Great Britain -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction
“Another bucket,” cried he, and taking it himself, he contrived to
sprinkle Mr. Eden as well as to sluice his immediate victim.
Mr. Eden took no notice of this impertinence, but to the surprise of all
there he strode between the victim and his tormentors, and said sternly,
“Do you know that you are committing an illegal assault upon this
prisoner?'
“No, I don't,” said Hawes, with a cold sneer.
“Then I shall show you. Here are the printed rules of the prison; you
have no authority over a prisoner but what these rules give you. Now
show me where they permit you to pillory a prisoner?”
“They don't forbid it, that is enough.”
“No! it is not. They don't forbid you to hang him, or to sear him with
a hot iron, but they tell you in this paragraph what punishments you may
inflict, and that excludes all punishments of your own invention. You
may neither hang him nor burn him nor famish him nor crucify him, all
these acts are equally illegal. So take warning, all of you here--you
are all servants of the law--don't let me catch you assaulting a
prisoner contrary to the law, or you shall smart to the uttermost.
Evans, I command you, in the name of the law, release that prisoner.”
Evans, thus appealed to, fidgeted and turned color, and his hands worked
by his side. “Your reverence!” cried he, in an imploring tone, and
stayed where he was. On this Mr. Eden made no more ado, but darted to
Josephs' side and began to unfasten him with nimble fingers.
Hawes stood dumfounded for a minute or two, then recovering himself he
roared out:
“Officers, do your duty!”
Fry and Hodges advanced upon Mr. Eden, but before they could get at him
the huge body of Evans interposed itself. The man was pale but doggedly
resolved.
“Mustn't lay a finger on his reverence,” said he, almost in a whisper,
but between his clinched teeth and with the look of a bulldog over a
bone.
“What, do you rebel against me, Evans?”
“No, sir,” answered Evans softening his tone, “but nobody must affront
his reverence. Look here, sir, his reverence knows a great deal more
than I do, and he says this is against the law. He showed you the Act,
and you couldn't answer him except by violence, which ain't no answer at
all. Now I am the servant of the law, and I know better than go against
the law.”
“There, I want no more of your chat. Loose the prisoner.”
“Seems to me he is loosed,” said Fry.
“Go to the 5-lb. crank, Josephs, and let me see how much you can do in
half an hour.”
“That I will, your reverence,” and off he ran.
“Now, sir,” said Hawes sternly, “I put up with this now because it must
end next week. I have written to the visiting justices, and they will
settle whether you are to be master in the jail or I.”
“Neither, Mr. Hawes. The law shall be your master and mine.”
“Very good! but there's a hole in your coat; for, as clever as you are,
every jail has its customs as well as its rules.”
“Which customs, if illegal, are abuses, and shall be swept out of it.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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