The fifteen cells

Every warder who was stationed between the gates and the Governor's office saluted and said, "All correct, sir," just as they had said it for years.

The Deputy-Governor rose from his chair as the Governor entered the office, and said, "All correct, sir. Good morning, sir."

The correspondence was looked over. The Governor dictated a few replies to his clerk; routine replies. The stewards received their portion of the mail dealing with the accounts and the cookhouse, laundry, etc. The chief warder reported that the adjudication room was ready. The Governor and the Deputy-Governor went in to adjudicate.

The newcomers to the prison were attended to first. They had been brought in the previous day, had been bathed, medically examined, and given prison clothes. There were fourteen arrivals. Next came those who were due to return to the world shortly. Their papers were put in order.

The Governor went to his lunch.

In the afternoon he attended to his less important correspondence. He adjudicated on the applications for petitions, wherein prisoners desired to tell the Home Secretary that their sentences were too long or complained of other matters. Every prisoner has a right to petition. Very few have their petitions granted.

The Governor went to tea.

His work was not ended. He returned to his office and signed a request to the local coroner to be good enough to hold an inquest the following day on the body of a man who was at that moment perfectly healthy; but he was in the condemned cell.

The Governor then took a walk round the grounds. It was a dull, heavy evening. Fog had been coming up all day. In a corner of the prison precincts two warders had almost finished digging a grave. The Governor wondered how the condemned man would face his execution; and came to the conclusion that he would probably do as practically all condemned men did--take his ounce or so of brandy, toss it off, and wipe his lips with his cuff. The executioner would be at the door and would enter the cell, while the chaplain, the assistants, the officials, would look on. The executioner would pretend to be cheerful. Most of them affect this frightful cordiality. He would say persuasively: "Hullo, old man. Put your hands behind your back, if you don't mind. That's the idea." By the time the executioner ceased to speak the condemned man would be pinioned. The chaplain would lead the procession, reading aloud the Burial Service (a kindness granted to ordinary people when they can no longer hear it). The shed, ten yards off, would be reached. A belt would be strapped round the prisoner's ankles, the executioner would put a white cap over the man's head and adjust the noose; then, stepping back quickly from the platform, he would pull the lever. The trap-door would open, its sides thudding against the sides of the pit with a crash that would be heard throughout the prison. The law would be satisfied; at any rate, it would be fulfilled. Everything was routine.