Recollections of Windsor Prison Part 8

This was printed in due time, and the effect was immediately visible in the prison. A Chaplain was found, and meetings were held every Sabbath, and no more occasion for complaint occurred.

This sketch presents the moral discipline of the prison in its true light. Jehovah is not the G.o.d of that Inst.i.tution, but Mammon. The souls of the prisoners are not of so much value in the estimation of the keepers, as one hour of their labor. To the c.h.i.n.k of their Idol's box they give most rapacious ears, and love no music half so well.

Time and eternity, heaven and h.e.l.l, peace and affliction, smiles and tears, life and death, are all lost sight of in the arithmetical liturgy of Mammon's wors.h.i.+p. In their estimation the most pious prisoner is he who weaves the most cloth, and no organ has half so religious tones as the clack of a loom. The prisoner's _Draft-book_ is his only _Bible_, and _he_ is the most thorough and pious christian, who can weave the handsomest piece of diaper in the shortest time. I do not mean to treat the subject with lightness; it is too solemn; and I mean to be understood as being in solemn and emphatic earnest. These things are so, and I have witnesses of their truth among the living and the dead. From such a place then, who could hope to see a man go forth reformed, except from bad to worse?

RELIGIOUS OPINIONS OF THE PRISONERS.

It has been very often said, that the convicts in state-prisons are either atheists, deists, or universalists, than which, however, nothing can be farther from the truth. I have known as many as five hundred while they were in confinement, and I have always made it a practice to learn the religious opinions of all with whom I have conversed; and what I am going to write may be depended on as the actual result of my personal inquiries.

Those whom I have known have been educated in the doctrines of the endless punishment school, and but few have departed from these doctrines. I have found only _two_ atheists, not one deist, and but _one_ universalist. The doctrine of endless punishment is strongly and broadly speaking, the orthodoxy of state prisoners. I am confident of the truth of this statement, and I make it, not by way of _slur_, or _insinuation_, against any sect of christians, but as a fact which _all denominations_ may use as they may have occasion. Very many of the convicts have been members of churches, and a few of them have been preachers. This is a subject of painful reflection; it shows how extremely liable the _best_ of men are to be overcome by temptation, and says to those who glory in their own strength, "let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall." It is no argument against religion, that some of its votaries disgrace it. There are faithful soldiers in an army, from which many desert; and christianity is from _heaven_, though many of her avowed friends appear to have come from _beneath_.

In respect to the religious _feelings_ of the prisoners, it is true to say, that each one manifests a very strong attachment to the faith in which he was brought up; and hence there are warm and zealous advocates for almost every creed. It is also proper to remark, that many of them evince a very uncommon acquaintance with the Sacred Scriptures, and a shrewdness and skill in defending their particular systems, which is truly astonis.h.i.+ng; and it is not often that a convert can be made from his long cherished opinions. There is one point in which these disputants are unanimously agreed, and this is, that all the means of grace are confined to this life, and consequently, if a man die in sin, his doom is fixed in misery for ever. I know of only _three_ who entered the prison with a contrary opinion, and only _one_ who was converted from it afterwards.

I had an opportunity of witnessing a very general time of religious awakening among the prisoners, and of perceiving how firmly every mind clings to long fostered notions, even when it is under the process of genuine and reforming sorrow for sin. Among the _many_ converts, those who had been _Baptists_ by education, were Baptists _still_; _Methodist_ were Methodists _still_; and so of all the rest; but it was truly delightful to see how, notwithstanding these little complexional differences of opinion on some points, they all united in _one_ spirit in their religious exercises. Though I was not of the general belief in regard to endless suffering, still they knew no difference of feeling, and the happiest hours of my whole life were those which I spent with them, in the cementing feelings of universal brotherhood, and in mingling my voice with theirs in prayer and praise to the one G.o.d and Father of us all.

This delightful state of things, however, was of short duration. After a few months, arrangements were made for sabbath schools, and then the question of _doctrine_ came up. Every one was very anxious that nothing but the _truth_ should be taught, and much depended, for this, on the faith of the teachers. On looking over this subject with much solicitude, it was determined that no _heretic_ should be placed in the chair of instruction; and it was not difficult to draw the line between orthodoxy and heresy in the proper place. Those who were agreed in subscribing to the doctrine of eternal pain, how much soever they might differ in other things, were considered orthodox; and these were all the believers except _one_. This one had some time before espoused the doctrine of the _Rest.i.tution of all things_, and for this he was considered a heretic, and judged an unfit person to give religious instruction. This was all the crime that could be found against him; he was exemplary in all his conduct, had instructed many of the youthful convicts in the rudiments of science; was devoted to books, and to the study of the scriptures in particular; and all were fully persuaded that he meant in all things to keep a conscience void of offence; but he did not believe in endless misery, and this was crime enough. As soon as the opinion of the Chaplain was known to be against committing the care of a Sabbath school to a Restorationist, the whole orthodoxy of the prison was set in the same way, and the poor heretic was allowed no peace in the Temple.

I mention this as a historic fact for the use of christians. It shews that mankind are the same under all circ.u.mstances, and exhibit the same deformities of religious character in the dungeon as in the cathedral. Man is a fallen creature, and the fragments of ruined greatness are visible in every developement of his moral history. In that little circle of wors.h.i.+pping prisoners, I saw the same principles at work which have divided christians in every age and country--the same principles of perverted christianity which exalted an ambitious mortal to the throne of spiritual empire, and created the inquisition for the torture of heretics--the spirit of misguided zeal which has drawn the sword of conquest and drenched the earth with blood. In all these we see the consequences of sin, the actions of erring humanity; and I have not yet so perfectly rooted the principles from which they spring, from my own breast, that I can feel safe to bring an accusation against any of those whom I consider wrong. Nor dare I even call on the _Lord_ to rebuke them. If I have suffered, I freely pardon my enemies, and I hope that, in coming times, all these phenomena of christian character and conduct will cease, and all men be brethren in feeling and in conduct.

I desire also to inform those who are daily denouncing the doctrine of the _Restoration_ as tending to licentiousness and crime, that there are no _grounds_ for such denunciation. I was educated in the schools of Calvin and Wesley, and I had been in Windsor many years before I was convinced of my errors, and became a believer in G.o.d as the Saviour of all men. And of the five hundred who were, at different times, my companions, I never found over _three_ who were not firm believers in endless ruin. I do not say that the doctrine of endless punishment is immoral in its tendency, for I think very different from this; and I know that the _opposite_ sentiment is not. Nothing is more out of place, than the mutual charges of immorality which professors throw on each other's creed. The infidel smiles when he hears these mutual criminations; and who can blame him for not espousing a cause which, judging only from its effects on some of its professed votaries, is calculated to set friend against friend, and break up the harmony of social life? If he has never tasted for himself that the Lord is gracious, can we suppose he will be won over to the love of a principle, which appears from the exhibition before him, to be perfectly hateful? No. And not until the representatives of christianity represent her as she _is_, will the unbeliever condescend to give her claims to inspiration that solemn and respectful notice which they deserve. Let, then, all crimination, and recrimination, among professors be done away. Let no man be denounced on account of his religious creed, but let the test of every man's character be his _actions_, and his _life_; if these are good, the man is good, the anathemas of sectarian zeal to the contrary notwithstanding. "By their _fruits_ ye shall know them." The orthodoxy of Calvin can never sanctify his persecution of the martyr Servetus; nor did the ignorance of Cornelius in respect to the true faith prevent his prayers from ascending to G.o.d. If the _heart_ is right, if the man is _sincere_ and _honest_, no error in his creed can corrupt his principles, or stain the moral purity of his soul; and I would much rather do right and serve G.o.d by _chance_, than err and sin by _rule_.

To what extent the principles of religion are loved and cherished in the prison, it may not be easy to determine, though it is a truly melancholy fact, that the number of sincere and hopeful christians is very small. It must not, however, be inferred, that the great ma.s.s of mind, in that place, is totally depraved; for there are frequently discovered by the candid observer of that field of moral ruin, some bright and pleasing fragments,--some beautiful specimens of what is true, and lovely, and honest, and of good report. Like the beclouded heavens, in which a few cheering stars are still seen, or the mighty and varied desert in which a few green and fertile spots are visible, that waste of ruined virtue is specked over with some pleasing vestiges of what it once was--some green and flowery spots for the mind to repose on, and some stars to guide it, while wandering amidst the thick darkness and cheerless wastes of moral desolation. Indeed I never found there, amidst all those sons of guilt, a single mind in which the pulse of virtuous principles was not still beating, though feebly, and I doubt whether one can be found in the universe.

ATTEMPTS TO ESCAPE, AND SUICIDES.

The prisoners have many inducements to attempt their escape. The eternal gloom that hangs over their minds--the regulations of their unfeeling rulers--the instinctive love of every human soul to liberty--and the deceptive appearance of the surrounding country, are constantly tempting them to some violent or crafty scheme to elude the grasp of their tormentors and be free. These, however, produce but little effect on calculating minds; but they keep the _rash_, the _young_, and the _romantic_ in a perpetual ferment; and I wonder that more attempts, of this kind, have not been made. The various insults of the keepers, are sometimes sufficient to inspire a rock with indignation, and call up the dead to resentment. The walls appear a trifling object when the mind is inflamed. What appears a boundless forest, inhabited only by tigers and untrodden by man, comes within a few rods of the prison, and nothing appears easier than to reach it.

Why, then, more attempts are not made to escape, is to be accounted for only by presuming that the prisoners have more judgment than rashness. I shall mention a few of the attempts of the prisoners to effect their escape, for the purpose of making some remarks on them.

The first successful attempt of this kind, was made by a man named Palmer. The prison wall was not finished, and he found means of secreting himself, breaking off his fetters, and effecting his escape.

He was not absent, however, over a year, when he was apprehended and brought back. He stayed _seven years_ after his return, and that completed his sentence.

Another, though unsuccessful attempt, was made by a man named Fitch.

He went over the wall, and was fired on by the guard, the ball just missing him. He got but a few rods when he was arrested and returned to the prison. He was severely punished for his temerity.

An entire cell effected their escape one night by removing a large stone; and they kept the freedom which they regained at so much peril.

At another time the hospital was broken, and an escape effected by four individuals, in a way which evinced the greatest wisdom of contrivance, and strength of limbs. Three of these got away, and one returned.

Soon after this, a violent rush was made over the wall by five men, who were determined to effect an escape by daylight. The guard fired on them, and wounded one slightly. They enjoyed their liberty only a few minutes, when they were all safely deposited in the solitary cells. They were punished according to the laws of the prison, and I know not that they ever found fault that they were punished too much.

A man named Banks contrived to escape one Sabbath, by climbing over the wall, and he was successful in getting into Canada; but committing a crime there and fleeing back into the state of Vermont, he was apprehended on an advertis.e.m.e.nt, and remanded to Windsor. After three or four years, he found means to repeat the same experiment, and like the raven from the ark, he returned not again.

Another attempt was made to escape from a cell without success; and another to force a flight over the wall. In this, one of the prisoners fired one of the buildings, and brought down on his head a weight of punishment that might have crushed the const.i.tution of Lucifer. But he survived it, and lives a pleasing evidence of the fact, that the vilest of sinners may reform and become good men.

I know of no instance of attempts to escape, which might not have been prevented by the keepers. If they had done their duty, the chance of success would have been so small, that no mind would have indulged the thought for one moment. The guard can hear the least noise that is made in the cells, and the keepers can see all that is going on in the shops; and not an attempt has ever been made in which the officers have not been more or less criminal. They are not attentive to their duty. The guard often get asleep on the wall, and the keepers in the shops; and on these occasions the prisoners calculate and act, without which they would do neither.

But this is not the extent of the keepers' guilt. They not only nod on their posts, they also permit the plans of the prisoners to ripen into effect, when they know them, that they may shed blood, rivet fetters, and take life. Witness the case of P. Fane. Every incident in the history of that place, which fell under my notice, left an idea on my mind, that a _quorum_ of the keepers and guard are always contriving to multiply the miseries of the prisoners; and while I saw them sinning daily with impunity, in the sight of their superiors and of each other, and at the same time tormenting the convicts for the merest nothing, I often exclaimed in the language of Jacob--"O! my soul, come not thou into their secret, unto their a.s.sembly, mine honour, be not thou united."

The same process of cruelty often drives the convicts to desperation, and the commission of crimes which could exist under no other circ.u.mstances. They are often provoked to the utterance of harsh and angry expressions, for which they are sure to suffer. Sometimes they are driven through despair to the sick bed of a remediless delirium, and to the revolting recklessness of self-destruction. One of these instances I have already given in the case of Levett. The same attempt was made by Plumley, but he was discovered in season to save his life for more suffering, and for death by other hands. Several other attempts of the same kind transpired through the intolerable and incessant oppressions and aggravated inhumanity of the "powers that were." But the two who I am going to mention, effected their dreadful object, and I shall give each of them a brief notice.

Woodbury was a man of feeble mind, but of very acute feelings and volatile spirits. To every nerve of his heart liberty was dear, and he was equally sensitive to his separation from his friends whom he tenderly loved. Scarcely had he entered the prison when his countenance began to indicate disease, and very soon he became a mere skeleton. His complaint a.s.sumed no definite character, and he could get no medicine to help him. In this condition he was kept at the most laborious work, and compelled to do his task. Antic.i.p.ating the result, and dreading the usual pa.s.sage to the grave amid the neglect, abuse, and insults of the keepers, he resolved on cutting short his sufferings and dying by his own hands. Accordingly he retired to his cell and hung himself--leaving on a slate this direction--"I wish you would open me, doctor Trask." This direction was complied with, but the doctor reported no indications of disease. That he was, however, sick, every prisoner and keeper knew; and that the fatal act was the consequence of the neglect of his keepers, and the cruelty of the master workman, is no problem with me, nor will it be with others, when every secret thing shall be made manifest.

Ham was a young man, whose prospects had been blighted in their bud, and a gloomy expression had settled on his countenance, which it was difficult to remove, even for a moment. His every look seemed audibly to say--"I am ruined!" He was a close observer of what pa.s.sed, and when a convict was seen by him going into punishment, he would fall into an absence and reverie; and looking at times towards the walls and the green fields beyond them, the tear would gather in his eyes to tell the burden of his soul. His prison, he often said, looked like a resting place for eternity. Life became a burden to him, and he ended it by suicide.

PRISONERS' CORRESPONDENCE WITH THEIR FRIENDS.

To a certain extent, the prisoners have the privilege of corresponding with their friends. But this privilege, like many others, loses much of its value from the circ.u.mstances under which it is enjoyed. No prisoner is allowed to state his real condition, nor intimate that he is not kindly treated. Every letter must be examined before it is sent, and if a single word is too _significant_ for the pleasure of the keeper, it is destroyed. The same is true of all letters sent to the prisoners by their friends. I find no fault with the keepers examining all letters sent by or to the prisoners. This is perfectly right. And it would be equally right to suppress all letters not written in a respectful style, or containing information that might afford facilities for an escape from the prison; but to interrupt a prisoner's correspondence with his friends, merely to gratify the capricious disposition of an unfeeling keeper, is unjust, inhuman, and criminal.

In order to ensure a pa.s.sport for their letters, the unmanly conduct of the keepers has driven the prisoners into a style of writing which must be disgusting to all but those who love to be flattered. They generally devote one paragraph to the praise of the keepers. This paragraph is usually a very fine one; and as it contains some high sounding words of commendation, it tickles the vanity of those who examine it, and finds its way abroad.

When a letter is condemned, the prisoner is sometimes permitted to try again, and sometimes he is left to guess its fate. Should any one write a true account of the place, its laws, and customs, and regulations, it would be as impossible for the letter to get into the Post Office, as it is for a guinea to pa.s.s by the fingers of a Jew.

And it is a very frequent case that a man is most shamefully abused by his keeper, on account of some lines in his letters, which he penned as innocently as a martyr, but which did not happen to be worded according to the _grammar of the place_. I write this from experience; for I am the man. But I am not the _only_ man. Should any one ask the names of the others, I might answer--"_legions_," for they "_are many_." And for some offence innocently committed in this way, many have been marked for the arrows of vengeance, which have not lingered long on the string.

Should a letter to any prisoner be deemed inadmissible, he would not know that any had been sent to him. No matter how interesting it might be to him, the keeper destroys it and is silent. Many facts confirm this statement. I have now by me a letter which I recently received from my brother, in which he writes--"I received not one letter from you all the time you were there, though I wrote you many." Not one of _his_ letters ever reached me, and I wrote very many to him. This is not a singular case; I know of _many_ similar ones.

Another circ.u.mstance ought to be mentioned here.--There is no provision made to pay the postage on letters sent to the prisoners, and as they are generally dest.i.tute of money, it often happens that their letters are never taken out of the office. When any letter _is_ taken out of the Post office, the postage is charged to the prisoner, and he must pay it, whether he gets the letter or not.

All other communications are subject to the same vexatious rules as the letters are. If a prisoner wishes to send a pet.i.tion to his friends for them to sign in his behalf, and forward to the Governor and Council; or if he wishes to send one to that body with his own signature, it must be worded _just so_, or it cannot be sent. The keeper of the prison takes it upon himself to decide what _is_ and what is _not_ proper to go before the Executive. He also, as if possessed of omniscience, knows all the _facts_ in the case, better than the man that has _experienced_ them; and as there is no law binding him but his own will, he acts in such cases, very frequently, as if there were no G.o.d to take notice of his conduct, and no judgment for the guilty.

That the conduct of the keepers in respect to the correspondence of the prisoners is highly improper, no one will attempt to deny. That correspondence is sacred, and no unfeeling or capricious regulations ought ever to interrupt it. The tender sympathies of friends.h.i.+p are not destroyed, though the heart that contains them is chilled by a dungeon's damps and a prison's gloom. A father is a father still. A husband is a husband still. And dear to the heart are the thoughts of his children, and the recollections of his wife. These are as imperishable as his nature, and who that ever had a heart could touch lightly the sacred ark of his happiness? How infernal must be the nature of that man who can wantonly crucify the holy sympathies of a trembling sufferer? But it is not the _sinner_ alone who suffers by this conduct of men in power, it is the _innocent_ too; and who but a fiend would punish the innocent with the guilty? It would denote a moral and perfect fitness for any place but heaven, to take pleasure in afflicting, unnecessarily, even the vilest sinner; what then must be the moral complexion of that man's soul, who can sport with the unmerited sufferings of the crimeless, and take an unearthly satisfaction in multiplying the tears and agony of the innocent wife and the stainless orphan? But such men there are, and well I know them.

COURTs.h.i.+P IN PRISON.

The age of romance has not yet pa.s.sed away, and an incident that might have originated a Poem in the days of Ovid, or a Novel in the land of Sir Walter, transpired in the beautiful and romantic village of Windsor; and though it may not chime very harmoniously with the other tones of my book, yet as it contains a moral, much needed at this period of the world, I will gratify the reader with an account of it.

S. was one of those very common specimens of our race, on which a graceful and captivating exterior is lavished at the expense of the more valuable and lasting graces of the mind. Every eye that saw him gave evidence that it was contemplating something in which there was no blemish; and this evident satisfaction continued till he spoke--_then_, the contrast between external beauty and mental poverty was so great, that the charm vanished and the angel departed. For some crime or other, he became one of the inhabitants of the prison, where his personal charms fastened on the heart of a female who afterwards became his wife.

This lady belonged to a respectable family and was esteemed by all her acquaintances, and in giving herself to S. she committed the only fault of her life.

A friend of hers was an officer of the prison, and she spent some of her time in his family. In that place, she could see all the prisoners every day, and there she first saw her future husband. Love is said to be blind, and there is some reason for the opinion. Why an esteemed and virtuous young lady, should permit herself to be captivated by a _prisoner_, cannot be accounted for but by supposing that love can steal the march of reason, and that wisdom and prudence are feeble springs against the force of pa.s.sion.

"Veni, vidi, vici," said the Roman Conqueror, when he had vanquished his foes; but this victim of thoughtless pa.s.sion had occasion to say in the sequel--"I saw, I loved, and I was ruined."

She found means, after she became a _prisoner_ to his charms, to communicate her wishes to the idol of her breast, by proxy at first, and afterwards by personal interviews. The proxy was an old man who used to go into the keeper's room to wash and clean the floor, and his appearance was enough to have frightened love to distraction. But necessity compelled them, and many a bundle of soft sighs did he carry between these romantic lovers.