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 surveillance and supervision of the police, which amounted to nothing at all. They came and went, and amused themselves after working hours, so that Sydney and all the large towns were hotbeds of vice and immorality. The masters as a rule made no attempt to watch over their charges; many of them were absolutely unfitted to do so, being themselves of low character, “emancipists” frequently, old convicts conditionally pardoned or who had finished their terms. No effort was made to prevent the assignment of convicts to improper persons; every applicant got what he wanted, even though his own character would not bear inspection. All whom the masters could not manage—the incorrigible upon whom the lash and bread and water had been tried in vain—were returned to government charge. These, in short, comprised the whole of the refuse of colonial convictdom. Every man who could not agree with his master, or who was to undergo a penalty greater than flogging or less than capital punishment, came back to government and was disposed of in one of three ways, (1) the road parties, (2) the chain gang, or (3) the penal settlements. (1) In the first case, the convicts might be kept in the vicinity of the towns or marched about the country according to the work in hand; the labour was severe, but, owing to inefficient supervision, never intolerable; the diet was ample and there was no great restraint upon independence within certain wide limits. To the slackness of control over the road parties was directly traceable the frequent escape of desperadoes, who, defying recapture, recruited the gangs of bushrangers which were a constant terror to the whole country. In (2) the chain or iron gangs, as they were sometimes styled, discipline was far more rigorous. It was maintained by the constant presence of a military guard, and when most efficiently organized the gang was governed by a military officer who was also a magistrate. The work was really hard, the custody close—in hulk, stockaded barrack or caravan; the first was at Sydney, the second in the interior, the last when the undertaking required constant change of place. All were locked up from sunset to sunrise; all wore heavy leg irons; and all were liable to immediate flagellation. The convict “scourger” was one of the regular officials attached to every chain gang. (3) The third and ultimate receptacle was the penal settlement, to which no offenders were transferred till all other methods of treatment had failed. These were terrible cesspools of iniquity, so bad that it seemed, to use the words of one who knew them well, that “the heart of a man who went to them was taken from him and he was given that of a beast.” The horrors accumulated at Norfolk Island, Moreton Bay, Port Arthur and Tasman’s Peninsula are almost beyond description. The convicts herded together in them were soon utterly degraded and brutalized; no wonder that reckless despair took possession of them, that death on the gallows for murder purposely committed, or the slow terror from starvation following escape into surrounding wilds was often welcomed as a relief.

The stage which transportation was now reaching and the actual condition of affairs in the Australian colonies about this period do not appear to have been much understood in England. Earnest and thoughtful men might busy themselves with prison discipline at home, and the legislature might watch with peculiar interest the results obtained from the special treatment of a limited number of selected offenders in Millbank penitentiary. But for the great mass of criminality deported to a distant shore no very active concern was shown. The country for a long time seemed satisfied with transportation. Portions of the system might be open to criticism. Thus the Commons committee of 1832 freely condemned the hulks at Woolwich and other arsenals in which a large number of convicts were kept while waiting embarkation. It was reported that the indiscriminate association of prisoners in them produced more vice, profaneness and demoralization than in the ordinary prisons. After dark the wildest orgies went on unchecked—dancing, fighting, gambling, singing and so forth; it was easy to get drink and tobacco and to see friends from outside. The labour hours were short and the tasks light; “altogether the situation of the convict in the hulks,” says the report, “cannot be considered penal; it is a state of restriction, but hardly of punishment.”

But no objection was raised to transportation. It was considered by this same committee “a most valuable expedient in the system of secondary punishment.” They only thought it necessary to suggest that exile should be preceded by a period of severe probationary punishment in England, a proposal which was reiterated later on and actually adopted. It was in the country most closely affected that dissatisfaction first began to find voice. Already in 1832 the most reputable sections of Australian society were beginning to murmur grievously. Transportation had fostered the growth of a strong party—that representing convict views—and these were advocated boldly in unprincipled prints. This party, constantly recruited from the emancipists and ticket-of-leave holders, gradually grew very numerous, and threatened soon to swamp the honest and untainted parts of the community. As years passed the prevalence of crime, and the universally low tone of morality due to the convict element, became more and more in the ascendant. At length in 1835 Judge Burton made a loud protest, and in a charge to the grand jury of Sydney plainly intimated that transportation must cease. While it existed, he said, the colonies could never rise to their proper position; they could not claim free institutions. This bold but forcible language commanded attention. It was speedily echoed in England, and particularly by Archbishop Whately, who argued that transportation failed in all the leading requisites of any system of secondary punishment. Transportation exercised no salutary terror in offenders; it was no longer exile to an unknown inhospitable region, but to one flowing with milk and honey, whither innumerable friends and associates had gone already. The most glowing descriptions came back of the wealth which any clever fellow might easily amass; stories were told and names mentioned of those who had made ample fortunes in Australia in a few years. As a matter of fact the convicts, or at least large numbers of them, had prospered exceedingly. Some had incomes of twenty, thirty, even forty thousand pounds a year. The deteriorating effects of the system were plainly manifest on the surface from the condition of the colony,—the profligacy of the towns, the scant reprobation of crimes and those who had committed them. Down below, in the openly sanctioned slavery called assignment, in the demoralizing chain gangs and in the inexpressibly horrible penal settlements, were more abundant and more awful proofs of the general wickedness and corruption. Moreover these appalling results were accompanied by colossal expenditure. The cost of the colonial convict establishments, with the passages out, amounted annually to upwards of £300,000; another £100,000 was expended on the military garrisons; and various items brought the whole outlay to about half a million per annum. It may be argued that this was not a heavy price to pay for peopling a continent and laying the foundations of a vast Australasian empire. But that empire could never have expanded to its present dimensions if it had depended on convict immigration alone. There was a point, too, at which all development, all progress, would have come to a full stop had it not been relieved of its stigma as a penal colony.

That point was reached between 1835 and 1840, when a powerful party came into existence in New South Wales, pledged to bring about the abandonment of transportation. A strongly hostile feeling was also gaining ground in England. In 1837 a new committee of the House of Commons had made a patient and searching investigation into the merits and demerits of the system and freely condemned it. The government had no choice but to give way; it could not ignore the protests of the colonists, backed up by such an authoritative expression of opinion. In 1840 orders were issued to suspend the deportation of criminals to New South Wales. But what was to become of the convicts? It was impossible to keep them at home. The hulks which might have served had also failed; the faultiness of their internal management had been fully proved. The committee had recommended the erection of more penitentiaries. But the costly experiment of Millbank had been barren of results. The model prison at Pentonville, in process of construction under the pressure of a