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Another class of men who came frequently under our notice were the convicts employed in various ways in the dockyard. Our nursery windows commanded a view of a spot where important works were carried on—wharfage, transport, and the like. It rejoiced in the name of Powder-Monkey Bay, a title that did not convey a very clear meaning to our young minds, savouring as it did of a semi-zoological character. In those days criminals convicted of the worst offences wore round the waist an iron belt, from which were suspended heavy chains, fastened at each ankle, such as we see in Hogarth’s painting of “Macheath,” and other unworthies. From our windows, we often saw two boys thus accoutred at work, and never did so without a shudder; they were brothers, about fifteen or sixteen years of age, who had murdered their mother. A mother!—in our sight the most sacred, the most beloved of human beings. But there were different characters and various moral grades among these men, and perseverance in good conduct often shortened the period of their imprisonment. Those who had been artizans were allowed to carry on and dispose of their work while on board the hulks; and one of the convicts, who went by the name of “Tidy Dick,” was permitted to make shoes for the Commissioner’s children. We were very fond of him, and participated in his delight when he came to tell us he had obtained his release. We even added the mite of our small allowances to the subscription which our father and mother, the Admiral, and other dignitaries of the dockyard, had raised to fit out “Tidy Dick” with a new suit of clothes, in which he came to bid us good-bye. The word was not invented in those days, but there is no doubt about it, Dick was a regular “swell.”