(From a paper in _Fraser's Magazine_, entitled the _Schoolmaster in
Newgate_--evidently from the hand of a shrewd observer, and the result
of considerable experience and laborious investigation.)
By a reference to the Old Bailey session calendar, it will be seen that
about 3,000 prisoners are annually committed to Newgate, making little
short of 400 each session, of which there are eight in a year. Out of
the gross number, about 350 are discharged by proclamation. Of these
nothing can be said, as they must be considered innocent of the crimes
with which they were charged, there not being _primâ facie_ evidence to
send them on their trials. There remain 2,550 who are tried, with the
progressive increase of 4-7ths annually. Some persons have supposed this
accumulation of offenders bears a regular proportion to the progress of
population. As well may they assert that the demand for thieves in
society regulates the supply, as in other markets of merchandise. The
cause is in the maladministration of the laws--the sending out so many
old offenders every session to teach and draw in the more juvenile and
less experienced hands--with the uncertainty of punishment, by the
inequality of sentences for crimes of a like nature--to which may be
added the many instances of mistaken, or rather _mis-directed_ leniency,
compared with others of enormous severity for trifling offences; all
which tend to induce the London thieves to entertain a contempt for that
tribunal. An opinion prevails throughout the whole body, that justice is
not done there. I do not mean to say they complain of the sentences
being too severe generally; that would be natural enough on their parts,
and not worth notice. They believe everything done at that court a
matter of chance; that _in the same day, and for a like crime_, one man
will be sentenced to _transportation for life_, while another may be let
off for a _month's imprisonment_, and yet both equally bad characters.
It only needs that punishment should be sure to follow the conviction
for crime, and that the judgments should be uniform and settled, to
strike terror into the whole body of London criminals. Out of the 2,550
annually tried, nearly one-fourth are acquitted, leaving little short of
2,000 for sentence in each year. Of these the average transported are
800; deduct 200 for cases of an incidental nature, i.e. crimes not
committed by regular offenders, and there remain 1,000 professed thieves
who are again turned loose in a short period on the town, all of whom
appear in due course again at the court of the Old Bailey, or at some
other, many times in the revolution of one year. Here lies the mischief.
An old thief will be sure to enlist others to perpetuate the race. There
is no disguising the fact: the whole blame is with the court whose duty
it is to take cognizance of these characters. Whilst the present system
is pursued, of allowing so many old offenders to escape with trifling
punishments, the evils will be increased, and the business of the court
go on augmenting, by its own errors. The thief is now encouraged to
speculate on his chances--in his own phraseology, "his good luck." Every
escape makes him more reckless. I knew one man who was allowed a course
of seventeen imprisonments and other punishments before his career was
stopped by transportation; a sentence which does, however, sooner or
later overtake them, and which would be better both for themselves and
the country were it passed the first time they were in the hands of the
court as known thieves. Observing only a certain, and nearly an equal,
number transported each session, they have imbibed a notion, that the
recorder cannot exceed it, and that he selects those to whom he takes a
dislike at the bar, not for the magnitude of their offence, but from
caprice or chance. It is under this impression they are afraid of
speaking when in court, lest they should give offence, and excite
petulance in the judge, which would, in their opinion, inevitably
include them in the devoted batch of transports, of which their horror
is inconceivable; 1st, because many have already undergone the
punishment; and 2dly, all who have not are fully aware of the privations
to which it subjects them. Their anxious inquiry regarding every
particular relating to the treatment, is a strong manifestation of their
uneasiness on this subject. Yet Mr. Wontner and Mr. Wakefield (says the
_Quarterly_ reviewer) think neither transportation nor the hulks have
any terrors for them. How they come to this opinion, I cannot imagine.
If they draw their inference from the noise and apparent mirth of the
prisoners when they leave Newgate for the hulks, I think their premises
false.
The transports are taken from Newgate in parties of twenty-five, which
is called a draft. When the turnkeys lock up the wards of the prison at
the close of the day, they call over the names of the convicts under
orders for removal, at the same time informing them at what hour of the
night or morning they will be called for, and to what place and ship
they are destined. This notice, which frequently is not more than three
or four hours, is all that is given them; a regulation rendered
necessary to obviate the bustle and confusion heretofore experienced, by
their friends and relatives thronging the gates of the prison,
accompanied by valedictory exclamations at the departure of the van in
which they are conveyed. Before this order arrives, most of them have
endured many months' confinement, and having exhausted the liberality,
or funds--perhaps both--of their friends, have been constrained to
subsist on the goal allowance. This, together with the sameness of a
prison life, brings on a weariness of mind, which renders any change
agreeable to their now broken spirits; the prospect of a removal
occasions a temporary excitement, which, to those unaccustomed to reason
on the matter, may appear like gaiety, and carelessness of the future.
The noise and apparent recklessness, however, on these occasions, are
produced more by those prisoners who are to remain behind, availing
themselves of the opportunity to beguile a few hours of tedious
existence by a noisy and forced merriment, which they know the officers
on duty will impute to the men under orders for the ship. This is
confirmed by the inmates of the place being, on all other nights of the
year, peaceable after they have been locked up in their respective
wards. Those who suppose there is any real mirth or indifference among
them at any time, have taken but a superficial view of these wretched
men. Heaviness and sickness of heart are always with them; they will at
times make an effort to feel at ease, but all their hilarity is
fictitious and assumed--they have the common feelings of our nature, and
of which they can never divest themselves. Those who possess an unusual
buoyancy of spirits, and gloss over their feelings with their
companions, I have ever observed on the whole, to feel the most internal
agony. I have seen upwards of two thousand under this sentence, and
never conversed with one who did not appear to consider the punishment,
if it exceeded seven years, _equal to death_. May, the accomplice of
Bishop and Williams, told me, the day after his respite, if they meant
to transport him, he did not thank them for his life. The following is
another striking instance of the view they have of this punishment. A
man named Shaw, who suffered for housebreaking about two years since,
awoke during the night previous to his execution, and said, "Lee!"
(speaking to the man in the cell with him) "I have often said I would be
rather hanged than transported; but now it comes so close as this, I
begin to think otherwise." Shortly afterwards he turned round to the
same man and said, "I was wrong in what I said just now; I am still of
my former opinion: hanging is the best of the two;" and he remained in
the same mind all the night. The first question an untried prisoner asks
of those to whom he is about to entrust his defence is, "Do you think I
shall be transported? Save me from that, and I don't mind any thing
else." One thing, however, is clear: no punishment hitherto has lessened
the number of offenders; nor will any ever be efficient, until the
penalties awarded by the law unerringly follow conviction, especially
with the common robbers.
Turn over the pages of the Old Bailey session papers for years past, and
you cannot but be struck with the anomalies which are there apparent,
with respect to crimes and the sentences which have followed. The
impression a perusal of these papers made on my mind, was as if all the
business had been done by lottery; and my observation during twenty-two
sessions on the occurring cases has tended to convince me, that a
distribution of justice from that wheel of chance could not present a
more incongruous and confused record of convictions and punishments. In
no case (always excepting the capitals) can any person, however acute
and experienced, form the slightest opinion of what the judgment of the
court will be. Of this the London thieves are fully aware. I never could
succeed in persuading one before his trial, that he was deprived of all
chance of escape. They will answer, "Look what a court it is! how many
worse than me _do_ scramble through; and who knows but I may be lucky."
What men know they must endure, they fear; what they think they can
escape, they despise: their calculation of three-fourths escaping is
very near the truth. Hope, the spring of action, induces each to say to
himself, "Why may I not be the lucky one?" THE CHANCE THUS GIVEN OF
ACQUITTAL IS THE MAIN CAUSE OF CRIME. I do not mean to say three-fourths
come off free; they are subjected to some kind of punishment (excepting
a few cases of judgment respited); the others feel, no doubt, what they
undergo, but it is only as a soldier in the fight considers a
scratch--otherwise coming off with a whole skin, being ready for action
again. Another evil arises out of this irregularity of judgments. All
punishments are rendered severe and useful in proportion as the offender
feels he deserves it, and is conscious of having only his _quantum
meritus._. This the convict can now never feel, seeing his companion in
crime let off for a few months' imprisonment, he (his companion) having
been guilty of an offence equal to his own, and for which he (the
convict) is transported for life. Those connected with the court, in the
conversations I have had with them, say, "circumstances of character
occasion the apparent anomalies;" being unable, or perhaps unwilling, to
give a better. That a good character does not avail the prisoner, or
direct the court in its judgments, may be seen by a mere inspection of
the printed trials, and is better known to all who have watched the
proceedings of this court for any time. Hundreds of cases might be cited
to illustrate this fact. I remember the case of two butchers, whose
briefs I wrote, which occurred last year. One was an old, the other a
young man, both having been in the employ of the prosecutor. They were
charged with stealing a breast of mutton from their master: both were
found guilty. The old man had persons to speak as to his character for
honesty for forty years last past (his former masters); the young one
had not a solitary witness to say a word for him. The former was
sentenced to fourteen years' transportation; the latter to six months in
the house of correction. When the prosecutor heard of the circumstance,
he got up a petition to the secretary of state for a remission of the
sentence, in which he stated that on the trial he himself had given the
old man a good character, and not the other. Instances of this kind
occur out of number to confirm the rogues in their preconceived notions
of the uncertainty of punishment, and that "the greatest crimes come off
the best." This is an aphorism among the thieves. I have seen some of
them, after being sentenced by the court, dance for hours, calling out
continuously, "Did I not tell you all, the biggest rogues get off the
best?" The scene in the several yards of Newgate on the sentence-days,
after the judgments have been passed, defies any description on paper.
Some will be seen jumping and skipping about for hours, frenzied with
joy at the very unexpectedly mild sentence passed on them; others are
cursing and swearing, calling down imprecations on the head of the
recorder, for having, as they say, so unfairly measured out justice; all
agreeing there is no proportion in the punishments to the crimes. It may
be said, it is of little import what these men think, so they are
punished. But is it of no importance under what impression the others
are discharged? If the discharged feel (as assuredly they do) that
punishment is a matter of chance, they return to their habits as the
hazard-player goes again to the dice, in hopes of coming off a winner,
and reimbursing himself for former losses. There is another evil comes
out of these unequal sentences. The discontent it produces on the minds
of those who fall under the more heavy judgments, which militates
against their reformation: instead of reflecting on their situation as
brought on by themselves, they take refuge in complaint and invective,
declaring they are "sacrificed"--in their own language, "murdered men."
I have often said, "Why complain? You knew the consequence of
detection." "Yes," would be the reply; "but look at the case of Tom ----
and Bill ----. Not that I am sorry they have got off; but is it not a
shame to give me a _lifer_, and they only a month each?" Such answers
are always given when any attempt is made to reconcile them to their
fate. They carry this feeling with them to the hulks, where they amuse
each other with all the tales of hardship within their knowledge;
meditating revenge, by which they mean becoming more desperate in crime,
and making reprisals on the public, when they shall be again at large.
They become imbued with a notion the judge has more to answer for than
themselves. Opinions of this nature are very common among them, and
prevent the discipline to which they are submitted having its proper
effect. Minds in the state of theirs seize on any supposed injury to
brood over and stifle their own reproaches. Of this _dernier ressort_
they would be deprived, if equal sentences were passed on all for like
offences. They are now all ill-used men, by comparison with others who
have been more fortunate. The present system holds out so many chances
for the offender to escape, that it acts as an inducement to continue
his practices, and to all loose characters, not yet accomplished in the
art of plunder, to become so. Again, by the discharge of so many known
thieves every sessions, so many masters are sent into the town to draw
in and teach others, by which a regular supply is brought up to fill the
ranks of those who fall in the conflict.
* * * * *