To Samuel Hoare, Esq.

“March 3.

“I have had occasion to remember the excursion to the prison at St. Albans, which you and I took long ago, when, on Monday morning, Richards and I were trotting along in a diligence to Civita Vecchia. The gaol there, which was the object of our journey, is an old and strong fortress close by the sea, and contains 1,364 desperate-looking criminals, all for the most aggravated offences. I am sure you never saw such a gang of malefactors, or such a horrid dungeon. We went, first, into a vaulted room, with a low ceiling, as I measured it, thirty-one yards long, twenty-one broad. There was light, but obscure. A good deal of the room was taken up by the buttresses which supported the arches. The noise on our entrance was such as may be imagined at the entrance of hell itself. All were chained most heavily, and fastened down. The murderers and desperate bandits are fixed to that spot for the rest of their lives; they are chained to a ring, fastened to the end of the platform, on which they lie side by side, but they can move the length of their chain on a narrow gangway. Of this class, there were upwards of 700 in the prison; some of them famed for a multitude of murders; many, we were told, had committed six or seven; and, indeed, they were a ghastly crew, — haggard, ferocious, reckless assassins. […] ”