“I don’t know why I should be stripped of all I possess, but if it’s the rule I suppose there’s no use murmuring,” said Peace.
“It is the rule,” quietly observed the warder. “You are treated precisely the same as all the other prisoners. Now you must have a bath.”
“I’ve no objection to that,” cried Peace.
The bath room was scrupulously clean; the water looked as clear as crystal, and Peace plunged in.
On re-dressing, he was conducted by the warder up a flight of stairs into a large, lofty hall, on each side of which were galleries.
In each gallery was a warder in uniform. With the exception of the halls and corridors the building was almost entirely divided into an immense number of small apartments. These were homely inside, but exquisitely clean.
Prisons at this time might be said to be in a transition state. In some the old system remained in full force. The two systems vary in their aims. Under the old, prisoners awaiting their trials were allowed to mix together in wards.
In such places as these the criminals of the olden times—common thieves, pickpockets, burglars, and others—had, no doubt, many of them, in their own way, a jolly time of it.
They were supplied with provisions by their pals and relatives, and were not compelled to live on prison fare.
As many as twenty would be found at times in one of these wards under the old system, which were nurseries of crime—so it is said—the old hardened felon contaminating the young and inexperienced.