Routine
Having passed solitary confinement and probation, I entered upon the third stage, hard labor, when I was permitted to leave my cell to assist in carrying meals from the kitchen, and to sit at my door and converse with the prisoners in the adjoining cells for two hours daily—but always in the presence of an officer who controls and limits the conversation. My daily routine was now also somewhat different from that of solitary confinement and probation.
At six o’clock the bell rings to rise. Half an hour later a second bell signifies to the officers that it is time to come on duty. Each warder in charge of certain wards—there[94] are three wards to each hall—then goes to the chief matron’s office, where she receives a key wherewith to unlock the prisoners’ cells. All keys are given up by the female warder before going off duty, and locked for the night in an iron safe under the charge of a male warder. When again in possession of her key she repairs to her ward, and at the order, “Unlock,” she lets out the prisoners to empty their slops. This done, they are once more locked in, with the exception of three women who go down to the kitchen to fetch the cans of tea and loaves of bread which make up the prisoners’ breakfast. At Woking the breakfast was of cocoa and coarse meal bread, while later, at Aylesbury, it consisted of tea and white bread. I am constrained to remark here that more consideration should be shown by the medical officer toward women who complain of being physically unfit to do heavy lifting and carrying. The can is carried by two women up two or three flights of[95] stairs, according to the location of their ward, and the bread by one woman only. Each can contains fourteen quarts of tea, and the bread-basket holds thirty pounds or more of bread. To a woman with strong muscles it may cause no distress, but in the case of myself and others equally frail, the physical strain was far beyond our strength, and left us utterly exhausted after the task.
The breakfast was served at seven o’clock, when the officers returned to the mess-room to take theirs. At 7:30 a bell rang again, and the officers returned to their respective wards. At ten minutes to eight the order was given, “Unlock.” Once more the doors were opened. Then followed the order, “Chapel,” and each woman stood at her door with Bible, prayer-book, and hymn-book in hand. At the words “Pass on,” they file one behind the other into the chapel, where a warder from each ward sits with her back to the altar that she may be able the better to[96] watch those under her charge and see that they do not speak. After a service of twenty minutes the prisoners file back to their cells, place their books on the lower shelf, and with a drab cape and a white straw hat stand in readiness for the next order, “To your doors.” This given, they descend into the hall and pass out to their respective places of work.
Talk with the Chaplain
Many of these women have their tender, spiritual moments. At such times they will beg for a favorite hymn to be sung at the chapel service on Sunday, and their requests are generally granted by the chaplain. He is the only friend of the prisoner, and his work is arduous and often thankless. He is the only one within the walls to whom she may turn for sympathy and advice. It may not be every woman who gladly avails herself of the enforced privilege of attending daily chapel. “Religion,[97]” as a term, is unpalatable to many. But there are very few who are not better and happier for the few moments’ unofficial talk with her chaplain, be she Protestant or Roman Catholic.
It is to be regretted that his authority is so limited, and his opportunities for brightening the lives of those who walk in dark places so few. Red tape and standing orders confront him at every turn, so that even the religious training is drawn and sucked beneath the mighty wheel of the Penal Code, and there is no time for personal suasion to play more than a minor part in a convict’s life.
My Work in the Kitchen
The work for first offenders, who are called the “Star Class,” consists of labor in the kitchen, the mess, and the officers’ quarters. Six months after I entered upon the third stage I was put to work in the kitchen. My duties were as follows: To[98] wash ten cans, each holding four quarts; to scrub one table, twenty feet in length; two dressers, twelve feet in length; to wash five hundred dinner-tins; to clean knives; to wash a sack of potatoes; to assist in serving the dinners, and to scrub a piece of floor twenty by ten feet. Besides myself there were eight other women on hard labor in the kitchen. Our day commenced at 6 A.M., and continued until 5:30 P.M. A half hour at breakfast time, twenty minutes at chapel, one hour and a half after the midday meal, and half an hour after tea summed up our leisure. The work was hard and rough. The combined heat of the coppers, the stove, and the steamers was overpowering, especially on hot summer days; but I struggled on, doing this work preferably to some other, because the kitchen was the only place where the monotony of prison life was broken. It was the “show place,” and all visitors looked in to see the food.
The Machine-made Menu
What dining in prison means may be judged by a perusal of the schedule as given in the Prison Commission Report:
Diet for Female Convicts
Breakfast
Three-quarters of a pint of cocoa, containing ? ounce of cocoa, 2 ounces milk, ? ounce of molasses. Bread.
Dinner
Sunday. 4 ounces tinned pressed beef. Bread.
Monday. Mutton right-facing curly bracket 3 ounces (cooked), with its own liquor, flavored with ? ounce onions, and thickened with bread and potatoes left on previous days, 1/8 ounce of flour, and for every 100 convicts, ? ounce of pepper. ? pound potatoes. Bread.
Tuesday. Beef
Wednesday. Mutton
Friday. Beef
Saturday. 1 pint soup, containing 6 ounces of shins of beef (uncooked), 1 ounce pearl barley, 3 ounces of fresh vegetables, including onions, and for every 100 convicts, ? ounce pepper. ? pound potatoes. Bread.
Thursday. ? pound pudding, containing 1 ounce 2 drachms water. ? pound potatoes. Bread.
Supper
1 pint gruel, containing 2 ounces oatmeal, ? ounce molasses, 2 ounces milk. Bread.
Bread per convict per week, 118 ounces.
Bread per convict each week-day, 16 ounces.
Bread per convict each Sunday, 22 ounces.
Salt per convict per day, ? ounce.[2]
Visitors to the Kitchen
During the four years I worked in the kitchen I saw many people. The Duke of Connaught, Sir Evelyn Wood and his staff, Lord Alverston, Sir Edward du Cane, the late Lord Rothschild, and Sir Evelyn Ruggles-Brise, besides judges, magistrates, authors, philanthropists and others[101] of an inquiring turn of mind, who had obtained the necessary permit to make the tour of the prison under the escort of the governor or one or two of his satellites. These ladies and gentlemen expressed the most varied and sometimes startling opinions. I recollect on one occasion, when some visitors happened to be inspecting the kitchen during the dishing up of the hospital patients’ dinner, one old gentleman of the party was quite scandalized at the sight of a juicy mutton-chop and a tempting milk pudding. He expostulated in such a way that the governor hastened to explain that it was not the ordinary prison diet, but was intended for a very sick woman. Even then this old gentleman was not satisfied, and stalked out, audibly grumbling about people living on the fat of the land and getting a better dinner than he did. I firmly believe that he left the prison under the impression that its inmates lived like pampered gourmets, and that he no longer marveled there were so[102] many criminals when they were fed on such luxuries.
The “Homelike” Cell
On another occasion a benevolent-looking old lady, having given everything and everybody as minute an inspection as was possible, expressed herself as being charmed, remarking:
“Everything is so nice and homelike!”
I have often wondered what that good lady’s home was like.
A little philosophy is useful, a saving grace, even in prison; but people have such different ways of expressing sympathy. A visitor, who I have no doubt intended to be sympathetic, noticing the letter “L” on my arm, inquired:
“How long a time have you to do?”
“I have just completed ten years,” was my reply.
“Oh, well,” cheerfully responded the sympathetic one, “you have done half your[103] time, haven’t you? The remaining ten years will soon slip by”; and the visitor passed on, blissfully ignorant of the sword she had unwittingly thrust into my aching heart. Even if a prisoner has little or no hope of a mitigation, it is not pleasant to have an old wound ruthlessly handled, and ten years’ imprisonment as lightly spoken of as ten days might be.
The Opiate of Acquiescence
I preferred the kitchen work, although often beyond my strength, to any other that fell to a prisoner’s lot, because of the glimpses into the outside world it occasionally afforded. But I never permitted myself to dwell upon the fact that at one time I had been the social equal of at least the majority of those with whom I thus came into passing contact, since to do so would have made my position by contrast so unbearable that it would have unfitted me to do the work in a spirit of submission,[104] not to speak of the mental suffering which awakened memories would have occasioned. I soon found that both my spiritual and my mental salvation, under the repressive rules in force, depended upon unresisting acquiescence—the keeping of my sensibilities dulled as near as possible to the level of the mere animal state which the Penal Code, whether intentionally or otherwise, inevitably brings about.
I have been frequently asked by friends, since my release, how I could possibly have endured the shut-in life under such soul-depressing influences. I have given here and there in my narrative indications of my feelings under different circumstances. Here I may state in general that I early found that thoughts of without and thoughts of within—those that haunted me of the world and those that were ever present in my surroundings—would not march together. I had to keep step with either the one or the other. The conflict between the two soon became unbearable, and I was[105] compelled to make choice: whether I would live in the past and as much as possible exclude the prison, and take the punishment which would inevitably follow—as it had in so many cases—in an unbalanced mind; or would shut the past out altogether and coerce my thoughts within the limitations of the prison regulations. My safety lay, as I found, in compressing my thoughts to the smallest compass of mental existence, and no sooner did worldly visions or memories intrude themselves, as they necessarily would, than I immediately and resolutely shut them out as one draws the blind to exclude the light. While I thus suppressed all emotions belonging to a natural life, I nevertheless found, whenever I came accidentally in contact with visitors from the outside world, that my inner nature was attuned like the strings of a harp to the least vibration of others’ emotions. The slightest unconscious inflection of the voice, whether sympathetic or otherwise, would call forth either a grateful response[106] or an instant withdrawal into the armor of reserve which I had to adopt for my self-protection. But this exclusion of the world created a dark background which served only to intensify the light that shone upon me from realms unseen of mortal eyes. Lonely I was, yet I was never alone. But, however satisfying the spiritual communion, the human heart is so constituted that it needs must yearn for love and sympathy from its own kind, for recognition of all that is best in us, by something that is like unto it, in its experiences, feelings, emotions, and aspirations.
Visits of Prisoners’ Friends
A prisoner is allowed to receive a visit from her friends at intervals of six, four, and two months, according to her stage of service. There are four stages, each of nine months’ duration: first, solitary confinement; second, probation; while the third and fourth stages are not specially[107] designated. During the first two stages the prisoner is clothed in brown, at the third stage in green, and the fourth in navy blue. Every article worn by the prisoner or in use by her is stamped with a “broad arrow,” the convict’s crest.
A visit may be forfeited by bad conduct or delayed through a loss of marks. When a prisoner is entitled to receive a visitor, she applies to the governor for permission to have the permit sent to the person she names; but if the police report concerning the designated visitor is unfavorable the request is not granted. When a prisoner’s friends—three being the maximum—arrive at the prison gates they ring a bell. The gatekeeper views them through a grille and inquires their business. They show their permit; whereupon he notifies the chief matron, who in turn notifies the officer in charge of the prisoner.
The rule regarding visits precluded any discussion of prison affairs, or anything regarding treatment, or aught that passes[108] within the prison walls. Had I permitted myself to break this rule the visit would have been stopped at once by the matron in charge. Consequently, all the statements on such matters reported from time to time in the press during my imprisonment, and quoted as received from my mother or friends, are shown to be pure fabrications.
My Mother’s Visits
A visit! What joy or what sorrow those words express in the outside world! But in prison—the pain of it is so great that it can hardly be borne.
Whenever my mother’s visit was announced, accompanied by a matron I passed into a small, oblong room. There a grilled screen confronted me; a yard or two beyond was a second barrier identical in structure, and behind it I could see the form of my mother, and sitting in the space between the grilles, thus additionally separating us, was a prison matron.[109] No kiss; not even a clasp of the hand; no privacy sacred to mother and daughter; not a whisper could pass between us. Was not this the very depth of humiliation?
My mother crossed every two months from France to visit me. Neither heat nor cold deterred her from taking this fatiguing journey. Thus again and again she traveled a hundred miles for love of me, to cheer, comfort, and console; a hundred miles for thirty minutes!
At these visits she would tell me as best she could of the noble, unwearied efforts of my countrymen and countrywomen in my cause; of the sympathy and support of my own Government; of the earnest efforts of the different American ambassadors in my behalf. And though their efforts proved all in vain, the knowledge of their belief in my innocence, and of their sympathy comforted, cheered, and strengthened me to tread bravely the thorny path of my daily life.
Almost before we had time to compose ourselves there would come a silent sign from the mute matron in the chair—the thirty minutes had passed. “Good-by,” we say, with a lingering look, and then turn our backs upon each other, she to go one way, I another; one leading out into the broad, open day, the other into the stony gloom of the prison. Do you wonder that when I went back into my lonely cell the day had become darker? I went forth to meet a crown of joy and love, only to return with a cross of sorrow; for these visits always created passionate longings for freedom, with their vivid recollections of past joys that at times were almost unbearable. No one will ever know what my mother suffered.
A Letter from Lord Russell
As the years passed the repression of the prison system developed a kind of mental numbness which rendered my life,[111] in a measure, more endurable. It also came as a relief to my own sufferings to take an interest in those of my fellow prisoners. Then Lord Russell of Killowen wrote me a letter[3] expressing his continued confidence in me, which greatly renewed my courage, while the loving messages from my friends in America kept alive my faith in human nature.
Punished for Another’s Fault
By the exercise of great self-control and restraint I had maintained a perfect good-conduct record at Woking for a period of years, when an act of one of my fellow prisoners got me into grievous trouble.
It is the rule to search daily both the cell and the person of all prisoners—those at hard labor three times a day—to make sure that they have nothing concealed with which they may do themselves bodily injury.
To me it was a bitter indignity. I was never allowed to forget that, being a prisoner, even my body was not my own. It was horrible to be touched by unfriendly hands, yet I was compelled to submit—to be undressed and be searched. During the term of my imprisonment I was searched about ten thousand times, and on only one occasion was anything found contrary to regulations. I had no knowledge of it at the time, as the article had been placed surreptitiously in my cell by another prisoner to save herself from punishment.
The facts are as follows: I was working in the kitchen, when a prisoner upset some boiling water on my foot. I thought it best not to speak of it, and did not, therefore, mention it to any one. My foot, however, became inflamed and caused me great pain, and the prisoner in question, noticing that I limped, inquired what the matter was. I told her that the coarse wool of my stocking was irritating the blister on my foot. Thereupon she offered to give me[113] some wool of a finer quality with which to knit a more comfortable pair. I was not aware at the time that this was not permitted, nor that the wool was stolen. When it neared her turn to be searched, having a lot of this worsted concealed in her bed, she made the excuse of indisposition in order to return to her cell and get rid of it. While there she transferred it from her cell to mine, its neighbor, the doors of the cells being open during working-time.
BARONESS VON ROQUES,
The mother of Mrs. Maybrick.
When the time came to search my cell, the wool was, of course, found, and I was at once reported. The warder took me to the penal ward, and I was shut in a cell, in which the light came but dimly through a perforated sheet of iron. This was at eight A.M. At ten o’clock I was brought before the governor for examination and judgment. I stated that the wool did not belong to me and that I was ignorant as to how it got into my cell. The governor took the officer’s deposition to the effect that it was found in my cell, and reasoned[114] that I must, therefore, have knowledge of the article. I was taken back to the punishment cell and left there for eight hours. When the officer opened the door to read to me the governor’s judgment, I was found in a dead faint on the floor. With some difficulty I was restored to consciousness and was then removed to the hospital. When I had sufficiently recovered from the shock, I was allowed to return to my own cell in the hall to do my punishment. I was degraded for a month to a lower stage, with a loss of twenty-six marks, and had six days added to my original sentence.
Had this offense occurred under the more enlightened system that obtains at Aylesbury Prison at the present time, I should have been forgiven, as it was a first offense under this particular rule. The governor at Woking was a just and humane man, and he was not a little troubled to reconcile the fact of my being in possession of this worsted, when I had no means of access to the tailor shop or of coming in[115] contact with any of the workers there who alone had the handling of it. Of course, I could not explain that the worsted had been passed into the kitchen by one of the tailoresses, who came every morning to fetch hot water for use in the tailor-room, and who was a friend of the prisoner who put it in my cell.
I was kept in the hall during the months of my penal punishment, and also for twelve months thereafter, since at that time a “report” always carried with it a loss of the privilege of working in the kitchen. When I had an opportunity, in “association time,” of speaking to the prisoner who had got me into this trouble, and reproached her for the injury she had done me, she frankly confessed her deed, but excused herself by saying that she did not expect I would be punished; that she was tempted to do it because at that time her case was under consideration at the Home Office, and that she had received the promise of an early discharge if she did not have[116] any “reports.” She well knew that if this worsted had been found in her cell this promise would have been revoked. As she was a “life woman,” and had served a long time, I had not the heart to deprive her of this, perhaps her only chance of freedom, through a vindication of myself. A week later I had the satisfaction of knowing that my silence had been the means of her liberation.
Forms of Punishment
The punishment of prisoners at Woking consisted of:
1. Loss of marks, termed in prison parlance, “remission on her sentence,” but without confinement in the penal ward.
2. Solitary confinement for twenty-four hours in the penal ward, with loss of marks.
3. Solitary confinement, with loss of marks, on bread and water from one to three days.
4. Solitary confinement, with loss of marks, on bread and water for three days,[117] either in a strait-jacket or “hobbles.” Hobbling consists in binding the wrists and ankles of a prisoner, then strapping them together behind her back. This position causes great suffering, is barbarous, and can be enforced only by the doctor’s orders.
5. To the above was sometimes added, in violent cases, shearing and blistering of the head, or confinement in the dark cell. The dark cell was underground, and consisted of four walls, a ceiling, and a floor, with double doors, in which not a ray of light penetrated. No. 5 punishment was abolished at Aylesbury, but in that prison even to give a piece of bread to a fellow prisoner is still a punishable offense.
The True Aim of Punishment
Punishment should be carried out in a humane, sympathetic spirit, and not in a dehumanizing or tyrannous manner. It should be remedial in character, and not[118] degrading and deteriorating. It should be the aim and object of the prison system to send a prisoner back into the world capable of rehabilitating himself or herself and becoming a useful citizen. The punishment in a convict prison, within my knowledge, is carried out in an oppressive way, the delinquent is left entirely to herself to work out her own salvation, and in nine cases out of ten she works out her own destruction instead, and leaves prison hardened, rancorous, and demoralized.
The Evil of Collective Punishment
There are so many prisoners with whom complaint-making is a mania, who on every possible occasion make trivial, exaggerated, and false complaints, that it is not altogether strange that officials look with a certain skepticism on all fault-finding; hence it frequently happens that those with just grievances are discredited because of the shortcomings of the habitual[119] grumblers. At the same time, one can not disapprove too strongly of collective punishment which involves the utter absence of trust in any prisoner, however deserving. A prisoner slightly abuses a privilege or is guilty of some small infringement of the rules, when down comes the hammer wielded by the inexorable Penal Code, and strikes not only the one offending, but, in its expansive dealing, all the other prisoners, guilty or innocent of the offense. Many a privilege, trivial in itself and absolutely harmless, has been condemned because of its abuse by one prisoner.
I cite one instance. Each cell was provided with a nail on which, during the day, the prisoner could hang a wet towel, and, during the night, her clothes. Those who worked in the laundry came in with wet clothing every evening, which, as no change is allowed, must be either dried at night or put on wet the next morning. One prisoner pulled her nail out and purposely[120] wounded herself. She was weak-minded, and no doubt thought to excite pity. The matter was referred to the director, Mr. Pennythorne, who gave the order that all the nails throughout the building be removed. Hence, because of the shortcomings of one weak-minded woman, all opportunity for the working women to dry their clothes was taken from them. Others besides myself appealed to the director and protested. He replied that we would be obliged to submit to the edict the same as the rest, and that no distinction could be made in our favor. Of course we could not argue the matter; the penalty fell heavier upon the laundry women and the kitchen workers than upon myself. It is a glaring instance of the great wrong done by collective punishment. However, the prisoners had their revenge, for they never referred to him afterward except as “Mr. Pennynails.”
The Evil of Constant Supervision
Individual supervision is compulsory, and in many cases it is essential, but not in all. Surely there are some prisoners who might, with good results, be trusted. The supervision is never relaxed; the prisoner is always in sight or hearing of an officer. During the day she is never trusted out of sight, and at night the watchful eye of the night officer can see her by means of a small glass fitted in the door of each cell. She may grow gray during the length of her imprisonment, but the rule of supervision is never relaxed. Try and realize what it means always to feel that you are watched. After all, these prisoners are women, some may be mothers, and it is surely the height of wickedness and folly to crush whatever remnant of humanity and self-respect even a convict woman may still have left her. These poor creatures who wear the brand of prison shame are guarded and controlled by women, but[122] men make the rules which regulate every movement of their forlorn lives.
Some Good Points of Convict Prisons
The rules of prison, rigorous as they are, are not wholly without some consideration for the hapless beings who are condemned to suffer punishment for their sins within their gloomy walls. On the men’s side the system is harsher, the life harder, and the discipline more strict and severe; and I can well believe that for a man of refinement and culture the punishment falls little short of a foretaste of inferno. But gloomy and tragic as the convict establishment is, it is a better place than the county prison, and I have heard habitual criminals avow that a convict prison is the nearest approach to a comfortable “home” in the penal world. I know that a certain type of degenerate women, after serving their sentences, have committed grave offenses with the sole object of obtaining a[123] conviction which would send them back to penal servitude. For such the segregation system would be the most effectual remedy.
My Sickness
I had never been a robust woman, and the hardships of prison life were breaking down my constitution. The cells at Woking were not heated. In the halls were two fireplaces and a stove, which were alight day and night; but as the solid doors of the cells were all locked, the heat could not penetrate them. Thus, while the atmosphere outside the cell might be warm, the inside was icy cold. During the hard winter frosts the water frequently froze in my cell over night. The bed-clothing was insufficient, and I suffered as much from the cold as the poorest and most miserable creature on earth. Added to this, I was compelled to go out and exercise in all kinds of weather. On rainy days I would come in with my shoes and[124] stockings wet through, and as I possessed only one pair of shoes and one pair of stockings, I had to keep them on, wet as they were. The shoes I had to wear until worn out; the stockings until changed on the Saturday of each week, which was the only day a change of any kind of underwear could be obtained, no matter in what condition it might be. Therefore, the majority of the inmates in the winter time seldom had dry feet, if there was much rain or snow, the natural result being catarrh, influenza, bronchitis, and rheumatism, from all of which I suffered in turn.
Taken to the Infirmary
As long as the prisoner is not feverish she is treated in her own cell in the ward, her food remaining the ordinary prison dietary; but as soon as her temperature rises, as occurred in my case frequently, she is admitted as a patient to the infirmary, where she is fed according to medical prescription.
The infirmary stands a little detached from the prison grounds. It has several wards, containing from six to fifteen beds, and several cells for cases that require isolation. The beds are placed on each side of the room, and are covered with blue and white counterpanes. At the head of each is a shelf, on which stand two cups, a plate, and a diet card. In the middle of each room is a long deal table. On the walls are a few old Scriptural pictures.
The Utter Desolation of a Sick Prisoner
When a prisoner is admitted she is first weighed and then allotted a bed. Her food and medicine are given her by an officer, who places it on a chair at her bedside if she is too ill to sit at the table. The doctor makes his rounds in the morning and evening, and if the patient is seriously ill he may make a visit in the night also. The matron in charge goes[126] through the wards at stated times to see that all is going well, but there is no nursing. The prisoner must attend to her own wants, and if too weak to do so, she must depend upon some other patient less ill than herself to assist her. To be sick in prison is a terrible experience. I felt acutely the contrast between former illnesses at home and the desolation and the indifference of the treatment under conditions afforded by a prison infirmary. To lie all day and night, perhaps day after day, and week after week, alone and in silence, without the touch of a friendly hand, the sound of a friendly voice, or a single expression of sympathy or interest! The misery and desolation of it all can not be described. It must be experienced. I arrived at Woking ill, and I left Woking ill.