Mr. Dring, the chief warder, had, as may be imagined, no sinecure.
The duties of his office did not admit of much leisure time for relaxation, and when he returned from his tea he had yet plenty of work before him.
The fifty men on his landing had all their wants to be attended to, and our worthy prison official was not accustomed to shirk his duty.
He was a peculiar man in many respects, but want of attention to those under his charge was not one of his faults.
He was a strict disciplinarian, but in the main was a kindly-disposed man enough.
Sometimes he would “take” to a man, as the convicts termed it.
When this was the case the prisoner was all right; he was treated with civility and consideration, which, all things considered, is saying a great deal; but woe betide the man who was in his black books! He had it pretty “hot,” to make use of another phrase of the prisoners.
Mr. Dring had seen something of the world before he made the acquaintance of the interior of one of her Majesty’s gaols.
He had served her aforesaid Majesty on land and sea.
He was at one time of his life attached to the Royal Marines, and after fighting his country’s battles in that capacity for some years, he rose to the rank of sergeant-major, and those who happen to know what an old sergeant-major of the Marines is will understand that a man must get up very early in the morning, and be a cute fellow to boot, to take the wind out of the sails of Mr. Warder Dring.