ANOTHER GLANCE AT PRISON LIFE. PEACE’S NEW OCCUPATION.
While all these events were taking place Charles Peace was becoming
better acquainted with prison life. He was getting fairly sick of the
wearisome monotony of his solitary mode of existence, and although he
contrived to get through the quantum of work assigned to him each day,
he found it by no means an easy task.
Mat making was the hardest work done in the gaol in which Peace was
confined, and when this was supplemented by picking oakum, as it was
in his case, it became still more so.
But the work was not so severe a punishment as the solitary nature of
his existence. Even if he were not allowed to speak to his
fellow-prisoners, there would be some consolation in seeing others at
work besides himself in one of the large wards.
He had “taken stock,” as it is termed, of all the prison officials who
had come under his notice. The chief warder of that portion of the
prison where he was confined was a portly, pleasant-spoken man of the
military type.
He had been a petty officer in a regiment of dragoons, and had seen a
good deal of service. His name was M‘Pherson, and a good-natured,
good-tempered officer he was, but Peace only caught sight of him
occasionally.
The under-warder, who had him more particularly in his charge, was
rather of a saturnine disposition, and Peace felt that he was not a
sort of man he could take in his confidence.
He, therefore, made up his mind to bide his time.
Peace received the greatest kindness and attention from the Rev. John
Clay, chaplain of the gaol.
This gentleman gave him the very best advice it was possible to offer
under the circumstances.
Peace took the first opportunity afforded him of asking the chaplain
what he had best do to get transferred into one of the working wards
of the prison.
“It is out of my province to interfere in such matters,” said the
chaplain; “but your best plan will be to speak to M‘Pherson.”
“Oh! not the governor?”
“No; it’s left to M‘Pherson. He is a privileged warder, and does
pretty much as he likes in respect to the working arrangements.”
“Good,” muttered Peace to himself. “A nod’s as good as a wink to a
blind horse. I shall profit by your advice.”
So when he next caught sight of the head warder going his rounds, he
touched his cap respectfully, and said――
“I beg your pardon, sir, but can I have a word with you?”
“What is it, my man?” inquired his janitor.
“When is it likely for me to do my work in one of the wards?”
“When? Well, I don’t knew as I can tell you just now. Do you know any
trade? Can you work with the thread and needle, or what?”
“I am a carver and gilder by trade, but can do smith’s work as well,
and know something about weaving.”
“We’ll find you a billet shortly, and put you through your facings. Go
back to your cell; I’ll see what can be done.”
“I thank you, sir, I’m much obliged――very much obliged,” cried Peace,
again touching his cap.
The reader must not consider Peace fawning or cringing in addressing
the prison officer as “sir.” It was a rule in the service that
whenever a prisoner addressed an official or “officer,” as they liked
to be called, he was to use the word “sir.”
Peace had heard that a great deal of weaving was done in the gaol;
these were coarse goods, afterwards used for prison shirts, sheets,
towels, pocket handkerchiefs. The fabrics so manufactured are
afterwards made up in the tailor’s shop or sewing ward.
The bakery and kitchens were all worked by convicts under the
superintendence of special warders. Certain numbers of the warders and
assistants are sufficiently well skilled in the various crafts to
enable them to superintend and instruct those men who are placed under
their charge in their respective gangs or wards to learn or work at a
trade.
The chief warder made inquiries of his subordinates as to the general
demeanour and conduct of Peace; the account they gave was
satisfactory, and some two or three days after our hero’s interview
with him, M‘Pherson entered Peace’s cell, and said in a conciliatory
tone――
“Well, my man, as I have had a good account of you, I don’t see that
there is any reason for your not making yourself useful. Come this
way.”
Peace followed the speaker, and was shown into a ward where a number
of men were busily occupied on various articles.
A bundle of coarse cloth was thrown down by the chief warder.
“We are going to make a tailor of you,” he said, jocosely, to Peace.
“I am much obliged, sir, but I am not much of a hand at tailoring.”
“No matter, you are willing to learn, I suppose?”
“Oh yes, quite willing.”
“Very well, undo that bundle.”
Peace did as he was bid, and found various pieces ready cut out for a
similar jacket to the one he had on.
“I suppose you know what these are for?” said M‘Pherson.
“For a jacket.”
“You are quite right, my man.” Then, turning to a man beside him he
said, “Give him a needle and thread, and we shall soon see if he takes
kindly to the business.”
Peace was fitted with a thimble; they gave him a bunch of thread, a
piece of beeswax, a needle, and a pair of scissors.
“There you are――now you are set up in business,” said M‘Pherson, “and
can stitch away to your heart’s content.”
“We don’t expect very great things from you at first. See what you can
do; if you get into a muddle, you’ll have to undo your work and re-sew
it.”
“I am afraid――――”
“Oh, you must not be afraid. Stick to your business, and we’ll make a
good workman of you before your time is up. I shall give an eye to you
and see how you get on.”
“I am much obliged, sir, for all your kindnes,” cried Peace.
M‘Pherson put up his hands deprecatingly, and walked away.
He was a kindly-disposed man, and was generally liked by everyone in
the prison. He was never austere or overbearing in his manner; but he
would not be trifled with. If a man did not behave properly or gave
him unnecessary trouble, and did not conform to his rules, he very
soon got rid of him by getting him removed to some other ward.
He took a great pride in the men under his charge, and it was
considered quite a favour by most of the convicts to be placed under
his charge. He certainly contrived to have the pick of the convicts,
and weeded out those who were of obstinate or refractory dispositions.
Indeed, M‘Pherson was not inaptly termed the “old soldier,” and this
he certainly was in many ways.
He was an excellent officer, and his superiors were duly impressed
with this fact. He had his peculiarities (who has not?), but he was a
worthy, kind-hearted man.
Peace had felt assured of this when he first made his acquaintance,
and he strove by diligence and good conduct to propitiate him.
The jacket, however, was a little above his comprehension; but he did
his best, and while he was at work M‘Pherson came and gave him some
valuable hints, and he managed to put the garment together much better
than he had anticipated.
“It’s not at all bad for a first attempt,” said the warder. “You’ll do
after a bit; with a little more practice you’ll be a first-rate hand.
Persevere, my man; Rome wasn’t built in a day. You like this
occupation better than mat-making I suppose?”
“Oh, dear me, yes.”
“Very well, go on. If you are in any difficulty, ask me, and I’ll do
what I can to make a soldier――I mean a tailor of you.”
The convicts in the gaol where Peace was confined underwent a mild
course of treatment. The treadwheel had been entirely removed.
It was first established in 1826, and certainly effected some little
improvement on the previous system as a means of deterring from future
offence, but when views on prison discipline became more enlightened,
and the reformation of a prisoner became an object of greater
solicitude than his punishment, it was found that the treadwheel was
useless, and worse than useless. When the body was undergoing
compulsory and painful exertion the mind was irritated and harassed by
the ever-present consciousness of punishment.
The labour least liked by prisoners is the treadwheel. Its use is to
raise sufficient water for the use of the establishment to an immense
tank fixed in the roof.
Hand-pumping was at first tried with such questionable success that
the labourers were suspected of “shirking,” and to prove the charge
against them a jury of free workers were called in and set to the
task, but, having that blessed privilege, after a trial they dropped
the pump handles, and flatly declined “to have any more of it.”
The treadmill answers better, but it is fearfully hard work for the
treaders. The “wheel” itself, as at present used in some of our
prisons, extends the whole length of the shed by the wall and revolves
on an axle.
Attached to the wheel or rather drum are projecting pieces of board
six inches in width and about nine inches apart.
Overhead is a short bar for the operator to grasp with his hands, and
when the wheel is started he has no foothold and no rest until his
period of treading is at an end.
For full twenty minutes he must constantly first raise his right foot
and then his left as though he was walking upstairs, and this at a
rate of about sixty times for a minute.
Fancy having to ascend one thousand two hundred stairs in twenty
minutes――to ascend to the monument three times over in that short
time, and then to be released that you may sit in a box like a church
pew in the same shed and pick oakum for a further term of twenty
minutes by way of a rest, and then three times to the top of the
monument again?
And it is not as though the operator trod on the open wheel. He must
not speak to his neighbour――he must not see him.
It must be terrible work for a fat man. It is possible for such a one
to lose three stone in as many months.
Happily for Peace he was spared this dreadful infliction, as the gaol
in which he was confined did not at that time contain a treadmill;
therein he might deem himself fortunate.
His new occupation pleased him well enough, it was far better than
being cooped up in a narrow cell.
One day when he was deep in the mysteries of trying to put the
different pieces of the jacket together, and comparing them with his
own, which he had taken off, he was visited by an assistant
schoolmaster, who brought him a Bible, prayer and hymn-books.
He made him write a few verses of a psalm on a slate to see his
handwriting, and finding it tolerably satisfactory, told him he need
not attend school, but during the hour each week when the other
members of the ward were at their lessons, he would be at liberty to
read or write, and need not continue his work.
He also asked if he wished to write to any of his friends at the next
school day or default.
If Peace did not exercise the privilege within a month he would lose
it.
He, therefore, deemed it advisable to book himself to write the very
first opportunity.
He was anxious to write to his mother, and when the day arrived that
he was to write home he was directed to go to the end of the ward,
where he found a number of small tables――one of which with an
inkstand, a pen, and a piece of blotting-paper.
[Sidenote: No. 29.]
[Illustration: SEARCHING FOR A MURDERER.]
He took into his cell a sheet of regulation paper that had been
brought to him, on which was already written his name, official
number, and the date.
A few lines of printing gave him directions.
He was not to infringe; he was to confine his writing to the ruled
lines――not to write between them or to cross his letter; he was not to
give any information respecting any other prisoner or any prison news;
was not to write to any improper person, or use any improper language.
Every letter to or from a prisoner is examined by the deputy-governor,
who initials it and passes it on to the chaplain. He also reads and
initials it. Each strikes out anything he considers as infringing the
rules, or as improper either for a prisoner to know or communicate.
Knowing his letters to be subject to both an official and clerical
examination, Peace was as careful as possible as to what he said.
In the course of a few months he became a tolerably good workman at
the tailoring business, and M‘Pherson had frequent occasion to
compliment him. This worthy follow took a pride in his ward and the
people under his charge, and it was generally acknowledged that every
prisoner felt grateful to him, and did his best to keep the old
soldier in good humour. He was, in fact, a favourite with the ward. He
was always kind to the men under his charge, and it was very rare for
his kindness to be abused.
Every day for an hour the prisoners were marched down into the yard
for exercise, and some of the able-bodied men were set to work to pump
supplies of water into the large cisterns at the top of the yard.
Others were set to sweep and roll the gravel of the exercise grounds,
and sometimes all the stonework in which the iron railings were fixed
were cleaned by the prisoners.
The dinners were served in oblong-shaped tins, divided in the centre
into two compartments, with a lid to each.
The division in the centre came up so as to form a convenient handle.
The dinners were kept pretty hot, and the meat and vegetables were
well cooked――indeed there was but little to complain of as far as the
living was concerned. The food was plain and homely, but wholesome,
and the meat was of good quality. Sauces were, of course, not thought
of, but there was a plentiful allowance of fresh vegetables.
Cabbages and parsnips were frequently served out, also rice, peas
pudding, harricot beans, and preserved potatoes.
One hour was allowed for dinner, and a bell rang at twelve, and
frequently in Peace’s ward all the dinners were served out before the
bell began.
Many of the trades, such, for instance, as tailors and shoemakers,
“knocked off” work at six o’clock, and then got their supper, after
which they retire to their cells, but they must do some kind of work
until the bell sounds eight o’clock, when they may cease, and are
privileged to spend the ensuing hour in reading or meditation, or
washing themselves, when the bell tolls again, and a clatter of
hammock hooks, as long and precise almost as the grounding of arms at
a military review, resounds through the corridors, and the prisoners
may go to bed.
Reading during this hour is of course a great solace, and cannot be
too highly estimated.
With some prisoners it is a necessity, and if the authorities were to
deprive the better class of convicts of this boon many of them would
doubtless be driven insane.
When the prisoner can read the beneficial workings of the mind are
much aided. Although Peace was not what might be termed a great
reader――that is, when outside the walls of a prison――he fully
appreciated the benefit to be derived from good books during his
lonely hours in a prison cell.
At this time all sorts of systems of prison discipline were tried in
the gaols throughout the United Kingdom.
Firstly, there was the discipline of Pentonville, now mitigated by
horticulture, &c.; secondly, there was the academic discipline, which
flourished for so long a time at Reading; thirdly, there was the
semi-cellular system, then in partial operation in Birmingham;
fourthly, there was _encellement_ with hard labour at crank, and
similar contrivances enforced at Winchester, and in a still more
primitive fashion at Leicester; and fifthly, there was a “mixed
system” still working with great success, and no drawback, at Preston
and elsewhere.
All these systems and the effects upon the prisoners were submitted to
the consideration of a committee who had been appointed by Government
to inquire into the subject.
After examining many witnesses, and long discussions, the committee
reported strongly in favour of the discipline of Preston.
At Great Wakefield prison, for instance, the justices had begun with
Pentonvillian rigour, and in less than two years adopted all the
Preston modifications.
But still the committee hankered after some method of treatment more
sharply penal than that at Preston seemed to be.
The influence of able editors crops up in many portions of the report,
which was an attempt to make the unpopular system satisfy the cry for
cheapness and austerity.
The Reading plan, therefore, of plenty of sleep and study, with no
manual employment except by way of “recreation” was thoroughly
repudiated, and some obnoxious resolutions passed in favour of more
work, coarser food, and less artificial warmth.
Unfortunately, however, the committee went further, and voted that
hard labour was incompatible with individual separation, citing
Leicester gaol as a model for imitation.
In this gaol prisoners had cranks in their cells, and were forced to
turn the handles 14,000 times a day, and if they refused to work they
were starved or flogged into submission.
This discipline had produced the notable result of frightening all the
tramps from the neighbourhood.
The justices flattered themselves that some of their prisoners were
reformed; as, however, the re-committals for serious offences were not
diminished, they were in this respect probably sanguine.
In fact the crank variation of the separate system was the very thing
which the public had been crying for. It satisfied the requirement of
able editors and the justices.
It was in vain that Messrs. Clay, Field, and others protested that the
cell without any addition was already penal to the very verge of
safety; that Mr. Osborne, of Bath, who spoke from what he had seen in
his own gaol, stigmatised crank labour as torture, and foretold the
inevitable consequences.
The committee adhered to their opinion, the public approved, and even
Sir J. Jebb, who should have known better, appeared as quite a
connoisseur in patent cranks, and spoke strongly in their favour.
To such august authority the magistrates in various districts bowed at
once, sharpened their discipline, and laid in a stock of cranks.
It was solemnly believed that there was a reformatory as well as a
deterrent potency in the appointed 14,000 revolutions per diem, yet to
warrant such a belief there was not even the plea that the irksome
toil was productive.
It was impossible to find grist for all the penal mills, and the
justices were therefore compelled to put their rogues to barren air
grinding.
Among the earliest converts to the efficacy of sharp discipline in
general, and penal air grinding in particular, were the borough
justices of Birmingham.
They were but acting in perfect accordance with the popular philosophy
when they ousted Captain Maconochie, and proceeded to rectify his
benevolent eccentricities by appointing a strict disciplinarian, duly
instructed to adopt the deterrent method.
At the end of two years the public became anxious that the new
governor should give an account of the management of the gaol.
There were ugly rumours afloat which called for immediate
investigation.
The sickening tragedy brought to light by the inquiry elicited a
unanimous outburst of indignation from the whole country.
The doctrines of the deterrent system had required, it seems, that a
certain miserable lad should turn the handle of a stiff crank 10,000
times a day.
Being unwilling, or much more probably unable, to perform the task, it
was necessary, in vindication of the deterrent system, to starve him
into submission.
As this was found to increase both the unwillingness and the inability
of the poor boy, it then became inevitable (as the deterrent system
was on the verge of a breakdown) to strap him tight to his cell wall
for hours together in the attitude of crucifixion, and when this
failed to supply the requisite will or muscle――nay, rather to occasion
deadly faintings――then drenching with cold water, as an immediate
restorative, and a further inducement to exertion, were superadded.
The devices of the deterrent system were not even then exhausted, but
the unhappy boy’s powers of endurance were, and, therefore, he
rendered further measures unnecessary by hanging himself.
Other stories illustrative of the method of unkindness nearly quite as
revolting as this were raked up in the course of the inquiry, and not
a few reminiscences of minor atrocities.
The history of this case is most powerfully and graphically given in
Mr. Charles Reade’s novel of “It’s Never Too Late to Mend.”
The governor was very properly dismissed.
As a rule felons will submit to these hateful punishments, but the
exceptions are numerous.
Some men will rebel, and force the “felon tamer” to some means of
further punishment, and the duel between felon and gaoler once begun
will be grimly fought――the one, unaided and reckless, will struggle
with wild-beast fury; the other, put on his mettle and sorely
irritated, will harden into ferocity.
Such a conflict will always terminate either in the prisoner’s victory
or else his murder or suicide.
When the inquiry at Birmingham gaol was over it was found advisable to
submit its prototype at Leicester, the model of crank discipline, to a
similar scrutiny. The second investigation was not much more
favourable than the former to the deterrent system.
It appeared that there too the felons and the felon breakers had been
driven into fierce collision.
And if the inquiry had been extended (as it well might have been)
other prisons would have been found in which gaolers and turnkeys had
been forced to strange extremities in their endeavours to coerce
stubborn convicts into conformity with a radically pernicious system.
Of course the investigations at Birmingham and Leicester produced a
reaction against the method of unkindness, and the nation has grown
wiser by experience. Cranks, and such like contrivances, have been
abolished in most, if not in all of our prisons.
But Peace was not subject to the miserable labour on the treadwheel,
or the still more wretched employment of turning the handle of the
crank, and all things considered, he had very little to complain of.
The chaplain paid him occasional visits, and gave him the best advice.
It would, indeed, have been well for him if he had given greater heed
to the counsel of this kind and considerate minister, who, during his
long official services, strove earnestly and persistently to improve
the moral tone of those who came under his humanising influence.
The chief warder, Mr. M‘Pherson, was always busy on Saturdays. Just
before dinner was served each man had a bundle of clean clothes handed
him――shirt, stockings, towel, and pocket handkerchief; and every
alternate Saturday flannel drawers and vest.
These he had to put on during his dinner hour, and after the meal was
over the dirty things were collected.
M‘Pherson had, on these occasions, always something to say, some
pleasant remarks to make to one or more of the men under his care. He
had, of course, his favourites. Those who behaved well, and gave the
least trouble, he took the greatest notice of; but he was uniformly
kind and pleasant to all.
On Saturday, also, the prisoners were supplied with the regulation
allowance of bath brick, cleaning rags, and every alternate Saturday a
portion of soap which would suffice them for a fortnight.
Sunday was a quiet day; there was no hard work, but the convicts had
to go to church twice, and to exercise in the afternoon.
The warders presented themselves in full dress, and those who had
served in the army or navy displayed their medals. M‘Pherson had
several, and generally cut a most respectable figure on the
Sabbath――not that there was any pride or ostentation about him. He
felt it a duty to show the honours he had won in the service of her
Majesty, for whom he had a great reverence.
Indeed, there was not a more loyal man in the prison, or indeed
anywhere else, than the “old soldier,” as he was termed.
Peace, as we have seen, was a cunning rascal; he could dissemble and
“play the good boy” with the best of them, and he managed to
ingratiate himself in the good graces of M‘Pherson.
Artful old soldier as the latter was, Peace was more than a match for
him as far as dissimulation and hypocrisy was concerned.
In our former chapters on prison life we gave the reader a
circumstantial account of a “light-fingered family.” An unexpected
confirmation of the statements of O’Brian, the Clarkes, &c., with
respect to girl pickpockets, was supplied by the late Mr. Thomas
Wright, of Manchester.
That gentleman informed the chaplain of Preston gaol that while
pursuing his benevolent labours amongst the outcast and friendless in
the New Bailey, he came in contact with a little girl who had been
brought over some time before from Dublin, and was apprehended for a
robbery from the person of a lady under circumstances which showed
great skill and long practice in the child, and at the same time that
she was an instrument――an apprentice pickpocket, working for concealed
employers.
A part of Flanagan’s account seemed to bear directly on this child’s
case, and Mr. Wright put down in writing what he remembered of it.
We quote his words to prove that these poor infants are sacrificed
body and soul to Mammon in his most hideous form.
Mr. Wright says――
A little girl, whilst an inmate of Salford Gaol, related that she had
been brought from Dublin by two women on purpose to pick pockets. They
dressed the poor child in the character of a little maid, and, thus
attired, she followed a lady into a silversmith’s shop, in
King-street, and succeeded in extracting from her pocket a purse,
which contained twenty sovereigns.
She afterwards followed a lady into the fish market, and again
succeeded in extracting this second lady’s purse, with which she was
making off, when the lady discovered her loss.
The fishmonger said no one had been near her but her little maid. She
declared that she had no little maid with her.
The child was overtaken and placed in the charge of a police officer.
When searched she had upon her the two purses. She was tried at the
following sessions and sentenced to six months’ imprisonment.
I apprised her father a little before her liberation. He came over,
and I have not since heard of them.
Some time back much of the crime of this description was committed by
children, most of whom came from Ireland.
Flanagan’s account is this――
These girls are natives of Dublin. When at home they live in
Thomas-street, in the Liberty. When they come to Manchester they are
quite plain in their dress, and no person on earth would suspect them.
I believe there is nowhere their equal in being expert at ladies’
pockets. When they first came to Manchester they stole a large amount
of money in shops and omnibuses.
When an omnibus leaves Market-street, for Oxford-road, Cheetham-hill,
or elsewhere, they get into it, and being dressed like any gentleman’s
girls, with one of those French baskets in their hands, nobody
suspects them; they get close beside a lady, and contrive to place
their shawl or mantle over the lady’s dress pocket, which shades their
hand; the rest is an easy matter.
When these two girls and their mother and myself were having a glass
of liquor, they told me they often sent twenty pounds to their parents
in Dublin.
To the progress of civilisation in one particular is attributable much
of the increased crime as regards pocket picking.
Railways, while they have added to convenience and luxury, to a great
extent have also increased the demand for skilled thieves――so much may
be done by them in trains, in the stations, and at the attendant
omnibuses.
Yet surely these encouragements and facilities to crime, arising out
of the railway system, are susceptible of counteraction.
It is well deserving of note that a fashion in dress may lead to a
fearful increase of crime and criminals.
Flanagan and the Clarkes, as well as other “authorities” on the
subject, declare that ladies’ outside pockets cause many boys and
girls to begin “wiring.”
For this department of the thief’s business men and women――unless of
low stature――are unfitted, and therefore the master thief, who has
become too tall for practice, takes on pupils, by whose gains he is
maintained in “style.”
“At this time,” Flanagan affirmed, “there were at least ten times as
many boys ‘wiring’ as there were when I was young. Kelty, who has been
up to everything for twenty years, trains these boys. He has pointed
to a lad and said to me, ‘There’s one of my bringing out!’”
We have necessarily branched off from the more immediate purpose of
our story for the purpose of putting the reader in possession of many
noteworthy facts connected with the history of crime and criminals.
The commixture of ignorance and knowledge――ignorance of good and
knowledge of evil――brought to light by the examination of prisoners,
is astounding even to those who might be supposed accustomed to
it――viz., to governors and chaplains of gaols――while it is
unfortunately a matter of incredulity or indifference to those who,
would they only believe it or look into it, might exercise great
influence in bringing about a better state of things.
Many of the great pickpockets, whose names we have recorded, were
associates of Peace, who, however, was never known to work with them
in their vocation; he never practised this branch of the profession,
but confined himself to robberies in dwelling-houses.
Even while working out his sentence in gaol, Peace had an opportunity
afforded him of indulging his natural fondness for birds.
For some unascertained reason, two squares of glass had been removed
from the window-frame of his cell. Peace placed some crumbs of bread
on the ledge, and these soon attracted the notice of the birds.
First of all a few sparrows found out the dainty crumbs, and alighted
on the stonework and picked them up.
The prisoner inside was greatly cheered by the companionship of his
little feathered friends, who, in a short time, understood that food
was placed there for them, and therefore paid regular visits to the
grating of the prisoner’s cell.
There is a well-known print called “Liberty and Captivity,” in which a
bird is depicted singing outside the window of a prison, while the
captives within are listening to his matin.
This might apply to Peace. His sparrows did not sing, but they
chirruped most incessantly. By degrees they got bolder, and sharpened
their beaks against the iron bars of the grating. These saucy little
creatures afforded him considerable amusement.
Throughout his life he had always evinced a fondness for birds and
animals, which, to say the truth, was a remarkable characteristic for
a man of his hardened nature.
Any change from the daily routine of prison life was, as a matter of
course, a great boon to the convicts, and when M‘Pherson informed the
men under his charge that many of them would be told off to whitewash
the gaol they were much pleased at the prospect of the new employment.
Peace was to be one of the party, for the season for whitewashing had
come, and the prison was to be done throughout.
The work was by no means laborious――indeed it was deemed a sort of
pastime by the men who were appointed to perform the task.
The wash was made with lime, and as is usual in such cases, large flat
brushes were used.
Peace soon proved himself to be an expert in the use of the whitewash
brush.
He had also a good knowledge as to mixing the materials used in the
process.
While engaged with the whitewash gang he obtained a good deal of
information about the interior arrangements of the prison.
He and his fellow-workmen were at work for more than a week on the
walls of the gaol.
Three days were devoted to the passages and in the sick wards, and
three days in the women’s wards.
But they saw nothing of the female prisoners, as before they went to
work the ward to be whitened was cleared out, not a single occupant of
it being allowed to remain.
They had, however, left several memorials on the walls of their
prison-house.
A good deal of objectionable language and wretched scrawls disfigured
the walls of the cells occupied by the male prisoners. Many of the
sentences displayed thereon were blasphemous, indecent, and profane.
The practice of scratching their names and writing all manner of
things, doggrel lines and coarse couplets, on the walls, wheresoever
they may be, seems to be a confirmed habit with the people of this
country, both high and low. Every public building furnishes us with
instances of this stupid mania. As it is in the outer world so it is
in gaols and other public institutions. Take, as a sample, the
following――which, with many others of a like nature, were found in the
men’s cells――
Whillem Meagram came here from the steel
May 10th 1854――5 years for slinging his hook――
Him as prigs vat isent hisen――
When hes cotched vill go to prison――W. M.
Some of these inscriptions proved to be unusually amusing to the
whitewashers.
Peace, however, had never evinced any predilection for indulging in
this foolish propensity, and he professed to be greatly disgusted at
the language made use of by the women on the walls. Many sentences
were appended which were grossly indecent, and in some instances these
were illustrated artistically. Peace had heard that when a woman is
bad she is more debased than many of the opposite sex, but he was
under the impression that a certain amount of modesty lay dormant in
the most abandoned.
When he saw what the female persons had scratched upon their cell
walls the illusion was dispelled.
He was surprised――as well he might be――that such disgraceful
inscriptions and drawings were allowed to remain on the walls.
When separate confinements were first introduced as a system in this
country, public feeling was opposed to it in no slight degree.
The “solitary” cell was held up for disapprobation, not merely as
being too severe, but as driving its miserable inmate to insanity.
In the course of time, however, the cell was regarded more favourably;
its special worth as a prime agent in promoting a criminal’s moral
amendment became pretty generally admitted; and one of the able and
powerful exponents of general feeling――tacitly mentioning the
cell――distinctly advocates the duty of aiming at the reformation of
the culprit.
No one can expect that any system of imprisonment can by human means
be successful in every case, but it does not follow that the measures
adopted in “separate” prisons are in the greater number of instances
wholly inefficacious.
Every precaution is taken that no man shall make his escape, and the
first care naturally is that he should not be possessed of any tool or
instrument of any kind that is at all likely to be made use of for
such a purpose.
Constant care and watchfulness is therefore kept over the prisoners.
Peace would have gladly availed himself of any chance of setting
himself free, but it was too plainly demonstrated to him that any such
hope would be altogether illusionary.
He found from experience that the watchful eyes of his janitors were
constantly on those who were under their charge.
Always while the men were bathing the officers examined their
clothing.
One day, on going in after exercise, Peace was surprised, on passing
the doors of several cells, to see everything in the greatest
confusion.
“Something’s up,” he murmured to himself; “I wonder what it can be?”
He was mistaken, however; the warders were only using necessary
precaution.
On reaching his own cell he found that some one had been placing
everything in “admired disorder;” books were thrown in one corner,
bedding was unrolled――everything in his cell had been displaced, and a
very close inspection had been made of each separate article.
His first impression was that some suspicion attached to him.
Possibly the warders were under the impression that he had concealed
some instrument. He did not care for this, as any such supposition was
altogether erroneous. He deemed it expedient to take no notice of the
overhauling of the articles in his cell.
He learned afterwards that it was by no means an uncommon practice for
the warders to institute a rigid search in the cell in the presence of
the prisoner, who also had to undergo a personal inspection.
This was generally done after the following fashion. Two officers
would enter a prisoner’s cell――one stands before and the other behind
the culprit, who is made to strip off every article of clothing he may
have on.
The one in front examines each article, and throws them one by one on
the floor of the cell.
The warder behind watches intently to see that the prisoner does not
“palm” anything――in other words, to conceal by sleight of hand any
contraband article he might wish to conceal.
Such a thing as a rusty nail being found on a prisoner would excite
suspicion, and get him into serious trouble.
It would be taken for granted that he secreted it for the purpose of
making his escape upon the first opportunity that presented itself.
We have in an earlier chapter alluded to “tobacco” being conveyed into
prisons. This article does find its way into our convict gaols, and
this “noxious weed,” as non-smokers term it, is a constant source of
annoyance and trouble.
Smoking is altogether out of the question, one puff from a pipe or
cigar would be detected in a moment; none of the prisoners even have
the temerity to smoke, but many of them do continue to get tobacco
which they chew.
The question is where does it come from? Who brings it into the
prison? No one is able to tell; every precaution is taken to prevent
such an article finding its way into gaols, but the fact remains that
money and tobacco are smuggled in, notwithstanding the strict
surveillance exercised by the authorities.
Prisoners will have tobacco, and tobacco cannot be got without money,
so that both must be obtained, and the result has been that the more
rigorous the inspection the greater the ingenuity required to evade
it, and it would be impossible for the convicts to do this without the
assistance of the warders. These men are not proof against bribery, as
was evident upon the examination of Kurr and Benson.
These astute rogues argued from experience that every man had his
price.
Some of our prison warders are beyond the reach of temptation, while
others are open to a bribe.
The “pals” or friends of a prisoner soon find out an official who is
assailable, and set about “squaring” him――they come “the artful
dodge,” as they term it, and arrange with some warder to “sling their
friend in quod” some “’bacca.”
But few words are spoken after this arrangement is made. A sign is
given to the friend outside that his request has been attended to.
As much as ten shillings, or, in some cases, a sovereign, is known to
have been given for the supply of an ounce of “bacca.” It only costs
the warder a few pence, the profits arising from the supply of the
“contraband” articles are of course enormous.
The solitary cell is a sore trial to prisoners under the most
favourable circumstances, for, as a rule, men of this sort are
gregarious. But its painful monotony and loneliness are doubly hard to
the one who is denied the use of the weed, which, from long habit, has
become almost essential to his very existence.
No one unacquainted with the use or abuse of the fragrant weed can
imagine for a moment the sacrifices its devotees will make to procure
it.
Sometimes a warder who deals in the article is “bowled out,” then he
gets into trouble――the chances being that he will lose his situation
and be sent adrift without a character; but, as a rule, the prisoners
who get supplies this way seldom or ever “round” on the warder; but
there is this danger of discovery: The prisoner who gets tobacco may,
perchance, in a generous moment give a piece to a fellow prisoner, or
a mate “smells” it and discovers what he has got.
The secret once so divulged, his mate soon finds out who the “blooming
screw” is that “slung the smash”――that is, brought in the much-coveted
article. Then the unfortunate warder is likely to come to grief. All
goes on smoothly enough till the two mates “chip out,” or the
“blooming bloke,” the obliging officer, falls foul of the possessor of
the secret, not dreaming that the man knows anything about the
contraband trade he has been engaged in.
The prisoner, smarting under some sharp act of discipline on the part
of the tobacco-supplier, determines upon having his revenge, and
humiliating his janitor, he quietly bides his time till the chief
warder or governor comes round, when he asks to speak to him, and
“blows the gaff.”
A circumstance of this nature took place with a man who was confined
in a cell close to the one occupied by Peace. The man was a moody,
contemptible ruffian, and had given some trouble to one of the warders
in charge of that portion of the building. When M‘Pherson came round
he accused the officer of having conveyed “’bacca” to one or more of
the prisoners.
“It is against the rules of the prison to supply tobacco to
prisoners,” said M‘Pherson. “Send Mr. Morgan here!”
Mr. Morgan, the accused officer, presented himself.
“How’s this, sir?” said M‘Pherson in an indignant tone. “No. 74
accuses you of supplying tobacco to the prisoners. What have you to
say to the charge?”
“It is not true, sir,” Morgan replied.
“I hope it is not, sir――I hope and trust it is not,” returned
M‘Pherson, who was, however, under the impression all the while that
it was, although he appeared to think otherwise.
“It is quite true, sir,” returned No. 74, “‘Cakey’ gave me some.”
“Who is Cakey?”
“No. 89, sir,” said Morgan.
“Well, we will hear what he has to say.”
No. 89 was brought forward. He was asked if Morgan had supplied him
with tobacco.
“No, sir, he never has,” replied Cakey.
It was a nickname he went by. He was staunch and true, and swore most
positively that the charge was without foundation.
No. 74 said that Cakey had given him a portion of the tobacco and that
Peace had seen him do so.
Peace was now brought forward and interrogated. He denied having seen
any tobacco in the possession of No. 74, or any other prisoner.
“We’ve only got your bare word for the fact, which is contradicted by
two other prisoners,” said M‘Pherson, addressing himself to No. 74.
“In addition to this, your word is not of much value, seeing that you
are a notorious liar. Take the men back to their cells.”
The men were locked in their respective cells, then M‘Pherson turned
to Morgan, and said――
“You must be more careful, sir. If anything of this sort is brought
under my notice again, I shall report you.”
Having delivered himself of this speech, he turned on his heel and
walked away. Morgan felt that he had had a narrow escape.
The chief warder, who was perhaps one of the most kindly disposed men
in the whole prison, did not forget the circumstance, which, however,
he never afterwards alluded to.
He took an early opportunity of getting No. 74 transferred to another
part of the gaol, and so the matter ended.
We have devoted rather a lengthy chapter to Peace’s prison life, as
the outside public know but little of the inner working of our convict
prisons, and the various modes of discipline practised therein, but we
must now turn to other scenes in this life drama.