I know the constable has kept him all
day coming up, and he'll be hungry as soon as he awakes."
"Won't he receive his allowance to-day like another prisoner?"
inquired Copeland, a thick-set, well made, dark-skinned negro
steward, who had formerly conducted a barber shop in Fleet street,
Boston, but was now attached to the schooner Oscar Jones, Kellogg,
master.
"Oh! no, sir," said Redman, "that's against the rules of the
jail-every thing is done by rule here, even to paying for what we
don't get, and starving the prisoners. A man that don't come in
before eleven o'clock gets no ration until the next morning. I know,
because I had a fuss with the jailer about it, the first day I was
brought in; but he gin me a loaf out of his own house. The old
sheriff never allows any thing done outside the rules, for he's
tighter than a mantrap. 'T a'n't what ye suffers in this cell, but
it's what ye don't get to eat; and if that poor feller a'n't got
money, he'll wish himself alongside the caboose again 'fore he gets
out." The poor fellows were driven to the extreme of providing
sustenance to sustain life. They mustered their little means
together, and by giving a sum to the sheriff's black boy, (a man
more intelligent, gentlemanly, and generous-hearted than his
master,) had a measure of coffee, sugar, and bread brought in.
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