Recollections of Windsor Prison; / Containing Sketches of its History and Discipline, with Appropriate Strictures and Moral and Religious Reflection

by of Vermont John Reynolds

The same process of cruelty often drives the convicts to desperation, and the commission of crimes which could exist under no other circumstances. 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 assumed 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. Anticipating the result, and dreading the usual passage 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 passed, 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 circumstances 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 passport 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 pass 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 circumstance 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 destitute 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 petition 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 God to take notice of his conduct, and no judgment for the guilty.