He rose at last, and stretched himself, muttering, "It is folly and to no purpose my seeking to find the man; there are so many witnesses of my father's presence at Whitehall. We must abide by the results; but I will see Sir Nicholas Crisp to-morrow, he has always been kindly disposed towards me, and stands high in the king's esteem. He may perchance speak a word in my father's favour." With this he also retired to his chamber to await the events of the morrow.
CHAPTER IX
Old Newgate
We have all read, and we all know by hearsay, how, till within the last century, the prisons were worse than the lowest hovels. We know and honour the men and women by whose influence humanity was brought to bear upon them. What they must have been two centuries earlier passes all imagination.
We learn from old chronicles that as far back as 1218 the prison of Newgate existed. It was built in the portal of the new gate of the city, and from that fact took its name. Two centuries later it was rebuilt by the executors of the famous Sir Richard Whittington, Lord Mayor of London, and his statue with his cat stood in a niche. This building was destroyed in the great fire of which we shall soon be telling. It was here, in old Newgate, that Colonel Newbolt was imprisoned--a noisome place, within high, dark, stone walls, without windows, where the prisoners were crowded together irrespective of age or sex. At the time we are writing of, it was crowded to excess. To obtain a wisp of straw to lie upon at night, and the space necessary for a litter, meant a hand-to-hand fight between the occupants.
The jailers reaped a rich harvest, charging fabulous prices for the merest necessaries. There was no provision made for sickness, not even for the ordinary decencies of life; men and women of every class were herded together.
It is easy to imagine Colonel Newbolt's feelings when he was thrust into this den. On the first day he bore it with a certain amount of equanimity, feeling assured that he would be released on the morrow; but when two or three days passed by, and all the money he had on his person was expended, he was seriously disquieted, wondering why Reginald or some other of his friends did not come to his rescue. He could not know that Reginald had been daily at the prison, and had expended a considerable sum of money in pleading with the jailers for news of his father. He was dismissed with the assurance that his father's name was not on the prison list; they could not find the man.
This answer was given purposely. It would not have suited the jailers to find their man too soon, for then the enquiry money would cease to fall into their pockets, so they sent Reginald to Aldersgate and to smaller jails, of which there were several. Four days had elapsed after his father's arrest before Reginald was admitted into the prison and allowed to interview him.
He was horrified when he saw him. From a hale, fine-looking soldier he had dwindled into an old man, with sunken eyes and haggard face. His lace ruffles and jabot had been torn to shreds. He had had no change of linen, the lappets of his coat had been wrenched away, his head was bare, and his hair bleached.
He staggered as he came into the guard-room, and in his impotent rage shook his fist in Reginald's face.