Homo Natus De Muliere, Brevi Vivens Tempore Repletur Multis Miseriis.
Qui Quasi Flos Conterritur Et Egreditur; Postea Velut Umbra Disperditur.
It is not the purpose of this book, to begin a lamentation about my four
long, long months in the gaol. My health was ruined for ever: if that be
a consolation to any one; let him enjoy it. To say more is disgusting to
me and would prove so to any one, whose motto is 'Fair-play.'
A dish of 'hominy' (Indian meal), now and then fattened with grubs,
was my breakfast.
A dish of scalding water, with half a dozen grains of rice, called soup,
a morsel of dry bullock's flesh, now and then high-flavoured, a bit of
bread eternally sour--any how the cause of my suffering so much of
dysentery, and a couple of black murphies were my dinner.
For tea, a similar dish of hominy as in the morning, with the privilege
of having now and then a bushranger or a horse-stealer for my mess-mate,
and often I enjoyed the company of the famous robbers of the Victoria Bank.
But the Sunday! Oh the Sunday! was the most trying day. The turnkeys,
of course, must enjoy the benefit of the sabbath cant, let the prisoners
pray or curse in their cells. I was let out along with the catholics,
to hear mass. I really felt the want of Christian consolation. Our
priest was always in a hurry, twice did not come, once said half the mass
without any assistant; never could I hear two words together out of his
short sermon. Not once ever came to see us prisoners.
After mass, I returned to my cell, and was let out again for half an hour
among all sorts of criminals, some convicted, some waiting their trial,
in the large yard, to eat our dinner, and again shut up in the cell till
the following Monday.