He was amusing himself with a ginbri, playing loud and low according as the tumult was great or little which came from the other side of a barred and knotted doorway behind him, some four feet high, and having a round peephole in the upper part of it.

On the wall above hung leather thongs, and a long Reefian flintlock stood in the corner.
At Israel's approach there were some facetious comments between the jailer and the guard.

Why the ginbri?
Was he practising for the fires of Jehinnum?
Was he to fiddle for the Jinoon?
Well, what was a man to do while the dogs inside were snarling?
Were the thongs for the correction of persons lacking understanding?
Why, yes; everybody knew their old saying, "A hint to the wise, a blow to the fool." A bunch of great keys rattled, the low doorway was thrown open, Israel stooped and went in, the door closed behind him, the footsteps of the guard died away, and the twang of the ginbri began again.
The prison was dark and noisome, some sixty feet long by half as many broad, supported by arches resting on rotten pillars, lighted only by narrow clefts at either hand, exuding damp from its walls, dropping moisture from its roof, its air full of vermin, and its floor reeking of filth.

And only less horrible than the prison itself was the condition of the prisoners.

Nearly all wore iron fetters on their legs, and some were shackled to the pillars.