December 28, 1862

I have just returned from my Christmas break to Disley, to stay with my sister Ann and her family. Her son James is now eight, and is a pupil at the National School. Her step-daughter, Mary Ann is a dressmaker and lives at home still.

I went to inform my sisters (Mary visited with us as well for an hour or two on Christmas Day) of my reading of the letters, and how I intended to proceed with them. They were not at all sure how to respond. I think they doubted my ability to write a book, and wondered why I should be wasting my time and effort over this man, who they still felt was a rogue.

As I wanted to use my time to good effect, I went to the Parsonage to ask the vicar if I might peruse the wedding and birth records for the period in which I was interested. He obliged, and I have now details which I am quite sure my father would have been privy to, and would have conveyed to Mr. Wakefield.

I found that on the 14th of January, 1828, Thomas Legh married Ellen Turner at Prestbury Church. She was 17 by then and he was 40. It surprised me somewhat that they were married there rather than in Disley, as I was now reading the Disley register, but apparently Prestbury was the church for those in Shrigley Hall, which of course was the bride’s address, but because the groom was of Disley parish, the wedding was recorded here as well. The service was conducted by Rev. Peter Legh of Lyme Hall, Thomas’ uncle, by special license and with the consent of William Turner. The witnesses are listed as William and Mary Turner, Ellen’s parents.

While I was perusing the entries, my name caught on the entry above, and it turns out that Margaret Legh of Lyme Hall married Robert Danzer of Lincoln Inn, Middlesex on the 8th of January that year. So it was a busy time for the Legh family that January.

While in Disley, I caught up with the gossip of the past few years. Mr. Benjamin Forster who was a grocer from the time I was a child was still in business, although he told me he is now 82 years old.

I also called in to our old shop and the new owners, Mr. and Mrs. Edward Ollerenshaw were very obliging. Their son James is assisting them, and they have a daughter who is at school with my nephew James. He now not only sells groceries but deals in the corn market.

However, this is off on another tangent, and I want to get another chapter of my book in order. The question I wanted answered, as to when Ellen actually got married, was now in my knowledge, so I can write with some confidence, that Pa will have informed Mr. Wakefield of the fact in his letter which was received before this one I will now copy out from Edward. I must see if I can find anyone who knows anything about the details of that marriage.

“February 10th, 1828

Newgate Prison

My dear Daniel,

Thank you so much for your letter and I am pleased to know that Ellen has now managed to make a new life for herself. I do wish her well. But I still wish to be informed of any further developments if you should come upon them.

You said that you wondered about the appropriateness of my teaching my children in the prison. So does my sister Caroline. But my confinement is in some respects very advantageous to them for I have nothing to do but attend to their education, which is proceeding to my heart’s content. Their progress through the last six months surprises even me, who am bound to think my own children prodigies. Nina has the tenderest heart in the world and I must admit that she sustains me. Teddy is of an aspiring nature, considering that he is only seven years old. He wishes to be a general or a prime minister of something of that kind.

I find myself very involved in the plight of my fellow inmates. I feel that with my writing and negotiating talents, I can be of great use to them, coming from the inside as it were. I have been writing articles, which appear in publications, not under my name, for obvious reasons, but they have started to stir the consciences of the government.

I am most worried about the death penalty being used for such trivial crimes. I feel that only murder should require such a proportionate retribution. George Warner was executed just after I came here - and for what crime?  Coining. How could he possibly deserve death for that?

And my good friend Captain Montgomery, convicted of forgery and sentenced to hang. The Bank of England asked for clemency and their plea fell on deaf ears. He in the end took poison and foiled the hangman’s noose. He left me a letter which was read at his inquest thanking me and blessing me for my friendship.

I have started publishing stories called “The Condemned Sermon” in which I give details of the condemned prisoners in Sunday morning’s chapel. Here is an example:

One of these was a youth of about eighteen years, convicted of stealing good worth more than £5 from a house. The prisoners are made to sing the Morning Hymn which of course reminds them of their prospect for tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock tomorrow morning is to be their last moment. They come to the burial service. The youth, who alone of those for whom it is intended, is both able and willing to read, is from want of practice at a loss to find the place in his prayer book. The ordinary observes him, looks to the sheriffs, and says aloud, “the Service for the Dead.” The youth’s hands tremble as they hold the book upside down. The young stealer no longer has the least pretence to bravery. The condemned then return to the cells, the youth sobbing aloud convulsively.
 
I could go on and on, but I’m sure you understand what it is that I am condemning.

I have made a friend of the editor of the Spectator, a large browed gentle mannered man. He says my words are like a voice which has risen from the very centre of crime, misery and wretchedness. He said, “A strange offence against society threw you, an enlightened reasoner, an active inquirer, an acute observer into the place which is as it were, the nuclear of metropolitan crime."

And transportation has become much more than it was intended to be. I have known many a man, who told me he had deliberately committed a crime in order to be transported - assuming that his life could only be better half a world away.

I have spent a long time reading about and thinking and writing about how Australia could be better served in the way it is settled than it currently is. You may well see some of my words in print to that effect before long too - although they won’t be under my name. If you see writings in the papers called “Letters from Sydney” you will know who penned them.

My main theory is that transportation of criminals to Australia has no deterrent effect, and is of no great benefit to Australia. The main problem, in my opinion, is that the development of the colony was based on free land grants and convict labour. I think it would be much better for whole communities of individuals to be transplanted from England to Australia making colonization systematic. The land should be sold at sufficient price to those interested in emigrating. The fund of monies from this would then be used to form an Emigration Fund to provide free passage for labourers and their families. Once in the colony, the labourers, after working for a few years, would be able to buy land themselves. If a ‘core sample of society’, not just one stratum, could be transplanted into settlements this would give scope for ‘upward mobility’.

Perhaps this is of no interest to you at all. You must tell me if that is the case. But I cannot but think that I will be spending the rest of my life in the pursuit of my ideas, and at the same time, I will be recompensing society to some extent for my social failures of the past.

I have been visited by a person you may have heard of - Elizabeth Fry. She is a Quaker friend and cousin of my grandmother’s and has done much to help prisoners within this institution. However, I found myself not very grateful for her ministrations and the manner in which they were carried out.

But enough for one letter. You must write and tell me more about your charming family and how life is progressing in Disley. Do you see much of Thomas Legh and his new wife?

Yours in friendship.

Edward Gibbon"