A careful perusal of Dietary 4 will convince the reader that it is sufficiently generous to obviate any loss of weight, and yet, as a rule, prisoners fall away on it, (There are some extraordinary exceptions to this rule, and one man, a gentleman by birth, and an ex-officer in the army, increased two stone in a few months; the absolute half-starved vagrant also, of course, fattens on it.) I can only attribute it to the voracious way they bolt their food. It is stated of that eminent projector, the late Mr. Rumford, that he once submitted to the then Elector of Saxony a scheme whereby he might reduce the expense of maintaining his army, without impairing its efficiency, by a very simple method, namely, to reduce the amount, but compel his soldiers to masticate their food. I cannot say if the suggestion was acted on, but I am thoroughly convinced that if prisoners received less, and were compelled to eat slower, a considerable saving to the state and an improvement in the appearance of the men would be effected. Personally I found during the very few weeks I subsisted on this diet that it was more than I could possibly eat, and withal good. The gruel, I confess, is an acquired taste, and I was almost immediately permitted to substitute cocoa. The porridge was also a sad disappointment. I innocently hoped to have found the delicious composition associated with the land of cakes and immortal Burns, and could have burst into tears in recognising it as intensified gruel. Its nourishing powers, however, are not to be gainsaid; and to see malefactors shovelling it away, as I have, one would suppose they enjoyed it. The recitation of the substitutes for cooked beef I am compelled to characterise an official quibble. During the few months I spent at Coldbath I never heard—as I certainly should—of any beef being issued at all, the invariable substitute being Colonial meat served cold, except on one occasion, when salt fish was supplied. On the merits of this last item I cannot speak personally, for long before that I was on a daily diet of mutton and mutton broth, as I describe hereafter. For the preserved Colonial meat, however, I have nothing but praise. “Served,” as it was, under every disadvantage, I found it excellent; and as it can be purchased for seven-pence a pound, the marvel is that the poorer classes, who seldom or never taste butcher’s meat, do not patronise it more largely. I can only suppose its merits are unknown.
The bedstead, or “plank-bed,” as it is termed, is the hardest couch I ever felt; with a mattress on it I could feel every grain in the wood, and shuddered to think of my companions, all of whom had to submit for a month to the board “pure and simple.” It is only raised three inches from the floor, and is two feet in breadth—a tight fit for twenty stone. I had now fairly settled down in my final destination for a month, and will describe the routine of the day:—
| 6 A.M. | —Rise. |
| 6.30 „ | —Breakfast. |
| 7 „ | —Take down the day’s work, and receive a fresh supply. |
| 8 to 9 „ | —Exercise. |
| 9 „ | —Chapel (three times a week). |
| 12 noon | —Dinner. |
| 5 P.M. | —Supper. |
| 8 „ | —Bed. |
| 8.30 „ | —Lights out. |
A slight difference existed between the regulation here and at Newgate on the subject of “lights out.” At Coldbath it was a serious offence to retire before 8 P.M. At Newgate it was, however, optional, though hampered with an absurd condition. One evening, at this latter awful place, I had determined on a comfortable read; with this object I undressed about 7 P.M., and, pulling my bed under the lamp, abandoned myself to the perusal of Chambers’ Magazine, for 1878. Barely, however, had I commenced, when “in a moment all was dark.” I ascertained next morning that it was a rule to put out the gas as soon as a man got into bed; whether from economical motives or as an extra mode of annoyance, I never troubled to ask.
The brown bread, which was often warm from the oven, was as good as any I have ever tasted, and the quantity enough to satisfy anyone; and yet the ordinary prisoner would devour his and gratefully accept as much as anyone else would give him. I found that prisoners would do anything for food, and through my entire career I bartered it in exchange for soap, etc. Amongst other recipients of my bounty was a German Jew who lived near me. He spoke very little English, and as I speak German fluently, I often had a word with him. He told me the usual story about being sentenced for nothing; and though I did not believe a word of it, it led to his being put on my free list. A more voracious appetite I never met with, and the way he bolted half a pound of bread and three or four potatoes was truly appalling; indeed, so unsatisfactory was it, that I transferred my patronage after a week; one might as well have tried to fill Nelson’s monument. Giving away food is strictly prohibited—a regulation that necessitates certain precautions, commendable for their suitability rather than their cleanliness. The usual mode is for the donor to stuff bread, potatoes, or a lump of suet down his stocking or inside his shirt, and when time and circumstance permit, to transfer it to the recipient of his bounty, who in his turn first shoves it up his back or into his cap, to be transferred at leisure into the mouth or elsewhere. This manipulation never commended itself to me; and my rule, though not much more refined, had at least the advantage of avoiding any personal contact with the greasy dainties. I placed all my food in my pocket-handkerchief, and transferred it bodily in exchange for the others’. This rule only applied to the clean linen day, when I was enabled without delay to get rid of my brother-reprobate’s mouchoir. On other occasions I received their pocket-handkerchiefs clean, and returned them later on full of good things. I let it be understood that I never took a handkerchief unless it was clean; and so perfect did the system become, that I had only to say en passant, “Your handkerchief to-morrow,” and it was duly handed to me washed and perfectly clean. I only once was offered a treat of this kind. It was a poor black man (I often see him about). I watched him fumbling in his chest and eventually produce a crust; this he secreted for some minutes in his fist, and then said, “Here, master,” and held it out to me. I can see his look of surprise that followed my refusal; but it was kindly meant, and though I declined the emetic, I wouldn’t have hurt his feelings for the world. Soup that I didn’t consume I usually placed outside the door, hoping that my regular “cleaner” would reach it in time. In this, however, I was often disappointed, for my custom having got known, a raid was frequently made on it by others—a practice I determined to try and circumvent.
I was suffering at this time from liver complaint, and had on my shelf a concoction of taraxacum and podophyllin. Of this I poured one day about two doses into my mutton broth; and as it was somewhat discoloured by the process, I added half a cup of soapsuds and a handful of salt. Not long after the two thieves arrived, and I could distinctly hear their long gulps as they swallowed the savoury concoction. My commendable endeavour to break them of pilfering was, however, a complete failure; and the only remark I overheard was, “I say, Bill, it’s damned salt, ain’t it?”
The soap one received had to last a fortnight, and was not sufficient for a thorough wash daily and the periodical bath, and I experienced great inconvenience at first by having to economize; but when it had got mooted about that there “was a swell as was mug enough to swap grub for soap,” my market became literally glutted, and I was enabled to revel in a bath every morning.
Washing one’s cell floor was not an agreeable duty. At first I puffed and blew like a grampus, but it soon became a very simple affair, and I became a perfect adept at the charwoman business. I heard whilst here, from a reliable source, of some man who after leaving the prison was staying at a West-end hotel, and who, seeing a servant shirking her duty whilst scrubbing the doorstep, and unable to resist the force of habit, very kindly gave her the benefit of his experience, and stripping off his coat, proceeded to lay-to assiduously. I should not hesitate to do the same under certain circumstances. This “doing” one’s own apartment was the only derogatory duty I had ever to perform; and as it was a private show, and clearly for one’s own benefit, I never had the slightest objection to it; the more so as the taking of my morning bath (the saucepan on the floor) had half completed the process.
Oakum-picking cannot be called an intellectual employment. I should say, too, it was decidedly monotonous, though I can hardly speak from personal experience. I tried the experiment of unravelling the rope, but it was so intensely provoking that I turned my thoughts to evading the necessity. My turnkey and I were friends within twenty-four hours, and I consulted him about getting a substitute. As turnkey and prisoner had both left before I had, I may say, without injuring anyone, that for a weekly consideration my task was picked daily. Of a morning a bundle was mysteriously thrown into my cell, and a few moments later I proudly descended with “my work,” and dropped the unused rope on the stair. The usual task that prisoners have to pick is three pounds a day, but being a light-labour man I was only assigned one pound. I invariably returned a portion of this modified amount unpicked, thereby lulling the suspicions of a dense but offensively-inclined taskmaster. Oakum is one of the most tell-tale commodities I ever came across. If merely unravelled, it remains black and juicy; but the more it is picked and pulled the paler it gets, till it is capable of assuming the appearance of Turkish tobacco. An experienced eye can at once detect the amount of labour bestowed on it, and some of the huge bundles I saw my confrères carrying down were works of art as regards finish. The man who actually picked my oakum was the “cleaner,” a privileged individual with a roving commission. His duties frequently brought him to my cell, and he told me he was a “racing man.” I discovered, however, as we became better acquainted, that the designation is capable of considerable expansion, and that his peculiar talent was the “three-card trick.” He knew every racecourse in England as well as every prison, and never failed of a morning to inquire how I had slept, adding, that he always slept badly the first few nights in a strange prison; and my reply that I was not affected in a “similar way” appeared to cause him considerable surprise. In my unravelling process I one day chanced to come across a bit of cane. It was certainly moist from proximity to the tar, but I carefully dried and subsequently smoked it. I can hardly say the pleasure was unalloyed, for it bore such a resemblance to the fragrant British Havanna that I got alarmed, and put it out. It was the only smoke I had for months.