CHAPTER XLIV.
A prison is a house of care, A place where none can thrive, A touchstone true to try a friend, A grave for one alive.
Sometimes a place of right, Sometimes a place of wrong, Sometimes a place of rogues and thieves, And honest men among.Inscription on Edinburgh Tollbooth.
Early on the following morning, the carriage which had brought Bertram to Hazlewood House, was, with his two silent and surly attendants, appointed to convey him to his place of confinement at Portanferry. This building adjoined to the Custom-house established at that little seaport, and both were situated so close to the sea-beach that it was necessary to defend the back part with a large and strong rampart or bulwark of huge stones, disposed in a slope towards the surf, which often reached and broke upon them.
The front was surrounded by a high wall, enclosing a small courtyard, within which the miserable inmates of the mansion were occasionally permitted to take exercise and air. The prison was used as a House of Correction, and sometimes as a chapel of case to the county jail, which was old, and far from being conveniently situated with reference to the Kippletringan district of the county. Mac-Guffog, the officer by whom Bertram had at first been apprehended, and who was now in attendance upon him, was keeper of this palace of little-ease. He caused the carriage to be drawn close up to the outer gate, and got out himself to summon the warders. The noise of his rap alarmed some twenty or thirty ragged boys, who left off sailing their mimic sloops and frigates in the little pools of salt water left by the receding tide, and hastily crowded round the vehicle to see what luckless being was to be delivered to the prison-house out of "Glossin's braw new carriage." The door of the courtyard, after the heavy clanking of many chains and bars, was opened by Mrs. MacGuffog, an awful spectacle, being a woman for strength and resolution capable of maintaining order among her riotous inmates, and of administering the discipline of the house, as it was called, during the absence of her husband, or when he chanced to have taken an overdose of the creature. The growling voice of this Amazon, which rivalled in harshness the crashing music of her own bolts and bars, soon dispersed in every direction the little varlets who had thronged around her threshold, and she next addressed her amiable helpmate:--"Be sharp, man, and get out the swell, canst thou not?""Hold your tongue and be d-d, you--," answered her loving husband, with two additional epithets of great energy, but which we beg to be excused from repeating. Then, addressing Bertram:
"Come, will you get out, my handy lad, or must we lend you a lift?"Bertram came out of the carriage, and, collared by the constable as he put his foot on the ground, was dragged, though he offered no resistance, across the threshold, amid the continued shouts of the little sans-culottes, who looked on at such distance as their fear of Mrs. Mac-Guffog permitted. The instant his foot had crossed the fatal porch, the portress again dropped her chains, drew her bolts, and turning with both hands an immense key, took it from the lock, and thrust it into a huge side-pocket of red cloth.
Bertram was now in the small court already mentioned. Two or three prisoners were sauntering along the pavement, and deriving as it were a feeling of refreshment from the monetary glimpse with which the opening door had extended their prospect to the other side of a dirty street. Nor can this he thought surprising, when it is considered, that, unless on such occasions, their view was confined to the grated front of their prison, the high and sable walls of the courtyard, the heaven above them, and the pavement beneath their feet; a sameness of landscape, which, to use the poet's expression, "lay like a load on the wearied eye," and had fostered in some a callous and dull misanthropy, in others that sickness of the heart which induces him who is immured already in a living grave, to wish for a sepulchre yet more calm and sequestered.
Mac-Guffog, when they entered the courtyard, suffered Bertram to pause for a minute, and look upon his companions in affliction.
When he had cast his eye around, on faces on which guilt, and despondence, and low excess, had fixed their stigma; upon the spendthrift, and the swindler, and the thief, the bankrupt debtor, the "moping idiot, and the madman gay," whom a paltry spirit of economy congregated to share this dismal habitation, he felt his heart recoil with inexpressible loathing from enduring the contamination of their society even for a moment.
"I hope, sir," he said to the keeper "you intend to assign me a place of confinement apart?
"And what should I be the better of that?""Why, sir I can but be detained here a day or two, and it would be very disagreeable to me to mix in the sort of company this place affords.""And what do I care for that?""Why, then, sir, to speak to your feelings," said Bertram, "I shall be willing to make you a handsome compliment for this indulgence.""Ay, but when, Captain? when and how? that's the question, or rather, the twa questions," said the jailor.
"When I am delivered, and get my remittances from England,"answered the prisoner.
Mac-Guffog shook his head incredulously. "Why, friend, you do not pretend to believe that I am really a malefactor?" said Bertram.
"Why, I no ken," said the fellow; "but if you are on the account, ye're nae sharp ane, that's the daylight o't.""And why do you say I am no sharp one?""Why, wha but a crack-brained greenhorn wad hae let them keep up the siller that ye left at the Gordon Arms?" said the constable.