CHAPTER XVIII
In Which Archie Inspects an Opera Bouffe Dungeon Jail, Where He Makes the Acquaintance of Dust, Dry Rot and Deschamps. In Which, Also, Skipper Bill o’ Burnt Bay Is Advised to Howl Until His Throat Cracks
In the morning Archie went as a tourist to the jail where Bill o’ Burnt Bay was confined. The wind was blowing fresh from the west and promised to hold true for the day. It was a fair, strong wind for the outward bound craft; but Archie Armstrong had no longer any interest in the wind or in the Heavenly Home. He was interested in captives and cells. To his astonishment he found that the Saint Pierre jail had been designed chiefly with the idea of impressing the beholder, and was builded long, long ago.
It was a low-walled structure situate in a quiet quarter of the town. The outer walls were exceeding thick. One might work with a pick and shovel for a week and never tunnel them. 160
“But,” thought Archie, “why tunnel them when it is possible to leap over them?”
They were jagged on top and strewn with bits of broken bottle imbedded in the mortar.
“But,” thought Archie, “why cut one’s hands when it is so easy to throw a jacket over the glass and save the pain?”
The walls apparently served no good purpose except to frighten the populace with their frowns.
As big Deschamps, the jailer, led Archie through the musty corridors and cells the boy perceived that the old building had long ago gone to wrack. It was a place of rust and dust and dry rot, of crumbling masonry, of rotted casements, of rust-eaten bars, of creaking hinges and broken locks. He had the impression that a strong man could break in the doors with his fist and tumble the walls about his ears with a push.