Nothing can more strikingly demonstrate the opposition of the keepers
to the means of grace in the prison, than the fact that twenty years
after its foundation, nothing like a Sabbath school or Bible class,
had ever been introduced--and that at no time had there been more than
one short sermon in a week, and sometimes only one or two in the
course of a year. Nor is it any to their credit as professors, that
though there had always been men in the prison, who were fully
qualified and desired to sing in meeting, not a solitary hymn were
they permitted to sing in the chapel, till after the prison had been
erected more than twelve years. The spirit of piety at one time
reigned long enough to see a neat and very convenient chapel erected
for the worship of God, but scarcely had the dust fallen on its seats,
before it was converted into a place of daily labor, and the altar of
religious worship set up in a cellar!
The captives began now to weep and hang their harps on the willows. No
priest stood up to minister in holy things--the waters of life were
shut out, and the last dying blaze went out on the altar. The triumph
of Satan was now complete, and long did he hold his conquest in
undisturbed and sullen peace. Those who have known what it is to sigh
in vain for the ordinances of God's house, and pray and wait in vain
to behold the face of him who publisheth salvation, can sympathize
with the weeping prisoners, during the long "_dark age_" that
followed. They bowed in submission to the calamity they could not
avoid, but strove by every consistent and available means, to bring
the long misery to an end. Like Michael and his angels fighting with
the dragon and _his_ angels, this conflict between the powers of light
and darkness was long and painful, but finally triumphant.
The prisoners, at first, humbly petitioned the officers to let them
have the benefit of preaching as they had done in times past. At first
the justice of their plea was acknowledged, but the difficulty was,
that no preacher could be obtained. The officers said, that they had
tried every where within proper distance of the prison, but could not
get a single preacher to visit that place, and do the duty of
Chaplain.
This it was thought would set the business at rest, but it did not.
The government of the state had made provision for preaching, and the
officers were respectfully informed, that the prisoners could not be
deprived of it, while half a dozen preachers were within a few miles,
and three within a few rods; and their petition was always on the
table when the authority could be approached. The strong plea of
right, and law, and scripture was used, and the important fact kept in
view, that if they had the means of grace at all, they must be
_brought_ to them, as they could not go where they were. All this was
granted, but the same plea was eternally thrown over them all--"_We
can't get any body._"
If they actually applied to the ministers, and could not prevail on
them to attend, then the blame must fall on their heads. But did they?
Rather did they not destroy the chapel to prevent their coming? And
were they always admitted when they did come? Answer, you that can.
At length, one of the principal officers, and a very sanguine
professor and church member, took a different stand and said in so
many words--"PREACHING WILL DO NO GOOD HERE." Confounded to hear such
language from such a source, and astonished to see the mask so fully
thrown off, the prisoner who heard the expression, argued the officer
out of his position, and sent him away penitently exclaiming--"O yes,
it will do good, it will do good."
At another time, when this same man had been meeting the pleas of the
prisoners for preaching by the old excuse--"I can't get any body"--one
of them said to him, if he would permit _him_ to make _one_ trial,
successful or unsuccessful, he would trouble him no more about
preaching. Permit me, said he, to write an account of the destitution
of the prison in respect to preaching, and the reasons of it, as you
have assigned them, and send it to a Missionary Society in Boston, and
I will never open my mouth again on this subject to you. "If that were
_necessary_," said the officer, "I could do it _myself_." "Then,"
replied the prisoner, "I take it for granted, that you do not consider
it _necessary_ for us to have preaching."
Frustrated in all their efforts to obtain a Chaplain, the prisoners
tried another experiment; they applied to the "powers that were" for
permission to have some christian man, from without, come in on the
Lord's day and _read_ a sermon. In this they anticipated success, but
met disappointment. It was every way reasonable and pious, and good
might have grown out of it; but, alas for the piety of somebody, no
good man could be found to go up to the help of the Lord against the
mighty. Is it to be supposed that there was not ONE man in the pious
village of Windsor, who would have delighted to perform that office of
kindness and love to his fellow men? The question must be settled
between the men of that village and the officer who brought the charge
against them.
Undespairing yet, another course was suggested, and the prisoners
petitioned to be allowed to meet in the chapel on the Sabbath, and
conduct meeting themselves, by praying and singing, and reading a
sermon. To this, as they promised to find all their own books, it was
thought there could no objection be made. But the human heart is
prodigiously fertile in excuses for what it does not like to perform,
and one was easily found to bar this petition. It was this.
Christianity, blush for thy votaries.--"IT WILL NOT LOOK WELL TO SEE A
PRISONER PRAY IN PUBLIC!!" I hope the Gentleman will remember this
when he thinks of death and heaven. Praying was then struck out of the
petition, but it was equally improper for a prisoner to _read_ or
_sing_ in public. Invention was now exhausted, and the case was given
up. But to cap the climax, one of the keepers said that _he_ would
read a sermon on the Sabbath, if _another_ one would pray.
The keeper who offered to read a sermon, was by no means a pattern of
piety. Lucifer and he would be alike _in_ or _out_ of their places any
where. But he took on him the office of priest for once, and assembled
the prisoners in the chapel on the Sabbath, and went into the desk,
and read _part_ of a sermon. There was no _praying_, for the one who
had engaged to do that duty had fallen _back_, and _this_ one did not
know how. The next Sabbath he finished the sermon, and resigned the
priesthood.
To suffer such indignity was truly painful. It was enough to be denied
every religious favor year after year, without having religion and all
that the soul holds dear, thus openly and outrageously profaned and
scoffed at; and the petitions which had been so often made, trampled
under foot with such a sacrilegious _sneer_. This was the sole design
of the officer in reading as he did. He had distanced the patience and
invention of those who desired "to behold the beauty of the Lord, and
to inquire in his temple;" and now he must insult their disappointed
hope. His tongue was the organ of profanity; with him religion was a
fable; and with one deliberate act to pollute the altar, and insult
the worshippers of God, he took the place of holy men, and drank his
licentious draught from a consecrated bowl. Why did not the fingers
appear, and trace his doom upon the wall?
One reason for this opposition to the introduction of the means of
grace into the prison, probably, was the _hatred_ which the keepers
had to the holiness and purity of the gospel. I speak this with
limitation, for there were always some who delighted in mercy, and who
spoke well of religion. But the majority of the head ones were always
with the priests of Baal.
Another reason was the _expense_. Every dime weighs something in the
scale of their monied calculations, and every cent must be placed in
the treasury. This did not _directly_ enrich any of the officers, but
it did indirectly; it gave them the reputation of managing well for
the state, and secured their re-election, with all its advantages.
This was enough. "Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul."
Personal advantage is consulted at the expense of all others.
But the most important reason was, the keepers could not attend to it.
Sunday is a day of relaxation, and they wanted to rove at large, and
take the air. Confined all the week, they wanted to have their
liberty on the Sabbath. And as the meeting could not be attended to
unless they were present, they were as much opposed _to_ it, as the
prisoners were anxious _for_ it.
They had now silenced every mouth, and were enjoying their triumph
with much satisfaction. But the efforts to obtain for the prisoners
what the law allowed them, though unobserved, were not dead nor
sleeping. There was a higher authority than that of the prison, and
arrangements were making to address a petition to the majesty of the
public. To do this was perilous for the individual who should attempt
it, and be found out; but magnanimity in a good cause is no crime.
This noble spirit nerved the soul of one of the prisoners, and
forgetting himself to serve his fellows, he wrote a piece for
publication in one of the papers, and found a friend to convey it to
the printer. This piece contained a brief history of the means of
grace in the prison, of the ruin of the chapel, and of the fruitless
efforts which had been made with the keepers; and concluded with a
firm appeal to the people and the authorities in behalf of the
prisoners.
This was printed in due time, and the effect was immediately visible
in the prison. A Chaplain was found, and meetings were held every
Sabbath, and no more occasion for complaint occurred.
This sketch presents the moral discipline of the prison in its true
light. Jehovah is not the God of that Institution, but Mammon. The
souls of the prisoners are not of so much value in the estimation of
the keepers, as one hour of their labor. To the chink of their Idol's
box they give most rapacious ears, and love no music half so well.
Time and eternity, heaven and hell, peace and affliction, smiles and
tears, life and death, are all lost sight of in the arithmetical
liturgy of Mammon's worship. In their estimation the most pious
prisoner is he who weaves the most cloth, and no organ has half so
religious tones as the clack of a loom. The prisoner's _Draft-book_ is
his only _Bible_, and _he_ is the most thorough and pious christian,
who can weave the handsomest piece of diaper in the shortest time. I
do not mean to treat the subject with lightness; it is too solemn; and
I mean to be understood as being in solemn and emphatic earnest. These
things are so, and I have witnesses of their truth among the living
and the dead. From such a place then, who could hope to see a man go
forth reformed, except from bad to worse?