Douglas Straight was scanning some papers before him.Peace was conscious that he was an object of interest, for he saw that the eyes of many persons were upon him.He endeavoured to put on a look of humility and dejection, hoping thereby to excite sympathy.He glanced at the jury to see if they looked mercifully disposed or otherwise. One or two jurors struck him as being hard-featured men, who were bent upon doing their duty fearlessly.It was on the morning of Tuesday the 19th of November, 1878, on which this trial took place. It was of course an eventful day in the history of our hero.The case was tried at the Central Criminal Court, before Mr. Justice Hawkins, John Ward alias Charles Peace aged sixty (he was so put down, although he had not reached that age by three years) who was described as a sailor, was indicted for a burglary in the dwelling-house of James Alexander Burness, and stealing therefrom a quantity of plate, the property of the aforesaid James Alexander Burness.He was charged also with feloniously shooting at Edward Robinson, a police constable, with intent to murder him.Mr. Poland and Mr. Douglas Straight conducted the prosecution for the Treasury.The prisoner was defended by Mr. Montagu Williams and Mr. Austin Metcalfe.There was a dead silence when the case came on, and a number of persons from Greenwich, Blackheath, and elsewhere, who had been suffering from the depredations of burglars, were present at the trial; and, in addition to these, in an obscure corner sat, unobserved by Peace, Aveline’s husband and Lady Marvlynn.The indictment proceeded with was the charge of shooting at the constable.Edward Robinson was then examined. He said: On the morning of the 10th of October I was on duty at Blackheath in the avenue leading fromSt.John’s-park, the back of the residence of Mr. Burness. I noticed the flickering of a light in Mr. Burness’s drawing-room, and this excited my suspicion, and I procured the assistance of another constable named Girling. The light continued to move about the house, and I was assisted by Girling on to the wall. At this time a sergeant named Brown came up, and he went to the front of the house and I heard the bell ring, when the light was extinguished immediately, and the prisoner jumped out of the drawing-room window to the lawn. When I saw him in the act of running away I followed him, and he turned round and pointed a revolver at my head, and said, “Keep back; keep off, or by —— I will shoot you.” I said to him, “you had better not,” and he immediately fired three chambers of a revolver at my head. Two shots passed over my head and the third by the side of my head. I made a rush at him and he fired a fourth shot, when I closed with him and struck him on the face with my left hand. The prisoner then said, “You ——, I will settle you this time!” and then fired a fifth shot, which wounded me in the right arm. I seized the prisoner then, and threw him down, when the prisoner exclaimed, “You ——, I will give you something else!” and tried to put his hand in his pocket. I struggled with him and got the revolver from him, and struck him several blows with it. I held him down till Sergeant Brown came up and he was then secured. The revolver was strapped round his wrist. I began to feel faint from loss of blood at this time, and handed the prisoner over to Sergeant Brown and Girling.Charles Brown, a sergeant of police, proved that he heard the shots fired and the cries for assistance, and said that when he went to the spot he found Robinson lying above the prisoner with a six-chambered revolver in his hand, but it was strapped round the prisoner’s arm. On the prisoner he found a silver flask, a banker’s cheque-book, and a letter-case, which were afterwards identified by Mr. Burness, and a small crowbar.William Girling, the other policeman, confirmed the testimony of the previous witnesses as to the five shots being fired, and he also said that he heard the prisoner say that he only did it to frighten him. On the prisoner he found an auger, a jemmy, a gimlet, and other housebreaking implements. The prisoner attempted to get away after he had apprehended him, but he hit him with his staff.Mr. Bonny, an inspector of the R Division, proved that he examined Mr. Burness’s house and found that several places had been broken open with a jemmy.The prisoner refused to give his name and address, and when he was asked for them, he replied, “Find out.”Sarah Selina Cooper, servant to Mr. Burness, proved that she found a bullet in the drawing-room on the morning after the occurrence.Mr. Montagu Williams, on behalf of the prisoner, entreated the jury, in the first place, not to allow any prejudice that might have been created in their minds by what they had read about the number of burglaries that had been committed in this neighbourhood to operate against the prisoner, but to be guided solely by the evidence relating to the particular charge. He said that his case was that the prisoner did not intend to murder the constable, but that all he desired was to get away; and he argued that the facts were of a character that tended to support this view of the case.The jury, after a very short deliberation, found the prisoner guilty upon the first count of the indictment, which charged him with discharging the revolver at the constable with intent to murder him. The jury, at the same time, desired to express their admiration of the courageous conduct of the constable, and expressed a hope that he would receive some reward for the way in which he had acted. The foreman of the jury handed in a written paper to that effect.Mr. Justice Hawkins: I am not surprised, gentlemen, that you should have made this representation, for the constable has certainly behaved in a very gallant manner.Mr. Poland said that probably his lordship would like to hear something of the previous history of the prisoner.Mr. Justice Hawkins said he should be glad to receive any information that could be given to him respecting the prisoner.Inspector Bonny then stated that at the prisoner’s house at Sheffield there was found a large quantity of property, and in twenty-six cases property had been identified by the owners as the produce of different burglaries. The necessary legal proofs were not present in court, but they could be produced on the following morning.Mr. Justice Hawkins said he did not think it was necessary to postpone passing judgment, as he thought the court was already in possession of sufficient information to leave no doubt as to what course should be taken.Mr. Read, the deputy clerk of arraigns, then put the usual formal question to the prisoner whether he had anything to say why judgment should not be pronounced upon him.The prisoner, in reply, said: Yes; I have this to say, my lord, I have not been fairly dealt with: and I declare before God that I never had the intention to kill the prosecutor, and all I meant to do was to frighten him, in order that I might get away. If I had had the intention to kill him I could easily have done it, but I never had that intention. I declare I did not fire five shots—I only fired four, and I think I can show you, my lord, now. I can prove that only four shots were fired. If your lordship will look at the pistol, you will see that it goes off very easily, and the sixth barrel went off of its own accord after I was taken into custody. At the time the fifth shot was fired the constable had hold of my arm, and the pistol went off quite by accident. The prisoner then exclaimed with great earnestness, “I really did not know that the pistol was loaded, and I hope, my lord, that you will have mercy on me. I feel that I have disgraced myself. I am not fit either to live or die. I am not prepared to meet my God, but still I feel that my career has been made to appear much worse than it really is. Oh, my lord, do have mercy on me; do give me one chance of repenting and of preparing myself to meet my God. Do, my lord, have mercy on me; and I assure you that you shall never repent it. As you hope for mercy yourself at the hands of the great God, do have mercy on me, and give me a chance of redeeming my character and preparing myself to meet my God. I pray and beseech you to have mercy on me.”The prisoner delivered this speech in a calm and earnest tone of voice, and at the conclusion he appeared to be quite overcome by his feelings.Mr. Justice Hawkins then, addressing the prisoner, said: John Ward, the jury have found you “Guilty,” upon the most irresistible evidence, of having fired this pistol five times at the constable with intent to murder him, and I must say that I entirely concur in that verdict, and I do not believe that any other would, upon consideration, have been satisfactory to themselves. You were detected in the act of committing a burglary in the house of a gentleman, and, putting altogether aside what may have been your conduct on other occasions, the circumstances of this particular case are quite sufficient to prove to my mind that you are an accomplished burglar, and that you went to this house determined to rob by fair means if you could, but armed in such a manner that you were also determined to resort to foul means if necessary to escape detection. You have asserted that you only fired the pistol at the constable in order to frighten him, that thus you might be enabled to make your escape. I do not believe you. The shot was fired at his head, and but that he was guarding his head at the time with his arm he would have received the shot upon it, and if that had been the case death would probably have been the result, and you would at this moment probably be receiving a sentence of death. I do not consider it at all necessary to make any inquiry into your antecedents; the facts before me are quite sufficient to show that you are an accomplished burglar, and a man who would not hesitate to commit murder in carrying out that object. Notwithstanding your age, therefore, I feel that I should fail in my duty to the public if I did not pass upon you the extreme sentence of the law for the offence of which you have been convicted, which is that you be kept in penal servitude for the rest of your natural life.The prisoner appeared to be panic-stricken at the sentence. He uttered a series of moans, and fell into the arms of the warders in attendance, in a state of perfect prostration.Whether his emotion was real or not it is not easy to say, but certainly on this occasion Peace completely broke down.He had not for a moment contemplated having so severe a sentence passed on him, and he afterwards said it was a shame, and a most cruel merciless punishment.At this moment all his bravado forsook him, and his despair and anguish were pitiful to behold.Radically bad as the man was there were a few persons among the spectators who pitied him and thought him hardly dealt by.This is invariably the case. No matter how great the criminal, or how many heinous offences he may have been guilty of, misplaced sympathy is sure to follow his sentence.Lady Marvlynn and Sir J. Battershall were greatly moved when the sentence was passed upon the prisoner.Her ladyship, from her own personal experience, knew the brutal nature of the man. Nevertheless, she was much affected at the issue of the proceedings.“Miserable wretch!” she ejaculated. “I should have thought six, or ten years at the most, would have sufficed in a case of this sort, but of course Mr. Justice Hawkins is, I suppose, the best judge.”“I don’t think it would be possible to find a better,” returned her companion. “I confess I cannot myself see any palliation, any reasonable excuse, for the crime of which he has been found guilty upon the clearest evidence.”“No, I suppose there is none,” returned Lady Marvlynn; “but still penal servitude for life! Why it is almost worse than death.”“If Robinson had succumbed to his injuries there would have been but one course left—his murderer would have to suffer the extreme penalty of the law. You do not duly consider the matter, my lady.”“I hope I do. But the Lady Aveline, this will be sad news for her.”“Sad!” exclaimed the baronet. “I do not see how that can be.”“Ah, I know she will be sorry to hear of his untimely fate.”“Really, Lady Marvlynn, you surprise me. I have yet to learn that my wife has any sympathy for ruffians of this type.”“I don’t say she has sympathy, but she possesses the inestimable quality of mercy—which blesses him that gives, and him that takes—and she has a feeling heart. That you know.”“Oh, most certainly. No man knows it better. Still I cannot for the life of me understand why you and Aveline are so wrapped up in this man.”“You will not be surprised when you know all.”The baronet made no further remark, but seemed lost in a reverie.Peace, who was completely overcome, had to be carried out of court.Mr. Justice Hawkins then directed the prosecutor, Robinson, to stand forward, and, addressing him, said: The jury have expressed their admiration at the bravery you have displayed in this matter, and have also expressed a wish that you should receive some reward. In the first place, I hand to you the paper on which the jury have expressed their opinion of your conduct, in order that you may keep it and refer to it in after life, and that it may be an incentive to future good conduct. I quite concur in the opinion of the jury with regard to the manner in which you have acted on this occasion, and I think the country ought to be proud of you and of the force to which you belong, and I have great pleasure in ordering you a reward of £25 for your gallant conduct.The prosecutor thanked his lordship, and the proceedings then terminated.When Peace returned to Newgate after his sentence he immediately came under another class, and his real imprisonment began.He moaned and groaned as if in deep pain, and there is but little doubt as to his sufferings at this time.He was conducted downstairs to the same floor as the baths; he made no observation, but was evidently in a state of prostration, but he did manage with assistance to reach that part of the City prison where another painful ceremony had to be gone through.The garments he had on he was no longer permitted to wear.They had to be exchanged for those of a convict. Never again was he destined to wear the clothes of a free man.He had been previously told that whatever clothes he wore would be forfeited.They were not of much value, it is true, for, at the time of his capture, he was encased in his shabby long-tailed coat, as represented in the illustration on the front page of the preceding number.This valuable garment, together with his low-crowned hat and other articles that completed his suit, were forfeited to the Crown—doubtlessly have been preserved as relics of the most daring burglar of modern times.He heaved a profound sigh, which seemed to come from the bottom of his heart, when he was arrayed in the convict garb, with which, however, he was but too familiar.After he had shuffled into his new attire, he was told to select from a bundle of dirty, greasy-looking things what was supposed to be a woollen cap of the Scotch-bound type; he chose one which appeared to fit him the best, and then the painful ceremony was over.“I’ve been cruelly used,” he ejaculated. “The sentence was a most unjust one. I never intended to hurt the bobby. I’ll take my solemn oath that nothing was further from my thoughts. But my friends will not see me thus wronged without making an effort on my behalf. They will send a petition to the Home Office.”“Well that can be done, of course,” observed one of the warders, who felt some commiseration for the wretched man.“It must be done.”“Time enough for that.”“Penal servitude for life. It’s scandalous.”The warders were not disposed to continue the conversation; so they marched their prisoner off to his cell.Peace found he had to mount higher in the world, to the top landing, and he was located on the north side of the wall, he hitherto having been on the south.The first thing that struck him on entering his new abode was the smell of tar—good, wholesome, honest tar. He had been described in the indictment as a sailor. Why or wherefore was not clearly made manifest.It is true that he had been on board ship once or twice during his chequered career, but he could not lay claim to being much of a sailor, but he soon found out that his long days of comparative idleness had come to an end.The smell of the tar gave him a gentle hint of the agreeable process of oakum-picking, this being one of the occupations prison authorities had invented for the amusement of the prisoners under their charge.The cell was an exact counterpart of the one he had left, except that the dust from the oakum had taken off a good deal of the brilliant cleanliness of the floor and walls.He was most miserable, and found it impossible to regard his new sphere of occupation with complacency. He had passed through a terrible ordeal, had hoped against hope, but now the terrible reality came upon him with redoubled force.His worst fears became an actual reality: he was a convict, and would remain so to the end of his life. He slept but little during the night—when he thought of his sentence he shuddered. He tossed restlessly in his hammock, groaned and gnashed his teeth.“A life!” he ejaculated. “It’s too bad—a burning shame.”Then he thought of getting his friends to send in a memorial to the Home Office, praying for a commutation of the severe sentence passed upon him.He clung to this hope even as a drowning man is said to cling to a straw.The next morning, while he was cleaning his cell, three pieces of junk or old rope that had been part of the standing rigging of some old ship were flung into his cell, with an intimation that he would have a “fiddle” presently.“Umph!” he ejaculated, “here’s some of their cursed stuff. I know what that means—aching fingers and endless toil.”He was perfectly correct in this conjecture.After some little time a warder he had never seen before, except at a distance, entered his narrow prison-house, and told him that he would have to pick four pounds of oakum every day while he was in Newgate, or else his allowance of food would run short.“Oh, I dare say,” replied Peace. “Then I shall have to go on short commons, ’cause you see I shan’t be able to do the quantity you require.”“That’s no business of mine,” returned the warder; “I don’t make the rules. All I have to do is to see that they are carried out.”“Much obliged to you for your information,” exclaimed the prisoner; “I’ve been cruelly used.”“I’ve nothing to do with that,” said the warder, slamming the door of the cell.“A set of merciless wretches,” ejaculated Peace. “I know the ways of them but too well.”He sat down on his stool, and buried his face in his hands.After he had devoured his breakfast the taskmaster-warder paid him a visit, bringing with him the “fiddle,” on which he was to play a tune called “Four pounds of oakum a day.”It consisted of nothing but a rope and a long crooked nail. He showed Peace how to break up the block of junk, and to divide the strands of the rope.There was, however, but little necessity for the warder to enter into a description of the work, since the prisoner he was instructing knew the odious business pretty well from his previous experience in the ways of prison life.However, he affected to be a novice, and listened to all the warder had to say, apparently paying the greatest attention to his instructions.The four pounds did not look so much after all, but when pulled to pieces and divided into strands, it seemed to grow wonderfully in size, and Peace knew the amount of labour required to pick it.He made a wry face and groaned, but did not complain.When the strands were all divided his instructor showed him how to pull them to pieces.Peace set to work, being perfectly well assured that the task must be got through. He soon found out—as others had done before him—that oakum-picking made his fingers and thumbs sore and painful; nevertheless he persevered—the task seemed to be an interminable one.When he saw how little progress he had made in the first hour his heart seemed to sink, and he remembered the many miserable and lonely hours he had passed in convict prisons.He was on the side of the gaol nearest to Newgate-street. His cell was on the top floor and the window was open, so that he now heard much plainer the noise of the street traffic, which spoke to him of the outside world.There was something consolatory in even hearing the sounds of the passing vehicles as they rumbled along in one of the great thoroughfares of the busy city.At chapel next morning he with others, who had been tried at the same sessions, were marched into a cage under the women’s gallery, and locked in. Once a day only were they exercised out of doors, and this took place in a much smaller yard than he had walked in before his conviction.This was a matter of no very great importance; one yard was as good as another to him.He bore up as best he could, hoping that sooner or later he might succeed in getting a commutation of his sentence. This hope, however, was never destined to be realised.Every morning the quantum of “junk” was served out, and in the evening the taskmaster came round with weights and scales to take each man’s oakum.There was no cheating in respect to the requisite quantity of oakum on these occasions.The prisoner who had picked his full allowance was permitted to have the remainder of his time to himself for the rest of the day; but it was sharp work for the best of them to get through the four pounds of oakum.Many now found it impossible to get through that quantity. Some could not do as much as two pounds, although they worked from morning till nine o’clock at night.The old “lags,” who were well used to the work, were, in most cases, able to do their quantum.About three or four days after his sentence, a warder entered Peace’s cell with another prisoner, to crop and shave him.Peace knew this ceremony had to be gone through, and was, therefore, in no way surprised at the appearance of his new visitors.He begged to be allowed to shave himself, but this request was refused; so he sat himself down, and submitted himself to the operator, who was a regular bungler.He, however, managed to effect a clean scrape, after which Peace’s hair was clipped to about half an inch long. He had not much hair on his head at this time, but what there was had to be reduced to the regular length.The person who performed the operation was very loquacious; most members of the hair-dressing fraternity usually are so, and Peace’s barber was confidential and communicative. He affected to commiserate with our hero, and deprecated in the strongest terms the severity of the sentence passed upon him.He also told Peace that he (the barber) had done a “lagging” before, and that he was doing a six years’ “stretch” at the present time.This playful conversation was not interrupted by the warder in attendance, who looked on as the operation was performed, and occasionally indulged in a smile as some pertinent remark fell from the lips of the perruquier.After the shaving and cropping the barber wished Peace good-bye, bade him keep his spirits up, and hope for the best.What that best was he did not say, but he tripped merrily out of the cell, with a nod to its occupant, and once more our hero found himself alone.
The days and nights passed slowly and sadly enough with Charles Peace during the brief interval between his committal and trial.
Take whatever view he would of the case he could not see any gleam of sunshine and hope for the future. It was not possible for any intelligent jury, after hearing the overwhelming evidence which would be brought forward for the prosecution, to return any other verdict than that of guilty upon the charge or charges preferred against the ill-fated man.
Peace, despite his sanguine temperament, was forcibly impressed with this fact. He whined and moaned and declared himself to be an ill-used man.
His relatives and friends had deserted him in the hour of extreme need—so he averred. It was the way of the world, he added, and there was therefore no reason to be surprised at a circumstance, which, to say the truth, was one of almost daily occurrence.
He confessed that he had been greatly to blame, that under the influence of drink and excitement he had committed a most unwarrantable act of violence, but was at the same time truly thankful that the life of the gallant police officer had not been sacrificed. This was one of the greatest consolations he had in the hour of trouble and suffering.
He affected to be so contrite, and assumed such a virtuous tone, that those about him were half disposed to believe he had been led into crime by a sudden impulse: nevertheless the facts were dead against him, and a heavy sentence would be sure to follow conviction.
As the sessions drew nigh Peace became additionally nervous and anxious. He wrote off to several of his friends.
So long as a man is in prison before trial and condemnation he has no work of any sort to do beyond the cleaning of his own cell and utensils.
Books are allowed him, and writing materials, as before observed. Whatever a man writes is inspected and read by the governor, and every sheet of paper is counted, and has to be accounted for.
This course is adopted so that prisoners may be prevented from writing letters to their friends outside without undergoing the inspection of the governor.
The rule is an arbitrary one, and it does not seem to be altogether just. They have no right to be placed under such rigid surveillance before they are proved guilty.
About 420,000 persons in the course of a year pass through the hands of the police in England and Wales. Of these, about 275,000 are convicted, some summarily, others after trial by jury, the former being seventeen times as numerous as the latter.
The great majority of these mean nothing but the slightest punishments, generally fines; but about 70,000 are sentenced to imprisonment. Of these, 6000 in round numbers are children under sixteen years of age, nearly 1000 of whom are committed to reformatories for most of the remainder the cellular prisons probably furnish sufficient correction.
Of the adults rather more than 2000 are sentenced to penal servitude.
Of the 420,000 persons apprehended by the police more than 80,000 are either known or suspected to be criminals by trade, and from 50,000 to 60,000 are known to be living in total idleness and vice.
This is, of course, a terrible state of things, but as yet no remedy has been found to repress crime in the metropolis or elsewhere.
Peace was a criminal of the most irreclaimable, daring, and desperate order, but this was not known to the authorities at—for a certainty—the time of his arrest, but it afterwards became sufficiently manifest.
At length the day arrived on which Peace was to be tried.
He was in close converse with his lawyer on the preceding day, and was informed that Mr. Montague Williams would conduct the defence.
The legal gentleman did not tell his client that the case was in every way a hopeless one, but bade him keep up his spirits and hope for the best.
Before the court was duly opened, barristers and solicitors were to be seen ascending the staircase, ducking mysteriously into ante-rooms, and it was evident enough that there was to be a sort of legal field day.
In the several robing-rooms counsel were dressing like other actors for their parts.
The judge was arraying himself in his robes of office, and everybody appeared to be engaged on some important business.
A court of justice is built everywhere much in the same fashion—a throne for the judge, benches right and left for the sheriff and municipal authorities, boxes on each side for the juries, separate pews for the warder and clerk of the court, convenient seats for the barristers. Then there is the witness-box, the dock, and benches piled tier over tier for the convenience of the spectators, and, as a matter of course, the ventilation is radically bad.
There is also a stone hall outside in which clients congregate till their turn comes on, and witness-rooms.
In addition to this, British witnesses seem to possess an inexhaustible supply of sandwiches in brown paper, and ardent spirits in old medicine bottles: upon these they feed incessantly, partly to kill time, and partly to fortify their moral courage, which they know will soon be tried in public as severely as the integrity of the prisoners.
Up and down a passage which leads to the jury-room and to the private entrances into the court, one may see the attorneys in their Sunday shabby-genteel, and in great bustle and importance, running backwards and forwards, now halting to confab with gentlemen who are relations of the prisoners, or are subpœnaed witnesses—now with the barristers who wear stereotyped smiles upon their faces, as if law life was a pleasant dream.
The judge entered the court and the usual formulæ had to be gone through. The benches appointed for the use of barristers were tolerably well filled.
The first case to be tried was a charge of embezzlement. It did not occupy a great space of time, as it was as clear as the sun at noon-day—that is on days that luminary does condescend to shine.
Peace was anxiously waiting his turn with two other fellow-prisoners. To his ineffable disgust one of these was the lad “Cakey,” as he was termed, who had so annoyed him in the exercise-yard. He was charged with picking pockets, in the practice of which he was an adept.
“Strike me lucky,” said the audacious young ruffian. “I hopes as how they won’t keep us waiting long—don’t you?”
“Mind your own business,” returned Peace.
“Vell, there aint no call to be humpy about the matter. I spoke civilly enough—didn’t I?”
“You are too fast for my book,” said Peace. “You’re like a sheep’s head—all jaw.”
“Oh, carry me out and bury me dacent, but you’re as good as a play, you are, and no flies,” said the pickpocket. “Blest if you couldn’t make a fortin’ as a mummer; but I say, old man, I ’xpect you’ll get it rather ’ot. What made yer fire yer pop-gun at a ‘bobby,’ eh?”
“Mind your own business, and don’t interfere with me.”
“Vell, I’m sorry for yer, and I hopes as how——”
“Hold your tongue, you fool,” interrupted our hero. “You’ll have enough to do to prove your innocence, I’m thinking.”
“Vell, now, we agree this once. I’m of the same ’pinion. They’ll be down upon me as dead as a hammer. I’ll lay yer half a bull that they give me two ‘stretch.’ I mek up my mind to that there, but you—vell, I don’t know how it ’ill go vith you, old un; but yer had a pretty smart tussle with yer bobby—didn’t you?”
“Let the gentleman be,” said the other prisoner, who, like “Cakey,” was hardly out of his teens. “Yer sees as how he don’t like it. I’m ashamed on yer. This isn’t a time for chaff—is it?”
“I don’t know that it is, but it’s better than sitting like a set of mutes—aint it? It’s enough to give a fellow the hump to be sitting still a waitin’ to be placed in the dock.”
The conversation, if it could be so termed, was brought to a close by a man coming in and saying to the young pickpocket—
“Now then, this way.”
Cakey was placed in the dock. The trial did not last half an hour. He was found guilty, and sentenced to eighteen months’ imprisonment.
He considered the sentence a most lenient one, and left the court in better spirits than he had entered it. He found Peace in the passage when he was returning to the gaol.
“Vat do yer think, guv’nor? Only eighteen months. There’s for you—I’ve lost my half bull.”
Peace was too much wrapped up in his own thoughts to take any heed of the playful youth who was addressing him.
His case was the next, and as he was placed in the dock he glanced furtively round the court.
The first face he recognised was that of Robinson, the policeman, then his glance fell upon several others that were familiar to him, but he did not see any of his Sheffield friends. “So much the better,” murmured he.
Mr. Poland was engaged in earnest conversation with a police-inspector, while Mr. Douglas Straight was scanning some papers before him.
Peace was conscious that he was an object of interest, for he saw that the eyes of many persons were upon him.
He endeavoured to put on a look of humility and dejection, hoping thereby to excite sympathy.
He glanced at the jury to see if they looked mercifully disposed or otherwise. One or two jurors struck him as being hard-featured men, who were bent upon doing their duty fearlessly.
It was on the morning of Tuesday the 19th of November, 1878, on which this trial took place. It was of course an eventful day in the history of our hero.
The case was tried at the Central Criminal Court, before Mr. Justice Hawkins, John Ward alias Charles Peace aged sixty (he was so put down, although he had not reached that age by three years) who was described as a sailor, was indicted for a burglary in the dwelling-house of James Alexander Burness, and stealing therefrom a quantity of plate, the property of the aforesaid James Alexander Burness.
He was charged also with feloniously shooting at Edward Robinson, a police constable, with intent to murder him.
Mr. Poland and Mr. Douglas Straight conducted the prosecution for the Treasury.
The prisoner was defended by Mr. Montagu Williams and Mr. Austin Metcalfe.
There was a dead silence when the case came on, and a number of persons from Greenwich, Blackheath, and elsewhere, who had been suffering from the depredations of burglars, were present at the trial; and, in addition to these, in an obscure corner sat, unobserved by Peace, Aveline’s husband and Lady Marvlynn.
The indictment proceeded with was the charge of shooting at the constable.
Edward Robinson was then examined. He said: On the morning of the 10th of October I was on duty at Blackheath in the avenue leading fromSt.John’s-park, the back of the residence of Mr. Burness. I noticed the flickering of a light in Mr. Burness’s drawing-room, and this excited my suspicion, and I procured the assistance of another constable named Girling. The light continued to move about the house, and I was assisted by Girling on to the wall. At this time a sergeant named Brown came up, and he went to the front of the house and I heard the bell ring, when the light was extinguished immediately, and the prisoner jumped out of the drawing-room window to the lawn. When I saw him in the act of running away I followed him, and he turned round and pointed a revolver at my head, and said, “Keep back; keep off, or by —— I will shoot you.” I said to him, “you had better not,” and he immediately fired three chambers of a revolver at my head. Two shots passed over my head and the third by the side of my head. I made a rush at him and he fired a fourth shot, when I closed with him and struck him on the face with my left hand. The prisoner then said, “You ——, I will settle you this time!” and then fired a fifth shot, which wounded me in the right arm. I seized the prisoner then, and threw him down, when the prisoner exclaimed, “You ——, I will give you something else!” and tried to put his hand in his pocket. I struggled with him and got the revolver from him, and struck him several blows with it. I held him down till Sergeant Brown came up and he was then secured. The revolver was strapped round his wrist. I began to feel faint from loss of blood at this time, and handed the prisoner over to Sergeant Brown and Girling.
Charles Brown, a sergeant of police, proved that he heard the shots fired and the cries for assistance, and said that when he went to the spot he found Robinson lying above the prisoner with a six-chambered revolver in his hand, but it was strapped round the prisoner’s arm. On the prisoner he found a silver flask, a banker’s cheque-book, and a letter-case, which were afterwards identified by Mr. Burness, and a small crowbar.
William Girling, the other policeman, confirmed the testimony of the previous witnesses as to the five shots being fired, and he also said that he heard the prisoner say that he only did it to frighten him. On the prisoner he found an auger, a jemmy, a gimlet, and other housebreaking implements. The prisoner attempted to get away after he had apprehended him, but he hit him with his staff.
Mr. Bonny, an inspector of the R Division, proved that he examined Mr. Burness’s house and found that several places had been broken open with a jemmy.
The prisoner refused to give his name and address, and when he was asked for them, he replied, “Find out.”
Sarah Selina Cooper, servant to Mr. Burness, proved that she found a bullet in the drawing-room on the morning after the occurrence.
Mr. Montagu Williams, on behalf of the prisoner, entreated the jury, in the first place, not to allow any prejudice that might have been created in their minds by what they had read about the number of burglaries that had been committed in this neighbourhood to operate against the prisoner, but to be guided solely by the evidence relating to the particular charge. He said that his case was that the prisoner did not intend to murder the constable, but that all he desired was to get away; and he argued that the facts were of a character that tended to support this view of the case.
The jury, after a very short deliberation, found the prisoner guilty upon the first count of the indictment, which charged him with discharging the revolver at the constable with intent to murder him. The jury, at the same time, desired to express their admiration of the courageous conduct of the constable, and expressed a hope that he would receive some reward for the way in which he had acted. The foreman of the jury handed in a written paper to that effect.
Mr. Justice Hawkins: I am not surprised, gentlemen, that you should have made this representation, for the constable has certainly behaved in a very gallant manner.
Mr. Poland said that probably his lordship would like to hear something of the previous history of the prisoner.
Mr. Justice Hawkins said he should be glad to receive any information that could be given to him respecting the prisoner.
Inspector Bonny then stated that at the prisoner’s house at Sheffield there was found a large quantity of property, and in twenty-six cases property had been identified by the owners as the produce of different burglaries. The necessary legal proofs were not present in court, but they could be produced on the following morning.
Mr. Justice Hawkins said he did not think it was necessary to postpone passing judgment, as he thought the court was already in possession of sufficient information to leave no doubt as to what course should be taken.
Mr. Read, the deputy clerk of arraigns, then put the usual formal question to the prisoner whether he had anything to say why judgment should not be pronounced upon him.
The prisoner, in reply, said: Yes; I have this to say, my lord, I have not been fairly dealt with: and I declare before God that I never had the intention to kill the prosecutor, and all I meant to do was to frighten him, in order that I might get away. If I had had the intention to kill him I could easily have done it, but I never had that intention. I declare I did not fire five shots—I only fired four, and I think I can show you, my lord, now. I can prove that only four shots were fired. If your lordship will look at the pistol, you will see that it goes off very easily, and the sixth barrel went off of its own accord after I was taken into custody. At the time the fifth shot was fired the constable had hold of my arm, and the pistol went off quite by accident. The prisoner then exclaimed with great earnestness, “I really did not know that the pistol was loaded, and I hope, my lord, that you will have mercy on me. I feel that I have disgraced myself. I am not fit either to live or die. I am not prepared to meet my God, but still I feel that my career has been made to appear much worse than it really is. Oh, my lord, do have mercy on me; do give me one chance of repenting and of preparing myself to meet my God. Do, my lord, have mercy on me; and I assure you that you shall never repent it. As you hope for mercy yourself at the hands of the great God, do have mercy on me, and give me a chance of redeeming my character and preparing myself to meet my God. I pray and beseech you to have mercy on me.”
The prisoner delivered this speech in a calm and earnest tone of voice, and at the conclusion he appeared to be quite overcome by his feelings.
Mr. Justice Hawkins then, addressing the prisoner, said: John Ward, the jury have found you “Guilty,” upon the most irresistible evidence, of having fired this pistol five times at the constable with intent to murder him, and I must say that I entirely concur in that verdict, and I do not believe that any other would, upon consideration, have been satisfactory to themselves. You were detected in the act of committing a burglary in the house of a gentleman, and, putting altogether aside what may have been your conduct on other occasions, the circumstances of this particular case are quite sufficient to prove to my mind that you are an accomplished burglar, and that you went to this house determined to rob by fair means if you could, but armed in such a manner that you were also determined to resort to foul means if necessary to escape detection. You have asserted that you only fired the pistol at the constable in order to frighten him, that thus you might be enabled to make your escape. I do not believe you. The shot was fired at his head, and but that he was guarding his head at the time with his arm he would have received the shot upon it, and if that had been the case death would probably have been the result, and you would at this moment probably be receiving a sentence of death. I do not consider it at all necessary to make any inquiry into your antecedents; the facts before me are quite sufficient to show that you are an accomplished burglar, and a man who would not hesitate to commit murder in carrying out that object. Notwithstanding your age, therefore, I feel that I should fail in my duty to the public if I did not pass upon you the extreme sentence of the law for the offence of which you have been convicted, which is that you be kept in penal servitude for the rest of your natural life.
The prisoner appeared to be panic-stricken at the sentence. He uttered a series of moans, and fell into the arms of the warders in attendance, in a state of perfect prostration.
Whether his emotion was real or not it is not easy to say, but certainly on this occasion Peace completely broke down.
He had not for a moment contemplated having so severe a sentence passed on him, and he afterwards said it was a shame, and a most cruel merciless punishment.
At this moment all his bravado forsook him, and his despair and anguish were pitiful to behold.
Radically bad as the man was there were a few persons among the spectators who pitied him and thought him hardly dealt by.
This is invariably the case. No matter how great the criminal, or how many heinous offences he may have been guilty of, misplaced sympathy is sure to follow his sentence.
Lady Marvlynn and Sir J. Battershall were greatly moved when the sentence was passed upon the prisoner.
Her ladyship, from her own personal experience, knew the brutal nature of the man. Nevertheless, she was much affected at the issue of the proceedings.
“Miserable wretch!” she ejaculated. “I should have thought six, or ten years at the most, would have sufficed in a case of this sort, but of course Mr. Justice Hawkins is, I suppose, the best judge.”
“I don’t think it would be possible to find a better,” returned her companion. “I confess I cannot myself see any palliation, any reasonable excuse, for the crime of which he has been found guilty upon the clearest evidence.”
“No, I suppose there is none,” returned Lady Marvlynn; “but still penal servitude for life! Why it is almost worse than death.”
“If Robinson had succumbed to his injuries there would have been but one course left—his murderer would have to suffer the extreme penalty of the law. You do not duly consider the matter, my lady.”
“I hope I do. But the Lady Aveline, this will be sad news for her.”
“Sad!” exclaimed the baronet. “I do not see how that can be.”
“Ah, I know she will be sorry to hear of his untimely fate.”
“Really, Lady Marvlynn, you surprise me. I have yet to learn that my wife has any sympathy for ruffians of this type.”
“I don’t say she has sympathy, but she possesses the inestimable quality of mercy—which blesses him that gives, and him that takes—and she has a feeling heart. That you know.”
“Oh, most certainly. No man knows it better. Still I cannot for the life of me understand why you and Aveline are so wrapped up in this man.”
“You will not be surprised when you know all.”
The baronet made no further remark, but seemed lost in a reverie.
Peace, who was completely overcome, had to be carried out of court.
Mr. Justice Hawkins then directed the prosecutor, Robinson, to stand forward, and, addressing him, said: The jury have expressed their admiration at the bravery you have displayed in this matter, and have also expressed a wish that you should receive some reward. In the first place, I hand to you the paper on which the jury have expressed their opinion of your conduct, in order that you may keep it and refer to it in after life, and that it may be an incentive to future good conduct. I quite concur in the opinion of the jury with regard to the manner in which you have acted on this occasion, and I think the country ought to be proud of you and of the force to which you belong, and I have great pleasure in ordering you a reward of £25 for your gallant conduct.
The prosecutor thanked his lordship, and the proceedings then terminated.
When Peace returned to Newgate after his sentence he immediately came under another class, and his real imprisonment began.
He moaned and groaned as if in deep pain, and there is but little doubt as to his sufferings at this time.
He was conducted downstairs to the same floor as the baths; he made no observation, but was evidently in a state of prostration, but he did manage with assistance to reach that part of the City prison where another painful ceremony had to be gone through.
The garments he had on he was no longer permitted to wear.
They had to be exchanged for those of a convict. Never again was he destined to wear the clothes of a free man.
He had been previously told that whatever clothes he wore would be forfeited.
They were not of much value, it is true, for, at the time of his capture, he was encased in his shabby long-tailed coat, as represented in the illustration on the front page of the preceding number.
This valuable garment, together with his low-crowned hat and other articles that completed his suit, were forfeited to the Crown—doubtlessly have been preserved as relics of the most daring burglar of modern times.
He heaved a profound sigh, which seemed to come from the bottom of his heart, when he was arrayed in the convict garb, with which, however, he was but too familiar.
After he had shuffled into his new attire, he was told to select from a bundle of dirty, greasy-looking things what was supposed to be a woollen cap of the Scotch-bound type; he chose one which appeared to fit him the best, and then the painful ceremony was over.
“I’ve been cruelly used,” he ejaculated. “The sentence was a most unjust one. I never intended to hurt the bobby. I’ll take my solemn oath that nothing was further from my thoughts. But my friends will not see me thus wronged without making an effort on my behalf. They will send a petition to the Home Office.”
“Well that can be done, of course,” observed one of the warders, who felt some commiseration for the wretched man.
“It must be done.”
“Time enough for that.”
“Penal servitude for life. It’s scandalous.”
The warders were not disposed to continue the conversation; so they marched their prisoner off to his cell.
Peace found he had to mount higher in the world, to the top landing, and he was located on the north side of the wall, he hitherto having been on the south.
The first thing that struck him on entering his new abode was the smell of tar—good, wholesome, honest tar. He had been described in the indictment as a sailor. Why or wherefore was not clearly made manifest.
It is true that he had been on board ship once or twice during his chequered career, but he could not lay claim to being much of a sailor, but he soon found out that his long days of comparative idleness had come to an end.
The smell of the tar gave him a gentle hint of the agreeable process of oakum-picking, this being one of the occupations prison authorities had invented for the amusement of the prisoners under their charge.
The cell was an exact counterpart of the one he had left, except that the dust from the oakum had taken off a good deal of the brilliant cleanliness of the floor and walls.
He was most miserable, and found it impossible to regard his new sphere of occupation with complacency. He had passed through a terrible ordeal, had hoped against hope, but now the terrible reality came upon him with redoubled force.
His worst fears became an actual reality: he was a convict, and would remain so to the end of his life. He slept but little during the night—when he thought of his sentence he shuddered. He tossed restlessly in his hammock, groaned and gnashed his teeth.
“A life!” he ejaculated. “It’s too bad—a burning shame.”
Then he thought of getting his friends to send in a memorial to the Home Office, praying for a commutation of the severe sentence passed upon him.
He clung to this hope even as a drowning man is said to cling to a straw.
The next morning, while he was cleaning his cell, three pieces of junk or old rope that had been part of the standing rigging of some old ship were flung into his cell, with an intimation that he would have a “fiddle” presently.
“Umph!” he ejaculated, “here’s some of their cursed stuff. I know what that means—aching fingers and endless toil.”
He was perfectly correct in this conjecture.
After some little time a warder he had never seen before, except at a distance, entered his narrow prison-house, and told him that he would have to pick four pounds of oakum every day while he was in Newgate, or else his allowance of food would run short.
“Oh, I dare say,” replied Peace. “Then I shall have to go on short commons, ’cause you see I shan’t be able to do the quantity you require.”
“That’s no business of mine,” returned the warder; “I don’t make the rules. All I have to do is to see that they are carried out.”
“Much obliged to you for your information,” exclaimed the prisoner; “I’ve been cruelly used.”
“I’ve nothing to do with that,” said the warder, slamming the door of the cell.
“A set of merciless wretches,” ejaculated Peace. “I know the ways of them but too well.”
He sat down on his stool, and buried his face in his hands.
After he had devoured his breakfast the taskmaster-warder paid him a visit, bringing with him the “fiddle,” on which he was to play a tune called “Four pounds of oakum a day.”
It consisted of nothing but a rope and a long crooked nail. He showed Peace how to break up the block of junk, and to divide the strands of the rope.
There was, however, but little necessity for the warder to enter into a description of the work, since the prisoner he was instructing knew the odious business pretty well from his previous experience in the ways of prison life.
However, he affected to be a novice, and listened to all the warder had to say, apparently paying the greatest attention to his instructions.
The four pounds did not look so much after all, but when pulled to pieces and divided into strands, it seemed to grow wonderfully in size, and Peace knew the amount of labour required to pick it.
He made a wry face and groaned, but did not complain.
When the strands were all divided his instructor showed him how to pull them to pieces.
Peace set to work, being perfectly well assured that the task must be got through. He soon found out—as others had done before him—that oakum-picking made his fingers and thumbs sore and painful; nevertheless he persevered—the task seemed to be an interminable one.
When he saw how little progress he had made in the first hour his heart seemed to sink, and he remembered the many miserable and lonely hours he had passed in convict prisons.
He was on the side of the gaol nearest to Newgate-street. His cell was on the top floor and the window was open, so that he now heard much plainer the noise of the street traffic, which spoke to him of the outside world.
There was something consolatory in even hearing the sounds of the passing vehicles as they rumbled along in one of the great thoroughfares of the busy city.
At chapel next morning he with others, who had been tried at the same sessions, were marched into a cage under the women’s gallery, and locked in. Once a day only were they exercised out of doors, and this took place in a much smaller yard than he had walked in before his conviction.
This was a matter of no very great importance; one yard was as good as another to him.
He bore up as best he could, hoping that sooner or later he might succeed in getting a commutation of his sentence. This hope, however, was never destined to be realised.
Every morning the quantum of “junk” was served out, and in the evening the taskmaster came round with weights and scales to take each man’s oakum.
There was no cheating in respect to the requisite quantity of oakum on these occasions.
The prisoner who had picked his full allowance was permitted to have the remainder of his time to himself for the rest of the day; but it was sharp work for the best of them to get through the four pounds of oakum.
Many now found it impossible to get through that quantity. Some could not do as much as two pounds, although they worked from morning till nine o’clock at night.
The old “lags,” who were well used to the work, were, in most cases, able to do their quantum.
About three or four days after his sentence, a warder entered Peace’s cell with another prisoner, to crop and shave him.
Peace knew this ceremony had to be gone through, and was, therefore, in no way surprised at the appearance of his new visitors.
He begged to be allowed to shave himself, but this request was refused; so he sat himself down, and submitted himself to the operator, who was a regular bungler.
He, however, managed to effect a clean scrape, after which Peace’s hair was clipped to about half an inch long. He had not much hair on his head at this time, but what there was had to be reduced to the regular length.
The person who performed the operation was very loquacious; most members of the hair-dressing fraternity usually are so, and Peace’s barber was confidential and communicative. He affected to commiserate with our hero, and deprecated in the strongest terms the severity of the sentence passed upon him.
He also told Peace that he (the barber) had done a “lagging” before, and that he was doing a six years’ “stretch” at the present time.
This playful conversation was not interrupted by the warder in attendance, who looked on as the operation was performed, and occasionally indulged in a smile as some pertinent remark fell from the lips of the perruquier.
After the shaving and cropping the barber wished Peace good-bye, bade him keep his spirits up, and hope for the best.
What that best was he did not say, but he tripped merrily out of the cell, with a nod to its occupant, and once more our hero found himself alone.