I lay in Newark jail nine months, awaiting my trial.  During that time I had almost daily quarrels with the jailor, who abused me shamefully, and told me I ought to go to State prison and stay there for life.  Once he took hold of me and I struck him, for which I was put in the dark cell forty-eight hours.  At last came my trial.  The court appointed counsel for me, for I had no money to fee a lawyer, and my New York friend was on hand to advise and assist.  I lad witnesses to show the length of time that had elapsed since my separation from my first wife, and we also raised the point as to whether the justice who married me, was really a legal justice of the peace or not.  The trial occupied two days.  I suppose all prisoners think so, but the Judge charged against me in every point; the jury was out two hours, and then came in for advice on a doubtful question; the judge gave them another blast against me, and an hour after they came in with a verdict of “guilty.”  I went back to jail and two days afterwards was brought up for sentence which was—­“ten years at hard labor in the State prison at Trenton.”

Good heavens!  All this for being courted and won by a widow!

The day following, I was taken in irons to Trenton.  The Warden of the prison, who wanted to console me, said that, for the offence, my sentence was an awful one, and that he didn’t believe I would be obliged to serve out half of it.  As I felt then, I did not believe I should live out one-third of it.  After I had gone through the routine of questions, and had been put in the prison uniform, a cap was drawn down over my face, as if I was about to be hung, and I was led, thus blind-folded, around and around, evidently to confuse me, with regard to the interior of the prison-in case I might ever have any idea of breaking out.  At last I was brought to a cell door and the cap was taken off.  There were, properly no “cells” in this prison-at least I never saw any; but good sized rooms for two prisoners, not only to live in but to work in.  I found myself in a room with a man who was weaving carpets, and I was at once instructed in the art of winding yarn on bobbins for him-in fact, I was to be his “bobbin-boy.”

I pursued this monotonous occupation for two months, when I told the keeper I did not like that business, and wanted to try something that had a little more variety in it.  Whereupon he put me at the cane chair bottoming business, which gave me another room and another chum, and I remained at this work while I was in the prison.  In three weeks I could bottom one chair, while my mate was bottoming nine or ten as his day’s work; but I told the keeper I did not mean to work hard, or work at all, if I could help it.  He was a very nice fellow and he only laughed and let me do as I pleased.  Indeed, I could not complain of my treatment in any respect; I had a good clean room, good bed, and the fare was wholesome and abundant.  But then, there was that terrible, terrible sentence of ten long years of this kind of life, if I should live through it.