The second embraced a wider field. The government was bound, not only to provide for the thousands with which it had saddled itself by the cessation of transportation to Van Diemen's Land for a couple of years, but it had to look further ahead and legislate for future years. It was now decided that transportation, as it had hitherto been understood and carried out, should come to an end. Although two years had been the limit of its temporary suspension, any expectation of recurring to the old system at the end of that period was "altogether illusory." The new system, stated briefly, was to consist of a limited period of separate imprisonment at home, succeeded by employment on public works, either abroad at Bermuda or Gibraltar, or in this country; and ultimately followed in ordinary cases by exile or banishment for the remaining term of the original sentence. The following was now to be the ordering of the lives of convicts:
A term of separate confinement, continuing from six to eighteen months, according to sentence and the manner in which prisoners bore the punishment; forced labour at home penal establishments, or at Gibraltar or Bermuda, this term to depend also on sentence, but the time by arrangement of tasks to be shortened by industry; and finally tickets-of-leave in the colonies.
This system remained in force with sanguine hopes of success, until a year or two after the establishment of the system, when Van Diemen's Land, the principal colonial outlet, waxed virtuous, and would have no more convicts, whether whitewashed or not, at any price. The colony would not have them at any price nor in any shape or form. Although pains were taken to explain that these were well-disposed "ticket-of-leave men," not convicts, their reception was violently opposed. A struggle ensued, but in the end the imperial government gave way, and the last convict ship sailed for Van Diemen's Land in 1852. While we cannot withhold approval of the course the colony adopted, there is no doubt that it was almost suicidal. Mr. Trollope, who visited Van Diemen's Land, now known as Tasmania, in 1871, describes in graphic language the consequences to the colony of its conduct. Absolute stagnation and want of enterprise were everywhere apparent, the skeletons of great works in ruins, others half finished and doomed to decay for want of hands, land relapsing into uncultivation, towns deserted, grass growing in the streets—the whole place lifeless and inert. Possibly, if the question had been put at another time the answer might have been different. But in 1850, the discomforts entailed by transportation were so recent and disagreeable, that free colonists could not be brought to believe that by a better system of administration such evils might be altogether avoided.
Nor were the people of Van Diemen's Land singular in their resolve. Even before they had in plain language so declined, other colonies had displayed a similar unmistakable reluctance to become receptacles for convicts. As early as 1848, the British government, in search of new fields for transportation, had addressed a circular to all colonial governors, pointing out in persuasive periods, the advantages to be gained by accepting this valuable labour which, nevertheless, no one cared to have. Strange to say, only one colony—that of Western Australia—replied affirmatively to this appeal. At the Cape of Good Hope, the appearance of the convict ship Neptune, from Bermuda, in September, 1849, produced a tumultuous and indignant protest. The moment her arrival was signalled, the church bells began to toll half-minute time, and a public notice was put forth by the anti-convict association, calling on the people to be calm. At the same time the municipal commissioners addressed the governor, Sir Harry Smith, begging that the Neptune might be forthwith ordered to leave the shores of the Cape. "The convicts," they said, "must not, cannot, and shall not be landed or kept in any of the ports of the colony." Sir Harry's answer was that he must carry out his orders; upon which the people drew a cordon round the ship and cut off supplies from Government House, so that His Excellency could get no meat, and had to bake his own bread. Finally, he agreed to compromise, and the Neptune was allowed to remain in the bay till a vessel could be sent home for instructions. The authorities at home considered the opposition at the Cape too serious to be resisted, and directed the Neptune to proceed elsewhere.
At other places the bent of the colonial mind made itself equally unmistakable, so that it was at length openly announced in the House of Commons, that unless the colonies grew more amenable, transportation must cease.
As all these various questions covered a period of several years, it can hardly be said that the crisis which necessitated change came suddenly or all at once. The government was loath to surrender till the very last the idea of maintaining the existing system or something like it, but they were not without fair warning that they were building on hopes delusive and insecure. And it is evident that throughout the period of doubt they gave the question the most anxious care, although the evident disposition was more towards tinkering up what was rickety and useless, than substituting a radically new plan. To this, no doubt, they were in a measure forced. The mere idea of retaining a large mass of convicts at home was hailed by the public with alarm; and it became almost an axiom that offenders sooner or later, but as a rule inevitably, must be banished from the country. This was long the underlying principle of every scheme. The convicts must be removed to a distance, not necessarily as a punishment—it might be as a boon to themselves—but in any case as a benefit to their country. In point of symmetry the method is undoubtedly admirable; theoretically perfect now as it was then. The assisted emigration of discharged prisoners supplies the easiest means of providing them with that honest labour which is theoretically supposed to preserve them from a relapse into crime. But whether as freemen, exiles, or convicts in chains, they were all indelibly branded with the stigma of their guilt, and we cannot even now find a country ready to receive them. At the time indicated, the resolute attitude of all the colonies compelled England to reconsider her position. She was forced, in fact, though sorely against her will, to make the best of a bad bargain and keep nearly all her convicts at home.
CHAPTER IX GIBRALTAR
Over-sea prisons continued till late date at Bermuda and Gibraltar—Major Griffiths' personal connection with Gibraltar—Called to supreme control by threatened outbreak—His association with convicts—Their demeanour and characteristics—His difficulties in administration—Curious cases—False confessions—Sea-captain who had cast away his ship—Ingenious and daring attempts to escape—A vanishing specimen of prisoner—The gentleman convict—The forbidden weed.