Rottnest is an island some twelve miles distance from Freemantle, and Freemantle is the seaport town nearest to Perth,—very deficient in its qualifications in that respect, as I shall explain hereafter. The two places are now spoken of together as containing two convict establishments,—that at Rottnest for black men or aboriginals, and that at Freemantle for European and colonial white prisoners. I will speak of Rottnest first, because it was established for its present purposes before convicts were sent out from England to Western Australia.

The island is about four miles long and two miles broad, and was originally almost covered with bush. The soil is sand throughout. Here and there through one end of the island there are five or six small salt lakes. Here black convicts were confined and made to work very soon after the colony was first established. In the course of a few years they were taken to the mainland, in order that they might be employed on the roads. But they ran away, and could not by any amount of chaining and repression which was compatible with work be kept from escaping. Then the establishment at Rottnest was reopened, and has since been maintained as a penal settlement for black convicts, who have been regularly tried and condemned in accordance with British law. When I visited Rottnest there were sixty-five of these aboriginals in the island,—not a large number, perhaps hardly sufficient to justify any special mention; but the special mention is made because it seemed to me that the black men whom I saw in the prison were very much nearer to a state of civilization, and were upon the whole in a better condition, and indeed happier, than any whom I encountered in other conditions. Of course they desired their liberty, though by no means with that pining desire which creates brooding melancholy; but they were clothed and fed and housed, and constrained to work,—though by no means to work heavily,—and had assumed the look and bearing of human beings. They were not subject, either by night or day, to solitary confinement,—except in cases of outrage and insubordination, and such cases did not often occur. They had a regular dietary,—twelve ounces of meat a day properly cooked, with rice and bread and tea. By their labour wheat was produced from the sand, and barley, and hay. The wheat was thrashed and ground, and of course baked on the island. The only white labour employed was that of six European convicts borrowed from the opposite establishment at Freemantle, to do portions of the work for which black men could not be trained to sufficient skill. These prisoners also made salt from the salt lakes, which is sold on the mainland, and which may be made in such quantity as to pay the expense of the whole establishment. For superintending the salt-works a white man is employed at a salary,—who was himself a convict not long since. I was informed that the produce of the island obtained by the work of the prisoners defrayed the whole expenses of the establishment, except the salaries of the officers. There is a governor, with five warders, and a doctor. There is no chaplain, nor is any attempt made to Christianize these savages. I believe that any such attempt, and that the presence of any chaplain, would be misplaced and useless. I know that for saying this I shall have against me the opinion of many good men,—of the very men whose good opinion I should be most proud to win,—but I do not believe in the result of the Christian teaching which these men are able to receive. Nor does it strike me with any special horror that sixty-five savages should be left without this teaching, when I know it to have been the will of God that hundreds of thousands such as they should die without it in their own countries.

But here, at Rottnest, the aboriginal convicts do work, and work cheerfully. On Sundays they are allowed to roam at will through the island, and they bring home wallabys, and birds, and fishes. At night they are locked up in cells, never less than three together, and are allowed blankets for bedding. It was the nearest approach that I saw to black adult civilisation,—though made through crimes and violence. And here I must again express an opinion, that the crime and the violence of these men have altogether a different effect on the mind of the bystander than have the same deeds when done by white men. As we condemn them for much in that they are savages, so must we acquit them of much for the same reason. Our crimes are often their virtues; but we make them subject to our laws,—of which they know little or nothing,—and hang them or lock them up for deeds for which they are not criminal in their own consciences, and for the non-performance of which they would be condemned by their own laws. I was astonished to find how large a proportion of these black prisoners had been convicted of murder;—and that the two who were awaiting their trial were both accused of that crime. But these murders were chiefly tribal retributions. A man in some tribe is murdered, or perhaps simply dies. It is then considered necessary that the next tribe should lose a man,—so that things might be made equal; and some strong young fellow is told off to execute the decision of the elders. Should he refuse to do so, he is knocked about and wounded and ill treated among his own people. But if he perform the deed entrusted to him, he is tracked down by a black policeman, is tried for murder, and has a life-sentence passed against him. When examined as to these occurrences they almost invariably tell the truth;—never endeavouring to screen themselves by any denial of the murder done, or by the absence of sufficient evidence; but appealing to the necessity that was laid upon them. Such an account one of those in prison, who was to be tried, gave to me in the governor’s presence,—which was much as follows, though at the time demanding interpretation, which I hope the reader will not need:—“Him come,”—him being some old chief in the tribe;—“him say, ‘Go kill Cracko;’”—Cracko being the destined victim;—“me no like; him say, ‘must;’ me no like very much; him hab spear;”—then there was a sign made of the cruel chief wounding his disobedient subject;—“then me go kill Cracko.”—“With a tomahawk?” suggests the governor. The prisoner nods assent, and evidently thinks that the whole thing has been made clear and satisfactory. In very many cases the murderer is acquitted, as the judge very properly refuses to take the prisoner’s story as a plea of guilty, and demands that the crime shall be proved by evidence. If the evidence be forthcoming the young murderer is sent to Rottnest with a life-sentence, and,—as I think,—enters on a much more blessed phase of existence than he has ever known before.

In the evening it was suggested that the prisoners should “have a corroboree” for the amusement of the guests, and orders were given accordingly. At that time I had never seen a corroboree,—and was much interested, because it was said that a special tribe from which sixteen or eighteen of these men came were very great in corroborees. A corroboree is a tribal dance in which the men congregate out in the bush, in the front of a fire, and go through various antics with smeared faces and bodies, with spears and sticks, howling, and moving their bodies about in time;—while the gins, and children, and old people sit round in a circle. I am told that some corroborees are very interesting. I probably never saw a good one,—as I did not find them to be amusing. This corroboree in the Rottnest prison was the best I saw,—but even in that there was not much to delight. When the order was given, I could not but think of other captives who were desired to sing and make merry in their captivity. Here, however, there was no unwillingness,—and when I proposed that five shillings’ worth of tobacco should be divided among the performers, I was assured that the evening would be remembered as a very great occasion in the prison.

I did not find the establishment for white convicts at Freemantle at all as interesting as that at Port Arthur in Tasmania. Port Arthur is in itself very picturesque and beautiful. Freemantle has certainly no natural beauties to recommend it. It is a hot, white, ugly town, with a very large prison, a lunatic asylum, and a hospital for ancient worn-out convicts. No doubt the excitement which one expects to feel in such a place is supposed to be aroused rather by the nature of its inmates and by their treatment, than by any outside accessories;—but the outside accessories of Port Arthur no doubt had a strong effect. And at Port Arthur I met with men who interested me, and with whom I have endeavoured to interest others. At Freemantle there was hardly a man whom it can be worth the reader’s while to have introduced to him. Perhaps that stipulation of which I have spoken, that none but respectable convicts should be sent to Western Australia, may have produced the undesirable effect of which I speak. I can call to mind no special individual except a gentleman whom I remembered to have been tried in England for having got the mate of one of his ships to scuttle the ship out at sea. I saw him walking about with a very placid demeanour, and perhaps his friends may be glad to hear that he was conducting himself in a most exemplary manner. I do not doubt but that he will be editor of a newspaper before long. It was interesting, too, to see tobacco served out to all the European convicts who had not been re-convicted since their arrival. Such men are called probationers, and seem to have considerable privileges,—as though there were much virtue in coming out to the colony and working there gratis, with all expenses paid by the government at home. The poor black fellows only get tobacco on such a very rare holiday occasion as that I have described; but the white men from England, who had scuttled ships and the like, get their weekly supply regularly,—as gentlemen should. I own that I grudged it them.

At Port Arthur I saw men in solitary cells, who had been there long, who would be there long,—who had spent almost their lives either in solitude or under the lash. At Freemantle there were only two or three in the cells, and they only for a day or two each. I rather complained of this to the officer who was showing me the place, giving him to understand that I had expected something more exciting. He had, he said, one man locked up for making himself generally objectionable, whom I could see if I liked; but he warned me, that if I did see him, I might find it very difficult to check his eloquence. The cell was opened, and the man came out and made his speech;—or so much of it as we would consent to hear. At last the warder explained to him that his indulgence could not be prolonged, and he was gently put back, and locked up again. I was assured that he would have gone on for hours;—but there was nothing interesting in his speech, whereas the eloquent prison lawyer at Port Arthur delighted me by the malignity and audacity of the charges which he brought against everybody.

The large prison at Freemantle is fitted to hold 850 prisoners. I do not know that so many have ever been confined there. The men, as they have arrived, seem to have been told off into gangs, and the majority of them have been employed at distances from the head-quarters,—chiefly on the construction of roads. When I was in the colony there were still such gangs, some on one road, and some on another; but the system of so employing the men was being brought to a close, because their cost was greater when thus spread about the country than when maintained at one centre establishment. This was declared to be the case, and the allegation was made that the reduction was forced upon the colony by home parsimony. The allegation was made, but did not reach me from official lips,—and I do not believe that they who have the management of the convicts, the governor and comptroller, have ever received orders to put the men to comparatively useless works, in order that the money spent upon them from Great Britain might be lessened. I do not doubt but that general, and perhaps stringent, instructions have been given as to economy. In what branch of the public service have not such instructions been given during the last four or five years? But the zeal which has complied with these instructions by withdrawing the men from the distant and more useful works has probably been colonial, and is, I think, to be lamented. As the colony has had the convicts, it should at any rate get from them all that it can get;—and even though the small extra expense of keeping the men in distant gangs should be borne by the colony itself, the money would be well expended. The matter will probably seem to be insignificant. It is perhaps necessary that a man should visit such a colony as Western Australia before he can realise the need of roads. The distance from Albany to Perth is 258 miles. Perth is the capital of the colony, and Albany is the port from and to which is made the only communication by steamboat with the outside world which the colony possesses. About a third of this road has been properly made. The remaining two-thirds consist of a cleared track through the bushes, with bridges here and there, and occasional attempts at road-making. It would be much better that the road should be finished. In the colony there are many excellent roads running out of Perth, without which the colony would be altogether uninhabitable;—and they were all made by convict labour. I mention the two facts in order that I may be excused for dilating upon the subject.

The prison, which, as I have said, can hold 850 inmates, now contains 359 men. Of these 240 are imperial convicts,—convicts who have been sent out from England, and who are now serving under British sentences, or sentences inflicted in the colony within twelve months of the date of their freedom. For all these the expense is paid from home. And there are 119 colonial convicts,—convicts with whom the colony is charged, as being representatives of colonial crime. But even of these about four-fifths came to Western Australia originally as convicts from home. I cannot tell the extent of the charge upon the imperial revenue,—as I did in regard to the establishment in Tasmania,—because at Freemantle the affair is managed on a different basis. At Port Arthur the colony supplies everything, and receives so much a head for the men. At Freemantle the home government does the work for itself in detail, sending out stores from England, and making purchases for itself.

I suggested to the superintendent of the prison that the enormous building through which we were walking would soon become useless. He scouted the idea, and declared, apparently with pride, that the colony would always supply a sufficiency of convicts to keep it going. I suggested that 850 men under sentence would be a great many,—that even half that number would be a very great number,—in a population of 25,000 souls; and the more so, as the enormous distances in the colony made it necessary that other prisons and penitentiaries should be maintained. But he was still hopeful. The population would increase, and with the population crime. It was not likely that a people whose connection with prisons had been so long and so thorough should fail Freemantle at a pinch. I could not agree with him. I do believe that the prison at Freemantle will become all but useless,—as will also that at Port Arthur.

As to the treatment of the men at this establishment, there can be no doubt that it should be held to be free from any charge of harshness. The question is, whether the men be not too well treated. The food is sufficient, and very good. The work is always lighter than that done by free labourers. The utensils and bedding are good. Everything is clean. The punishments are light and infrequent. Flogging still does take place, but very rarely. The men, if they behave well, are allowed more hours of amusement than fall to the lot of freemen;—and have as many means of amusement as most free labourers. It was only half-past five in the evening when I saw the men marshalled at the end of their day’s work to receive their tobacco. Why a man who had come from England with a life-sentence against him should receive tobacco, whereas a colonial prisoner sent in for six months should have none, I could not understand.

In the old days, when Norfolk Island was the doubly penal establishment attached to our first penal settlement at Port Jackson, when the managers of these prisons had not yet learned the way to extract work from unwilling convicts without flogging them, penal servitude was no doubt a horrid punishment. Chains and the scourge, darkness and bread and water, were then common. That wretch whom I saw at Tasmania,—who told me that for forty years he had never known one day’s freedom,—had been made what he was by the old system. I do not remember that he had ever been a thief, but he had always been a rebel. The manner of the thing is altogether altered now, till one finds one’s self driven to ask whether punishment so light can be deterrent. As regards our connection with the colonies, the question is not one of much importance, as we shall never send another convict to Australia.

I cannot finish this chapter without giving the copy of a certificate which was handed to me by a policeman at Albany, just as I was about to leave the colony:—

It is perhaps something of a disgrace to Western Australia that the other colonies will not receive a stranger from her shores without a certificate that the visitor has not been a “lag.” Such a resolution on their part must remind the poor Western Australians grievously of their disgrace. So many have been convicts, that the certificate is demanded from all! But I think that they should not charge a shilling for it, and thus raise a revenue out of their own ill fame. It was not my fault that South Australia demanded the certificate. Considering all the circumstances, I think that they should give the passport, and say nothing about it.