five o'clock
Here I am boxed up , like a scrubber in a pound , year after year -- and years after that -- for I do n't know how long . However , O my God ! how ever shall I stand it ? Here I lie , half my time in a place where the sun never shines , locked up at five o'clock in my cell , and the same door with never a move in it till six o'clock next morning . A few hours ' walk in a prison yard , with a warder on the wall with a gun in his hand overhead . Then locked up again , Sundays and week-days , no difference . Sometimes I think they 'd better have hanged me right off .