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
In France, as in all countries, there are criminals of many kinds and
ranks, and of these the French _relégués_ are the lowest and meanest.
I have said before that in the criminal society of New Caledonia the
assassins, forgers, embezzlers, and what we should call swell-mobsmen
form the aristocracy. The _relégués_ are the lowest class. They are the
gutter-snipes of crime; the hard cases; the human refuse beyond all hope
of social salvation; mental and moral derelicts, of no use to themselves
or anybody else.
We have thousands of them in this country, but we don’t deal as wisely
or as humanely with them as the French do. Our judges and magistrates
send them to prison again and again, well knowing that they will only
come out to commit more crimes and be sent again to prison, becoming in
the intervals of liberty the wives and husbands and parents of other
criminals.
This is one of the social problems which they deal with better in
France. There is no nonsense there about a criminal “having paid his
debt to society” when he has served his sentence, and being, therefore,
free to go and commit more crimes. When a man or woman has committed a
certain number of crimes of the minor sort, or has been convicted of
hopeless immorality or alcoholism—in other words, when there is reason
to believe that he or she is absolutely unfit to possess the rights of
citizenship—such person may be, in the last resort, sentenced as in
England, say, to twelve or eighteen months’ hard labour as punishment for
that particular crime.
Now in an English police-court the habitual criminal might possibly thank
the magistrate and go away to “do it on his head,” but in France he may
hear the fatal words:
“At the expiration of your sentence you will be placed in _relégation_.”
[Illustration: The “Market” in the Convent, Isle of Pines. The Female
_Réliqués_ are drawn up before one of the Prison Buildings. In the
foreground are the Kanakas waiting to sell their fruit and vegetables.
_Drawn by Harold Piffard from a photograph._]
Of this the meaning is: “You have proved yourself unfit to live in the
society of your fellow-citizens. Punishment is no warning to you. You
will neither reform yourself nor be reformed; therefore Society has done
with you: you are banished! You will be fed and clothed and attended when
you are sick. You will have work found for you, and you will be paid for
it. But if you won’t work there will be the prison and the cell for you.
Now go, and make the best of it.”
The banishment is practically for life. There are circumstances under
which a _relégué_ can win his release, but there are two things that he
can never do: he can never gain a concession and marry and settle down on
his own property; and he can never gain restoration of the full rights of
citizenship—both of which, as I have shown, the _forçat_ can do.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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