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Updated: May 8, 2025
The glowing coals in the stove shook lower and received augmentation from the supply above. Darkness was drawing on. Prudence was holding the Free Press out towards the dying light and the man was protesting. The latter is already known to us. His name was Leslie Grey, now an under-official of the Customs department at the border village of Ainsley.
'Now, fellow, what's your name? asked the Captain of a shabbily dressed man, whose appearance strongly indicated both abject poverty and extreme ill health. 'Dionysus Wheezlecroft, answered the man, with a consumptive cough. 'Do you know him? inquired the Captain, addressing the under-official, in a whisper.
Porter had been out of town, persistently, ever since the Pullman strike had grown ugly. The duties of the directors were performed, to all intents and purposes, by an under-official, a third vice-president. Those duties at present consisted chiefly in saying from day to day: "The company has nothing to arbitrate. There is a strike; the men have a right to strike.
'What's your name? cried the Captain, addressing the first of the prisoners. 'Barney McQuig, an' plaze yer honor, was the reply, in a strong Hibernian accent. A sort of under-official, who was seated at the desk, whispered in the ear of the Captain of the Watch 'I know him, he's an infernal scoundrel, but he votes our ticket, and you let him slide, by all means.
"Certainly not, my Lord; and not a trunk shall be opened. But the newspapers will want the account of your shipwreck, and a reporter came off with me," replied the official. "Refer him to my secretary." The under-official obtained particulars from the first officer in regard to the steamer for the custom-house, and Dr.
'I know him, too, again whispered the under-official 'he is a common and notorious thief, but he is useful to us as a stool pigeon, and you must let him go. 'Clapp, you can go, said the Captain; and Mr. Numbers Clapp lost no time in conveying himself from the dangerous vicinity of justice; though such justice as we here record, was not very dangerous to him.
The comandante of notorious old Belen prison in the capital spoke English fluently, but he did not show pleasure at my visit. An under-official led me to the flat roof, with a bird's-eye view of the miserable, rambling, old stone building. Its large patios were literally packed with peon prisoners.
The gaol, of which we had a glimpse, was crowded with 240 prisoners, but was under the competent direction of the usual English under-official, who had been in the service of the Transvaal, and who had quietly stepped into the shoes of his chief, a Dutchman, when the latter bolted with Kruger.
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