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There are other means of communication between prisoners besides the tapping system. Reference may be made to a couple of devices in order to show how ingenious are the efforts made by the confinees to exchange ideas with their mates. When the gas was first allowed in cells, the pipes were soon discovered to be an excellent means of communication between different cells.
During the day time the gas was turned off at the meter, and the main-tap at the end of each corridor was closed. The men in the model then opened the little tap on the bracket in their cells, made a sort of tunnel with their hands, and talked with ease through many feet of tubing. In order to draw attention to the fact that a prisoner was ready to speak he merely tapped the pipe, which was easily heard two or three cells distant. The officials very soon discovered that the gas fittings were being used as speaking tubes, but their great difficulty was to detect the offenders. There were two or three notorious men who would have their little chat, and it was resolved to devote a little attention to their cells, and, if possible, catch them in the act. This was, of course, a very difficult matter, because the doors being fitted with traps a prisoner would hear the moment the catch of the trap was touched.
The plan adopted was as follows:—A warder watched at the door of the cell which contained the suspect; another officer went to the cell where the receiver of the message was stationed, whilst a third was placed at the end of the corridor ready to turn on the main-tap at a given signal. One morning the talking was heard in subdued tones, and then, at a preconcerted sign, the tap was turned on. There were sounds of suffocation from the cells, then a whole string of "Oh bli' me's," and a choice selection of crude French, which one can only hear in perfection at Pentridge. The experiment proved a complete success, and the culprits were easily discovered. In order to effectually block this talking, the authorities had a second tap fixed outside each cell, in short there were two taps on each gas bracket, one inside and a second outside the cell. Every night now during the winter the outside taps are opened, and a warder attends at the trap with a lantern. The prisoner lights a paper speil, and then proceeds to illuminate his chamber. But unless he is experienced in gas lighting he is likely to be left in darkness for the night; because some "peb'" will blow down the pipe and put out the whole tier of lights. The only way out of this difficulty is to have a number of speils ready and keep a light going till the air is out of the pipe. As the warder will not give a second light many a poor fellow has been deprived of his reading till the silence bell rang at 8 p.m.
The second instance of illicit conversation which came under my notice was associated with rather a droll incident. A young fellow of excellent education and address was changed into a cell which had previously been occupied by Pierre Douore, the French recidivist who hanged himself in Model. My friend, whom I will call Doolan — that being his nickname — was put into the cell and someone, of course, was kind enough to tell him that a suicide had taken place in it. Doolan was not a very superstitious man, and he certainly never expected to find ghosts in model. The first night he was in this particular cell, and immediately after the gas had been turned off, he heard a mysterious scraping in the corner of his cell, which he put down to a harmless little mouse. But when the imaginary mouse in a low, sepulchral whisper, called out, "Are you there, mate?" then Doolan began to wonder whether Pierre had actually returned to this mundane sphere. After an interval of a few moments the question was again put, "Are you there, mate?" Doolan now began to feel slightly uncomfortable. Cold beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and generally he felt that he was anything but "all there." The voice would not be denied, and continued in smothered whispers to enquire the whereabouts of the occupant of the cell. Being in the dark, Doolan was afraid to move, but eventually decided to ring up the warder and ask to be changed into a cell where there was no amateur Hamlet business going on. At last he plucked up courage and wandered around endeavoring to trace the mysterious whispering. He located it at length in the corner opposite his bed, and close to the ground. Getting near the floor he found that the sound proceeded from a small hole in the wall, and that his next door neighbor was anxious for a chat before turning in. He replied to his mate's query that he was very much there, and likely to be for some six years to come. Then he was instructed when the conversation was ended how to stop up the hole with a bit of wool or paper, and smear it over with whiting to prevent detection in the morning. It seems that at one time it was a common thing for some prisoners in model to take the wire out of the rim of their tin plate and work a hole through the mortar joints. They have even had a string on the wire and drawn notes through. But this is all stopped now as the walls are closely examined in suspected cells during the hour that the occupants are in the yard exercising.
The class of work provided for prisoners when serving their model time varies to some extent according to the ability of the prisoners. For instance, a good clerical man, if there were any writing or ruling to be done would be given this work in preference to picking wool or making straw hats. On the other hand, it would be no use handing to a laborer or quarry-man a set of books to rule. The general work is undoubtedly wool picking, and any new arrival has to do this for a day or so until the overseer finds out what the new comer's abilities are like in the way of tackling what is legally termed "hard labor." The wool is full of burrs, and these have to be carefully picked out, and every bit of wool taken off the little thistles. Woe betide the man who throws out a handful of burrs in a morning into the dust box with any wool on them. When the Overseer comes round the delinquent would get such a lecture!
And here let me say that of all the decent overseers in Pentridge, "Old Mick," as his familiars called him, was one of the best. He has been over thirty years in the Penal Department, and the Government, I believe, have "got him on the list;" but in his case the oft-quoted Gilbertian couplet must be reversed, for Mr Fleming will be very much missed, and by none more so than the prisoners.
Next to wool-picking comes plaiting sinnet for straw hats. Several men are engaged in this work, and become very expert in the plaiting. Making the hats is another industry in which a few men are engaged, and with a few patching and the balance writing or ruling the lot are provided with employment. One would think that packing wool was a very simple occupation, but let the new chum try his hand, and he will find that it requires experience like any other trade. A banker and myself had wool given us the first day, and we both stuck to it closely, even working after four o'clock, instead of reading, but we both made a wretched show, while an old hand next door piled up his cell with light fleecy wool, and beautifully picked. The overseer must have seen that I was wool gathering instead of wool picking, for next day he came to my cell and enquired if I could write a good hand. I told him that I wrote a fairly legible hand; at any rate I could make a better show with pen and ink than at burr and tick hunting. From that time forward my hard labor consisted in writing descriptions of prisoners for use in other colonies, and ruling books for the office. He very good naturedly left the wool in my cell, and this, put under my mat at night, made me a fairly comfortable bed.
The work in model is all carried out on a regular system, and with that unvarying monotony which is so characteristic of life in gaol. On Monday prisoners have to scrub their cells preparatory to the visit of the Inspector-General, which takes place on Tuesday. The visit of this functionary every week has a powerfully stimulating effect amongst the officials. The merest hint that the I.G., as he is termed, is expected sends an electrical shock through officers and warders which the proprietor of a Rhumkorff coil might envy. On Tuesday, about 10.30 a.m., his "Highness" arrives and accompanied by the governor, senior chief warder, the chief warder of the division he happens to be in, and some warders, he proceeds to look into every cell in model, the prisoner standing to attention in the centre of the cell, on a spot marked by three brass nails, till the party has passed.
I had almost forgotten to mention that just prior to the arrival of the inspector the old mats in model are taken up and new ones laid down, and as soon as the august presence has vanished, the old mats are replaced and everything goes on pleasantly. Experience taught me that if ever I wanted a favor, Tuesday after a visit was the time to ask it. It was my privilege to handle these mats every Tuesday when wards man in A division, and also to change them for the Visiting Justices day, and I always caught myself humming the old refrain, "Oh dear, what can the matter be?"
But I digress. No matter. Wednesday was an off day. If the weather was fine, perhaps cells would be scrubbed. On Thursday the chaplains visited the division They called on their respective parishioners, enquired if they wished a book changed, and generally spent about four or five minutes on each cell. On Friday every man had to take a bath, plunge and shower, and on Saturday he was handed a clean shirt, trousers and socks with material for patching or sewing on buttons. On Sunday no work is done. Reading all day, as prisoners in model are not allowed to attend divine worship.
A reference to one matter in model which seems to me to call for amendment will conclude my observations on A Division. I refer to the rule which will not permit a prisoner in model the use of a knife and fork at his dinner. It seems such a horrible idea to serve up a man's dinner in a tin dish and allow him to tear the hot fat and meat apart with his hands. Of course, as will be shown later on, this is on a par with the whole the gaol system, namely, to degrade the prisoner as much as possibly. To make him feel, in fact, that, having committed one mistake, he must sink to the level of a brute and eat as one. The absence of a knife and fork in model cannot be accounted for on the plea that perhaps the prisoner might commit suicide, because he has plenty of other opportunities for effecting that without the aid of knives and forks. To be consistent, if adopting this theory, why is he allowed a knife in the remand yards, where he would be much more likely to attempt his life, immediately after being sentenced and associated with such terrible surroundings. It cannot be that the authorities fear an attempt to cut out, because a man in model has no better opportunity of doing this than his colleague in B or C divisions. The bars are all the same thickness, and the cells in every way as secure. On what grounds, then, this absence of knife and fork is accounted for, except to assist in the general degradation of the unfortunate prisoner, it is difficult to imagine. In my next article I shall deal with the mark system and solitary confinement.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)