Recollections of Windsor Prison Part 9

After some time she found an opportunity of taking his hand in hers, and of telling him all that was in her heart. Willing to be loved, though incapable of that warm emotion himself, he followed as she led, and the sweet promises were made, which were to bind them heart and hand for life.

And now, warm with visionary bliss, she had only to wait a _few years_ for his sentence to expire, for the consummation of her desires. _A few years!_ Love is impatient, and to look through _years_, when _days_ are _months_, before the antic.i.p.ated joy can be realized, was too much, and, therefore, effort must be used to get him pardoned. It would have been cruel in the extreme, not to have pardoned the charming idol under such circ.u.mstances, and as the Executive was composed of feeling hearts, her desire was granted, and she took the object of her adoration to her nuptial arms, the day that his pardon reached him.

I have heard that she suffered much from this rash and imprudent surrender of herself into the arms of a stranger, who had nothing but a pretty face to recommend him, and every thing against him.

If I had any fears that _others_ would be ruined in this way, I should dwell longer on this part of my sketches; but it will be sufficient to say in conclusion, that marriages in which nothing but pa.s.sion and fancy are concerned, never lead to peace, and this instance is a melancholy proof of it. Ladies ought always to act prudently in an engagement of so much importance to their future happiness, and never commit themselves into the arms of any man whose reputation is stained, or who is not known to be virtuous and good. Particularly, let it be remembered, that the graces of the mind are of priceless value, and for the want of them, no charms of form or countenance can atone.

MR. STRICKLIN.

I have introduced the name of this amiable and lamented young man, to ill.u.s.trate some other parts of that deformed and dreadful character in which so many of the keepers glory. Having experienced the hardening effect of that awful place on their moral feelings, they take an infamous delight in accelerating the same effect on all who enter into the service of the prison. To accomplish this, they give them to understand that the prisoners are a malicious, bloodthirsty, and h.e.l.lish pack, whom they must treat with perfect hatred and the most jealous and wakeful suspicion. They are taught to keep their swords always sharp as a scythe, and fastened to their wrists by a strong leather strap. It is impressed on their minds that they are as insecure when with the prisoners, as if they were among a clan of Arabs or a gang of pirates. To make these instructions the more efficacious, the keepers try all schemes which they can think of, to find their pupils off their guard, and to make them believe that the prisoners are on the eve of some dreadful plot. Under such masters, and such a course of education, the new servants enter upon their duty; and who can wonder to find them becoming in a short time as hateful as their teachers.

Mr. Stricklin was engaged as a guard. As soon as he entered on his duty, his ears were made to tingle with the lectures of his new a.s.sociates. He was a young man of amiable disposition, and having but little acquaintance with mankind, he presumed that what the keepers told him was true. His conduct under such impressions was such as might have been expected. One day as he was in a shop to relieve the keeper, he gave some indications of the study in which he had been engaged, and also of the effect which his lessons had produced on his mind. As he was walking through the shop, he stopped suddenly, and demanded attention. When all was silent, and every ear open to what he might say, he observed that he had been employed as guard, and might stay longer or not so long, just as he might feel disposed; but while he did stay, he said, if the prisoners would treat him well, he would be kind to them. There was some singularity in this, as also in his manner, which no one failed to notice.

At night he went on guard, and his duty was to see that no prisoner made his escape. This required that he should be attentive to every noise, and be furnished with means of defence. The place for the guard at night is a small apartment in which he is locked up, and must stay till released. This room is in the prison, and adjoining the cells of the prisoners. The means of defence are a gun and a sword. With these arms, and in this place, Mr. Stricklin was posted when the events of which I am now going to write, occurred.

Scarcely had he entered on his post, before some of the keepers placed themselves at a grated window, exactly over his head, and began to make a noise on the grates like the sound of a file. Their object was to make him think that the prisoners were breaking out. He heard the noise, and began to call on the prisoners to be still, supposing they were filing the grates. The noise was kept up, and some chips and an old shoe were thrown down at him, by the keepers at the window. For nearly an hour they continued their cruel and unmanly sport, until he became frantic, and began to exhibit unequivocal evidences of a terrified and shattered intellect. He had before this time ascertained that the keepers were the authors of the noise he had attributed to the prisoners, and the effect of such mean and hypocritical conduct on him was most painfully developed. He became as furious as a hungry lion. He ascended and descended the stairs with a rapidity of step never equalled, and with shrieks that pierced the very heavens. He stamped on the stairs as if a mountain had fallen, and the sound made the iron doors tremble on their hinges. He kept every guard and keeper at bay till his time expired; and at the very minute for him to be relieved, he screamed like a panther that his time was out, and was let out of his room. He went immediately to bed, and by morning became rational. After breakfast the Warden told him he had no more for him to do, and kicked him out headlong on the brick pavement before the door. At least, the undisputed report says so; I did not see it myself. This threw him back again into the most wild and frantic ravings, and he returned home and died in a few weeks. His mind was a perfect ruin, and he left the world a poor distracted youth.

Now, my dear reader, pause and contemplate this melancholy sketch. Who were the criminal cause of this young man's death? I know some of the men who stood at that grated window, and frightened him to madness; and I say to them, if they should ever read this page, that the blood of a promising youth, of good character and amiable connexions, has stained their doings, and it is high time for them to repent. The voice of Mr. Stricklin's death cries to heaven against them, and the voice of _such_ a death, can never cry in vain.

But if it be true, as is reported, that the Warden treated him with such cruel and shameful indignity, what shall be said of _him_? He had sons of the same age, but none more likely or promising; and how did he know that it was not through the means of some of _them_, that this youth was ruined? Every body knows that Wardens of prisons are tyrants, and few will question the perfect right of _this_ one, to a very liberal share of this character. Certainly, if he abused that ruined young man as it is said he did, he richly merits the t.i.tle of Nero the Second. At any rate, I know enough of him never to call him a _merciful_ man, and I would ask all men, all angels, and all creatures, to look at his conduct just as it is, and decide on his fitness or _un_fitness for the office of Warden of a penitentiary. He never found any fault with those who drove the victim of his anger to distraction; I know not but he applauded them. I know, however, that Mr. Stricklin came to the prison in health; that he was frighted to distraction one night while on duty, by some of the keepers and guard; that he was turned away in the morning; and that he died in a few weeks perfectly deranged.

It is reported that he plead with the Warden to stay, remarking that it would injure his character to be turned out so. He was well reported of by all men, was an officer in the militia, and the pride of his family. No one can reflect on his untimely and unhappy death without the most painful emotions of soul. And in concluding this article I feel it to be a duty which I owe to the young men of our country, to exhort them never to become prison keepers, but to shun those places which have a tendency to blunt the finer feelings of the heart, and stupify their moral sensibilities.

And I would be equally friendly to such as are already engaged in prisons. Let them try to act like merciful beings, and forget not that cruelty is no part of their office. Let them redeem the character of gaolers, and shew by their conduct that humanity and justice can dwell in their hearts. It is important that they should heed this counsel, for it will be a sad vicissitude after having been _keepers_ on earth, to become _prisoners_ in eternity.

OVERWORK.

Until 1821, no compensation was allowed the prisoners for what they did over their task. In that year, a regulation was made, granting _one cent_ per yard for all that might be done over _ten_ yards per day in the summer, and _eight_ in the winter, to be paid in goods out of the store, or money, at the option of the Superintendent.

This was thought by many to be a very _unequal_ regulation. The average profit to the Inst.i.tution of every yard of cloth that was woven, could not have been less than _four cents_; and as the prisoners must do their full task before they could derive any benefit from the regulation, it was thought that they should have _all_ that they earned over it. The language of the regulation, fairly interpreted, seemed to be this--_Give me four cents in cash, and I will give you an order on the store for one!_ It a.s.sumed to be a very merciful provision for the prisoners, but it was like the mercies of the wicked--"_cruel_." Every man of any just principles, who has no interest to warp his judgment, will at once admit, that the prisoners ought to have had all the avails of their overwork. But anyone can see that the interest of the prisoners was not consulted at all in the regulation. The design of it was to get as much work done as possible, and the _one cent_ was only a bait.

That I have not erred in stating the design of the Superintendent, in his regulations for overwork, to be his own benefit, and not that of the prisoners, is very evident from his conduct in relation to those who complied with them. He would not pay money except at his own option, but paid out of the stores; and to induce the prisoners to do overwork, and take their pay in trifles, he permitted them to purchase almost any thing they wished, and very many articles which had never been allowed them before. He even went so far as to bring into the weave-shops specimens of very gay handkerchiefs, and carry them along in sight of the prisoners to tempt them to earn some. This had its desired effect, and handkerchiefs soon became very plenty. But the worst of all was, the extravagant prices demanded for all articles sent to the prison. One of the keepers told me that he could take the money and purchase things for a quarter less than the prisoners gave.

After my release I went into different stores in the village, and ascertained that I had been charged a very high price indeed for what I had purchased.

Another expedient to get work out of the prisoners, was the offering of _bounties_ to those who should weave the most yards in six months.

This created a spirit of emulation, and drew forth miracles of industry. I took one of these prizes, but I shall have to regret till my dying hour that I ever entered that race. I feel the effects of it, at times, in every part of my system.

As soon as the prisoners began, _generally_, to enlist in the overwork, they began to be charged for things that were furnished to them before without pay. If they broke any thing, or did the least damage to their tools, in a way that was deemed _careless_, they had to pay for it. Handkerchiefs which were furnished gratis, before, they had now to pay for. And every expedient that avarice could devise was practiced, to make the prisoners' accounts against the Inst.i.tution as small as possible.

I consider the regulations for overwork as the sp.a.w.n of a most miserly disposition. There was no benevolence in it. If the good of the convicts had been the object of it, there would have been no "_one cent a yard paid out of the store_," but the full amount of the extra labor, paid in money; and the entire plan would have endured a close examination in day light. There would have been no mean taxing for accidents and trifles--no paying in gewgaws--no extravagant prices; but all things would have been as indicative of pity and good will to the wretched, as they now are of self-interest and steel hearted avarice. And the benefits of the regulation would have been _equalized_, so that a man who had not so good a _faculty_ as another, would not have been deprived of them. Some men had power to do twice as much as some others, and _they_ could derive some advantage, while the others could not, though both were equally deserving of favors; so that the Superintendent's regulation was very similar to Calvin's irrespective decrees and partial election.

But faulty as the principles of the _one cent_ system were, some good certainly grew out of it. It is a bad system, indeed, that has _nothing_ good in it. But the _good_ was much more than balanced by the _evil_. It ruined many a const.i.tution; sent more than _one_ man prematurely to the grave; and laid up for _all_, the pains of infirmity and old age.

This sketch shows on what principle the prison is conducted. There may be many _minor_ principles. Of these the _reformation_ of the prisoners may be a fraction. Their punishment may be a _unit_. But the major point of all is, PECUNIARY ADVANTAGE. The interest of the captives is not a _grain_ in the calculations of the prison. If they live, they live, and if they die, they die. But living or dead, sick or well, sinning or praying, saved or lost, they are estimated in pounds, shillings, and pence, and one farthing would turn the scale of their destiny to heaven or h.e.l.l.

How true is the language of the poet--"There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart!--It does not feel for man." And surely the morals of mankind must have reached a dreadful climax, when even ministers of justice deserve heavier blows than they inflict, and the seraph accents of mercy are turned into the war whoop of death.

PARDONS.

The Governor and Council have the power of granting pardons, and once in every year they meet to attend to this and other duties a.s.signed them by the Const.i.tution. The prisoner who hopes to share in their mercy, procures pet.i.tions from his friends and former acquaintances in his behalf, and causes them, with his own pet.i.tion, to be laid before them at their annual meeting. The princ.i.p.al officer of the prison has been generally depended upon to lay the pet.i.tions before the Governor and Council; but the conduct of this officer has so far failed to place him in the confidence of the prisoners, that they never trust their cases in his hands, if they can get any one else to attend to them. The common opinion is, that he is never willing to let a prisoner go who is any profit to the Inst.i.tution; and for this opinion there is as much evidence as there is that a merchant never wishes to lose a good customer, or a doctor to hasten the cure of a rich patient. I was more confirmed in this opinion after my release than I had been before. A friend of mine who had been for several years, and was then, a member of the Legislature, told me that the fall before, he called on the princ.i.p.al officer of the prison to get my pet.i.tion, and be prepared to lay my case before the pardoning authority, and was told by him that I "_had not pet.i.tioned_." When my friend told me this I was thunderstruck. That officer _knew_ that I had pet.i.tioned, for I conversed with him on the subject, and gave the pet.i.tion into his hand; and he informed me when he returned, that he laid it before the Governor and Council, and told me some of the observations that were made upon it. What shocked me the most was the _hypocrisy_ of the man.

He had professed to be my friend--and was a member of a christian church; and yet he was so unwilling to lose my _labour_, that he prevented the interposition of my friend for my release. I have the most unshaken confidence in the veracity of my friend; he could not have been mistaken, and he had no motive to misrepresent. This fact is directly to the point. It speaks a great deal. And it shews _why_ the prisoners are not willing to trust their cases to the officers of the prison.

It is a fact, and I wish to have it known, that it is very difficult for a prisoner who is any profit to the Inst.i.tution to get a pardon. I will not pretend to _apply_ the fault, but I know the fact; and hence some of the convicts, acting on the base principle of opposing craft to craft, and returning evil for evil, render themselves of as little use as possible. It has become a proverb in the prison, that a good weaver is sure to be kept as long as he is able to weave. This proverb is inscribed on the facts that transpire every fall, and it ought to find a humbling and condemning application somewhere.

Deprived thus of all confidence in their keepers, the pet.i.tioners, who have the means, generally call to their a.s.sistance some of the lawyers in the village. These men are always ready to work for cash; and when they know that their a.s.sistance can be of no service, they will take from a prisoner those very dollars which he has ruined his health and destroyed his const.i.tution to earn. Like blood suckers, a few of them gather around the prisoners every pardoning time, and carry off all the money that the poor creatures have been able to sc.r.a.pe together.

Now I find no fault with these lawyers, for such is their trade; but I condemn the authority for permitting them to practice on the credulity of the captives, and trick them out of their hard earned dollars. It is a libel on the principles of the Governor and Council to suppose that _such_ lawyers can plead them into the exercise of mercy. They know what some of that profession will do for money, and there is no instance in which they have been of any real service to their clients in the prison, in applications for pardon. The Executive meet to decide from _facts_, and these facts should come to them from the authority of the prison, and from other sources. The authority of the prison ought to do its duty, and secure the confidence of the prisoners; and thus prevent the unprincipled and avaricious interference of these lawyers. I do not mean to reflect _generally_, on the profession of the law. There are in that bright array of learning and talent, as many high, n.o.ble, and ethereal spirits as any other profession can boast of--_and some of the meanest souls that ever lived_.

There is but one general rule, according to which all pardons should be granted, and this rule is JUSTICE. It may be just to pardon one man and not another; and if it is right on any account to pardon one man, it is right to pardon _all_ who are in the same circ.u.mstances--indeed it would be criminal _not_ to. Justice holds an even scale. So does _mercy_, which is only that exercise of justice, which relates to the _wretched_. And the reason why one man should be pardoned and another not, is, that, according to all the facts in the two cases, community would be safe in the pardon of _that_ man, but not of _this_. The design of all punishment should be the reformation of the sufferer.

When this is presumptively effected, the object is attained, and all further suffering for the crime from the hand of the law, would be purely vindictive, and infernally cruel. This is the _only_ principle on which _G.o.d_ punishes; and hence _endless_ punishment under his government, and all _capital_ punishments by human laws, would be equally unjust and inconsistent. In this respect, men often err, but G.o.d never can; and human laws will not be perfect until they abolish capital punishments and chastise only to reform.

If this principle had been acted upon in the Windsor Prison, many years of suffering would have been spared to human hearts, and many a soul would have gone with less guilt to judgment. That prison is called a _Penitentiary_.--As properly might _h.e.l.l_ be called _heaven_.

The spirit of the penitentiary system finds there no place to lay its head. Not the _reformation_ of the convicts is sought, but their _earnings_; and they are treated just as an intelligent but heartless slave-holder would treat his negroes--made to work as long as they can earn their living, and then cursed with freedom that they may die on their own expense. The keepers lay it down as an axiom in their practice, that it is impossible to reform a prisoner. Perhaps they will admit that G.o.d could do it, and I cheerfully agree with them that none but He can reform a sinner after he has fallen into their hands.

And it is equally plain to my mind, that nothing _less_ than omnipotent power will ever reform _them_.

CIRc.u.mSTANCES OF THE PRISONERS WHEN RELEASED.

Some of the prisoners have the means of dressing themselves decently when they leave the prison, and of living till they can find employment; but the greater part of them go away from that place in very mean clothing, and with not a dollar in their pockets. In this situation they are turned loose upon the world, often far from their friends, and not a soul to apply to for a.s.sistance. They cannot get into work any where, for they carry "the mark of the BEAST," not only "in their foreheads," but "on the borders of their garments," and every body shuns them. They have no money, and consequently they must either _beg_, or _steal_. Nor are they _moral agents_ in this case; _necessity_ is laid upon them and they _must_ do it. The Superintendent said the same to me once when we were conversing on this subject. "If they do not get into employment within three days from their leaving the prison," said he, "which is next to impossible, they must either beg, steal, or die."--Is it not a pity that this man did not do something for the benefit of those who were going out into such a probation as would try the integrity of a saint? especially when the government authorised him to?

One reason why the convicts leave the prison in such a shabby dress, is, that no care is taken with the clothes that are worn thither; all the garments which the prisoners wear to the prison, are thrown together in a garret, and left for the moths to prey upon. By this means the poor garments become worse, and many that were excellent are destroyed; so that when the owners have occasion to wear them again, they are good for nothing. Even new garments which the prisoners purchase while there, are often so much neglected as to be greatly injured, and sometimes nearly spoiled. And some valuable articles, such as boots, hats, and vests, have been lost through the carelessness of the keepers. In these things, however, there has been some reform of late, and I hope it will be carried through.

Another reason why _some_ of the prisoners fare no better when they leave the prison, is, that some one of the keepers has a _spite_ to gratify, and he takes this opportunity, not only because it is the last, but because it best suits the malignity of his purpose.

I have seen some leave the prison in the winter, with thin summer garments; some without a hat; and many scores who were not fit to be seen with a company of _colliers_. They had served their time out in a _penitentiary_; but their appearance was enough to demonstrate to all that saw them, that they had been under the care of _im_penitent keepers. They went out among human beings, but like him who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among thieves, both the _priest_ and the _Levite_ shunned them, and they were not often fortunate enough to be noticed by a SAMARITAN. The truth of the case is, the law in this particular is faulty. No man ought ever to be turned out upon society as these prisoners are. If they deserve to be free, give them a freedom suit, and money to get into business; but if they do not, keep them till they do. Give a man a fair chance to become honest, and not place his principles where Gabriel's would be polluted. If men desire to make sinners better, let them help them to reform, and not place them under a _necessity_ to do wrong. Let there be an adherence to principle, and if punishment is to be under the government of mercy, let it be merciful throughout; but if it is not designed to reform, then say so--write your laws in blood--catch every criminal you can, and either hang him or shut him up for life. Let there be consistency between principle and conduct, and if it is the purpose of the law to make its ministers furies, let them not be clothed as angels of light.

This neglect of the prisoner when he is released, is the great cause of so many re-commitments, either to the _same_, or other prisons. The man is unable to get into employment. He reads scorn in every eye. He has no clothes fit to wear. He has no home, nor pillow to lay his head on. He spends his days on the highway, and his nights in the field or in some barn. He has not a crust of bread to satisfy the imperious demands of hunger. He drinks the running brook. His spirits sink down.

He is a stranger in his own country, and a hermit in the midst of society. He is starving in the midst of plenty. Uncared for by others, he forgets all care about himself. Worse off he cannot be, he may be better. He has nothing to lose, and any change must be in his favour.

He puts forth exertion and cares not how the experiment results. Look at this man. Is not his situation almost an excuse for any thing he may do? Place yourself there, and conjecture how _you_ would act. What _can_ he do? What could an _angel_ do in his circ.u.mstances? Here, you who would trace second offences to their cause, here is the reason why so many return to their former abodes. Where, I ask, is the mercy of a penitentiary, which treats its subjects thus? Don't say that they could get into employment. They could not. Would you employ a man so meanly clothed, that he was not fit to tend your hogs, and whose every appearance told you he had either been released from state prison, or broken out of gaol? You would not. Neither would your neighbours. What then could he do? Let the benevolent think of this, and act accordingly. That is not benevolence which sits by the sufferer only to rivet his chains, and leaves him when it can torment him no more.

This penitentiary is like the thieves who fell upon the traveller to Jericho, it strips its victims of their raiment, and leaves them half dead.