In the course of these articles I have referred at length to the brutal severity of the
prison treatment of the Irish political prisoners, but in this connection, up to the
present, I have only dealt with what might be termed the crude brutality of our jailers -
such as the long spells of starvation punishment, the no sleep torture, the perpetual
harassing, etc. But besides the punishment of this class there was another and more refined
kind that seemed inspired by a spirit of devilry and aimed at galling the finer feelings of
a man's nature and was calculated to blur and deaden the moral sense. As a instance of this
class I will mention the 'special search', which occurred frequently - about twice a month
through all the years. On these occasions we would be stripped stark naked and subjected to
the most minute examination of our person - so minute that oftentimes the bull's eye lamp
was used.
Had this search stopped short at a minute examination of the hands and between the fingers,
of the soles of the feet and between the toes, of the mouth and inside the jaws and under
the tongue, it would be disagreeable enough; but it went further and to such a disgustingly
indecent extent that I must not here do more than imply the nature of it. This search would
sometimes be carried out to the officers' accompaniment of a running fire of comments in
keeping with the nature of the work they were engaged in. Besides this search we were subject to the ordinary 'rub down' search at least four times a
day. In this the prisoner merely unbuttoned all his clothing without removing it, and the
officer carefully felt him all over. I have been obliged to complain to the prison
authorities of the indecent and hurtful way some of the officers mauled me while subjecting
me to this search.
When the English Government, in 1848, decided to degrade the Irish political prisoner to
the level of the ordinary criminal and passed the Treason-Felony Act, they did not tell the
world it would be part and parcel of the game to try and debase his mind and sap his
self-respect. Nevertheless, such undoubtedly seemed to be the spirit and design of the
authorities in their attitude towards the political prisoners during my time...
When a mortal man feels in all its bitterness what it is to have the delicate curves and
tender angles of his human nature rubbed up and currycombed against the grain, then is not
the time to 'rub salt in' from within by interior nig-nag and self-inflicted worry.
Why, man alive, had I set to work on those lines, endeavouring to cultivate a lackadaisical
tone of mind, my wits would have been gone years and years ago. No.
'Clinch your teeth hard and never say die. 'Keep your thoughts off yourself all you can.
No mooning or brown studies. Guard your self-respect (if you lost that you'd loose the
backbone of your manhood). Keep your eyes wide open and don't bang your head against the
wall.'
These and a few others which the deferential regard my prison pen has for The Rules prevent
me from mentioning here, are 'The Golden Rules of Life for a Long Sentence Prisoner', that
might be found hung up in my cell had I any say in the furnishing of it.
In magazines, etc, one oftentimes comes across articles dealing with England's prison
system. In these it will be noted that the keynote of the system is 'humanity' -
developing the better nature of the erring brother and all that.
I never found the slightest trace of any such spirit inside the walls; on the contrary,
when I let my memory go back to those times, and turn where it will either in Chatham or
Portland, I can only find brutal persecution, and this spirit found its way into every
little detail of the daily routine. For years we political prisoners were not allowed
slates [to write on] - all other prisoners were supplied. For a long while I never got any but girls' and boys' trashy story books, when I was due
for a library book. When I complained to the Governor about the matter, and asked to be
given some kind of books that would be adapted to my educational rating, he ordered the
escort to take me away, and the next time I became due for a library book they gave me a
volume of nursery rhymes - 'Ba, Ba, Black Sheep, have you any wool,' 'Little Bo Peep Fell
Fast Asleep', etc - infantile rhymes of that class and nothing else.
Some time later on, they gave me an extraordinary book. I forget the title of it, but it
was one of the fiercest anti-Popery books I ever read, although I had read through some
hot stuff of that kind up in Ulster, where I was raised.
The next time I became entitled to write enabled me to put my complaint on record. I told
of the trashy books I had been getting, of my complaint to the Governor, of the nursery
rhymes result, and the virulent anti-Popery book given to me - a Catholic - that was
specially marked for 'Protestants only'. My letter was, of course, suppressed.
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