“To take him to Newgate, for Sunday makes no difference to criminals.”
“And what crime have I committed?”
“You will hear that in prison.”
“My master has a right to know his crime before he goes to prison,” said the negro.
“Yes, but the magistrate’s abed.”
The negro stuck to his position, however, and the people who had come up declared with one consent that he was in the right.
The head-constable gave in, and said he would take me to a house in the city.
“Then drive to that city,” said I, “and have done with it.”
We stopped before the house, and I was placed in a large room on the ground floor, furnished solely with benches and long tables. My servant sent back the carriage, and came to keep me company. The six constables said they could not leave me, and told me I should send out for some meat and drink for them. I told my negro to give them what they wanted, and to be as amicable with them as was possible.
As I had not committed any crime, I was quite at ease; I knew that my arrest must be the effect of a slander, and as I was aware that London justice was speedy and equitable, I thought I should soon be free. But I blamed myself for having transgressed the excellent maxim, never to answer anyone in the night time; for if I had not done so I should have been in my house, and not in prison. The mistake, however, had been committed, and there was nothing to be done but to wait patiently. I amused myself by reflecting on my rapid passage from a numerous and exalted assemblage to the vile place I now occupied, though I was still dressed like a prince.