Failure threatens the great experiment—General sickness of the Prisoners—Virulent disorder attacks them—The result of too high feeding and ill-chosen dietary—Disease succumbs to treatment—Majority transferred to hospital ships at Woolwich—Very imperfect discipline maintained—Conduct of prisoners often outrageous—Sent by Act of Parliament to the Hulks as ordinary Convicts.

The internal organization of Millbank, which has been detailed in the last chapter, is described at some length in a Blue Book, bearing date July, 1823. But though Millbank was then, so to speak, on its trial, and its value, in return for the enormous cost of its erection, closely questioned, it is probable that its management would not have demanded a Parliamentary inquiry but for one serious mishap which brought matters to a crisis. Of a sudden the whole of the inmates of the prison began to pine and fall away. A virulent disorder broke out, and threatened the lives of all in the place. Alarm and misgiving in such a case soon spread; and all at once the public began to fear that Millbank was altogether a huge mistake. Here was a building upon which half a million had been spent, and now, when barely completed, it proved uninhabitable! Money cast wholesale into a deadly swamp, and all the fine talk of reformation and punishment to give way to coroners’ inquests and deaths by a strange disease. No wonder there was a cry for investigation. Then, as on many subsequent occasions, it became evident Millbank was fulfilling one of the conditions laid down as of primary importance in the choice of site. Howard had said that the Penitentiary House must be built near the metropolis, so as to insure constant supervision and inspection. Millbank is ten minutes’ walk from Westminster, and from the first has been the subject of continual inquiry and legislation. The tons of Blue Books and dozens of Acts of Parliament which it has called into existence will be sufficient proof of this. It was, however, a public undertaking, carried out in the full blaze of daylight, and hence it attracted more than ordinary attention. What might have passed unnoticed in a far-off shire, was in London magnified to proportions almost absurd. This must explain state interference, which now-a-days may seem quite unnecessary, and will account for giving a national importance to matters oftentimes in themselves really trivial.

But this first sickness in the Penitentiary was sufficiently serious to arrest attention, and call for description in detail.

In the autumn of 1822, the physicians appointed to report on the subject state that the general health of the prisoners in Millbank began visibly to decline. They became pale and languid, thin and feeble; those employed in tasks calling for bodily exertion could not execute the same amount of work as before, those at the mill ground less corn, those at the pump brought up less water, the laundry-women often fainted at their work, and the regular routine of the place was only accomplished by constantly changing the hands engaged. Throughout the winter this was the general condition of the prisoners. The breaking down of health was shown by such symptoms as lassitude, dejection of spirits, paleness of countenance, rejection of food, and occasional faintings. Yet, with all this depression of general health, there were no manifest signs of specific disease; the numbers in hospital were not in excess of previous winters, and their maladies were such as were commonly incident to cold weather. But in January, 1823, scurvy—unmistakable sea scurvy—made its appearance, and was then recognized as such, and in its true form, for the first time by the medical superintendent, though the prisoners themselves declared it was visible among them as early as the previous November. Being anxious to prevent alarm, either in the Penitentiary itself or in the neighbourhood, the medical officer rather suppressed the fact of the existence of the disease; and this, with a certain tendency to make light of it, led to the omission of many precautions. But there it was, plainly evident; first, by the usual sponginess of the gums, then by “ecchymosed” blotches on the legs, which were observed in March to be pretty general among the prisoners.

Upon this point, the physicians called in remarked that the scurvy spots were at their first appearance peculiarly apt to escape discovery, unless the attention be particularly directed towards them, and that they often existed for a long time entirely unnoticed by the patient himself. And now with the scurvy came dysentery, and diarrhoea, of the peculiar kind that is usually associated with the scorbutic disease. In all cases, the same constitutional derangement was observable, the outward marks of which were a sallow countenance and impaired digestion, diminished muscular strength, a feeble circulation, various degrees of nervous affections, such as tremors, cramps, or spasms, and various degrees of mental despondency.

With regard to the extent of the disease, it was found that quite half of the total number were affected, the women more extensively than the men; and both the males and females of the second class, or those who had been longest in confinement, were more frequently attacked than the newest arrivals. Some few were, however, entirely exempt; more especially the prisoners employed in the kitchen, while among the officers and their families, amounting in all to one hundred and six individuals, there was not a single instance of attack recorded.

Such then was the condition of the prisoners in the Penitentiary in the spring of 1823. To what was this sudden outbreak of a virulent disorder to be traced? There were those who laid the whole blame on the locality, and who would admit of no other explanation. But this argument was in the first instance opposed by the doctors investigating. Had the situation of the prison been at fault, they said, it was only reasonable to suppose that the disease would have shown itself in earlier years of the prison’s existence; whereas, as far as they could ascertain, till 1822-3 it was altogether unknown. Moreover, had this been the real cause, all inmates would alike have suffered; how then explain the universal immunity of the officers in charge? Again, if it were the miasmata arising upon a marshy neighbourhood that militated against the healthiness of the prison, there should be prevalent other diseases which marsh miasmata confessedly engender. Besides which, the scurvy and diarrhoea thus produced are associated with intermittent fevers, in this case not noticeable; and they would have occurred during the hot instead of the winter season. Lastly, if it were imagined that the dampness of the situation had contributed to the disease, a ready answer was, that on examination every part of the prison was found to be singularly dry, not the smallest stain of moisture being apparent in any cell or passage, floor, ceiling, or wall.

But indeed it was not necessary to search far afield for the causes of the outbreak; they lay close at hand. Undoubtedly a sudden and somewhat ill-judged reduction in diet was entirely to blame. For a long time the luxury of the Penitentiary had been a standing joke. The prison was commonly called Mr. Holford’s fattening house. He was told that much money might be saved the public by parting with half his officers, for there need be no fear of escapes; all that was needed was a proper guard to prevent too great a rush of people in. An honourable member published a pamphlet in which he styled the dietary at Millbank “an insult to honest industry, and a violation of common sense.” And evidence was not wanting from the prison itself of the partial truth of these allegations. The medical superintendent frequently reported that the prisoners, especially the females, suffered from plethora, and from diseases consequent upon a fulness of habit. Great quantities of food were carried out of the prison in the wash-tubs; potatoes, for instance, were taken to the pigs, which Mr. Holford admitted he would have been ashamed to have seen thus carried out of his own house. It came to such a pass at last that the committee was plainly told by members of the House of Commons, that if the dietary were not changed, the next annual vote for the establishment would probably be opposed. In the face of all this clamour the committee could not hold out; but in their anxiety to provide a remedy, they went from one extreme to the other. Abandoning the scale that was too plentiful, they substituted one that was altogether too meagre. In the new dietary solid animal food was quite excluded, and only soup was given. This soup was made of ox heads, in the proportion of one to every hundred prisoners; it was to be thickened with vegetables or peas, and the daily allowance was to be a quart, half at midday, and half in the evening. The bread ration was a pound and a half, and for breakfast there was also a pint of gruel. It was open to the committee to substitute potatoes for bread if they saw fit, but they do not seem to have done this. The meat upon an ox head averages about eight pounds, so that the allowance per prisoner was about an ounce and a quarter. No wonder then that they soon fell away in health.

The mere reduction in the amount of food, however, would not have been sufficient in itself to cause the epidemic of scurvy. Scurvy will occur even with a copious dietary. Sailors who eat plenty of biscuit and beef are attacked, and others who are certainly not starved. The real predisposing cause is the absence of certain necessary elements in the diet, not the lowness of the diet itself. It is the want of vegetable acids in food that brings about the mischief. The authorities called in were not exactly right, therefore, in attributing the scurvy solely to the reduced diet. The siege of Gibraltar was quoted as an instance where semi-starvation superinduced the disease. Again, the scurvy prevalent in the low districts round Westminster was traced to a similar deficiency and the severe winter, also to the want of vegetable diet. This last was the real explanation; of this, according to our medical knowledge, there is not now the faintest doubt. Long enforced abstinence from fresh meat and fresh vegetables is certain sooner or later to produce scurvy. At the same time it must be admitted that the epidemic of which I am writing was aggravated by the cold weather. It had its origin in the cold season, and its progress kept pace with it, continued through the spring, actually increasing with summer.

During the months of May and June the disorder was progressive, but the early part of July saw a diminution in the numbers afflicted. At this time the prison population amounted to about eight hundred.

There was a total of thirty deaths. In spite of this slight improvement for the better, it is easy to understand that the medical men in charge were still much troubled with fears for the future. Granting even that the disease had succumbed to treatment, there was the danger, with all the prisoners in a low state of health, of relapse, or even of an epidemic in a new shape. Hence it was felt that an immediate change of air and place would be the best security against further disease. But several hundred convicts could not be sent to the seaside like ordinary convalescents; besides which they were committed to Millbank by Act of Parliament, and only by Act of Parliament could they be removed. This difficulty was easily met. An Act of Parliament more or less made no matter to Millbank—many pages in the statute book were covered already with legislation for the Penitentiary. A new act was immediately passed, authorizing the committee to transfer the prisoners from Millbank to situations more favourable for the recovery of their health. In accordance with its provisions one part of the female prisoners were at once sent into the Royal Ophthalmic Hospital in Regent’s Park, at that time standing empty; their number during July and August was increased to one hundred and twenty, by which time a hulk, the Ethalion, had been prepared at Woolwich for male convicts, and thither went two hundred, towards the end of August. Those selected for removal were the prisoners who had suffered most from the disease. This was an experiment; and according to its results the fate of those who remained at Millbank was to be determined. “The benefit of the change of air and situation,” says Dr. Latham, “was immediately apparent.” Within a fortnight there was less complaint of illness, and most of the patients already showed symptoms of returning health. Meanwhile, among the prisoners left at Millbank there was little change, though at times all were threatened with a return of the old disorder, less virulent in its character, however, and missing half its former frightful forms. By September, a comparison between those at Regent’s Park or the hulk and those still in Millbank was so much in favour of the former that the point at issue seemed finally settled. Beyond doubt the change of air had been extremely beneficial; nevertheless, of the two changes, it was evident that the move to the hulks at Woolwich had the better of the change to Regent’s Park. On board the Ethalion the prisoners had suffered fewer relapses and had gained a greater degree of health than those at Regent’s Park. On the whole, therefore, it was considered advisable to complete the process of emptying Millbank. The men and women alike were all drafted into different hulks off Woolwich. These changes were carried out early in December, 1823, and by that time the Millbank Penitentiary was entirely emptied, and it remained vacant till the summer of the next year.

The inner life of the Penitentiary went on much as usual in the early days of the epidemic. There are at first only the ordinary entries in the governor’s Journal. Prisoners came and went; this one was pardoned, that received from Newgate or some county gaol. Repeated reports of misconduct are recorded. The prisoners seemed fretful and mischievous. Now and then they actually complained of the want of food. One prisoner was taken to task for telling his father, in the visiting cell, that six prisoners out of every seven would die for want of rations. But at length the blow fell. On the 14th February, 1823, Ann Smith died in the infirmary at half-past nine. On the 17th, Mary Ann Davidson; on the 19th, Mary Esp; on the 23rd, William Cardwell; on the 24th, Humphrey Adams; on the 28th, Margaret Patterson. And now, by order of the visitor, the prisoners were allowed more walking exercise. Then follow the first steps taken by Drs. Roget and Latham. The governor records, on the 3rd March, that the doctors recommend each prisoner should have daily four ounces of meat and three oranges; that their bread should be divided into three parts, an orange taken at each meal. Accordingly the steward was sent to Thames Street to lay in a week’s consumption of oranges.

An entry soon afterwards gives the first distinct reference to the epidemic. “The medical gentlemen having begged for the bodies of such prisoners as might die of the disorder now prevalent in the prison, in order to make post-mortem examinations, the same was sanctioned if the friends of the prisoner did not wish to interfere.” Deaths were now very frequent, and hardly a week passed without a visit from the coroner or his deputy.

On the 25th of March the governor, Mr. Couch, who had been ailing for some time past, resigned his charge into the hands of Captain Benjamin Chapman. Soon afterwards there were further additions to the dietary—on the 26th of April two more ounces of meat and twelve ounces of boiled potatoes; and the day after, it was ordered that each prisoner should drink toast-and-water,—three half-pints daily. Lime, in large tubs, was to be provided in all the pentagons for the purpose of disinfection.

About this period there was a great increase of insubordination among the prisoners. It is easy to understand that discipline must be relaxed when all were more or less ailing and unable to bear punishment. The sick wards were especially noisy and turbulent. One man, for instance, was charged with shouting loudly and using atrocious language; all of which, of course, he denied, declaring he had only said, “God bless the king, my tongue is very much swelled.” Upon this the turnkey in charge observed that it was a pity it was not swelled more, and Smith (the prisoner) pursued the argument by hitting his officer on the head with a pint pot. Later on they broke out almost into mutiny. The governor writes as follows: “At a quarter to eight o’clock Taskmaster Swift informed me that the whole of the prisoners in the infirmary ward of his pentagon were in the most disorderly and riotous state, in consequence of the wooden doors of the cells having been ordered by the surgeon to be shut during the night; that the prisoners peremptorily refused to permit the turnkeys to shut their doors, and made use of the most opprobrious terms, threatening destruction to whoever might attempt to shut their doors. Their shouts and yells were so loud as to be heard at a considerable distance. I immediately summoned the patrols, and several of the turnkeys, and making them take their cutlasses, I repaired to the sick ward. I found the wooden doors all open, and the prisoners, for the most part, at their iron gates, which were shut. The first prisoner I came to was John Hall. I asked him the reason he refused to shut his door when ordered. He answered in a very insolent tone and manner, ‘Why should I do so?’ I then said, ‘Shut your door instantly,’ but he would not comply. I took him away and confined him in a dark cell. In conveying him to the cell he made use of most abusive and threatening language, but did not make any personal resistance.” Five others who were pointed out as prominent in the mutiny were also punished on bread and water in a dark cell, by the surgeon’s permission.

Nor were matters much more satisfactory in the female infirmary wards. “Mrs. Briant, having reported yesterday, during my absence at Woolwich, that Mary Willson had ‘wilfully cut her shoes,’ and, having stated the same verbally this morning, I went with her into the infirmary, where the prisoner was, and having produced the shoes to her (the upper-leather of one of them being palpably cut from the sole), and asked her why she cut them, she said she had not cut them, that they had come undone whilst walking in the garden. This being an evident falsehood, I told her I feared she was doing something worse than cutting her shoes by telling an untruth. She answered in a very saucy manner, they were not her shoes, and that she had not cut them. She became at length very insolent, when I told her she deserved to be punished. She replied she did not care whether she was or not. I then directed the surgeon to be sent for; when not only the prisoner, but several others in the infirmary, became very clamorous, and evinced a great degree of insubordination. I went out with the intention of getting a couple of patrols, when I heard the crash of broken glass and loud screams. I returned as soon as possible with the patrols into the infirmary. The women generally attempted to oppose my entrance, and a group had got Willson amongst them, and said she should not be confined. I desired the patrols to lay hold of her, and take her to the dark cell (I had met with Dr. Hugh when going for the patrols, who under the circumstances sanctioned the removal of the prisoner). In doing so, Betts and Stone were assaulted with the utmost violence; I myself was violently laid hold of, and my wrist and finger painfully twisted. I had Willson, however, taken to the dark cell, when, having summoned several of the turnkeys and officers of the prison, I with considerable difficulty succeeded in taking six more of them who appeared to be most forward in this disgraceful riot. Several of the large panes in the passage windows were broken; and the women seized everything they could lay their hands on, and flung them at the officers, who, in self-defence, were at length compelled to strike in return. I immediately reported the circumstance to Sir George Farrant, the visitor, who came to the prison soon after. I accompanied him, with Dr. Bennett (the chaplain) and Mr. Pratt (the surgeon), through the female pentagon and infirmary, when a strong spirit of insubordination was obvious. Sir George addressed them, and so did Dr. Bennett, and pointed out the serious injury they were doing themselves, and that such conduct would not pass unpunished. We afterwards visited the dark refractory cells, where the worst were confined; two of whom, on account of previous good-conduct and favourable circumstances, were liberated. For myself, I never beheld such a scene of outrage, nor did I observe a single individual who was not culpably active.”

As a general rule, the prisoners in the Penitentiary were in these days so little looked after, and had so much leisure time, that they soon found the proverbial mischief for idle hands. Having some suspicions, the governor searched several, and found up the sleeves of five of them, knives, playing cards (made from an old copy-book), two articles to hold ink, a baby’s straw hat, some papers (written upon), and an original song of questionable tendency. The hearts and diamonds in the cards had been covered with red chalk, the clubs and spades with blacking. “Having received information that there were more cards about, he caused strict search to be made, and found in John Brown’s Bible, one card and the materials for making more, also a small knife made of bone. In another prisoner’s cell was found another knife and some paste, ingeniously contrived from old bread-crumbs.” But even these amusements did not keep the prisoners from continually quarrelling and fighting with one another. Any one who had made himself obnoxious was severely handled. A body of prisoners fell upon one Tompkins, and half killed him because he had reported the irreverent conduct of several of them while at divine service. The place was like a bear-garden; insubordination, riots, foul language, and continual wranglings among themselves—it could hardly be said that the prisoners were making that rapid progress towards improvement which was among the principal objects of the Penitentiary.

And now the scene shifts to the Woolwich hulks, whither by this time the whole of the inmates were being by degrees transferred. The first batch of males were sent off on the 16th August, embarking at Millbank, and proceeding by launch to Woolwich. Great precautions were taken. All the disposable taskmasters, turnkeys, and patrols being armed and stationed from the outer lodge to the quay (River Stairs), the prisoners were assembled by six at a time, and placed without irons in the launch. The same plan was pursued from time to time, till at length the entire number were removed. The hulks were the Ethalion, Narcissus, Dromedary. A master was on board in charge of each, under the general supervision of Captain Chapman, the governor of the Penitentiary. There was immediately a further great deterioration in the conduct of the prisoners. Not only were they mischievous, as appeared from their favourite pastime, which was to drag off one another’s bedclothes in the middle of the night, by means of a crooked nail attached to a long string, but the decks which they occupied were for ever in a state of anarchy and confusion. “All the prisoners below,” says the overseer of the Ethalion, “conducted themselves last night in a most improper manner, by singing obscene songs and making a noise. When summoned to appear on the upper deck, they treated the master with defiance and contempt, so that the ringleaders had to be put in irons.” But it was a mere waste of time to confine prisoners below. There was no place of security to hold them. “A number of prisoners broke their confinement by forcibly removing the boards of the different cabins in which they were placed in the cockpit, and got together in the fore hold, where they were found by Mr. Lodge at half-past nine at night.” Another prisoner, a day or two later, confined in the hold, broke out, and proceeded through the holds and wings of the ship till he arrived at the fore hold, where another prisoner, Connor, was confined for irreverent behaviour during chapel. Connor tore up the boards fastened on to the mast-hatch, and admitted Williams to him. “When Williams’ escape was discovered,” says the overseer, “I searched for him in the bottom of the ship. On my arriving at the bulkhead of the fore hold I inquired of Connor if Williams was with him. He declared he was not, calling on God to witness his assertion; but on opening the hatch, to my astonishment I found him there. I ordered him back to the place in which he was first confined; on which he used the most abusive language, saying, by God, when he was released he would murder me and every officer in the ship. I talked mildly to him, and desired him to return to the place in which he had been confined. He at last complied, using the most abusive and threatening language. When he had returned to the after hold, I put the leg-irons on him to prevent his forcing out a second time, giving him at the same time to understand, that if he would behave himself they would soon be taken off. But he was still turbulent, breaking everything before him. I then put handcuffs on him, notwithstanding which he broke out at 9 p.m., disengaged himself from the handcuffs, and got a second time to the fore hold, where I again found him, and insisted on his returning. He kicked me very much in the legs, using, as before, threatening language. I then found it necessary to use force, and taking guards Wadeson and Clarke with the steward, we again removed him to his first place of confinement. He appeared so resolute and determined to commit further depredations, that I fastened his leg-irons to a five-inch staple in the timber of the hold, which staple he tore up during the night, and again passed to Connor in the fore hold.”

On the 27th November it was found that some prisoners had made their escape from the Ethalion hulk. On mustering the prisoners in the morning three were missing. Search was immediately made, but they were not to be found. All the hatches on the lower deck were secure; but it was ascertained, on examination of the after hold, that the prisoners must have made their way into the steward’s store-room, where they had taken out the window. One of them then swam off to the Shear hulk, secured the boat, brought it to the after windows, and by that means, assisting each other, the three effected their escape. The boat belonging to the Shear hulk was found at the Prince Regent’s Ferry House, on the Essex coast. After a close investigation it was not possible to bring the blame home to any one. All the guards proved, of course, that they were on the alert all night. The steward said he had had a blister on, and could not sleep a wink, but he never missed hearing the bell struck (by the watch) every quarter of an hour. Stevenson, one of those who had escaped, had always been employed in the steward’s store-room, hence he knew his way about the ship. Being a sailor and a good swimmer, it was probably he who had gone to the Shear hulk and got a boat, taking with him one end of a rope made of hammock nettings, the other being fast to a beam in the store-room. By this rope the Shear hulk boat was hauled gently to the Ethalion; then the other two prisoners got into it, and it was allowed to drift down for some distance with the tide. No sound whatever of oars had been heard during the night by the sentries on board or on shore. The escape must have been made between one and two o’clock in the morning, as at three the men were seen landing from a boat on the Essex coast.

Information of the escape soon spread among the other prisoners, and it was pretty certain that many would attempt to follow. They were reported to be ripe for any mischief. The fire-arms were carefully inspected by the governor, who insisted on their being kept constantly in good order and “well flinted.” At the same time a strict search was made through the ship, particularly of the lower deck, for any implements that might be secreted to facilitate escape. False keys were reported to be in existence, but none could be found; only a large sledge-hammer, a ripping chisel, and some iron bolts which were concealed in the caboose. A few days afterwards the master of the Ethalion reported the discovery of a number of other dangerous articles in various parts of the ship, several more sledge-hammers, chisels, iron bars, spike nails, etc., all calculated to do much mischief, and endanger the safety of the ship. At the same time, four prisoners were overheard planning another escape. They were to steal the key of a closet on the deck, and alter it so as to fit the locks of the bulk heads into the infirmary wards, and pass by this means to the cabin, and out through one of the ports. The key was immediately impounded, and a strict watch kept all night. Between eleven and twelve the guard reported that he heard a noise like filing through iron bars; so the master got into a boat with two others and rowed round the ship. They were armed with a cutlass and blunderbus, “which,” says the master, “I particularly requested might be put out of sight.” But everything was perfectly quiet on the lower deck, and on going through the upper deck the only discovery made was a prisoner sitting by a lamp, manufacturing a draught board, which he refused to part with. They left the deck quite quiet; yet at half-past three the whole place was in an uproar. A regular stand-up fight took place between two prisoners, Elgar and Blore, in which the former got his eyes blackened and face damaged in the most shameful manner. This Elgar was the man who gave information of the projected escape, thereby incurring the resentment of the rest. It is improbable, however, that any attempt was actually intended this time, though escape was in every mouth, and had been since the event of the previous Thursday.

Speaking of the hulks at this time, the governor says, “It is but too true that little if any discipline exists among the prisoners, and that the state of insubordination is extremely alarming. This may, in a great degree, be attributed to the lamentable state of idleness, the facility of communicating with each other, concerning and perpetrating mischief, and the inadequate means of punishment when contrasted with the hulks establishment.”

But by this time news had come of the missing three. At nine o’clock one night a person called at the Penitentiary and asked to see the governor in private. He was shown into the office. “You had three prisoners escape from Woolwich lately? One of them is my brother, Charles Knight. I am very anxious he should be brought back. What is the penalty for escaping?” He was informed; also that there was a charge of stealing from the steward’s store. Knight’s brother said he would willingly pay the damage of that, and wished to make conditions for the fugitive if he was given up. The governor would not promise beyond an assurance of speaking in Knight’s favour to the committee; and said all would depend upon his making a full and candid disclosure of all the circumstances connected with the escape, and giving all the information in his power which would lead to the arrest of the other two. The visitor then observed that his brother was very young, and by no means a hardened offender; that he was led into this act and was sorry for it; that none of his relations would harbour him, and that he was quite ready to return. Next morning he was brought back by his mother and brother, and gave immediately a full account of the affair. The escape had been concerted a full week before it was carried into effect, and had been arranged entirely by Stevenson, who having been employed in the store-room, had purloined a key, filed out the wards and made a skeleton key, with which he opened the hatches. The rope was made out of spun yarn, found in the hold by Stevenson, who also got there the sledge-hammer, chisel, and iron spikes. There was not a soul moving or awake on the lower deck, and no one knew of their intention to escape. They then got away in a boat, just as had been surmised. On landing at the new ferry on the Essex coast, they went across the chain pier, Payne changing a shilling to pay the toll. This was all the money they had amongst them, and had been conveyed to Payne by some person in the ship. They then proceeded to London, and were supplied with hats by a Jew named Wolff, living in Somerset Street, Whitechapel, to whose house they were taken by Stevenson. Afterwards they went to the West End. Payne separated from them in Waterloo Place, saying he meant to go to a brother living at Stratford-on-Avon. Stevenson then took Knight to his brother’s, who was a working jeweller, and who gave them money to buy clothes. They hid together for the night in a house in George Street, St. Giles; and then Knight went home to his aunt’s in Hanover Street, Long Acre, but was refused admittance. The same happened with all his other relatives, and at last he was compelled to give himself up in the manner described. Through information which he gave the others also were apprehended.

The numbers on board the several ships at this time were over six hundred; they were not classified; the distinctions of the Penitentiary, as well as the dress, were done away with. All alike were clothed in a coarse brown suit. They were kept in divisions of seventy-five, with a wardsman in charge of each division; besides which, a number of well-conducted prisoners were appointed to keep watch during the night, who were to report any irregularity that might occur during the watch. There was no employment for the prisoners: the making of great-coats was tried, but it did not succeed. There was no work to be got on shore, and it was doubtful whether these prisoners could be legally employed for that. In fact the whole establishment was considered a sort of house of recovery, and all the prisoners were more or less under hospital treatment throughout. The general conduct of the prisoners was “unruly to a degree, and in some instances to the extent of mutiny.” This continued month after month through the winter till well into the spring of 1824, when for a time, indeed, the conduct of all improved. They were in hopes that they were about to get some remission of their sentences, and feared lest misconduct should militate against their release. They were all in full expectation that something would be done for them by Parliament, in consequence of their very great sufferings. The tenor of all their letters to their friends was to the same effect. They were, however, doomed to disappointment; for on the 14th April, Mr. Kellock states, “This morning I received information that the bill for the labour and removal of the male convicts under the Penitentiary rules, and at present on board the prison ships, had received the royal assent. When informed that they were to be removed to labour at the hulks, they received the news with some degree of surprise and astonishment.” But the same day the exodus took place, and they are reported to have gone away “very quietly and resigned.”