became as naturally pleased and easy with the place, as if
indeed I had been born there.
It is scarce possible to imagine that our natures should be
capable of so much degeneracy, as to make that pleasant and
agreeable that in itself is the most complete misery. Here
was a circumstance that I think it is scarce possible to mention
a worse: I was as exquisitely miserable as, speaking of
common cases, it was possible for any one to be that had life
and health, and money to help them, as I had.
I had weight of guilt upon me enough to sink any creature
who had the least power of reflection left, and had any sense
upon them of the happiness of this life, of the misery of
another; then I had at first remorse indeed, but no repentance;
I had now neither remorse nor repentance. I had a crime
charged on me, the punishment of which was death by our
law; the proof so evident, that there was no room for me so
much as to plead not guilty. I had the name of an old offender,
so that I had nothing to expect but death in a few weeks’ time,
neither had I myself any thoughts of escaping; and yet a certain
strange lethargy of soul possessed me. I had no trouble, no
apprehensions, no sorrow about me, the first surprise was
gone; I was, I may well say, I know not how; my senses, my
reason, nay, my conscience, were all asleep; my course of life
for forty years had been a horrid complication of wickedness,
whoredom, adultery, incest, lying, theft; and, in a word,
everything but murder and treason had been my practice from
the age of eighteen, or thereabouts, to three-score; and now I
was engulfed in the misery of punishment, and had an infamous
death just at the door, and yet I had no sense of my condition,
no thought of heaven or hell at least, that went any farther than
a bare flying touch, like the stitch or pain that gives a hint and
goes off. I neither had a heart to ask God’s mercy, nor indeed
to think of it. And in this, I think, I have given a brief
description of the completest misery on earth.
All my terrifying thoughts were past, the horrors of the place
were become familiar, and I felt no more uneasiness at the
noise and clamours of the prison, than they did who made
that noise; in a word, I was become a mere Newgate-bird, as
wicked and as outrageous as any of them; nay, I scarce
retained the habit and custom of good breeding and manners,
which all along till now ran through my conversation; so
thorough a degeneracy had possessed me, that I was no more
the same thing that I had been, than if I had never been
otherwise than what I was now.
In the middle of this hardened part of my life I had another
sudden surprise, which called me back a little to that thing
called sorrow, which indeed I began to be past the sense of
before. They told me one night that there was brought into
the prison late the night before three highwaymen, who had
committed robbery somewhere on the road to Windsor,
Hounslow Heath, I think it was, and were pursued to Uxbridge
by the country, and were taken there after a gallant resistance,
in which I know not how many of the country people were
wounded, and some killed.
It is not to be wondered that we prisoners were all desirous
enough to see these brave, topping gentlemen, that were
talked up to be such as their fellows had not been known, and
especially because it was said they would in the morning be
removed into the press-yard, having given money to the head
master of the prison, to be allowed the liberty of that better
part of the prison. So we that were women placed ourselves
in the way, that we would be sure to see them; but nothing
could express the amazement and surprise I was in, when the
very first man that came out I knew to be my Lancashire husband,