Great Britain -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction
“Well, then, was Joram's attempt at suicide a real or a feigned one?”
“Well, I should say it was a real one. I found him insensible and he did
not come to for best part of a quarter of an hour.”
“Open his cell.”
“Joram, I am here from the Secretary of State to ask you some questions.
Answer them truly and without fear. Some months ago you made an attempt
on your life.”
The prisoner shuddered and hung his head.
“Don't be discouraged, Joram,” put in Mr. Eden kindly, “this gentleman
is not a harsh judge, he will make allowances.”
“Thank you, gentlemen.”
“What made you attempt your life?” persisted Mr. Lacy. “Was it from
religious despondency?”
“That it was not. What did I know about religion before his reverence
here came to the jail? No, sir, I was clammed to death.”
“Clammed?”
“Yes, sir, clammed and no mistake.”
“North-country word for starved,” explained Mr. Eden.
“No, sir, I was starved as well. It was very cold weather, and they gave
me nothing but a roll of bread no bigger than my fist once a day for the
best part of a week. So being starved with cold and clammed with hunger
I knew I couldn't live many hours more, and then the pain in my vitals
was so dreadful, sir, I was obliged to cut it short. Ay! ay! your
reverence, I know it was very wicked--but what was I to do? If I hadn't
attempted my life I shouldn't be alive now. A poor fellow doesn't know
what to do in such a place as this.”
“Well,” said Mr. Lacy, “I promise you your food shall never be tampered
with again.”
“Thank you, sir. Oh! I have nothing to complain of now, sir; they have
never clammed me since I attempted my life.”
Mr. Eden. “Suicide is at a premium here.”
“What was your first offense?” asked Mr. Lacy.
“Writing on my can.”
“What did you write on the can?”
“I wrote, 'I want to speak to the governor.'”
“Couldn't you ring and ask to see him?”
“Ring and ask? I had rung half a dozen times and asked to see him and
could not get to see him. My hand was blistered, and I wanted to ask
him to put me on a different sort of work till such time as it could get
leave to heal.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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