(Captain Bucknill, the Governor, was making his morning rounds, when he heard that among the convicts claiming to see him was 76.)
A little man, prim, snappy, compact: an army officer, with moustachios stuck upon him, to curve and finish him off.
“Well, what is it, 76?” said he busily at the cell door.
Hogarth struck a hand-salute—his old habit on His Majesty's ships.
“Sir, I wished to tell you that I have determined to escape from this prison—if I can”.
“Indeed, now! This is a most refreshing candour, 76!”
“I have said what I had to say”, said Hogarth. “You keep a sharp eye on me, and I, too, will keep a sharp eye”.
The Governor puffed a breath of laughter, turned on his heels, walked away, and that day spoke to three officials with regard to Convict 76.
And during a week Hogarth lay deep, chained, in a punishment-cell.
But during its first four days he had invented three separate plans of escape, and had determined upon the one which seemed the surest, though longest.