The History and Romance of Crime 6

The History and Romance of Crime 6

The first three days after arrival were allowed for rest and recovery.

On the fourth day at gun-fire (6 A. M. in winter and 5 A. M. in

summer) the new arrival’s chain was released from the bar, which ran

the length of the wooden guard bed, the night’s resting-place for all,

and he was marched out with his fellow convict to labor. On passing

through the great gates a blacksmith struck with a hammer upon the leg

iron to test its solidity. A short pause followed for the issue of

a ration of sour wine, and the parties were then distributed to the

various works in hand. It was for the most part unskilled labor, mere

brute force applied to moving heavy burdens. They were harnessed like

beasts to carts, laden with stone, or set to work in gangs at raising

the great weight of the pile driver, or operating the steel drill,

driven down into the solid rock. But work was continued incessantly and

in all weathers, “rain or shine,” in the pelting storm and under the

fierce rays of the summer sun, with a short rest at mid-day; bodies

thrown down anywhere they stood, when the signal was given. Work went

on for ten hours daily until the hour of return to the _bagne_, where

the evening meal, the common feed at the trough, awaited them. Each

squad, a dozen or more, gathered round the same _gamelle_, or great

tub, filled with a mess of bean soup, into which they dipped their

wooden spoons, fighting like dogs over a bone, each for his portion.

The weakest fared worst, and the strongest and greediest carried off

the lion’s share. The same vessel was passed from hand to hand, and

they drank foul water with dirty mouths. After the sorry feast an hour

or two of idleness followed, and the convicts lay on the great wooden

bed (_rama_), conversing with one another. At last the whistle for all

to “turn in” was heard, when every one, without undressing, rolled

himself in his grass blanket, and sought oblivion, often vainly, in

sleep. Nothing now broke the silence but the footsteps of the night

watchman going his rounds under the dim light of the oil lamps, and the

occasional falling of his hammer as he struck the bars and chains to be

certain that they had not been tampered with. When this was done just

before the rising hour it was called “morning prayer.”

 

Use becomes second nature, and many _forçats_ could bring themselves to

endure the miseries and discomforts of the life at the _bagne_. They

had their hours of relaxation, which they spent in the manufacture of

fancy articles, to be sold for the few francs that helped to increase

and improve their daily rations according to their taste. Some kept

and trained dogs to perform marvellous tricks or taught mice to draw a

carriage. A convict well known in his time, nicknamed Grand Doyen, who

had done forty out of sixty years in various prisons, is remembered

for his extraordinary power of taming rats. By a strange contrast this

Grand Doyen was a man of cruel character and abominable temper, who

was ever at enmity with his fellows. He was constantly in gaol, now

for fraud, now for robbery with violence, at last for murder, with

extenuating circumstances. He spent all his life, from the age

of nineteen, in detention of some sort. No one liked him, and in his

loneliness he captured a young rat, and trained it to live with him.

He began by drawing its teeth and shortening its tail. He taught it

all kinds of tricks, harnessed it to a cart, and secured it with a

collar and chain, which he fastened to a waistcoat button, leaving

sufficient length to the chain to allow the vermin to shelter in his

waistcoat pocket. Once, when at Bicêtre waiting for a chain, Grand

Doyen let the rat loose to run about the yard, where it was pounced

upon by the prison cat. Grand Doyen, in defence of his pet, promptly

killed the cat with his wooden sabot. Then the rat got into trouble by

gnawing a hole in a convict’s clothes, and an order for his execution

was forthwith issued. Grand Doyen, in despair, saved his friend by

substituting another rat, which he had caught on purpose, and decorated

with the chain of his favorite before handing it up to justice. The

warder asked why he had not killed the rat as ordered, and was put off

by the excuse that he had not the heart, so he brought it now to the

warder, who was not so sensitive, and hammered it on the head with his

key. The pet rat was still alive, safely hidden by Grand Doyen, who was

on the point of removal from Bicêtre. How was he to get it past the

gates? Inventiveness was stimulated by the difficulty, and Grand Doyen,

being in possession of one of those enormous loaves in which French

ration bread is baked, tore out the crumb in the centre, and made a

comfortable hole for his pet. Then, carrying his loaf under his arm, he

took his place on the chain, and passed safely through the gates.

 

[Illustration: _Hospice de la Bicêtre_

 

A celebrated hospital founded by Louis XIII in 1632 for invalid

officers and soldiers. It is now devoted to the aged, the incurable

poor, and the insane.]

 

The ingenuity of the prisoners was equalled by their industry. The most

unpromising materials and the rudest tools served to produce the most

artistic pieces. Cocoanut shells, beautifully carved, formed elegant

goblets. Old bones were converted into chessmen or paper knives or

penholders, the tools by which they were shaped being scraps of iron

picked up in the yards. The products of their cleverness were not

always avowable or harmless. The _bagne_ was often the home of false

money makers, and their audacity must have been something marvellous.

That prisoners employed in the workshops should be able to escape

observation and manufacture files, keys and other tools to be employed

in compassing escape, was not so strange; but it was almost incredible,

that, working in the open or under the shelter of a ship’s side, they

could cast metal coins, having first made the molds and melted the

substances, then polish and perfect them so as to deceive any but the

sharpest eye. There were still more marvellous frauds accomplished.

Forgery and all kinds of imitation of signatures, the preparation of

official documents, even the seals to attach to them, were within the

powers of these clever convicts. One case is on record, in which

release was all but secured by means of a forged authority, but at

the last moment one document was missing, and when search was made

for it among the papers in the office, the fraud was discovered. In

this instance several signatures had been imitated, including that of

the Chancellor and the King himself. On another occasion one of the

trade-instructors received a letter, enclosing a note for five hundred

francs, but unhappily found, when rejoicing at his good fortune, that

the bank-note was false, although it had deceived many expert persons.

 

When a certain tradesman got into money difficulties, and his papers

were seized by a sheriff’s officer, one paper was found amongst

them, which he had been foolish enough to retain. It was a letter

from a convict in the _bagne_ of Rochefort, claiming payment for the

fabrication of a receipt at the instance of the bankrupt. “May I remind

you,” ran the letter, “that at your request I manufactured a receipt,

for which you promised me two louis, if the document served its

purpose. As it was exactly what you wanted I now claim the completion

of your promise. You can pass the two louis in to me by enclosing

them in half a pound of butter, which I can receive at the canteen. I

trust that you will not oblige me to apply to you again.” This letter

was handed over to the police, with the result that the fraudulent

tradesman was arrested and sentenced to ten years for having made use

of the false receipt.

 

The most adroit thieves were to be met with at the _bagne_.

Extraordinary stories are preserved of the daring ingenuity and

marvellous skill in which the thefts were carried out. The story is

told of a bishop, who visited the _bagne_, and who was moved to great

pity for one unhappy criminal, to whom, after exhortation, he gave his

blessing and his hand to kiss. As usual he carried on his middle finger

his Episcopal ring with a valuable precious stone. When he left the

prison, the ring had disappeared. It is not recorded in what manner it

was abstracted, nor whether Monseigneur recovered his jewel. On another

occasion a convict actually stole a cashmere shawl from the back of

a visiting lady. The victim was Mdlle. Georges, a famous actress,

who, when visiting the _bagne_ of Toulon, spoke kindly to several of

the inmates, and was especially drawn to sympathise with one of good

address, who had once been an actor. This man actually purloined her

shawl, and in triumph started to carry it off, but had the good taste

to bring it back and replace it on her shoulders, exclaiming, “This

is the first time I have ever made voluntary restitution.” At another

time a watch was stolen from one of the visitors, who was examining

the articles which the convicts offered for sale. The chief guardian,

certain that the thief must be among a particular group of convicts,

declared that he would flog them in turn until the watch abstracted

had been given back. The punishment was actually in progress, when

the official received a letter from the visitor who had been robbed,

saying that on his return to his hotel he had been met by a poor

creature, dressed in a ragged old blouse, who approached and handed him

a small parcel containing his watch. It had been passed out, either by

the culprit himself or one of his comrades, and was now surrendered

under threat of the _bastonnade_.

 

An expert thief known in all the _bagnes_ was Jean Gaspard, who,

although crippled and compelled to walk on crutches, could use his

hands, the only good limbs left him, with wonderful skill. His

ostensible business was that of a wandering beggar, and he relied upon

his infirmities to insinuate himself into crowds of people. He then

worked with ready skill, and managed to pass his plunder to friendly

accomplices, who removed it to a distance. He was a professional thief.

He had inherited his skill from his forbears. His father and mother,

his brothers and sisters, all his relatives, in short, were thieves;

and some of them had suffered the extreme penalty of the law.

 

Thieving at the _bagne_ was greatly encouraged by the facilities that

offered for getting rid of the plunder. The business of “receiving”

flourished when the gangs marched to and fro, free people hanging

about, who managed to enter into relations with the thieves.

 

The administration of the _bagnes_ left much to be desired. The

discipline was severe, even cruel, and relied chiefly upon the lash,

the _bastonnade_ as it was called, which might be inflicted for all

sorts of offences. Attempts to escape, extending to sawing through

irons or the assumption of disguises, were punished by the whip; also

a theft of value up to five francs, drunkenness, gambling, smoking

and fighting with comrades. Any convict might be flogged, who made

away with his clothing, wrote clandestine letters, or was found

in possession of a sum of more than ten francs. There were graver

penalties for escape and recapture. In the case of a convict sentenced

for life, the punishment for escape, upon recapture, was three years

of the double chain--that is he was kept in close confinement, and not

allowed to go to work in the open air. An extension of the term of

imprisonment by three years was the punishment for those sentenced to

shorter terms. A theft of more than five francs was met with extension

of term. Last of all the guillotine was the penalty for striking an

officer or killing a comrade, or for entering into any combined plan of

revolt.

 

Repression and safe custody were the guiding principles of the

_bagnes_. Their supreme rulers, who were always naval officers,

commissaries of the marine ranking with captains, might at times

realise that they had a higher duty than that of keeping a herd of

black sheep, but any idea of amelioration or improvement rarely entered

their heads. They were rough old sailors, of coarse manners, with

little of the milk of human kindness, imposing their authority harshly,

exacting submission with a word and a blow. Some revolting stories are

preserved of the cruelties of the _garde-chiourmes_, the slang name of the officers of the bagne.