Doing time at St. Helena

*THE WORKER*

Brisbane July 29, 1893

A UNION PRISONERS RECOLLECTIONS.

Life in St. Helena.

By James Martin.

As the prison vehicles drew up to the court house, the same were to convey us back to the gaol after sentence, a number of sympathetic people gathered round. Just to let the public know we weren't daunted we gave three hearty cheers for the Cause of Labour – cheers that reached the strike camps in due time and let our comrades who were still fighting the hopeless battle know that we were going to gaol with stout hearts for a good Cause.

AFTER THE SENTENCE.

Rockhampton gaol is divided into several yards; the one we had been in and were kept in until our departure for the South was called the Committed Men's Yard, contained a great many Unionists under going short periods of imprisonment for alleged intimidation and so on. These men were naturally anxious to know how we got on. And after our return, by secret wires we conveyed the news to them. Loud and deep were some of the curses uttered that day against the infamous Government. We were kept in Rockhampton gaol about a week after receiving our sentences. One fine morning after breakfast we were all summoned out of the yard into what they called the “circle,” an open space inside the prison walls. There we were securely chained together and told that we were to be shipped for Brisbane. The boys in the next yard soon found out the game and gathering in groups began to discuss the matter, when their ears were greeted by sounds never before heard inside those walls.

The sounds were our departing cheers. Without a moment's hesitation and at the risk of being punished by Ogre Sheeby they sent back the salutation, and their ringing cheers remained clear and distinct in our minds for many months. Scarcely had the cheering died away when forth from his residence, which is situated inside the outer wall, came savage old Gaoler Sheeby in a towering passion. “What's all this?” says he. “Such conduct I never knew here before. If it was a thing that would do you any good I could understand it.” “ It'll do us no harm,” said one of our chaps in a tone that the “Spike Island tyrant” wasn't much accustomed to.

OUT AT SEA.

After that we were bustled into vehicles and taken to the wharf where the Government steamer Otter was lying in wait for us. A large body of men, women and children had congregated to see us off, and with words of encouragement and more hearty cheers ringing in our ears we went down the Fitzroy in chains. When a bend of the river hid from view the friendly people, still waving handkerchiefs, we turned our immediate surroundings and found that we were accompanied not only by Inspector Fitzgerald and a number of police but escorted as well by a military guard of somewhere about a hundred men. It looked as if they meant to keep us at any rate. Perhaps they feared we had designs upon the ship. Maybe they suspected us of securing the vessel and taking to piracy. Soon after reaching the open sea our chains were knocked off, and that of course was a great relief. It is a cruel thing to keep a man chained up at sea where there is not the slightest chance of his escaping and where there is always danger of an accident to the ship. Further it is a contravention of the Merchant Shipping Laws, and cannot but have a degrading effect upon the public this parading of men in chains before the eyes of the world. Yet I understand that it is a common practice to keep prisoners on transit from Townsville and other Northern ports in chains all the way to Brisbane. Something ought to be done to put a stop to it.

However, we were fortunate enough to get our irons struck off, and just in time, for sea sickness attacking us we were soon all in a very bad way. The passage was exceedingly rough and when one evening we sighted the Cape Moreton light we were not a little pleased, although it was a sign that we were getting near the walls that were to cut us off for years from home and friends and freedom. On board the vessel we didn't feel like prisoners so much because somehow we were conscious it would take a very little to put us all on one footing. Coming down the coast we passed the Burwah. Her crew and passengers crowed on to the starboard side and cheered us loudly. It was a voice from the Seamen's Union crying “Mates from the Bush, you have done well.”

ST. HELENA  AT LAST.

We turned into Moreton Bay about nine o'clock one night and anchored. In the morning on reaching the deck we found our boat steaming straight for St. Helena. This was a surprise as we were all under the impression that our destination was Brisbane Gaol. Landing at the wharf we took our leave of the Otter for a time. And here I would like to say that the kindly consideration shown us by the captain and crew of the Otter will live in our memory for many a long year. Once on shore we were hurried off to the stockade where after being searched to see that we had no pickaxes or cross-cut saws concealed about us we were placed in separate cells in what they call G Wing. These cells are worthy of description, as I shall have occasion to speak of them again: They are 8ft. Long by 3ft. 6in. Wide and 12ft. High, and when you are locked in one of them it gives you more the impression of a shaft than anything else. The ventilation is most defective, as the fresh air passing through the grating near the roof is unable in summer time to sink in quantities sufficient to really benefit the unfortunate inmate. So the immured prisoner lies and gasps and fights the mosquitoes all through the hot season nights.

TREATMENT OF SICK CONVICTS.

It wouldn't be so bad if none but healthy prisoners were shut up in those cells, but as a matter of fact there is hardly a day in the year but sees some poor convict who has fallen sick slung into one of them. Try and imagine, you who know what mosquitoes are, what a miserable time a sick man has fighting those pests in such infernal holes. And that is not all. Adjoining these cells are the shops where an incessant hammering is kept up all day long. What with one thing and another the unhappy sick are driven almost mad. Is that right? Is it even human? When visitors are shown over the stockade they are taken into the hospital where they are led to believe sick prisoners are put. It is a miserable structure enough, the hospital, and altogether inadequate, but a paradise compared to those G wing cells, for in the hospital the beds have at least mosquito nets round them and there is some chance of fresh air. But even the hospital beds want looking to. I can't say what the mattresses are stuffed with, but from bitter experience I know them to be as hard as a brick, and the pillows are as bad.

Let any reader who happens to visit St. Helena feel them and then try and imagine an unfortunate fever patient tossing on them until he is covered with bed sores. It is a mean sort of economy that prevents the sick, even if they are convicts, getting a soft bed. But bad as the hospital is, greatest the danger is of infection for there is but the one small ward for all classes of diseases, hard as the beds are, disgusting as it is to be lying in close proximity to other patients while all sorts of operations are being performed on them, for there is no such thing as privacy there, it is, as I have already said, far better than being locked up in a G wing cell.

THE GAOL SURGEON.

The public will perhaps want to know who is directly responsible for the treatment of the sick at St. Helena, and I may as well say at once it is the medical officer, Dr. Wray. Nobody can interfere with his arrangements. If he likes to lock sick men up in mere shafts where they will be alternately stifled with heat, bitten by insect pests and racked with the hammering of adjacent workshops no one has the right to interfere. The superintendent himself, Captain Pennefather, cannot prevent it – work worthy of the days of Botany Bay though it is – or I am convinced he could. I have known him, though, to let men out of those cells who begged for it almost on their bended knees and asserted that they had quite recovered when in reality they were worse than ever. But in doing that I feel certain that he left himself open to a charge of interfering with the doctor's arrangements. Dr. Wray is alone to blame for the horrible treatment of the sick on St. Helena. His style and bearing is more like that of a 14^th Century gaoler than a physician. Prisoners dread him and it is a common thing to see men suffering for weeks rather than face him. His cruelties would take too long to recount. I may as well say the public see that one great reform on St. Helena is absolutely necessary.

THE DREAD OF FIRE.

But to return to my story. On finding myself alone in a G wing cell for the first time many thoughts flitted through my head. I thought of my mates far away in the bush and wondered when and under what circumstances I should meet them again. Bye-and-bye it struck me that there was great dander from fire in a prison such as this built of wood. The real force of the danger didn't come all at once, but in a short time when I found out that built right up against the stockade were three wooden shops in every one of which fire was used all through the week. I remembered a short time before of a lunatic asylum in Canada catching fire and scattering the inmates all over the country. The fear of being scattered about didn't trouble me, but getting burned alive seemed so possible that I must confess I was really alarmed and the longer I thought of it the more I was troubled in my mind. At last I mentioned it to some of the old hands, but the effect was such that ever afterwards I kept it to myself. I found that many were brooding over the same possibility – some of them to such an extent that there was danger even of their reason going.

And no wonder, when you consider that some of these men had been years where I had only been weeks thinking over the matter. Such time for brooding too. A man is locked up at 5 o'clock pm. In winter; the light in his cell is not sufficient to allow him to read; he is thus thrown back on himself and his thoughts, no matter where they wander, eventually come back to that one idea, the terrible danger of being burnt alive. And the danger is there. It is not only a possible danger but well within the range of probability. A bit of fire unnoticed left in the tinsmith shop, a smouldering rag in the boot or tailor shop, and nothing could save the entire stockade. In event of fire, too, considerable delay would arise in rescuing the prisoners. The keys must be brought from the chief warden's house some distance away outside the stockade. Every lock has a separate key. The keys are kept in numbers of about twenty on a ring, and it is a common thing to see a warder who has been on the “Island” for years fumbling with them for several minutes before he can hit the right one, and that when there is nothing to distract him. This state of affairs wants altering. No prison should be built of wood, especially on a place like St. Helena where there is no water laid on and absolutely no possibility of fighting a fire that got a start. To build a new stockade of stone down there would not cost much. There “labour” is “free” and reliable, and suitable stone can be procured on the spot.

(To be Continued).

*THE WORKER*

Brisbane August 5, 1893

A UNION PRISONER'S RECOLLECTIONS.

Life in St. Helena. - (Continued)

By James Martin.

A FIRST INSPECTION.

After I had been in the cell some little time the door was suddenly thrown open and I was told to stand out, When I stood out I found that my mates were also in front of the doors of their cells. Just then the Chief Warder, Mr. Hamilton, who at that time was Acting Superintendent, came along and said: “ There are some of you men not sentenced to hard labour, I believe?” He was answered in the affirmative. “Well,” he went on, “I would like to tell you that the Sheriff will be round directly to ask you to volunteer to work and if you take my advice you will volunteer because your food will be more plentiful and your treatment better.” And with that he went away. Shortly after the Sheriff did come accompanied by Dr. Wray. We were stood out again. The Sheriff eyed us critically. The doctor asked us if we were sound. Then they went away and we were locked up once more without any further reference to the question of work. In the afternoon we were marched round to the store where we exchanged our clothes for prison garments. The rain fell for two or three days heavily enough to prevent work in the open air. So we stayed in the yard. In this yard, which is called D Yard, the men were kept who were not yet due for their “indulgence,” that is their tobacco and tea. At that period all first “timers” had to remain three months, second “timers” six months, and third “timers” nine months before they were allowed either tobacco or tea. There were were men of all degrees of criminality there – first, second, third and all manner of “timers,” so that they were a very fair sample of the sort of people you meet in prison.

AMONGST THE CRIMINALS.

Naturally enough we struck up a yarn with some of them and they took quite a delight in initiating us into the ways of the place, Here I may state that the inmates were a far better sample of men than we had expected to find. Being clean shaved all round, of course, they looked a bit odd, so did we no doubt a day or two later when we lost our beards. There didn't happen to be any of those repulsive-looking characters you read about on hand. Perhaps by that time they had all been hanged. Queensland was pretty busy with the rope just then. What struck me as especially strange was that there was absolutely no attempted at classification. Prisoners of all grades were thrown together. Men convicted of the most heinous offences walked and dined and talked freely with those who were there for some paltry matter that could hardly be called an offence at all. Not that it made as much difference as one might imagine, for as a rule the conversation you hear on St. Helena is not about the crimes that brought men there. I used to think that in gaol one's ears would be ever lastly assailed by speeches of villainy, but to my surprise I found that there was hardly a question, political or otherwise, that would not get an intelligent handling there.

THE ROUTINE BEGINS.

On the Monday morning following our arrival we were told off in a gang by ourselves in charge of a warder who took great pains in our instruction. “I noticed,” said he, “that some of you didn't salute when your names were called. If you wish to keep out of trouble attend to that.” His advice was given in a kindly spirit and of course was taken in good part. But it came hard on some of us bushmen to touch our hats to the officials of a gaol-at least I found it so. We got used to it in time, however. From the first some were against working it all. The The majority of us were sentenced to imprisonment only, and we felt that the Government were not keeping within the “law” in forcing us to “labour.” Not that we minded the work. In fact we preferred it, but it looked like, and for that matter it is of course, sheer slavery to compel a man to work for nothing. To be strictly accurate the remuneration amounts to almost nothing. When we went there the rule was to give a man when he had finished his time, ten shillings (that is if he had no money of his own), whether he had been there twelve months or twelve years. Now the retiring convict, if his conduct has been exceptional, is entitled to the munificent sum of one penny per working day. That regulation came into force on the first of June, 1892.

BARBAROUS PUNISHMENTS.

And on the same date many other rules came into force on St. Helena – some of them barbarous rules. Under them prisoners can be strapped up and flogged for the offence of using obscene language or insulting a warder, and they may be (and very often are) sentenced by a visiting J.P. To long terms of imprisonment. Under these circumstances a man may get an additional sentence of eighteen months for a single offence and if he is unlucky or obstinate the justice has the chance of piling it on until the convict who went there to do a modest twelve months finds himself doing as many years. Now I ask the public if it is fair to give J.P.'s such power? Is it right to try any man and give him an additional sentence in the office of a penal establishment. Should he not rather be taken out and tried in some public court where he could, if able, obtain the assistance of counsel and where, at any rate, free people would be watching the proceedings.

THE RIGHT OF PETITION.

The “authorities” say that the prisoner can petition if he has a grievance. A lot of good that would do him. It is looked upon by prisoners as a farce to petition at all from inside. They believe that as a rule petitions to the Governor of the Colony or the Executive Council never get past some under strapper, and certainly never leave the “Island.” This I know that prisoners with good grounds for appeal have petitioned times out of number and that it has all been of no avail. The same old answer comes back - “The Executive will take no action.” The reason I have written at such length on this subject is because from bitter experience I know there are scores of fellows, not to mention my own mates, undergoing long sentences for offences that in any other civilised country with three or six months.

SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE, ETC.

Here is an example. A new chum up North got hold of a watch and sold it to another man. They were both arrested, the new chum for stealing the watch the other for receiving stolen property. They were sentenced to seven years each, and served their sentence although they petitioned for mercy several times. It was their first offence. Sometimes, however, men are released, that is if they have influential friends outside. While I was there three or four well connected prisoners who had held good positions and taken advantage of them to perpetrate big swindles were released, it is supposed, through the intervention of their friends. Now I don't object to the release of these men, Quite the contrary. Seeing that the chances of their committing other offences are small I maintain that they should be released. But that is the way I would like to see all prisoners treated. When there is every reason to believe that a man will lead an honest life why not let him go? If a commission were appointed consisting of fair minded men it would be found, I am sure, that at least half of our gaol inmates could be set at liberty to-morrow without the slightest danger to society.

THE SUPERINTENDENT.

St. Helena as a prison, judging by what I heard from men who had been in nearly every gaol in Australia, is in many respects not so bad after all. It is a rule in most prisons, so I have been told, to punish every man brought before the superintendent for a breach of gaol discipline. Luckily for the prisoners of St. Helena Captain Pennefather isn't built that way. He recognises that in telling the truth the warders are just about on a par with the prisoners, and generally he gives all prisoners tried by him fair play. Consequently there is a feeling of confidence among the men, for they know they will get every opportunity to clear themselves when charged with offences against the rules.

CHOOSING A TRADE.

After working all in one gang for a week we were separated, some put here, some there, and never by any chance did we all work together afterwards. It is not necessary to describe the work each man was put to. Some remained outside at field work and some were put into the shops to learn trades.

And here I would like to say a word about the learning of trades. I think that in this respect the prisoner's wishes ought to be to a certain extent considered. It is far better for the prisoner and the authorities too that, if possible, a man should be put to the trade he has a fancy for. But this is just what is not done at St. Helena. If you ask to be allowed to learn one trade it is a hundred to one that you will be put to another, or perhaps to none at all. In my own case I had a great desire to learn boot making. But the Superintendent told me that I could learn tailoring if I liked and that if I didn't take that I wouldn't get anything else. Now, I detested the idea of sewing, but I thought that the Super was trying to bluff me off the shops altogether so in an evil moment I elected to be a tailor. An

evil moment, I say because having always been used to an active outdoor life the sudden change-cooped up in a closely packed shop, badly ventilated and hot as an oven – soon began to tell on my health. My digestion became so bad that I constantly required medicine which, although it relieved me temporarily, was quite powerless to effect a cure. After suffering for a considerable time I wanderd my way out to the Superintendent one night and asked him if he would kindly allow me to resume outside work: but no, he would not. I went back and suffered for a few months longer and then appealed again, but with the same result. Another long spell and I became so bad that this time I almost begged to be allowed out in the fields. The Superintendent said that he wouldn't let me out unless the doctor recommended it on the grounds of ill-health. But I had such a horror of the doctor that nothing could tempt me to face him.

A CHANGE OF DOCTORS.

At length I got an attack of fever, and was removed to the hospital, where I was visited by Dr. Jackson and a young medical man whose name I have forgotten, Dr. Wray fortunately being away. What a contrast was the bearing of Dr. Jackson and his friend to that of Dr. Wray. Their very presence gave you confidence, while Dr. Wray's made you tremble and wish that you were ten times worse than you really were so that there would be less danger of your being charged with malingering when in reality you were lingering in pain. While on this subject I would like to mention another matter that wants looking to. When the doctor lands on the “Island” a flag is hoisted as a signal of his arrival. Then all those who are desirous of seeing him are brought out and placed at attention along a fence, where there is neither shade from the burning summer sun nor protection from the wintry blast, and in that position the unfortunate sick convict is kept sometimes over an hour because the doctor rarely attends to the prisoners before driving to the Super's house – presumably for refreshments. Surely it would be possible to provide a shelter for sick men to wait in. to ask that a room should be set aside for that purpose is of course out of the question. Dr. Wray resumed his duties before I recovered from my attack of fever, and I plucked up courage to ask him to recommend me for outdoor work after my discharge from the hospital telling him that I blamed the shops for my sickness. He did this, and to my great satisfaction, after suffering in it for twelve months, I got out of the tailors' shop for good. I was not the only one that the shops didn't agree with. Fully fifty per cent of the shopmen were as bad if not worse than I was. And the reason is not far to seek. The food, which is plentiful but coarse, is altogether unsuitable for men engaged at sedentary occupations. Outside men working hard can manage to digest it and are rarely bad, but men locked up thirteen hours out of the twenty-four and sitting down eight hours more would require the stomach of an ostrich. What is wanted for shopmen is more digestible food, and arrangements for their getting at least one month's outdoor work in every six.

EDUCATION AT A DISCOUNT.

Another thing that requires, attention is the prison school. At present it is a mere farce. The schoolmaster appears to be retained on the “Island” for no other purpose than to educate the Super's children, to whom he attends four or five hours a day five days a week, while the prisoners get the advantage of his instruction but three hours a week or thereabout. Now if he is paid to teach the Superintendent's children he is of course doing merely what he is paid for, but that does not say that it is a good thing that the prisoners should have so little tuition, and the impression certainly exists amongst the prisoners that it is his especial business to teach them. Surely Captain Pennefather ought to pay for the education of his own children. At any rate the present system, as far as the inmates of the gaol are concerned, is absurd. If education has the power of elevating men the prisoners, large numbers of whom are very imperfectly educated or quite untaught, ought to have the benefit of it. But what a farce it is for one man to be sent to teach some fifty or sixty when he can only give his attention to them for about an hour on Mondays and Wednesdays and an hour and a quarter on Saturday.

INTO THE WORLD AGAIN.

At first we had the impression that we should be released before long. Soon, however we found that the only condition upon which the doors would be unbarred for us was that we should petition for mercy and then we settled down to do our time, for we had made our minds up from the start that come what might we would not cringe to the Government – the Government that had so unjustly imprisoned us. Two who couldn't stand the strain did petition and were released; two more, Jeffries and Irwin, upon the advice of the Colonial Secretary and with the full concurrence of their mates, also petitioned and after being tortured with hopes of immediate release were cruelly kept in confinement for a period of several months, being eventually set at liberty when they least expected it. The time rolled on, Davie Bowes manfully did his 18 months and went out ; five months later Dover and I bade our comrades good-bye and I don't know who felt the more sad, they or is. Of one thing I am certain, not one of our mates begrudged us our release. We were welcomed back to freedom by Mr. Glassey, Albert Hinchcliffe, Mat Reid and many other sympathetic friends, and I must confess that I felt miserable through it all, because my mind would run back to the brave, patient fellows I had left behind me on the “Rock.” Their time, however, has not long to run. The day is fast approaching when the prison doors will open wide and the world will know them again. Side by side with them I hope to fight a battle for Queensland in the future, and if our hopes are realised none of us will regret the days we spent on St. Helena.