The prison is a conspicuous object for many miles around. It is worked on the silent system, and each prisoner has his or her work to do at the invisible results of the crank, or in making cocoa-matting, or in picking oakum.
It has four wings, which radiate from a common centre, and there is an exercising ground situate between each of the wings.
They are two stories in height, and they have cells underneath where prisoners are put on bread and water for punishment. It was built in 1847, and for many years Mr. Keene had been the governor.
In the murderer’s cell of the prison, situate on the first floor of the wing radiating to the north-west, Peace had been kept in close confinement ever since January 29.
He was closely watched by the warders with a ceaseless vigilance from the day of his sentence up to the time of his execution.
His relatives were never allowed to pass the part of the prison room partitioned off with a few iron railings extending from the floor to the ceiling. His cell, including the part so partitioned off, was not more than six yards square, and visiting it a few minutes after Peace left it for the last time, one must have thought the warders, the chaplain, and the governor would be glad that their unceasing vigilance was at an end.
It contained a bed, a table, and two stools near the table fastened tightly to the ground, and here it was that two warders were at all times in attendance—the one sitting and the other patrolling, with the convict always in between them.
The guard was relieved about every three hours.
The room was only dimly lighted by two slits in the stone, opening into the courtyard, and about twenty yards from the scaffold which Peace must have known was being knocked together for him when the workmen were busy with it.
He had two rugs and two blankets on his camp bedstead, and here it is well to say that the reports about his not taking food were erroneous, for he always took kindly to whatever was provided for him.