Chapter VI: Part II (2)

Thus was the attempt made to plaster over this outrageous cruelty by alluding to events which could not, in the very nature of things, be avoided. I say outrageous, for there was bedding enough on those unused beds, such as it was, to have done something towards relieving this suffering, but they would not permit them to have that. Then New Hampshire possessed wood and water enough to keep that room comfortable. If the boiler needed repairs, workmen for doing that were at hand; or, if it needed renewing, that could have been easily accomplished. Or they might have set large coal stoves at work.

But all did not thus lack for bedding. Some, by oversight or favoritism, had a surplus, using comfortables as a substitute for straw. A man thus supplied sent one of his extra number to the relief of another, as this sufferer subsequently informed me.

On those cold Sabbaths, the men would wrap their bed clothing about them, sit reclining on their beds, and read. The warden would not allow the shop to be warmed at all. Those cold mornings and those cold days it was excessively severe. The overseers had to bundle up with extra clothing to prevent suffering. One day the men had become too much benumbed to work and the foreman stopped the machinery, let the steam into the shop, thawed them out, and then went on again.

Having heard the warden say that the water in their reservoir was low, causing him fears of its failing, and meeting the governor, to his inquiry about our prison affairs, I alluded to the coldness there and the warden's remark, and received the reply, "Why, it won't do to let the men suffer with the cold. If need be, he must haul water from the river," and he sent the warden a letter to that import. But no water was hauled, and no amelioration had from the cold till, at length, when the severest weather had nearly passed, one of the council visited the prison and ordered a coal stove to be placed in a part of the hall, which gave a measure of alleviation. Still the men continued to suffer more or less till the change of weather brought the desired relief. They will ever look back to that as a suffering winter.

The women probably suffered less from the cold than the men. Still, they were put on short allowance and were obliged to carry their wood up those two flights of stairs, taking it from quite a distance out of doors, some of it being very large. One of those cold Sabbaths, entering their room for meeting, I found it so cold as to endanger my health, and, not then knowing the restrictions, I attempted to kindle the fire, but found only a few coals in the stove and one large stick in the box, which I placed with the coals, but with little effect. We had short exercises, and I left them to endure this temperature as best they could.

The women would watch the warden and steal a little extra, when he stepped out of sight, thus occasionally enjoying the genial warmth; if detected, however, to receive a gratuitous lecture. Finding, at length, that this extra labor was preying sadly upon their health, and having repeatedly importuned the warden for relief in vain, they turned to his wife, who informed him of the real effects being produced, with the assurance that the continuance of this drudgery would shortly bring the sufferers upon beds of sickness, requiring him to hire outside help, to care for them and perform the tasks in which they had failed. This gained the victory, but not till great injury had been done to the victims, the strongest, on whom the burden of carrying the largest had fallen, having thus laid the foundation for weeks of severe sickness and leaving prison an invalid, though previously a robust, healthy woman.

21. _Lighting the hall._ The candles having been banished from the cells, the gas was set at work when evening arrived. But at length the men began to complain of the great strain upon their eyes, and finally of failing sight. Advising them to lay aside reading and study till relief could be had, I reported the matter to the doctor, and, I think, to the governor. Not seeing any remedial move, however, I resorted to the dollar and cent consideration, and, on investigating, found that, while they were paying $50 per month for that poor light, I could light the cells with candles, three a week to a cell, probably for fourteen dollars. I offered to obligate myself to do it for twenty, and receive only the actual cost whatever it might be below; also to see that no additional trouble came from the melting of the tallow. This argument prevailed, and the warden was ordered to furnish the candles, though he allowed only two a week to a cell. Some of the men were amused and some provoked at the manner of his announcing the change: "I have concluded to furnish you with candles, for your good, and hope you will use them as such;" for, it seems, they knew by what means the relief had come, though how I never understood.

22. _The aid of the Association to released prisoners, and warden's course._ The Association proved itself as advantageous to the discharged prisoners as the most ardent laborer for its establishment had hoped. An unusually large number left prison the present year, forty-two. In warm weather many would not require pecuniary aid, while others would. Thus, one required cooper's tools to the amount of six and one-half dollars; another, a railroad pass to Ohio, for twelve dollars; a third, a pass to Wisconsin, at thirty-one dollars; a fourth, carpenter's tools at six dollars; then smaller sums, here and there.

The Wisconsin man left prison sick, and must have been a public charge here, while his friends would give him a home, if with them, though unable to pay his fare thither.

The Association had not arranged for furnishing the men with clothing, supposing the State would properly attend to that, as previously, through her warden. But as the winter now approached, the society found itself driven to the necessity of helping in this, too, by the fact that the present warden would furnish the men with only the same outfit as in summer, the under-clothes they might happen to have on at the time, added. And, in making out this summer suit, he would construe the letter of the law in the superlative degree, which says, "A suit of cheap clothing,"--he obtaining the cheapest, the most miserably poor. To illustrate, a man left prison in one of those suits, and, before walking a mile, was obliged to call and borrow sewing implements to repair them. The day after, another left, and had worn the shirt furnished him about one day, when, taking him to a shop for the purpose of trying on a coat, I found that one sleeve of the shirt had wholly parted from the body, and the other about half. Another man had worn his pants less than twelve hours when they needed mending.

I went to the shop-keeper and lectured him for such dealing, to which he replied, "I have to be governed by the price the warden will pay. He will not pay for anything better. If he would, I should furnish a better article, and prefer that to this method."

At almost every turn I was met with this money-making system. Well, this could be endured in warm, balmy weather, though truly annoying to the poor fellows; but in the full rigors of the winter of '70 and '71, it was cruel, to say the least.

Let us take a few specimens of this practice. In nearly the severest weather of that winter, a man came to me from the prison to be sent home, some two hundred miles beyond Bangor, Me. As I looked at him I was perfectly astonished that we had a man among us who would think, for a moment, of sending away a dependent, human being, and sickly, too, in such a plight; a rather thin coat, vest and pants that might last him two or three days; no collar, cravat, mittens, overcoat, or boots, but brogans, and those not mates, one of which so pinched his foot that he was forced to remove it shortly after coming in. His person and clothes were filthy indeed, not having seen water for weeks. I could but exclaim, "What a condition! The law says, 'a suit of cheap clothing suited to the season,' and this is such a suit!"

In addition to all this, as the man asserted, the warden asked him, on passing out, "How long do you think it will be before you will contrive to get back here again?" Was not that cool? He himself robbing the fallen one of his just due, a suit of comfortable clothing fitted to the season, and turning him away under those circumstances which would almost of necessity force him to steal to avoid perishing, and then taunt him with such a question?

As yet, our Association had not practiced clothing the men, and of course the warden had no reason to suppose we should.

Keeping my feelings under calm subjection, I went to the prison and asked him if he did not purpose to furnish the man with boots, overcoat, &c., to which he responded in his short, pompous way, "No; when I was deputy here, the men were sent out in just what they happened to have on at the time." After talking till evidently of no further avail, I remarked, "I am a native of New Hampshire, and have some regard for the honor of my State, and I will never disgrace it by sending a man to Maine in such a plight as you propose. I shall fix him up." To which he answered, "I would not carry the matter too far." Well, I did not carry the matter too far, but took the man to the store, shivering by the way, and purchased for him the needed articles, cheap but good,--boots $5.00, overcoat $6.50, and so on,--and returned home with him, where he cast off his "filthy rags," took a warm bath, donned his new under-clothes and came out feeling like a different man, though feeble. He took a bad cold that day by being out in his thin apparel, and passed a hard night, leading us to fear that he would have a fever. But his anxiety helped him the next morning, when he set off, the railroad men giving him a free pass, thus showing that humanity was not all dead in this region.

Soon another was released in a somewhat worse condition, as to clothing, than the above, though with better health. His drawers had one leg wholly minus, the other coming down nearly to the knee, what pretended to remain being in tatters.

Two from western Maine were pardoned one evening and went away early the next morning in the suit given by the warden, without my knowledge. The severe weather must have caused them no little suffering, especially as they must end their journey by a long walk through a deep snow, with their brogans, and one of them was a sickly man.

Another, liberated without my knowledge, started on foot for Providence, R. I., to follow the railroad track. Learning the fact in a few moments, I hastened after him, but to no avail. I heard that his outfit was similar to those above described. I should have clothed him comfortably and furnished a pass by rail, had I overtaken him.

The warden now maintained that he had no concern with the men after leaving prison, and usually took no pains to inform me of their departure; hence, if I did not keep a close watch myself, more or less would leave without my knowledge. My practice usually was to obtain a list each month, from the deputy, of those who would leave during the four following weeks.

The reader will see that I had a good opportunity of knowing the state of the men's under-clothing, from those thus leaving; and further, I would find more or less mending their clothes on the Sabbath. One day a man was at work on his pants, which had become perfectly indecent to wear. On a week day, finding a man in bed in his cell, I inquired if he was sick, to which he replied, "No, I am having my pants mended." Another man brought out the shoes he had been accustomed to wear in prison. No, he could not do that; but they came out; how, I never knew, and he brought them to me. It would be difficult to tell which most abounded, holes or leather. I knew they were his, for I had often seen them on his feet in the prison; though they appeared much worse on a near inspection than at a distance.

An aged prisoner, whose feet were large and lame, wore his shoes sandal fashion, tying them on with such strings as he could find. When I would ask him how he did, he usually replied, "Oh, lame and suffering terribly with my feet." Having nothing but his stockings to protect them from the cold, this must have been severe in winter, though, when in the shop, his fellow prisoners would heat bits of plank and pass to him, on which he could stand and thus be relieved in a measure. I asked him if he could not wear his shoes in the usual way, to which he said, "No, they are too small. Had I very large ones I could. I have asked for such, but they will not obtain me any." The requisite shoes must have been made purposely for the convict, large and of very soft leather, costing, no doubt, more than ordinary shoes. But they would have brought great relief to an old, suffering man.

But our Prison Aid Association, notwithstanding its efforts for good, met those who opposed it. Hence, one told me that the concern was organized for the purpose of running an opposition to the prison, all I could say to which was, "If helping the men, as above described, be running an opposition to the prison, it was organized for that very purpose; otherwise, not." But the man was, no doubt, nettled that the prisoners were looked after on leaving prison, and not permitted to go as the warden provided.

Some, again, pretended that the influence of the Association was in favor of having the prisoners remain in and about Concord. This was the very thing we labored against, or one of them, at least. The Agent, and every active member, invariably used their influence in favor of their going to other places, and especially to keep them away from their old haunts and associations. I knew, however, that there were influences used here, and among prison officers, too, to keep men in the city. Some, for whom I had provided good places away, were tampered with and thus influenced to remain.

23. _Lecturing for the Prison Aid Association._ To widen the influence of this body and become personally acquainted with places where we could send our men for suitable employment and care, the idea was conceived of giving occasional lectures, in favorable localities within the State, on the interests in question. For this purpose, I went out four times during the winter. Besides treating upon the objects and needs of the Association, I alluded to some of the prison matters, such as the proposition in the governor's then late message for the management of the institution to be put under a permanent Board, the responsibility of which the legislature largely shirked, by turning the whole matter into the hands of the governor and council;--for reasons given, the very place where it should not be;--expressed the hope that the next legislature would do its full duty upon the matter; referred also to the much needed repairs just made, and hoped they would be carried still further, improving the manner of lighting the prison by having a small gas jet at each cell, also provide a library room, &c.; but of course I wholly avoided alluding to the internal management of matters at the institution. My attention was called particularly to this point, however, in one place, by the question being publicly asked by a gentleman, "How are the prisoners treated there?" in reference to which I begged the gentleman to excuse me from answering his question, as I wished to keep the mind on other points. That was true, but it was not the whole of the truth. The question itself was not a proper one to answer then in that place. Could I have conscientiously said, "Well," it would have been done in a moment and been all right, but that I could not do, and besides, I hoped that our rulers would soon get their eyes opened, or the next legislature put things on a proper basis and matters pass off without having anything publicly said. Indeed, I knew but little then of the prison workings in comparison with what I afterwards learned.

24. _Prison correspondence under the new rule._ The former warden had solicited me to assist in the correspondence, and I would write for a prisoner occasionally, but pass it to the warden for his examination, till he said, "You need not pass them to me, send them yourself. You know what to write just as well as I do." Hence, I sent a very few in the course of a year without his examination. The reader will understand that all letters, to and from a prisoner, must be thoroughly examined, that nothing prohibited may pass. They are allowed to speak of personal family matters, but nothing of general, secular affairs. The prisoner would not be permitted, of course, to express any dissatisfaction at prison fare or treatment.

The new warden put the entire matter of correspondence into the hands of his deputy, without asking me to do anything about it. Hence, when subsequently solicited to pass a letter as before, I would answer, "I have no right to do that, and can not. You must pass your letter to the deputy." On one occasion, being rather hard pressed to step over the bounds and pass a line, with the assurance it should never be known, &c., &c., I gave the decided negative, adding, "It makes no difference whether known or unknown, the step will be violating the prison rule and my purpose is so to proceed that at all times and under all circumstances, I can say with a clear conscience, I have duly observed every rule." This ended all attempts to influence me in that direction.

Still, I supposed it proper and nothing inconsistent with good prison order, for me to speak of a prisoner's health and success to a friend whom I met outside and to the prisoner of having met the friend and of personal family concerns; or to encourage the prisoners to write to their friends, if thus requested by letter; or to write to friends myself, by request of the prisoners. I did something in this line a very few times, perhaps not a half dozen in all.

Meeting a sister of a prisoner out of the city, one day, I answered her earnest inquiries about his health, and his reform efforts, carrying back to him also a word about her health and a request that he write and send to the new place to which she was about to locate.

A man had a petition before the governor and council for pardon. As agent for our Association, I inquired of him if he had friends to whom he could go, if successful, or what arrangement he would need made for him. He answered that he left friends in England, years before, knew not whether then living or dead, but he would like to return to them if living. Writing as he directed, I soon received a reply stating that some were living, and some were gone, and the earnest desire that he return home at once to see his father alive, of which I informed him, and on account of which his pardon was soon granted, and he left.

Finding a man, who had been here a number of months, in a gloomy and despairing state because friends had not written him since being here, thus giving him reason to feel that they had cast him off, in which case he could not think of living, I wrote to these friends, urging them to what they ought to have performed before. Soon he addressed me, when passing, with a tone of cheer unknown in him since entering prison: "Chaplain, my folks have not cast me off. I have received a good letter from them. They will stand by me, which makes me feel a thousand dollars better." Nor has he learned how his friends were stirred to write.

Thus, in a few cases, I acted in this direction and that for the purpose of removing anxiety without and securing cheer and quietness within, though making no allusions to the one about prison managing or to the other of secular affairs.

24 1-2. _Chaplain under a system of espionage._ The former warden had been accustomed to keep his eyes upon the officers, as well as upon the men, to know that everything was moving orderly. The new incumbent took the same course, the correct one so far as that was concerned, in order to keep all matters in the prison perfectly straight. Nor did it lay me under any restraint, as I wished to do right, for the place, in everything, even though no eye might be upon me. My only anxiety in the course would be that I might so walk as to have my steps appear as they really were. Hence, my conduct there was constantly as though under the strictest inspection. And, of course, under these circumstances, I would do nothing but what I supposed to be correct, even if otherwise inclined.

Thus, having passed a number of months with our new warden, a prisoner said, one day, as I approached his cell, "Be careful, Chaplain; they are watching you to see if they can't find some cause for turning you out." Asking no questions, I passed on, not knowing what he meant. But it started a new idea. "Am I under a system of especial surveillance?" I then recollected having seen the guards frequently about where I would be hearing lessons, though I had not noticed but that they were looking after the men. By giving attention now, however, it was plain to see that they were listening to what I said.

At length an overseer left the prison, and, on leaving, unfolded to me the whole matter,--that they were set by the warden to watch my actions, note with whom I conversed, hear what was said, put it down, and report to him. He said, "I was set evenings to watch you from the guard-room, through the spy-hole, but never found anything to report."

Learning this, I could but exclaim, "Consistency indeed! The warden can furnish men enough for a system of espionage over me in the hall, when toiling under such disadvantages and fatigues to help the convicts in their efforts for knowledge, but will not spare even one to guard in the chapel, where I could teach with comparative freedom from all these drawbacks."

Usually, in this cell instruction, we spoke very low, just to hear each other and thus not disturb those in near cells, or interfere with the rule about stillness in the apartment; but, after this discovery, when seeing the guards hanging about, I would purposely speak loud enough for them to hear, and also when the warden himself would be listening to my Sabbath school instruction. And they had the privilege of hearing as good, wholesome truths as I was capable of bringing out.

25. _The chaplain's pacific efforts severely taxed._ We are beings of want, and if locked in a cell unable to provide for ourselves, it is wonderful to think how many things we should need to have furnished by others, or suffer. True, we can curtail our wants to a number very much fewer than artificial life would claim, but, when coming to the indispensables, they are not a few. Hence, prisoners, under the kindest treatment and well-furnished with food, clothing, warmth, and all that nature would seem to crave, will need to call more or less frequently for attentions, or find themselves lacking not a little. But under the saving system of this year, calls from the cells must multiply, and, if unheeded, give occasion for uneasiness, angry feelings and disorder. Hence, under such circumstances, the chaplain would naturally be called into the most active service. For, if we can not offer a man food enough to satisfy the cravings of his appetite, the next thing is to reconcile his mind to going without, or so engross his thoughts, that he shall not so keenly feel the gnawings of hunger. Or, if one is cold, and we can not bring the means of warmth, by presenting a satisfactory excuse or interesting the intellect, we may do him essential service in helping him calmly endure what he otherwise could not.

Precisely on these principles I acted, and engrossed the prisoner's attention as earnestly and interestingly as possible, always, when practicable, taking special pains to immediately furnish the thing called for; or to excuse, when I could; or turn one's sufferings to as profitable a lesson as could be, to him. Hence, when the cold was reigning almost unmitigated in the cells, for a few days, I would repeat to one and another what I heard the warden say, that "the water was low and he feared it would wholly fail." Among the replies, one said, "Well, then, we must bear it the best we can, though it is hard."

One day, coming to a man's cell to hear a lesson, he said, "I have no lesson, I have been in the solitary. They did so and so to me, at which I got mad, and would not do as they wished, and they put me in there." I thought it likely, from the circumstances, that the impatience of an officer and his irritating course had much, too much, to do with the matter. But that was not for me to hint at, even. I rather said, "Well, you say you got mad and have been in the solitary. See what you have suffered for getting mad. How much better for you to govern your temper. You know where you are, what you did to bring yourself here. You understand what is required, and that refusal on your part is of no avail. Now, why not govern yourself, no matter what they say? If you really think they bear hard upon you, control your angry passions, and do what they require as cheerfully and promptly as possible. Thus, you can become accustomed here to governing yourself, that, when you go out, you will be the better able to meet the vexations of the world. Now, will you not try this course?" He replied, "I don't know, Chaplain, it is a hard case." In a few days he remarked, "Chaplain; I have been almost constantly thinking of what you said the other day, have come to the conclusion that your way is the best, and am resolved to attempt putting it in practice." With most hearty congratulations on his new resolve, I left him again. Some weeks after I received from his lips this satisfactory report: "Well, Chaplain, I have been practicing your method since our last conversation, and find it works like a charm. I have but little trouble now, and am determined to keep on as I have begun." Thus he proceeded till released. This man was naturally irritable and easily angered. He had not previously labored to control himself in regard to this important point; but now, when summoning all his better powers to the task, he resolutely addressed his mind to it, and a noble victory was his.

There was another man here who also could be easily aroused, but was perhaps still more stubborn, when angry. He, too, had been an inmate of the solitary more or less. To him I appealed in a manner similar to the above, and, after persistent labors, succeeded in inducing him to earnestly try the proposed course, and with like results. But he was a man who needed frequent encouragement to help him calmly endure the vexations and annoyances almost constantly surrounding him. Hence, he maintained his self-control and kept from trouble while he had one to labor for his continuance in well-doing, but afterwards he fell into difficulty again, and would consequently become an inmate of the solitary. Thus I proceeded, and, by assiduous efforts, robbed this dark abode of many hours of occupancy.

There were others not rendering themselves liable to the dungeon, but who would become filled with angry, revengeful emotions at what they were forced to endure. I would labor to induce these to use what they experienced as a means of self-culture, to leave the acts of others in the hands of God, submit calmly to what they could not avoid, do their own duties faithfully, and in all things keep themselves strictly in the right. Thus I was almost constantly called to speak a word here and a word there to a pacific end, and labored untiringly in that direction.

In the women's department, also, these efforts were found needed. One of the inmates, whom we will call K., had often caused them no little trouble. With all their efforts, she would contrive to keep almost a constant broil among them. Hence, I decided to see what could be done, in her case, by moral and religious efforts. Therefore, one Sabbath, after our usual service, I remained awhile for personal conversation with the inmates respecting their desires and feelings on the subject of reform, purposely coming to K. last. After conversing awhile with her on religious subjects, I came to the direct inquiry, "Now, K., will you not turn from your former course and seek to become a true Christian?" She looked upon me as though perfectly astonished at the question, and answered, "Why, Chaplain, that would be of no sort of use. Here I have been going on in my career of life these twenty years, and, should I attempt to turn now and become good, no one would put the least confidence in me. It is of no kind of use." I labored to assure her that she was mistaken in this idea, that would she truly repent and turn from evil, people would see it, and learn to confide in her the same as in others who had reformed, also asserting that she had the power for making of herself a most excellent, useful woman, if she would use it aright. I referred to what she might have been, what she had lost, how much she had suffered, the condition to which she had brought herself, and the prospect still before her, if she went on. At length the tears began to glisten in her eyes; she yielded and said, "Chaplain, I will try." The next Sabbath I asked her how she succeeded, with the answer, "Not much, but I am trying the best I can." Retiring from their room, I asked the attendant how they had prospered the past week. "Oh," said she, "first rate. We have had a perfect reformation. Everything has been peaceful and quiet, no fretting and scolding,--a perfect change." And so it was when I left the prison. But I learned that K., after my leaving, became discouraged, was thrown from the track and returned to her former habits. And no wonder, there was so great a lack of prudence and skill in managing there, so much of a vexatious character.

My position was one of difficulty, needing all the wisdom and discretion I could command. The prisoners were looking to me for direction on the one hand, while jealous watchfulness followed every step on the other.

Thus I went on, constantly doing what I could for the best good of the institution in whatever way practicable. No matter what course others took concerning me or the prison, my duty was to act with fidelity and in the fear of God, which I endeavored sacredly to do.

One rule I constantly carried with me, never deviating from it on any occasion, which rule was, not to give a word, or hint even, against any prison officer or prison move. This seemed essential to the best being of the prisoner. For, if really wronged, my deviation from that rule would tend to impress him more deeply, make him feel his wrong more keenly, and excite to greater irritability, resulting, on his part, perhaps, in more disorderly acts, and, consequently, greater trouble. Then, on my own part, such a deviation must be perfect suicide, so far as the plan might be concerned, showing the authorities conclusively that I was unfit for the position, and giving them the most urgent reasons for putting another in my place.

A moderate share of common sense would teach one to keep very wide of such deviation. Then it could be of no avail. If censurable things were being done in the prison management, the rulers were the parties for one to approach respecting them, those having the power to apply the remedy.

26. _Death of Gideon Sylver._ This man had been in the army, was a good soldier, strong and vigorous; very quiet and obedient; faithful to his task and never complaining, but seemed intent on doing the best he could to please those over him and thus share their good will. He was set to carrying lumber in and out of the dry room, exposed to extremes of heat and cold, at times perhaps having wet feet from want of proper shoes, till, failing in health, complaining of distress about the chest, the doctor ordered him to lighter and less exposed work, when he was set to running a planer, said, however, to be a very hard machine to run, though subsequently made easier by rollers attached. Here he grew no better, but had severe attacks. One day, in his distress, he fell on his knees, girding his arms about him and groaning repeatedly. The deputy took him from the shop and returned him relieved. But soon he wholly failed, was taken away for the last time and kept in his cell, part of the time quiet and then groaning more or less intensely. To my inquiry about the locality of his distress, he put his hand over the left lung. Sabbath evening, Feb. 10th, I think, his distress came on with great severity, he, making no little ado, said, to my inquiry whether he needed anything more, "I have a powder to take, which will no doubt relieve me," and appeared disposed to make the best of his condition. Meeting the steward, I asked if all was being done for the man that could be, with the answer, "Yes, I think there is. The fact is, not much ails him. He is nervous; thinks he is dreadful sick, and makes a great ado." I passed on, thinking that Sylver must be a very sick man notwithstanding these views, that, when one naturally so patient and quiet makes such demonstrations, there must be reason for immediate assistance. It seemed to me that the hospital was the proper place for him, and that he ought to be there receiving suitable warmth and close attention. But understanding that I might say no more, and meddle no farther, I retired, feeling that the man was in a forlorn condition.

The cold in the hall was not as severe now as formerly, for the weather had become milder without, and that coal stove, before referred to, stood not far from Sylver's cell. This helped in a measure, but came short of the warmth needful to a sick man like him. Things passed thus, with more or less of his moaning when I was in, till Wednesday evening, on which, by reason of the prayer meeting, I did not visit the apartment. Thursday noon I heard no moaning, but when the men had retired for their work, I called to visit the sufferer and found his cell empty, he having been carried to the hospital. I went to my dinner, purposing to return and visit the hospital immediately after; but, being detained, at length saw a coffin carried to the prison, and, on inquiry, learned that Sylver was dead. He died a few minutes past twelve, when I was known to be at work in the hall, but nothing was said to me about the event. How my heart sank within me, though, of the events of that terrible Wednesday night, I then knew nothing. The facts subsequently came to light in their revolting features. They were gathered from the steward, overseers, guard and released prisoners, investigated with all care, and are, no doubt, correct, as follows:

Sylver grew worse Wednesday evening, groaning often. The steward came, and, after giving him the usual attention, said, "Now, Sylver, there is no use in your making such a fuss as this. Dry up and go to sleep." Sylver replied, "I would, if I could; but my sufferings are so great I can't help it;" to which the steward responded, "Yes, you can, if you only think so. Dry up, if you don't want to go into the solitary," and left, with the groans falling on his ears as he passed from the apartment.

At nine the night watch went to his task in the hall, and found the inmate almost incessantly groaning, with interludes of prayer,--"Lord have mercy on me; do help me; forgive my sins," and so on, also suffering intensely with the cold, locked in his cell that none could approach him in attempts at relief. The watchman's heart was stirred, for humanity's promptings were not dead in him. He looked about for something that might afford warmth to the agonized man, and found some bricks, which he warmed and passed through the grating to the sufferer, who for a time had strength to take and place them around him for relief.

The other prisoners could not sleep. Raps would be heard from one and another for the watch to go to them and explain. Others would cry out, "Call the deputy and have that man cared for." At about eleven, the prisoners began to stir determinedly, when the watch called a guard and sent for the deputy to come and care for Sylver. But he gave no heed to the summons, except to send the guard back to the hall, who went to the sick man's cell, made efforts to still him, and left. Those near said they heard the word _gag_ there used, and understood that the sufferer was receiving threats of being gagged, in case he did not stop his noise.

As the guard retired from the hall, all hope of relief for the doomed one came fully to an end, he being now literally left to his fate. He would still engage in prayer,--"Lord, have mercy on my soul; Lord, why won't they come and do something for my relief?"

Had the cell door been left unlocked, the watch could have done much more towards affording the needed warmth, and been more effective in efforts for his relief. But that privilege would not be allowed. At length the man became too weak and exhausted to take and use the proffered bricks, which ended the offices of kindness the watch was struggling to perform. Finally, the moaning grew more and more faint, and was of such a tone as to give clear indication that death had commenced its work. The sad hours wore slowly away. The morning finally arrived, and the men were called to their tasks, the now feeble moans dying upon their ears as they passed out. At length, when suiting his convenience, the warden went to the dying man's cell. Seeing the result of their work, he hastened for the doctor, whom he found just starting on an imperative call. But he hurried to the prison to see the man a moment and direct the means to be used till his return. He found him thoroughly cold, as though dead, and ordered him to be taken at once to the hospital, the most vigorous rubbing to be used by two men, and other means for restoring warmth. For a time he revived somewhat, but these efforts, however beneficial they might have been in season, were of no avail now, for death soon closed the scene.

The brothers, summoned by a telegram, were present in a few hours. A post-mortem examination was had, at which one asked, "What was the matter with the man?" to which the doctor answered, "Probably some difficulty about the heart." An invited physician responded,--"From what I hear, I think it a clear case of congestion of the lungs;" one of the worst cases of which, it was found to be. A consulting physician said that the case must have been a number of days in progress.

The reader must make his own comment on this whole affair.[2] My feelings were never more stirred. We were terribly shocked at Pike's murder of the Browns, those feeble, old people. But he dispatched them at once; neither, perhaps, experiencing a moment's sensibility of suffering. True, the man lived a number of hours, but was probably not sensible of pain. But Sylver, in his agonies, begging and pleading for help, was forced to pass that terrible night carefully locked in his cell, and no heed given to his cries. Had they ended his sufferings with a single blow, without any threats of the dungeon or gag, he would have been thereby saved from the piercing agonies of those slowly dragging hours. Would not that have been compassion in comparison with what they did? But one says, "That would have been murder." True, and what was that treatment in reality? With due care and attention the man might have recovered, but they so proceeded that it was absolutely impossible for him to live. No man with a lung difficulty could survive such treatment. The blow of an ax, severing his head from his body, could have been no surer means of death.

[Footnote 2: Important facts on this matter are withheld in the narrative above, as the possessors were unwilling, at the examination, to divulge them publicly except under the shield of an oath.]

I know the deputy attempted to exonerate himself from blame before the governor and council, by asserting that the guard, sent for him, failed to do his errand correctly, and that he understood himself called to still the noise among the men, and for this sent the guard back.

Had that really been the case, why did not the guard go among the men and endeavor to still them? Why go to Sylver's cell and expend his efforts there? Or, admitting the deputy's statement to be true, did that help the matter for him in the least? If summoned by the watch to quell a rising tumult, was he, as an officer, acting the part of duty by remaining quietly in bed and sending nothing but a guard to the work, who could effect no more than the watch himself? All the circumstances combined in forcing one, understanding the matter, to the conclusion that they acted knowingly and intentionally respecting the man.

Do not understand me as charging them with intentionally and deliberately murdering their victim, for this I do not, but that he fell a sacrifice to a system of prison management that they were intent on establishing; a system under which the officers are to be the sole judges of the prisoners' needs, use them as they may choose, put them in whatever condition they may see fit, and they in turn not allowed to utter a word, nor give the slightest expression of feeling any more than the dumb, driven ox. If they die, "it is of no account; he is only a prisoner," as an officer said to me, respecting another who had died.

On entering the hall the evening after Sylver's cruel death, I found the prisoners greatly excited. One exclaimed, as loud as he thought prudent, "Murder! murder! They have murdered one of our number." Another remarked, "Well, we see what the fate of any of us may be, if taken sick." Marked anxiety was depicted upon all their countenances; and who would wonder?

27. _The Sylver case excitement and hearing before the Governor and Council._ The brothers were greatly aroused at what they could see and gather about this death, felt that deep iniquity had been practiced in connection with it, and resolved on a criminal prosecution of the warden. But, finding, from legal counsel, that they probably could not make a case in that line hold, they were thrown into doubt respecting what to attempt.

Meanwhile the story of the affair spread in the community, carrying with it exaggerated reports, that "Sylver was really murdered; was gagged and left to die alone," and thus on. When passing the streets in the city, I would be inquired of, if such were really the facts, to which I would respond in the negative, that he died in the hospital with attendants about him, but could explain no farther. Execrations at the prison management were often heard.

Whether true or not, I never ascertained, but report had it, that the doctor felt called upon to demand an investigation of the affair before the governor and council, and that the warden favored looking into the other departments, and so a hearing was appointed to be had at the council chamber one Friday evening, in the latter part of February, or in early March. I was summoned to be present, but with no intimation for what purpose. The Sylvers, when cherishing the idea of a criminal prosecution, had looked about a little for evidence, and had secured the statements of an overseer at the prison, when the death occurred, written out in the form of an affidavit and sworn to before a justice of the peace, and also those of a released prisoner. These were in the hands of the lawyer they had employed, or purposed to employ, to manage for them. This lawyer appeared, but it was understood that the brothers had become disheartened and ceased to interest themselves in looking up evidence, preparing for a thorough investigation of the death in question; why, we know not. None were put on oath, hence the hearing failed of bringing out important matter, as the men having it, would not divulge unless under oath.

I was called on first to testify and asked to state about the Sylver case, but, as before related, I then knew but little of material value. The transactions of that Wednesday night, I had, at that time, heard something of, but to me they were only matters of report, and among the points requiring the efficacy of the oath to bring them out. Hence, I could say nothing of them. I was asked some questions about the prison living, but on points concerning which I knew but little, and then was turned directly to my own prison management. It seemed by the questioning that, in this summary manner, with no opportunity to prepare for defense, I was virtually put on trial for a violation of prison rules on two points,--the correspondence, and passing information to prisoners,--and called on to testify against myself. But I had nothing to cover up, had acted in all cases as I thought to be right, so frankly stated my whole proceedings in the matters, as near as I could recollect on the spur of the moment, and also explained my motives, excepting that I could not, of course, allude to anything of the warden's procedure as making my efforts especially needful to the best order of the prison. No one else was called to testify on these points; but I was kept standing during the narrations and questionings till so far exhausted that, perhaps between ten and eleven, I had to ask the privilege of sitting.

Then I was called on to state about my lecturing for the Prison Aid Association, whether I had alluded to the prison or not. Having become somewhat confused in mind, for the time, I could not recollect a single allusion I had made, and therefore answered unqualifiedly, "I have not," not thinking to say, "I have not to my present recollection." The Governor replied, "There must be some mistake in the matter, for I have received two letters from places where those lectures were given, stating differently," and he called for another witness.

As to the Sylver matter, the effort was made to leave the impression on the mind that the patient really died of a heart difficulty, though he probably would have died of the congestion, but not so soon. No pretense, however, was made that any unhealthy condition was found about the heart, except in the attending physician's assertion, that, on puncturing the pericardium; a little gas, as he thought, whizzed out, and that he recollected of having read in two medical works, of cases where such a gas collection had proved fatal. The physicians whom the Sylvers employed on the post mortem, were not present, and hence no light was gained from that source.

The lawyer presented the written statements of the released prisoner, referring to the death, the cold, food matters, &c., at the prison, but this was summarily swept from the board by the testimony of the steward: "There is not a word of truth in his statement." I happened to know personally, then, that some of the points in that statement were true, and what I did not know myself agreed exactly with the general testimony of the men leaving prison. But I was not referred to on the point and thus that testimony was useless. The affidavit from the overseer, I think, was not presented.

At about two o'clock at night, the hearing was adjourned until the next Monday evening, after which I arranged with the Governor to see him Monday, P. M. I saw the letters referred to, which contained the grossest misrepresentations, uttering sentiments I never thought of, or, if I had, should not have expressed there, unless demented.

I went home with a strong conviction that efforts were being made, by whom I knew not, to turn the whole force of thought upon me and make of me a scape goat in the matter. I retired, but not to shut my eyes in sleep for the night. For a time my mind remained in confusion about those lectures, but after resting awhile, and the excitement had passed off, all came clearly to view, as given on a former page.

28. _Preparing for the adjourned session._ Saturday morning I wrote to a few understanding and reliable gentlemen, who heard the lectures in question, alluded to the letters and their allegations, and by return mail received answers, asserting that, as nearly as they understood, and by inquiry from others who heard, no such ideas were received as charged in the missives, giving some ideas that were uttered, a very different sentiment from the letters, and what no one could censure. That day, I met the writer of one of those letters in the city, and to my inquiry, he replied, "Oh, I did not hear the lecture, or know anything about what was said, personally; but my son was present, and gave me what information I had." I could but think, "A bright son that!"