It was some hours later that a soldier, wearing the uniform of the Guards, appeared at the Wellington Barracks, and requested that he might be permitted to undertake a spell of "sentry go." He was not known by the Non-commissioned Officer on duty, but as his papers appeared to be correct, permission was given him to act as substitute for Private SMITH, who was next on the roster.
And about the same time a person, wearing the garb of a convict, made his way to one of Her Majesty's Prisons, and requested an interview with the Governor. His garb obtained for him immediate admission to the precincts of the gaol.
"Well, my man," said the Governor, when his visitor appeared before him; "what do you want?"
"If you please, Sir," replied the person in the garb of a convict, "I shall be very much obliged if you will permit me to have an hour or so at oakum-picking."
"Absolutely impossible," replied the Crown Official, "such luxuries are only allowed to individuals who have been properly introduced to us by a Judge and Jury."
"I fancied," returned the wearer of the felon's garb, "that an order from the Home-Secretary would smooth all difficulties."
"Certainly," admitted the Governor, "but such documents are only supplied to European Royal Personages, or other foreigners of extreme distinction."
"I have the requisite document," replied the curiously-garbed stranger, and he was bowed into a well-appointed cell, and furnished with the tangled rope for which he had petitioned.
And about the same time a sea-faring man applied to be rated on one of Her Majesty's Ships of War.
"Impossible!" was the immediate reply of the Captain, who was rather short-tempered.
"Nothing is impossible to the Admiralty," said the sea-faring man; "and, if you will glance at this paper, you will see that I have special permission from Whitehall to be mast-headed, or to undertake some other naval manoeuvre of a more modern date."
Suppressing an exclamation of a somewhat profane character, the Captain gave the required permission, and a few minutes later the sea-faring man was mounting (with some difficulty), the quivering rungs of a rope-ladder.
A few hours after the happening of these events, a weary soldier, a half-starved convict, and a sailor covered with bruises, met by chance in the common room of a tavern. For some minutes they were too exhausted to speak. At length, the convict declared that the organisation of Her Majesty's Prisons was simply perfect.