IN PRISON AGAIN--I SEE THE PRISON DIRECTOR FOR THE LAST
TIME--GENTLEMEN-PRISONERS--A WILL FORGER--A "WARNING TO
OTHERS"--FENIANS--TREATMENT OF POLITICAL PRISONERS--ANOTHER
JAILBIRD.
Having recruited my strength in hospital, I was again discharged to
resume my work in prison. Shortly after my return to my old quarters, I
thought I would inform my friends that some of the companions I met
with at the commencement of my prison career, who had longer sentences
than I had, had been fortunate enough to obtain their liberty, and, in
addition, a free passage to Western Australia--which was worth about
20_l._--and that I wished them to try and do something to aid me
in my race for liberty. But my letter was again suppressed, and not
being able by this means to inform my friends of my wishes, I entered
my name once more as being desirous to see the director. I anticipated
meeting the regular visiting director, who very rarely refused a
prisoner the privilege of writing a petition to the Home Secretary, if
he had allowed the usual time (twelve months) to elapse since he had
obtained the privilege before. But I was even in this doomed to
disappointment, and instead of the director I expected to see, I found
myself confronted by the old sinister-looking friend I had been
introduced to on a former occasion. I told him on making my humble
request that I had not petitioned the Home Secretary for several years,
that, in fact, I had not petitioned on the merits of my case at all,
and that I would feel grateful if he would extend to me the privilege,
usually granted to all well-conducted prisoners, of petitioning the
Home Secretary.
Conscience did not seem to be utterly powerless within him, for his
eyes would not meet mine, they remained fixed on the desk before him;
but his head shook, and his lips muttered, "No." I pleaded for a moment
in beseeching tones which might have softened a heart of stone, but
Bassanio's appeal to Shylock was not more futile than mine to him. The
words and gesture with which my suppliant attitude was spurned, roused
all the manhood in me, and for an instant I felt as if I were a free
man and addressing my equal, and in language at once dignified and
firm, I requested a sheet of paper that I might appeal to the Board of
Directors. My altered mien and tone of voice, so unexpected, so unusual
in that secret court, arrested him; his hand trembled, he looked as
Felix might have done when he first heard of "righteousness, temperance
and judgment to come." My request was granted, and my last interview
with a prison director had come and gone. Two days afterwards I wrote a
letter to the board of directors, in suitable language, and addressed
to the chairman of the board, preferring my request. Month after month
passed away, but I waited for a reply in vain. At one time I would have
felt both surprised and annoyed that no notice had been taken of my
letter, but now I knew that I had only experienced the usual treatment
which prisoners receive who have justice on their side. I had now made
three, and only three requests to the officials during my prison
career, and all these had been denied, and I resolved to prefer no
more. I gave my mind healthy exercise in the composition of verses,
when I was not otherwise employed, and to a great extent forgot my
troubles in my puny flight to obtain a sight of the poets' mountain.
The last year of my imprisonment was marked by the arrival of a number
of Fenians, and the departure for freedom of one or two of the very few
prisoners whose society had been a pleasure to me. One of these had
been the editor and proprietor of an influential country newspaper, and
his crime was very similar to my own. He was a man of deep thought, and
far, very far, from being a criminal at heart. He was the best educated
man I met with in prison, and eminently qualified for writing a
treatise on the prevention of crime. The other had been in business in
London, and had brought up a large and respectable family. Having been
accustomed to mix in the society of some of the most eminent of the
city merchants and bankers, his company in such a place as a prison was
a great acquisition. After the departure of these two prisoners I had
only one intimate and intelligent companion left. His case excited my
sympathy, inasmuch as he was a very humble and penitent man, with a
sentence of penal servitude for life. A sentence, I believe, inflicted
not so much for the crime, but on account of the position the prisoner
formerly occupied in society, and "as a warning to others." This is a
formula which, in many cases, is made to sanction monstrous injustice,
and in all cases, I may say, is practically inoperative. The only
parties warned by the fall and punishment of such an one as the
prisoner I here refer to, are those in the same respectable position in
life, because they are the only parties who have it in their power to
commit the same crime. The punishment cannot warn those who are not in
and cannot attain to the position which makes the crime possible, and
who could not find the opportunity to commit it, even if they were paid
to seek it; then why punish such men as this prisoner the more
severely, because he was in that position?
I know it is urged in opposition to that view, that such men ought to
know better, that they have no excuse, and so on, but we must bear in
mind that all who do wrong know it, the poor and the ignorant as well
as the rich and educated, unless they are of unsound mind. Then again,
do those in a good position in society require more warning than those
who have no character or position to lose? It would be difficult, I
think, for anyone to maintain that position! The fact is, that
conviction merely, without any subsequent punishment at all, would be a
much more effective warning to the former class than the gallows even
would be to the latter! The thief plies his trade while the scaffold
frowns overhead, it does not deter him, but the lynx eye of a policeman
would, even although the penalty was a months' imprisonment instead of
the rope. As I have already more than once asserted, it is the fear of
_being caught_ that deters the thief, and this fear increases and
intensifies as we ascend the social ladder; in the case of all first
offenders of the law, the punishment is an after-thought, and on that
account, as well as on higher grounds, we ought to temper justice with
mercy in dealing with all first offenders, more especially with those
who offend against property only.
In the case of the prisoner referred to, his crime would not have
enriched him more than about twenty pounds, had he succeeded in
escaping detection. He committed will-forgery, and of course although
the amount was small, still it was a great crime, but I think there
might be other methods found for punishing such crimes than dooming the
man who commits them to perpetual slavery. I take no notice of the fact
that the prisoner in this case maintained his innocence, I assume that
he was guilty, and I consider his sentence to be unjust and
inexpedient. It is true that this man once sat on the bench and
dispensed justice himself; it is also true that he once entertained the
Queen of Great Britain in his own house, and these facts to some extent
determined the severity of his sentence; I find in them additional
reasons for leniency, inasmuch as only a very feeble warning is
necessary to prevent men in the position he occupied, and exposed to
the same temptation, from following in his steps.
I may now refer to the Fenians, of whom there were six who came to the
prison during the last year of my incarceration. They formed a class of
prisoners quite distinct from all the others, and their crime being
also essentially different, the observation I have made with reference
to the proper treatment of ordinary criminals do not apply to them. In
the phraseology of the convicts, they were a "rum lot."
They took rank between the "Aristoes," and the "Democrats," and formed
an "Irish Brigade." One of them died soon after his arrival: two of
then were head-centres, and enthusiastic in the rebel cause, another
was a literary man, Irish to the backbone, but ready to write for money
on any side of politics. The remaining two were soldiers: one an
American infidel, who cursed Catholics and Fenians alike for getting
him into trouble. He called the Pope, the King-of-the-beggars;
quarrelled with the literary Fenian on the subject of religion, and
true to his profession, enforced his arguments by giving his opponent
what the convicts called a punch in the ear-hole, and extracting the
claret from the most prominent feature in his "counting-house."
According to the literary man, Ireland had one great grievance, and if
that were remedied the Emerald Isle would grow greener than ever. "It
is a splendid country," he said "for growing tobacco, and if the Irish
were allowed to grow that fashionable weed they would be the most
prosperous of peoples." A vulgar Scotchman suggested that Ireland would
be all right if the Irish were "Scotched," and the Fenians all roasted
on a gridiron. The irascible Irishman replied that a Scotchman was the
incarnation of impudence--and hereupon a war of words ensued, until the
officers' attention was attracted and brought it to an abrupt
conclusion. The two head-centres appeared to be intelligent men, but
very unlikely to raise the standard, or maintain the dignity of an
Irish Republic.
One of them was said to be their ablest writer, but the other appeared
the most loyal and enthusiastic Fenian of them all.
With respect to the punishment of political offenders, the system of
restitution which I have advocated would not be suitable, nor would
imprisonment in the county prisons answer well. I should not object to
government acting as jailers over such men, but they ought to be
confined in a prison where they could exercise all their faculties for
their own support, and their sentences should be the "Queen's
pleasure". Some of those in prison might be liberated at once, others
not until the rebellion had been completely extinguished; and the
government, not the judge, should regulate the period of their
confinement. It may be said that the government have power to liberate
such men now, when they choose, which is true enough, but suppose that
the rebellion lasts, or breaks out afresh in four or five years, and
one of the most dangerous members of the fraternity becomes due for his
liberation, they have no power to retain him. This power they ought to
possess in all cases where the sacrifice of human life has been
perpetrated, attempted, or contemplated. I would not allow this
exceptional treatment of political prisoners to interfere, however,
with the fundamental principle I have laid down of making all our
prisons self-supporting.
I return to my numerous companions, the "regular" convicts, and the
following specimens of some of them whom I met during my last months in
prison may not be uninteresting. One day I opened the conversation with
a regular jail-bird, who had promised me some particulars of his
history some time before.
"Well, you promised to give me a little bit of your history this
morning, are you ready to begin?"
"Oh! I don't know where to begin, and I have seen so many ups and
downs, or rather so many downs and downs again, that I could not tell
you a quarter of my history."
"When did you begin to steal first?"
"When I was a kid; I was sent errands by my mother, she gave me money
to buy things for her, and I cheated her often, and a fellow that
cheats his mother, you know, is rather a hopeful youth. But to tell you
the truth I was partly spoiled by my mother, for she allowed me to do
as I liked, and when I grew up I became acquainted with others like
myself, and from prigging apples out of gardens I got to prigging
pockets, and from that I got to be a 'screwsman' and a 'cracksman.' My
first long sentence was seven years' transportation, and I never did a
day's punishment hardly. In those days the 'legs' went on board ship at
once, and were liberated or handed over to a master almost as soon as
they arrived. Well, I completed my time, was two years a whaler, and
went and settled in New Zealand, and that was the time I had most luck.
I was a brick-maker, and made money as fast as I had a mind almost. I
remained in New Zealand about fourteen years, and since I came home I
have never had a day's luck; I went on the 'cross,' and got four years;
after I had finished that bit, I went and lived with a 'moll' I knew,
and spent all my money. When it was done I went out to look for work,
and met with a young fellow who knew what sort of a 'bloke' I was, so
he says 'You are just the fellow I want, Bill; my master goes to the
bank to-morrow morning, and draws the wages money, after he draws it he
puts it in a drawer in his desk, and then goes out for about an hour,
and leaves the office without anyone in it. I have got two keys for the
door and the desk, but as I would be found out if I attempted to take
the cash, I will give you the keys, and we will divide the spoil. As
soon as the way is clear I will hang out a handkerchief and then you
will know that all is right.' Well I took the keys, and went to the
factory at the hour named, I waited some little time, and at last I saw
the signal agreed upon. Up I goes to the door, as if I had a right to
the place, marched boldly into the office, and before you could say
'Jack Robinson' I had the bag full of cash. Well, off I bolts to my
lodging, changed my clothes, and counts nearly one hundred pounds. I
got the half, as arranged, and never wrought a day's work till all was
spent--I spent about one pound per day. After that I took to hawking,
and I might have made a living at it but I got drunk, did a place over,
and got caught in the act, and here I am."
"How many robberies may you have committed?"
"Goodness knows! with the exception of the time I was in New Zealand
I've been always on the 'cross.'"
"What was the largest you ever got?"
"Five hundred pounds."
"I understand, most of these large robberies are 'put up' jobs, like
the one you have mentioned?"
"Yes, most of them are; the risk would be too great if that was not the
case."
"Have you ever been flogged?"
"Yes, severely."
"How did you like it?"
"Like it! why not at all, of course; who would like a flogging?"
"Would the chance of getting another flogging not deter you from
committing another crime?"
"I would as soon be 'topt' as be flogged now, because a good bashing
would kill me; but no fear of punishment would deter me, if I saw my
way clear to get off. I never do a job until I feel certain I'll
escape. If I'm caught that's my fault, and I must chance the
punishment, whatever it may be. Another 'legging' would kill me, but if
I cannot get a living at hawking I will be forced to go on the 'cross,'
and 'God help the man that tries to catch me.' These places are getting
so hot that a fellow had better commit murder and be 'topt' at once."
"If you had a safe where would you place it to be most secure?"
"In the street, and then your servants couldn't put you away."
"How would you carry your gold watch if you had one?"
"Well, I would have one with a patent bow, and I would take care not to
flash my chain. If you keep your chain out of sight you are pretty safe
as long as you are sober, and every man who gets drunk ought to lose
his watch; the thief should get a reward for doing that job. It's safer
of course to carry the watch in the fob than in the waistcoat pocket,
particularly if the chain is exposed, but it can easily be taken from
any part, if the chain is seen, unless you have a catch in your pocket
to hold it. You know the way we do is to twist the bow of the watch and
it breaks in a second."
"What do you get for a watch, usually?"
"From three to six pounds, according to the value of the watch."
"That seems a very low price to get for a good gold watch?"
"Yes, but five pounds, I assure you, is considered a good price by the
man who stands 'fence,' and if a fellow can get eight or ten in a day
he may do very well at that, but I have not done any 'buzzing' for a
long time, I am too old for that game, and I can't afford to run a risk
for five pounds. This hot work in prison will make thieves look after
larger stakes."
"I would recommend you very strongly to go on the square when you get
out, and not on the cross; you might easily make a better living by
hawking than at this weary work, at all events."
"I mean to go on the square as long as I can do without working, I am
not able for hard work and I do not intend to do any more, neither in
nor out of prison; but if I can't make a living honestly you may be
sure I shall not starve."