Prisons Over Seas / Deportation and Colonization; British and American Prisons of To-day

by Arthur Griffiths

When the British colonies with sturdy, independent spirit refused almost unanimously to be the receptacle for the criminal sewage of the mother country, it became of paramount importance to find other outlets of disposal. The perfected system of penal servitude now in force was of slow growth, and at the beginning many places were utilised that could voice no protest. Two isolated strongholds, Bermuda and Gibraltar, were pressed into service without question; they were both crown possessions at the mercy of the authorities and plausible reasons could be offered for turning them into convict prisons. They were at no great distance, easily accessible by sea, and could very nearly guarantee safe custody. Then the labour of the prisoners would be available there for defensive purposes and colonial development. In both places many monuments to their skill and industry are still preserved; both are decisive points in the national strategy; one at least has a glorious history and the other may any day prove of signal value to the ocean communications of Great Britain.

It was my fortune to be closely associated with the convict prison of the so-called impregnable fortress of Gibraltar, which was for some time under my personal supervision, and I had abundant opportunities for observing the traits and peculiarities of identically the same classes as those who have provided the materials for the historical chapters already compiled.

My call to functions of control came with dramatic suddenness and surprise. I was plunged into the middle of new and strange surroundings without a word of warning. There had been two outbreaks at the prison, where a weak executive had broken down and a collection of turbulent characters was encouraged to oppose and defy authority. An outbreak was imminent at any moment, I was told, as I galloped up to the scene of disturbance and proceeded to take charge. I might indeed have been at Port Arthur or Norfolk Island, but for the comforting reflection that above me the guns of the fortress showed their formidable teeth, tier above tier, and that several thousands of the best troops in the world were within easy reach to check peremptorily any breach of the peace.

The likeness might have been carried further, for there were many among the convicts who had made the dread voyage across to the Southern Hemisphere, who had been in the chain gangs and in assigned service,—veteran survivors of the dark days of transportation and the makeshifts that replaced it. Five hundred paraded for my inspection, and as I slowly walked down the ranks I made my first acquaintance with the physiognomy and demeanour of felons. Many exhibited the peculiar features now commonly assigned to them by the criminologists; the lowering brow, the prognathous jaw, the handle-shaped ear. These were largely the born criminals of the great Italian savant Professor Lombroso, "having projecting ears, thick hair, thin beards, prominent frontal eminences, enormous jaws, square protruding chins, large cheek bones, and frequent gesticulations." I may note the description of another observer. "Their cringing and timid ways," he says, "the mobility and cunning of their looks; a something feline about them, something cowardly humble, suppliant and crushed, makes them a class apart,—one would say dogs who had been whipped; with here and there a few energetic and brutal heads of rebels."

I cannot say that the submissive air was greatly noticeable, when I first saw them. They might have been a pirate's or a slaver's crew; their costume was nautical, a tarpaulin hat, round jacket, wide duck trousers and low shoes. Their faces were mostly unpleasing; their tone and demeanour were arrogant and aggressive. They held their heads high and looked me insolently in the face. I could see plainly that the bonds of discipline had been relaxed, and that there had been no firm hand on them of late; indeed it was the mental failure of my predecessor which had brought me there in his place to try my prentice hand upon a (to me) new and unruly team. No doubt there were many grievances abroad among them. The old comptroller, as the supreme chief was styled, had introduced many irksome regulations and at the same time withdrawn many small privileges and indulgences that had come to be looked upon as a right and were much missed. What would be my attitude toward my charges? It was quite evident that from the moment I appeared I became the cynosure of every eye. Every one was watching me closely, curiously, seeking to make out what kind of man I was.

We soon grew better acquainted. A prominent part of my new duties was to give a personal interview to any convict who applied. I found that afternoon that almost every one had put his name down to see me, and presently I took my seat in the chair of authority, without the smallest previous knowledge, to listen to complaints, grant requests and answer questions of the most intricate kind. I soon found that I was quite unable to deal with matters so entirely new to me. I had hardly a word to say. The only possible course was to acquire knowledge without delay. Laying hands on all the authorities available, books of rules, standing orders, printed circulars, official correspondence—I retired to the comptroller's house, where my servants had made me up a rough and ready home. I studied the voluminous mass of details far into the night, every spare minute the next day and again late into the next night. I worked on, conning my lesson diligently, painfully, but with ultimate success. By the third day, Monday, when the applicants again paraded, their numbers already largely increased, I was in a position to dispose pretty summarily of all but the most complicated affairs.

It was in these interviews, which were accorded in private if so desired, that I first gained an insight into convict character, its guilefulness, its duplicity, its infinite art in seeking to gain the ends in view; to evade or modify the regulations, often harsh enough, to secure a modicum of comfort, an atom more food, lighter and less irksome labour, a little sympathy in listening to a "case" and obtain support for a petition to have a trial revised and secure pardon or mitigation of sentence. As a newcomer and absolute tyro, I was held fair game by every specious impostor, who could "pitch" a harrowing, heart-rending tale. I was victimised very early by the curious craze of the criminal mind for false confession, guilt assumed, without a shadow of proof, for short-lived glorification or a period of idleness while investigation was in progress.

One of the first cases of this kind made an extraordinary impression on me. I was entirely befooled. The play was so well acted by such finished performers that in my inexperienced innocence I was easily carried away. A convict whom I will style X came to me with tears in his eyes, evidently under the influence of the strangest emotion, and asked to speak to me alone. He desired to give himself up as the real perpetrator of a certain atrocious crime, a murder in the city of London which had hitherto baffled detection. He was a tall man with a long yellow face set in coal black, stubby hair, and with baleful black eyes, deep set under bushy black eyebrows. He was in the most agitated state of mind. Remorse most profound and agonising possessed him as he poured forth his piteous tale and enlarged upon the horrible details of the murder. It was impossible not to yield him full credit. If I had any doubt, it would have been removed when his accomplice whom he betrayed was brought in. I will call him Y.

A second scene was now enacted,—a duologue with the parts in strange contrast. X denounced his companion with virtuous indignation. Y altogether repudiated the charge. The first told his story with all the realism of manifest truth. The second denied it as stoutly as he could, but I seemed to see the half-heartedness of conscious guilt. Y was a weaker vessel; a round faced, chubby looking man, smug, self-sufficient, inclined to be off-hand and jaunty as he faced me giving the lie to his accuser. For a long time he fought, but with failing force before the insistence of his opponent. Then, all at once, he threw up the sponge. Yes; it was all quite true. They had killed the poor old woman, the bank caretaker, had brained her with a knuckle-duster, and then stabbed her to the heart.

My course was plain. I was bound to report the strange story to my superiors and ask for instructions. The two convicts were held strictly apart, lodged in separate cells, given writing materials and required to set forth their confessions at length, which were forwarded to England. An answer came in due course. There was not one syllable of truth in the story. Neither X nor Y had been within a hundred miles of the scene of the crime. One of them, indeed, was actually at the time in prison for another offence. They had heard of the crime, had put their heads together while on the works where they laboured in association, and had concocted the whole fraud by which I had been so completely misled. This was the first spurious confession that had come within my purview, but by no means the last. The practice is common enough among criminals, both inside and outside the prison. The reasons are generally the same. The convict, as in this case, hopes to be remanded for a new trial, and to lead an idle life while awaiting it.