Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison: Fifteen Years in Solitude
One had no period of rest between the filling of one's barrow and the
start up the run. In an hour's time my poor hands were covered with
blood blisters, and my left knee was a lame duck indeed, made so by the
slight wrench given it each time I struck in my spade with my left foot;
but I made no complaint. About 10 o'clock the man next to me with an
oath threw down his spade and vowed he would do no more work. Putting on
his vest and packet, he walked up to the warder, and quite as a matter
of course turned his back to him and put both hands behind him. The
warder produced a pair of handcuffs, and without any comment handcuffed
his hands in that position, and then told him to stand with his back to
the work. No one took the slightest notice and the toil did not slacken
for an instant, but one man was out of the game, and we had to make his
side good.
Noon came at last. We dropped our spades, hastily slipped on our jackets
and at once set off at a quick march for the prison. I naturally looked
at the various gangs piloting their way through the mud and all steering
in a straight line for the Appian way whereon we were, for, as all roads
lead to Rome, so all the sticky ways "on the works" led to the prison.
Our laconic friend was trudging on behind the party, and to my surprise
I noticed that several of the other parties had un enfant perdu, hands
behind his back, marching in the rear, and as soon as we reached the
prison each poor sheep in the rear fell out quite as a matter of course.
When all the men were in, a warder came up and gave the order, "Right
turn! Forward!" and off the poor fellows marched to the punishment cells
for three days' bread and water each, and no bed, unless one designates
an oak plank as such. It was all very sad; 'twas pitiful to see the
matter-of-fact way in which every one concerned took it all.
So my first day in the mud and clay came to an end, and I found myself
once more in my little box with a night before me for rest and thought.
Although I had suffered, yet there were grounds for gratitude and hope,
and I felt that I might regard the future steadily and without despair.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
HENCEFORTH A LIGHT WAS TO STREAM THROUGH THE FLUTED GLASS OF MY WINDOW.
The first day was over, but it seemed to me that something more must
come. That what I had gone through could mean the life of a day must
surely be impossible. Was there nothing before me but isolation so
complete that no whisper from the outside world could reach me, that
world which compared with the death into which I was being absorbed
seemed the only world of the living?
Had I actually nothing to look for but the most repulsive work under the
most repulsive conditions? I said there must be surely some change, that
wheeling mud forever was not the doom of any man and could certainly not
be mine.
I looked about my little cell, the stillness of the grave without, the
utter solitude within. The ration which formed my supper was on the
table, eight ounces of black bread. Try as I might to cheat myself with
hope, I knew that hope for many a long year there was none, that so far
as the most vindictive sentence could compass it, for many a long year
the earth with her bars was about me.
No "De Profundis" cry could ever ascend from the abyss to the bottom of
which I had fallen. What was outside of me had nothing but the hideous.
But although the visible seemed corruption, and the things which my
soul, and body, too, had refused to touch were become my sorrowful meat,
yet I could not but feel that the invisible, that part of me which no
bars could hold and no man deprive me of, was still my own, and that in
it I might and would find sufficient to support what I began to feel
was, after all, the only man.
To face the actualities of the position was the first thing; not to
cheat myself, the second. I had seen the sort of men I was to be with. I
set to work to study and to understand the kind of life we were to live
together.
At early dawn we rose, receiving immediately after the nine ounces of
bread and pint of oatmeal gruel which composed breakfast. At 6.30, to
chapel to hear one of the schoolmasters drone through the morning
prayers of the English Church service, and listen to some hymn shouted
out from throats never accustomed to such accents. Then the morning
hours would drag slowly on in the Summer's sun and Winter's blast until
the noon hour; then there was the long march back from the scene of my
toil to the prison for dinner. Arriving there, each man went to his
cell, closing his door, which snapped to, having a spring lock. Soon
after a dinner is given consisting of sixteen ounces of boiled potatoes
and five ounces of bread, varied on three days of the week with five
ounces of meat additional. At 1 o'clock the doors were unlocked and we
marched out to our work again. At night, returning to the prison, eight
ounces of black bread would be doled out for supper. Then came the hours
between supper and bedtime, when shut in between those narrow walls one
realized what it was to be a prisoner.
In the corner of the cell there was a board let into the stonework.
There was a thin pallet and two blankets rolled up together during the
day in a corner of the cell that served for bedding, but so thin and
hard was the pallet that one might almost as well have slept on the
board. For the first few weeks this bed made my bones ache. Most men
have little patience and small fortitude, and this bed kills many of
the prisoners. I mean breaks their hearts, simply because they have not
the wit to accept the matter philosophically and realize that they can
soon become used to any hardship. It took six months for my bones to
become used to the hard bed, but for the next nineteen years I used to
sleep as sweetly on that oak board as I ever did or now do in a bed of
down, only, like Jean Valjean, in "Les Miserables," I had become so used
to it that upon my liberation I found it impossible for a time to sleep
in a bed.
On a little rusty iron shelf, fixed in the corner, was our tinware.
Although called tinware, it really was zinc, and was susceptible,
through much hard work, of a high polish, but this "polishing tinware"
was a fearful curse to the poor prisoner. It consisted of a jug for
water and a bowl for washing in and a pint dish for gruel. There were
strict and imperative orders, rigidly enforced, that this tinware should
be kept polished, the result being that the men never washed themselves,
and never took water in their jugs, for if they did their tinware would
take a stain--"go off," as it was termed--the result being that if the
poor devil washed and kept himself clean he would be reported and
severely punished for having dirty tinware.
A prisoner is not permitted to receive anything from his friends or
communicate with them in any way, save only once in three months he is
permitted to write and receive a letter, provided he is a good character
and has not been reported for any infraction of the rules for three
months; for if reported for any cause, however trifling, the privilege
of writing is postponed for three months, and, as a matter of fact, more
than half of the men never get a chance to write during their
imprisonment.
A visit of half an hour once in three months is permitted, but this is a
favor that is only granted upon the same condition as the privilege of
letter writing.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
WHAT, THESE TEDIOUS DETAILS AGAIN.
It will be well to present here some account of those who were to rule
my life for so many years.
The Board of Prison Commissioners have their headquarters at the Home
Office in Parliament street, London, and are under the control of the
Home Secretary of State. One of these visits each of Her Majesty's
convict establishments once a month, in order to try any cases of
insubordination which are of too serious a nature for the governor of
the prison to adjudicate upon, he not being permitted to order any
penalty beyond a few days of bread and water and loss of a limited
number of remission marks.
The head authority at each prison is the governor, of whom the largest
establishments, like Chatham, have two. Next comes the deputy
governors--the medical officer and an assistant doctor; the chaplains
and schoolmasters, Protestant and Catholic. There are four grades of
prison warders, viz., the chief warder, principal warders, warders and
assistant warders. The chief warder, of course, stands first in the
list, and his duties, if honestly executed, render him the most
important, as he is the most responsible of the prison officials, save,
perhaps, the medical officer, who is the autocrat of the place. But, in
case anything goes wrong, he is the man who gets all the blame, and when
matters run smoothly and well, the governor gets all the thanks. During
the absence of the governor the deputy takes his place, and in turn the
chief warder performs the duties of the deputy governor's office. As all
business passes through the chief's hands, he must be a fair scholar,
though sometimes a principal warder who understands bookkeeping is
detailed to assist him. He must be of strict integrity, a thorough
disciplinarian, and of a character to make him respected both by his
superiors and inferiors in position. The warders of all grades are under
his command, and must fear him for his inflexibility in punishing any
breach of regulations, and have confidence in his disposition to act
justly toward them, he being the one on whom the governor relies for all
information regarding their conduct. It is on the reports of the chief
warder that the governor acts in all cases involving their promotion,
reprimands or fines, and their application for leave of absence must be
approved of and signed by him. It is clear that unless he is very
straight in the performance of his duties, he would soon place himself
in the power of some of the warders, who would not fail to take
advantage of any knowledge of his derelictions to benefit themselves,
and to the detriment of discipline and good order. Under the English
Government the salary of a man possessing these superior qualifications
is between $500 and $600 a year and his uniform. This is of blue cloth,
the sleeves and collar of his coat and his cap embroidered with gold
lace. On alternate days, at the prison where I was confined, he came on
duty at 5 a.m. in Summer and 5.30 in Winter, and left the prison at 4
p.m., leaving in charge a principal warder, coming on duty the following
morning at 7 a.m. At 6 o'clock p.m., after receiving the reports from
the ward officers, stating the number of prisoners each has just locked
up, and thus seeing that all are safe, he locks with his master key the
gates and outer doors of the main buildings, and before finally retiring
for the night he must lock the outer gate, so that no one but the
governor can get in or out--each watchman being locked into the ward
which he is set to guard. There are bells in his room connecting with
the various wards, and in case of sickness or any other emergency, he is
the man who is aroused. It is the chief warder who keeps everything
connected with the prison in running order, and whatever goes wrong the
cry is for the chief, and he is sent for, be it day or night.
In a large establishment there are a dozen or more principal warders.
These are the lieutenants of the chief, and have general supervision of
the working parties. Their pay is about $400 a year and uniforms. There
are of the other two grades, warders and assistant warders, from two to
three thousand employed in all Her Majesty's prisons in Great Britain