So the warden directed that I should be put at work in the brush shop, where all kinds of brushes were made.  Mr. Eddy was the officer in charge of this shop, and Mr. Knowles, the contractor for the labor employed in the brush business, was present.  Both of these gentlemen took pains to instruct me in the work I was to begin upon, and were very kind in their manner towards me.  I went to work in a bungling way and with a sad and heavy heart.  At 12 o’clock we were marched from the shop to our cells, each man taking from a trap in the wall, as he went by, his pan containing his dinner, which consisted, that day, of boiled beef and potatoes.  It was probably the worst dinner I had ever eaten, but I had yet to learn what prison fare was.  From one o’clock to six I was in the shop again; then came Supper-mush and molasses that evening which was varied, as I learned afterwards, on different days by rye bread, or Indian bread and rye coffee.  These things were also served for breakfast, and the dinners were varied on different days in the week.  The fare was very coarse, always, but abundant and wholesome.  After supper prisoners were expected to go to bed, as they were called out at six o’clock in the morning.

I stayed in the brush shop three or four months, but I made very little progress in learning the trade.  I was willing enough to learn and did my best.  From the day I entered the prison I made up my mind to behave as well as I could; to be docile and obedient, and to comply with every rule and order.  Consequently I had no trouble, and the officers all treated me kindly.  Warden Robinson was a model man for his position.  He believed that prisoners could be reformed more easily by mild than by harsh measures—­at least they would be more contented with their lot and would be subordinate.  Every now and then he would ask prisoners if they were well treated by the officers; how they were getting on; if they had enough to eat, and so on.  The officers seemed imbued with the warden’s spirit; the chaplain of the prison, who conducted the Sunday, services and also held a Sunday school, was one of the finest men in the world, and took a personal interest in every prisoner.  Altogether, it was a model institution.  But in spite of good treatment I was intensely miserable; my mind was morbid; I was nearly, if not quite, insane; and one day during the dinner hour, I opened a vein in each arm in hopes that I should bleed to death.  Bleed I did, till I fainted away, and as I did not come out when the other prisoners did, the officer came to my cell and discovered my condition.  He at once sent for the Doctor who came and stopped the hemorrhage, and then sent me to the hospital where I remained two weeks.