They are brought up in dirt, and love it; like the Italian who deserted the English girl he was engaged to, and justified himself by saying: "Oh, if I marry her, she wash me, and then I die." We, however, splashed about in our baths, uttering ejaculations of pleasure, and congratulating each other on at least one pleasant bit of prison experience.
The doors of our bath-rooms were about five feet high, with an open space of nine or ten inches between the bottom and the floor.

Over the top of these an officer passed us each a couple of shirts (under and over), a pair of drawers, a pair of trousers, and worsted stockings.
The drawers and the under-shirt were woollen, and the outer-shirt coarse striped cotton.

The trousers seemed a mixture of cotton and wool.

They are brown when new, but they wash white, and look then very much like canvas.

My pair was a terrible misfit, and had to be exchanged for another nearly twice the size.