PRISON IN THE ARSENAL. 259 



that uniform is the best travelling dress. Great 

 respect is always shewn to military in these 

 countries, and if a person puts on a uniform, 

 people know who and what he is ; whilst, dressed in 

 plain clothes, or in a white jacket, he may be a tin- 

 ker in his Sunday dress, for all they know or care. 



The bagnio, or prison, in the arsenal, is as hor- 

 rible a place as can be well imagined — dark, 

 damp, and dungeon-like — the very air of which, 

 even for the few minutes I remained in it, made 

 me shiver. I shuddered to think what a charnel- 

 house it must be in times of a raging plague, and 

 how miserable, beyond conception, must be the 

 existence of those condemned to such a living 

 tomb. The convicts are obliged to work in the 

 arsenal, which I should think must tend to pro- 

 long their lives, because I cannot imagine human 

 nature bearing up against a long confinement in 

 so crowded, dark, damp, and horrible a dungeon. 



That immense three-decker, the " Mahmudie," 

 was lying in the Golden Horn, and we walked on 

 board of her without asking any permission ; 

 indeed, we always found that whenever we asked 

 leave to see any vessel it was refused, whilst if 



