Six Years in the Prisons of England Part 5

This man had been longer in prison than any other I met with. He had been five times a convict. I considered him the very worst of a certain cla.s.s of prisoners that I ever knew, and feel quite convinced that he will not be many weeks out of prison. He was constantly trafficking with his fellow-prisoners, and when he could get a chance to steal, his hands _would_ be at work. I remember his being in the cook-house for a time, and almost every day he stole several pounds of mutton or beef.

He would steal anything for an inch of tobacco. He was turned out of the cook-house on suspicion, but they never could punish him for theft except on one occasion, which happened in the following manner.

The prisoners were in the habit of getting a pint of oatmeal gruel for supper. This pint of gruel was supposed to contain two ounces of meal; but in order to make it part better it was made thinner, so that every night there was a surplus. This surplus the prisoners thought belonged to them, and some of the officers permitted the orderlies for the day, who served it out, to divide whatever remained amongst the prisoners in their own wards. The authorities, however, did not allow the prisoners more than a pint:--no matter whether it was thick or thin, no matter whether there was only one ounce of meal in it, back to the cook-house and the swill-tub the surplus must go. Some officers adhered to the rule, others did not. The officer in charge of the prisoner referred to was one of those who did, and when my friend helped himself to a pint out of the surplus gruel he was "reported" the same evening (which happened to be a Sat.u.r.day). On Sunday the governor, departing from his usual custom, came to his cell, and pa.s.sed sentence on him there. When the prisoner came out of 'Chokey,' as the punishment cells are called by the prisoners, he came to me about the Sunday sentence of a hungry man for taking a pint of gruel, which in some proportion belonged to himself. He fancied it was not legal to pa.s.s sentence on a Sunday, and thought he might get back the time he had forfeited, by appealing to the director. I told him I did not approve of the conduct of the governor, but at the same time expressed the opinion that the director would not interfere in his case. (Whether he did so or not I am unable to say, as I was removed before the director's visit was due.) This prisoner was a big stout man, above thirteen stone weight, and there was nothing the matter with him except a diseased leg. This leg was rather a convenience to him than otherwise. If he disliked any work he was put to, he could always get rid of it by making his leg sore, and this could not be prevented, nor brought directly home to him. When he was at Dartmoor prison he was always in hospital; but now, as his work pleased him better he seldom troubled the doctor. On the contrary, when about due to go home, that is when he arrived at his last stage, and became ent.i.tled to beer and other privileges, he wanted to get out of the invalid prison, where these privileges are not allowed unless the state of the invalid requires them, and to be sent to the public works where they would be granted.

Many convicts are so afflicted that they can almost compel the doctor to admit them into the hospital. So whenever they are put into some billet they like they are well, and whenever they are put into one they dislike they send in a sick report, and the medical officer in general must admit them. This was the case with the prisoner I have referred to. Moreover, I question if he was ever a single day in the prison without doing something that was considered wrong, and yet he was very seldom detected or punished. Every day he was trafficking, frequently he was stealing, and he told lies as a rule. Speaking the truth was quite an exceptional matter with him. Thieves generally consider it to be a virtue rather than a sin to tell a lie to save a 'pal' from punishment, but in cases where their own interests are not specially at stake, they can speak the truth as well as other men. But this prisoner seemed utterly incapable of speaking the truth, even when falsehood brought no advantage to him.

CHAPTER IX.

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 PEt.i.tION 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 appet.i.te 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 quant.i.ty. In this way the man with the capacious stomach gets it filled, and the man with a dainty appet.i.te 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 ill.u.s.trate 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sages, 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 pa.s.sing 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 doc.u.ments 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 pet.i.tion the Home Secretary on the merits of my case, as I pet.i.tioned 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 pet.i.tion the Home Secretary every twelve months; at this time nearly eighteen months had elapsed since I pet.i.tioned 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 un.o.bjectionable; 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 pet.i.tion 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 pet.i.tion 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 pet.i.tion 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 pet.i.tion as I was told, or not pet.i.tion at all. I pet.i.tioned 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 pet.i.tion was ever sent to the Secretary of State at all. All these doc.u.ments go in the first instance to the directors, and they are understood to deal with them as they think proper.