On the morning of the 29th of August I was hastily awakened1 by a female warder, who said that orders had come down from the Home Office for my removal that day to a convict prison.
When I left, the governor was standing3 at the gate, and, with a kindliness4 of voice which I deeply appreciated, told me to be brave and good.
A crowd was in waiting at the station. I was roughly hustled5 through it into a third-class carriage.
The only ray of light that penetrated6 those dark hours of my journey came from [62]an American woman. God bless her, whoever she is or wherever she is! At every station that the train stopped she got out and came to the carriage door and spoke8 words of sympathy and comfort. She was the first of my countrywomen to voice to me the protest that swelled9 into greater volume as the years rolled by.
As the train drew up at Woking station a crowd assembled. Outside stood a cab, to which I was at once conducted, and we drove through lovely woods; the scent10 of flowers was wafted11 by the breeze into what seemed to be a hearse that was bearing me on toward my living tomb.
As we approached the prison the great iron gate swung wide, and the cab drove silently into the yard. There I descended12. The governor gave an order, and a woman—who I afterward13 found was assistant superintendent14—came forward. Accompanied by her and an officer, I was led across a near-by yard to a building which stood somewhat apart from the others and is known as the infirmary. There a principal[63] matron received me, and the assistant superintendent and the chief matron returned to their quarters.
The Convict Uniform
In the grasp of what seemed to me a horrible nightmare, I found myself in a cell with barred windows, a bed, and a chair. Without, the stillness of death reigned15. I remained there perhaps half an hour when the door opened and I was commanded by a female warder to follow her. In a daze16 I obeyed mechanically. We crossed the same yard again and entered a door that led into a room containing only a fireplace, a table, and a bath. Here I was told to take off my clothes, as those I had traveled in had to be sent back to the prison at Liverpool, where they belonged.
When I was dressed in the uniform to which the greatest stigma17 and disgrace is attached, I was told to sit down. The warder then stepped quickly forward, and with a pair of scissors cut off my hair to the[64] nape of my neck. This act seemed, above all others, to bring me to a sense of my degradation18, my utter helplessness; and the iron of the awful tragedy, of which I was the innocent victim, entered my soul. I was then weighed and my height taken. My weight was one hundred and twelve pounds, and my height five feet three inches.
Once more I was bidden to follow my guide. We recrossed the yard and entered the infirmary. Here I was locked in the cell already mentioned. At last I could be alone after the anguish19 and torture of the day. I prayed for sleep that I might lose consciousness of my intolerable anguish. But sleep, that gentle nurse of the sad and suffering, came not. What a night! I shudder20 even now at the memory of it. Physically21 exhausted22, smarting with the thought of the cruel, heartless way in which I had been beaten down and trodden under foot, I felt that mortal death would have been more merciful than the living death[65] to which I was condemned23. In the adjoining cell an insane woman was raving24 and weeping throughout the night, and I wondered whether in the years to come I should become like her.
The next day I was visited by the governor on his official rounds. Then the doctor came and made a medical examination, and ordered me to be detained in the infirmary until further orders. My mind is a blank as to what happened for some time afterward. My next remembrance is being told by a coarse-looking, harsh-spoken female warder to get ready to go into the prison. Once more I was led across the big yard, and then I stood within the walls that were to be for years my tomb. Outside the sun was shining and the birds were singing.
In Solitary25 Confinement26
Without, picture a vast outline of frowning masonry27. Within, when I had passed the double outer gates and had been locked[66] out and locked in in succession, I found myself in a central hall, from which ran cage-like galleries divided into tiers and landings, with a row of small cells on either side. The floors are of stone, the landings of slate28, the railings of steel, and the stairs of iron. Wire netting is stretched over the lowest tier to prevent prisoners from throwing themselves over in one of those frenzies29 of rage and despair of which every prison has its record. Within their walls can be found, above all places, that most degrading, heart-breaking product of civilization, a human automaton30. All will, all initiative, all individuality, all friendship, all the things that make human beings attractive to one another, are absent. Suffering there is dumb, and when it goes beyond endurance—alas!
I followed the warder to a door, perhaps not more than two feet in width. She unlocked it and said, “Pass in.” I stepped forward, but started back in horror. Through the open door I saw, by the dim[67] light of a small window that was never cleaned, a cell seven feet by four.
“Oh, don’t put me in there!” I cried. “I can not bear it.”
For answer the warder took me roughly by the shoulder, gave me a push, and shut the door. There was nothing to sit upon but the cold slate floor. I sank to my knees. I felt suffocated31. It seemed that the walls were drawing nearer and nearer together, and presently the life would be crushed out of me. I sprang to my feet and beat wildly with my hands against the door. “For God’s sake let me out! Let me out!” But my voice could not penetrate7 that massive barrier, and exhausted I sank once more to the floor. I can not recall those nine months of solitary confinement without a feeling of horror. My cell contained only a hammock rolled up in a corner, and three shelves let into the wall—no table nor stool. For a seat I was compelled to place my bedclothes on the floor.
The Daily Routine
No one can realize the horror of solitary confinement who has not experienced it. Here is one day’s routine: It is six o’clock; I arise and dress in the dark; I put up my hammock and wait for breakfast. I hear the ward2 officer in the gallery outside. I take a tin plate and a tin mug in my hands and stand before the cell door. Presently the door opens; a brown, whole-meal, six-ounce loaf is placed upon the plate; the tin mug is taken, and three-quarters of a pint32 of gruel33 is measured in my presence, when the mug is handed back in silence, and the door is closed and locked. After I have taken a few mouthfuls of bread I begin to scrub my cell. A bell rings and my door is again unlocked. No word is spoken, because I know exactly what to do. I leave my cell and fall into single file, three paces in the rear of my nearest fellow convict. All of us are alike in knowing what we have to do, and we march away silently[69] to Divine service. We are criminals under punishment, and our keepers march us like dumb cattle to the worship of God. To me the twenty minutes of its duration were as an oasis34 in a weary desert. When it came to an end I felt comforted, and always a little more resigned to my fate. Chapel35 over, I returned directly to my cell, for I was in solitary confinement, and might not enjoy the privilege of working in company with my prison companions.
Work I must, but I must work alone. Needlework and knitting fall to my lot. My task for the day is handed to me, and I sit in my cell plying36 my needle, with the consciousness that I must not indulge in an idle moment, for an unaccomplished task means loss of marks, and loss of marks means loss of letters and visits. As chapel begins at 8:30 I am back in my cell soon after nine, and the requirement is that I shall make one shirt a day—certainly not less than five shirts a week. If I am obstinate37 or indolent, I shall be reported by the[70] ward officer, and be brought to book with punishment—perhaps reduced to a diet of bread and water and total confinement in my cell for twenty-four hours. If I am faint, weak, or unwell, I may be excused the full performance of my task; but there must be no doubt of my inability. In such case it is for me to have my name entered for the prison doctor, and obtain from him the indulgence that will remit38 a portion of my prescribed work to three or four shirts.
However, as I am well, I work automatically, closely, and with persistence39. Then comes ten o’clock, and with it the governor with his escort. He inspects each cell, and if all is not as it should be, the prisoner will hear of it. There is no friendly greeting of “Good-morning” nor parting “Good-night” within those gloomy walls. The tone is formal and the governor says: “How are you, Maybrick? Any complaints? Do you want anything?” and then he passes on. Then I am again alone with my work and my brooding thoughts.[71] I never made complaints. One but adds to one’s burden by finding causes for complaint. With the coming and the going of the governor the monotony returns to stagnation40.
The Exercise Hour
Presently, however, the prison bell rings again. I know what the clangor means, and mechanically lay down my work. It is the hour for exercise, and I put on my bonnet41 and cape42. One by one the cell doors of the ward are opened. One by one we come out from our cells and fall into single file. Then, with a ward officer in charge, we march into the exercise yard. We have drawn43 up in line, three paces apart, and this is the form in which we tramp around the yard and take our exercise. This yard is perhaps forty feet square, and there are thirty-five of us to expand in its “freedom.” The inclosure is oppressively repulsive44. Stone-flagged, hemmed45 within ugly walls, it gives one a[72] hideous46 feeling of compression. It seems more like a bear-pit than an airing ground for human beings. But I forget that we are not here to have things made easy, comfortable, and pleasant for us. We are here to be punished, to be scourged47 for our crimes and misdeeds. Can you wonder that human nature sometimes revolts and dares even prison rigor48? Human instincts may be suppressed, but not wholly crushed.
There were at Woking two yards in which flowers and green trees were visible, but it was only in after years that I was permitted to take my exercise in these yards, and then only half an hour on Sunday.
When the one hour for exercise is over, in a file as before, we tramp back to our work. Confined as we are for twenty-two hours in our narrow, gloomy cells, the exercise, dull as it is, is our only opportunity for a glimpse of the sky and for a taste of outdoor life, and affords our only relief from an otherwise almost unbearable49 day.
The Midday Meal
At noon the midday meal. The first sign of its approach is the sound of the fatigue50 party of prisoners bringing the food from the kitchen into the ward. I hear the ward officer passing with the weary group from cell to cell, and presently she will reach my door. My food is handed to me, then the door is closed and double locked. In the following two hours, having finished my meal, I can work or read. At two o’clock the fatigue party again goes on its mechanical round; the cell door is again unlocked, this time for the collection of dinner-cans. The meal of each prisoner is served out by weight, and the law allows her to claim her full quantity to the uttermost fraction of an ounce. She is even entitled to see it weighed if she fancies it falls short. Work is then resumed until five o’clock, when gruel and bread is again served, as at breakfast, with half an hour for its disposal. From that time on until[74] seven o’clock more work, when again is heard the clang of the prison bell, and with it comes the end of our monotonous51 day. I take down my hammock, and once more await the opening of the door. We have learned exactly what to do. With the opening of our cells we go forward, and each places her broom outside the door. So shall it be known that we each have been visited in our cells before the locking of our doors and gates for the night. If any of us are taking medicine by the doctor’s orders we now receive it. On through the ten long, weary hours of the night the night officers patrol the wards52, keeping watch, and through a glass peep-hole silently inspect us in our beds to see that nothing is amiss.
The Cruelty of Solitary Confinement
Solitary confinement is by far the most cruel feature of English penal53 servitude. It inflicts54 upon the prisoner at the commencement[75] of her sentence, when most sensitive to the horrors which prison punishment entails55, the voiceless solitude56, the hopeless monotony, the long vista57 of to-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow stretching before her, all filled with desolation and despair. Once a prisoner has crossed the threshold of a convict prison, not only is she dead to the world, but she is expected in word and deed to lose or forget every vestige58 of her personality. Verily,
The mills of the gods grind slowly,
But they grind exceeding small,
And woe59 to the wight unholy
On whom those millstones fall.
So it is with the Penal Code which directs this vast machinery60, doing its utmost with tireless, ceaseless revolutions to mold body and soul slowly, remorselessly, into the shape demanded by Act of Parliament.
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1
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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2
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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3
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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5
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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6
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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7
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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8
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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9
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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10
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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11
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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13
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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14
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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15
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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16
daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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17
stigma
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| n.耻辱，污名；(花的)柱头 | |
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18
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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19
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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20
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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21
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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22
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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23
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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24
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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25
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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26
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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27
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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28
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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29
frenzies
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| 狂乱( frenzy的名词复数 )； 极度的激动 | |
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30
automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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31
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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32
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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33
gruel
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| n.稀饭，粥 | |
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34
oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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35
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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36
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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37
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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38
remit
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| v.汇款，汇寄；豁免（债务），免除（处罚等） | |
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39
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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40
stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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41
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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42
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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43
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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44
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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45
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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46
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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47
scourged
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| 鞭打( scourge的过去式和过去分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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48
rigor
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| n.严酷，严格，严厉 | |
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49
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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50
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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51
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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52
wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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53
penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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54
inflicts
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的第三人称单数 ) | |
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55
entails
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| 使…成为必要( entail的第三人称单数 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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56
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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57
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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58
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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59
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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60
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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