THE GREAT EPIDEMIC
Failure threatens the great experiment—General sickness of the
Prisoners—Virulent disorder attacks them—The result of too high
feeding and ill-chosen dietary—Disease succumbs to treatment—Majority
transferred to hospital ships at Woolwich—Very imperfect discipline
maintained—Conduct of prisoners often outrageous—Sent by Act of
Parliament to the Hulks as ordinary Convicts.
THE internal organization of Millbank, which has been detailed in the
last chapter, is described at some length in a Blue Book, bearing
date July, 1823. But though Millbank was then, so to speak, on its
trial, and its value, in return for the enormous cost of its erection,
closely questioned, it is probable that its management would not have
demanded a Parliamentary inquiry but for one serious mishap which
brought matters to a crisis. Of a sudden the whole of the inmates of
the prison began to pine and fall away. A virulent disorder broke out,
and threatened the lives of all in the place. Alarm and misgiving in
such a case soon spread; and all at once the public began to fear that
Millbank was altogether a huge mistake. Here was a building upon which
half a million had been spent, and now, when barely completed, it
proved uninhabitable! Money cast wholesale into a deadly swamp, and all
the fine talk of reformation and punishment to give way to coroners’
inquests and deaths by a strange disease. No wonder there was a cry
for investigation. Then, as on many subsequent occasions, it became
evident Millbank was fulfilling one of the conditions laid down as of
primary importance in the choice of site. Howard had said that the
Penitentiary House must be built near the metropolis, so as to insure
constant supervision and inspection. Millbank is ten minutes’ walk
from Westminster, and from the first has been the subject of continual
inquiry and legislation. The tons of Blue Books and dozens of Acts
of Parliament which it has called into existence will be sufficient
proof of this. It was, however, a public undertaking, carried out in
the full blaze of daylight, and hence it attracted more than ordinary
attention. What might have passed unnoticed in a far-off shire, was
in London magnified to proportions almost absurd. This must explain
state interference, which now-a-days may seem quite unnecessary, and
will account for giving a national importance to matters oftentimes in
themselves really trivial.
But this first sickness in the Penitentiary was sufficiently serious to
arrest attention, and call for description in detail.
In the autumn of 1822, the physicians appointed to report on the
subject state that the general health of the prisoners in Millbank
began visibly to decline. They became pale and languid, thin and
feeble; those employed in tasks calling for bodily exertion could not
execute the same amount of work as before, those at the mill ground
less corn, those at the pump brought up less water, the laundry-women
often fainted at their work, and the regular routine of the place
was only accomplished by constantly changing the hands engaged.
Throughout the winter this was the general condition of the prisoners.
The breaking down of health was shown by such symptoms as lassitude,
dejection of spirits, paleness of countenance, rejection of food,
and occasional faintings. Yet, with all this depression of general
health, there were no manifest signs of specific disease; the numbers
in hospital were not in excess of previous winters, and their maladies
were such as were commonly incident to cold weather. But in January,
1823, scurvy—unmistakable sea scurvy—made its appearance, and was
then recognized as such, and in its true form, for the first time by
the medical superintendent, though the prisoners themselves declared
it was visible among them as early as the previous November. Being
anxious to prevent alarm, either in the Penitentiary itself or in the
neighbourhood, the medical officer rather suppressed the fact of the
existence of the disease; and this, with a certain tendency to make
light of it, led to the omission of many precautions. But there it was,
plainly evident; first, by the usual sponginess of the gums, then by
“ecchymosed” blotches on the legs, which were observed in March to be
pretty general among the prisoners.
Upon this point, the physicians called in remarked that the scurvy
spots were at their first appearance peculiarly apt to escape
discovery, unless the attention be particularly directed towards them,
and that they often existed for a long time entirely unnoticed by the
patient himself. And now with the scurvy came dysentery, and diarrhœa,
of the peculiar kind that is usually associated with the scorbutic
disease. In all cases, the same constitutional derangement was
observable, the outward marks of which were a sallow countenance and
impaired digestion, diminished muscular strength, a feeble circulation,
various degrees of nervous affections, such as tremors, cramps, or
spasms, and various degrees of mental despondency.
With regard to the extent of the disease, it was found that quite half
of the total number were affected, the women more extensively than
the men; and both the males and females of the second class, or those
who had been longest in confinement, were more frequently attacked
than the newest arrivals. Some few were, however, entirely exempt;
more especially the prisoners employed in the kitchen, while among the
officers and their families, amounting in all to one hundred and six
individuals, there was not a single instance of attack recorded.
Such then was the condition of the prisoners in the Penitentiary in
the spring of 1823. To what was this sudden outbreak of a virulent
disorder to be traced? There were those who laid the whole blame
on the locality, and who would admit of no other explanation. But
this argument was in the first instance opposed by the doctors
investigating. Had the situation of the prison been at fault, they
said, it was only reasonable to suppose that the disease would have
shown itself in earlier years of the prison’s existence; whereas,
as far as they could ascertain, till 1822-3 it was altogether
unknown. Moreover, had this been the real cause, all inmates would
alike have suffered; how then explain the universal immunity of the
officers in charge? Again, if it were the miasmata arising upon a
marshy neighbourhood that militated against the healthiness of the
prison, there should be prevalent other diseases which marsh miasmata
confessedly engender. Besides which, the scurvy and diarrhœa thus
produced are associated with intermittent fevers, in this case not
noticeable; and they would have occurred during the hot instead of the
winter season. Lastly, if it were imagined that the dampness of the
situation had contributed to the disease, a ready answer was, that
on examination every part of the prison was found to be singularly
dry, not the smallest stain of moisture being apparent in any cell or
passage, floor, ceiling, or wall.
But indeed it was not necessary to search far afield for the causes
of the outbreak; they lay close at hand. Undoubtedly a sudden and
somewhat ill-judged reduction in diet was entirely to blame. For a
long time the luxury of the Penitentiary had been a standing joke. The
prison was commonly called Mr. Holford’s fattening house. He was told
that much money might be saved the public by parting with half his
officers, for there need be no fear of escapes; all that was needed was
a proper guard to prevent too great a rush of people in. An honourable
member published a pamphlet in which he styled the dietary at Millbank
“an insult to honest industry, and a violation of common sense.” And
evidence was not wanting from the prison itself of the partial truth
of these allegations. The medical superintendent frequently reported
that the prisoners, especially the females, suffered from plethora,
and from diseases consequent upon a fulness of habit. Great quantities
of food were carried out of the prison in the wash-tubs; potatoes,
for instance, were taken to the pigs, which Mr. Holford admitted he
would have been ashamed to have seen thus carried out of his own
house. It came to such a pass at last that the committee was plainly
told by members of the House of Commons, that if the dietary were not
changed, the next annual vote for the establishment would probably
be opposed. In the face of all this clamour the committee could not
hold out; but in their anxiety to provide a remedy, they went from one
extreme to the other. Abandoning the scale that was too plentiful,
they substituted one that was altogether too meagre. In the new dietary
solid animal food was quite excluded, and only soup was given. This
soup was made of ox heads, in the proportion of one to every hundred
prisoners; it was to be thickened with vegetables or peas, and the
daily allowance was to be a quart, half at midday, and half in the
evening. The bread ration was a pound and a half, and for breakfast
there was also a pint of gruel. It was open to the committee to
substitute potatoes for bread if they saw fit, but they do not seem to
have done this. The meat upon an ox head averages about eight pounds,
so that the allowance per prisoner was about an ounce and a quarter. No
wonder then that they soon fell away in health.
The mere reduction in the amount of food, however, would not have been
sufficient in itself to cause the epidemic of scurvy. Scurvy will occur
even with a copious dietary. Sailors who eat plenty of biscuit and
beef are attacked, and others who are certainly not starved. The real
predisposing cause is the absence of certain necessary elements in the
diet, not the lowness of the diet itself. It is the want of vegetable
acids in food that brings about the mischief. The authorities called
in were not exactly right, therefore, in attributing the scurvy solely
to the reduced diet. The siege of Gibraltar was quoted as an instance
where semi-starvation superinduced the disease. Again, the scurvy
prevalent in the low districts round Westminster was traced to a
similar deficiency and the severe winter, also to the want of vegetable
diet. This last was the real explanation; of this, according to our
medical knowledge, there is not now the faintest doubt. Long enforced
abstinence from fresh meat and fresh vegetables is certain sooner or
later to produce scurvy. At the same time it must be admitted that the
epidemic of which I am writing was aggravated by the cold weather. It
had its origin in the cold season, and its progress kept pace with it,
continued through the spring, actually increasing with summer.
During the months of May and June the disorder was progressive, but the
early part of July saw a diminution in the numbers afflicted. At this
time the prison population amounted to about eight hundred.
There was a total of thirty deaths. In spite of this slight improvement
for the better, it is easy to understand that the medical men in charge
were still much troubled with fears for the future. Granting even
that the disease had succumbed to treatment, there was the danger,
with all the prisoners in a low state of health, of relapse, or even
of an epidemic in a new shape. Hence it was felt that an immediate
change of air and place would be the best security against further
disease. But several hundred convicts could not be sent to the seaside
like ordinary convalescents; besides which they were committed to
Millbank by Act of Parliament, and only by Act of Parliament could
they be removed. This difficulty was easily met. An Act of Parliament
more or less made no matter to Millbank—many pages in the statute
book were covered already with legislation for the Penitentiary. A
new act was immediately passed, authorizing the committee to transfer
the prisoners from Millbank to situations more favourable for the
recovery of their health. In accordance with its provisions one part
of the female prisoners were at once sent into the Royal Ophthalmic
Hospital in Regent’s Park, at that time standing empty; their number
during July and August was increased to one hundred and twenty, by
which time a hulk, the _Ethalion_, had been prepared at Woolwich for
male convicts, and thither went two hundred, towards the end of August.
Those selected for removal were the prisoners who had suffered most
from the disease. This was an experiment; and according to its results
the fate of those who remained at Millbank was to be determined. “The
benefit of the change of air and situation,” says Dr. Latham, “was
immediately apparent.” Within a fortnight there was less complaint of
illness, and most of the patients already showed symptoms of returning
health. Meanwhile, among the prisoners left at Millbank there was
little change, though at times all were threatened with a return of the
old disorder, less virulent in its character, however, and missing
half its former frightful forms. By September, a comparison between
those at Regent’s Park or the hulk and those still in Millbank was so
much in favour of the former that the point at issue seemed finally
settled. Beyond doubt the change of air had been extremely beneficial;
nevertheless, of the two changes, it was evident that the move to the
hulks at Woolwich had the better of the change to Regent’s Park. On
board the _Ethalion_ the prisoners had suffered fewer relapses and had
gained a greater degree of health than those at Regent’s Park. On the
whole, therefore, it was considered advisable to complete the process
of emptying Millbank. The men and women alike were all drafted into
different hulks off Woolwich. These changes were carried out early in
December, 1823, and by that time the Millbank Penitentiary was entirely
emptied, and it remained vacant till the summer of the next year.
The inner life of the Penitentiary went on much as usual in the early
days of the epidemic. There are at first only the ordinary entries in
the governor’s Journal. Prisoners came and went; this one was pardoned,
that received from Newgate or some county gaol. Repeated reports of
misconduct are recorded. The prisoners seemed fretful and mischievous.
Now and then they actually complained of the want of food. One prisoner
was taken to task for telling his father, in the visiting cell, that
six prisoners out of every seven would die for want of rations. But
at length the blow fell. On the 14th February, 1823, Ann Smith died in
the infirmary at half-past nine. On the 17th, Mary Ann Davidson; on the
19th, Mary Esp; on the 23rd, William Cardwell; on the 24th, Humphrey
Adams; on the 28th, Margaret Patterson. And now, by order of the
visitor, the prisoners were allowed more walking exercise. Then follow
the first steps taken by Drs. Roget and Latham. The governor records,
on the 3rd March, that the doctors recommend each prisoner should have
daily four ounces of meat and three oranges; that their bread should
be divided into three parts, an orange taken at each meal. Accordingly
the steward was sent to Thames Street to lay in a week’s consumption of
oranges.
An entry soon afterwards gives the first distinct reference to the
epidemic. “The medical gentlemen having begged for the bodies of such
prisoners as might die of the disorder now prevalent in the prison,
in order to make post-mortem examinations, the same was sanctioned if
the friends of the prisoner did not wish to interfere.” Deaths were
now very frequent, and hardly a week passed without a visit from the
coroner or his deputy.
On the 25th of March the governor, Mr. Couch, who had been ailing for
some time past, resigned his charge into the hands of Captain Benjamin
Chapman. Soon afterwards there were further additions to the dietary—on
the 26th of April two more ounces of meat and twelve ounces of boiled
potatoes; and the day after, it was ordered that each prisoner should
drink toast-and-water,—three half-pints daily. Lime, in large tubs, was
to be provided in all the pentagons for the purpose of disinfection.
About this period there was a great increase of insubordination among
the prisoners. It is easy to understand that discipline must be relaxed
when all were more or less ailing and unable to bear punishment. The
sick wards were especially noisy and turbulent. One man, for instance,
was charged with shouting loudly and using atrocious language; all of
which, of course, he denied, declaring he had only said, “God bless
the king, my tongue is very much swelled.” Upon this the turnkey in
charge observed that it was a pity it was not swelled more, and Smith
(the prisoner) pursued the argument by hitting his officer on the
head with a pint pot. Later on they broke out almost into mutiny. The
governor writes as follows: “At a quarter to eight o’clock Taskmaster
Swift informed me that the whole of the prisoners in the infirmary
ward of his pentagon were in the most disorderly and riotous state, in
consequence of the wooden doors of the cells having been ordered by the
surgeon to be shut during the night; that the prisoners peremptorily
refused to permit the turnkeys to shut their doors, and made use of
the most opprobrious terms, threatening destruction to whoever might
attempt to shut their doors. Their shouts and yells were so loud
as to be heard at a considerable distance. I immediately summoned
the patrols, and several of the turnkeys, and making them take their
cutlasses, I repaired to the sick ward. I found the wooden doors all
open, and the prisoners, for the most part, at their iron gates, which
were shut. The first prisoner I came to was John Hall. I asked him
the reason he refused to shut his door when ordered. He answered in
a very insolent tone and manner, ‘Why should I do so?’ I then said,
‘Shut your door instantly,’ but he would not comply. I took him away
and confined him in a dark cell. In conveying him to the cell he made
use of most abusive and threatening language, but did not make any
personal resistance.” Five others who were pointed out as prominent in
the mutiny were also punished on bread and water in a dark cell, by the
surgeon’s permission.
Nor were matters much more satisfactory in the female infirmary wards.
“Mrs. Briant, having reported yesterday, during my absence at Woolwich,
that Mary Willson had ‘wilfully cut her shoes,’ and, having stated
the same verbally this morning, I went with her into the infirmary,
where the prisoner was, and having produced the shoes to her (the
upper-leather of one of them being palpably cut from the sole), and
asked her why she cut them, she said she had not cut them, that they
had come undone whilst walking in the garden. This being an evident
falsehood, I told her I feared she was doing something worse than
cutting her shoes by telling an untruth. She answered in a very saucy
manner, they were not her shoes, and that she had not cut them. She
became at length very insolent, when I told her she deserved to be
punished. She replied she did not care whether she was or not. I then
directed the surgeon to be sent for; when not only the prisoner, but
several others in the infirmary, became very clamorous, and evinced
a great degree of insubordination. I went out with the intention of
getting a couple of patrols, when I heard the crash of broken glass
and loud screams. I returned as soon as possible with the patrols into
the infirmary. The women generally attempted to oppose my entrance,
and a group had got Willson amongst them, and said she should not be
confined. I desired the patrols to lay hold of her, and take her to
the dark cell (I had met with Dr. Hugh when going for the patrols, who
under the circumstances sanctioned the removal of the prisoner). In
doing so, Betts and Stone were assaulted with the utmost violence; I
myself was violently laid hold of, and my wrist and finger painfully
twisted. I had Willson, however, taken to the dark cell, when, having
summoned several of the turnkeys and officers of the prison, I with
considerable difficulty succeeded in taking six more of them who
appeared to be most forward in this disgraceful riot. Several of
the large panes in the passage windows were broken; and the women
seized everything they could lay their hands on, and flung them at the
officers, who, in self-defence, were at length compelled to strike in
return. I immediately reported the circumstance to Sir George Farrant,
the visitor, who came to the prison soon after. I accompanied him, with
Dr. Bennett (the chaplain) and Mr. Pratt (the surgeon), through the
female pentagon and infirmary, when a strong spirit of insubordination
was obvious. Sir George addressed them, and so did Dr. Bennett, and
pointed out the serious injury they were doing themselves, and that
such conduct would not pass unpunished. We afterwards visited the
dark refractory cells, where the worst were confined; two of whom, on
account of previous good-conduct and favourable circumstances, were
liberated. For myself, I never beheld such a scene of outrage, nor did
I observe a single individual who was not culpably active.”
As a general rule, the prisoners in the Penitentiary were in these
days so little looked after, and had so much leisure time, that
they soon found the proverbial mischief for idle hands. Having some
suspicions, the governor searched several, and found up the sleeves
of five of them, knives, playing cards (made from an old copy-book),
two articles to hold ink, a baby’s straw hat, some papers (written
upon), and an original song of questionable tendency. The hearts and
diamonds in the cards had been covered with red chalk, the clubs and
spades with blacking. “Having received information that there were
more cards about, he caused strict search to be made, and found in
John Brown’s Bible, one card and the materials for making more, also a
small knife made of bone. In another prisoner’s cell was found another
knife and some paste, ingeniously contrived from old bread-crumbs.”
But even these amusements did not keep the prisoners from continually
quarrelling and fighting with one another. Any one who had made himself
obnoxious was severely handled. A body of prisoners fell upon one
Tompkins, and half killed him because he had reported the irreverent
conduct of several of them while at divine service. The place was like
a bear-garden; insubordination, riots, foul language, and continual
wranglings among themselves—it could hardly be said that the prisoners
were making that rapid progress towards improvement which was among the
principal objects of the Penitentiary.
And now the scene shifts to the Woolwich hulks, whither by this time
the whole of the inmates were being by degrees transferred. The first
batch of males were sent off on the 16th August, embarking at Millbank,
and proceeding by launch to Woolwich. Great precautions were taken.
All the disposable taskmasters, turnkeys, and patrols being armed
and stationed from the outer lodge to the quay (River Stairs), the
prisoners were assembled by six at a time, and placed without irons
in the launch. The same plan was pursued from time to time, till at
length the entire number were removed. The hulks were the _Ethalion_,
_Narcissus_, _Dromedary_. A master was on board in charge of each,
under the general supervision of Captain Chapman, the governor of the
Penitentiary. There was immediately a further great deterioration
in the conduct of the prisoners. Not only were they mischievous, as
appeared from their favourite pastime, which was to drag off one
another’s bedclothes in the middle of the night, by means of a crooked
nail attached to a long string, but the decks which they occupied
were for ever in a state of anarchy and confusion. “All the prisoners
below,” says the overseer of the _Ethalion_, “conducted themselves last
night in a most improper manner, by singing obscene songs and making
a noise. When summoned to appear on the upper deck, they treated the
master with defiance and contempt, so that the ringleaders had to be
put in irons.” But it was a mere waste of time to confine prisoners
below. There was no place of security to hold them. “A number of
prisoners broke their confinement by forcibly removing the boards of
the different cabins in which they were placed in the cockpit, and
got together in the fore hold, where they were found by Mr. Lodge
at half-past nine at night.” Another prisoner, a day or two later,
confined in the hold, broke out, and proceeded through the holds and
wings of the ship till he arrived at the fore hold, where another
prisoner, Connor, was confined for irreverent behaviour during chapel.
Connor tore up the boards fastened on to the mast-hatch, and admitted
Williams to him. “When Williams’ escape was discovered,” says the
overseer, “I searched for him in the bottom of the ship. On my arriving
at the bulkhead of the fore hold I inquired of Connor if Williams
was with him. He declared he was not, calling on God to witness his
assertion; but on opening the hatch, to my astonishment I found him
there. I ordered him back to the place in which he was first confined;
on which he used the most abusive language, saying, by God, when he
was released he would murder me and every officer in the ship. I
talked mildly to him, and desired him to return to the place in which
he had been confined. He at last complied, using the most abusive and
threatening language. When he had returned to the after hold, I put
the leg-irons on him to prevent his forcing out a second time, giving
him at the same time to understand, that if he would behave himself
they would soon be taken off. But he was still turbulent, breaking
everything before him. I then put handcuffs on him, notwithstanding
which he broke out at 9 P.M., disengaged himself from the handcuffs,
and got a second time to the fore hold, where I again found him, and
insisted on his returning. He kicked me very much in the legs, using,
as before, threatening language. I then found it necessary to use
force, and taking guards Wadeson and Clarke with the steward, we again
removed him to his first place of confinement. He appeared so resolute
and determined to commit further depredations, that I fastened his
leg-irons to a five-inch staple in the timber of the hold, which staple
he tore up during the night, and again passed to Connor in the fore
hold.”
On the 27th November it was found that some prisoners had made their
escape from the _Ethalion_ hulk. On mustering the prisoners in the
morning three were missing. Search was immediately made, but they were
not to be found. All the hatches on the lower deck were secure; but it
was ascertained, on examination of the after hold, that the prisoners
must have made their way into the steward’s store-room, where they
had taken out the window. One of them then swam off to the _Shear_
hulk, secured the boat, brought it to the after windows, and by that
means, assisting each other, the three effected their escape. The boat
belonging to the _Shear_ hulk was found at the Prince Regent’s Ferry
House, on the Essex coast. After a close investigation it was not
possible to bring the blame home to any one. All the guards proved,
of course, that they were on the alert all night. The steward said he
had had a blister on, and could not sleep a wink, but he never missed
hearing the bell struck (by the watch) every quarter of an hour.
Stevenson, one of those who had escaped, had always been employed in
the steward’s store-room, hence he knew his way about the ship. Being
a sailor and a good swimmer, it was probably he who had gone to the
_Shear_ hulk and got a boat, taking with him one end of a rope made of
hammock nettings, the other being fast to a beam in the store-room. By
this rope the _Shear_ hulk boat was hauled gently to the _Ethalion_;
then the other two prisoners got into it, and it was allowed to drift
down for some distance with the tide. No sound whatever of oars had
been heard during the night by the sentries on board or on shore. The
escape must have been made between one and two o’clock in the morning,
as at three the men were seen landing from a boat on the Essex coast.
Information of the escape soon spread among the other prisoners, and
it was pretty certain that many would attempt to follow. They were
reported to be ripe for any mischief. The fire-arms were carefully
inspected by the governor, who insisted on their being kept constantly
in good order and “well flinted.” At the same time a strict search
was made through the ship, particularly of the lower deck, for any
implements that might be secreted to facilitate escape. False keys
were reported to be in existence, but none could be found; only a
large sledge-hammer, a ripping chisel, and some iron bolts which
were concealed in the caboose. A few days afterwards the master of
the _Ethalion_ reported the discovery of a number of other dangerous
articles in various parts of the ship, several more sledge-hammers,
chisels, iron bars, spike nails, etc., all calculated to do much
mischief, and endanger the safety of the ship. At the same time, four
prisoners were overheard planning another escape. They were to steal
the key of a closet on the deck, and alter it so as to fit the locks
of the bulk heads into the infirmary wards, and pass by this means to
the cabin, and out through one of the ports. The key was immediately
impounded, and a strict watch kept all night. Between eleven and twelve
the guard reported that he heard a noise like filing through iron
bars; so the master got into a boat with two others and rowed round
the ship. They were armed with a cutlass and blunderbus, “which,” says
the master, “I particularly requested might be put out of sight.” But
everything was perfectly quiet on the lower deck, and on going through
the upper deck the only discovery made was a prisoner sitting by a
lamp, manufacturing a draught board, which he refused to part with.
They left the deck quite quiet; yet at half-past three the whole place
was in an uproar. A regular stand-up fight took place between two
prisoners, Elgar and Blore, in which the former got his eyes blackened
and face damaged in the most shameful manner. This Elgar was the man
who gave information of the projected escape, thereby incurring the
resentment of the rest. It is improbable, however, that any attempt was
actually intended this time, though escape was in every mouth, and had
been since the event of the previous Thursday.
Speaking of the hulks at this time, the governor says, “It is but too
true that little if any discipline exists among the prisoners, and
that the state of insubordination is extremely alarming. This may, in
a great degree, be attributed to the lamentable state of idleness, the
facility of communicating with each other, concerning and perpetrating
mischief, and the inadequate means of punishment when contrasted with
the hulks establishment.”
But by this time news had come of the missing three. At nine o’clock
one night a person called at the Penitentiary and asked to see the
governor in private. He was shown into the office. “You had three
prisoners escape from Woolwich lately? One of them is my brother,
Charles Knight. I am very anxious he should be brought back. What is
the penalty for escaping?” He was informed; also that there was a
charge of stealing from the steward’s store. Knight’s brother said he
would willingly pay the damage of that, and wished to make conditions
for the fugitive if he was given up. The governor would not promise
beyond an assurance of speaking in Knight’s favour to the committee;
and said all would depend upon his making a full and candid disclosure
of all the circumstances connected with the escape, and giving all the
information in his power which would lead to the arrest of the other
two. The visitor then observed that his brother was very young, and by
no means a hardened offender; that he was led into this act and was
sorry for it; that none of his relations would harbour him, and that
he was quite ready to return. Next morning he was brought back by his
mother and brother, and gave immediately a full account of the affair.
The escape had been concerted a full week before it was carried into
effect, and had been arranged entirely by Stevenson, who having been
employed in the store-room, had purloined a key, filed out the wards
and made a skeleton key, with which he opened the hatches. The rope was
made out of spun yarn, found in the hold by Stevenson, who also got
there the sledge-hammer, chisel, and iron spikes. There was not a soul
moving or awake on the lower deck, and no one knew of their intention
to escape. They then got away in a boat, just as had been surmised. On
landing at the new ferry on the Essex coast, they went across the chain
pier, Payne changing a shilling to pay the toll. This was all the money
they had amongst them, and had been conveyed to Payne by some person in
the ship. They then proceeded to London, and were supplied with hats
by a Jew named Wolff, living in Somerset Street, Whitechapel, to whose
house they were taken by Stevenson. Afterwards they went to the West
End. Payne separated from them in Waterloo Place, saying he meant to go
to a brother living at Stratford-on-Avon. Stevenson then took Knight
to his brother’s, who was a working jeweller, and who gave them money
to buy clothes. They hid together for the night in a house in George
Street, St. Giles; and then Knight went home to his aunt’s in Hanover
Street, Long Acre, but was refused admittance. The same happened with
all his other relatives, and at last he was compelled to give himself
up in the manner described. Through information which he gave the
others also were apprehended.
The numbers on board the several ships at this time were over
six hundred; they were not classified; the distinctions of the
Penitentiary, as well as the dress, were done away with. All alike
were clothed in a coarse brown suit. They were kept in divisions of
seventy-five, with a wardsman in charge of each division; besides
which, a number of well-conducted prisoners were appointed to keep
watch during the night, who were to report any irregularity that might
occur during the watch. There was no employment for the prisoners: the
making of great-coats was tried, but it did not succeed. There was no
work to be got on shore, and it was doubtful whether these prisoners
could be legally employed for that. In fact the whole establishment
was considered a sort of house of recovery, and all the prisoners were
more or less under hospital treatment throughout. The general conduct
of the prisoners was “unruly to a degree, and in some instances to
the extent of mutiny.” This continued month after month through the
winter till well into the spring of 1824, when for a time, indeed, the
conduct of all improved. They were in hopes that they were about to get
some remission of their sentences, and feared lest misconduct should
militate against their release. They were all in full expectation that
something would be done for them by Parliament, in consequence of their
very great sufferings. The tenor of all their letters to their friends
was to the same effect. They were, however, doomed to disappointment;
for on the 14th April, Mr. Kellock states, “This morning I received
information that the bill for the labour and removal of the male
convicts under the Penitentiary rules, and at present on board the
prison ships, had received the royal assent. When informed that they
were to be removed to labour at the hulks, they received the news with
some degree of surprise and astonishment.” But the same day the exodus
took place, and they are reported to have gone away “very quietly and
resigned.”