visit newgate prison

A Visit to Newgate

Charles dickens visits the notorious london prison in 1836.

It was with some such thoughts as these that we determined, not many weeks since, to visit the interior of Newgate - in an amateur capacity, of course; and, having carried our intention into effect, we proceed to lay its results before our readers, in the hope - founded more upon the nature of the subject, than on any presumptuous confidence in our own descriptive powers - that this paper may not be found wholly devoid of interest. We have only to premise, that we do not intend to fatigue the reader with any statistical accounts of the prison; they will be found at length in numerous reports of numerous committees, and a variety of authorities of equal weight. We took no notes, made no memoranda, measured none of the yards, ascertained the exact number of inches in no particular room: are unable even to report of how many apartments the gaol is composed.

We saw the prison, and saw the prisoners; and what we did see, and what we thought, we will tell at once in our own way.

Having delivered our credentials to the servant who answered our knock at the door of the governor's house, we were ushered into the 'office;' a little room, on the right-hand side as you enter, with two windows looking into the Old Bailey: fitted up like an ordinary attorney's office, or merchant's counting-house, with the usual fixtures - a wainscoted partition, a shelf or two, a desk, a couple of stools, a pair of clerks, an almanack, a clock, and a few maps. After a little delay, occasioned by sending into the interior of the prison for the officer whose duty it was to conduct us, that functionary arrived; a respectable-looking man of about two or three and fifty, in a broad-brimmed hat, and full suit of black, who, but for his keys, would have looked quite as much like a clergyman as a turnkey. We were disappointed; he had not even top-boots on. Following our conductor by a door opposite to that at which we had entered, we arrived at a small room, without any other furniture than a little desk, with a book for visitors' autographs, and a shelf, on which were a few boxes for papers, and casts of the heads and faces of the two notorious murderers, Bishop and Williams; the former, in particular, exhibiting a style of head and set of features, which might have afforded sufficient moral grounds for his instant execution at any time, even had there been no other evidence against him. Leaving this room also, by an opposite door, we found ourself in the lodge which opens on the Old Bailey; one side of which is plentifully garnished with a choice collection of heavy sets of irons, including those worn by the redoubtable Jack Sheppard - genuine; and those SAID to have been graced by the sturdy limbs of the no less celebrated Dick Turpin - doubtful. From this lodge, a heavy oaken gate, bound with iron, studded with nails of the same material, and guarded by another turnkey, opens on a few steps, if we remember right, which terminate in a narrow and dismal stone passage, running parallel with the Old Bailey, and leading to the different yards, through a number of tortuous and intricate windings, guarded in their turn by huge gates and gratings, whose appearance is sufficient to dispel at once the slightest hope of escape that any new-comer may have entertained; and the very recollection of which, on eventually traversing the place again, involves one in a maze of confusion.

It is necessary to explain here, that the buildings in the prison, or in other words the different wards - form a square, of which the four sides abut respectively on the Old Bailey, the old College of Physicians (now forming a part of Newgate-market), the Sessions- house, and Newgate-street. The intermediate space is divided into several paved yards, in which the prisoners take such air and exercise as can be had in such a place. These yards, with the exception of that in which prisoners under sentence of death are confined (of which we shall presently give a more detailed description), run parallel with Newgate-street, and consequently from the Old Bailey, as it were, to Newgate-market. The women's side is in the right wing of the prison nearest the Sessions-house. As we were introduced into this part of the building first, we will adopt the same order, and introduce our readers to it also.

Turning to the right, then, down the passage to which we just now adverted, omitting any mention of intervening gates - for if we noticed every gate that was unlocked for us to pass through, and locked again as soon as we had passed, we should require a gate at every comma - we came to a door composed of thick bars of wood, through which were discernible, passing to and fro in a narrow yard, some twenty women: the majority of whom, however, as soon as they were aware of the presence of strangers, retreated to their wards. One side of this yard is railed off at a considerable distance, and formed into a kind of iron cage, about five feet ten inches in height, roofed at the top, and defended in front by iron bars, from which the friends of the female prisoners communicate with them. In one corner of this singular-looking den, was a yellow, haggard, decrepit old woman, in a tattered gown that had once been black, and the remains of an old straw bonnet, with faded ribbon of the same hue, in earnest conversation with a young girl - a prisoner, of course - of about two-and-twenty. It is impossible to imagine a more poverty-stricken object, or a creature so borne down in soul and body, by excess of misery and destitution, as the old woman. The girl was a good-looking, robust female, with a profusion of hair streaming about in the wind - for she had no bonnet on - and a man's silk pocket-handkerchief loosely thrown over a most ample pair of shoulders. The old woman was talking in that low, stifled tone of voice which tells so forcibly of mental anguish; and every now and then burst into an irrepressible sharp, abrupt cry of grief, the most distressing sound that ears can hear. The girl was perfectly unmoved. Hardened beyond all hope of redemption, she listened doggedly to her mother's entreaties, whatever they were: and, beyond inquiring after 'Jem,' and eagerly catching at the few halfpence her miserable parent had brought her, took no more apparent interest in the conversation than the most unconcerned spectators. Heaven knows there were enough of them, in the persons of the other prisoners in the yard, who were no more concerned by what was passing before their eyes, and within their hearing, than if they were blind and deaf. Why should they be? Inside the prison, and out, such scenes were too familiar to them, to excite even a passing thought, unless of ridicule or contempt for feelings which they had long since forgotten.

A little farther on, a squalid-looking woman in a slovenly, thick- bordered cap, with her arms muffled in a large red shawl, the fringed ends of which straggled nearly to the bottom of a dirty white apron, was communicating some instructions to HER visitor - her daughter evidently. The girl was thinly clad, and shaking with the cold. Some ordinary word of recognition passed between her and her mother when she appeared at the grating, but neither hope, condolence, regret, nor affection was expressed on either side. The mother whispered her instructions, and the girl received them with her pinched-up, half-starved features twisted into an expression of careful cunning. It was some scheme for the woman's defence that she was disclosing, perhaps; and a sullen smile came over the girl's face for an instant, as if she were pleased: not so much at the probability of her mother's liberation, as at the chance of her 'getting off' in spite of her prosecutors. The dialogue was soon concluded; and with the same careless indifference with which they had approached each other, the mother turned towards the inner end of the yard, and the girl to the gate at which she had entered.

The girl belonged to a class - unhappily but too extensive - the very existence of which, should make men's hearts bleed. Barely past her childhood, it required but a glance to discover that she was one of those children, born and bred in neglect and vice, who have never known what childhood is: who have never been taught to love and court a parent's smile, or to dread a parent's frown. The thousand nameless endearments of childhood, its gaiety and its innocence, are alike unknown to them. They have entered at once upon the stern realities and miseries of life, and to their better nature it is almost hopeless to appeal in after-times, by any of the references which will awaken, if it be only for a moment, some good feeling in ordinary bosoms, however corrupt they may have become. Talk to THEM of parental solicitude, the happy days of childhood, and the merry games of infancy! Tell them of hunger and the streets, beggary and stripes, the gin-shop, the station-house, and the pawnbroker's, and they will understand you.

Two or three women were standing at different parts of the grating, conversing with their friends, but a very large proportion of the prisoners appeared to have no friends at all, beyond such of their old companions as might happen to be within the walls. So, passing hastily down the yard, and pausing only for an instant to notice the little incidents we have just recorded, we were conducted up a clean and well-lighted flight of stone stairs to one of the wards. There are several in this part of the building, but a description of one is a description of the whole.

It was a spacious, bare, whitewashed apartment, lighted, of course, by windows looking into the interior of the prison, but far more light and airy than one could reasonably expect to find in such a situation. There was a large fire with a deal table before it, round which ten or a dozen women were seated on wooden forms at dinner. Along both sides of the room ran a shelf; below it, at regular intervals, a row of large hooks were fixed in the wall, on each of which was hung the sleeping mat of a prisoner: her rug and blanket being folded up, and placed on the shelf above. At night, these mats are placed on the floor, each beneath the hook on which it hangs during the day; and the ward is thus made to answer the purposes both of a day-room and sleeping apartment. Over the fireplace, was a large sheet of pasteboard, on which were displayed a variety of texts from Scripture, which were also scattered about the room in scraps about the size and shape of the copy-slips which are used in schools. On the table was a sufficient provision of a kind of stewed beef and brown bread, in pewter dishes, which are kept perfectly bright, and displayed on shelves in great order and regularity when they are not in use.

The women rose hastily, on our entrance, and retired in a hurried manner to either side of the fireplace. They were all cleanly - many of them decently - attired, and there was nothing peculiar, either in their appearance or demeanour. One or two resumed the needlework which they had probably laid aside at the commencement of their meal; others gazed at the visitors with listless curiosity; and a few retired behind their companions to the very end of the room, as if desirous to avoid even the casual observation of the strangers. Some old Irish women, both in this and other wards, to whom the thing was no novelty, appeared perfectly indifferent to our presence, and remained standing close to the seats from which they had just risen; but the general feeling among the females seemed to be one of uneasiness during the period of our stay among them: which was very brief. Not a word was uttered during the time of our remaining, unless, indeed, by the wardswoman in reply to some question which we put to the turnkey who accompanied us. In every ward on the female side, a wardswoman is appointed to preserve order, and a similar regulation is adopted among the males. The wardsmen and wardswomen are all prisoners, selected for good conduct. They alone are allowed the privilege of sleeping on bedsteads; a small stump bedstead being placed in every ward for that purpose. On both sides of the gaol, is a small receiving-room, to which prisoners are conducted on their first reception, and whence they cannot be removed until they have been examined by the surgeon of the prison.

Retracing our steps to the dismal passage in which we found ourselves at first (and which, by-the-bye, contains three or four dark cells for the accommodation of refractory prisoners), we were led through a narrow yard to the 'school' - a portion of the prison set apart for boys under fourteen years of age. In a tolerable- sized room, in which were writing-materials and some copy-books, was the schoolmaster, with a couple of his pupils; the remainder having been fetched from an adjoining apartment, the whole were drawn up in line for our inspection. There were fourteen of them in all, some with shoes, some without; some in pinafores without jackets, others in jackets without pinafores, and one in scarce anything at all. The whole number, without an exception we believe, had been committed for trial on charges of pocket-picking; and fourteen such terrible little faces we never beheld. - There was not one redeeming feature among them - not a glance of honesty - not a wink expressive of anything but the gallows and the hulks, in the whole collection. As to anything like shame or contrition, that was entirely out of the question. They were evidently quite gratified at being thought worth the trouble of looking at; their idea appeared to be, that we had come to see Newgate as a grand affair, and that they were an indispensable part of the show; and every boy as he 'fell in' to the line, actually seemed as pleased and important as if he had done something excessively meritorious in getting there at all. We never looked upon a more disagreeable sight, because we never saw fourteen such hopeless creatures of neglect, before.

On either side of the school-yard is a yard for men, in one of which - that towards Newgate-street - prisoners of the more respectable class are confined. Of the other, we have little description to offer, as the different wards necessarily partake of the same character. They are provided, like the wards on the women's side, with mats and rugs, which are disposed of in the same manner during the day; the only very striking difference between their appearance and that of the wards inhabited by the females, is the utter absence of any employment. Huddled together on two opposite forms, by the fireside, sit twenty men perhaps; here, a boy in livery; there, a man in a rough great-coat and top-boots; farther on, a desperate-looking fellow in his shirt-sleeves, with an old Scotch cap upon his shaggy head; near him again, a tall ruffian, in a smock-frock; next to him, a miserable being of distressed appearance, with his head resting on his hand; - all alike in one respect, all idle and listless. When they do leave the fire, sauntering moodily about, lounging in the window, or leaning against the wall, vacantly swinging their bodies to and fro. With the exception of a man reading an old newspaper, in two or three instances, this was the case in every ward we entered.

The only communication these men have with their friends, is through two close iron gratings, with an intermediate space of about a yard in width between the two, so that nothing can be handed across, nor can the prisoner have any communication by touch with the person who visits him. The married men have a separate grating, at which to see their wives, but its construction is the same.

The prison chapel is situated at the back of the governor's house: the latter having no windows looking into the interior of the prison. Whether the associations connected with the place - the knowledge that here a portion of the burial service is, on some dreadful occasions, performed over the quick and not upon the dead - cast over it a still more gloomy and sombre air than art has imparted to it, we know not, but its appearance is very striking. There is something in a silent and deserted place of worship, solemn and impressive at any time; and the very dissimilarity of this one from any we have been accustomed to, only enhances the impression. The meanness of its appointments - the bare and scanty pulpit, with the paltry painted pillars on either side - the women's gallery with its great heavy curtain - the men's with its unpainted benches and dingy front - the tottering little table at the altar, with the commandments on the wall above it, scarcely legible through lack of paint, and dust and damp - so unlike the velvet and gilding, the marble and wood, of a modern church - are strange and striking. There is one object, too, which rivets the attention and fascinates the gaze, and from which we may turn horror-stricken in vain, for the recollection of it will haunt us, waking and sleeping, for a long time afterwards. Immediately below the reading-desk, on the floor of the chapel, and forming the most conspicuous object in its little area, is THE CONDEMNED PEW; a huge black pen, in which the wretched people, who are singled out for death, are placed on the Sunday preceding their execution, in sight of all their fellow-prisoners, from many of whom they may have been separated but a week before, to hear prayers for their own souls, to join in the responses of their own burial service, and to listen to an address, warning their recent companions to take example by their fate, and urging themselves, while there is yet time - nearly four-and-twenty hours - to 'turn, and flee from the wrath to come!' Imagine what have been the feelings of the men whom that fearful pew has enclosed, and of whom, between the gallows and the knife, no mortal remnant may now remain! Think of the hopeless clinging to life to the last, and the wild despair, far exceeding in anguish the felon's death itself, by which they have heard the certainty of their speedy transmission to another world, with all their crimes upon their heads, rung into their ears by the officiating clergyman!

At one time - and at no distant period either - the coffins of the men about to be executed, were placed in that pew, upon the seat by their side, during the whole service. It may seem incredible, but it is true. Let us hope that the increased spirit of civilisation and humanity which abolished this frightful and degrading custom, may extend itself to other usages equally barbarous; usages which have not even the plea of utility in their defence, as every year's experience has shown them to be more and more inefficacious.

Leaving the chapel, descending to the passage so frequently alluded to, and crossing the yard before noticed as being allotted to prisoners of a more respectable description than the generality of men confined here, the visitor arrives at a thick iron gate of great size and strength. Having been admitted through it by the turnkey on duty, he turns sharp round to the left, and pauses before another gate; and, having passed this last barrier, he stands in the most terrible part of this gloomy building - the condemned ward.

The press-yard, well known by name to newspaper readers, from its frequent mention in accounts of executions, is at the corner of the building, and next to the ordinary's house, in Newgate-street: running from Newgate-street, towards the centre of the prison, parallel with Newgate-market. It is a long, narrow court, of which a portion of the wall in Newgate-street forms one end, and the gate the other. At the upper end, on the left hand - that is, adjoining the wall in Newgate-street - is a cistern of water, and at the bottom a double grating (of which the gate itself forms a part) similar to that before described. Through these grates the prisoners are allowed to see their friends; a turnkey always remaining in the vacant space between, during the whole interview. Immediately on the right as you enter, is a building containing the press-room, day-room, and cells; the yard is on every side surrounded by lofty walls guarded by CHEVAUX DE FRISE; and the whole is under the constant inspection of vigilant and experienced turnkeys.

In the first apartment into which we were conducted - which was at the top of a staircase, and immediately over the press-room - were five-and-twenty or thirty prisoners, all under sentence of death, awaiting the result of the recorder's report - men of all ages and appearances, from a hardened old offender with swarthy face and grizzly beard of three days' growth, to a handsome boy, not fourteen years old, and of singularly youthful appearance even for that age, who had been condemned for burglary. There was nothing remarkable in the appearance of these prisoners. One or two decently-dressed men were brooding with a dejected air over the fire; several little groups of two or three had been engaged in conversation at the upper end of the room, or in the windows; and the remainder were crowded round a young man seated at a table, who appeared to be engaged in teaching the younger ones to write. The room was large, airy, and clean. There was very little anxiety or mental suffering depicted in the countenance of any of the men; - they had all been sentenced to death, it is true, and the recorder's report had not yet been made; but, we question whether there was a man among them, notwithstanding, who did not KNOW that although he had undergone the ceremony, it never was intended that his life should be sacrificed. On the table lay a Testament, but there were no tokens of its having been in recent use.

In the press-room below, were three men, the nature of whose offence rendered it necessary to separate them, even from their companions in guilt. It is a long, sombre room, with two windows sunk into the stone wall, and here the wretched men are pinioned on the morning of their execution, before moving towards the scaffold. The fate of one of these prisoners was uncertain; some mitigatory circumstances having come to light since his trial, which had been humanely represented in the proper quarter. The other two had nothing to expect from the mercy of the crown; their doom was sealed; no plea could be urged in extenuation of their crime, and they well knew that for them there was no hope in this world. 'The two short ones,' the turnkey whispered, 'were dead men.'

The man to whom we have alluded as entertaining some hopes of escape, was lounging, at the greatest distance he could place between himself and his companions, in the window nearest to the door. He was probably aware of our approach, and had assumed an air of courageous indifference; his face was purposely averted towards the window, and he stirred not an inch while we were present. The other two men were at the upper end of the room. One of them, who was imperfectly seen in the dim light, had his back towards us, and was stooping over the fire, with his right arm on the mantel-piece, and his head sunk upon it. The other was leaning on the sill of the farthest window. The light fell full upon him, and communicated to his pale, haggard face, and disordered hair, an appearance which, at that distance, was ghastly. His cheek rested upon his hand; and, with his face a little raised, and his eyes wildly staring before him, he seemed to be unconsciously intent on counting the chinks in the opposite wall. We passed this room again afterwards. The first man was pacing up and down the court with a firm military step - he had been a soldier in the foot- guards - and a cloth cap jauntily thrown on one side of his head. He bowed respectfully to our conductor, and the salute was returned. The other two still remained in the positions we have described, and were as motionless as statues.

A few paces up the yard, and forming a continuation of the building, in which are the two rooms we have just quitted, lie the condemned cells. The entrance is by a narrow and obscure stair- case leading to a dark passage, in which a charcoal stove casts a lurid tint over the objects in its immediate vicinity, and diffuses something like warmth around. From the left-hand side of this passage, the massive door of every cell on the story opens; and from it alone can they be approached. There are three of these passages, and three of these ranges of cells, one above the other; but in size, furniture and appearance, they are all precisely alike. Prior to the recorder's report being made, all the prisoners under sentence of death are removed from the day-room at five o'clock in the afternoon, and locked up in these cells, where they are allowed a candle until ten o'clock; and here they remain until seven next morning. When the warrant for a prisoner's execution arrives, he is removed to the cells and confined in one of them until he leaves it for the scaffold. He is at liberty to walk in the yard; but, both in his walks and in his cell, he is constantly attended by a turnkey who never leaves him on any pretence.

We entered the first cell. It was a stone dungeon, eight feet long by six wide, with a bench at the upper end, under which were a common rug, a bible, and prayer-book. An iron candlestick was fixed into the wall at the side; and a small high window in the back admitted as much air and light as could struggle in between a double row of heavy, crossed iron bars. It contained no other furniture of any description.

Conceive the situation of a man, spending his last night on earth in this cell. Buoyed up with some vague and undefined hope of reprieve, he knew not why - indulging in some wild and visionary idea of escaping, he knew not how - hour after hour of the three preceding days allowed him for preparation, has fled with a speed which no man living would deem possible, for none but this dying man can know. He has wearied his friends with entreaties, exhausted the attendants with importunities, neglected in his feverish restlessness the timely warnings of his spiritual consoler; and, now that the illusion is at last dispelled, now that eternity is before him and guilt behind, now that his fears of death amount almost to madness, and an overwhelming sense of his helpless, hopeless state rushes upon him, he is lost and stupefied, and has neither thoughts to turn to, nor power to call upon, the Almighty Being, from whom alone he can seek mercy and forgiveness, and before whom his repentance can alone avail.

Hours have glided by, and still he sits upon the same stone bench with folded arms, heedless alike of the fast decreasing time before him, and the urgent entreaties of the good man at his side. The feeble light is wasting gradually, and the deathlike stillness of the street without, broken only by the rumbling of some passing vehicle which echoes mournfully through the empty yards, warns him that the night is waning fast away. The deep bell of St. Paul's strikes - one! He heard it; it has roused him. Seven hours left! He paces the narrow limits of his cell with rapid strides, cold drops of terror starting on his forehead, and every muscle of his frame quivering with agony. Seven hours! He suffers himself to be led to his seat, mechanically takes the bible which is placed in his hand, and tries to read and listen. No: his thoughts will wander. The book is torn and soiled by use - and like the book he read his lessons in, at school, just forty years ago! He has never bestowed a thought upon it, perhaps, since he left it as a child: and yet the place, the time, the room - nay, the very boys he played with, crowd as vividly before him as if they were scenes of yesterday; and some forgotten phrase, some childish word, rings in his ears like the echo of one uttered but a minute since. The voice of the clergyman recalls him to himself. He is reading from the sacred book its solemn promises of pardon for repentance, and its awful denunciation of obdurate men. He falls upon his knees and clasps his hands to pray. Hush! what sound was that? He starts upon his feet. It cannot be two yet. Hark! Two quarters have struck; - the third - the fourth. It is! Six hours left. Tell him not of repentance! Six hours' repentance for eight times six years of guilt and sin! He buries his face in his hands, and throws himself on the bench.

Worn with watching and excitement, he sleeps, and the same unsettled state of mind pursues him in his dreams. An insupportable load is taken from his breast; he is walking with his wife in a pleasant field, with the bright sky above them, and a fresh and boundless prospect on every side - how different from the stone walls of Newgate! She is looking - not as she did when he saw her for the last time in that dreadful place, but as she used when he loved her - long, long ago, before misery and ill-treatment had altered her looks, and vice had changed his nature, and she is leaning upon his arm, and looking up into his face with tenderness and affection - and he does NOT strike her now, nor rudely shake her from him. And oh! how glad he is to tell her all he had forgotten in that last hurried interview, and to fall on his knees before her and fervently beseech her pardon for all the unkindness and cruelty that wasted her form and broke her heart! The scene suddenly changes. He is on his trial again: there are the judge and jury, and prosecutors, and witnesses, just as they were before. How full the court is - what a sea of heads - with a gallows, too, and a scaffold - and how all those people stare at HIM! Verdict, 'Guilty.' No matter; he will escape.

The night is dark and cold, the gates have been left open, and in an instant he is in the street, flying from the scene of his imprisonment like the wind. The streets are cleared, the open fields are gained and the broad, wide country lies before him. Onward he dashes in the midst of darkness, over hedge and ditch, through mud and pool, bounding from spot to spot with a speed and lightness, astonishing even to himself. At length he pauses; he must be safe from pursuit now; he will stretch himself on that bank and sleep till sunrise.

A period of unconsciousness succeeds. He wakes, cold and wretched. The dull, gray light of morning is stealing into the cell, and falls upon the form of the attendant turnkey. Confused by his dreams, he starts from his uneasy bed in momentary uncertainty. It is but momentary. Every object in the narrow cell is too frightfully real to admit of doubt or mistake. He is the condemned felon again, guilty and despairing; and in two hours more will be dead ( Sketches by Boz , p. 201-214 ) .

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Top 3 Reasons to Visit Old New-Gate Prison & Copper Mine

last updated: June 2024

Dive 75 feet below the earth's surface and step into a time capsule from colonial America. Old New Gate Prison & Copper Mine offers a unique adventure for history buffs, adventure-seekers, and families, alike. Here are three reasons to visit:

1: A Unique Underground Experience

Experience the thrill of Connecticut’s only underground museum ! Descend 75 feet below ground to explore the winding passages of a colonial-era copper mine. Originally a bustling mining site and later repurposed as a state prison, this underground tour is rich with history and fascinating tales. Feel the cool air and marvel at the geological wonders, all while gaining insights into the lives of those who once walked these very tunnels. 

2: An Affordable Family Adventure

Embark on an affordable escapade perfect for the whole family. With adult admission at just $10 and even lower rates for seniors and youth, Old New Gate opens its doors wide to all. Children under 5 enter for free! The site hosts many free events throughout the season, including historic reenactments, a dazzling mineral show, and even a bat appreciation day! With its compact layout and diverse offerings, Old New Gate promises something for all ages.  

3: Great View of Connecticut’s Beautiful Landscape

Nestled in the picturesque small town of East Granby, a 30-minute drive from Hartford, Old New Gate invites visitors to take in the beauty of Connecticut's breathtaking landscapes. With a scenic picnic area perched at the crest of rolling hills, you can enjoy a bite to eat over sweeping views. Also, its just minutes away from Grassroots Ice Cream , one of the state’s most well-known ice cream shops. 

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Old New-Gate Prison and Copper Mine

Old New-Gate Prison and Copper Mine is a hidden gem in the quaint community of East Granby, Connecticut. Nestled in the hills of Newgate Road, the historic prison overlooks a scenic mountain view and is home to the Newgate Wildlife Management Area trail that is frequented by locals and visitors alike. The Visitors Center is newly renovated and the rustic New-Gate sign, coupled with the impressive enclosing wall, completes the scenic picture. Beneath the beauty of the site, however, is a deep, dark past.

New-Gate’s story begins in the early eighteenth century when the site was founded as a colonial copper mine and East Granby was still part of Simsbury. Primarily worked by German miners who received little to no compensation, portions of the mine were owned by wealthy stakeholders in Connecticut and Massachusetts (most famously Massachusetts governor Jonathan Belcher). These mining endeavors proved to be unsuccessful and not profitable. Overseers were required to follow British imperial rules and regulations. They had to send their poor quality copper ore overseas to be smelted in a still primitive process, which put a serious dent in their profits.

When it was clear the mine had failed, the colony of Connecticut purchased the Simsbury Mines in 1773 to serve as a prison. New-Gate was boasted to be an inescapable prison upon its founding. Although there was no enclosing wall at this time, prisoners were housed in the mine for twelve hours a day; the only way out was a mine shaft that descended about thirty-five feet down. Guards and the prison keeper reasoned that no man could escape such confinement. This claim was put to the test on December 22nd, 1773, when the first prisoner, John Hinson, was admitted for burglary. Hinson proved the inescapable theory wrong when he escaped only eighteen days later with the help of “evil-minded persons from without,” as the prison keeper Captain John Veits described it in a newspaper announcement of the escape. This set a pattern for New-Gate Prison’s early history. There were countless escapes (and numerous failed escape attempts), some violent, some quite clever, and others shrouded in legend. Be sure to ask a guide during your visit to tell you some escape stories!

By 1824 prisoners were no longer housed in the mine. The conditions were wet, cold, and inhumane; prisoners were given hay to sleep on and had to endure unrelenting darkness from 4 P.M. to 4 A.M., upon which time they were brought up the mine shaft and shackled for a long day’s work. A four-story cell block was constructed in an attempt to get the prison up to nineteenth-century prison reform standards, but the effort was in vain. New-Gate was condemned as a place of horrors, not reformation. The prison was closed in 1827, but not before one last tragedy. The night before the prisoners were to be transferred to the newly constructed prison in Wethersfield, Abel Starkey tried to climb up the well bucket rope to escape. The rope either broke or was cut (likely by a guard), and Starkey fell to his death.

After the closure and some failed mining ventures, New-Gate became a popular tourist attraction in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The Guard House in the prison yard was converted into a dance hall, live animals were brought to the site, and numerous artifacts unrelated to the mine and prison’s history were purchased by owners. The state of Connecticut acquired the site in 1968, cleaned it up, and put in a staircase to provide a safer entrance to the mine. New-Gate reopened after being closed for renovations for nine years in 2018.

The richness of New-Gate’s history is visible in every structure in the prison yard and each twist, turn, and crevice in the mine. You can take a guided tour or opt for a self-guided experience to explore the prison yard and mine at your own pace, with stationed docents at the key structures ready to answer your questions. Visitors are free to walk through the prison yard and the Guard House and are let down into the mine in small groups. A guide is stationed at the base to give visitors an introduction to the mine and tell escape stories upon request.

So, what is a tour at New-Gate like? What is there to see, hear, and learn? Much more than all words in the English language can describe. As a proud former New-Gate docent, I invite all readers to tap into their imaginations and immerse themselves in this written journey that explores my favorite spots within New-Gate.

I’ll start with the original entrance to the mine below the Guard House in the prison yard. The original thirty-five foot ladder shaft is hidden within a small stone chamber; a small black iron gate surrounds it, an iron grate covers the top, and an old wooden ladder sits within the chamber. To enter, you must crouch down, climb up onto the stone step, and step down into the space. You can peer down the hole, and sometimes you can hear voices coming up from the mine; I always encouraged visitors to envision what it was like for prisoners, who were required to climb and descend the latter wearing shackles around their wrists and ankles. It was through this shaft that John Hinson escaped in January of 1774. Legend has it that his lover lowered a bucket down this shaft and pulled him up to freedom.

Another favorite spot is the solitary confinement space, which is down in the mine. The ladder shaft is no longer used, so staff and visitors descend down the concrete steps the state of Connecticut installed in the 1970s. If you’re visiting on a warm summer day, once you get halfway down the stairs your glasses will fog from the temperature change; the mine stays a brisk 52 degrees all year round! At the bottom of the stairs the ground shifts from concrete to the dark, wet mine surface. You hear voices echoing through the caverns and small drops of water falling from the ceiling; you will most definitely feel a few hit your head or shoulders (and when you come back up, always check your sleeves for copper residue!). To get to solitary you pass the well that Abel Starkey tried to escape through and the spot where his body was found. Solitary is a hollowed out cavern a few strides from the well. Supposedly, if you stand in a certain spot within the cavern and whistle, it can be heard throughout the whole mine. After climbing over the deep puddles of water that guard the cavern, you will find a small stone ledge with holes in it, which anchored the prisoner’s wrist and ankle shackles. And if you look closely, you can see a prisoner condemned to solitary carved his initials into the stone. It is in this space that I reflect upon the horrors prisoners at New-Gate faced.

To me, the best place in the entire prison is just outside the chamber that contains the original ladder shaft. It is here that you can peer beyond the uneven prison stone wall and bask in the foliage, mountains, and open sky that lie beyond New-Gate’s blackened past. In the fall, newly turned leaves paint the landscape bright reds, oranges, and yellows. And at dusk, the sun sets just over the mountain peaks. While it provides museum staff and visitors solace, it likely planted the seed of escape in the minds of the prisoners. Everyday while laboring in the prison yard, prisoners beheld what life was like outside New-Gate’s tortuous four walls.

*    *    *

Sam Dinnie is an undergraduate student at Western New England University majoring in History. Under the supervision of Dr. Jonathan Beagle, they are writing a senior thesis on Revolutionary patriot Joseph Hawley. Sam’s research analyzes Hawley’s significance in his own time and the role his memory played in the early republic. They interned at the Connecticut State Historic Preservation office and volunteered as a docent at Old New-Gate Prison and Copper Mine in East Granby, CT. Sam is now a research associate at Connecticut Landmarks and works on interpretation, public programming, and social media alongside research projects. They recently received the NEMA Board Diversity Fellowship and are a co-founder of the newly formed LGBTQ+ Museum Staff and Students group, which aims to create a safe space for LGBTQ+ museum staff and students to network, make connections, and find mutual support.

Unlocking Connecticut

Adventures, Stories, Experiences

Old New-Gate Prison & Copper Mine

Cool day trip idea #563 (or something like that…)! Visit the Old New-Gate Prison & Copper Mine in East Granby for a self-guided tour of early America’s first state prison. Plus, take a trip 75 feet below into a chilly copper mine, originating in 1709! Adventurous, historical, educational, and fun, check!

Old New-Gate Prison & Copper Mine

Enter the address below into your GPS and take a beautiful drive to East Granby in Hartford County.

Location: 115 Newgate Rd. East Granby, CT.

Free parking. ?

We were met at the museum by Morgan Bengel, the Museum Curator & Site Administrator, and can we add, knowledgeable superstar! Since shutting down for COVID, Morgan has been working hard to update the facility & experience at this important historical site. They just recently reopened at a limited capacity.

Our tour begins in the prison yard

After perusing the gift shop and visitors center, we walked out into the prison yard, where we found a gasp-out-loud stunning view! High on the hill up there!

There’s a bunch of plaques throughout the yard explaining different parts of the history and mechanics of the prison. The FIRST state prison in early America. Wrap your head around that!

By 1773, the Connecticut General Assembly sought a central prison to house its convicts. The unsuccessful mine (more on that later), with its labyrinth of caves and shafts, was explored as an option as an escape-proof institution in which isolated prisoners could be kept from society ( Thanks, Wikipedia ).

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t escape-proof.

Guarding prisons back then didn’t pay a lot, so guards invented prison tourism to make some extra cash. Wrap your head around that one, too! ?

Warning: You’ll have a bunch of those moments during your visit!

The mine tour: Grab your jacket, it’s brrr down there!

After copper was discovered in the area in 1705, a mine was set up on the site with ore extraction beginning in 1709. For a slew of reasons including small profit, the mine wasn’t successful and failed after 4 years.

You go first, no you go first!

Morgan went first…she knows every square inch of the dark and winding paths of the old copper mine 75 feet underground…where prisoners used to live & work in the 1700s! Eep! If you get chills, it’s probably because it’s a constant 52 degrees. This makes for a lovely way to escape the heat this summer, just saying.

Morgan, pointing out some initials, likely carved out by prisoners. She and her team have found many throughout the mine.

Out of the mine and onto the prison cells ?

In the pillory again… ?

? Don’t forget to stop for your stocks or pillory shot on the way out!

Pillory: a device made of a wooden or metal framework erected on a post, with holes for securing the head and hands, formerly used for punishment by public humiliation and often further physical abuse.

Stocks: are restraining devices that were used as a form of corporal punishment and public humiliation.

And if you feel like even more fun after that ? adventure, may we suggest nearby, 6 Hours in Simsbury !

Happy CT trails!

Old New-Gate Prison & Copper Mine – 115 Newgate Rd. East Granby, CT 06026

Pics: Lora / Words : Bev

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Old New-Gate Prison & Copper Mine

115 Newgate Rd., East Granby, CT 06026 - United States

860-653-3563

Old New-Gate Prison & Copper Mine is nationally recognized as the first chartered copper mine and first state prison in early America. As a museum we strive to engage with historic and contemporary issues through the exploration and discovery of the site as a copper mine, prison, and tourist attraction.

Old New-Gate also houses the first ever Re-entry Hall of Change – a place to honor formerly incarcerated men and women who have made a great positive impact in their communities.

Whether you are looking to discover a piece of Connecticut’s rich history, or to think deeply about the nature of crime and punishment; to explore 75 feet below the surface through the dark and winding paths of the old copper mine, or simply to make memories with loved ones, your authentic experience at Old New-Gate awaits.

Tour of the underground copper mine will be available on September 17th, 2022. Timed tour tickets are given at the time admission is paid. The mine tour is 30 minutes long, and requires visitors to navigate modern steps, uneven surfaces, and tunnels as low as 4 feet.

Participation in Museum Day is open to any tax-exempt or governmental museum or cultural venue on a voluntary basis. Smithsonian magazine encourages museum visitation, but is not responsible for and does not endorse the content of the participating museums and cultural venues, and does not subsidize museums that participate.

Access and Info for Institutional Subscribers

Newgate prison.

Reconstructed several times from the Middle Ages to the 20th century, Newgate Prison in London housed many types of criminals from debtors to female/male convicts during the Victorian era. Newgate prison existed across from the Old Bailey—a criminal court. In Victorian England, Newgate prison was known for its harsh living arrangements and unsanitary conditions. Cells were packed with prisoners—up to thirty at a time—and vermin ran rampant. 

The last reconstruction of Newgate prison took place in the 18th century under the direction of George Dance. Dance’s new designs for Newgate prison included isolated cells for prisoners described as the “most dismal places” (Kalman, 52). The prison was inverted, and all windows faced inward to give the feeling of confinement. This was due in part to Dance’s admiration of Italian architect, Palladio, who thought that a prison which lodged ‘meaner’ citizens who should have ‘fewer ornaments’—essentially meaning that the prisoners of Newgate did not deserve proper living conditions.   

In his short writings,  Sketches by Boz,  Charles Dickens wrote an insightful sketch of Newgate prison. Dickens described the prison as a machine of death that worked to kill its prisoners. Dickens writes, “men in full health and vigor, in the flower of youth or the prime of life, with all their faculties and perceptions as acute and perfect as your own; but dying, nevertheless.” One can see that Dickens visit to Newgate Prison struck a chord in his mind as he would relate the same sentiment of flowers and horticulture to describe Wemmick in  Great Expectations  some thirty years later, “It struck me that Wemmick walked among the prisoners much as a gardener might walk among his plants.” 

 Works Cited

“'A Visit to Newgate', from Charles Dickens's Sketches by Boz.” British Library , https://www.bl.uk/collection-items/a-visit-to-newgate-from-charles-dicke... .

Kalman, Harold D. “Newgate Prison.” Architectural History , vol. 12, SAHGB Publications Limited, 1969, pp. 50–112, https://doi.org/10.2307/1568336 .

Nicholas, Stephen, and Deborah Oxley. “Living Standards of Women in England and Wales, 1785-1815: New Evidence from Newgate Prison Records.” The Economic History Review , vol. 49, no. 3, [Economic History Society, Wiley], 1996, pp. 591–99, https://doi.org/10.2307/2597766 .

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