Coburg Leader (Vic.), Saturday 15 July 1893
Behind Prison Bars
BY THE OUTCAST.
PART XXI.
"I should imagine, Mr. X---," I said, "that with so many desperate scoundrels running loose at the same time in these yards, under the control of one (or at the most two) warders, that occasions would arise when a man, who in doing his duty has incurred the enmity of the prisoners, has to defend his life from a combined assault at their hands." "Yes, there have been one or two instances of late when such has been the case; but as time goes on, and the penal system improves, they are becoming less frequent. But out in the gangs, where the men are at a comparatively safe distance from the sentry's rifle, there is a probability of the overseer being shot down in the melee, the felon crew unbend themselves now and then by endeavouring to dash out that individual's thinking apparatus with anything handy - picks, shovels, stones, etc. In the old days they operated very successfully in that line, and more than one unfortunate officer had his brains scattered over the surrounding scenery before help could arrive; but lately, owing to the introduction of the telephone and other electric signalling gear, the warders on the surrounding posts, if unable to drop any particular man in the crowd, at least can ring up the reserves from the front in a trifle more than no time. There are still several of the posts wanting these valuable instruments, and it is probable that in the dim and mysterious future, after the retrenchment fever has abated the department will further protect its servants by fitting each post with all the needful accessories."
The great majority of prisoners have no sympathy with those who thus endeavor to wipe out their grievances by attacking the officials. Most of them, though professional criminals, are anxious to pull through their sentences quickly and give no trouble, so as to lose no time in securing their freedom. Others with less interested motives abstain merely on the grounds of common humanity and decency; in fact there are many who would gladly fly to the warder's assistance if it were not for the 'dog's life' they would afterwards lead at the hands of the 'push.' It is the custom, on that account, to keep such men at separate work after any active demonstration of sympathy on their part, and often their meritorious conduct is recognised by having three or six months' remission of sentence granted them." "
We once had a fellow here who was nearly always on hand when anything of that sort cropped up in the divisions. Among his fellow prisoners he was known as Big Tod (on account of his immense build) and he had a little way of his own in dealing with those gentry who ran against him which made him quite a 'curly-headed boy' among the warders. On one occasion a senior-warder who was giving a refractory prisoner some orders regarding the cleaning of his cell, was savagely set upon by the offended party inside and as there was no one handy to pull the assailant off, things were beginning to assume a decidedly blue appearance for the senior when suddenly the big fellow loomed up on the scene. He rapidly tumbled to the situation and meandered over to where the two interested parties were clawing round each other for first grip. He watched the mixture of blue and grey for a second or two, then sorted out the grey and grabbed it as it passed. With a couple of twirls of his giant arm he swung the luckless convict off and sent him sliding down the corridor and bang up against the stone walls with about a square foot of the seat of his pants worn off with the sudden friction 'Best way to fix up your sort, sonny boy,' said Tod as he assisted the senior to his pins. For this he was rewarded by having a portion of his sentence revoked, which he properly deserved."
"Although the average mutineer is a cowardly skunk, and takes the precaution to drop on his victim unawares, he has a great admiration for open plucky defiance, and should the suddenly-attacked official show a good front, he can usually 'bluff' his assailants for a short time, at any rate. It was not so long ago that a certain warder who had temporary command of a south quarry had an experience of that kind. The quarry-gang is composed of the roughest talent in Pentridge and take up most of a man's time chasing them round and keeping them at their work. This particular morning they seemed dead set for a 'loaf' and the warder who was an old military disciplinarian made things lively by continually hunting them out of the many nooks and corners of the quarry where they would collect in little knots and while away the hours in practising the three-card trick or playing poker with cards made by one of the more artistic members. This vigilance of course offended their high-born dignity and an indignation-meeting was held and resolutions passed that if there was any more of it, they'd flatten him out. Just as this was carried amid acclamation, their victim came along (as if to play right into their hands) and broke up the meeting by yelling 'Now then, you loafing vagabonds, scatter out of that and get on to your work.' Each man looked at his neighbour as if to say 'Are you going to stand that?' Then a rush was made for picks, hammers, bars-anything in the way of weapons, and spitting on their hands and giving a howl of challenge, the band swept down on the devoted warder. But he didn't seem to be scared worth a cent. No, he just looked 'em over, gave an exasperating grin of derision and then called out 'Halt' From sheer force of habit they obeyed. 'Now lads, what's the meaning of this? Red Mick, you seem to be the boss of the show; be good enough to explain this little freak.' Mick who led the van seemed a trifle staggered by the overseer's coolness but determined to keep the music going, so he turned and addressing the wavering forces behind him said 'Come on you curs, wot are yer hanging behind fer? He's only doing a bit o' bluff.' Fired by example the crowd made another rush, but the warder turned and made for the deepest corner of the quarry, the gang following up rapidly in his wake, till at last he stopped against a wall of bed rock. 'Now lads, we're out of sight here,' he said pulling off his coat and cap, 'You seem to be all wanting to have a chip in at me. Forty to one is hardly a fair thing at any time, but I'm open to business. If you'll send out your two best men against me, I'll see what I can do for 'em - Marquis of Queensberry, I.P.R., or anything you like. Now come on!' and he rolled up his shirt-sleeves showing a pair of biceps worthy of the great John L. himself. A silent pause ensued, broken only by the far-distant sound of the stone-hammers at the north quarry. 'Come on men, I'm just dying to thump somebody.' 'Hang me if he ain't a game un, chaps. Wot do yer think of him?' 'He ain't a bad sort after all; let's give him three cheers,' and Red Hick jumped up on a heap of boulders, hat in hand. 'Three cheers for the Britisher, boys. Chuck it off yer chests! Hip, hip, hooray!' till the old quarry rang again and the wondering sentries on the posts around adjusted their rifles in anticipation of a rush. But as they saw the long string of men file out of the quarry - and set themselves ferociously to work on the stone-heaps, they knew that all was right there, and resumed their pacing up and down their posts with easy minds."
We left the division and re-entered the square. Within this square every morning the gangs are paraded and the muster-roll called by the Chief who struggles through the intricacies of such names as Pechoffski, Cugnognio and Mendoza or Salaqui,-which are usually aliases assumed by those gentlemen who formally prowled under the less aristocratic denominations of Buggins, Snooksby or Waggleton. Though paraded, the prisoners are put through no drill of any sort beyond "Hands by your sides and don't forget to salute the officers." As X--- remarked, the salute seems to permeate the prison from top to bottom. You open a prison regulation book and you will read that to secure the good-will of the powers that be, you must salute. You go up on post and the first thing facing you is a board whereon some unlucky warder has tacked up a word of warning re the fate of non-saluters. But things are better than they used to be. Under the detested Brett regime warders had a pretty rough time of it. One young hand (we were told) who had an idea about most things in the way of military etiquette was fined half-a-sov for not saluting the Inspector-General at a distance of nearly two hundred yards. The charge was 'not being alert; careless while on post; and neglect of duty." Forty years hence when that smart young fellow applies for a paltry country-gaol governorship he will have this trotted out against him with an accompanying "unwritten record" showing all the time; he sat down during the said forty-years, or how often he chatted to the fish-hawker as he passed him through the gate, or the number of occasions his neck-tie or his boot-lace came undone on parade. This sort of thing has been worked up by one or two over-zealous officials, who possess funny notions of military rule; but it is expected that the present intelligent heads will alter things entirely ere long and instill a quota of their regimental training into some of the petty officers under them. It was one of these latter gentlemen who when sent out to fall in the men fours deep, gave out the order "Fours thick" much to the amusement of the men and the annoyance of the Governor who had several visitors with him at the time.
"I have noticed, Mr. X--" I remarked "that the dailies, oft-times make very scathing comments upon the supervision exercised over the prisoners by the warders, in connection with their means of communication with the outside world. Will you tell me how it is possible for men so closely watched as convicts are, to send out to or receive news from their friends?"
"I will. There are many ways open to those who are in the know but to the tender-foot or greenhorn the miseries of a first experience in gaol are accentuated by his inability to communicate with his friends, but if he is a genial sort and gets in with the syndicate he soon knows the ropes and can keep up a fairly constant correspondence. The most popular racket is that of sending a discharged pal to the house of the convict's friends. This is safer and if the discharge is a good sort it is surer; although it is more often the case that he gets drunk or commits a felony and is tied up again before night with all his messages still unfulfilled. A trick which was often worked off successfully before its discovery, was effected in the following manner. You must first understand that a prisoner when allowed to write his quarterly letter, must confine himself strictly to private matters, and this rule is strictly enforced - each letter undergoing a personal perusal by one of the higher officials. It was noticed that some of the letters were always perforated here and there with pin-holes and the meaning of this was not apparent till one day the intelligence reader set himself to work to unravel the mystery; so he took down each word thus marked, with the result that when placed in consecutive order they formed a complete message intimating perhaps that tobacco was short and that a little would prove acceptable with hints to the best means of sending it in, etc. Another very old trick was that of writing a tearfully pious letter full of scriptural texts and poetical quotations. When the party addressed received it, he merely had to take the first word of each text and quotation, set them in order and read off his imprisoned pal's wishes.
(To be Continued.)
