April 9, 1863

I know that the news my father conveyed to Mr. Wakefield through his next letter was not pleasant to write. Ellen Legh had a child in November, 1828, a son, but he was stillborn. How sad for her and her husband, and I also think that Edward, still having a great interest in her, would have been very upset on her behalf. He gave such a great importance to his own children.

I confided in my employer, Mr. Balshaw, about my frustration over not knowing how to end my book, once the letters run out. He suggested that I look out the death notice in the papers and find out if Mr. Wakefield had any relatives still living in this country. If I contact them, they might be able to tell me more about how he spent the years from 1845-1862. I feel much relieved at what was an obvious solution to my problelm, and yet I couldn’t see it myself. I will do that soon.

“November 25, 1828

Newgate Prison
My dear Daniel

I didn’t know. I hadn’t heard. I feel wretched for poor Ellen. How she must be suffering. If only I could do something to ease her pain. Would you do something for me? Would you take a posy to the grave - I expect not much is blooming this time of the year, but even if it is holly berries, make it into a nice bunch and put it on the grave for me. I can’t put my name to it, but I feel the need of making some sort of gesture.

I got the impression from your last letter that I haven’t done a good job in explaining just how dreadful this place is for most of the inmates. My case is certainly not typical.

Of the 150 prisons in London, Newgate is the largest, most notorious and the worst. It has room for between 40 and 50 prisoners. Because prisons are privately run, any time spent in prison has to be paid for by the prisoner and being a gaoler is a lucrative position.
 
‘Garnish’ is the fee paid on arrival, payments for candles, soap and other supplies also have to be made. Heavy manacles - often painfully constricting - are often attached to prisoners and then secured to chains and staples in the floor. The prisoner can pay to have lighter manacles fitted (‘easement of irons’), or have them removed entirely. The freedom to walk around can also be bought, if enough money changes hands.

Prisoners are also housed according to their ability to pay, ranging from a private cell with a cleaning woman (like I have) and a visiting prostitute (which I don’t have), to simply lying on the floor with no cover and barely any clothes.

Lice are everywhere, and only a quarter of the prisoners survive until their execution day. Infectious diseases like typhus - the so-called ‘gaol-fever’, which are spread throughout the prison by lice and fleas, kill far more people than the gallows.

Food is provided by the authorities, and by charities to those who can not pay, but cooking isn't included and so it is often eaten raw. Drink is also available - the prison has a bar - although the prices are extortionate. Leaving prison is not simply a matter of finishing a sentence and walking out. A departure fee has to be paid and, until it is, prisoners can not leave.

Those who die inside have to stay here as a rotting corpse until relatives find the money for it to be released. The stench was unimaginable, and unavoidable for all of us. Nearby shops are often forced to close in the summer because of the unbearable smell.

It isn't unusual for children to be conceived and born inside the prison, for men and women freely mingle, and the women find that they can swap their favours for food; and if they become pregnant they can ‘plead the belly’ in an attempt to avoid hanging. Surviving children are taken to the workhouse, where their chances aren't much better.

Well, now you know why I feel it imperative to do all I can to help my fellow inmates.

Hoping that this finds you well, I am

Your friend,

Edward Gibbon”