Six Years in the Prisons of England Part 4

"Now then, shew me how to hang a fellow up, or put the 'flimp' on him, as you call it."

"D'ye see that bone in the wrist? Just get that on the windpipe--so,"

(shewing me practically how to garotte). While at this interesting experiment we heard a voice cry, "Cheese it, cheese it, Harry! there's the 'Screw' looking at you!" which warned us that the prison warder was also taking notes, and my lesson for that day came to a rather abrupt conclusion.

CHAPTER VIII.

ANOTHER COMPANION--A CAREER OF CRIME--HIS OPINIONS ABOUT RELIGION AND CHURCH RATES--AN INCURABLE: HIS OPINION ABOUT FLOGGING.

Another of my companions in hospital gave me the particulars of his history in answer to my enquiries. I give them precisely in his own words:--

"I was about fifteen years of age before I stole any money, or got into any trouble; but I used to 'nick' little things, such as fruit, &c., when I was a kid. My father kept a small shop, but I was bound an apprentice to a very peculiar branch of the Sheffield trade; and before I had finished my apprenticeship I committed my first crime. I was playing at bagatelle one night, and lost all my cash, and as I was anxious to win it back, I broke into my master's premises, and took all the money that was in the cash-box. I got 'copt,' and was sent into the county jail. When I came out I enlisted in the army. My father bought me off after I had been in the regiment a short time. I then took to hawking, but I did not make much money at that, so I enlisted again,--deserted, and got flogged; and the flogging made me a blackguard;--committed another crime, and got out of the army.

Afterwards I committed other crimes, and was at last copt and sentenced to five years' penal servitude. I was sent to do most of it at Gibraltar. After coming home I resolved I should make a fair trial to gain an honest livelihood. I had about thirteen pounds of a gratuity coming to me, and by the aid of the vicar I got all that at once, and set up as a greengrocer. But as I was not very well acquainted with the business I soon lost my little capital, and I resolved to try and get work at my trade. I called on all the 'gaffers' in that business, but none of them would employ me. Those who knew me would have nothing to do with me; those who didn't wanted a character, which of course I could not give. Well, I went two days without tasting a bit of food; but on the third I ate some turnips. On the fourth day I became so desperate with hunger that I determined on going on the 'cross.' I commenced, and committed seventeen burglaries right off, in various parts of the country. The first was in my own town, and the moment I got the 'wedge'[18] 'planted'[19], I went to the police-office and asked for a bed for the night, as I had no money. Next day, early, there was a great hubbub about my job. One of the police came to the office and swore it must have been done by me; but when the superintendent told him that I had slept in the station-house all night, and that it could not have been me, he never said any more about it. The next place I robbed was a church; but all the rest were shops. I was tried for the church and two of the other jobs; but I got off the former, as the clergyman prosecuted me, when it ought to have been some other official connected with it. I pleaded guilty to the second charge against me; and it's that I'm now here for. When I was in prison, waiting for trial, I called myself a Roman Catholic, and was visited by the priest.

One day I confessed to him that I had robbed a church, and that I was very sorry for it--and so I was, upon my word. That's the only crime I ever committed which gave me any trouble. Well, the priest was thunderstruck, and looked daggers at me; but when I told him it was a Protestant church, he gave me absolution, and said the crime was not so bad as he at first thought."

[18] Silver-plate.

[19] Hidden.

"What religion do you profess now?" I enquired.

"Well, I'm down in the books now as a Protestant, or Church of England man; but I do not believe all that churchmen believe. I think there's a good deal of humbug about what is called Christianity altogether. I have tried several creeds, and there's none of them squares exactly with my ideas."

"Which of them have you tried?"

"I was eighteen months a Mormon. My uncle is an elder in their church; but I got enough of them one night at a meeting. After the business was concluded, one of the members proposed that the lights should be put out during the remainder of the proceedings.--My Crikey! that night was enough for me.... I was in earnest at first though; and when I was baptised and anointed, I intended to have gone out to the settlement in America."

"What do you object to in the Church of England?"

"Oh! I don't pay much attention to these matters. I like a good man, no matter what church he belongs to. For instance, the Presbyterian minister at 'Gib.' was a first-rate man; and so is that chaplain at Pentonville, the Rev. Mr. Sherman. But I am of the barber's opinion about church-rates."

"What was his opinion?"

"Well, a certain barber opened a shop down our way, and shortly afterwards was called on to pay the church-rates. 'Church-rates,' says he, 'what have I to do with church-rates? I never go near the church. I belong to the dissenters.' 'Well, but you know the church is always open to receive you, and every Sunday the doors are open for you to come and worship; and you ought to consider it a privilege to be permitted to attend on the ministration of G.o.d's Holy Word,' was the reply. 'I do not consider it a privilege to go to a church I don't believe in,' said the barber. 'I go to a different church, which I am pleased with, and therefore I won't pay you any rates.' 'But you know the law will compel you to pay them.' 'Oh, then, there they are; if the law says so, it must be done.' 'Well, as you have paid me so promptly I shall be a regular customer of yours, and will now have a 'shave' and my hair cut,' said the collector. He only continued for a short time, however, to patronize the barber, having found a shop nearer home and more convenient. But at the end of the year the barber made out his account all the same as if he had continued his custom as he had promised to do. When the collector got the account, he said, 'How's this? I don't owe you a quarter of this sum; you must have made a mistake. I have only been so many times at your shop altogether, and yet you charge me as if I had gone all the year round.' 'My dear sir,'

replied the barber, 'you know that my shop, as by law established, is always open to receive you, excepting Sunday, when your shop is open, so that you may avail yourself of my skill, and you ought to consider it a very great privilege to be permitted to do so.' 'I don't consider it any privilege to get that from you which I can get from others that I happen to prefer, on the same terms, and therefore I refuse to pay your account.' 'Then, it appears, I am obliged to pay your account whatever it may be, whether I get value for it or not, but yet you are not obliged to pay me mine unless you do get value for it, even when you promise to take value. Good morning.' 'Good morning,' said the collector; and the barber retired.

"You will see from this colloquy what the barber's notions were about church rates. Now, I have an idea that it is most unjust for one set of religious men to force their neighbours who differ from them, to help to pay for the support of their church, particularly when they are able themselves to do all that is required in that way, if they were willing. This mainstay and foundation being rotten, the fabric cannot be secure. The churchman acts unjustly in this, and to act unjustly is anti-christian: therefore the churchman is no Christian any more than I am a Dutchman."

"Well, we'll leave the church question at present. Have you anything more to tell me about yourself? Have you never thought seriously about changing your mode of life when you get out of prison again? An intelligent fellow like you would do well in America, and I would strongly recommend you to leave the country as soon as you get your liberty."

"As to altering my conduct, I tell you that when I was in the separate cells, I did resolve on it, and began to pray and read good books, but after I got among the other prisoners I gave it all up again; I should like to go abroad well enough, but I shall not have funds for it, so I must stop at home."

"Then do you intend to go thieving and robbing again?"

"Well, I shall never go another day without food, that's certain. If I can get it honestly, good and well; if not I'll steal: why should a man starve in a Christian country?"

"You have the workhouse to go to."

"The workhouse! it's a second jail: I would nearly as soon be in prison, and when you have a chance of getting off without being caught, it's better to run the risk and chance it, for all the difference there is or ever can be between the workhouse and the prison. They can't make a man work unless they feed and clothe him, any more than they can make a steam engine go without fuel. Well, give me food and I'll work; work is no punishment to me, if I can get meat to support it, and if I don't I can't, that's all about it. But what's the good of making me work for years, at work that will not be of any use to me when I get out? I have only learnt one trade, there are only a very few men in that trade, they won't employ me; then what am I to do? Starve in a Christian country? It isn't likely; and as for the workhouse, I shall never go to it as long as I can be fed in prison, with the chance always of keeping out of both?"

"Suppose they should flog you next time?"

"In the first place, I have a disease on me now that would prevent me from being flogged, so that I have no fear of flogging. But, even if I was able to stand flogging, all the difference it would make to me, would be to make me keep a sharper eye after the 'coppers.' Small game would not then tempt me so much. I should look after larger stakes, go in at heavier jobs, and calculate well my chances of escape before going to work. Once I had made up my mind to commit a crime, and saw the coast clear, the chance of all the floggings in the world would not deter me. I'll find you fellows in the prison to-day who will take a good round flogging for a pound of tobacco! now do you think that the mere chance of the lash would hinder these men from attempting to get hold of a few hundred pounds' worth of jewellery? It's not likely.

Thieves weren't frightened into honesty by the gallows, nor would they be now, if they were to be cut into mince-meat. Thousands might be led into honest ways if suitable work was found for them, but it would require to be very different work from that of the 'navvy,' and then many of them have to be _learned_ to work before they could make a living at all."

"Then you don't think flogging did you any good at all?"

"Certainly it did not; and what's more, you will never find a man doing much good after being flogged. It either makes him an invalid, or a desperado. It may make him quiet under authority, but it ensures the very opposite when he is free."

This prisoner was a more than usually clever and intelligent type of a numerous cla.s.s of convicts--not the most difficult cla.s.s to cure, but the next to it, perhaps. Unlike the city-bred professional thief, he had been taught to work, and such work as he could perform was no punishment to him. Unlike the professional, he goes out of the prison hesitating, wavering, as to his future course: willing to take work if suitable; determined to avoid the workhouse; easily tempted to steal, resolved to do so rather than starve; but, on the whole, anxious to make a comfortable livelihood. He had one son, and I remember well how glad he was when some benevolent person wrote to him to say that he had been bound an apprentice to a respectable trade. He is now dead.

Another of my companions was of a somewhat different cla.s.s, and a much more difficult subject to deal with. He told me that he was fifty-seven years of age. I asked him how long he had been a prisoner, not adding his sentences together, but how long he had actually been in prison.

"Thirty-seven years," he replied.

"How old were you when you got into trouble first?"

"Fourteen."

"What was your first sentence?"

"Seven years' transportation."

"How did you like Australia?"

"Well, the place is well enough, and a man can get a living easier abroad than he can at home. But I have been rather a queer customer in my time. I don't believe there's a man in this prison, or in any prison, who has gone through more hardships and punishments than I have done."

"Were you ever flogged?"

"Flogged! I should think I have. Just wait until night, when I am going to bed, and I'll let you see my back all in ridges with the cat."

"What effect had the flogging on your conduct?"

"Flogging takes out one devil and puts in seven. That's the effect it had on me. But there's not one in a hundred could stand the floggings and punishments I have endured. I had ten years once in Australia, and I was in the penal cla.s.s most of the time, and, by jingo! they know how to punish there."

"Suppose I were to offer you 20_l._ to be flogged, would you accept the money and take the flogging?"

"I should think I would, and that very quick, too. I would as soon take a bashing as bread and water for seven days."

"Then a bashing, as you call it, would not frighten you from committing a crime?"

"If I thought I was going to be caught even, I should not commit a crime. A 'flat' or a 'mumper' may do a job to get into prison, but I never do anything unless I believe I am to escape. It's the getting caught, that's the crime, the punishment you have got to chance. A fellow needn't begin thieving if he is to be frightened at punishment; he would never make a living at it. It requires a fellow with a good heart to be a thief, I can tell you; and if his heart is not in the right place, he'd better keep on the square."

"Now, tell me; do you never think seriously about your evil ways? You are getting up in years, and although you appear to be very robust in your general health at present, you cannot expect to live very much longer in this world."

"Well, to tell you the truth, I do sometimes think of leading an honest life. But I am so hardened now to all punishment that I don't care very much what I do. It's not easy for a man at my age to change all of a sudden to be a Christian, and then it's so difficult to get work suitable for one's abilities, that I am almost driven to go on the cross. I have a very good brother, who has been very kind to me, and I've been thinking several times of going home and getting work from him. He is the only man who ever did me a kindness since I was fourteen years of age, and I love and respect him very much."