An eventful day was now approaching, and on the morrow I was to appear at Bow Street for the first time after my formal remand of the previous Friday. I felt an instinctive conviction that my appearance (even though it had not appeared up to that time in the newspapers) would be generally known, and draw together a crowd actuated by motives either of like, dislike, or curiosity; nor was I wrong in my surmise. An official at the police court informed me that numbers of inquiries had been made as to the time of my probable appearance; and as the appointed hour drew near fresh arrivals and those that had been waiting since 10 A.M. combined in making up a crowd that literally crammed the court. It was, I admit, a very trying ordeal, for I had been pretty accurately informed what persons were in the court and waiting to see the “fun.” I did, however, the best (though, I fear, a very foolish) thing under the circumstances, and primed myself with liquor, which certain friends, by dint of great ingenuity, managed to convey to me, for the gaoler, though a most civil and obliging man, was a terrible disciplinarian, and one that was not to be “squared.” Had I not taken these repeated nips—and I’m afraid to say how much I imbibed—I firmly believe I could never have gone through the examination with the sang froid I displayed.

About 12 o’clock a hurrying of feet approaching my cell announced to me that my turn was come; and after a momentary pause in the passage I found myself escorted by a constable and in the dock. I can never forget that terrible moment. In front, on each side, and behind me was a dense throng, representing every class of persons I had ever had dealings with. One expected a certain amount of hostility from the side of the prosecution, but the array of faces I then saw opened up in me a new train of thoughts. Here was a room thronged with people I had befriended and people I had never injured; men I had stood dinners to when their funds were lower than mine; lodging-house keepers that had fleeced me, and waiters I had tipped beyond their deserts; nameless attorneys from the slums of the City, courting daylight and publicity in the hopeless endeavour to get their names into print by the gratuitous offer of their valuable but hitherto unappreciated services—all craning their necks to stare at and exult over a poor devil, who, whatever his faults, was now at a disadvantage. It was the old adage of “hitting a man when he is down;” and I’m thankful for the experience that has enabled me to form a just estimate of the worthlessness of such professions of friendship. On the other hand, I heard of many persons—to their honour, be it said—who abstained from being present through feelings of generous consideration. My quasi-friend Georgina occupied a conspicuous place in the front row. I verily believe she never took her eyes off me, but her offensive stare had no charm for me; I had more serious matters to occupy my mind. A mountain of flesh that I was once on terms of intimacy with was also present, panting with excitement, but, like the Levite of old, “he passed over on the other side.” I will not weary the reader with details that repeat themselves almost daily in the police reports; suffice it to say that I was again remanded for another week, and then formally committed for trial at the next sessions of the Central Criminal Court.

On my two previous remands to the House of Detention I had always managed to remain at Bow Street till the 5 o’clock van took its load of victims. It was, at all events, a change, and infinitely more agreeable than the depressing atmosphere of Clerkenwell. On the day, however, of my committal to Newgate I was informed that I could not, as before, wait till 5 P.M., but must be ready to start at 2. The rope was clearly getting “tauter”; discipline was gradually assuming its sway, the circles around me smaller and smaller. The other occupants of the “Black Maria” were, like myself, all committed for trial; and as we drove along I was much surprised at the marvellous knowledge they appeared to have gained of me and my affairs. I was, as before, standing in the passage and not in a compartment, and consequently could hear all that passed between the various passengers. My case was the sole subject of conversation; occasionally I was the object of a little mirthful sally. Thus, a man who had been sentenced to three months’ imprisonment in default of paying a fine, said, “Ah, Capting, you might give us two of them quids to pay my fine”—referring to some money that had been alluded to in the court as having been in my possession at the time of my arrest. Another hinted that I “Best take a good look at the streets, ’cos all wud be changed like afore I cum out agin.” Another assured me that the warm baths in Newgate “wus fine but ’ot.” A lady, too, graced our party; she was tawdry, I admit, and lived in the Dials. Her misfortune was that she had mistaken someone’s purse for her own. She was howling over her ill-luck for the first part of the journey, but before we arrived at our destination had quite recovered her usual spirits. She told me she was an actress—an assertion I am not in a position to dispute, though I found her conversation quite as intellectual as that of the usual ballet-girl class; and as she was the last “lady” I was likely to see or hear for some time, I paid great respect to her conversation. All these familiarities were terribly grating to me; they were more difficult to bear than any of my previous humiliations. They were, as it were, the first instalments of being addressed as an equal by inferiors who had hitherto recognised me as a superior; and as we drove along, past objects as familiar to me as my own face, I felt the lump rising in my throat, and I dread to think what weakness I might have been guilty of had not a sharp turn brought us in front of Newgate, and the opening of a huge gate on its creaking hinges recalled me to a sense of my unenviable position. The van, having crossed the courtyard, was backed against the door, where a string of warders formally received us; and after again submitting to the painful ordeal of being catechized, I found myself traversing a dismal and nearly dark corridor; and then the hideous conviction forced itself on me for the first time that I was actually a prisoner and securely lodged in Newgate.