“What in heaven's name is the Humming Bird?” I queried.
“It's d' prison punishment,” replied Chucky. “Youse see, every pen has its punishment. In some, it's d' paddles, an' some ag'in don't do a t'ing but hang a guy up be a pair of handcuffs to his cell door so his toes just scrapes d' floor. In others dey starves you; an' in others still, dey slams you in d' dark hole.
“Say! if youse are out to make some poor mark nutty for fair, just give him d' dark hole for a week. There he is wit' nothin' in d' cell but himself, see! an* all as black as ink. Mebby if d' guards is out to keep him movin', dey toins d' hose in an' wets down d' floor before dey leaves him. But honest to God! youse put a poor sucker in d' dark hole, an' be d' end of ten hours it's apples to ashes he ain't onto it whether he's been in a day or a week. Keep him there a week, an' away goes his cupolo—he ain't onto nothin'. On d' square! at d' end of a week in d' dark, a mut don't know lie's livin'.
“D' cat-o'nine-tails, which dey has at Jeff City, ain't a marker to d' dark hole! D' cat'll crack d' skin all right, all right, but d' dark hole cracks a sucker's nut, see! His cocoa never is on straight ag'in, after he's done a stunt or two in d' dark hole.”
“But the Humming Bird?” I persisted. “What is it like?”
“Why! as I relates,” retorted Chucky, “d' Hummin Boid is what dey does to a guy in d' pen where Mollie was to teach him not to be too gay. It's like this: Here's a gezebo doin' time, see! Well, he gets funny. Mebby he soaks some other pris'ner; or mebby he toins loose and gives it to some guard in d' neck; or mebby ag'in he kicks on d' lock-step. I've seen a heap of mugs who does d' last.
“Anyhow, whatever he does, it gets to be a case of Hummin' Boid, an' dey brings me gay scrapper or kicker, whichever he is, out for punishment. An' this is what he gets ag'inst:
“Dey sets him in a high trough, same as dey waters a horse wit', see! Foist dey shucks d' mark—peels off his make-up down to d' buff. An' then dey sets him in d' trough, like I says, wit' mebby its eight inches of water in it.
“Then he's strapped be d' ankles, an' d' fins, and about his waist, so he can't do nothin' but stay where he is. A sawbones gets him be d' pulse, an' one of them 'lectrical stiffs t'rows a wire, which is one end of d' battery, in d' water. D' wire, which is d' other end, finishes in a wet sponge. An' say! hully hell! when dey touches a poor mark wit' d' sponge end on d' shoulder, or mebby d' elbow, it completes d' circuit, see! an' it'll fetch such a glory hallelujah yelp out of him as would bring a deef an' dumb asylum into d' front yard to find out what d' row's about.
“It's d' same t'ing as d' chair at Sing Sing, only not so warm. It's enough, though, to make d' toughest mug t'row a fit. No one stands for a secont trip; one touch of d' Hummin' Boid! an' a duck'll welch on anyt'ing you says—do anyt'ing, be anyt'ing; only so youse let up and don't give him no more. D' mere name of Hummin' Boid's good enough to t'run a scare into d' hardest an' d' woist of 'em, onct dey's had a piece.