After I have been thoroughly searched I clothe myself in the soiled old shirt and trousers, put on the felt shoes, throw the coat over my shoulder and take my cap in my hand. I can not, for the life of me, see what use can be made of a cap in a dark cell. Before I hand over my own trousers to the Captain I take my handkerchief out of the pocket. "You can't have that," says the Captain gruffly; and he snatches the handkerchief out of my hand. Well, of all the unbelievable stupidity! Suicide again, I suppose. But has it never occurred to anyone responsible for this System that a man can strangle himself more easily with his undershirt or drawers than with his handkerchief? Ah! I recall it now--the case of that poor fellow who committed suicide down in this place several years ago. It was with his handkerchief that he strangled himself; so I have been told. The official remedy, therefore, for suicide in the punishment cells is to take away your handkerchief. And then--leave you your underclothes. In none too pleasant a frame of mind toward prison officialdom, I enter my iron cage. It is the first one of the eight and is absolutely empty of everything except a papier-mache bucket. There is no seat, no bed, no mattress or bedding, no place to wash, no water to wash with, nothing--except the bucket. I presume I ought to be grateful even for that. But I wish it had a cover. A convict trusty, who now appears within the radius of the electric light, hands me a round tin can, and the grated door is banged to and locked. I take my seat upon the floor and await developments. Soon the trusty hands me, through an extra large slot in the door, a roll of pieces of newspaper, evidently intended for possible toilet purposes. There soon follows a slice of bread, and then there is poked through the slot the end of a long tin funnel which holds a precise measure of water. I hold my tin can to the end of the funnel and receive a gill--neither more nor less than exactly one gill--which is to last me through the night. I never appreciated before what a small quantity is measured by a gill. The water covers the bottom of my tin can to the depth of about an inch and a half. And three gills of water is all the inmates of this place are allowed in twenty-four hours. And up to the time that Warden Rattigan took office and first visited the jail, all the water a man here was allowed in twenty-four hours was one gill! No wonder the men down here go insane! No wonder they commit suicide! The electric light, held close to the grated door of my iron cage, has enabled me thus far to see the operations of Captain Martin and the trusty. Now they pass along to the other cells, and I can see nothing except the fragments of their moving shadows on the wall opposite. But they are stopping at the doors of the other cells, and are evidently giving out more bread and gills of water. So there must be other prisoners; I shall not be alone in the darkness, thank Heaven!