Over-sea prisons continued till late date at Bermuda and Gibraltar—Major Griffiths' personal connection with Gibraltar—Called to supreme control by threatened outbreak—His association with convicts—Their demeanour and characteristics—His difficulties in administration—Curious cases—False confessions—Sea-captain who had cast away his ship—Ingenious and daring attempts to escape—A vanishing specimen of prisoner—The gentleman convict—The forbidden weed.

When the British colonies with sturdy, independent spirit refused almost unanimously to be the receptacle for the criminal sewage of the mother country, it became of paramount importance to find other outlets of disposal. The perfected system of penal servitude now in force was of slow growth, and at the beginning many places were utilised that could voice no protest. Two isolated strongholds, Bermuda and Gibraltar, were pressed into service without question; they were both crown possessions at the mercy of the authorities and plausible reasons could be offered for turning them into convict prisons. They were at no great distance, easily accessible by sea, and could very nearly guarantee safe custody. Then the labour of the prisoners would be available there for defensive purposes and colonial development. In both places many monuments to their skill and industry are still preserved; both are decisive points in the national strategy; one at least has a glorious history and the other may any day prove of signal value to the ocean communications of Great Britain.

It was my fortune to be closely associated with the convict prison of the so-called impregnable fortress of Gibraltar, which was for some time under my personal supervision, and I had abundant opportunities for observing the traits and peculiarities of identically the same classes as those who have provided the materials for the historical chapters already compiled.

My call to functions of control came with dramatic suddenness and surprise. I was plunged into the middle of new and strange surroundings without a word of warning. There had been two outbreaks at the prison, where a weak executive had broken down and a collection of turbulent characters was encouraged to oppose and defy authority. An outbreak was imminent at any moment, I was told, as I galloped up to the scene of disturbance and proceeded to take charge. I might indeed have been at Port Arthur or Norfolk Island, but for the comforting reflection that above me the guns of the fortress showed their formidable teeth, tier above tier, and that several thousands of the best troops in the world were within easy reach to check peremptorily any breach of the peace.

The likeness might have been carried further, for there were many among the convicts who had made the dread voyage across to the Southern Hemisphere, who had been in the chain gangs and in assigned service,—veteran survivors of the dark days of transportation and the makeshifts that replaced it. Five hundred paraded for my inspection, and as I slowly walked down the ranks I made my first acquaintance with the physiognomy and demeanour of felons. Many exhibited the peculiar features now commonly assigned to them by the criminologists; the lowering brow, the prognathous jaw, the handle-shaped ear. These were largely the born criminals of the great Italian savant Professor Lombroso, "having projecting ears, thick hair, thin beards, prominent frontal eminences, enormous jaws, square protruding chins, large cheek bones, and frequent gesticulations." I may note the description of another observer. "Their cringing and timid ways," he says, "the mobility and cunning of their looks; a something feline about them, something cowardly humble, suppliant and crushed, makes them a class apart,—one would say dogs who had been whipped; with here and there a few energetic and brutal heads of rebels."

I cannot say that the submissive air was greatly noticeable, when I first saw them. They might have been a pirate's or a slaver's crew; their costume was nautical, a tarpaulin hat, round jacket, wide duck trousers and low shoes. Their faces were mostly unpleasing; their tone and demeanour were arrogant and aggressive. They held their heads high and looked me insolently in the face. I could see plainly that the bonds of discipline had been relaxed, and that there had been no firm hand on them of late; indeed it was the mental failure of my predecessor which had brought me there in his place to try my prentice hand upon a (to me) new and unruly team. No doubt there were many grievances abroad among them. The old comptroller, as the supreme chief was styled, had introduced many irksome regulations and at the same time withdrawn many small privileges and indulgences that had come to be looked upon as a right and were much missed. What would be my attitude toward my charges? It was quite evident that from the moment I appeared I became the cynosure of every eye. Every one was watching me closely, curiously, seeking to make out what kind of man I was.

We soon grew better acquainted. A prominent part of my new duties was to give a personal interview to any convict who applied. I found that afternoon that almost every one had put his name down to see me, and presently I took my seat in the chair of authority, without the smallest previous knowledge, to listen to complaints, grant requests and answer questions of the most intricate kind. I soon found that I was quite unable to deal with matters so entirely new to me. I had hardly a word to say. The only possible course was to acquire knowledge without delay. Laying hands on all the authorities available, books of rules, standing orders, printed circulars, official correspondence—I retired to the comptroller's house, where my servants had made me up a rough and ready home. I studied the voluminous mass of details far into the night, every spare minute the next day and again late into the next night. I worked on, conning my lesson diligently, painfully, but with ultimate success. By the third day, Monday, when the applicants again paraded, their numbers already largely increased, I was in a position to dispose pretty summarily of all but the most complicated affairs.

It was in these interviews, which were accorded in private if so desired, that I first gained an insight into convict character, its guilefulness, its duplicity, its infinite art in seeking to gain the ends in view; to evade or modify the regulations, often harsh enough, to secure a modicum of comfort, an atom more food, lighter and less irksome labour, a little sympathy in listening to a "case" and obtain support for a petition to have a trial revised and secure pardon or mitigation of sentence. As a newcomer and absolute tyro, I was held fair game by every specious impostor, who could "pitch" a harrowing, heart-rending tale. I was victimised very early by the curious craze of the criminal mind for false confession, guilt assumed, without a shadow of proof, for short-lived glorification or a period of idleness while investigation was in progress.

One of the first cases of this kind made an extraordinary impression on me. I was entirely befooled. The play was so well acted by such finished performers that in my inexperienced innocence I was easily carried away. A convict whom I will style X came to me with tears in his eyes, evidently under the influence of the strangest emotion, and asked to speak to me alone. He desired to give himself up as the real perpetrator of a certain atrocious crime, a murder in the city of London which had hitherto baffled detection. He was a tall man with a long yellow face set in coal black, stubby hair, and with baleful black eyes, deep set under bushy black eyebrows. He was in the most agitated state of mind. Remorse most profound and agonising possessed him as he poured forth his piteous tale and enlarged upon the horrible details of the murder. It was impossible not to yield him full credit. If I had any doubt, it would have been removed when his accomplice whom he betrayed was brought in. I will call him Y.

A second scene was now enacted,—a duologue with the parts in strange contrast. X denounced his companion with virtuous indignation. Y altogether repudiated the charge. The first told his story with all the realism of manifest truth. The second denied it as stoutly as he could, but I seemed to see the half-heartedness of conscious guilt. Y was a weaker vessel; a round faced, chubby looking man, smug, self-sufficient, inclined to be off-hand and jaunty as he faced me giving the lie to his accuser. For a long time he fought, but with failing force before the insistence of his opponent. Then, all at once, he threw up the sponge. Yes; it was all quite true. They had killed the poor old woman, the bank caretaker, had brained her with a knuckle-duster, and then stabbed her to the heart.

My course was plain. I was bound to report the strange story to my superiors and ask for instructions. The two convicts were held strictly apart, lodged in separate cells, given writing materials and required to set forth their confessions at length, which were forwarded to England. An answer came in due course. There was not one syllable of truth in the story. Neither X nor Y had been within a hundred miles of the scene of the crime. One of them, indeed, was actually at the time in prison for another offence. They had heard of the crime, had put their heads together while on the works where they laboured in association, and had concocted the whole fraud by which I had been so completely misled. This was the first spurious confession that had come within my purview, but by no means the last. The practice is common enough among criminals, both inside and outside the prison. The reasons are generally the same. The convict, as in this case, hopes to be remanded for a new trial, and to lead an idle life while awaiting it.

The inexperienced prison officer is very apt, and not strangely, to be imposed upon also by eloquent and persistent protestations of innocence. No one is guilty in gaol. A French aumÔnier, "chaplain," once called upon his congregation in the prison chapel to answer him honestly and truthfully, by holding up their hands, whether they acknowledged the justice of their conviction. Only one hand was held up in response. I was as gullible as any other beginner until repeated disappointment hardened my heart. One of the first cases that worked a change was that of the coxswain of my gig. It was a smart little craft, the favourite plaything of my predecessor, who had manned it with a crew of convicts dressed like men-of-war's men, and the coxswain was an ex-master mariner, who had earned a long sentence for casting away his ship. W, the man in question, and I became very good friends. He was a neat, civil spoken, well conducted sailor, and I weakly let him see that I took an interest in him. He came to me on an early occasion praying that his case might be reconsidered. He assured me that he had been wrongfully convicted, the victim of a base plot fabricated and sworn to by some of his crew who hated him for ruling them with too tight a hand. There was not a word of truth in the charges brought against him, and if there were only a criminal court of appeal he would very speedily be released.

I confess I was won over by his specious pleading. I liked the man and was sorry for him, and I promised to make a full inquiry. There was a file of the London Times on the shelves of the Gibraltar garrison library and it was easy to turn to the number containing the full proceeding of the trial. All doubt was immediately dispelled, and I saw at the first glance that I had once more been imposed upon. The charge rested upon the clearest evidence, and the facts were proved beyond the shadow of a doubt. Captain W. had deliberately prepared his ship for destruction. It was shown that he had gone himself into the hold and had bored holes in the ship's side with an auger and scuttled her. She was cast away, and sank, but within reach of shore and of diving operations, which proclaimed the criminal ill-treatment of her skipper, to whom the possession and use of the augers were distinctly brought home. The evil intention was further shown by the valueless cargo shipped and the large amount for which it had been insured. After my experience with X, I rather slackened in my excessive sympathy with my unfortunate charges and was prepared to believe that they had had as much fair play as comes to most of us in this crooked world.

The fate which eventually overtook this gig and its convict crew well illustrates the difficulties of management in an oversea prison in near proximity to a foreign country. Spain is within a stone's throw of Gibraltar, and at the time of which I am writing there was no extradition of criminals. The question was complicated by the British reluctance to give up political refugees, and Spain would make no difference between classes. No treaty of extradition was possible which did not extend to all, and the convict at Gibraltar was well aware that he was safe if he set foot on Spanish soil. These facts were known in the prison, for local convicts were also confined there, and they could one and all see the Spanish shore a few miles away. There was always the chance of seizing a boat and escaping to the other side of the bay.

On one occasion a ship's cutter was seized and the fugitives made off. The warning gun was fired, the flag was run up at the yard-arm on the signal station on the top of the rock, and the alarm given at the dockyard. Some one immediately ordered out the convict gig to go in pursuit with an armed escort. The crew bent manfully to their oars and quickly overhauled the chase, but by this time they were half way across the bay. The temptation was too strong for loyalty. The crew of the gig rose upon the warder, disarmed him and consigning him to the bottom of the boat, carried it and him to Algeciras, where all parties landed without let or hindrance. The Spanish authorities were by no means overjoyed at the arrival of these desperadoes, but would not arrest them. They took to the wild hill country around and were a terror to quiet folk until they were gradually taken up for new offences or were shot down by the quadras civiles.

Escape was the dazzling lure before the eyes of the Gibraltar convicts and more than one ardent spirit strove to compass it. The patience and ingenuity exhibited by one man was really marvellous. He was employed alone in a remote workshop and had discovered that it communicated with one of the hollows or caves with which the great oolitic rock is honeycombed. In this he had constructed and kept concealed a boat built of the nondescript materials that came to his hand—scraps of canvas, disused cement bags and small pieces of timber. It was not unlike a collapsible boat, in three separate compartments for convenience of carriage, which could be made into one tiny dingy or coracle sufficient to keep one man afloat. He expected to be able to launch this fragile craft unobserved, choosing a favourable opportunity, and to commit himself to the waters of the Straits of Gibraltar, a narrow passage ever crowded with shipping, where he hoped to be picked up by some craft. He had laid by a store of provisions saved from his meagre rations, which he carried out daily from the prison. It was his abstraction of food that betrayed him to a jealous comrade, who treacherously gave him away and led to the detection of his undoubtedly clever scheme. The intensity of his disappointment when discovered was quite pathetic.

A seemingly much more serious affair was a plot set on foot for a combined attempt to break prison after rising upon the guards. When the matter was reported to me, it had all the aspect of a dangerous conspiracy and it imposed upon me, but I have reason now to think it was all a hoax. Convicts have no loyalty to each other and their best laid plans "gang aft agley," for the secret is rarely kept. Some one usually turns traitor. The scheme is at times a pure invention devised by some astute prisoner seeking to curry favour by his revelations to the authorities. If it has any foundation in fact, there is a race between the traitors, each anxious to be the first in betrayal and thus render himself safe.

On this occasion the dread news was broken by picking up an anonymous letter giving the particulars of the coming disturbance. Then came a very confidential message from a patient in the hospital whom I visited and who gave me some startling news. A deep laid conspiracy was afoot to rise while at work in a distant quarry, to overmaster warders and military guards and march straight on board the admiralty brig employed to remove the heavily laden lighters from the quarry. To cast her loose would be the work of a moment, and with steam up she might be taken across the bay before the alarm could be given and pursuit organised. The whole story seemed far-fetched but I could not ignore the warning. Upon my requisition to the military authorities, the guards were reinforced. They loaded ostentatiously before marching to the quarry, and on arrival there it was found that the steam tug was absent on some other duty. There was no outbreak, nor the semblance of one. The turbulent spirits were cowed at this exhibition of formidable strength, if indeed there were any who had contemplated mischief.

I must add a few words to the general description of the personnel of the Gibraltar convict prisoners. They were interesting to me, many of them as the survivors of the great tide of criminal exiles that turned for years toward the antipodes. They were to be easily recognised by those who had the key; their swarthy, weather-beaten complexions spoke of long exposure to trying climates. They were hardy in aspect, with muscular, well-knit frames, developed by much manual labour in the open air. They had the bold, self-reliant, reckless demeanour of men who had endured severe discipline and passed through it unbroken. They were hard, bitter men, who had faced the worst and were willing to do it again. Quarrelsome and of hasty temper, they might be cowed into good order, but were ever ready to break out and resist authority, to assault a warder or strike down a fellow convict with pick or shovel, or the first weapon that lay to hand. The type was entirely new to me then, and indeed I have seen little of it since, for they were a fast vanishing species and are to be met with no more in the prison population.

I will pick out one or two for more particular mention. One who was hopelessly "incorrigible," for instance, I will call H. This man happened to be in one of his periodical, almost chronic fits of rage on my first visit to the prison. My way had taken me across a drawbridge leading from the line wall road to the top of a winding staircase that descended to an inner gate which led straight into the main body of the prison. This main prison, by the way, was little better than a shed,—a long, low, two-storied wooden edifice, divided into bunks or cages shut off from each other and a central passage by iron bars. This building was filled with human beings, and, as we approached, the ceaseless hum of voices, angry and even menacing, rose from it into one piercing note, a yell or shriek of wild, or, it might be, maniacal, despair. We were told that it was H, who had broken out again and was now in a separate cell, and were asked if we would like to see him.

They took us through a detached block of strongly built stone cells in their own yard lying close under the line wall, and by this time the noise became almost deafening. Each cell had two doors; an outer door of stout iron bars, protecting an inner one of wood. The bolt of this second door was thrown back and exposed the interior. At that moment a mad figure rushed forward with frightful imprecations, to be checked, fortunately, by the outer iron gate; a wild and terrible beast, human only in form, clad in a hideous particoloured garb, the badge of those who had made a murderous assault on their guardians. He stood raving and raging impotently, threatening us with fluent vituperative tongue to the accompaniment of clanking chains. He was in leg irons and was also manacled with "figure eight" handcuffs on his wrists, and so could do no injury even to himself.

This H was one of a class who presently became a danger to London and complicated the penal question by the alleged inadequacy of the punishment. He was a man of cruel and ungovernable temper, addicted to crimes of violence, who ill-used as well as robbed his victims. There were others like him at Gibraltar, but none that equalled him in his savagery and determined defiance of authority. Nothing seemed to tame him; prolonged doses of dieting, punishment and cellular isolation had no effect. He continued intractable to the last, and was one of those withdrawn and brought home to England three years later when the Gibraltar convict prison was abolished.

"Captain" P.—titular rank is generally preserved among prisoners when speaking of or to each other—was of a different kind, irreconcilable also, but his resistance was rather moral than physical. He was always surly, sulky and impudent; inclined to be disobedient, but keeping within the line of sharp reprimands. I remember him as a smooth-speaking, supple-backed, cringing creature, anxious to show that he had been well-bred and that he had occupied a superior station, but dropping all at once into the other extreme if crossed or offended, when his language was of the foulest and his manner disgusting. I met "Captain" P. again under rather amusing circumstances. One afternoon when standing among my gangs at work upon the foundation of the new Wormwood Scrubs prison, I saw a well-dressed, gentlemanly looking man approach under escort of the gate keeper. He wore a well-cut frock and a shining silk hat, which he lifted courteously as he bowed low, to the manifest delight of some of the convicts around. They knew him well. It was "Captain" P. who had been an old comrade in Portland or Dartmoor, and who, now a free man, had impudently decided to pay me a formal call. He addressed me as an old friend, saying: "You were always so good to me when I served under your orders at Gibraltar" (it might have been in some distinguished cavalry regiment) "that I have ventured to intrude upon you to ask if you can help me to some employment." I am afraid I answered rather curtly and ordered him to be shown out of the enclosure. Had he been a different man, penitent and well-disposed, with a blameless prison character, and determined to turn over a new leaf, I would gladly have given him a helping hand. But there had been a second sentence since the term at Gibraltar, and I soon learned that he was a hardened, habitual criminal. Oddly enough, at the very time of his visit, a friend was standing with me who knew him personally in previous days, when he was a captain in the British army and came to grief over a forged check.

Life in a colonial convict prison was not eventful, and yet not monotonous. Some of the more startling episodes have been recounted. The chase for tobacco constantly kept us busy. Its use is strictly tabooed in British prisons, but the forbidden weed will always find its way inside. Nothing will check its introduction, and its presence is proved by the fact that tobacco has a regular price in articles of food, the only possible circulating medium. The traffic depends upon the dishonesty of officials, who are bribed by prisoners' friends to pass it in, the safe keeping and distribution being the work of the prisoners themselves. At Gibraltar, where "free" people came and went in the quarries almost unquestioned, large transactions were constantly afoot. The new arrivals brought out cash and the "traffickers" were clever in finding hiding places in the rock for the money offered and the weed when bought. We made many searches for both the raw material and its price, and I can call to mind long watches in the night for the agents who brought in the stuff, and elaborate devices to catch the culprits in actual possession of the forbidden weed.

A few months spent in this varied fashion was no bad preparation for the new career on which I was about to embark. I was called to service in the home department, and during many years was closely associated with the entire penal system of Great Britain. From small beginnings, devised under the pressure of great emergency, these experiments have grown into the present system of secondary punishment. Opinions differ as to its value and merits, but these will best be judged by independent critics on learning what measures were adopted upon the cessation of penal exile, and what grew out of them.