We may not be sentimental, or I might have cried, "God save the
child!" as the usher said, "God save the Queen!" But "Suffer little
children to come unto Me" would not have applied to our jails in
those miserable and inhuman times. Mercy and sympathy were out of the
question when you had law and order to maintain, as well as all the
functionaries who had to contribute to their preservation.
"Put up the prisoner!" said the Recorder in solemn and commanding
tones.
Down into the jaws of the cavern below the dock descended the jailer
of six feet two--the only big thing about the place. He was a
resolute-looking man in full uniform, and I can almost feel the
breathless silence that pervaded the court during his absence.
Time passed and no one appeared. When a sufficient interval had
elapsed for the stalwart jailer to have eaten his prisoner, had he
been so minded, the Recorder, looking up from behind the _Times_,
which he appeared to be reading, asked in a very stern voice why the
prisoner was not "put up."
They did not put up the boy, but the jailer, with a blood-forsaken
face, put himself up through the hole, like a policeman coming through
a trap-door in a pantomime.
"I beg your honour's pardon, my lord, but they have forgot to bring
him."
"Forgot to bring him! What do you mean? Where is he?"
"They've left him at Chelmsford, your honour.
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