"I wish I had drowned that day, I wish to God I had," he concluded, as
the line moved up and we passed around the corner.
At last the door came in sight, through which the paupers were being
admitted in bunches. And here I learned a surprising thing: _this being
Wednesday, none of us would be released till Friday morning_.
Furthermore, and oh, you tobacco users, take heed: _we would not be
permitted to take in any tobacco_. This we would have to surrender as we
entered. Sometimes, I was told, it was returned on leaving and sometimes
it was destroyed.
The old man-of-war's man gave me a lesson. Opening his pouch, he emptied
the tobacco (a pitiful quantity) into a piece of paper. This, snugly and
flatly wrapped, went down his sock inside his shoe. Down went my piece
of tobacco inside my sock, for forty hours without tobacco is a hardship
all tobacco users will understand.
Again and again the line moved up, and we were slowly but surely
approaching the wicket. At the moment we happened to be standing on an
iron grating, and a man appearing underneath, the old sailor called down
to him,--
"How many more do they want?"
"Twenty-four," came the answer.
We looked ahead anxiously and counted.
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