“You are the ‘Zuwachs’ ” (latest accession), “and it is your business to empty and clean out the ‘Kiefel!’ ” (the sink, &c.)
“The devil!”
“But I dare say,” he added, carelessly, “if you pay the Vater a ‘mass-bier,’ ” (something less than a quart of beer), “he will make some of the boys do it for you.”
“With all my heart.”
“Have you a rug?”
“No.”
“You must ask the corporal, at seven o'clock; but I dare say the Vater will find you one—for a ‘mass-bier’—if you ask him.”
I saw that a mass-bier would do a great deal in an Austrian prison.
The Vater, who was a prisoner like the rest, was appealed to. He was a tall, burly-looking young man, with a frank countenance. He had quitted his honest calling of butcher, and had taken to smuggling tobacco into the city. This was a heavy crime; for the growth, manufacture, and sale of tobacco, is a strict Imperial monopoly. Accordingly, his punishment had been proportionately severe—two years' imprisonment. The sentence was now approaching completion; and, on account of good conduct, he had received the appointment of Vater to Punishment Room, No. 1. The benefits were enumerated to me with open eyes by one of the prisoners—“Double rations, two rugs, and a mass-bier a day!”
The result of my application to the Vater was the instant calling out of several young lads, who crouched all day in the darkest end of the room—a condemned corner, abounding in vermin; and I heard no more of the sink, and so forth. The next day a new-comer occupied my position.