toes; two or three pickles I did not try; and
two large thick slices of bread. It was not a bad meal, and had I been
hungry I should have done more justice to it.

One of the rules the Captain mentioned is that no bread must be left on
the table; so, noticing what the other men do, I watch for the passing of
the waiter with a large pail of bread, from which he gives an extra slice
to those who want it, and shy my second slice into his pail as he goes
by. Of course no conversation is allowed at meals; and anything less
appetizing than the rows of gray shoulders and backs of heads in front of
one I cannot imagine. The watching keepers, standing sternly and silently
by, certainly do not add to the hilarity of the occasion. I am reminded of
what my convict friend once said to me, "You know we don't really eat
here; we just stoke up."

During the beginning of our meal other companies are continually arriving
and taking their places in front of us; and during the latter part others
are departing from behind us, accompanied by a curious noise which sounds
like the rattling of castanets. I soon make out that it is the disposal of
the spoons, forks, and knives. I have been cautioned by the Captain that
upon leaving the table the three implements must be held in full view; in
my left hand if I march on that side, otherwise in my right. These
implements are jealously watched so that a prisoner shall not carry them
to his cell and turn them into means of attack, escape, or
self-destruction.

At the end of the meal the officer's stick again strikes the stone
pavement sharply; we rise, shove our stools back under the table shelf,
then fall in line behind another departing company, each man holding aloft
his knife, fork, and spoon which he drops into the proper receptacles near
the door where a watchful officer keeps careful tally. We march back
along the stone corridors, break ranks at the foot of the iron stairs,
traverse the narrow gallery, and are soon in our cells where we are locked
in; and I begin to write this journal.

It is curious what a resentful feeling overtakes one as that iron grated
door swings to and is double locked. I can perfectly imagine a high-strung
man battering himself against it from sheer nervousness.

Captain Lamb has just been to the door of my cell again. He begins with a
reprimand. "Brown, I noticed you turning around at dinner; that is not
allowed. I will let it pass this time, but don't let it hap