They bruised the
wall, broke the windows, and finally smashed in the door and took
their man away. The jailer was greatly excited at this rudeness, and
went almost immediately and purchased a pistol. He said that for a
time he did n't feel safe in the jail without it. The mob had thrown
stones at the upper windows, in order to awaken him, and had insulted
him with cursing and offensive language.
Having finished inspecting the building, I was unfortunately moved by
I know not what national pride and knowledge of institutions superior
to this at home, to say,
"This is a pleasant jail, but it doesn't look much like our great
prisons; we have as many as a thousand to twelve hundred men in some
of our institutions."
"Ay, ay, I have heard tell," said the jailer, shaking his head in
pity, "it's an awfu' place, an awfu' place,--the United States. I
suppose it's the wickedest country that ever was in the world. I
don't know,--I don't know what is to become of it. It's worse than
Sodom. There was that dreadful war on the South; and I hear now it's
very unsafe, full of murders and robberies and corruption."
I did not attempt to correct this impression concerning my native
land, for I saw it was a comfort to the simple jailer, but I tried to
put a thorn into him by saying,
"Yes, we have a good many criminals, but the majority of them, the
majority of those in jails, are foreigners; they come from Ireland,
England, and the Provinces.
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