Peace’s journey in the “Black Maria,” or prison-van, was by no means an agreeable one—journeys of this description can never be accounted agreeable under the most favourable circumstances, but in Peace’s case it was most disheartening.
He trembled lest his identity should become known, and, to say the truth, he feared the worst.
It seemed hardly possible, under existing circumstances for him to maintain his incognito, and discovery meant certain death.
Nevertheless he bore up as best he could, and hoped for the best.
The exterior of Newgate Gaol is not by any means prepossessing—the interior is most depressing.
On arriving within the court-yard of the gloomy and repulsive-looking old city prison, from whose debtors’ door so many have stepped to pass on to the scaffold, Peace and his companions were let out of the “Black Maria,” and conducted into a dark stone passage, and our hero was told to stand in a row with his fellow-passengers.
The deputy-governor, with two warders, received the batch of prisoners, and the constable, who had acted as conductor to the hearse-like carriage, handed over to the deputy-governor a number of papers, one for each prisoner, whereupon the names were called out, to which suitable replies were given. Most of them were “remands” or “committals.”
Peace answered to his name in a low submissive tone, and looked as if he felt deeply sensible of his humiliating position.
There was, however, no getting over the fact that he had attempted to murder a police-constable; and, indeed, at this time it was by no means certain that Robinson would get the better of his injuries. He was progressing favourably, it is true, but an unfavourable change might take place at any time.
The prison officials scanned Peace for a few moments, then upon a signal from their superior he was conducted to his quarters by a young man, who treated him with civility and consideration.