The dining room windows were protected by wire netting; but there were
many holes in it, as large as a man's head, through which the flies, in
summer, entered in swarms; and there was no provision for keeping them
out of the kitchen, which opened into the dining room. Complaints were
constantly made, but the holes were never mended, and no means were
taken to kill the flies. Food sometimes was placed on the tables hours
before the men sat down to their meals, and the flies, not having the
same delicacy of appetite as the men, feasted freely in the meanwhile.
There was also frequent protest against the bits of loose enamel in the
bowls; many of these were made direct to the doctor; but he did nothing.
If a man whose digestion had given way called on him for help, a dose of
salts was the only reply, and several deaths, while I was there,
unquestionably had their beginning in this neglect. Upon the whole,
contentment with starvation was the most prudent policy in Atlanta
Penitentiary.
I am not a sybarite or an epicure. For fifteen years before I was sent
to prison I lived on the hardest and most Spartan diet, eating as little
food as possible and that of the simplest kind. Wheat, milk, a few green
vegetables, and fruit made my menus. I was therefore better fortified
against hardships than the majority of prisoners; I could hold out
against starvation longer; but against the poison of rotten or bad food
I had no protection.
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