That this observation is lamentably true, may be proved by reference to a recent instance, wherein two women, both then free, who had become so infamously wicked, and outrageously reprobate, as to be thought irreclaimable, and utterly unfit for the colony, or rather subjects too hard for the superintendency, were actually re-shipped, and sent home to England for reformation, on board the ship Shipley, in 1818. One of these incorrigibles is wife to Mr. Hutchinson, the principal Superintendent of convicts.
A visitor on entering this penitentiary, this prison house, let his familiarity with gaol scenes be what it may, would be shocked at the noise, depravity of speech, disgusting freedoms, obsceneness, filthiness of person, and general degradation of character, which in every direction strike upon his senses. Indeed, so clamorous and importunate are they in their rude requests to strangers, for “something to drink,” that the benevolent few who would give salutary instruction are deterred from going among them. A friend whom I asked to accompany me to the place, refused on that very account, stating, that he had visited them some time before, and could not get away without extreme difficulty, although he had distributed twenty shillings to rid himself of the annoyance.
It was to this worse than London Newgate, even in all its former wickedness, the penitent exiles from the Morley were transmitted! It is true, the detached building mentioned was assigned them as a sleeping-place; but here they were surrounded by ruffians more destructive to females in their circumstances, than a pack of wolves would have been. Spirits obtained by iniquitous means, brought as an incentive to the worst purposes, enabled those ragged wretches to drag down into the same level of licentiousness and vice as themselves, poor, unprotected, weak, defenceless women, whose minds were just recovering from the worst effects of sin, and had but just tasted of the sweets of virtue. Driven again into a state of ungovernable passion, maddened by intoxication, it is easy to perceive,—although the thought is painful in extreme,—that a dereliction of duty must have been the certain consequence, and that even if any had firmness to resist such temptation, their preservation must be attributed to some cause more powerful than the protection afforded them in such an asylum.
The sleeping-place assigned in this detached building was not, for very obvious reasons, much liked, it appears, by many of them; and they sought to procure lodgings in the neighbouring cottages with such means as they had still preserved in their misfortunes. Those confined and humble habitations are generally constructed of wood, not having more than two rooms, one of which, as on occasions such as the present, is reserved as a kitchen, and usually contains a bed, the other serves as bed-chamber and store-room: such is the common abode of the convict during the time of sojourning in a state of banishment!
Rations, as usual, were delivered to them from the stores; and if they were destitute of money wherewith to pay for the comfort of lodging, either this supply of food must be curtailed, or infamous means resorted to in order to make up the deficiency. In this situation, surrounded by men of the most profligate and hardened habits, what woman can be supposed capable of resisting vice, when impelled to that horrible extremity by a necessity absolute beyond the possibility of controul? Is it to be expected that minds like theirs, which had in many instances formerly been accustomed to wickedness, will now be able to guard against those seductive arts, that first launched them into crime, and of which, it is feared, some of them still cherish a familiar remembrance?
Many and praiseworthy were the contrivances by which some of those women strove to disentangle themselves from this odious spot, replete with mischief, subversive of those principles of virtue and propriety which they yet felt an inclination to cultivate. To these, marriage held out the best and surest hope. Accordingly, several were on the eve of being married at the time I last visited Parramatta. On the propriety of this step I was consulted by not less than eleven of those who had been under my care, who evinced their grateful feeling towards me by soliciting a continuance of that cautionary counsel, which they had so often heard during the voyage. The particulars of one of these, having produced at the time emotions too strong to be easily forgotten, render the case peculiarly affecting, and are given here simply as they occurred.
A woman about thirty years of age, whose repentant manner and excellent conduct during the voyage had merited particular notice, and being accompanied by four young children, excited more than a common degree of interest: she was married, and left her husband living in England at the time she was sent away. At the Factory she had not sufficient means of supporting her children, the ration for them being only one third in proportion to those of adults. Having disposed of several articles of wearing apparel to supply their cravings, she formed the desperate resolution of uniting herself to one of those fellows who had offered to maintain them on that condition.
This wretched woman described the painful embarrassments in which she was involved; but the state of her mind, and the genuine features of her case, will best appear from her own words. “I know,” she said, “that to embrace the mode of life to which I am now driven, is a great crime in the eyes of my Maker: but to see my children starving”—at this moment two of them were crying bitterly for something to eat—“is more than I can bear. I know that I have done wrong, but they, poor unhappy things, are innocent.” Here a gush of tears deprived her of utterance: when she regained composure, she continued: “I have no means of providing for them, and to keep them alive I must either steal, or do what my soul abhors.” This heart-rending narrative was again broken by a flood of tears. I was about to go away; but she implored me for God’s sake not to depart without giving her some advice, by which she declared her conduct should be governed, let her fate be what it might.
It can scarcely be imagined that there is a being in human form, how hardened soever his heart may be, that could contemplate a scene like this, and be unmoved. It was well observed by an ancient writer, “that a virtuous man struggling against adversity was an object worthy of the admiration of the Gods”; what then shall we think of a woman, a frail woman, driven from the society of every friend, and the endearments of her native land, in whom the principles of virtue are as it were resuscitated, making a noble stand against the most powerful inducements that can influence the mind, but at last forced to yield to a necessity that would have relaxed the most rigid nerve, that would have subdued the most vigorous resolution?
Is it fair to thrust weak women into such a state, and afterwards expect their lives to be pure? Who would rationally look for uncontaminated minds among females who were driven, in some measure, to an indiscriminate association with thieves of the worst description, men whose unlawful gains enable many of them to live in a manner as dissolute and far more luxurious than they had ever done at home?