men as occupied the berths into which they penetrated.
These berths were twenty-eight in number, each containing six men. They
ran in a double tier round three sides of the prison, twenty at each
side, and eight affixed to that portion of the forward barricade
opposite the door. Each berth was presumed to be five feet six inches
square, but the necessities of stowage had deprived them of six inches,
and even under that pressure twelve men were compelled to sleep on
the deck. Pine did not exaggerate when he spoke of the custom of
overcrowding convict ships; and as he was entitled to half a guinea
for every man he delivered alive at Hobart Town, he had some reason to
complain.

When Frere had come down, an hour before, the prisoners were all snugly
between their blankets. They were not so now; though, at the first clink
of the bolts, they would be back again in their old positions, to all
appearances sound asleep. As the eye became accustomed to the foetid
duskiness of the prison, a strange picture presented itself. Groups
of men, in all imaginable attitudes, were lying, standing, sitting, or
pacing up and down. It was the scene on the poop-deck over again; only,
here being no fear of restraining keepers, the wild beasts were a little
more free in their movements. It is impossible to convey, in words, any
idea of the hideous phantasmagoria of shifting limbs and faces which
moved through the evil-smelling twilight of this terrible prison-house.
Callot might have drawn it, Dante might have suggested it, but a minute
attempt to describe its horrors would but disgust. There are depths in
humanity which one cannot explore, as there are mephitic caverns into
which one dare not penetrate.

Old men, young men, and boys, stalwart burglars and highway robbers,
slept side by side with wizened pickpockets or cunning-featured
area-sneaks. The forger occupied the same berth with the body-snatcher.
The man of education learned strange secrets of house-breakers' craft,
and the vulgar ruffian of St. Giles took lessons of self-control from
the keener intellect of the professional swindler. The fraudulent clerk
and the flash "cracksman" interchanged experiences. The smuggler's
stories of lucky ventures and successful runs were capped by the
footpad's reminiscences of foggy nights and stolen watches. The poacher,
grimly thinking of his sick wife and orphaned children, would start as
the night-house ruffian clapped him on the shoulder and b