In an Unknown Prison Land: An account of convicts and colonists in New Caledonia with jottings out and homeGriffith, George Chetwynd
History
In an Unknown Prison Land: An account of convicts and colonists in New Caledonia with jottings out and home
Griffith, George Chetwynd
Crime; Criminals; New Caledonia -- Social conditions -- 19th century; Penal colonies -- New Caledonia
One man was lying down scraping with bleeding fingers at the black
asphalted floor under the impression that he was burrowing his way to
freedom; others were sitting or lying on the floor motionless as death;
and others sprang at the bars like wild beasts the moment the door was
opened.
But the most horrible sight I saw during that very bad quarter of an hour
was a gaunt-faced, square-built man of middle-height who got up out of a
corner as his cell door opened, and stood in the middle facing us.
He never moved a muscle, or winked an eyelid. His eyes looked at us with
the steady, burning stare of hate and ferocity. His lips were drawn back
from his teeth like the lips of an ape in a rage, and his hands were
half clenched like claws. The man was simply the incarnation of madness,
savagery, and despair. He had gone mad in the Black Cell, and the form
that his madness had taken was the belief that nothing would nourish him
but human flesh. Of course he had to be fed by force.
When we got outside a big warder pulled up his jumper and showed me the
marks of two rows of human teeth in his side. If another man hadn’t
stunned the poor wretch with the butt of his revolver he would have
bitten the piece clean out—after which I was glad when the Doctor
suggested that I should go to his quarters and have a drink with him.
V
_A CONVICT ARCADIA_
I visited two or three other industrial camps and the farm-settlements
before I left Ile Nou, but as I had yet to go through the agricultural
portions of the colony it would be no use taking up space in describing
them here.
There are practically no roads to speak of in New Caledonia outside a
short strip of the south-western coast. In September, 1863, Napoleon
the Little signed the decree which converted the virgin paradise of
New Caledonia into a hell of vice and misery—a description which is
perhaps somewhat strong, but which history has amply justified. In the
following year the transport _Iphigénie_ took a cargo of two hundred
and forty-eight galley-slaves from Toulon and landed them where the
town of Noumea now stands. This consignment was added to by rapidly
following transports, and for thirty years at least the administration
of New Caledonia has had at its disposal an average of from seven to
ten thousand able-bodied criminals for purposes of general improvement,
and more especially for the preparation of the colony for that free
colonisation which has been the dream of so many ministers and governors.
Now the area of New Caledonia is, roughly speaking, between six thousand
and seven thousand square miles, and after an occupation of nearly forty
years it has barely fifty miles of roads over which a two-wheeled vehicle
can be driven, and these are only on the south-western side of the island.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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