A reformation in the gaol. To make laws complete, they should reward as
well as punish.
The next morning early I was awakened by my family, whom I found in
tears at my bed-side. The gloomy strength of every thing about us, it
seems, had daunted them. I gently rebuked their sorrow, assuring them I
had never slept with greater tranquility, and next enquired after my
eldest daughter, who was not among them. They informed me that
yesterday’s uneasiness and fatigue had encreased her fever, and it was
judged proper to leave her behind. My next care was to send my son to
procure a room or two to lodge the family in, as near the prison as
conveniently could be found. He obeyed; but could only find one
apartment, which was hired at a small expence, for his mother and
sisters, the gaoler with humanity consenting to let him and his two
little brothers lie in the prison with me. A bed was therefore prepared
for them in a corner of the room, which I thought answered very
conveniently. I was willing however previously to know whether my
little children chose to lie in a place which seemed to fright them
upon entrance.
‘Well,’ cried I, ‘my good boys, how do you like your bed? I hope you
are not afraid to lie in this room, dark as it appears.’
‘No, papa,’ says Dick, ‘I am not afraid to lie any where where you
are.’
‘And I,’ says Bill, who was yet but four years old, ‘love every place
best that my papa is in.’
After this, I allotted to each of the family what they were to do. My
daughter was particularly directed to watch her declining sister’s
health; my wife was to attend me; my little boys were to read to me:
‘And as for you, my son,’ continued I, ‘it is by the labour of your
hands we must all hope to be supported. Your wages, as a day-labourer,
will be full sufficient, with proper frugality, to maintain us all, and
comfortably too. Thou art now sixteen years old, and hast strength, and
it was given thee, my son, for very useful purposes; for it must save
from famine your helpless parents and family. Prepare then this evening
to look out for work against to-morrow, and bring home every night what
money you earn, for our support.’
Having thus instructed him, and settled the rest, I walked down to the
common prison, where I could enjoy more air and room. But I was not
long there when the execrations, lewdness, and brutality that invaded
me on every side, drove me back to my apartment again. Here I sate for
some time, pondering upon the strange infatuation of wretches, who
finding all mankind in open arms against them, were labouring to make
themselves a future and a tremendous enemy.
Their insensibility excited my highest compassion, and blotted my own
uneasiness from my mind. It even appeared a duty incumbent upon me to
attempt to reclaim them. I resolved therefore once more to return, and
in spite of their contempt to give them my advice, and conquer them by
perseverance. Going therefore among them again, I informed Mr Jenkinson
of my design, at which he laughed heartily, but communicated it to the
rest. The proposal was received with the greatest good-humour, as it
promised to afford a new fund of entertainment to persons who had now
no other resource for mirth, but what could be derived from ridicule or
debauchery.
I therefore read them a portion of the service with a loud unaffected
voice, and found my audience perfectly merry upon the occasion. Lewd
whispers, groans of contrition burlesqued, winking and coughing,
alternately excited laughter. However, I continued with my natural
solemnity to read on, sensible that what I did might amend some, but
could itself receive no contamination from any.
After reading, I entered upon my exhortation, which was rather
calculated at first to amuse them than to reprove. I previously
observed, that no other motive but their welfare could induce me to
this; that I was their fellow prisoner, and now got nothing by
preaching. I was sorry, I said, to hear them so very prophane; because
they got nothing by it, but might lose a great deal: ‘For be assured,
my friends,’ cried I, ‘for you are my friends, however the world may
disclaim your friendship, though you swore twelve thousand oaths in a
day, it would not put one penny in your purse. Then what signifies
calling every moment upon the devil, and courting his friendship, since
you find how scurvily he uses you. He has given you nothing here, you
find, but a mouthful of oaths and an empty belly; and by the best
accounts I have of him, he will give you nothing that’s good hereafter.
‘If used ill in our dealings with one man, we naturally go elsewhere.
Were it not worth your while then, just to try how you may like the
usage of another master, who gives you fair promises at least to come
to him. Surely, my Friends, of all stupidity in the world, his must be
greatest, who, after robbing an house, runs to the thieftakers for
protection. And yet how are you more wise? You are all seeking comfort
from one that has already betrayed you, applying to a more malicious
being than any thieftaker of them all; for they only decoy, and then
hang you; but he decoys and hangs, and what is worst of all, will not
let you loose after the hangman has done.’
When I had concluded, I received the compliments of my audience, some
of whom came and shook me by the hand, swearing that I was a very
honest fellow, and that they desired my further acquaintance. I
therefore promised to repeat my lecture next day, and actually
conceived some hopes of making a reformation here; for it had ever been
my opinion, that no man was past the hour of amendment, every heart
lying open to the shafts of reproof, if the archer could but take a
proper aim. When I had thus satisfied my mind, I went back to my
apartment, where my wife had prepared a frugal meal, while Mr Jenkinson
begged leave to add his dinner to ours, and partake of the pleasure, as
he was kind enough to express it of my conversation. He had not yet
seen my family, for as they came to my apartment by a door in the
narrow passage, already described, by this means they avoided the
common prison. Jenkinson at the first interview therefore seemed not a
little struck with the beauty of my youngest daughter, which her
pensive air contributed to heighten, and my little ones did not pass
unnoticed.
‘Alas, Doctor,’ cried he, ‘these children are too handsome and too good
for such a place as this!’
‘Why, Mr Jenkinson’, replied I, ‘thank heaven my children are pretty
tolerable in morals, and if they be good, it matters little for the
rest.’
‘I fancy, sir,’ returned my fellow prisoner, ‘that it must give you
great comfort to have this little family about you.’
‘A comfort, Mr Jenkinson,’ replied I, ‘yes it is indeed a comfort, and
I would not be without them for all the world; for they can make a
dungeon seem a palace. There is but one way in this life of wounding my
happiness, and that is by injuring them.’
‘I am afraid then, sir,’ cried he, ‘that I am in some measure culpable;
for I think I see here (looking at my son Moses) one that I have
injured, and by whom I wish to be forgiven.’
My son immediately recollected his voice and features, though he had
before seen him in disguise, and taking him by the hand, with a smile
forgave him. ‘Yet,’ continued he, ‘I can’t help wondering at what you
could see in my face, to think me a proper mark for deception.’
‘My dear sir,’ returned the other, ‘it was not your face, but your
white stockings and the black ribband in your hair, that allured me.
But no disparagement to your parts, I have deceived wiser men than you
in my time; and yet, with all my tricks, the blockheads have been too
many for me at last.’
‘I suppose,’ cried my son, ‘that the narrative of such a life as yours
must be extremely instructive and amusing.’
‘Not much of either,’ returned Mr Jenkinson. ‘Those relations which
describe the tricks and vices only of mankind, by increasing our
suspicion in life, retard our success. The traveller that distrusts
every person he meets, and turns back upon the appearance of every man
that looks like a robber, seldom arrives in time at his journey’s end.
‘Indeed I think from my own experience, that the knowing one is the
silliest fellow under the sun. I was thought cunning from my very
childhood; when but seven years old the ladies would say that I was a
perfect little man; at fourteen I knew the world, cocked my hat, and
loved the ladies; at twenty, though I was perfectly honest, yet every
one thought me so cunning, that not one would trust me. Thus I was at
last obliged to turn sharper in my own defence, and have lived ever
since, my head throbbing with schemes to deceive, and my heart
palpitating with fears of detection.
‘I used often to laugh at your honest simple neighbour Flamborough, and
one way or another generally cheated him once a year. Yet still the
honest man went forward without suspicion, and grew rich, while I still
continued tricksy and cunning, and was poor, without the consolation of
being honest.
‘However,’ continued he, ‘let me know your case, and what has brought
you here; perhaps though I have not skill to avoid a gaol myself, I may
extricate my friends.’
In compliance with his curiosity, I informed him of the whole train of
accidents and follies that had plunged me into my present troubles, and
my utter inability to get free.
After hearing my story, and pausing some minutes, he slapt his
forehead, as if he had hit upon something material, and took his leave,
saying he would try what could be done.