"All these miseries were as nothing compared with others. The worst work was that which I was made to do at night. Of foggy evenings our boat slipped along like a phantom, with the oars muffled in bits of old wool so that they moved without a sound. Thus we circled about the big ships at anchor, or prowled around the sleeping warehouses. At such hours the river belonged to the bandits, to the vagabonds who were called light-horsemen; they were alone, and sovereign masters there." "But what part did you play upon these nocturnal expeditions?" "They made me climb up a knotted rope to the bowsprits of the ships, which they knew to be but poorly guarded by the drunken sailors at that time of night. From there I would crawl to the deck. Then I would glide into the storeroom and bring thence a bag of 'sand,' a sack of 'peas,' or a bottle of 'vinegar,' which is pirate slang for sugar, coffee, and rum. When I had lowered my booty into the boat moored under the bow, I would let myself down, my teeth chattering, half dead with fright." "Were you aware that you were doing wrong?" "No: no one had taught me the difference between good and bad; no one had ever pronounced in my presence the name of God, unless it was with the accompaniment of some frightful blasphemy. I was simply aware that there existed another race of men who waged war upon my masters; that when the landsmen captured our water-folk they dragged them into a great black house called Newgate, and from there to a place called Tyburn, where they set up a gallows. I saw many of my companions hanged there, for thieves never miss an execution. Have you ever seen a hanging, Miss Woodville?" "Oh, never!" cried Esther shudderingly. "You would think it a festival. All along Holborn stagings are set up for those who wish to see, and tables for the wine-bibbers. The mob laughs and sings, and jokes the ladies who have hired windows, and who hide their faces behind their fans. Venders of apples and gin thrust their handcarts into the thick of the crowd. The mountebanks perform their tricks and dances as at the fair of Saint Bartholomew, while the street urchins for half a penny proclaim the complaint against the doomed man. At last he appears upon a cart drawn by a wretched hack, which itself seems on its way to slaughter. I have seen certain men in this plight who were bold and impudent in the face of death, who winked at the women, and responded to the jeers of the crowd. Yes, I have heard them try to sing songs, which the mob took up in chorus. But there have been others!--those who were deaf to everything, deaf even to the exhorting voice of the clergyman. Quivering like dead animals with every jolt of the cart, fainting, convulsed, livid, horrible to look upon, their eyes dilated with terror, they seemed scarcely human, scarcely living but for the evidence of their fear."