Recollections of Windsor Prison Part 7

These sufferings which were always severe, and sometimes extremely cruel, began finally to undermine his iron const.i.tution, and open the way for disease. The last complaint he made was of pain and swelling of the left breast, accompanied with inflammation. He applied very frequently to the keeper and to the physician for medicine, and particularly, for a change or suspension of his employment, but to no purpose. Some medicinal drops were given him from time to time, but he could obtain no mercy in respect to his daily task. It was to no effect that he exhibited the _occular demonstration_ of his infirmity; his swollen and inflamed breast and side were considered no evidence of inability, and he was informed that he must either do his task or be _punished_.

Thus doomed to unpitied suffering, he made a virtue of necessity, and bore up under his calamity as well as he could, toiling all day, and writhing in keen distress all night, till death, more merciful than his keepers, kindly removed him from the power of their anger. Up to the last moment of his life, the full amount of labor was demanded of him; and he had been from his own work but a few hours, when the pulse of life stopped, and put an end to his misery.

After death his body was dissected and the most unequivocal indications of disease were discovered, both internally and externally,--but no _remorse_ was discovered in his _oppressors_. His life was considered of no more account than that of a dog, and his memory was thrown into the grave with his _mangled_ body. No tear of pity was dropped at his funeral--no "heart warmed with the glow of humanity"--but the "dust went to the dust as it was," without the least kindred sympathy in a single bosom, "and the soul to the G.o.d who gave it," to meet its tormentors in the great and terrible day of the Lord.

L. n.o.bLE.

This man could say from his own experience, that the way of the transgressor is hard, his whole life having been an alternation of crime and punishment. When out of prison he was ever in the act of, or in the preparation for, some violation of the law, but when in prison, he was orderly and submissive, and therefore deserved well of his keepers.

As sin had ruined his moral nature, so had intemperance his physical, and when his last sickness came upon him, his pain was as severe as humanity can suffer. His groans and shrieks echoed through the prison like the wailings of a lost spirit, but in vain was it that he begged for medicine; nor could he obtain a place in the hospital till a few hours before he died. The night before his death he mentioned a remedy which he had used in time past with effect, and desired to have it obtained for him, but could not prevail. After much importunity, however, the Warden promised him that he should have it on Monday.

"But," said the dying man, "I cannot live till then, unless I obtain relief." This was on Sat.u.r.day night, I think, and, on the evening after he was a corpse.

After his death, the chaplain was instructed that the death was sudden and unexpected; and he accordingly preached a sermon the following Sabbath, grounded on that information, and wove into his remarks a great deal of mercy which he said the dead man had experienced, in his last hours. I reflect not on the Chaplain, for he was so informed; but may G.o.d have mercy on that unfeeling tyrant, who denied medicine to a dying man; and pardon that hypocrisy which led him to cover his cruelty with the disguise of compa.s.sion. I wish him no greater suffering, than the recollection of _n.o.ble_ will one day give to his soul.

QUARKENBUSH.

The case of this unhappy man will ill.u.s.trate the danger and sin of permitting _ignorant_ men, who never read a page on the science of medicine, to prescribe for the sick. Quarkenbush was taken very suddenly with a complaint in the region of the stomach and bowels, attended with inflammation and the most excruciating pains. He applied to the keeper who had charge of the sick, and he gave him the very worst medicine he could find for his case, which not only increased its violence, but prevented the proper medicine from taking effect when the physician was called. He lingered through about thirty hours of as much misery as human nature can bear, and died one of the most dreadful deaths recorded in history. Such was the intensity of the inflammation, that his surface was black with mortification before he died, and with the last strength remaining in his system, he threw up the putrid contents of his stomach, black and offensive as imagination can conceive, with a violence and copiousness of which the records of disease can scarcely furnish a parallel. He was opened by a trio of doctors, who paid richly for the information they obtained from such a ma.s.s of putrefaction, and immediately buried.

The proper remedy for his disease was physic, which should have been given frequently, till a cure was effected; but the only medicine given _him_, was opium, the effect of which is directly against what the case required. This was given in large quant.i.ties till the physician came, when the proper remedy was administered, but as on many other occasions, the doctor came "a day too late," and the death of the patient was, in the estimation of the keepers, the _unimportant_ consequence.

Quarkenbush was a young man, and a wife and aged parents, with brothers and sisters, wept over his untimely grave. I was personally and intimately acquainted with him, and I know that his death was caused by an injudicious prescription. He was a victim to the _practical_ regulations of the prison; and as there was crime in his death, some one must answer for his blood.

CORLISS.

The work of the prison must be done, life or death; and as some part of this work can be done by only one man, _that_ man must never be _sick_. Corliss was the only man that could do correctly the work to which he was a.s.signed, and as there was a call for him every hour in the day, so every hour in the day he _must_ work, sick or well. All men are liable to be sick, and there was no more exemption for him than for others; but he _must_ do his work whenever called for. The life of a prisoner is estimated in _cents_, and of his _happiness_, no account is made. His labor is all that renders him valuable, and to this he is ever goaded; and when he can do no more, then--"_poor old horse, let him die_."

Oppressed by constant toil, Corliss began at length to fail, and his countenance began to denote the nature of his disease; but he could gain no release from his work, and frequently was he called out of his cell, when his cough and deathly look should have admonished his keepers to prepare him a winding sheet, and forced to do the labor of a well man.

Finding at last that his working days were over, the keepers recommended him for a pardon, and he was released just in time to die.

It is one of the practical regulations of the prison, to keep all the profitable prisoners as long as possible, and to pardon all such as are of no use. Another regulation is, that when the work requires a prisoner to be in a particular place, there he _must be at any rate_.

This regulation has borne hard on many beside the subject of this sketch, and when it has crippled them for life, they are generally let out to die. The ghosts of many whom I saw nailed to this cross, are at this moment crossing my mind. I could fill a page with their names, and the pains that dart every hour through my shadowy form, admonish me that _my_ escape from the same doom was rather visionary than real.

SAVERY.

The subject of this sketch was a liberally educated, and highly esteemed clergyman of the Baptist denomination. Unhappily for his own peace and that of his family, and for the honor of Christianity, he fell a victim to the pressure of circ.u.mstances, and the force of temptation, and committed three distinct forgeries to a large amount, on one of which he was sentenced to the prison for seven years.

When he entered the prison he was an emblem of perfect health, and seemed to have a const.i.tution that might smile at decay, and survive the ruins of an eternity. For some time no alteration in his appearance was visible, but the change of condition, from the pulpit to a dungeon, from respect to scorn, and from comfort to the want of all things, was more than he could endure, and disease began to admonish him that he was mortal.

He began now to learn a science that had not been taught him in college, and on which his divinity instructor had never lectured. He now for the first time in his life, had a practical demonstration of the solemn and humbling truth, that there is as much difference between the _profession_ and the _practice_ of piety, as there is between pedantry and real science; and that the priest and the Levite are the same now, as they were in the days of the good Samaritan.

Christians left him to suffer without sympathy. Even the ministers of that holy religion which sends its votaries to the _sinner_ wherever he may be found--which espouses the cause of the _prisoner_--and which says to the _backsliding_, "Return;" treated him with as much severity as language can convey. One of these, who only a few months before had taken counsel with him, and walked to the house of G.o.d, addressed to him from the pulpit the very words I am going to record. "Thou hypocrite!" said he, "dressed in the specious semblance of piety, while thy heart was filled with all abominations, a just and righteous retribution has fallen on thy guilty head!" Awful words these for one poor sinful mortal to use to another. They are the flame of an angry soul, and ill become the servants of him who, even when he was reviled, reviled not again. But if this was the spirit of the _priest_, what might not have been expected of the _people_? Alas!

"like _priest_ like people," for they too pa.s.sed him in sullen silence, or with protruded lips.

Is this religion? If it is, away with it from the earth; it is the infamy and curse of the human race. Away with it and its votaries. It is worse than the religion of DAGON. If this is religion, I pray G.o.d that infidelity may banish it from the universe, of which it is the fellest scourge.

But this is _not_ the religion of the _Bible_, though it is that of too many who are proud to be called christians. Though the prophets of Baal be four hundred, there is, however, an Elijah and a seven thousand who have not knelt at the shrine of an idol; but they are known only to _G.o.d_ and his _suffering children_. The religion which they practice is compa.s.sion for the distressed; alms to the needy; charity for the wandering; and love to all men. Its walk is in stillness--its spirit is gentleness--and its home is the wayside, the hut of the poor, and the cell of the sufferer. This is religion, and none can tell better than the prisoner how much of this is on earth.

Reduced to this condition, Savery found in the conduct of professors so little of the spirit of their profession, that he frequently expressed to me his astonishment, and asked me if, with such specimens of christianity before them, the prisoners had not all become infidels. I know it will be said, that the prisoners are sinners, and they ought not to expect much kindness. True, they _are_ sinners, and experience has taught them that they _need not_ expect much tenderness; but, Christians, what is _your duty_ to them? Look at this, think of your conduct, and be dumb!

Savery's sickness was of a few months duration, and he felt that, in a prison, the sick can find neither proper treatment, nor the least degree of sympathy. Perfectly convinced that the evils incident to a sick bed in that place, would be more than he could endure, he prepared for the worst; and in a short time he gave back his spirit to G.o.d, and left this world of woe. By kind treatment from his keepers, and christian conduct on the part of his _christian_ acquaintances, his days might have been lengthened out for usefulness, both to the church and his family; but he is gone, and his unhappy fate says to every self-confident professor--"Let him that thinkest he standeth, take heed lest he fall."

OPPOSITION OF THE KEEPERS TO HAVING PREACHING IN THE PRISON.

Nothing can more strikingly demonstrate the opposition of the keepers to the means of grace in the prison, than the fact that twenty years after its foundation, nothing like a Sabbath school or Bible cla.s.s, had ever been introduced--and that at no time had there been more than one short sermon in a week, and sometimes only one or two in the course of a year. Nor is it any to their credit as professors, that though there had always been men in the prison, who were fully qualified and desired to sing in meeting, not a solitary hymn were they permitted to sing in the chapel, till after the prison had been erected more than twelve years. The spirit of piety at one time reigned long enough to see a neat and very convenient chapel erected for the worship of G.o.d, but scarcely had the dust fallen on its seats, before it was converted into a place of daily labor, and the altar of religious worship set up in a cellar!

The captives began now to weep and hang their harps on the willows. No priest stood up to minister in holy things--the waters of life were shut out, and the last dying blaze went out on the altar. The triumph of Satan was now complete, and long did he hold his conquest in undisturbed and sullen peace. Those who have known what it is to sigh in vain for the ordinances of G.o.d's house, and pray and wait in vain to behold the face of him who publisheth salvation, can sympathize with the weeping prisoners, during the long "_dark age_" that followed. They bowed in submission to the calamity they could not avoid, but strove by every consistent and available means, to bring the long misery to an end. Like Michael and his angels fighting with the dragon and _his_ angels, this conflict between the powers of light and darkness was long and painful, but finally triumphant.

The prisoners, at first, humbly pet.i.tioned the officers to let them have the benefit of preaching as they had done in times past. At first the justice of their plea was acknowledged, but the difficulty was, that no preacher could be obtained. The officers said, that they had tried every where within proper distance of the prison, but could not get a single preacher to visit that place, and do the duty of Chaplain.

This it was thought would set the business at rest, but it did not.

The government of the state had made provision for preaching, and the officers were respectfully informed, that the prisoners could not be deprived of it, while half a dozen preachers were within a few miles, and three within a few rods; and their pet.i.tion was always on the table when the authority could be approached. The strong plea of right, and law, and scripture was used, and the important fact kept in view, that if they had the means of grace at all, they must be _brought_ to them, as they could not go where they were. All this was granted, but the same plea was eternally thrown over them all--"_We can't get any body._"

If they actually applied to the ministers, and could not prevail on them to attend, then the blame must fall on their heads. But did they?

Rather did they not destroy the chapel to prevent their coming? And were they always admitted when they did come? Answer, you that can.

At length, one of the princ.i.p.al officers, and a very sanguine professor and church member, took a different stand and said in so many words--"PREACHING WILL DO NO GOOD HERE." Confounded to hear such language from such a source, and astonished to see the mask so fully thrown off, the prisoner who heard the expression, argued the officer out of his position, and sent him away penitently exclaiming--"O yes, it will do good, it will do good."

At another time, when this same man had been meeting the pleas of the prisoners for preaching by the old excuse--"I can't get any body"--one of them said to him, if he would permit _him_ to make _one_ trial, successful or unsuccessful, he would trouble him no more about preaching. Permit me, said he, to write an account of the dest.i.tution of the prison in respect to preaching, and the reasons of it, as you have a.s.signed them, and send it to a Missionary Society in Boston, and I will never open my mouth again on this subject to you. "If that were _necessary_," said the officer, "I could do it _myself_." "Then,"

replied the prisoner, "I take it for granted, that you do not consider it _necessary_ for us to have preaching."

Frustrated in all their efforts to obtain a Chaplain, the prisoners tried another experiment; they applied to the "powers that were" for permission to have some christian man, from without, come in on the Lord's day and _read_ a sermon. In this they antic.i.p.ated success, but met disappointment. It was every way reasonable and pious, and good might have grown out of it; but, alas for the piety of somebody, no good man could be found to go up to the help of the Lord against the mighty. Is it to be supposed that there was not ONE man in the pious village of Windsor, who would have delighted to perform that office of kindness and love to his fellow men? The question must be settled between the men of that village and the officer who brought the charge against them.

Undespairing yet, another course was suggested, and the prisoners pet.i.tioned to be allowed to meet in the chapel on the Sabbath, and conduct meeting themselves, by praying and singing, and reading a sermon. To this, as they promised to find all their own books, it was thought there could no objection be made. But the human heart is prodigiously fertile in excuses for what it does not like to perform, and one was easily found to bar this pet.i.tion. It was this.

Christianity, blush for thy votaries.--"IT WILL NOT LOOK WELL TO SEE A PRISONER PRAY IN PUBLIC!!" I hope the Gentleman will remember this when he thinks of death and heaven. Praying was then struck out of the pet.i.tion, but it was equally improper for a prisoner to _read_ or _sing_ in public. Invention was now exhausted, and the case was given up. But to cap the climax, one of the keepers said that _he_ would read a sermon on the Sabbath, if _another_ one would pray.

The keeper who offered to read a sermon, was by no means a pattern of piety. Lucifer and he would be alike _in_ or _out_ of their places any where. But he took on him the office of priest for once, and a.s.sembled the prisoners in the chapel on the Sabbath, and went into the desk, and read _part_ of a sermon. There was no _praying_, for the one who had engaged to do that duty had fallen _back_, and _this_ one did not know how. The next Sabbath he finished the sermon, and resigned the priesthood.

To suffer such indignity was truly painful. It was enough to be denied every religious favor year after year, without having religion and all that the soul holds dear, thus openly and outrageously profaned and scoffed at; and the pet.i.tions which had been so often made, trampled under foot with such a sacrilegious _sneer_. This was the sole design of the officer in reading as he did. He had distanced the patience and invention of those who desired "to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple;" and now he must insult their disappointed hope. His tongue was the organ of profanity; with him religion was a fable; and with one deliberate act to pollute the altar, and insult the worshippers of G.o.d, he took the place of holy men, and drank his licentious draught from a consecrated bowl. Why did not the fingers appear, and trace his doom upon the wall?

One reason for this opposition to the introduction of the means of grace into the prison, probably, was the _hatred_ which the keepers had to the holiness and purity of the gospel. I speak this with limitation, for there were always some who delighted in mercy, and who spoke well of religion. But the majority of the head ones were always with the priests of Baal.

Another reason was the _expense_. Every dime weighs something in the scale of their monied calculations, and every cent must be placed in the treasury. This did not _directly_ enrich any of the officers, but it did indirectly; it gave them the reputation of managing well for the state, and secured their re-election, with all its advantages.

This was enough. "Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul."

Personal advantage is consulted at the expense of all others.

But the most important reason was, the keepers could not attend to it.

Sunday is a day of relaxation, and they wanted to rove at large, and take the air. Confined all the week, they wanted to have their liberty on the Sabbath. And as the meeting could not be attended to unless they were present, they were as much opposed _to_ it, as the prisoners were anxious _for_ it.

They had now silenced every mouth, and were enjoying their triumph with much satisfaction. But the efforts to obtain for the prisoners what the law allowed them, though un.o.bserved, were not dead nor sleeping. There was a higher authority than that of the prison, and arrangements were making to address a pet.i.tion to the majesty of the public. To do this was perilous for the individual who should attempt it, and be found out; but magnanimity in a good cause is no crime.

This n.o.ble spirit nerved the soul of one of the prisoners, and forgetting himself to serve his fellows, he wrote a piece for publication in one of the papers, and found a friend to convey it to the printer. This piece contained a brief history of the means of grace in the prison, of the ruin of the chapel, and of the fruitless efforts which had been made with the keepers; and concluded with a firm appeal to the people and the authorities in behalf of the prisoners.