“THE OUTER WORLD.”
THE unfortunate _contretemps_ that had indirectly associated me with the
dismissal of a warder caused me to be looked upon for some time by his
_confrères_ with considerable distrust; it was generally understood,
however, that I was not a man that could be bullied with impunity, and
would unhesitatingly have reported any attempt of the kind. I attribute
this diagnosis of my character to my bearing from the first. I made it a
rule to be scrupulously courteous to the humblest turnkey if he showed an
inclination to treat me civilly, whilst I ignored the position of those
who attempted to hector over me, and convinced them by my manner that I
looked on them as my inferiors. When I reflect on the bearing of the
various officials towards other prisoners, I am at a loss to understand
how I was permitted the latitude I was. I can only attribute it to that
moral and indefinable effect certain men of birth and education, and
naturally arrogant in disposition, do and always will exercise, no matter
how temporarily circumstanced, over their inferiors. This bearing
asserted itself without my knowledge, and I had my likes and dislikes
from the highest to the lowest. Thus I liked and respected the Governor,
and ignored his deputy; I liked one chaplain, and cordially despised the
other; I liked and venerated the kind old surgeon, which would be
exaggerating my feelings regarding his assistant. None of my antipathies
could probably instance any absolute case against me, yet they were
respectively aware of my estimate of their merits. To remove this
feeling of distrust amongst the turnkeys was by no means easy. I had to
watch my opportunity to get into conversation, and then carefully to
smuggle in “a word in season.” This necessary formula was not unattended
with risk, and I had to discover the disposition of my man and not say
the wrong word in the wrong place. My knowledge of human nature gave me
a considerable advantage in these negotiations; it was like playing
blind-man’s-buff with one eye exposed, and I soon had the measure of
every official in the prison. Some nuts I admit to have found very
difficult to crack, but they eventually yielded to treatment; others were
hopeless cases, and some I labelled “dangerous” and carefully avoided. I
had, however, attained my object; and wherever I went, or wherever I was
located, I was always within “measurable distance” of one ministering
angel, and often two. The principal cause of my unbroken success may be
attributed to my having no confidants—my right hand literally knew not
what my left was doing; and Jones, the turnkey, who lived in fear and
trembling that Brown would suspect his trafficking with me, was a source
of hourly anxiety to Brown, who dreaded Jones getting wind of his kindly
interest in my affairs. I always assured these respective worthies that
they had nothing to fear from me if they would only exercise ordinary
discretion on their own parts, and as I was above the weakness of
carrying about a fagot of pencils or cigars, it is hardly to be wondered
at that diplomacy triumphed. Through one channel or another I heard
everything that was going on, and was on more than one occasion amused by
having repeated to me the special cautions that were issued regarding me.
The Deputy Governor was no friend of mine; indeed I should be doing him
an injustice if I omitted to state that he disliked me as cordially as I
did him. He was of that pronounced military type associated in my mind
with the Fifth West Indian Regiment, and suggested the idea of having
been promoted from the adjutantcy of that distinguished corps to a
company in a non-purchase regiment during the Cardwellite era. A switch,
and an almost brimless pot hat, worn on one side, completed the picture
of this typical sabreur. He apparently took a considerable interest in
my affairs, and frequently asked questions, and gave wholesome advice to
the turnkeys regarding their intercourse with me. “Have nothing to do
with that man” was the burthen of his song, all of which was invariably
repeated to me. His duties assimilated very much with those of a
garrison Quarter-master, and he was supposed to poke about and discover
dirt in impossible places; occasionally, however, they resembled those of
a boatswain in H.M. navy; as, for example, at the flogging of garrotters,
and the birching of little boys, when he counted the strokes. I had to
be careful of this individual, for I am confident he had his suspicions
about my little games; but it was the old story of the ironclad charging
the outrigger, and with all the facilities at his disposal he was no
match for me in a matter of finesse. To such a state of perfection had I
now brought my arrangements, that everything of interest was at once
known to me; and the hanging of Dr. Lamson, Prince Leopold’s wedding, and
the bombardment of Alexandria, all assisted in their turn to relieve the
monotony of my existence. Nor was my system confined to gloomy
Clerkenwell; but penetrated into the sanctity of the more fashionable
Belgravia; and conversations of peculiar interest to me, that took place
at table or in the privacy of the closet, and that I had a motive for
hearing, were repeated to me within a day with a minuteness of detail
that would astonish the gossipers. This is no idle boast, as documents
and dates in my possession can and may testify. In short I was in
telephonic communication with the outer world (registered number 594).
But a master hand was required to keep this huge machinery in order,
which, no sooner was it removed, than it crumbled to pieces. Within a
week after my final departure, papers began to be picked up, and a
scientific elaboration, incapable of detection, was degraded to the level
and shared the same fate as the commonest pickpocket’s ruse. The moral
that is to be gleaned from all this is: If you wish a thing done _well_,
do it yourself. I trust the sequel to my departure above narrated may
afford a melancholy satisfaction to those interested, and convince them
that no extra precautions are necessary to prevent the repetition of
these innovations; the rules in force are amply sufficient for the
ordinary prisoner. But my constitution, suffering from this severe
strain, and assisted considerably by fever and ague, began to give way,
and led to a change in my everyday life. In short I was ill, and
admitted into hospital. As I ascended the stairs that led from the
worsted wards I had the consolation of feeling I should not be forgotten.
I had indeed left my mark; I had crippled half the prison.
There are many abuses that might be changed with advantage, and which I
cannot do better than point out, in hopes that somebody in authority will
read, mark, and inwardly digest them. On each cell door is a card
setting forth your name, sentence, and full particulars. This placarding
of one’s name is surely useless, as one is never called by it, and the
only object it appears to serve is to enable prisoners to discover all
about one another. My cell was once situated on the high road to the
chapel, and every malefactor _en route_ to worship made it his business
to master my history. This surely is unfair, and hardly contemplated by
the authorities. If it is absolutely essential that one’s name is to be
placarded, why not inside instead of outside the door, as was the custom
before the Government took over the prisons?
Too much at present is left to the turnkeys. They are, indeed, the
channel of communication and the only official with whom the ordinary
prisoner comes in contact. The chief warder deputes details to the
principal warders of divisions, who in their turn confide them to the
warders of wards, who again leave the carrying out to the turnkeys of
flights. It is not fair that so much should be left to these
assistants—which, despite any assertion to the contrary, is the case—and
who, though counting in their ranks many highly respectable men, have
also some desperate rascals—vindictive, deceitful, and utterly unfit for
any discretionary powers, and who would stick at no degree of brutality
if capable of being indulged in with impunity.
The use of the same baths by prisoners and men previous to medical
examination cannot be too strongly deprecated. That a clean man should
be compelled to risk contagion with one suffering from itch or covered
with vermin is as filthy as it is disgraceful. With all the space at
their disposal the wonder is a swimming bath has never commended itself.
Every warder in charge of a ward has a prisoner allotted to him, who
performs such necessary duties as cleaning his office and assisting him
in his multifarious returns. These men are generally selected from the
clerk or tradesman class, and have great facilities for knowing
everything that passes through the office. I have found, indeed, that
they know and hear a great deal too much.
Thus a descriptive return containing every particular about one from
one’s youth up, and supposed to be a confidential document, is carefully
studied by these cleaners, and facts likely to be of general
interest—especially about “celebrities”—go the round of the prison.
These documents should either _not_ be in the warders’ charge, or if so,
should be carefully locked up. In my opinion they would be more
appropriately assigned to the care of the principal warders of divisions.
These cleaners, if dishonestly or greedily inclined, appropriate
considerably more than their share of the daily rations. In one ward I
seldom, or ever, got my supply of Monday bacon, which had either been
filched or bitten in half; and as the original supply does not exceed the
proportions of a postage stamp, it can ill afford this wholesale
reduction.
I cannot leave the subject of “warders” without bearing my testimony to
their excellency as a class—I specially refer to those in charge of
wards, and not to their washerwomen and plumbers and glaziers
_confrères_. The multiplicity of returns they have to render daily, the
alterations, however trivial, that are constantly occurring and have to
be noted, and the serious consequences attending the slightest error or
omission, all combine to make their duties and responsibilities more
arduous than any class of men I have seen. Their pay for this, moreover,
is so small—29s. a week, with a gradual rise—that many otherwise
excellent men shrink from accepting promotion. The colour-sergeants of
the army might learn a lesson from these warders, and if the “descriptive
return” in use, and which supplies every information, was substituted for
the ponderous ledgers, small books, defaulter sheets, etc., as used in
the army, it would come like the Waverley pen—
As a blessing and boon to sergeants and men.