They have no beds in them, not a blanket to lie upon. Nothing but the cold stones to sit, to stand upon, or to lean against. The only article of furniture allowed in them is the night bucket, which may be converted into a seat. The rations, when in that "durance vile," is one quart of water, and one thin slice of bread during the twenty-four hours.
With a heavy heart I saw my poor women locked up. I turned the key upon them with my own hand.
O this continual turning of keys! The bunch in my hand all day, under my pillow at night.
Click, click, when I go out of the room; click, click, when I come in. Will my ears ever harden to the sound so that I shall not notice it!
It is a constant drill, drill to labor under the ever impending punishment, which hangs over the prisoner, suspended by a breath of complaint by an officer. Is one kind of punishment the only cure for disobedience? Should it not be mitigated by mercy, or changed in character according to the circumstances, or the peculiar disposition of the offender? How does the Great Lawgiver treat His convicts? Does He punish all offenders with the same unmitigated rigor? His sun shines alike on the evil and the good. He reproves often, and teaches, and suffers long, and is kind, and adapts His punishment to the character of the crime committed.
Some crime is committed in willful disobedience of known law; but much more of it in ignorance of the way to control bad tempers—in ignorance of the way to resist temptation.
Teaching is what these poor creatures want, and the time in which to learn.
Many a time I went to the key-holes of those black cells to listen that day. Many a time I called,—
"McMullins, are you well?"
She invariably begged me to let her out.