“Why, there is one punished every day.”
“I have been carefully over the books, and I assure you there is a marked decrease in the number of punishments.”
“Then they cannot be all put down.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Jones, nonsense!”
“And, then, the severity of these punishments, sir! Is it your wish that a prisoner should be strapped in the jacket so tight that we cannot get a finger between the leather and his flesh?”
“Not unless he is refractory.”
“But prisoners are very seldom refractory.”
“Indeed! that is news to me.”
“I assure you, sir, there are no quieter set of men than prisoners generally. They know there is nothing to be gained by resistance.”
“They are on their good behavior before you. You don't see through them, my good sir. They are like madmen—you would take them for lambs till they break out. Do you know a prisoner here called Josephs?”
“Yes, sir, perfectly well.”
“Well, now, what is his character, may I ask?”
“HE IS A MILD, QUIET, DOCILE LAD.”
“Ha! ha! ha! I thought so. Prisoners are the refuse of the earth. The governor knows them, and how to manage them. A discretion must be allowed him, and I see no reason to interfere between him and refractory prisoners except when he invites us.”
“You are aware that several attempts at suicide have been made within the last few months?”
“Sham attempts, yes.”
“One was not sham, sir,” said Mr. Jones, gravely
“Oh, Jackson, you mean. No, but he was a lunatic, and would have made away with himself anywhere—Hawes is convinced of that.”
“Well, sir, I have told you the fact; I have remonstrated against the uncommon seventies practiced in this jail—seventies unknown in Captain O'Connor's day.”
“And I have received and answered your remonstrance, sir, and there that matter ought to end.”
This, and the haughty tone with which it was said, discouraged and nettled the chaplain; he turned red and said:
“In that case, sir, I have no more to say. I have discharged my conscience.” With these words he was about to withdraw, but Mr. Williams stopped him.
“Mr. Jones, do you consider a clergyman justified in preaching at people?”
“Certainly not.”
“The pulpit surely ought not to be made a handle for personality. It is not the way to make the pulpit itself respected.”
“I don't understand you, sir.”
“Mr. Hawes is much hurt at a sermon you preached against him.”
“A sermon against him—never!”
“I beg your pardon; you preached a whole sermon against swearing—and he swears.”
“Oh—yes! I remember—the Sunday before last. I certainly did reprobate in my discourse the habit of swearing, but no personality to Hawes was intended.”
“No personality intended when you know he swears!”
“Yes, but the warders swear, too. Why should Mr. Hawes take it all to himself?”
“Oh! if the turnkeys swear, then it was not so strictly personal.”
“To be sure,” put in Mr. Jones inadvertently, “I believe they learned it of the governor.”
“There you see! Well, and even if they did not, why preach against the turnkeys? why preach at any individuals or upon passing events at all? I can remember the time no clergyman throughout the length and breadth of the land noticed passing events from the pulpit.”
“I am as far from approving the practice as you are, sir.”
“In those days the clergy and the laity respected one another, and there was peace in the Church.”
“I can only repeat, sir, that I agree with you; the pulpit should be consecrated to eternal truths, not passing events.”
“Good! very good! Well, then?”
“What Mr. Hawes complains of was a mere accident.”
“An accident, Mr. Jones? Oh, Mr. Jones!”
“An accident which I undertake to explain to Mr. Hawes himself.”
“By all means; that will be the best way of making friends again. I need not tell you that a jail could not go on in which the governor and the chaplain did not pull together. The fact is, Mr. Jones, the clergy, of late, have been assuming a little too much, and that has made the laity a little jealous. Now, although you are a clergyman, you are her majesty's servant so long as you are here, and must co-operate with the general system of the jail. Come, sir, you are younger than I am; let me give you a piece of advice, 'DON'T OVERSTEP YOUR DUTY,' etc.”
In this strain Mr. Williams buz, buz, buzzed longer than I can afford him paper, it is so dear. He pumped a stream of time-honored phrases on his hearer, and dissolved away with him as the overflow of a pump carries away a straw on its shallow stream down a stable-yard.
When the pump was pumped dry he stopped.
Then the chaplain, who had listened with singular politeness, got in a word. “You forget, sir, I have resigned the chaplaincy of the jail?”
“Oh! ah! yes! well, then, I need say no more; good-day, Mr. Jones.”
“Good-morning, sir.”
Soon after this up came Hawes with a cheerful countenance.
“Well, parson, are you to manage the prisoners and I to preach to them, or are we to go on as we are?”
“Things are to go on as they are, Mr. Hawes; but that is nothing to me, I have discharged my conscience. I have remonstrated against the seventies practiced on our prisoners. COLD WATER HAS BEEN THROWN ON MY REMONSTRANCES, and I shall therefore interfere no more.”
“That is the wise way to look at it, you may depend!”
“We shall see which was in the right. I have discharged my conscience. But, Mr. Hawes, I am hurt you should say I preached a sermon against you.”
“I dare say you are, sir,
