Eighteen Months' Imprisonment

CHAPTER XVIII.
“THE OUTER WORLD.”

The unfortunate contretemps that had indirectly associated me with the dismissal of a warder caused me to be looked upon for some time by his confrères with considerable distrust; it was generally understood, however, that I was not a man that could be bullied with impunity, and would unhesitatingly have reported any attempt of the kind. I attribute this diagnosis of my character to my bearing from the first. I made it a rule to be scrupulously courteous to the humblest turnkey if he showed an inclination to treat me civilly, whilst I ignored the position of those who attempted to hector over me, and convinced them by my manner that I looked on them as my inferiors. When I reflect on the bearing of the various officials towards other prisoners, I am at a loss to understand how I was permitted the latitude I was. I can only attribute it to that moral and indefinable effect certain men of birth and education, and naturally arrogant in disposition, do and always will exercise, no matter how temporarily circumstanced, over their inferiors. This bearing asserted itself without my knowledge, and I had my likes and dislikes from the highest to the lowest. Thus I liked and respected the Governor, and ignored his deputy; I liked one chaplain, and cordially despised the other; I liked and venerated the kind old surgeon, which would be exaggerating my feelings regarding his assistant. None of my antipathies could probably instance any absolute case against me, yet they were respectively aware of my estimate of their merits. To remove this feeling of distrust amongst the turnkeys was by no means easy. I had to watch my opportunity to get into conversation, and then carefully to smuggle in “a word in season.” This necessary formula was not unattended with risk, and I had to discover the disposition of my man and not say the wrong word in the wrong place. My knowledge of human nature gave me a considerable advantage in these negotiations; it was like playing blind-man’s-buff with one eye exposed, and I soon had the measure of every official in the prison. Some nuts I admit to have found very difficult to crack, but they eventually yielded to treatment; others were hopeless cases, and some I labelled “dangerous” and carefully avoided. I had, however, attained my object; and wherever I went, or wherever I was located, I was always within “measurable distance” of one ministering angel, and often two. The principal cause of my unbroken success may be attributed to my having no confidants—my right hand literally knew not what my left was doing; and Jones, the turnkey, who lived in fear and trembling that Brown would suspect his trafficking with me, was a source of hourly anxiety to Brown, who dreaded Jones getting wind of his kindly interest in my affairs. I always assured these respective worthies that they had nothing to fear from me if they would only exercise ordinary discretion on their own parts, and as I was above the weakness of carrying about a fagot of pencils or cigars, it is hardly to be wondered at that diplomacy triumphed. Through one channel or another I heard everything that was going on, and was on more than one occasion amused by having repeated to me the special cautions that were issued regarding me. The Deputy Governor was no friend of mine; indeed I should be doing him an injustice if I omitted to state that he disliked me as cordially as I did him. He was of that pronounced military type associated in my mind with the Fifth West Indian Regiment, and suggested the idea of having been promoted from the adjutantcy of that distinguished corps to a company in a non-purchase regiment during the Cardwellite era. A switch, and an almost brimless pot hat, worn on one side, completed the picture of this typical sabreur. He apparently took a considerable interest in my affairs, and frequently asked questions, and gave wholesome advice to the turnkeys regarding their intercourse with me. “Have nothing to do with that man” was the burthen of his song, all of which was invariably repeated to me. His duties assimilated very much with those of a garrison Quarter-master, and he was supposed to poke about and discover dirt in impossible places; occasionally, however, they resembled those of a boatswain in H.M. navy; as, for example, at the flogging of garrotters, and the birching of little boys, when he counted the strokes. I had to be careful of this individual, for I am confident he had his suspicions about my little games; but it was the old story of the ironclad charging the outrigger, and with all the facilities at his disposal he was no match for me in a matter of finesse. To such a state of perfection had I now brought my arrangements, that everything of interest was at once known to me; and the hanging of Dr. Lamson, Prince Leopold’s wedding, and the bombardment of Alexandria, all assisted in their turn to relieve the monotony of my existence. Nor was my system confined to gloomy Clerkenwell; but penetrated into the sanctity of the more fashionable Belgravia; and conversations of peculiar interest to me, that took place at table or in the privacy of the closet, and that I had a motive for hearing, were repeated to me within a day with a minuteness of detail that would astonish the gossipers. This is no idle boast, as documents and dates in my possession can and may testify. In short I was in telephonic communication with the outer world (registered number 594). But a master hand was required to keep this huge machinery in order, which, no sooner was it removed, than it crumbled to pieces. Within a week after my final departure, papers began to be picked up, and a scientific elaboration, incapable of detection, was degraded to the level and shared the same fate as the commonest pickpocket’s ruse. The moral that is to be gleaned from all this is: If you wish a thing done well, do it yourself. I trust the sequel to my departure above narrated may afford a melancholy satisfaction to those interested, and convince them that no extra precautions are necessary to prevent the repetition of these innovations; the rules in force are amply sufficient for the ordinary prisoner. But my constitution, suffering from this severe strain, and assisted considerably by fever and ague, began to give way, and led to a change in my everyday life. In short I was ill, and admitted into hospital. As I ascended the stairs that led from the worsted wards I had the consolation of feeling I should not be forgotten. I had indeed left my mark; I had crippled half the prison.

There are many abuses that might be changed with advantage, and which I cannot do better than point out, in hopes that somebody in authority will read, mark, and inwardly digest them. On each cell door is a card setting forth your name, sentence, and full particulars. This placarding of one’s name is surely useless, as one is never called by it, and the only object it appears to serve is to enable prisoners to discover all about one another. My cell was once situated on the high road to the chapel, and every malefactor en route to worship made it his business to master my history. This surely is unfair, and hardly contemplated by the authorities. If it is absolutely essential that one’s name is to be placarded, why not inside instead of outside the door, as was the custom before the Government took over the prisons?

Too much at present is left to the turnkeys. They are, indeed, the channel of communication and the only official with whom the ordinary prisoner comes in contact. The chief warder deputes details to the principal warders of divisions, who in their turn confide them to the warders of wards, who again leave the carrying out to the turnkeys of flights. It is not fair that so much should be left to these assistants—which, despite any assertion to the contrary, is the case—and who, though counting in their ranks many highly respectable men, have also some desperate rascals—vindictive, deceitful, and utterly unfit for any discretionary powers, and who would stick at no degree of brutality if capable of being indulged in with impunity.

The use of the same baths by prisoners and men previous to medical examination cannot be too strongly deprecated. That a clean man should be compelled to risk contagion with one suffering from itch or covered with vermin is as filthy as it is disgraceful. With all the space at their disposal the wonder is a swimming bath has never commended itself.

Every warder in charge of a ward has a prisoner allotted to him, who performs such necessary duties as cleaning his office and assisting him in his multifarious returns. These men are generally selected from the clerk or tradesman class, and have great facilities for knowing everything that passes through the office. I have found, indeed, that they know and hear a great deal too much.

Thus a descriptive return containing every particular about one from one’s youth up, and supposed to be a confidential document, is carefully studied by these cleaners, and facts likely to be of general interest—especially about “celebrities”—go the round of the prison. These documents should either not be in the warders’ charge, or if so, should be carefully locked up. In my opinion they would be more appropriately assigned to the care of the principal warders of divisions. These cleaners, if dishonestly or greedily inclined, appropriate considerably more than their share of the daily rations. In one ward I seldom, or ever, got my supply of Monday bacon, which had either been filched or bitten in half; and as the original supply does not exceed the proportions of a postage stamp, it can ill afford this wholesale reduction.

I cannot leave the subject of “warders” without bearing my testimony to their excellency as a class—I specially refer to those in charge of wards, and not to their washerwomen and plumbers and glaziers confrères. The multiplicity of returns they have to render daily, the alterations, however trivial, that are constantly occurring and have to be noted, and the serious consequences attending the slightest error or omission, all combine to make their duties and responsibilities more arduous than any class of men I have seen. Their pay for this, moreover, is so small—29s. a week, with a gradual rise—that many otherwise excellent men shrink from accepting promotion. The colour-sergeants of the army might learn a lesson from these warders, and if the “descriptive return” in use, and which supplies every information, was substituted for the ponderous ledgers, small books, defaulter sheets, etc., as used in the army, it would come like the Waverley pen—

As a blessing and boon to sergeants and men.

CHAPTER XIX.
“THE CONVALESCENT WARD.”

On my admission into hospital I was at first sent to the convalescent ward, a huge room devoted to light and unpronounced cases. It accommodates 40 patients, and the entire furniture may be roughly estimated as consisting of 40 beds, 40 tables, 40 chairs, one shovel and tongs, and one thermometer. The beds are ranged round the entire room, the tables and chairs a yard apart forming two rows down the centre; the thermometer is suspended from a beam, the shovel is chained to one fire-place, and the tongs to the other. A high desk and a still higher stool complete the furniture of this singular room. The fixtures are of a more unique kind; at one end are the cabinets, at the other the lavatories. These are simply boarded partitions, extending only about three feet from the ground—so constructed as to make it absolutely impossible to conceal more than one-third of the body, however engaged; thus admirably adapted for observation, but utterly regardless of privacy or decency, and revolting in their proximity to a room devoted to convalescents. Along the walls here and there are chains hanging. These are the alarm bells for communicating with the outer yard in case of fire, mutiny, or other emergency. At each corner are the padded cells—grim, sombre constructions—admirably adapted for deadening sound, and fitted with every appliance for the restraint of violent and demented criminals. The proximity of these cells is very awful, and the shrieks that occasionally emanate from them, and the sights I have seen, would have filled me with horror six months previously. The treatment of convalescents is as original as can well be conceived. The day is mapped out into the following portions, which are observed with a punctuality seldom attained except by chronometers:—

6 A.M.	Rise, and roll up your bed.
6.30 ,,	Breakfast.
11 ,,	Visit by surgeon.
12 (noon)	Dinner.
3 to 4 P.M.	Exercise.
5 ,,	Supper.
6 ,,	Bed.

The dietary is the simple prison fare, although many (I amongst others) are on what is known as ordinary diet—i.e., cocoa, mutton broth, and a chop—and others on low diet, consisting of tea, bread-and-butter, beef-tea, rice pudding, etc. Discipline is little or nothing relaxed here; indeed the general system is evidently based on what is considered applicable to confirmed patients not suffering from any acute disease, and lunatics real and pretended. Shortly after rising a shout of “Physic!” causes a rush to get the first pull at one’s respective medicines; and as the same mug does duty for everything, and as time is an object, it has been found that a dose of hop mixture is not improved if augmented by the dregs of the black draught left by one’s predecessor. Being always up and washed whilst my brother-reprobates were still dozing, I was invariably the first to benefit by a clean mug, and devoted the next few minutes to watching the frowsy cluster of depravity, half dressed, half awake, and just out of bed, drink or throw away their doses as opportunity permitted. Although strictly prohibited, many of these wretches usually turned in with their stockings on, and in some instances with their trowsers; and on rising, having previously assumed boots and vest, proceeded to wash. I minutely watched this ceremony, and seldom detected the slightest desire to do more than make clean the extreme outer rim of their cups and platters, extending—humanly speaking—from the hand to the elbow, and from the chin to the ear. Although in many respects preferable to the prison proper, this convalescent ward was one of the severest ordeals I had to undergo. I would not have missed it for the world, nevertheless, to sleep, live, move, and have one’s being amongst thirty or forty pickpockets, idiots, burglars, and lunatics, implies an experience that baffles description. At 6.30 the advent of two wash-tubs, containing respectively cocoa and gruel, announces breakfast, which, being carefully measured into tins, is consumed in an incredibly short time, and devoured with the voracity never to be seen except in menageries or prisons. It must be remembered that the room contains specimens of some of the sharpest pickpockets in London, and experts at every dodge for the deceiving of their fellows, compelled by circumstances to be huddled together, and relieved from the isolation of separate cells that makes them comparatively powerless for mischief. It cannot be wondered at, then, that the rules require, if anything, to be more stringent; but all the vigilance of the sharpest warder is powerless, and no two eyes capable of seeing or preventing the wholesale exchange of food that now begins. If the warder is looking this way, a loaf will change hands for a mug of gruel in the twinkling of an eye; if he suddenly turns round, advantage is taken of it to swap something on the other side; and at dinner hour especially, I have seen bread, potatoes, and lumps of meat flying about with a rapidity, precision of aim, and a profound silence, only disturbed by the “flop, flop,” as they reached the various hands, that would have done credit to the most expert Oriental-Whitechapel juggler. After breakfast everyone is supposed to remain at his table without interruption the entire day, except during exercise, and time is only to be beguiled by reading such wholesome literature as “The Converted Burglar, and how he did it,” as the chaplain may be graciously pleased to supply. At the side of each table is considerately placed a handful of fibre, which is purely optional whether picked or no. I attribute its presence indeed to the association that invariably exists in official minds between hospitals, chapels, and mortuaries, and only capable of being dealt with on the principle that a certain old gentleman “finds some mischief still for convalescent hands to do.”

Happily no one really is ill in the convalescent ward (he would then be removed to the hospital), or it would be absolutely impossible to bear the incessant fuss from officials and filth from the prisoners that never cease day or night. Not twenty minutes elapse during the twenty-four hours that someone is not passing through; and as every approach is barricaded and double locked, the rattle of keys, the hobnailed boots of head warders pounding over the floor, and the shouting and yelling, and the necessity of “sitting up” to your table as they pass through, make it almost unbearable for even a convalescent. In addition to this is the absolute necessity of keeping one’s eye on one’s next-tabled neighbour. If you turn round during a meal, a piece of food disappears, and any trifle you may happen to possess cannot be considered your own from one moment to another. I had a worsted needle that I prized considerably; it fulfilled the duties of a toothpick, and had been my constant companion and comforter for weeks. It was, indeed, my most cherished possession. I usually kept it inside my cap, and my cap outside my head; here at least it was safe, but one day, in a fit of absence, I crossed over the room. On my return I discovered that my cap had been rifled and the needle gone.

An old man (though only one of many) added considerably to my burthen. He took a great fancy to me—or my food—and seldom lost a chance of persecuting me. He was never without a pocket-handkerchief stuffed full of crusts, chop bones, suet pudding, or any garbage he could find, firmly clutched by day, and placed under his pillow at night. He was by way of being a gentleman, and said, with some degree of truth, that he was a general officer (he was at present undergoing three months’ retirement for stealing a sovereign from a sixpenny lodging-house keeper). He approached one with the blandest smile, hoped you were not seriously ill, and asked how your appetite was. This, indeed, was the burthen of his song:—If you told him it was bad, he begged you to kindly reserve your fragments for him; if you said it was good, he stole what he could. The result was consequently the same; and so to get rid of him I promised to help him when I could. This nasty old man slept two beds from me, and often during the night, “when everything was still,” I have watched him unpack his treasure, and, selecting certain of the stalest pieces for immediate use, carefully tie up and restore the bundle to beneath his pillow or mattress.

This hoarding and stealing of food was by no means confined to the “General”; it was, indeed, so much in vogue that periodical raids were made on the beds, and even inside the shirts men were wearing, which invariably resulted in the exhumation of sundry delicacies. So strong was the ruling passion that one wretch with half a lung, who was allowed extras which he never consumed, rather than part with a crumb, would hide chops and even rice pudding in his pocket-handkerchief and towel, or secrete them in his bedding or about his person.

That food was a drug in the market may be reasonably assumed; and if further proof was wanting, the reckless waste that took place after meals would amply provide it. The supplies of soup, porridge, cocoa, and gruel were invariably in excess of the regulation personal allowance. Discipline, however, demanded that so much and no more should be given to each man; and I have seen gallons of capital soup and cocoa thrown down the sink daily that many a starving wretch outside would gratefully have devoured. I do not blame the hospital warders for this custom so much as the kitchen officials for either sending too much or adding too much water, for experience had taught them that it was equally dangerous to give more or less than the regulation allowance, and that they would probably be reported by one thief, if another thief got more than himself; and it was a common occurrence for vagrants who had never heard of arrowroot before coming to Coldbath to complain of the thinness of their nightly allowance as “unfit to be eaten.” I once suggested to the head hospital warder (but my proposal was never carried out) that the staple food of discontented vagrant invalids should be treacle and brimstone, and that if they complained of their diet, the treacle should be omitted by way of variety.

I don’t know what is the annual expense of food, fuel, and gas in the various prisons, but I confidently assert that an immense saving would result if the coal at present issued ad lib. for the use of the warders was as carefully weighed as the prisoners’ various allowances. These turnkeys, whose supply of coal at home is probably limited to half a hundred a week, cannot here do without fires banked up a foot high night and day in the various corridors; and I have often been awakened in various parts of the prison by the shovelling and piling on of coals on even temperate nights. I should like no better billet than to be appointed contractor for the coal and potatoes used and wasted in Her Majesty’s prisons.

Another means of keeping down the present excessive expenses connected with prisoners’ keep and warders’ coals would be the adoption of the sensible course pursued in France, whereby the clothes of murdered men and the instruments with which the murders have been committed, if not claimed within three months, are sold by public auction. This might be supplemented by the sale of the articles found in cabs and elsewhere, often comprising objects of considerable value, and at present taken to Scotland Yard and never claimed. It will possibly be urged that all this would be opposed to English tastes and ideas; and yet it is an incontrovertible fact that the principal purchasers at these “art” sales in Paris are English and Americans, that the price of articles which have belonged to notorious criminals generally rules very high, and that the ghastly relics for the most part find their way to England.

Exercise was a most ridiculous ceremony; the tables were pushed back, and everyone proceeded round and round in two rings. A scene I once saw at some theatre, representing the “casual ward” of a workhouse, more nearly resembles it than anything I can think of.

Amongst my numerous companions in this delectable sport was a celebrated pickpocket; who was good enough on my invitation to show me “how it’s done.” My request, indeed, appeared to flatter his vanity so much that on more than one occasion, when I was not thinking of his particular talent, he has removed my pocket-handkerchief, and politely returned it as if pretending to pick it up. I once saw him bring his science to bear on a thoughtless warder, who, through ignorance probably of his special talent, had asked him to brush him down. A wink from the thief drew my attention to his movements, and I watched him with profound interest. For some seconds he confined himself to the legitimate brushing, but as he worked round and the arm of his victim was slightly raised, with the unemployed hand he deliberately opened the warder’s pouch, took out a piece of tobacco, and then quietly re-buttoned it; with another smudge of the brush and “I think that’ll do, sir,” he resumed his place. I wouldn’t have betrayed him for the world; indeed, I gave him some bread for the exhibition.

It was pretty generally known that I was very green, and that I was anxious to see everything; indeed, I never lost an opportunity of conversing with everyone capable of telling me an adventure; so that one way and another I heard a lot, much of which I shall hereafter narrate.

Another oddity with whom I was associated was a kleptomaniac. Nothing was safe from him, and his eye was as quick as his hand. He might be seen at all hours sneaking about, thrusting his arm between mattresses and occasionally into people’s pockets. He was undergoing two years’ imprisonment for stealing two ounces of tobacco. So impossible was it for him to keep his hands from picking and stealing that it was frequently necessary to lock him into a separate cell for weeks at a time, only to be released after piteous appeals and promises not to offend again, which were invariably broken on the first opportunity. He was as nimble as a cat, and occasionally gave an acrobatic performance on the sly. The poor wretch was admittedly an imbecile, and it seems inexplicable how he ever incurred the punishment he received, though he was probably happier at Coldbath than he was ever likely to be elsewhere. One day he could not be found, and after the hue-and-cry had been raised and the prison and grounds scoured, he was found concealed in a tank on a portion of the roof. What he could have wanted there is beyond comprehension, for he dreaded the water and never washed unless compelled.

I’ve heard a great deal of prisoners escaping, and from the penal establishments it is unquestionably practicable. At a prison conducted, however, on the Coldbath Fields’ principle such an idea is simply absurd. I do not refer to the impediments of locks and doors so much as to the full blaze of light system along the corridors. The constant countings, too, and patrols night and day would at once discover the truant, to say nothing of the 20-feet wall that surrounds the building. I have occasionally read descriptions of escapes from the Bastille, where prisoners with a yard of rope, a spare shirt, and an oyster knife, have burrowed and scaled and got clean off. I am not in a position to dispute these assertions, but I will willingly undertake to provide the most expert acrobat with a sack full of ropes, crowbars, and linen, in his cell, and stake my existence that he does not proceed five feet beyond his premises without detection. The escape of a notorious burglar from Millbank Convict Prison last year gave rise at the time to considerable discussion amongst the officials at Coldbath Fields. That a man should be able to break through the roof of a cell during the early hours of morning without creating a disturbance seems incredible, and had the corridors had the same acoustic properties as those at Coldbath, would have been simply impossible without collusion.

So extraordinarily is sound conveyed in these vast and barren tunnels that every word spoken during the night at the other end of the passage is distinctly audible, whereas conversation close by is almost unintelligible, so great is the echo. I think Mr. Burglar Lovell may congratulate himself that he had not been relegated to Coldbath Fields, for he would most assuredly have derived less benefit there from his sixty feet of rope than he appears to have done at Millbank. A prisoner attempting to escape forfeits all the time he may have completed of his sentence—a sufficient deterrent for a sane man! A very disgusting adjunct to the convalescent ward is “Itch Bay,” and though comparatively distinct, is actually next door, and leads from it. It is devoted to those filthy creatures who, on admission, are found to abound in vermin, or who, after months in prison—as can be verified—have caught the disease (according to my theory) by using the universal bath. The treatment of this complaint can hardly be said to be a pleasant, although undoubtedly a very effectual one. A man is taken to “the bay,” made to strip off all his clothes, put into a separate cell, and smeared with a thick coating of mercurial ointment, and left to soak for three days at least, and often longer. His bedding may best be described as an ointment mattress, with “blankets to match,” so saturated is everything in this fearful quarter, the stench from which pervades the passage, and works into the convalescent ward. I used almost daily to see these loathsome objects, either before admission or after three days’ retirement, and it is difficult to say which is the most revolting. On admission, and previous to treatment, I have seen three or four of these unclean things waiting to be admitted. During this time—often an hour and more—they sit in the convalescent ward, use the furniture, and circulate with the others. This surely is wrong, and may justly be laid to the charge of negligent warders! On leaving they are again taken through the ward, devoid of all covering but the saturated blanket, and conducted to a bath. This bath is a fixture in the hospital kitchen. Yes, the itch bath in the principal prison of civilized London is in the hospital kitchen! I have seen these social pariahs splashing about within a few feet of the kitchen fire, whilst a rice pudding was being made—an appetizing accompaniment to the preparation of human food. This gross outrage on cleanliness must fairly be charged to the Home Office people; and as the kitchen is situated in the main thoroughfare, and passed through almost daily by visiting justices or prison commissioners, it is clearly no official’s business to point it out—and if a surgeon represented it he would probably be told to mind his own business. This is in conformity with prison usage, and anyone mentioning, or taking apparent interest in a trifle not actually connected with his special department, is at once suspected of some sinister motive. I have heard officials regret this disgusting institution, and their inability to remedy it.

I have more horrors connected with this kitchen to mention when I describe the hospital, and hope some one whose business it is will redress this crying shame. As a set-off to the many discomforts attending the convalescent ward, were the facilities it offered for the uninterrupted working of the telephone, and so multifarious were the opportunities, and so utterly impossible detection, that I omitted the commonest precautions as absolutely superfluous. My favourite time for correspondence was between two and four in the morning. I noticed that nature usually asserted itself on turnkey humanity, and that the most watchful became drowsy about this time. It must be remembered that a night warder is in the room all night, and that the gas, though turned down, is alight. I frequently wrote for two hours at a time, and as my bed was next the fire-place I had the advantage of poking it into a blaze as circumstances required. I often wondered whether these watch-dogs were really dozing. That they had not the faintest suspicion I am confident; the very possibility of such coolness may possibly have disarmed them, for I have written for hours under their very noses. One night I had a considerable scare. I had been carried away by the interest of my letter, and whether I had thought aloud and some word had escaped me I cannot say, but on peeping round the mantelpiece I saw one of the most ferocious of the tribe—who was on duty that night—leaning forward and peering in my direction. His eyes glistened like a cheetah’s as he cautiously approached the fire-place—the mantelpiece and one bed alone separated our respective positions, the rattle of a paper, or a hurried motion, would have been fatal; so, proceeding to mutter in my sleep, I slid my arm over a very damning pile. For some moments he stood intently watching me, and then happily began to poke the fire. Had he delayed much longer I should inevitably have betrayed myself; as it was, the noise “justified” my being disturbed, and I rolled round, “papers under,” as Bell’s Life would once have described a pugilistic round. The danger was now past, but I had quite determined, if he had asked me any unpleasant questions, to have made a dash at the fire-place and destroyed the evidence. There is a curious invention that exists in various parts of the prison. Detector-clocks are intended to show that a warder must have been alert every half-hour, by being required to press down a pin. This pin is so constructed that it cannot be let down except at the exact time, or unless the clock is unlocked. These various clocks undergo a minute inspection the following morning, and if all the pins are not down the delinquent is fined a shilling, or even more, for each omission. I could tell some curious stories about these detector clocks, but their narration might be interpreted as pointing in directions I have no intention of indicating. I may, however, without compromising anyone, state that if the authorities conceive they are aware of the exact number of keys that open these clocks, they are considerably out of their reckoning.

“My eye, old man,” I one morning said to an acquaintance, “you’ve missed two or three pins.”

“Never mind,” he replied; “I’ve got a pal outside that’ll make it all right before I’m relieved.”

At 6.30, when my friend was, I hope, comfortably in bed, I saw the Detector inspected and found “correct.”

On one occasion a friend kindly supplemented the rubbishy literature provided by the chaplain by lending me to read the book of “Rules for the Guidance of Warders and Assistant-Warders.” They can hardly be said to be as interesting as those lately published by Howard Vincent for the guidance of the police, although, situated as I was, they were to me vastly more important. I had intended to have produced them verbatim, but they are not of sufficient general interest. They, however, deal with the various duties of warders in that absurd style which attempts to impress on them the responsibility and general respectability of what, if carried out in its integrity, is a contemptible system of espionage.

CHAPTER XX.
CRIMINAL LUNATICS.

In one of the padded cells was a dangerous lunatic. For weeks and months he had kept up an incessant conversation with himself, occasionally diversified by shrieks and yells. At first it was believed the man was shamming, and he was taken before the visiting justices and sentenced to be flogged, but this usually infallible cure had not the desired effect. Clothes were converted into rags in an incredibly short space of time. He was handcuffed in front, and still they were destroyed. He was handcuffed behind with the same result. On his door being opened he would be found naked, the handcuffs on the floor, and his clothes in shreds. Canvas sacks, with slits for the head and hands, were suggested, and, first clothed, then handcuffed with his hands behind him, and finally covered with the huge sack, he was again consigned to the cell. The same result, however, invariably followed, and the kind-hearted doctor, despairing of cure, and though inwardly convinced it was an artfully contrived sham, yet loth to persist in the stringent remedies that alone were effectual, gave him the benefit of the doubt, and consigned him to the Criminal Lunatic Asylum at Hanwell. I have frequently seen this maniac fed. His door was opened and he was brought out, and, half-naked and handcuffed, bleared, filthy, and bleeding from self-inflicted injuries, with dishevelled hair, and glaring like a panther, this wild beast in human form would open his mouth, and gruel and bread be shovelled in bounteously. Attempts would occasionally be made to induce him to wash, but at best they were qualified successes, and the assistance of four or five turnkeys had eventually to be resorted to. It was impossible to believe this being was sane and capable of keeping up the deception for such a time. Sleep was out of the question, for night was made hideous by the muffled shouts and blasphemies that forced themselves through the padded cell. But a reprieve at length came, and it was with a sense of relief that I one morning saw him taken off to Hanwell. The lull, however, was not of long duration; and he was eventually sent back as “cured.” The cure showed itself in a curious way. On finding himself again in his old quarters, and smarting under a pretended sense of breach of faith, he raved that the doctor at Hanwell had promised to release him if he withdrew his claim to the crown of Ireland. And now a reign of terror began in earnest, and shouting for Parnell, his secretary, the Empress Eugenie, and Old Ireland, he raved and roared day and night. How human nature could bear such a strain appeared marvellous. One night all was calm. “Thank goodness!” I thought, “he’s collapsed.” Had he? The wish, alas! was father to the thought, and the lull was only the precursor of the storm. Whilst we were sleeping the maniac was maturing his plans, and a shout of “Fire!” one night reminded us of his proximity. Smoke was now issuing from the padded cell. To draw back the ponderous bolts was the work of a second. To distinguish anything was absolutely impossible. Blinding smoke filled the cell, and as it poured out a terrible sight presented itself. On the floor was the charred mattress, the horse-hair alight, and the plank bed smouldering, and peacefully lying beside it was the madman. The first idea was that he was dead, but the smoke that would have killed a sane man had but temporarily stupefied him. In an instant he was on his feet, and, his arms being free, made a desperate attack with pieces of glass on the two men who had humanely approached him. Further help was now sent for, during which time he kicked, struck, and bit everything within reach, and it required sixteen men to secure and remove this wild beast in human form. The extent of his mischief now made itself apparent. How he had removed the handcuffs remains a mystery, but with the cunning and dexterity only to be found in maniacs, he had succeeded in reaching the gas, which, situated ten feet from the ground, and protected by a strong glass, must have taxed his ingenuity, not only to reach, but eventually to open, and yet this had been done so quietly that forty men and a watchful warder in the adjoining room heard nothing. With the fire now at his disposal, he had burnt the straps that were lashed round his body to secure the sack, but finding the effect not sufficiently expeditious, had proceeded to pull out the bed-stuffing, and lying down naked, bruised, and bleeding, beside the smouldering mass, calmly awaited the conflagration that was to free him. The cell presented an extraordinary appearance. On the floor were broken glass, burning wood, and his clothes torn to shreds; here the handcuffs, there the charred straps: the walls were smeared with filth and dabbed with porridge; the plank bed was torn up, and plaster and brickwork removed: a terrible wreck, an incredible performance, and all the work of two hands, handcuffed behind and strapped, and surrounded by every precaution that official ingenuity could suggest.

This final escapade materially assisted the magisterial finding as to the extent of the maniac’s “cure,” and he was again consigned to Hanwell.

Another lunatic of a different type was an inmate of the convalescent ward, a harmless, inoffensive creature, that had been flogged out of his senses. His physique proclaimed him incapable of doing bodily harm to a calf. He was not more than five feet high, with a fore-arm like a robin’s thigh, and the receding forehead, sunken eye, and conical skull associated with imbecility; but he had once “threatened” a warder, a hulking, round-shouldered old woman, that might have squeezed the life out of him without turning a hair, and discipline demanded he should be reported, and the visiting justices sentenced him to be flogged. From that day he never spoke, and would sit for hours without moving; suddenly he would break out into an immoderate fit of laughter, to be immediately followed by a paroxysm of grief, and, laying his head on the table, would sob like a child. Nothing appeared likely to restore his naturally limited intellect, and the country will be at the expense of keeping this “dangerous criminal” for another twelvemonth, who would be infinitely more at home at Earlswood Asylum for Idiots. A perfect child occupied another of these hospital cells, an incorrigible young scamp of about fourteen, that nothing seemed capable of taming. Everything within reach he proceeded to destroy, and clothes supplied him in the morning were in shreds at night. He, too, was constantly handcuffed; he refused to eat, and for a week nothing passed his lips. One day, on his door being opened, he was found suspended by a bed-strap from the bell-handle: another second, and life would have been extinct. For this he was taken before the visiting justices and birched. It had, however, no deterrent effect, and up to the time of his release he remained the same incorrigible young ruffian. There is no hope for such a lad; his future is bound to be a repetition of many instances I saw amongst the adults, who had commenced a career of crime with birchings, followed by three and five years in a reformatory, and ending with imprisonment and eventually penal servitude. Another companion that was the source of occasional anxiety, had been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, and though usually quiet, was subject to extraordinary fits. The first intimation of one coming on was a demoniacal groan, and in an incredibly short time a space was cleared round him. It had been found, indeed, that nothing could arrest the first paroxysm, and on the “band beginning to play,” a stampede invariably ensued: and not without cause, for everything within reach became an instant wreck, and tables, chairs, books, and (when procurable) arms and noses, were ruthlessly attacked by hands, feet, and teeth. When comparatively restored it took six or eight men to remove him into a cell, and the only thing that appeared to rouse him was the presence of the priest. So efficacious was this remedy that when everything else failed, the Roman Catholic chaplain was invariably sent for, and in a moment oil appeared to be thrown on the troubled waters, and the maniac arose subdued, and clothed in his right mind. Here was a religion that appeared to appeal to the feelings, and to produce results never attained by brow-beating and personality—a lesson to be laid to heart, and worthy of imitation, though in the quarter it was most needed it was, I fear, utterly thrown away. Personally this influence did not surprise me, for though debarred, by being a Protestant, from coming into actual contact with the priest, I was considerably struck, and almost fascinated, by the kind smile and friendly salutation he had for all his co-religionists. An Italian by nationality, with all the refinement of manner habitual to his countrymen, this polished gentleman was a pronounced contrast to the fire-and-brimstone snob occasionally met with in the “Established” ranks.

CHAPTER XXI.
PRISON CELEBRITIES.

I was surprised at the number of respectable men—such as solicitors, an ex-officer of Guards, a bank manager, a man of title, stockbrokers, cashiers, ex-officers of the army and navy, clerks, clergymen, etc.—in Coldbath Fields. Some of these had quite lost (supposing they ever had any) their pristine semblance of respectability; others, again, retained the appearance of persons of education, and spoke and deported themselves as such. A lamentable instance of the fatal effect of associating with the scum, and the ease with which a young man of good position can acquire the style and appearance of a vagrant, was exemplified in young B—. He was not more than 25 or 26, had been a subaltern in the — Guards, and came, moreover, of a good county stock; and yet in six short months he had so far degenerated as to be punished on the day his sentence expired for stealing a loaf from a fellow prisoner.

A worthy old man with grey hair and venerable appearance, and who might have passed for the chairman of a board of directors, appeared every morning at mine and other cells in the passage with a dust-pan, and with methodical precision removed the sweepings. He told me he had been a solicitor with a large connection, with chambers in — Street, and had a wife and grown-up family in a comfortable house in a well-known suburb. His imprisonment was perceptibly telling on him, and his hair and beard grew whiter every day.

A bustling, business-like man, one day attracted my attention. He was connected with the stores, and brought me a new pair of boots. He had been the manager of a London bank, and undergoing retirement for six months for some error regarding the ownership of £300.

A tall, smart-looking man that was pointed out to me, was, I was informed, an individual who attained notoriety some two years ago over a mining scheme. He was suffering two years’ incarceration for a miscalculation of over £7000.

A man who called himself Count H—, and an ex-convict to boot, was languishing for a year, because certain noblemen had had the bad taste to object to his having obtained money from them by false pretences. This nobleman! had a mania for petitioning the Home Office (I will give a specimen of his style hereafter).

In addition to these, numerous individuals who had been gentlemen in their day were known to me by sight. Conspicuous amongst them, was an old jail bird and ex-convict, who had 20 years ago been a captain in the army, and ever since had existed (and still is) in prison, for terms of seven, five, five, two, and one years. All the starch had been thoroughly wrung out of him, though he occasionally stood on a dilapidated kind of dignity. I once asked him where a friend of his had gone. He replied, “I don’t know; we don’t speak now; he’s no gentleman. Will you believe it, he had the impertinence to doubt my word.” As his word had been doubted a good many times during the past 20 years, I was considerably amused by this assumption of dignity.

Many prisoners are under the impression that they have only to petition the Home Office to procure a remission of their sentence. It seems perfectly immaterial to them, whether they have the slightest grounds for this assumption or not, and it frequently happens that, instead of mitigating their offence, they put matters in a more unfavourable light by airing their grievances, whilst others make a rambling statement referring to every subject but the one particularly concerning themselves.

Count H— was a specimen of this class. He was undergoing a well-merited 12 months’ imprisonment for defrauding the Dukes of S— and M— and other noblemen of sums of money, by representing himself as the son of some individual, which he certainly was not. It is, of course, possible that he may (to use a vulgar expression) have been “changed at nuss,” though the fact that he had previously undergone five years’ penal servitude for a similar offence minimizes the probability that he was acting under a misapprehension. The Count! had no sooner taken up his quarters than he expressed a desire to petition the Home Secretary. A “form” being supplied him, which he retained four days, eventually reappeared so blurred and smeared with blots and erasures that its transmission was impossible. A second attempt was more successful, and the following exhaustive specimen of penmanship and veracity struggled up to the Home Office, and eventually struggled back:—“That your petitioner, on being discharged from Pentonville Convict Prison, at the expiration of five years’ penal servitude, found that certain moneys and property, valued at several hundred pounds, had been stolen by his agent, who collected his rent on his estates in Italy; that being at that time without funds to go abroad, he had written to the Duke of S— and Duke of M— and others, asking for a loan until he received his rents. That his father really was Count H— and a friend of these noblemen, and that the charge of false pretences was consequently incorrect. That he had held diplomatic appointments, and been decorated for gallant service, and that he possesses a coronet with S.P.Q.R., all of which clearly proves his identity. In conclusion, your petitioner appeals to you with confidence as a lawyer of renown, and a scion of the noble house of Vernon.—Signed, H—.”

I have corrected “the Count’s” spelling as far as possible; the logic and composition were, however, past redemption. The rogue evidently knew the Home Secretary’s claim to “Royal descent,” as delicately hinted at in the concluding paragraph.

Another individual petitioned against his hair and beard being cut, on religious grounds, and quoted the Law of Moses as forbidding these formalities. This specimen did not, I believe, leave the establishment.

I was frequently struck by the vast difference in the sentences awarded in what appeared to me to be parallel cases, and tried in vain to discover any system that might be supposed to regulate them. It cannot be denied that a great difference of opinion exists apparently amongst judges on the subject of crimes and their punishment, and that whereas one judge will administer justice with harshness, another will attain the same desirable end with a regard to humanity. With these respective characteristics, the criminal classes are thoroughly conversant, and it would astonish the Bench if they heard how accurately their respective peculiarities are summed up. Thus one judge is credited with being very severe on conspiracy and long firm cases, whilst another is supposed to be “down” on burglars, whilst it is generally conceded that a plea of guilty will invariably fare better than one of not guilty. For my own part I fancied I had noticed that conspiracy is considered the most serious offence, and that two men conspiring to defraud another of £50 will run the risk of a severer punishment than the individual who unaided steals £500.

I will quote a few first offences which, apparently similar, differ considerably as regards their sentences:—

(a) A solicitor for passing a forged cheque for £18 that had been paid to him: 18 months’ imprisonment with hard labour.

(a) A bank manager for appropriating £300: six months’ imprisonment with hard labour.

(b) A wine merchant for complicity in a forged cheque, £52: sentence, 18 months’ imprisonment with hard labour.

(b) A commission agent for forging a £600 bill of exchange: 12 months’ imprisonment with hard labour.

(c) A clerk (with twenty years’ good character and recommended to mercy), for forging £50 and stealing employer’s cheque: sentence, twenty months’ imprisonment with hard labour.

(c) A City man, for a fraudulent mining scheme and forgery, whereby he obtained £7000: sentence, two years’ imprisonment with hard labour.

(d) A shopman, for robbing his employer of £50: sentence, three months’ imprisonment with hard labour.

(d) A beggar boy, for stealing 1s. 6d.: sentence, three months’ imprisonment with hard labour.

There are men in Coldbath whose cards show upwards of seventy previous convictions, varying from a year to seven days; nor is it to be wondered at, considering the starvation that confronts them outside and the comfort that is accorded them in prison. One of these habitual vagrants on his periodical appearance was usually accosted with an official joke, “Same address, I suppose?” “Yes, please,” was the invariable reply; “no change since last time.”

One old man in the convalescent ward, suffering from rheumatism and asthma, who was supplied with dainties he could never have heard of before, confessed to me that he should have preferred six to the three months’ imprisonment he was undergoing. Another old vagrant (a City man) told me that he always made it a rule to sleep on a doorstep a day or so before Christmas Day to insure the Christmas meal of a loaf of bread, beef, pudding, and a pint of ale, stood by the Lord Mayor to every prisoner in Newgate. He was bewailing the loss of that charming residence, and telling me how, having foolishly omitted to make himself acquainted with the change of system, had subsisted last Christmas Day in “Coldbath” on dry bread and stirabout.

Foreigners of every description find their way into Coldbath, though the majority consists of Germans, mostly Jews. There is an advantage in belonging to this faith, as I was led to understand by a gourmand. It consists in receiving meat on Mondays in lieu of the usual bacon and beans. Circumstances, however, render the temporary embracing of this faith more difficult than they do that of Romanism, which is much in vogue; and as certain punishment would follow the certain detection, Judaism has not as many followers as the Australian meat would otherwise command.

Flogging is usually administered for insubordination and malingering. For less serious offences the punishment cells and short commons usually have the desired effect. There are two descriptions of corporal punishment—the cat and the birch, usually reserved for youths. In the former case the culprit is lashed to a triangle; in the latter he is hoisted on what is euphoniously called a donkey. As a punishment, the cat, as applied in prisons, is not to be compared to its defunct namesake in the army or navy. It is sufficiently severe, however, to necessitate certain after-treatment—an item in the programme regulated rather by the “system” than humanity. A soldier was invariably admitted into hospital after undergoing corporal punishment; a prisoner is, however, flogged and then conducted to his cell.

These floggings are usually administered in the forenoon in presence of a surgeon, and before evening a zinc plaster—perhaps two—is applied to the recipient’s back. The performance takes place in a room off the main passage, and is not unattended with a certain amount of ceremony. The traffic is stopped, and no particulars transpire but the howls of the victim, which can be heard all over the building. Since the abolition of Newgate, Coldbath has risen in retributive importance, and garrotters sentenced to the lash here receive their punishment.

A one-legged garrotter was lately flogged; his leg, which had been amputated at the thigh, prevented his being securely tied, and his abortive struggles procured him a flogging infinitely severer than ordinarily experienced. Every blow fell on a different place, and the twenty lashes left twenty wheals, breaking the skin in a dozen different places. Sympathy with a garrotter would be out of place, and no one can doubt that he richly deserved his punishment; yet one’s bowels of compassion are instinctively moved by the description given to me by an eye-witness, of a lump of bleeding humanity alone and sobbing in a cell, and receiving at five in the afternoon a zinc plaster to apply to the back that had been torn and lacerated in the morning.

This treatment in no way reflects on the prison officials, who simply carry out the regulations; it is the system that is to blame, and is capable, like the dispensation of justice before described, of considerable improvement on the score of humanity.

Floggings and birchings appear to have no effect on these hardened criminals, and though they shriek and bellow during the infliction, they invariably revert to the same offence, and qualify for a second edition. Shamming madness is a favourite form of malingering indulged in by prisoners. The uneducated mind, however, invariably resorts to the same tactics—a combination between the symptoms of idiocy and hydrophobia that generally fails in its objects, and invariably yields to treatment by the cat.

The boys that find their way into Coldbath are the most hardened young scamps I ever saw. They are supposed to be isolated, as required by recent agitation on the subject of juvenile offenders. That the isolation is a farce need hardly be said. At chapel they certainly occupy benches to themselves, but so do the various wards and trades; the tasks they are put to are similar to those done by adults; and the pains and penalties they undergo are identical in time and circumstance to those of the full-blown criminal. I have seen these urchins on arrival, with their knuckles in their eyes, blubbering in chapel, and a week later winking and making signs as if determined to assert their qualification to be clothed and treated like their adult fellow-prisoners.

Tearing up their clothes is the favourite pastime of these promising youths. I have frequently seen these children marched along a passage, handcuffed behind, and preceded by a warder carrying a bundle of rags three inches square, that formerly represented their linen and clothes. The treatment they receive puts this crime at a premium. Boys are admittedly vain, and desirous of appearing as men to their older associates, what more natural then, that a child (one of the instances I refer to could not have been fourteen) should aspire to the honour of appearing as a hero; marching through a crowded passage with his manly work conspicuously displayed, treated, moreover, like a real man, manacled, and eventually birched, and receiving the approbation invariably accorded by the criminal classes to the perpetrators of wanton mischief. One would suppose that in a huge building like Coldbath Fields these urchins might be absolutely isolated, and if their offences were punished without the publicity that at present attends them, they would soon be given up as not worth the consequence. That the treatment of this hardened class of boys is a difficult problem, cannot be denied, and the cunning and ingenuity they display is almost incredible. Fully aware that the visiting Justices only visit the prison once a fortnight, and that without their order a birching is impossible, it frequently happens that on the day of their discharge every article of their clothing is made into mincemeat. For this mischief they are absolutely free from any consequence, it being an offence against the prison, and not against the law. If a remedy was applied to this crime, similar to the Article of War that provides against the destruction of Government property, the delinquent might be handed over to a policeman, and this would effectually stop the practice.