Something Good in the Worst Criminal
There is some good to be found in the worst criminal, which, if nourished by patience and sympathy, will grow into more good. I speak from a large, intimate personal experience, for during my imprisonment it was my happy fortune to evoke kindly reciprocations from some of the worst and most degraded characters. I will cite an instance.
One day I was crossing the hall when a fight occurred. I can not describe it—it was too horrible. The crowd surged toward me, and I was being drawn in among the combatants, when one of them, catching sight of me, stepped out with a face streaming with blood, and pushed me into an open cell, closing the door after me. When I thanked her the next day she replied:
“Why, bless your heart, Mrs. Maybrick, did you think I would let them hurt a hair of your head?”
I believe I had the sympathy and respect of all my fellow prisoners, and when I left Aylesbury, my feelings were those of mingled relief and regret. I could not but feel attached to those with whom I had lived and suffered and worked for so many weary years. I knew, perhaps, more of the life history of these poor women, their inner thoughts and feelings, than any one else in the prison. In suffering, in sympathy, in pity, we were all akin. In the association hour they would bring me their letters from home to read, and show me the photographs of their children or other dear ones, while tears would course down their cheeks at the memory of happier days.