In the official newspaper of 1827, it is stated that 1,000 applications were registered at Hobart Town. To an English reader, and to a modern colonist, the notices of this period seem like satire. "Better," remarks this organ of the higher classes, "better send petitions for more prisoners—now that applications have lain dormant for twelve months: some for four, eight, and ten men—than trouble about trial by jury and representative government. The disappointment, we trust, will be temporary: when the last vessel sailed, the York was freighting. We trust the home secretary will consider the deficiency"! The extremely earnest manner in which these felonious additions were implored, is a curious relic of a bygone era.[159]
FOOTNOTES:
[156] Collins, vol. i. p. 267.
[157] Gazette, 11th July, 1822.
[158] Bischcoff.
SECTION XI
The system of assignment was first established in America (1718), and continued for fifty-six years: the rigid discipline permitted by the colonial law, the kind of labor usually performed by the servants, and their diffusion over an extensive surface, tended alike to restrain, to reform, and ultimately to merge them undistinguished. Many, endowed with good natural abilities, such as an accomplished thief usually possesses, succeeded in their pursuits, and became masters themselves, by the purchase of the servitude of those afterwards sent out for sale.[160] Thus, whatever complaints were raised against transportation itself, none objected to assignment; and the long period of its duration, proves that the home government cared little for the state of prisoners, while there was no local press to vindicate their rights, and few readers of books to encourage romantic delineations of their felicity.
On the arrival of a vessel, the chief officers of the government examined the prisoners, and the Governor himself addressed them. He pointed out their future position, their duties, and their dangers; the tone of promise usual in times past was considerably abated, but the awful rigours of their servitude were explained, often to their astonishment and horror.[161] Often the private examination of the prisoner confounded him with amazement: a gentleman, whom he had never seen before, unravelled with facility the mystery of his life. If he had been often in prison; if his brother had been transported; if his sweetheart had been deserted; whether he had been a pest to the lords of the manor, or to the parish, by poaching or bastardy: his whole life was read by his inquisitor, with supernatural clearness. The raw countryman did not know how far his course had been subject to the gaze of the stranger: denial gave way rapidly; he assented, and explained, and enlarged—and thus the office of the superintendent answered the purpose of a confessional. It was the practice to furnish all possible information to the local government, and to keep its details a secret from the prisoners: such had been the advice of the Commissioner. Thus the wonder of the country transport, to find that the picture of his life had preceded him—that all was known at the world's end.
Though no persons could have greater cause to confuse their identity, the prisoners often stamped on their persons indelible distinctions; a custom, perhaps, introduced by the sailors, and encouraged by the officers, but which prevailed among London thieves. Those who suffered these figures to be pierced, were usually the most simple minded, or the most depraved. The figures themselves were sometimes obscene, but not commonly: often mermaids, still more frequently hearts and darts; sometimes the name, or the initials of the prisoner. Thus, in the runaway notices (1825), one had a hope and anchor; another, a castle, flower pots, hearts and darts; another, a man and woman, a heart and a laurel; another, a masonic arch, and moon and stars, and initials in abundance. An Irishman had a crucifix on the arm, a cross on the right hand, and the figure of a woman on the breast! Such were the ingenious methods which, induced by indolence and vanity, these men permitted, to lessen the chances of escape. The initials generally differed from those of the known name, and indicated that the wearer, some time or other, had occasion for disguise: others were obviously memorials of past affection, and of names perhaps associated with blighted hopes and better days. Besides these marks, were others; scars, usually the result of a life of mingled intemperance and violence: thus, almost in succession, the list of absconders gives the following—"a scar on the forehead;" "scar on the right eye;" "his arm has been broken;" "his nose inclines to the left cheek;" "a broken nose."[162]
All that might assist the police was registered: their native place, their age, their crime, and sentence. They were then detached to their masters; marched, sometimes, in considerable bodies, from Kangaroo Point to Launceston, 120 miles. The mechanics were reserved for government employ, and the concealment of a trade, was visited as a crime; yet convicts did conceal their trade, instructed by former experience, or a hint from a veteran predecessor. They knew that mechanical knowledge might prolong their detention, and deprive them of many present advantages. They knew that, though rated as laborers, they might obtain a master who would pay them. This was effected, sometimes, at once, or by the agency of a friend; or oftener by the prisoner, who, on his first opportunity, would hint to a builder or carpenter, that he knew something of a trade. An order was obtained for a laborer, which would not have been spared for a mechanic: a fee to the clerk, secured the intended selection; and the man assigned to carry the materials of a building, was taught, in a time which seemed incredibly short, all the mysteries of line and rule. It is thus that weakness ever arms itself against might.