PEACE’S DISCHARGE FROM PRISON――THE RETURN HOME.
We must pass over the period of Peace’s incarceration as a convict,
and take up his history from the time of his discharge.
As the long looked-for day began to approach the prisoner, as is usual
in such cases, was permitted to grow his hair.
Three months’ permission is given for this purpose; the regular
once-a-week “clip” is no longer insisted on, as the prisoner has
become what in common parlance is termed “a permission man.”
As the weeks pass by the hair grows. Peace had never at any time an
abundant crop, and at this period he was nearly bald. Nevertheless,
the few straggling hairs he had left were suffered to grow their full
length.
One fine morning No. 8642 (George Parker, seven years’) was called out
on parade. Peace fell out when he heard these welcome words. He was
marched before a principal warder and the governor, and interviewed as
to his intentions on discharge.
He was asked kindly enough by the governor where he was going to take
his discharge to? What occupation he thought of following? If he had a
wife, or family, or friends?
Peace said he was desirous of returning to his native town, Sheffield,
in which place he had a wife.
A kindly admonition as to his future good conduct was given by the
governor, who informed him that a gratuity would be given him upon the
day of his release.
But a certain ceremony had to be gone through. Peace was drafted off
with a batch of other permissive men to the photographers’ room, where
the whole party had their cartes de visite taken.
On the Saturday morning preceding the day of liberation, another
ceremony had to be gone through. The prisoner is taken to the
store-room, called the tailors’ cutting-room; here he has to change
his clothes, his prison garb is taken off, and, in its stead, a suit
of clothes is furnished him, in which he is to enter the world again.
Peace was glad enough to have a new rig out, after which he was
marched off by a prison official to an open space of ground adjoining
the gaol; at this place some fifteen or twenty persons were assembled.
This assembly of persons consisted chiefly of the detective police,
who inspect minutely the man who is about to be discharged.
Peace bowed to the throng of detectives, who made some jocular
remarks, the nature of which our hero understood but too well. “Ah, I
see, No. 8642, name George Parker, sentence seven years.”
“Yes, sir,” returned Peace; “that’s quite correct.”
“Convicted of burglary, sent here from Millbank?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you going when you obtain your discharge?”
“To Sheffield.”
“Well, you will have to report yourself every month; don’t forget
that, Parker; if you do, you’ll get into trouble.”
“I won’t forget, sir.”
“Good.”
“Have you a business?”
“Certainly.”
“What is it?”
“I am a picture-frame maker by trade.”
“And a burglar by profession, eh?” and at this sally the speaker and
his companions burst out into a hearty laugh.
“I’ve been in trouble, as you all know,” cried Peace, in an angry
tone; “but that is no reason for my being jeered at. When a man’s down
kick him is an old saying.”
“Well, then, we’ll say no more about it,” said the officer. “I didn’t
know you were so thin-skinned. Take my advice, stick to your business,
and don’t get into trouble again.”
“Thank you, I will remember your warning. I will not get into trouble
again.”
After this Peace was fitted with a pair of boots, and his outfit, if
it could be so termed, was now complete. He was informed that he would
be presented with a gratuity of three pounds before he went out of the
prison.
Any sum would be, of course, acceptable to begin the world again with.
Three pounds is not a large capital, it must be admitted, but it is
better than nothing.
In the due course of time Peace received a visit from the stewards’
clerk, his object being to obtain our hero’s signature on a stamped
receipt for the whole of the munificent gratuity, and his signature
also to several forms which he has to sign without revealing the
contents of the aforesaid forms. This is a matter of no very great
moment, for if he did peruse them the probability is that he would not
be much the wiser.
[Sidenote: No. 46.]
[Illustration: PEACE RUSHES FORWARD AND MAKES A FULL BUTT AT MR.
DYSON.]
After this ceremony had been gone through the clerk handed Peace a
copy of “Her Majesty’s license to go at large during the remaining
portion of his term of penal servitude,” in which her Majesty hereby
orders George Parker, within thirty days from the date of this order
to report himself, which is signed by the Home Secretary or his
deputy.
This licence is given subject to the conditions endorsed on the
document, upon the breach of any of which it shall be liable to be
revoked, whether such conduct is followed by conviction or not. The
conditions are of course very stringent; nevertheless, they are but
too frequently evaded or broken despite the surveillance of the
police. The reader will understand this when he is informed that the
conditions are as follows:――“The holder shall preserve his licence and
produce it when called upon to do so by a magistrate or police
officer.” This for his own safety he generally does. “He shall abstain
from any violation of the law.” This he does not always do, for
ticket-of-leave men are constantly getting into trouble through
lawless acts. “He shall not habitually associate with notoriously bad
characters, such as reputed thieves or prostitutes.”
It frequently happens――more frequently than otherwise――that licence
men do associate with disreputable characters.
“He shall not lead an idle, dissolute life without visible means of
obtaining a livelihood.”
Most discharged convicts profess to have some honest calling, or a
“stall” they term it, and it is putting too fine a point on the matter
to dispute this fact for the police, in most instances, are well aware
that the business or calling which these men profess to follow, is
nothing more than a mere sham, but it is out of their power to prove
this.
If his licence is forfeited or revoked in consequence of a conviction
for any offence, he shall be made to undergo a term of penal servitude
equal to the portion of his term which remains unexpired when his
licence was granted.
We have discussed the question of licences, or men let out on
ticket-of-leave, in a former chapter of this work.
“The ticket-of-leave men,” as they are termed, have been an endless
source of trouble to the honest citizen and the police, and, as we
pointed out, the whole system wants remodelling.
Another printed paper was handed to Peace which had superscribed on it
his name and number. After this the following admonition was given:――
“Take notice, you are required by Act of Parliament to report yourself
to the chief police-station of the locality to which you may go,
within forty-eight hours of your arrival therein, and if you change
your residence from one police district to another, you must report it
to the police-station to which you last reported yourself, before you
go. If you omit any of the above particulars, you will be guilty of a
misdemeanour, and upon conviction will forfeit your licence.”
Peace was duly impressed with the importance of the document handed to
him, which, however, he did not attempt to read.
After he had partaken of the dinner ration served to him, the cell
door was unlocked for the Scripture-reader. This gentleman turned to
the convict with a benign smile, and said in a soft tone, “And so,
Parker, I have to congratulate you that your day of release has
arrived. It cannot fail to be most gladly welcomed by you.”
“It is,” returned our hero.
Peace’s visitor handed him a Bible and prayer-book and said, “I hope
you will profit by a careful study of these. I have as the rule
dictates written your name, number, and date of your discharge inside
the cover. These books are supplied to all convicts on discharge.”
“I am very much obliged to you,” said Peace, who, however, was by no
means pleased with having books in his possession with a record of his
discharge written therein; but he did not deem it advisable to make
any comment on this.
“I hope you will lead a new life, and I am sure I am only echoing the
sentiments of the gaol officials when I say we all wish you may
prosper, so long as you keep in the right path.”
“You are very good,” said Peace, with a hypocritical whine which he
knew so well how to put on.
The Scripture-reader after a few more remarks took his departure, and
in the due course of time an orderly officer unlocked the door again
and inquired if he was ready.
“I should just think I was,” returned Peace, hurriedly finishing his
liberty toilette.
“All right――come this way then,” cried the officer.
Peace did not want a second bidding――he was soon outside the cell. The
warder placed the hard round felt wide-a-wake on his head, and the
truly wretched scarecrow, “her Majesty’s licence-holder,” was hurried
to the entrance gates, where more signing was done, and the official
copy of the “licence,” signed by one of the directors of convict
prisons, placed in his hand.
This was the last ceremony he had to go through. He found an officer
in prison uniform waiting to conduct him to the railway station, and
the wicket being at length unlocked, the ticket-of-leave man and his
conductor passed through.
Peace was once more a free man!
As the two proceeded towards the railway station, jeers and remarks
were made by several passengers, which were in no way complimentary to
our hero, but convicts on release have to bear these indignities,
which, to say the truth, they are subject to, both inside and outside
the prison walls.
The officer in charge of Peace presented the governor’s order, and
obtained a ticket at the same rate as charged for soldiers.
The released convict had by this time regained his confidence. At the
request of his conductor he entered the carriage.
The official did not leave him until the train was in motion.
While the train was at a standstill, he gave some excellent advice to
his man――this is a way they have――good advice costs nothing――and it
may be of service or not――in most cases it has but little effect upon
the man to whom it is offered so unsparingly. The officer’s last words
to Peace were, “Keep in the right path for the future, and mind you
report yourself in accordance to the instructions.”
“All right! Thank you, sir. Farewell!” cried Peace, who was whirled
along at the rate of thirty miles an hour.
After the train had started the passengers began to speak.
They conversed on the weather, the news of the morning’s papers.
One passenger, more curious than the rest and who was struck by the
uniform of the officer, asked Peace if he belonged to one of the
volunteer regiments.
Our hero endeavoured to evade the question by professing ignorance,
but his questioner was pertinacious, and so the released convict was
constrained to be more communicative.
He told his companion in the train the real state of the case――that he
was a convict on release.
This piece of information caused some consternation. The eyes of every
person in the carriage were scrutinising the speaker, upon whom they
cast glances of suspicion.
Thoughts of robberies and murders flitted through their brains, and
they, most of them, shifted their positions and placed their hands on
their pockets.
“Dear me, how very remarkable!” exclaimed an old gentleman in the
corner. “How singular! I did not know――ahem!――that persons of your
class were permitted to travel in carriages occupied by respectable
people.”
“I’ll get out at the next station and go into another carriage if you
wish it,” remarked Peace.
“Certainly not! We don’t wish anything of the sort,” observed a
broad-shouldered man, who, to all appearance, was, what is termed
metaphorically, a “son of Neptune.” “At least I don’t.”
“Nor I!” cried another. “Sit where you are, my man.”
“I’m glad you are at liberty again, and hope the trouble you have been
through will be a lesson to you, and teach you that honesty is the
best policy.”
“I don’t intend to get into trouble again,” echoed Peace.
“Well said!”
The train rattles on, but despite these assurances some of the
passengers are ill at ease.
The females bestow compassionate glances at Peace, whose costume
causes him to be a marked man; it is in every respect so different to
that worn by the other occupants of the carriage.
When the train stopped the old gentleman and two or three others in
the carriage discovered that a change would be desirable.
They leave their seats and hurry forward and ensconce themselves in
another compartment.
It is pretty plainly demonstrated to him that his room is liked better
than his company; or, in other words, he is a man to be avoided.
“All right,” murmured Peace. “This is the usual course of things; and
what a man has to submit to with the best grace he can. But it does
not much matter. I’ll soon cast off this precious outfit and make up
for a gentleman, and then nobody will be any the wiser.”
Before reaching Sheffield, Peace found his wife, his mother and
son-in-law awaiting his approach.
The meeting was, of course, an affectionate one, and our hero, with
three pounds in his pocket, returned once more to his humble home,
where he had “a bit of a jollification,” as he termed it, and an
indent was made in the three pounds he had brought with him.