visitors were
admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the
appearance of a showroom. As the day wore on, the crowds
diminished,--many who would not submit to the turnkey's demands were
sent away ungratified,--and at five o'clock, only two strangers, Mr.
Shotbolt, the head turnkey of Clerkenwell Prison, and Mr. Griffin, who
held the same office in Westminster Gatehouse were left in the Lodge.
Jack, who had formerly been in the custody of both these gentlemen, gave
them a very cordial welcome; apologized for the sorry room he was
compelled to receive them in; and when they took leave, insisted on
treating them to a double bowl of punch, which they were now discussing
with the upper jailer, Mr. Ireton, and his two satellites, Austin and
Langley. At a little distance from the party, sat a tall,
sinister-looking personage, with harsh inflexible features, a gaunt but
muscular frame, and large bony hands. He was sipping a glass of cold gin
and water, and smoking a short black pipe. His name was Marvel, and his
avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public
executioner. By his side sat a remarkably stout dame, to whom he paid as
much attention as it was in his iron nature to pay. She had a nut-brown
skin, a swarthy upper lip, a merry black eye, a prominent bust, and a
tun-like circumference of waist. A widow for the fourth time, Mrs.
Spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or
person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. Marvel, who, as
he had helped to deprive her of her former husbands, thought himself in
duty bound to offer to supply their place. But the lady was not so
easily won; and though she did not absolutely reject him, gave him very
slight hopes. Mr. Marvel, therefore, remained on his probation. Behind
Mrs. Spurling stood her negro attendant, Caliban; a hideous, misshapen,
malicious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat nose, and ears
like those of a wild beast, a head too large for his body, and a body
too long for his legs. This horrible piece of deformity, who acted as
drawer and cellarman, and was a constant butt to the small wits of the
jail, was nicknamed the Black Dog of Newgate.

In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter, but
little was said of the Lodge. It may be well, therefore, before
proceeding farther, to describe it more minutely. It was approached from
the street by a flight of broad stone steps,