The petition was prepared, setting forth all the interesting facts for the edification of the right honorable gentleman in the Home Office, and after being submitted to Barton and Smith, sent to the latter's address in London.

Millbank is a gigantic prison in the heart of London every one of the thousand cells of which cost the Government L300 to build. This is the establishment where David Copperfield visited Mr. Uriah Heep when that gentleman was under a cloud, and heard him express the wish that "everybody might get 'took up' so that they could learn the error of their ways." For many years all London men whose sentences had expired were brought here for release, and here Smith came a few days after the petition was posted. On the morning of his discharge and within an hour after passing through the gates of Millbank he left the petition personally at the Home Office. Two days afterward one of the clerks acknowledged its receipt, accompanied with the gratifying assurance that it was under consideration. A week later Mr. Smith was notified that the release would be granted. He immediately telegraphed the news to my warder, who told me, and I told Barton. Two days more and the release came down, Barton went on his way rejoicing and every one was glad at his happy fortune. The only one who felt much disappointment was very likely poor Smith, who never heard of his friend again.



CHAPTER XLIX.

I FLUSTER THE GREAT JUPITER OF MY LITTLE WORLD.

The successful issue of this little enterprise gave me great satisfaction. There was, of course, nothing in it for me, nor did I want anything, but it furnished me with an excellent standpoint from which to address the Home Secretary should the occasion ever arise.

The occasion did arise some time after, and I utilized it in this way: A friend of mine had come over from America to see me and to try if it were not possible to obtain some reduction in the sentence. My postman warder was away at the moment, so letter-carrier facilities were cut off. I wanted very much indeed to communicate with my friend, and applied to the Home Secretary explaining the position and asking him to let me write two letters immediately. At the end of eight weeks an answer came back that the Home Secretary had carefully considered the application and could find no sufficient grounds for advising Her Majesty to grant the prayer thereof. The next day I obtained a petition sheet from the governor and wrote the following petition:

"To the Right Hon. Sir William V. Harcourt, Secretary of State for the Home Department:

"The petition of, etc., humbly showeth: That two months ago I petitioned the Home Secretary for permission to write two letters, explaining the urgency of the occasion and pointing out that the request was by no means unusual. Yesterday the answer arrived telling me, with as much truth, I have no doubt, as kindness, the anxiety with which the right honorable gentleman has been for eight weeks considering the petition.

"I hasten to express to the Home Secretary the regret I cannot but feel at the thought of causing him so much concern, which I sincerely trust has had no prejudicial effect upon his health. I regret this the more as there was really no necessity for requiring eight whole weeks of his time to the inevitable great neglect of the public business, for no man who owns or who is known to be able to get a half sovereign ever has the slightest difficulty in sending out as many clandestine letters as he chooses. This, of course, is an infraction of the rules, and any reasonable man would rather get along in a friendly spirit with the prison authorities than be at war with them, but when trifling favors which it requires but to stretch out the hand to take are refused, rules, prison authorities and the Home Secretary himself are contemptuously set aside and the forbidden favor taken.

"I trust that this knowledge will save the Home Secretary any repetition of the anxiety he has suffered on this occasion, but while regretting my want of success in petitions for myself I desire to thank the right honorable gentleman for the kind attention he pays to my petitions for others.

"The Home Secretary will perhaps remember his merciful consideration of the case of Mr. Frederick Barton, whom he released some short time ago, but it will perhaps be news to him to hear that it was I who invented Mr. Barton's fortune and wrote the petition which furnished the grounds for advising Her Most Gracious Majesty to extend her royal clemency to the deserving young man. The result of my petition by no means surprised me, for I was always confident that an English gentleman could never be guilty of the solecism against English customs implied by keeping in prison a young gentleman who could perform so meritorious an act as to fall heir to many bags of gold and sixteen thousand acres of cotton land in India.

"Mr. Barton had previously petitioned for mercy pointing out that he was but 17 years old at the time of his arrest, and asking that his extreme youth might plead for him. This petition the Home Secretary treated with very proper contempt, but it was really delightful to contrast that contempt with the respectful and instant attention shown to the petition of the young heir.

"I have a difficulty in expressing the comfort with which I saw an English Home Secretary, with all the power of the Empire in his hands to protect him against imposition, releasing a criminal after reading a sheet of foolscap covered with lies, which had been left at the Home Office by a released convict within half an hour after passing through the gates of Millbank. It is but the merest justice, however, to add that poor Mr. Smith, the presenter of the petition, was as badly humbugged as the Home Secretary himself. The glitter of gold was flashed before his eyes as it was before the eyes of Sir William Vernon Harcourt, and with equal effect.

"To me this effect was certain, as not the slightest doubt existed in my mind that the moment it became a question of great sums of money all distinctions would vanish and pickpocket and Home Secretary would scramble on to the same foothold.

"The result, it is unnecessary to add, perfectly justified me. As I watched the lucky Frederick set out to return to the stable he came from it occurred to me that had he understood German, which he did not, nor English either, for that matter, he might have whispered joyfully to himself, in the words of another dealer in ways that are dark and tricks which are vain:

"'Es ist gar hubsch von einem grossen Herrn, So menschlich mit dem Teufel selbst zu sprechen.'

"Doubtless, however, the Home Secretary will feel, as I do myself, that he acted in this matter in accordance with the commonest dictates of duty, and I beg to assure him that, having every facility for sending out as many letters as I please, I shall never again cause him weeks of anxious consideration. Respectfully submitted,

"AUSTIN BIDWELL."

Whatever Sir William Vernon Harcourt may have thought about the petition, he said nothing, but I dare say he did not feel flattered. It required no small daring to send it, but as I knew I had nothing to hope from him I could look with perfect equanimity upon any consequences likely to follow.

The governor of the prison did not dare to violate the regulations by refusing to send my petition, written as it was on an official form and duly entered on the books of the establishment, but he sent for me in hot haste. Assuming a threatening air, he demanded how I dared to play such monkey tricks. Officially the governor was a hot member and enforced an iron discipline both with wardens and the men, but personally he was not a bad fellow, so I merely laughed and asked him if he was a critic and reviser of petitions; therefore, a local Home Secretary. He saw I was not to be intimidated, and almost begged of me not to do so any more. As he was a pretty good fellow, and I had no wish to cause him any embarrassment, I readily promised, provided I was permitted now and then to write a special letter. This permission he intimated would not be withheld, and there, so far as the governor was concerned, the incident ended. But so unheard-of a document emanating from a prisoner created a sensation among the officers, who all came to know of the matter, and added several degrees to whatever respect they were inclined to have for me.

As there is no attempt at humor in this book, and since I am on the subject of petitions, I will give here a copy of one sent by a fellow prisoner who was somewhat of a character and whose name was Niblo Clark.

To some of the prisoners the art of reading and writing is an all but insoluble mystery. Every man is allowed a small slate, and many of the prisoners spend an incredible amount of painful toil and mental wrestling in preparing a petition, which, by the way, never does any good. Poor Niblo for a whole year, through all the Summer's warmth and Winter's frost, spent his spare hours producing this petition, and I think my reader will agree with me that it is a masterpiece of its kind.

PETITION.

Register No. Y 19. Name, Niblo Clark, Present Age, 40. Confined in Chatham Prison. Date of Petition, January 15, 1890.

CONVICTED. CRIME. SENTENCE. REMARKS. When. Where. 1880. Old Bailey, Burglary. 15 Years. In Hospital. London. Troublesome.

To the Right Honorable Henry Mathews, Her Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department:

The Petition of Niblo Clark Humbly Sheweth—

The Right Honorable Secretary the great benefit your humble petitioner would derive by a speedy removal from this damp and foggy inhospitable Climate to a milder one; the atmostphere here his thoroughly prejudicial to your petitioners health and causes me to be a great Sufferer i am Suffering from asthma accompanied with bad attacks of Chronic bronchitis and have been now 3 long years Confined to a bed of Sickness in a Sad and pitable Condition and upon those Clear grounds and physical proofs your petitioner humbly prays that it may please the Right Honorable Secretary to order my removal to a warmer and milder Climate necessity also compels me to complain of repeated acts of injustice and Cruely committed again me, and which in some respects Might Justly undergo the imputation of ferocity there are numbers and frivolous and false charges conspired against me and every time i am discharged from here the Governor takes them Seperate one each and trys to murder me: i have been No less then Six weeks at one time on bread and Water accompanied with a little penal Class and all the officers are incouraged to practise all kinds of barbarious maltreatment against me and other sick men—theres is one officer here place here for the express purpose of tantelizing me and other his Name is Warder Newcombe this officer sir has barbariously struck and assaulted patients on there Sick bed and Several has complained of it to the Governor—But i am Sorry to say its greatly fostered and incouraged especially upon me it is quite useless to complain of anything to the Governor.

Right Honourable Sir i humbly beg that you will listen to my woe for what i Suffer in Chatham prison the one half you do not Know From repeated attacks of this frightful disease i am getting worse each day So i humbly trust you will have me removed without the least delay

In making my request in poetry Sir i hope you wont think i am Joking for the greatest favour you can bestowe upon me is to Send me back to Woking For in this damp and foggy Climate its impossible to ever get better So i humbly trust in addition to this you will grant me a Special letter

Another little case i wish to State if you Sir will Kindly listen has it would Cause a Vast amount of talk all round and about the prison I mean if Niblo Clark Should be sent upon some public Works it would cause more talk then the late dispute between the russians and the turks

in foggy wheather with my disease it would be impossible to larst one hour and if you doubt the accuracy of what i say i refere to doctor Power or any other naval doctor or one from the army garrison they one and all would say the Same and likewise Doctor Harrison

Since my reception in this here prison i have been a most unfortunate man and i will tell you the why and wherefore as well as i possibly Can for every time i been in this hospital its the whole truth what i Say for my medical treatment i assure Sir i have dearly had to pay

A regular marked man i have been for them all its well known to Captain Harris for the list of reports against me would reach from this place to paris So i humbly beg Right Honourable Sir you will grant this humble petition for i am sorry to State i have nothing to pay having lost both health and remission

Such Cruel injustice to poor Sick men is far from being just and right but to report Sick patients in hospital is the officers Chief delight But perhaps kind Sir you might imagine that they only do this to a dodger But its done to all—Austin Bidwell as well and likewise to poor Sir Roger (Tichborne).

like Savage lions in this infirmary the Officers about are walking to Catch and report a dying poor man for the frivolous Charge of talking and when we go out from hospital our poor bodies they try to Slaughter by taking these reports one at the time and Killing us on bread and water

I am suffering a Chest and throat disease a frightful Chronic disorder and to go out from hospital is attempting Suicide to get heaps of bread and Water for it is such cruel treatment made me as i am and brought me to the Verge of the grave So in conclusion Right Honourable Sir a removal i humbly Crave

if this petition should not be sent prisoners abstain from further writting who will explain his case more Clearly to the Visiting director and i wish to have this petition Submitted to the director by your truly humble servant Niblo Clark.



CHAPTER L.

IT WAS NIGHT; SILENCE AND GLOOM HAD SETTLED DOWN ON THE INMATES.

By a refinement of cruelty we had been separated and sent to prison wide apart; for twenty years I had not seen the face of one of my friends. But there was an invisible bond between us that no tyranny could break. How blessed the happy forethought that made us, in that dark hour, amid our despair, make that promise!

Ten years had slowly dragged by, 1883 came, and my devoted family felt that I, and my comrades, too, had paid, as was right, our due to justice, and we ought to be liberated. They determined that it would not be their fault if I remained in captivity. So that year my sister came to England and remained permanently there. She worked bravely and well, but year after year passed without result. None of us was prepared for the vindictive fury of the Bank of England—its power was all-potent with the Government. George had been bedridden for years, and was slowly dying. At length, in 1887, the medical officer of the prison certified his speedy death was certain, and the Government released him to die; but he resolved that he would not die until we were free. With liberty and hope health came slowly back, and he devoted every hour to working for our liberation; but for a time devoted in vain. More than once had I seen the prison emptied and filled again. Of all the life prisoners I had met there on my arrival, or who for years after had joined me, I was the sole survivor.

One by one sickness or insanity, born of despair, had laid them in the prison graveyard or buried them in the asylum. Out of more than seventy life prisoners none had lived to be liberated, and determined appeared the Bank of England directors that I should not form an exception; but that if ever the prison doors were opened to me it should be only when so near death that I might join the many who had gone before.

My fate seemed inevitable, but never for a moment did I cease to believe that Fortune's frowns would one day disappear and that I should yet again feel the warmth and sunshine of her smile. From his sick bed, and in his health, our comrade never ceased his efforts. He succeeded in interesting James Russell Lowell and many others in my behalf. The President asked the English Government officially to grant my release. Mr. Blaine, the Secretary of State, sent a very strong letter through Minister Lincoln in London, and I thought when told of it that my day to go was not far away.

It will interest Americans, perhaps, to hear that the representations of the President and of the Secretary of State of the United States met the same courtesy as was shown to all the previous ones. Still, George was not discouraged. He sent agents to England, who managed to interest the newspapers in the matter, and never did he cease, until by the statements of the press upon the ferocity of my treatment, the reproaches of my friends and the representations of many I had never seen, including Lady Henry Somerset, Mrs. Helen Densmore (then residing in London) and the Duke of Norfolk, at last the Home Secretary felt the pressure, and all unwillingly—"much against his will," as he termed it—was forced to order my release.

* * * * *

"Thou shalt forget thy misery and remember it as waters that pass away."

Twenty years had passed away since I had bade my friends good-bye under the Old Bailey, and now 1893 had come. It was a frosty February night, and I was alone in that little room with its arched roof and stone floor. It was past 7 o'clock, and the prison gloom and stillness had settled down on all the inmates, when suddenly there came the noise of hurrying feet that echoed strangely from the arched roof as the warders tramped loudly on the stone floor of the long hall. A rush of feet, or, indeed, anything that broke the horrible stillness at that hour, was startling. They were the feet of the reserve guard, which was never called in save when the patrol who glided around the corridors in slippered feet discovered some suicide. Many a heartbroken man had I known in that twenty years who in his despair ended his misery thus.

While wondering who the unfortunate could be I heard their steps mounting the stairway leading to my landing, and then a sudden thrill shot through me as they turned down the corridor toward my cell. My heart stood still as I thought, could they be coming for me? I had a sudden frenzy of fear that they might pass my door, but no, they came straight on, halted, and Ross, a principal officer—I had known him twenty years—gave a thundering rap on my door and shouted, "I want you!" Then a key rattled in the lock, the door was thrown open and three friendly faces looked in. Faint, deadly white, trembling like a frightened child, I started to my feet trying to speak, but no sound came from my lips for a moment. At last I stammered, "What's the matter?" Ross thrust his form through the door, and with face close to mine said the thrilling words, "You're free!" I cried, "I don't believe you!" and Ross said: "Come on, my boy; it's all right."

Like one in a dream I passed out through the door of that little cell whose grim, narrow walls had frowned on me for a score of years and had in vain tried to crush my spirit.

Still like one in a dream I went down that long hall listening only to the strange sound of my own footsteps and saying to myself: "It is all a dream. I will awake, as I have from thousands of like dreams, and find myself again in my dungeon."

I was led into the outer office, where some papers were read to me, and then others given me to sign, but I listened or signed like one in a maze. Suddenly I saw Ross thrust the key into the outer door. That roused me, and the thought flashed into my mind, now I will see a star.

The heavy door rolled on its hinges, the ponderous gate was flung back. Stepping out, I intuitively looked up, and a sudden awe fell upon me, for there, like a revelation, shone the Milky Way, with its millioned arch of radiant suns. At the sight of that miracle of glory, my heart beat fast. I realized that I was free, with health and strength, with courage to begin again the battle of life, and in my irrepressible emotion I cried aloud, and my cry was like a prayer—"God is good."

THE END