But the work was not so severe a punishment as the solitary nature of his existence. Even if he were not allowed to speak to his fellow-prisoners, there would be some consolation in seeing others at work besides himself in one of the large wards.
He had “taken stock,” as it is termed, of all the prison officials who had come under his notice. The chief warder of that portion of the prison where he was confined was a portly, pleasant-spoken man of the military type.
He had been a petty officer in a regiment of dragoons, and had seen a good deal of service. His name was M‘Pherson, and a good-natured, good-tempered officer he was, but Peace only caught sight of him occasionally.
The under-warder, who had him more particularly in his charge, was rather of a saturnine disposition, and Peace felt that he was not a sort of man he could take in his confidence.
He, therefore, made up his mind to bide his time.
Peace received the greatest kindness and attention from the Rev. John Clay, chaplain of the gaol.
This gentleman gave him the very best advice it was possible to offer under the circumstances.
Peace took the first opportunity afforded him of asking the chaplain what he had best do to get transferred into one of the working wards of the prison.
“It is out of my province to interfere in such matters,” said the chaplain; “but your best plan will be to speak to M‘Pherson.”
“Oh! not the governor?”