PHILADELPHIA'S BASTILE.
In Philadelphia Dickens made a special request for permission to visit
the great prison of the State, remarking that it and the Falls of
Niagara were the two objects he most wished to see in America.
Exceptional facilities were afforded him to gratify his desire, and make
his investigation as thorough as he chose. Nothing was concealed from
him, and his account and opinion of the Eastern State Penitentiary
("American Notes," Chapter 7) created a vast deal of comment in their
day. He put himself on record as a violent opponent of the solitary
system, and while he intended to make this chapter the strongest, it was
really one of the weakest in the book. He had assailed the outrages of
the debtors' prisons of London manfully. Over the Philadelphia system he
became almost hysterical. In the former he had actual evils and wrongs
and outrages to combat. In the latter his grievance was largely founded
on sentimentality and purely personal feeling. He describes his visit:
"In the outskirts stands a great prison called the Eastern
Penitentiary, conducted on a plan peculiar to the State of
Pennsylvania. The system here is rigid, strict and hopeless solitary
confinement. I believe it, in its effects, to be cruel and wrong.
"I was accompanied to this prison by two gentlemen officially
connected with its management, and passed the day in going from cell
to cell and talking with the inmates. Every facility was afforded me
that the utmost courtesy could suggest. Nothing was concealed or
hidden from my view, and every piece of information that I sought was
openly and frankly given. The perfect order of the building cannot be
praised too highly, and of the excellent motives of all who are
immediately concerned in the administration of the system there can be
no kind of question.
"Between the body of the prison and the outer wall there is a spacious
garden. Entering it by a wicket in the massive gate, we pursued the
path before us to its other termination, and passed into a large
chamber, from which seven long passages radiate. On either side of
each is a long, long row of low cell-doors with a certain number over
every one. Above a gallery of cells like those below, except that they
have no narrow yard attached (as those in the ground tier have), and
are somewhat smaller. The possession of two of these is supposed to
compensate for the absence of so much air and exercise as can be had
in the dull strip attached to each of the others, in an hour's time
every day; and, therefore, every prisoner in this upper story has two
cells, adjoining and communicating with each other.
"Standing at the central point and looking down these dreary passages,
the dull repose and quiet that prevails is awful. Occasionally there
is a drowsy sound from some lone weaver's shuttle or shoemaker's last,
but it is stilled by the thick walls and heavy dungeon door, and only
serves to make the general stillness more profound. Over the head and
face of every prisoner who comes into this melancholy house a black
hood is drawn; and in this dark shroud, an emblem of the curtain
dropped between him and the living world, he is led to the cell from
which he never again comes forth until his whole term of imprisonment
has expired. He never hears of wife or children, home or friends; the
life or death of any single creature. He sees the prison officers,
but, with that exception, he never looks upon a human countenance, or
hears a human voice. He is a man buried alive, to be dug out in the
slow rounds of years, and, in the meantime, dead to everything but
torturing anxieties and horrible despair.
"His name, and crime, and term of suffering are unknown, even to the
officer who delivers him his daily food. There is a number over his
cell-door, and in a book, of which the governor of the prison has one
copy and the moral instructor another, this is the index to his
history. Beyond these pages the prison has no record of his existence;
and though he live to be in the same cell ten weary years, he has no
means of knowing, down to the very last hour, in what part of the
building it is situated; what kind of men there are about him; whether
in the long winter nights there are living people near, or he is in
some lonely corner of the great gaol, with walls and passages, and
iron doors between him and the nearest sharer in its solitary horrors.
"Every cell has double doors--the outer one of sturdy oak, the other
of grated iron, wherein there is a trap through which his food is
handed. He has a bible and a slate and pencil, and, under certain
restrictions, has sometimes other books, provided for the purpose, and
pen and ink and paper. His razor, plate and can, and basin hang upon
the wall, or shine upon the little shelf. Fresh water is laid on in
every cell, and he can draw it at his pleasure. During the day his
bedstead turns up against the wall and leaves more space for him to
work in. His loom, or bench, or wheel is there, and there he labors,
sleeps and wakes and counts the seasons as they change, and grows
old."
Over the inmates of this Philadelphia gaol Dickens exuded a great deal
of sympathy and sentiment. He invested each man he wrote about with a
pathos that made good reading at any rate, and no doubt sincerely
believed all that he wrote. To a man of a convivial and companionable
nature like himself the idea of a life of solitude was naturally
horrible. To a man fond of long walks among other men the enforced
absence of exercise as well as of companionship was naturally dreadful.
To Charles Dickens, in short, a term of imprisonment in the Eastern
Penitentiary would unquestionably have been the cruelest torture. He
would, in all likelihood, have worn his life out speedily here, like a
wild bird in a cage, or have laid violent hands upon himself, or have
become a madman. To the felons whom he visited, men for the most part of
blunt sensibilities and brutal natures, he credited the same qualities
as belonged to his own refined and sensitive composition, and he put
himself in their place and spoke for them from his own standpoint. How
far he was led astray by this was shown by the case of the character
long known as "Dickens's Dutchman." Of this fellow he wrote:
"In another cell there was a German, sentenced to five years'
imprisonment for larceny, two of which had just expired. With colors
procured in the same manner (extracted from dyed yarn given him to
weave) he had painted every inch of the walls and ceiling quite
beautifully. He had laid out the few feet of ground behind him with
exquisite neatness, and had made a little bed in the centre, that
looked, by the bye, like a grave. The taste and ingenuity he had
displayed in everything was most extraordinary, and yet a more
dejected, heartbroken, wretched creature it would be difficult to
imagine. I never saw such a picture of forlorn affliction and distress
of mind. My heart bled for him, and when the tears ran down his
cheeks, and he took one of the visitors aside to ask, with his
trembling hands nervously clutching at his coat to detain him, whether
there was no hope of his dismal sentence being commuted, the spectacle
was really too painful to witness. I never saw or heard any kind of
misery that impressed me more than the wretchedness of this man."
This was the Dickensesque of it, and it gave its unfortunate subject an
international notoriety. Now mark the plain, unvarnished facts.
The name of "Dickens's Dutchman" was Charles Langheimer. He was
sentenced to the Eastern Penitentiary for the first time on May 15,
1840, and it was while he was serving this term that Dickens saw him. On
June 25, 1852, he came back on a year's sentence, and on Feb. 24, 1855,
he was a third time convicted, for two years on this occasion. On April
4, 1861, he came again for a year, on March 12, 1872, he was returned
for two years, on Sept. 9, 1875, and on April 4, 1877, he began two
terms of a year each. On Sept. 10, 1879, he received a three years'
term, and he was no sooner through with this than he was once more
convicted and sent up for a year, in 1882. In the intervals of the
sixteen years he spent in this one prison, since his first conviction,
he had served five terms in other prisons, three in the County Jail, of
Philadelphia, one in the Baltimore Penitentiary, and one in New York. In
plain English, the man was a confirmed pauper and thief. He lived by
mendicancy, and from time to time he would commit some larceny, for
which offense all his sentences were imposed on him, merely in order to
be sent to jail to be cared for--just as he might have gone on a
vacation from his regular and miserable life upon the chance of charity.
In view of Dickens's positive and unqualified expression of sentiment in
regard to him, the most curious fact of his life remains to be noted.
This is that, fourteen years after Dickens's own death, he returned
voluntarily to the penitentiary, where he had ended a year's term only a
few months before, and begged to be taken in. This place, so dreadful to
the impressionable novelist, was the only approach to home the poor
wretch knew. He was in a deplorable condition, was nearly eighty years
of age, and had a horror of the almshouse. The inspectors consented that
he should have his wish, and he was cared for for a month, until his
death, which occurred on March 14, 1884. It is interesting to know that
Dickens died at the age of fifty-eight years. This "picture of forlorn
affliction and distress of mind," this "dejected, heartbroken, wretched
creature," who was born eight years before Dickens, survived him nearly
twice that period, and outlived him, in the mere number of his years, by
twenty-two. It may be remembered, in connection with the Fleet Prison
episode of "Pickwick," that Sam Weller adverts to the almost identical
case of an old prisoner, to whom the jail had become such a home that
the fear of being locked out of it eventually deterred him from taking
the sly tastes of liberty which the turnkeys were willing to allow him.
The Eastern State Penitentiary is, in this day, admitted to be one of
the model penal institutions of the world. When built it was in the
northern suburb, but it is now in the heart of Philadelphia. It occupies
an entire block, comprising ten or twelve acres, and its site was
originally known as Cherry Hill, a name which is often locally applied
to the jail itself. The ground is elevated, and from the gateway tower a
fine panorama of the vast city, spreading about for miles, may be
obtained. All that is visible externally is a massive granite wall, some
thirty-five feet high, slightly relieved or buttressed with towers at
the angles and on the front. The enclosure is square, and the entrance,
in the centre of the front wall, is by a lofty portal, defended by a
heavy outer gate, in which there is a wicket, and an inner gate, and
dominated by a tower taller than the others. Within the walls the ranges
of cells radiate from an octagonal central building, which is crowned
with an observatory. To simplify the description it may be said that
this central building forms the hub from which branch branch forth the
spokes of this enormous wheel. A system of lighting the entire grounds
by night is provided in a lantern of special ingenious construction, in
the tower below the observatory or lookout. There are some detached
buildings on the grounds, used for mechanical and culinary purposes. The
living apartments of the warden and his family, offices, etc., are in
the front building. The outer and inner gates of the prison are never
opened at the same time. Even a visitor or an official becomes in a
manner a prisoner when he leaves the street.
Dickens's general description of the prison is good enough, but some of
his statements are more picturesque than precise. Prisoners are not shut
off from intercourse by letter, or even personally, with their families.
They do see various persons connected with the prison, although they
cannot see other prisoners. Even this, which Dickens thought so cruel,
and the concealment of their faces when they are brought in to the jail,
is a precaution born of benevolence and mercy. The idea is that after a
man has served a term at Cherry Hill and been discharged he may go where
he will, and if he wishes to live an honest life no man can point him
out as an ex-convict. Except in the private record of the prison, known
only and accessible only to a few responsible persons, John Jimpson
never existed in the Eastern State Penitentiary. The keepers, the
doctor, the jail attendants only knew him as No. 99. The librarian never
issued books to John Jimpson, but to No. 99. The nurses in the infirmary
never attended him when he was sick, but cared for No. 99. No one but
the warden knew whether the letters sent to him by his wife or family or
friends were meant for No. 99 or No. 199. As far as the stigma of his
crime and its punishment can be effaced it is effaced. He loses his
social identity when he enters the prison, and puts it on when he comes
out, like a new suit of clothes.
It is a rule of the prison that each convict, when he enters, shall be
taught a useful trade, if he has not one already. He then has a daily
task set, and all that he can or cares to produce above this task is
credited to him, and the money is paid to him when he departs. The
illiterate convicts are taught to read and write. Those who display
intelligence are encouraged to cultivate it. Convicts of superior
education--such, for instance, as can produce literary work or paint
pictures--are permitted the means to do so. The entire system of the
prison is reformatory as well as punitive; the idea is not merely to
cage a social beast, but to tame him and train him, so that he may be of
use to the world when he has served his term of isolation.
The idea of separate confinement--the Philadelphia Idea, as it has been
called--originated nearly a century ago. In an admirable sketch of the
origin and history of the Eastern District Penitentiary, compiled by Mr.
Richard Vaux, president of the board of Inspectors, the history of
Pennsylvania's system of prison discipline and management is given in
brief but interesting style. In 1776 the common jail of Philadelphia was
as horrible a den as the worst of London jails at its worst. An attempt
was made by Richard Wistar, one of the famous family of that name, to
reform it, but in 1777 the British army occupied the city and the good
work was, perforce, suspended. In 1787 it was taken up again, and the
Philadelphia Prison Society was formed. The first president of the
society was Bishop William White, the first Protestant Episcopal
Archbishop of Pennsylvania, and he held the office for forty years. The
society's first work was to have the chain gangs, employed at cleaning
the streets and repairing the roads, abolished. The next was to secure a
separation of the sexes in the common jail. Then the separation of
actual criminals and of persons merely accused but not yet found guilty
of crime demanded attention. So, by degrees, the idea of separate
confinement took shape. In 1790 a law was passed by which this principle
was put to the test, and finally, in 1821, the Legislature authorized
the construction of the State Penitentiary for the Eastern district of
Pennsylvania.
At this date the site of the present Penitentiary was a farm, remarkable
for its grove of fine cherry trees. It belonged to the Warner family.
The farm-house was a cheery old colonial mansion, and it is worth noting
that when the Warners sold the land they reserved the right to remove
the mantels and fireplaces from the house. The place was purchased in
1821. The plans of several competing architects were submitted to the
board appointed by the Legislature, and that of John Haviland was
selected. The cornerstone of the Penitentiary was laid in 1823, and it
was opened for the reception of convicts in 1829. Up to that time about
$340,000 had been expended on it, but since then the necessary
enlargements and improvements have brought its cost up to probably
$1,000,000 or more. If Dickens could revisit it in the flesh to-day he
would find it a much more extensive establishment than the one he
criticised so severely and unjustly; and his confidence in himself would
perhaps be shaken when he read the record of his woebegone "Dutchman."
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
List of changes from the printed edition (in parentheses the original
text):
p. 5: removed stray period (when George III. was king)
p. 7: "others" for "other" (while others erected)
p. 8: "workmen's" for "workmens'" (with the workmens' voices)
p. 11: "street" for "stret" (marched into the stret)
p. 17: "landau" for "landeau" (in his own landeau and six)
p. 21: "ladders" for "ladlers" (long ladlers for scaling)
p. 23: "besieged" for "beseiged" (others beseiged the house)
p. 26: "buckets full" for "bucketsfull" (of which bucketsfull were
passed)
p. 33: "Sergeant" for "Sargeant" (Recorder and Common Sargeant)
p. 41: "indescribable" for "indiscribable" (with an indiscribable
feeling)
p. 44: inserted space (forming a part of NewgateMarket)
p. 52: added final closing quote mark (as much trouble as possible.)
p. 54: added period (Werry good That's a case)
p. 54: added final closing quote mark (I should like to see 'em.)
p. 55: removed final closing quote mark (the prisoner before him.")
p. 57: added final period (I suppose mine did)
p. 59: "pew" for "pen" (the 'condemned pen')
p. 59: "huge" for "hugh" (A hugh black pen)
p. 64: removed duplicate "desperate" (helpless, desperate, desperate
state)
p. 65: added period (linen cloth His red)
p. 67: changed opening double quote to single quote ("Here's somebody)
p. 76: "divagations" for "divigations" (in his pleasant divigations)
p. 77: "preferred" for "prefered" (debtors who prefered to preserve)
p. 80: added period (the charge of 1s. 3d a week)
p. 84: "gallon" for "galllon" (And stand a galllon)
p. 84: "Wat" for "Watt" (followers of Watt Tyler)
p. 94: added period (L3 6s 8d.)
p. 94: added period (7s 4d.)
p. 95: "Westminster" for "Westminister" (between Westminister Hall)
p. 95: guessed "are" as missing word (There other letters by Howel)
p. 102: removed duplicate "of" (the shadow of of the prison)
p. 125: "made" for "maade" (when he maade his first visit)
p. 126: "Clennam" for "Clenham" (Arthur Clenham looked)
p. 129: added missing opening quote (I came to Marshalsea Place,')
p. 137: added missing comma after "porter" (for porter gave me)
p. 137: "handkerchief" for "handerchief" (his pocket handerchief)
p. 139: removed duplicate "to" (a room to to himself)
p. 142: apostrophe for comma (Insolvent Debtors, Act)
p. 147: added missing opening quote ('No.' Would you like)
p. 171: "Hopkins's" for "Hopkin's" (of Captain Hopkin's voice)
p. 153: "rotten" for "rotton" (the rotton and reeking)
p. 154: "huge" for "hugh" (but that a hugh structure)
p. 171: "Dickens's" for "Dicken's" (At the time of Dicken's visit)
End of Project Gutenberg's In Jail with Charles Dickens, by Alfred Trumble