I arrived on the ground with a quarter of an hour to spare, attended by the Avenger,--if I may connect that expression with one who never attended on me if he could possibly help it.
At that time it was customary to carry Convicts down to the dock-yards by stage-coach.

As I had often heard of them in the capacity of outside passengers, and had more than once seen them on the high road dangling their ironed legs over the coach roof, I had no cause to be surprised when Herbert, meeting me in the yard, came up and told me there were two convicts going down with me.

But I had a reason that was an old reason now for constitutionally faltering whenever I heard the word "convict." "You don't mind them, Handel ?" said Herbert.
"O no!" "I thought you seemed as if you didn't like them ?" "I can't pretend that I do like them, and I suppose you don't particularly.

But I don't mind them." "See! There they are," said Herbert, "coming out of the Tap.

What a degraded and vile sight it is!" They had been treating their guard, I suppose, for they had a gaoler with them, and all three came out wiping their mouths on their hands.
The two convicts were handcuffed together, and had irons on their legs,--irons of a pattern that I knew well.