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surf washes almost against the walls of the military road-
way that leads to the barracks. The social aspect of the place
fills me with horror. There seems neither discipline nor or-
der. On our way to the Commandant’s house we passed a
low dilapidated building where men were grinding maize,
and at the sight of us they commenced whistling, hooting,
and shouting, using the most disgusting language. Three
warders were near, but no attempt was made to check this
unseemly exhibition.
May 14th.—I sit down to write with as much reluctance
as though I were about to relate my experience of a journey
through a sewer.
First to the prisoners’ barracks, which stand on an area
of about three acres, surrounded by a lofty wall. A road runs
between this wall and the sea. The barracks are three sto-
reys high, and hold seven hundred and ninety men (let me
remark here that there are more than two thousand men on
the island). There are twenty-two wards in this place. Each
ward runs the depth of the building, viz., eighteen feet, and
in consequence is simply a funnel for hot or cold air to blow
through. When the ward is filled, the men’s heads lie un-
der the windows. The largest ward contains a hundred men,
the smallest fifteen. They sleep in hammocks, slung close
to each other as on board ship, in two lines, with a passage
down the centre. There is a wardsman to each ward. He
is selected by the prisoners, and is generally a man of the
worst character. He is supposed to keep order, but of course
he never attempts to do so; indeed, as he is locked up in the
ward every night from six o’clock in the evening until sun-