Six Years in the Prisons of England

by Unknown

"Flogging takes out one devil and puts in seven. That's the effect it had on me. But there's not one in a hundred could stand the floggings and punishments I have endured. I had ten years once in Australia, and I was in the penal class most of the time, and, by jingo! they know how to punish there."

"Suppose I were to offer you 20l. to be flogged, would you accept the money and take the flogging?"

"I should think I would, and that very quick, too. I would as soon take a bashing as bread and water for seven days."

"Then a bashing, as you call it, would not frighten you from committing a crime?"

"If I thought I was going to be caught even, I should not commit a crime. A 'flat' or a 'mumper' may do a job to get into prison, but I never do anything unless I believe I am to escape. It's the getting caught, that's the crime, the punishment you have got to chance. A fellow needn't begin thieving if he is to be frightened at punishment; he would never make a living at it. It requires a fellow with a good heart to be a thief, I can tell you; and if his heart is not in the right place, he'd better keep on the square."

"Now, tell me; do you never think seriously about your evil ways? You are getting up in years, and although you appear to be very robust in your general health at present, you cannot expect to live very much longer in this world."

"Well, to tell you the truth, I do sometimes think of leading an honest life. But I am so hardened now to all punishment that I don't care very much what I do. It's not easy for a man at my age to change all of a sudden to be a Christian, and then it's so difficult to get work suitable for one's abilities, that I am almost driven to go on the cross. I have a very good brother, who has been very kind to me, and I've been thinking several times of going home and getting work from him. He is the only man who ever did me a kindness since I was fourteen years of age, and I love and respect him very much."

This man had been longer in prison than any other I met with. He had been five times a convict. I considered him the very worst of a certain class of prisoners that I ever knew, and feel quite convinced that he will not be many weeks out of prison. He was constantly trafficking with his fellow-prisoners, and when he could get a chance to steal, his hands would be at work. I remember his being in the cook-house for a time, and almost every day he stole several pounds of mutton or beef. He would steal anything for an inch of tobacco. He was turned out of the cook-house on suspicion, but they never could punish him for theft except on one occasion, which happened in the following manner.

The prisoners were in the habit of getting a pint of oatmeal gruel for supper. This pint of gruel was supposed to contain two ounces of meal; but in order to make it part better it was made thinner, so that every night there was a surplus. This surplus the prisoners thought belonged to them, and some of the officers permitted the orderlies for the day, who served it out, to divide whatever remained amongst the prisoners in their own wards. The authorities, however, did not allow the prisoners more than a pint:—no matter whether it was thick or thin, no matter whether there was only one ounce of meal in it, back to the cook-house and the swill-tub the surplus must go. Some officers adhered to the rule, others did not. The officer in charge of the prisoner referred to was one of those who did, and when my friend helped himself to a pint out of the surplus gruel he was "reported" the same evening (which happened to be a Saturday). On Sunday the governor, departing from his usual custom, came to his cell, and passed sentence on him there. When the prisoner came out of 'Chokey,' as the punishment cells are called by the prisoners, he came to me about the Sunday sentence of a hungry man for taking a pint of gruel, which in some proportion belonged to himself. He fancied it was not legal to pass sentence on a Sunday, and thought he might get back the time he had forfeited, by appealing to the director. I told him I did not approve of the conduct of the governor, but at the same time expressed the opinion that the director would not interfere in his case. (Whether he did so or not I am unable to say, as I was removed before the director's visit was due.) This prisoner was a big stout man, above thirteen stone weight, and there was nothing the matter with him except a diseased leg. This leg was rather a convenience to him than otherwise. If he disliked any work he was put to, he could always get rid of it by making his leg sore, and this could not be prevented, nor brought directly home to him. When he was at Dartmoor prison he was always in hospital; but now, as his work pleased him better he seldom troubled the doctor. On the contrary, when about due to go home, that is when he arrived at his last stage, and became entitled to beer and other privileges, he wanted to get out of the invalid prison, where these privileges are not allowed unless the state of the invalid requires them, and to be sent to the public works where they would be granted.

Many convicts are so afflicted that they can almost compel the doctor to admit them into the hospital. So whenever they are put into some billet they like they are well, and whenever they are put into one they dislike they send in a sick report, and the medical officer in general must admit them. This was the case with the prisoner I have referred to. Moreover, I question if he was ever a single day in the prison without doing something that was considered wrong, and yet he was very seldom detected or punished. Every day he was trafficking, frequently he was stealing, and he told lies as a rule. Speaking the truth was quite an exceptional matter with him. Thieves generally consider it to be a virtue rather than a sin to tell a lie to save a 'pal' from punishment, but in cases where their own interests are not specially at stake, they can speak the truth as well as other men. But this prisoner seemed utterly incapable of speaking the truth, even when falsehood brought no advantage to him.