“Not cheerful—not very cheerful-looking, is it?”
Peace made a face and then groaned.
The gate is one of the most gloomy pieces of architecture it is well possible to conceive—indeed, the whole aspect of the place was cheerless and depressing to the last degree.
As soon as the convicts arrived at the gate they were received by several warders, who conducted them into the receiving wards, where all was prepared for their arrival.
Their chains and handcuffs were removed, and they soon found themselves in a long passage about twelve feet wide, lighted by a skylight.
It was made painfully manifest to them all that the discipline at Dartmoor was much more strict than at Preston, and there were not a few who deeply regretted having left that well-regulated gaol.
“I expect we shall have a lively time of it here,” whispered the cracksman to Peace.
“Out of the frying-pan into the fire—that’s about the size of it,” murmered Peace.
The prisoners were taken in ten or a dozen at a time to the bath-room, where they were told to perform the usual ablution. This ceremony occupied some time. At length, however, Peace’s turn came. He was taken with the cracksman and eight others down a passage and across a yard. Two warders in charge of this last batch pointed significantly to a number of baths which were all of a row; they were about four feet six inches square and three feet deep.
A wooden seat ran along the whole of the baths, which were about twenty or more in number; behind the seats was a passage.