I adhered to my statement. The Polizerdiener nudged my elbow, and whispered, “Don't be alarmed—it will not go hard with you.”
“Now, constable,” said the Rath; “what harm have you suffered in this affair?”
“My uniform is stained with blood.”
“From my head!” I exclaimed.
“From my nose,” interposed the Polizerdiener.
“In any case it will wash out,” said the Rath.
“And you,” he added, turning to me—“are you willing to indemnify this man for damage done?”
I assented; and was then removed.
On the following morning I was again summoned to the Rath's chamber. His secretary—who was alone—met me with smiles and congratulations: he announced to me the sentence—four days' imprisonment. I am afraid I did not evince that degree of pleasure which was expected from me; but I thanked him; was removed; and, in another hour, was reconducted to Punishment Room, No. 1.
The four days of sentence formed the lightest part of the adventure. My mind was at ease: I knew the worst. Additions to my old companions had arrived in the interval. We had an artist among us, who was allowed, in consideration of his talents, to retain a sharp cutting implement fashioned by himself from a flat piece of steel—knives and books being, as the most dangerous objects in prison, rigidly abstracted from us. He manufactured landscapes in straw, gummed upon pieces of blackened wood. Straw was obtained, in a natural state, of green, yellow, and brown; and these, when required, were converted into differently-tinted reds, by a few hours immersion in the Kiefel. He also kneaded bread in the hand, until it became as hard and as plastic as clay. This he modeled into snuff boxes (with strips of rag for hinges, and a piece of whalebone for a spring), draughts, chess-men, pipe-bowls, and other articles. When dry, they became hard and serviceable; and he sold them among the prisoners and the prison officials. He obtained thus a number of comforts not afforded by the prison regulations.