The prisoner listened to their talk with a kind of
dumb fierceness, shaking his head from side to side as I have seen an
angry horse do. It was very chilly, and he was so miserably clad that he
shivered, though he tried not to do so.
The way was long by train, and he might have marched for many a weary
mile before he got on the train. He lay down on the seat and tried to
sleep but could not, so he started up and resumed the wild glancing from
side to side and the fierce head shakes. I began to think he might be
very hungry, and if he was, he was not likely to get anything in gaol
till morning. I had some biscuits and cheese in my satchel, and they
began to struggle to get out, and at last I consented and handed the
little parcel silently to the prisoner. He did not thank me, except by
falling to and eating like a famished creature.
Arrived at Cork, the police took him away on a car, and the last glimpse
I got of him he was eating as if he had not eaten before for a week.
I was very thankful when Sabbath morning found me in Cork again and with
power to rest. There is not much appearance of Sabbath in the streets of
Cork; it looks like a vast crowd keeping holiday.
