Chapter Eighteen

“This cannot happen to an Englishman.” Blathers ranted and raved in his Queen’s English at the turnkey as he pushed us through the gates of Newgate Prison.

The impingement of his God-given rights offended Blathers. The smell of the place offended me. “We shall have to get out of here soon, or I will never be able to get this odor off me. What causes the place to stink so bad?”

“No one washes, and the food they cook is half of cabbage and half of potatoes.”

We were ushered in, in a most uncivil way, by the most ugly and filthy person I have ever seen, to a dingy hole in the wall. “Don’t worry, Blathers, I’m sure our friends at the Black Lion will be here shortly with a solicitor and a writ to have us released. We will be back in our office—well, you’ll be in the taproom—before teatime.”

I may have been a bit optimistic. Teatime came and passed; night fell; the sun rose. Although we did not see the sunrise, I knew it had occurred because I could smell cabbage cooking again. Strangely enough, I guess since we had not had anything to eat for several hours, it started to smell quite good. I hadn’t slept, since there was no way I was going to have anything to do with the straw-filled mat that served as a bed. Blathers slept quite well, but now he was scratching in places that polite company might find offensive. He stopped scratching long enough to say, “Let’s see if we can find something to eat.”

Our cell was part of a larger ward with several other sleeping areas adjoining it. It looked like there was some food and beverage available in the wardroom, so we joined the other prisoners who gathered around a table. “Wot ya in fer?” one hairy fellow without a shirt asked. “Hay ya each killed som’en, or does ya both do the same job?”

I responded, “We haven’t killed anyone. We are just here temporarily. There has been a mistake.”

“I’ll say ya be ’ere just tem’rarely. This be death row. Soon as the warrants come down y’ll be swingin’ wi’ the rest o’ us.”

Blathers yelled, “Death row? How in the devil did we get on death row? Turnkey, there’s been a terrible mistake. Let us out right now. Call the warden. What is going on?”

“Quiet down. There ain’t nobody in ’ere what belongs. They’re all ’ere cause o’ a mistake. I ’spect your papers ta be ’ere today. You’ll swing in the morning.”

Blathers and I both lost our appetites.