[Note.—Thomas Cooper was convicted in 1843 of sedition in connection with a riot at Hanley, and sentenced to two years’ imprisonment.] Each cell had a stone floor; was simply long enough to hold a bed, and broad enough for one to walk by the side of it. An immense slab of cast-iron formed the bedstead, and it rested on two large stones. A bag stuffed so hard with straw that you could scarcely make an impression on it with your heel, formed the bed. Two blankets and a rug completed the furniture. There was no pillow; but remembering that from my former imprisonment, I had brought in with me a small macintosh pillow which I could blow up and put under my head. The best thing I had was a very large and very heavy camlet travelling cloak. If I had not brought this with me, I could not have slept in that cell during the winter without becoming a cripple for life, or losing my life. The prison bell rang at half-past five, and we were expected to rise and be ready to descend into the day-yard at six. At eight, they brought us a brown porringer, full of “skilly”—for it was such bad unpalatable oatmeal gruel that it deserved the name—and a loaf of coarse, dark-coloured bread. At twelve at noon, they unlocked the door of our day-room, and threw upon the deal table a netful of boiled potatoes, in their skins, and a paper of salt—for dinner. At five in the evening they brought us half a porringer of “skilly,” but no bread. At six, we were trooped off, and locked up in our sleeping cells for the next twelve hours. I demanded better food; and was told I could not have it. I asked to write to my wife, and receive a letter from her; but still they refused. One day I slipped past one of the turnkeys as he unlocked our day-room door, ran along the passages, and got to the governor’s room, and thundered at it till he came out in alarm. “Give me food that I can eat,” I said, “or some of you shall pay for it.” “Go back—get away to your day-room,” cried the governor. “I will, if you will give me something to eat,” I said. “Here—come here and take him away!” cried the governor to two of the turnkeys who had just then appeared, but who looked sorely affrighted. “I’ll knock the first man down who dares to touch me,” said I; and the turnkeys stood still. The governor burst into laughter, for he saw they were plainly in a fix. “What d’ye want to eat, Cooper?” said he in a gentle tone; “tell me, and I’ll give it you.” “All I want of you at present,” said I, “is a cup of good coffee, and a hearty slice of bread and butter. When I can speak to the magistrates, I shall ask for something more.” And I did ask the magistrates; but they would not yield. So I led the officers of the prison a sorely harassing life—poor fellows! I was ever knocking at the door, or shattering the windows, or asking for the surgeon or governor, or troubling them in one way or other. |
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