with a barrack. The neglect of the female convicts in this country is a disgrace to our national character, as well as a national sin. Many do not live out half their days, from their habits of vice. When I am called to visit them upon their dying beds, my mind is greatly pained, my mouth is shut, I know not what to say to them. . . . To tell them of their crimes is to upbraid them with misfortune; they will say, “Sir, you know how I was situated. I do not wish to lead the life I have done, I know and lament my sins, but necessity compelled me to do what my conscience condemned.” . . . Many, again, I meet with who think these things no crime, because they believe then necessities compel them to live in their sins. Hence their consciences are so hardened through the deceitfulness of sin, that death itself gives them little concern. . . .
I have the honour to be, Madam,
This appeal was not disregarded: in due time, official apathy and inertness fled before the national cry for reform. Meanwhile, Mrs. Fry continued her efforts on behalf of the convicts on board the transports, ever urging upon those in power the imperative necessity for placing the women under charge of matrons. They still continued on the old plan, and were wholly in the power of the sailors, except for such supervision as the Naval Surgeon Superintendent could afford. Some little improvements had taken place, since that first trip to the Maria convict-ship, but very much still remained to be done. To these floating prisons, frequently detained for weeks in the Thames, Mrs. Fry paid numerous visits, arranging for the instruction, employment, and cleanliness of the women. A worthy fellow-helper, Mrs. Pryor, was her companion, on most of these journeys, frequently enduring exposure to weather, rough seas, and accidents. On one occasion the two sisters of mercy ran the risk of drowning,
