There was something superb about the audacity of this remarkable villain.
After he had somewhat recovered from the “taps” which friend Robinson had given him that memorable morning in the garden at Blackheath, he once more tried on the old canting ways which had in former days served him so well.
In prisons oft he had known the value of playing the part of the penitent, and by his good conduct had been able to get out much earlier to resume his old bad courses.
On the way from Greenwich to Newgate he was himself again.
In the prison van the inmates are divided by wire partitions, through which they can see and talk to each other if they are in the talking mood, as they usually are.
One of the prisoners had got three months for drunkenness. Peace, who was waiting his turn when this person was committed, recognised his face, and at once embraced the opportunity to put a few words of good advice.
He positively commenced to lecture the prisoner on the wickedness of which he had been guilty. “But,” remarked the officer, “you should have heard how the other prisoners let out at him.”
“They were not going to be preached at by that old canting humbug.”
The fellow who had got the three months turned upon Peace and said, “Well, you’re a nice one, you are. Here am I got three months for getting drunk; but what have you been doing? Don’t ye think I know? Why you’ve been trying to shoot a policeman, you have. They ought to hang the likes of you.”
The sentiment met with the approving plaudits of the other prisoners, and Peace did not continue his discourse, and, what with the sense of mortification at being repulsed, and the candid if cruel remarks of the other occupants of the prison van, had rather an unhappy time of it during the rest of the journey to Newgate.