On rejoining my colleagues of the Oracle of Reason, I proceeded to issue an address to our readers. The substance of it, which was as follows, comprises some additional facts of my prison experience:— 'My Friends,—It is now six months since cut and hacked, "I fell," not merely in the language of the parable but literally, "among thieves." Of those who caused that contact, I am afraid I must say, as William Hutton said of an untoward sweetheart—"There was little love between us at first, and heaven has been pleased to decrease it on a further acquaintance." Christians profess to draw men to Jesus with "cords of love," but were it not for their judicious foresight in telling us that they axe "cords of love," few would find it out.
'To friends in Gloucester,* Cheltenham, Birmingham, London,** and other places, I owe many thanks for what has been contributed for my support, and for that of my family, during my imprisonment.
     * To Gloucester two special acknowledgments are due. First
     to a young lady, the niece of the Innkeeper, in whose house
     I resided, when awaiting Trial, both at the sessions and
     assises. With no other knowledge of me than these occasions
     afforded, and with no prepossession in favour of my
     opinions, but simply from that generous sympathy women often
     display, she frequently brought me refreshments to the gaol,
     and was a medium of communication with my friends, and often
     answered inquiries of my family which the restrictions of
     the gaol sometimes rendered it impossible for me even to
     know. In the romance of incident, she afterwards became the
     wife of my friend Mr. Chilton. The other instance was that
     of Mrs. Price, a woman in humble circumstances, who, during
     the latter part of my imprisonment, brought me dinner every
     Sunday.  Both Mrs. Price and her husband were utterly
     unknown to me.
 
     ** At the time of the death of Madeline, Mrs. Ralph Thomas,
     of London, sent to Mrs. Holyoake ￡3, subscribed by herself
     and personal friends.
For their attentions I believe no thanks were asked and none are wished. Yet I am concerned to make acknowledgments, because a man always values highly the kindness he does not expect. When the words were spoken which led to my prosecution, I expected that the cautious would think that I had gone "too far"—that the prudent would think that I had been too rash—that my friends would be afraid for me, and that the timid would be afraid for themselves. But I held with Polydamus, that
     To speak his thoughts is every freeman's right—
     In peace and war, in council and in fight.
'And, what I regarded as greater than my right, I felt it to be my duty. Besides, my honour was concerned. I could not descend to that disingenuousness I had often counselled others to scorn. Hence, in the course I took, I did not think it necessary to calculate consequences; a man's true concern is with his principles, and not with his fate. I pretended to no public virtue, and I laid claim to no praise—I did no more than every man ought to do. That doing so little has been so rewarded by the exertions of many friends for my protection, I must be pleased—but had nothing been done, I trust I should have found pride in penury and satisfaction under neglect, in the reflection that I had discharged my duty and preserved consistency.
'When my memorial to Sir James Graham was returned to the magistrates for their opinion, they came to me, and Mr. Bransby Cooper stormed out with great violence—"You were sent here, sir, for punishment, and you have nothing else to expect. I consider you worse than the greatest felon in the gaol; you have been guilty of the most atrocious crime a man can possibly commit. I have told Sir James Graham what you deserve." I knew that these magistrates were Christians. I was told they were gentlemen, but I thought them furies.*
     * Yet such is the inconsistency of the Christian character
     when allied to a generous nature, that Mr. Bransby Cooper
     who, as a Christian, behaved with so much rudeness, had just
     before given instruction to the turnkeys to treat me with
     respect, with a view to save me from less harshness from
     other officials than that which, in other moods, he so
     plentifully inflicted on me himself.
'The prison diet was bread, gruel, and potatoes. On two days in each week boiled rice was substituted for potatoes; and after I had been in prison nine weeks I was, by the rules, allowed a small portion of salt beef on Thursdays and Sundays. As this fare is deemed in Gloucestershire a famous specific for the cure of atheism, it may not be out of place to explain its virtues. The gruel was little remarkable for its delicate flavour and little celebrated for its nutritious qualities, and known by the luxurious cognomen of "skilly." The rice had a blue cast, a saline taste, and a slimy look. The beef I could not often taste, seldom chew, and never digest—I should say it was rather leather mode than a la mode. The whole of the food could only be taken by a ploughman's appetite, and only be digested by a navigator's stomach.
'The indirect occasion of my prosecution was the editorship of the Oracle. When Mr. Southwell was apprehended no Social Missionary came forward to continue his paper, although many of them were better qualified to do so than myself. Socialism had always attached great importance to freedom of expression, and Socialism's advocates had been styled "apostles of freethought." Knowing this, I felt that it would be a dishonourable reflection should any one refuse personally to support what he was known publicly to approve. Had Mr. Fleming been placed in Mr. Southwell's situation, and had he been of opinion that I could have defended his violated liberty by taking his place, I should have edited the New Moral World as cheerfully as I did the Oracle of Reason. When I speak of "freedom of speech" and "liberty for all," I know of no distinction between myself and those who differ from me—I see with an equal eye the Atheist and the Christian, the violent and the gentle, the dogmatic and the modest.
'That is true of Christianity which has been said of Catholicism, "Humane individuals may express their abhorrence of the sentiments of persecution—bodies of men, sections of the church itself, nay many of the dignitaries may abjure them, and protest that they have never acted upon them, nor ever will enforce them—yet all this will not avail to give a discerning man the smallest security for his liberty, his property, or his life; for as long as those intolerant decrees remain upon the statute book, they can at any time be revived." It therefore behoves everyone to set a guard over that liberty, for the loss of which no religion will ever compensate. The conviction should be permanent that Christianity is a fearful thing. But bad men may laud it—mistaken men may contend that there is some good in it—unthinking men may give currency to its terms—and weak men may connive at its delusions, but we ought to regard with different sentiments a system which tramples upon the feelings of humanity and the principles of liberty. Let us then secure the antidote—free expression of opposite opinion. Shall it be said that we are content to wear mental fetters? When Protestants, who dare never think without the Bible and Prayer Book, have shaken off the iron despotism of Catholicism—when Methodists and even Ranters have refused to submit their thoughts to be cut down to the Procrustean bed of conventional opinion—let not Christians mock at Freethinking pusillanimity and deride us as holders of craven principles. Not only for ourselves but for others are our exertions demanded. What patrimony has the poor man but his free thoughts? Industry will not save him from chill penury's grip, nor virtue from the poor-house grave—let us then preserve and perfect the humble inheritance of those who have no other.'*
In prison it is not safe to make complaints. You are too much in the power of those around you to escape reprisals of a serious kind, but this did not deter me from what I conceived to be a duty, and which might make the future easier for others who might follow me in the same way. Besides the endeavours I had made within the prison, with a view to tolerable treatment, I addressed, on my release, the following letter to the editor of the Cheltenham Free Press—
'Mr. Editor,—As prisons and prison discipline have lately occupied much public attention, I am induced to offer to your notice a little recent experience in such matters. What I have written, I intended to have stated to a public meeting, but suffering from debility, which makes me glad to avoid excitement, I seek the calmer medium of your paper.
'I speak of Gloucester County Gaol. I believe the prison inspector is of opinion that the rules of that place are "harsh and cruel." Now, should a prisoner seek a partial exemption from their operation, the process he goes through is very curious. He applies to a turnkey—the turnkey answers, "my duty is determinate and my province clear; I cannot do it." Probably, he refers the prisoner to the surgeon. The surgeon is seen—he refers him to the governor, the governor refers him to the visiting magistrates—they reply, "we have no power to grant the request, Sir James Graham only can do that." Sir James Graham is memorialised, who, as is usual, answers, "The visiting magistrates best know what is proper—I only grant what they recommend." Any further application to them would be construed into a wilful annoyance, and the prisoner is fortunate who can sit down like Sterne's happy man—pleased he knows not why, and contented he knows not wherefore. Of course I blame no one, for there is no one to blame, and this constitutes the beauty of the system.**
     * Revised and abridged from the Oracle.
 
     ** It seemed to me useful to make applications for what I
     wanted in writing. It prevented mistakes, and afterwards
     admitted of proof. The governor used to come to me and say,
     'Now, Holyoake, it is of no use sending this memorial.
It is sure not to be attended to, and he would so obligingly bestow upon me the treasures of his experience on the futility of the course I was pursuing, that at times it really did seem not only useless—but uncivil to persist. But I used to say, 'Captain Mason, I suppose you are right as to the result. That makes no difference, however, as to my duty; you may put my memorials in the fire, if you like, as soon as I have written them; still I will make the proper application to every officer and every authority, and deliver them to your care, as in duty bound.' I knew the Captain would not burn them—I knew more, I knew he dare not burn them. I knew, also, that each would be duly delivered to the proper party. Further I knew this, that if his dissuasions had deterred me from sending in my complaints, that when I left the prison the authorities would destroy every representation I might make, by saying 'If there had been anything wrong Holyoake would have complained, but as he has not done so, the aggravation he points out could not have existed, or could not have been grievous.' Foreseeing this I provided against it, and disregarding the refusal of my applications, I addressed them all round with scrupulous formality. The result was, that on my liberation I found myself in a position to defy contradiction in any allegations I had to advance; and though I published this letter immediately under the eyes of the magistrates, it was never contradicted.
Should I individualise, it would only be to say, that the governor is a gentleman of some excellent qualities, and some unintelligible conduct; that the surgeon possesses the suaviter in modo without the fortiter in re; and that the magistrates are little gods, who, like Jupiter, thunder oftener than they smile.
'What of health I have, I owe to my friends, who supplied me with such food as my constitution required, for had I been compelled to subsist on the diet of the prison, my health, by this time, would have been quite broken. With the direction of my own medical adviser, I made this representation to the proper authorities at the gaol; I made them to the commissioners who were lately there, and I made them to Sir James Graham;* I therefore conceive that I am justified in repeating them here. The surgeon admitted the necessity of better diet, but referred me to the governor, and he sent me the fruitless round I have described. Now the province of the governor was the care of my person, and the province of the surgeon the care of my health. The governor ought not to have permitted the reference to him, and the surgeon ought not to have made it. Either the surgeon should have refused my application with decision, or have allowed it with independence. Upon this subject, the commissioners reminded me, "that if the surgeon did not order what was necessary for my health, he was responsible for it." I replied "that I knew this, and that they also knew, that a prisoner, like Beale of Northleach, must die before he could avail himself of such responsibility, and that this was but grave consolation." But of the surgeon I wish to speak impartially, and I gladly admit, that his manner was always very kind, but I complain that his answers were always very indecisive. What he recommended he seldom prescribed, and professed that he must consult the governor when he should have consulted only himself. This fault may seem little, but its effects are great. In a gaol, the surgeon is the only person who stands between a prisoner and the grave, and it is indispensable that to the quality of humanity those of independence and decision should be joined. The kind of answers to which I have alluded were given to me more than once, and given to others as well as to me. And I again repeat, that had I been without friends, I should have left my prison without health.
     * In consequence of these representations some medical
     gentlemen of the city were brought in to examine me, who
     pronounced my life to be in no danger, and therefore (so it
     seemed) my health was not regarded as worth improving by
     better food. Provided I did not make a case fer the House of
     Commons, that was enough. They appeared to consider
     themselves as bound to keep me alive and no more.
'Akin to the want of better food, was the want of exercise, and no want of damp. The yard in which I walked was so small, that I always became giddy, through the frequent turnings, before I became refreshed. The governor sometimes permitted the "Fines-Class" in which I was, to walk in his garden; but the occasions came seldom and lasted not long—and I was previously so enervated by confinement, that the unusual exercise thus taken, threw me into a slight fever. Generally speaking, the place in which I was confined was miserably humid, and, although I took perpetual care, I had almost a perpetual cold.
'An application for a trivial favour often brought down upon me ruthless treatment. The visiting magistrates would come, and before the other prisoners denounce me as the "worst felon in the gaol, and the most atrocious of criminals." I was directed to ascribe this to the petulance of age and the rancour of orthodoxy; but I thought it proceeded from bad taste and worse feeling.
'From first to last, every newspaper sent me was detained; every letter from me was perused, and every one to me was broken open and read—and the very seals, if they happened to be heterodox, were interdicted. Thus the privacy of affection and friendship were violated, and mind as well as body laid under one restraint.
'When I saw friends it was but for a few minutes, and then through the bars of a gate; to shake hands was a privilege, and to converse unheard, impossible. To me it was a momentary satisfaction made an enduring mortification. To the public it may seem a light matter that nothing can be spoken to a visitor unheard by officers, but it is no light matter to a prisoner. The commissioners inquired—"Can you make no communication to your friends without its passing under the eyes of the governor, or through the ears of the turnkey?" I answered—"None; and that it was not prudent for a prisoner to mention openly what affected persons in whose power he was put—that no prisoner must calculate on gaolers being generous, for they owned few virtues not written in their rules." I spoke from experience, and gave them cases in point.*
'During the latter portion of my time all my friends were denied access to me, which, though it interfered with the supply of my wants, I did not, for the reasons stated, much regret. But this I did regret—all my letters were detained, and I was refused the privilege of writing a single letter to my family. The reason assigned by the governor for this was the enforcement of new rules, but I know that they were enforced without proper authority, and I believe applied only to me.***
'Those are happy who are for ever preserved from the reception cells of Gloucester Gaol. Of the one in which I was put, the floor was filthy, the bed was filthier, and the window was filthier still, for in the window was—what I sicken at while I write—a rag full of human excrement. And of the bed, a prisoner assured me that when he lay in it the lice crept up his throat off the corners of the blanket which covered him. This statement, on my direction, he made to the commissioners.
     * One case I allude to was this. Mr. Bransby Cooper and Mr.
     Jones had called me out to state that an application I had
     made for better dietary would not be acceded to. Mr. Cooper
     said the surgeon did not prescribe any other diet. I said,
     'It appears to me, sir, that the surgeon dare not prescribe
     any other diet, unless he was first assured you would
     approve of it.' The answer of Mr. Cooper was loud, harsh,
     brief, and decisive. 'Of course, sir, he dare not.' Thus the
     fierce candour of this man broke through the web-work of
     cautiousness which surrounded prisoners there, and spoke the
     truth for once.
 
     ** I have since been told that Mr. Alcott, of America, was
     among the number, who, being a visitor in England, had but
     one opportunity of calling upon me.
 
     ***On one occasion Richard Carlile brought me a present of a
     handsome pair of large razors, which were sent back lest I
     should cut my throat with them. The rules of the gaol forbid
     the entrance of such articles, but this reason for their
     rejection was not in the rules, but added as suitable to my
     case.
'The gaol chapel is a cold place. Often, on entering it, I have exclaimed, with Jugurtha, on entering his Roman dungeon—"Heavens! how cold is this bath of yours!" Yet in this place, during this inclement season, the prisoners are assembled every morning to hear prayers, on empty stomachs, after sixteen hours' confinement in their night cells. On the "long prayer" mornings, they are detained in chapel three-quarters of an hour, and the penitentiary men, on their return to their cells, find their gruel on the stone floor, gone cold in their absence. I mention this matter with reluctance, as some may suppose that I notice it only from want of religion; but perhaps a little reflection will convince them that believers, as well as unbelievers, can appreciate a warm breakfast on a cold morning!—and that an asthmatical man, however sound his faith, will have his affection painfully increased by enervation, inanition, and sudden cold. This practice I do not say is contrary to the rules, for it would be difficult to say what is, or what is not, contrary to them—and I never met with any one at the gaol who could tell. But the practice is contrary to the act of the 4th of Geo. IV., chap. 64, see. 30, which is professed to regulate it.
'A circumstance' of a different nature from any of the foregoing I think it my duty to notice. After a considerable portion of my term of imprisonment had elapsed, and after I had memorialised Sir James Graham, I was permitted to remain up in an evening with my books. To this I owe what of pleasure I can be said to have experienced in gaol, and with pleasure I acknowledge it.*
     * Before this privilege was conceded I whiled away the long
     nights by writing on the cover of a book, on which I had
     adjusted threads at equal intervals; under these threads I
     slip............