So here I write the last page within the walls; and go forth from my cell to embark upon the last round of my great adventure. I never expected to end my prison term with regrets; and I am probably the first man who ever did.
At the end of the gallery I hear the familiar sound of the key turning in the locks; so here go for the last time my pencils and paper into the locker, as I put on my cap and coat and prepare to follow the Captain to my final hours in the basket-shop.
Thus far my prison journal carries us. From this time on, for reasons which will be apparent, I have to depend upon subsequent memory. It is only fair to say, however, that it is memory made peculiarly clear by the unusual character of the circumstances.
The Captain unlocks the levers; the cells are opened; and we march down to the shop. With a serious face and without his usual greeting Jack joins me at our work-table.
In fact Jack is not in very good spirits; and I have to do most of the cheerful part. This is not surprising; when one thinks it over. A rather exciting episode in Jack’s life is coming to an end; while the most exciting part of my adventure is just beginning. After that, I am going out, my life enriched with an unusual and interesting experience; while he is going back to the old, dull, depressing routine. Is it any wonder that he feels gloomy?
For about two hours, from half past one to a quarter past three, we both work away faithfully on our basket-making; and then as I finish off my last bottom I turn to my partner. “Well, old man, the time will be here pretty soon; and I may as well get ready for it. I think I’ll go over and wash up.”
So I raise my hand for permission; and upon seeing the Captain nod, as I suppose, I take Jack’s soap and towel which we still use in common and go to the sink. On my way back, as I pass the Captain’s desk, he stops me. “Brown, don’t you know that you mustn’t leave your place without permission?”
“Yes, sir,” is my reply, “but I raised my hand.”