crouching　just　inside　their　doors。　　Of　course；　this　was　verification
  absolute　of　all　the　fabric　of　lies　that　the　poet…forger　had　spun　for
  Captain　Jamie。　　The　forty　lifers　were　caught　in　red…handed　readiness
  for　the　break。　　What　if　they　did　unite；　afterward；　in　averring　that
  the　break　had　been　planned　by　Winwood？　　The　Prison　Board　of
  Directors　believed；　to　a　man；　that　the　forty　lied　in　an　effort　to
  save　themselves。　　The　Board　of　Pardons　likewise　believed；　for；　ere
  three　months　were　up；　Cecil　Winwood；　forger　and　poet；　most
  despicable　of　men；　was　pardoned　out。
  Oh；　well；　the　stir；　or　the　pen；　as　they　call　it　in　convict　argot；　is
  a　training　school　for　philosophy。　　No　inmate　can　survive　years　of　it
  without　having　had　burst　for　him　his　fondest　illusions　and　fairest
  metaphysical　bubbles。　　Truth　lives；　we　are　taught；　murder　will　out。
  Well；　this　is　a　demonstration　that　murder　does　not　always　come　out。
  The　Captain　of　the　Yard；　the　late　Warden　Atherton；　the　Prison　Board
  of　Directors　to　a　manall　believe；　right　now；　in　the　existence　of
  that　dynamite　that　never　existed　save　in　the　slippery…geared　and　all
  too…accelerated　brain　of　the　degenerate　forger　and　poet；　Cecil
  Winwood。　　And　Cecil　Winwood　still　lives；　while　I；　of　all　men
  concerned；　the　utterest；　absolutist；　innocentest；　go　to　the　scaffold
  in　a　few　short　weeks。
  And　now　I　must　tell　how　entered　the　forty　lifers　upon　my　dungeon
  stillness。　　I　was　asleep　when　the　outer　door　to　the　corridor　of
  dungeons　clanged　open　and　aroused　me。　　〃Some　poor　devil；〃　was　my
  thought；　and　my　next　thought　was　that　he　was　surely　getting　his；　as
  I　listened　to　the　scuffling　of　feet；　the　dull　impact　of　blows　on
  flesh；　the　sudden　cries　of　pain；　the　filth　of　curses；　and　the　sounds
  of　dragging　bodies。　　For；　you　see；　every　man　was　man…handled　all　the
  length　of　the　way。
  Dungeon…door　after　dungeon…door　clanged　open；　and　body　after　body
  was　thrust　in；　flung　in；　or　dragged　in。　　And　continually　more　groups
  of　guards　arrived　with　more　beaten　convicts　who　still　were　being
  beaten；　and　more　dungeon…doors　were　opened　to　receive　the　bleeding
  frames　of　men　who　were　guilty　of　yearning　after　freedom。
  Yes；　as　I　look　back　upon　it；　a　man　must　be　greatly　a　philosopher　to
  survive　the　continual　impact　of　such　brutish　experiences　through　the
  years　and　years。　　I　am　such　a　philosopher。　　I　have　endured　eight
  years　of　their　torment；　and　now；　in　the　end；　failing　to　get　rid　of
  me　in　all　other　ways；　they　have　invoked　the　machinery　of　state　to
  put　a　rope　around　my　neck　and　shut　off　my　breath　by　the　weight　of　my
  body。　　Oh；　I　know　how　the　experts　give　expert　judgment　that　the　fall
  through　the　trap　breaks　the　victim's　neck。　　And　the　victims；　like
  Shakespeare's　traveller；　never　return　to　testify　to　the　contrary。
  But　we　who　have　lived　in　the　stir　know　of　the　cases　that　are　hushed
  in　the　prison　crypts；　where　the　victim's　necks　are　not　broken。
  It　is　a　funny　thing；　this　hanging　of　a　man。　　I　have　never　seen　a
  hanging；　but　I　have　been　told　by　eye…witnesses　the　details　of　a
  dozen　hangings　so　that　I　know　what　will　happen　to　me。　　Standing　on
  the　trap；　leg…manacled　and　arm…manacled；　the　knot　against　the　neck；
  the　black　cap　drawn；　they　will　drop　me　down　until　the　momentum　of　my
  descending　weight　is　fetched　up　abruptly　short　by　the　tautening　of
  the　rope。　　Then　the　doctors　will　group　around　me；　and　one　will
  relieve　another　in　successive　turns　in　standing　on　a　stool；　his　arms
  passed　around　me　to　keep　me　from　swinging　like　a　pendulum；　his　ear
  pressed　close　to　my　chest；　while　he　counts　my　fading　heart…beats。
  Sometimes　twenty　minutes　elapse　after　the　trap　is　sprung　ere　the
  heart　stops　beating。　　Oh；　trust　me；　they　make　most　scientifically
  sure　that　a　man　is　dead　once　they　get　him　on　a　rope。
  I　still　wander　aside　from　my　narrative　to　ask　a　question　or　two　of
  society。　　I　have　a　right　so　to　wander　and　so　to　question；　for　in　a
  little　while　they　are　going　to　take　me　out　and　do　this　thing　to　me。
  If　the　neck　of　the　victim　be　broken　by　the　alleged　shrewd
  arrangement　of　knot　and　noose；　and　by　the　alleged　shrewd　calculation
  of　the　weight　of　the　victim　and　the　length　of　slack；　then　why　do
  they　manacle　the　arms　of　the　victim？　　Society；　as　a　whole；　is　unable
  to　answer　this　question。　　But　I　know　why；　so　does　any　amateur　who
  ever　engaged　in　a　lynching　bee　and　saw　the　victim　throw　up　his
  hands；　clutch　the　rope；　and　ease　the　throttle　of　the　noose　about　his
  neck　so　that　he　might　breathe。
  Another　question　I　will　ask　of　the　smug；　cotton…wooled　member　of
  society；　whose　soul　has　never　strayed　to　the　red　hells。　　Why　do　they
  put　the　black　cap　over　the　head　and　the　face　of　the　victim　ere　they
  drop　him　through　the　trap？　　Please　remember　that　in　a　short　while
  they　will　put　that　black　cap　over　my　head。　　So　I　have　a　right　to
  ask。　　Do　they；　your　hang…dogs；　O　smug　citizen；　do　these　your　hang…
  dogs　fear　to　gaze　upon　the　facial　horror　of　the　horror　they
  perpetrate　for　you　and　ours　and　at　your　behest？
  Please　remember　that　I　am　not　asking　this　question　in　the　twelve…
  hundredth　year　after　Christ；　nor　in　the　time　of　Christ；　nor　in　the
  twelve…hundredth　year　before　Christ。　　I；　who　am　to　be　hanged　this
  year；　the　nineteen…hundred…and…thirteenth　after　Christ；　ask　these
  questions　of　you　who　are　assumably　Christ's　followers；　of　you　whose
  hang…dogs　are　going　to　take　me　out　and　hide　my　face　under　a　black
  cloth　because　they　dare　not　look　upon　the　horror　they　do　to　me　while
  I　yet　live。
  And　now　back　to　the　situation　in　the　dungeons。　　When　the　last　guard
  departed　and　the　outer　door　clanged　shut；　all　the　forty　beaten；
  disappointed　men　began　to　talk　and　ask　questions。　　But；　almost
  immediately；　roaring　like　a　bull　in　order　to　be　heard；　Skysail　Jack；
  a　giant　sailor　of　a　lifer；　ordered　silence　while　a　census　could　be
  taken。　　The　dungeons　were　full；　and　dungeon　by　dungeon；　in　order　of
  dungeons；　shouted　out　its　quota　to　the　roll…call。　　Thus；　every
  dungeon　was　accounted　for　as　occupied　by　trusted　convicts；　so　that
  there　was　no　opportunity　for　a　stool　to　be　hidden　away　and
  listening。
  Of　me；　only；　were　the　convicts　dubious；　for　I　was　the　one　man　who
  had　not　been　in　the　plot。　　They　put　me　through　a　searching
  examination。　　I　could　but　tell　them　how　I　had　just　emerged　from
  dungeon　and　jacket　in　the　morning；　and　without　rhyme　or　reason；　so
  far　as　I　could　discover；　had　been　put　back　in　the　dungeon　after
  being　out　only　several　hours。　　My　record　as　an　incorrigible　was　in
  my　favour；　and　soon　they　began　to　talk。
  As　I　lay　there　and　listened；　for　the　first　time　I　learned　of　the
  break　that　had　been　a…hatching。　　〃Who　had　squealed？〃　was　their　one
  quest；　and　throughout　the　night　the　quest　was　pursued。　　The　quest
  for　Cecil　Winwood　was　vain；　and　the　suspicion　against　him　was
  general。
  〃There's　only　one　thing；　lads；〃　Skysail　Jack　finally　said。　　〃It'll
  soon　be　morning；　and　then　they'll　take　us　out　and　give　us　bloody
  hell。　　We　were　caught　dead　to　rights　with　our　clothes　on。　　Winwood
  crossed　us　and　squealed。　　They're　going　to　get　us　out　one　by　one　and
  mess　us　up。　　There's　forty　of　us。　　Any　lyin's　bound　to　be　found　out。
  So　each　lad；　when　they　sweat　him；　just　tells　the　truth；　the　whole
  truth；　so　help　him　God。〃
  And　there；　in　that　dark　hole　of　man's　inhumanity；　from　dungeon　cell
  to　dungeon　cell；　their　mouths　against　the　gratings；　the　two…score
  lifers　solemnly　pledged　themselves　before　God　to　tell　the　truth。
  Little　good　did　their　truth…telling　do　them。　　At　nine　o'clock　the
  guards；　paid　bravoes　of　the　smug　citizens　who　constitute　the　state；
  full　of　meat　and　sleep；　were　upon　us。　　Not　only　had　we　had　no
  breakfast；　but　we　had　had　no　water。　　And　beaten　men　are　prone　to
  feverishness。　　I　wonder；　my　reader；　if　you　can　glimpse　or　guess　the
  faintest　connotation　of　a　man　beaten〃beat　up；〃　we　prisoners　call
  it。　　But　no；　I　shall　not　tell　you。　　Let　it　suffice　to　know　that
  these　beaten；　feverish　men　lay　seven　hours　without　water。
  At　nine　the　guards　arrived。　　There　were　not　many　of　them。　　There　was
  no　need　for　many；　because　they　unlocked　only　one　dungeon　at　a　time。
  They　were　equipped　with　pick…handlesa　handy　tool　for　the
  〃disciplining〃　of　a　helpless　man。　　One　dungeon　at　a　time；　and
  dungeon　by　dungeon；　they　messed　and　pulped　the　lifers。　　They　were
  impartial。　　I　received　the　same　pulping　as　the　rest。　　And　this　was
  merely　the　beginning；　the　preliminary　to　the　examination　each　man
  was　to　undergo　alone　in　the　presence　of　the　paid　brutes　of　the
  state。　　It　was　the　forecast　to　each　man　of　what　each　man　might
  expect　in　inquisition　hall。
  I　have　been　through　most　of　the　red　hells　of　prison　life；　but；　worst
  of　all；　far　worse　than　what　they　intend　to　do　with　me　in　a　short
  while；　was　the　particular　hell　of　the　dungeons　in　the　days　that
  followed。
  Long　Bill　Hodge；　the　hard…bitten　mountaineer；　was　the　first　man
  interrogated。　　He　came　back　two　hours　lateror；　rather；　they
  conveyed　him　back；　and　threw　him　on　the　stone