Be that as it may, on Peace’s first Sunday in chapel with his English Prayer-book before him he found himself quite unable to follow the chaplain in the services in which he was engaged.
Turning over the leaves of the Prayer-book in the vain hope of finding the proper place, and happening to cast his eyes over the shoulder of a prisoner in front of him in order to find it, the movement caught the eye of the officer who sat watching every face. Peace saw from the stare and frown which followed, indeed, that he had committed some grave offence.
He immediately resumed his proper attitude, and sat out the service as right as his neighbours, and so escaped the threatened punishment.
“They are jolly particular in this establishment,” mused Peace. “Mustn’t even look, it appears.”
Nothing, however, was said to him by the official, but he felt that he had narrowly escaped being reported.
Every day the prisoners, male and female, old and young, were made to attend chapel, and twice on Sundays.
The appearance of the sacred edifice quite upsets the idea of “freedom” in religious worship.
The chaplain’s pulpit is perched high up against the wall at the end, so as to enable him to get a view of his entire congregation; otherwise this would be impossible, for while the larger number of adult male prisoners occupy the body of the chapel, the women and children are partitioned off on either side by a tall partition, which quite precludes the possibility of their seeing beyond.
Before the great space where the men sit is a pair of tall iron gates, and they are ranged on seats rising one above another with warders in attendance, who are constantly on the watch.
The men are expected to look steadfastly before them, regarding through the iron bars the preacher in his pulpit; they must raise or lower their prayer-books with elbows squared, and all at once, like soldiers in a drill.