It is possible, despite the difficulties and impediments in the way, that Giles Chudley would have succeeded in making his escape had it not been for one circumstance, which proved fatal to him.
It was this.
In the same prison was confined a man who was charged with piracy and murder on the high seas. He was a ruffian of the most pronounced type, and if report spoke truly he had committed no end of atrocities; but report, we must remember, is not always to be relied on.
Nevertheless the nautical miscreant was most unquestionably a bad lot.
Upon being brought to the gaol he gave himself all the airs and graces of a West-end swell, and found fault with everything and everybody.
He said the cell in which he was confined was dripping with wet, and gave him the ague. He was in consequence of this transferred to the cell next to the ill-fated Giles Chudley.
After being immured in this a few days, he said it was worse than the other.
The turnkeys were sick of listening to the man’s complaints. At length he said he wanted to see the governor.
“Oh, you want to see the governor, do you?” said the turnkey in attendance, with an air of irony. “What do you want to see him for? Make him apply to her Majesty for better dinners, I suppose?”
“Don’t you be so cheeky, young fellow,” observed the pirate, “’cos it’s no use your trying to bullyrag me. Never mind what I want to see him for, that’s my business. I can see him if I like—I read it in the rules; o you shut up. If you don’t go and tell him I’ll report you.”