Page 586 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

their wards, but they rush into the barracks indiscrimi-
nately, and place themselves dressed or undressed in their
hammocks. A convict sub-overseer then calls out the
names, and somebody replies. If an answer is returned
to each name, all is considered right. The lights are taken
away, and save for a few minutes at eight o’clock, when the
good-conduct men are let in, the ruffians are left to their
own devices until morning. Knowing what I know of the
customs of the convicts, my heart sickens when I in imagi-
nation put myself in the place of a newly-transported man,
plunged from six at night until daybreak into that foetid
den of worse than wild beasts.
May 15th.—There is a place enclosed between high walls
adjoining the convict barracks, called the Lumber Yard.
This is where the prisoners mess. It is roofed on two sides,
and contains tables and benches. Six hundred men can
mess here perhaps, but as seven hundred are always driven
into it, it follows that the weakest men are compelled to sit
on the ground. A more disorderly sight than this yard at
meal times I never beheld. The cook-houses are adjoining
it, and the men bake their meal-bread there. Outside the
cook-house door the firewood is piled, and fires are made
in all directions on the ground, round which sit the prison-
ers, frying their rations of fresh pork, baking their hominy
cakes, chatting, and even smoking.
The Lumber Yard is a sort of Alsatia, to which the hunted
prisoner retires. I don’t think the boldest constable on the
island would venture into that place to pick out a man from
the seven hundred. If he did go in I don’t think he would