It was seven o'clock when he commenced his labour; and as the clock of the church on Clerkenwell Green struck eleven, that portion of his task was accomplished.
"True to a minute!" muttered the Resurrection Man to himself, with a low chuckle of triumph: "I reckoned on four hours to do it in!"
But his fingers were cut and lacerated with the process: he, however, assuaged the pain by greasing the flesh with the remainder of the gruel left in his bowl.
The next proceeding was to tear his bedding into slips, wherewith to form a rope; and this was accomplished in about half an hour.
The window was not very high from the ground; and he did not dread the descent:—but the moon was shining brightly—and he knew that watchmen, carrying fire-arms, kept guard in the prison-grounds.
He looked up at the lovely planet of the night, whose chaste splendour was at that moment blessed by so many travellers alike upon the land and on the ocean; and he uttered a fearful imprecation against its pure silvery lustre.
But he did not hesitate many minutes: his case was desperate—so was his character.
"Better receive an ounce of lead in the heart than dance on nothing in six weeks or so," he said to himself, as he fastened the rope to the bar which stood next to the place of the two that he had removed.
Then he passed his legs through the window; and clinging by his hands and feet, slid slowly and safely down the rope.
He was now in the grounds belonging to the prison; but the high wall, that bounded the enclosure, separated him from the street.