ANOTHER PRISONER--"HAPPY AS A KING"--CURE OF A DOCTOR--THE TOBACCO
AND FOOD EXCHANGE--ANOTHER JAIL-BIRD--CIVIL AND LAZY--UNDESERVED
REMISSION--PRISON DIRECTORS, AND HOW THEY DISCHARGE THEIR
DUTIES--I PETITION TO GO ABROAD ON "INSUFFICIENT GROUNDS."
Another prisoner I knew had been about thirty-two years in prison--he
was paralyzed, and if he had been allowed a little tobacco daily, would
have been as happy as a king, and never sought to leave the prison. He
generally sold most of his food to other prisoners for tobacco;
occasionally he was detected and punished, and I always observed that
he came out of 'Chokey' fatter than when he went in. Neither was his an
exceptional case in this respect. The penal diet, which mainly consists
of farinaceous food, will keep up the flesh, though not the strength,
as well as the regular diet. In Scotland I have seen prisoners get
stout in appearance on the oatmeal! but on the other hand they
generally broke out in boils, after being six or nine months without
other varieties of food; and I have also known very stout men lose two
or three stone in weight in as many months. I am inclined to believe
that tobacco is beneficial in cases of insufficient food. I do not use
it myself, nor do I think it beneficial to those who have plenty of
food, but the reverse. I have known prisoners, however, who had good
health in the Scotch prisons, when they used tobacco--and fortunately
for them, the weed and many other luxuries are easily obtained there,
if you only know the way and have money. If I had known at the
commencement of my prison career what I now know, I might have had
mutton chops daily, if I had been inclined to adopt some of the
'dodges' I afterwards learnt. I knew one prisoner who obtained his end
in a somewhat questionable way. He had made some complaint to the
doctor, who, as usual, paid very little attention to it. On seeing that
he was not to receive any medical aid by fair means, he resorted to
foul, and took up a certain utensil, full to the brim, and emptied its
contents in the face and over the shirt-front of the hapless
pill-compounder. The remedy was doubtless severe, but the disease was
chronic and the improvement marked and rapid. The prisoner got good
diet and was soon after in good health.
The price of tobacco at the "Thieves' Palace or Invalid Criminal
Hotel," for so the Surrey Prison was sometimes designated by the
inmates, was about one shilling per ounce, when I left. It seldom went
below 10_d._ At first when I arrived, there were yards of it in
one place or another, but the crime of having a bit of it found on the
person, being now severely punished, the convicts keep it out of sight
more carefully and are more on their guard, seldom having more on their
person than they can swallow. All 'fly' men who use tobacco can procure
it in any convict prison; but the 'flats,' have to deny themselves the
prisoners' greatest luxury, but even they sometimes get a taste of it
by selling their food. An inch of tobacco will fetch four ounces of
cheese, or mutton, it will also procure one and a-half pounds of bread.
Sometimes it is worth more, according to the business abilities of the
trader. The exchange of food is a daily custom. One prisoner with a
good appetite requiring double the allowance of food, will give four
ounces of cheese for twenty-three ounces of bread, or five ounces of
mutton for the same quantity. In this way the man with the capacious
stomach gets it filled, and the man with a dainty appetite gets better
food. All this sort of traffic is quite contrary to the prison rules,
and in the case of tobacco it is severely punished, but prisoners will
have it, and many of them do have it regularly. The prisoner referred
to at the commencement of this chapter was remarkable for his love of
the weed, and it was not often he missed a day without getting a taste
of it, at the sacrifice, however, of nearly all his food. He was only
fit for the jail or the workhouse, and would commit a theft rather than
deny himself a single meal."
"I will mention only another of my companions in hospital, whose case
will illustrate with what wisdom and discrimination the prison
directors and governors use the powers delegated to them, encouraging
the well-behaved and reforming the penitent convict!"
This prisoner had been a long time a convict. I asked him when he was
first convicted.
"In 1838," he replied.
"What sentence did you then receive?"
"I got two sentences, one seven years and the other eight years, making
fifteen together, and I did about seven years and eight months out of
the fifteen years.
"You got a free pardon, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"Did they not send you abroad, then?"
"My health was not very strong and I did my time at the ships."
"How did you like them?"
"Oh, very well, there was not so much of this stupid
humbugging-us-about system as there is now, but we were not kept so
clean. The Scots-greys were frequently on the march on the clothes of
the convicts."
"What was your next sentence?"
"Life."
"How many years did you have to do?"
"I got off on 'medical grounds' when I had done about two years and
a-half. I got 'copt' again, however, and was sent back to do 'life' a
second time; then I was liberated after I had done seven and a-half
years more, making ten years altogether out of two 'life's.'"
"What have you got this time?"
"Ten years."
"What do you intend to do when you get out this time?"
"Why, it's no use trying to get work; I am not able for anything very
hard now, and I think I shall make snyde half-crowns."
"You'll get caught again if you commence that game."
"No I won't. I did that when I was out last, and several times before,
and I have never been caught yet for that job. I can go and buy silver
spoons, and get tools that I can destroy in a few minutes."
"But why not go to the workhouse?"
"The workhouse! why, the workhouse in our country is as bad, if not
worse than this, and this is bad enough. No; I will never enter a
workhouse as long as I can get anything to steal. Some workhouses are
better than this; but then when you steal you are not always caught,
and you have yourself to blame if you're 'copt.' I will steal the very
first chance I get, as soon as I get out at the gates. They won't give
me work I can make a living at, and I'll not starve nor want a single
meal. I'll have better mutton the day I get out than we have here,
perhaps, and it will cost me nothing."
This prisoner was a thorough jail-bird, quiet and civil to his
officers, growling at his food, slow at work, but always doing a
little--a very good example of the type "civil and lazy." He received
his ten years' sentence about four years ago, when it was customary for
those who had revoked a licence to be refused a remission of sentence a
second time. But, in September, 1864, he was credited with
two-and-a-half years' remission, and in the summer of 1865 he was
credited with another three months, unasked, unexpected, and in the
latter case, quite inexplicable consistently with justice to others.
Indeed, the only explanation which can be given of this undeserved and
unexpected leniency is to suppose that the prison officials, like
shopkeepers, treat their "regular" customers best, and that they do not
see any reason why their business should not be encouraged, and the
prisons kept as full and quiet as possible by the same methods as other
men adopt who have to make an honest living by their trade. We have
seen the effects of cotton famine, and I am sure matters would have
come to a sad pass if we were to witness a _convict famine_, and to be
compelled to open our workhouse gates to the starving families of our
convict guardians.
It is very natural, and in a sense, laudable, that these latter should
seek by such means as are available to them to prevent the occurrence
of any such calamity. Hence, civil quiet ruffians, like the prisoner I
have referred to, are encouraged. They are an article with which they
have little trouble, and out of which they can make both profit and
capital.
My own case was somewhat different. Once out of prison I was not likely
to return; neither was I of the "sort" prison officials are accustomed
to manage. Moreover, my eyes were open, and my future was not quite so
certainly in their hands as to warrant them in feeling secure that what
I saw might not hereafter be described for the information of others.
The difficulties I experienced in gaining even the slightest concession
were great, and contrast strangely with the case I have mentioned. A
few months previous to my discharge from hospital, I gave in my name in
the usual manner as being desirous to speak with the visiting director.
I may here explain that there are four directors of convict prisons in
England. One of them had the manners and the reputation of a gentleman;
two of them may indeed have been men of ability, but their deportment
to the convicts was certainly not calculated to give them any more
exalted ideas than they already possessed of the civility and good
manners obtaining amongst those above them; the fourth was the beau
ideal of a bully, and his influence on the convict the statistics of
the prison will show to have been baneful in the extreme.
The powers of these directors are much more extensive than that of the
magistrates in our county prisons. In the latter, the visiting
magistrate will ask the prisoners if they have any complaint to make;
but this is not the case with the convict director, whom none can
approach without giving formal notice, and who generally leaves the
prison followed by the curses and maledictions of the majority of the
prisoners. In reality, the prison director holds absolute sway over
some thousands of his fellow men; there is no appeal from his
decisions; his court is held, and prisoners are sentenced and punished,
but there are no reporters for the press. The wholesome influence of
public opinion does not penetrate that secret and irresponsible
tribunal. Such being the case, it is to be lamented that we cannot or
do not find men to fill the office who are capable of discharging its
duties with fairness and civility. Before I sought an interview with
the director, I had written a letter to the late Mr. Cobden, in which,
after narrating the particulars of my case, I expressed the hope that
he might feel it consistent with his public duty to endeavour to
procure for me the same treatment with reference to liberation as had
been extended to other prisoners who had suffered the loss of a similar
limb at the same prison before me. This was considered improper
language, and the letter was suppressed. When called before the
authorities on this occasion, I asked them to point out all the
objectionable passages, in order that I might know what to omit in
writing it another time. But this they would not do, and all the
satisfaction I could get was that my letter might not only be shown to
the Home Secretary, but also be noticed in the House of Commons, and
that they might be blamed for passing it. The idea of my letter being
noticed in the House of Commons was new and not very agreeable to me,
but I also thought it very improbable that such would be the case, and
remarked in reply that there was nothing in the letter that a prisoner
could be justly blamed for writing, and that its publication could not
have an injurious effect on the public interest. This was not denied,
but the letter was suppressed nevertheless, and I presume, still lies
among many similar documents which have from time to time met with the
same fate.
On the morning following my application for an interview with the
director, I was informed that I could not see him on that occasion, as
he was expected that very day. This refusal appeared strange to me,
inasmuch as I knew of other prisoners who were permitted to speak to
the director who had not given in their names earlier than I did. There
was nothing for it, however, but to wait patiently for another month,
and to give in my name a second time, when I was permitted my first
interview with a prison director. I remember it well.
The director was seated at a desk in the governor's room, with the
governor likewise seated at his side. A large book lay on the desk, in
which the director wrote, or was supposed to write, what the prisoners
requested or complained of, what punishments he awarded, with all the
particulars regarding the offences, what answers he gave to complaints,
requests, &c. Not a very trustworthy book that, I should say. In front
of the desk stood two warders with staves in their hands, and between
these two men I was placed. I asked the director, very politely, if he
would be kind enough to look into my case, and recommend me to the Home
Secretary for the same leniency as had been extended to other three
prisoners, who had each lost a leg in prison from disease, shortly
before me.
"No prisoners have lost their legs from disease; there was some
accident connected with it."
This was the reply made to me, in a gruff, bullying tone of voice. I
then begged his pardon, and commenced to give the names of the
prisoners whose cases I had mentioned. But when the director saw that I
was familiar with the cases he would not permit me to proceed, and
refused peremptorily to look into my case. I then asked him to be kind
enough to allow me to petition the Home Secretary on the merits of my
case, as I petitioned the first time solely on the ground of having
lost my leg, and being in bad health.
"No, no, no! that will do. Call the next man."
And I was bundled out of the room, with the prayer on my lips that I
might never more be compelled to speak to such a man. Convicts, I may
add, are freely permitted to petition the Home Secretary every twelve
months; at this time nearly eighteen months had elapsed since I
petitioned first. To show that I had some grounds for my request, I
will mention the cases of the prisoners who had lost limbs at the same
prison shortly before me.
A.--Sentence nearly double mine. Crime, rape on his own daughter.
He had only been a short time in prison when his leg required to be
amputated, in consequence of disease in the knee-joint. He was told
by the doctor, before the operation, that he would be liberated on
recovery. Patient died.
B.--A regular thief, with many previous convictions. Lost a
diseased limb. Was offered his liberty by the authorities, and his
license was issued, but his father would not receive him. He
ultimately died in prison.
C.--A French housebreaker who had been in English prisons before.
Sentence, seven years. Lost his leg in consequence of disease in
the knee-joint, and recovered speedily. He was sent home a few
months after the operation, and before he had been so long in
prison as I had been at the time of my request.
I now felt rather unhappy under the severity with which I was treated,
and wrote a letter to my brother, in which I mentioned having seen the
visiting director; but this letter was also suppressed, and I was
warned not to mention the director's name in any letter, or inform my
friends of the suppressed letter to Mr. Cobden. I felt hurt at its
suppression, for its spirit was most unobjectionable; and the governor
seemed to think so too, for he allowed me a sheet of paper to write to
the director. My object in this letter was to obtain permission to
petition the Home Secretary for liberty to go abroad. At this time all
healthy and sound prisoners of my age, who had received the same
sentence, were about due for their "ticket," in Western Australia; and
as I did not see why the loss of a leg should cause me to be kept in
prison for years after they were liberated, I resolved to petition to
go abroad. I accordingly wrote my letter to the director, carefully
excluding any reference to my treatment in the government prison, so as
not to give any offence. An answer came back, in suspicious haste, that
I was to petition the Home Secretary in the very same language as I had
used in the letter. I was not exactly pleased with this, as I wished to
say something about the merits of my case; but there was no help for
it, and I must petition as I was told, or not petition at all. I
petitioned accordingly, in precisely the same language, merely using
the third instead of the first person singular. But it was of no use.
Indeed I do not believe the petition was ever sent to the Secretary of
State at all. All these documents go in the first instance to the
directors, and they are understood to deal with them as they think
proper.
Sometimes their machinery gets out of order, and the method by which
these things are done gets to be exposed. Two cases where answers were
received to petitions _which were never sent_, are very familiar to the
majority of convicts. In the one case the prisoner had drawn his paper,
but delayed writing the petition. The reply came notwithstanding, "Not
sufficient grounds." In the other case the petition was discovered
mislaid in the office, or some other part of the prison, after the
prisoner had received his answer. The official replies to petitions
appear to be stereotyped, and the names of the petitioners are merely
written on the margin. One reply does for any number of petitions, and
all the officials have to do is to write the name of the prisoner who
draws petition paper on the margin of the answer, about a month after
the paper has been issued. On the day I wrote the last petition I was
discharged from the hospital, and transferred down-stairs to a room
containing twenty-four prisoners.