HORRORS OF A COMMUNIST PRISON.

Western Star, Issue 1, 15 November 1873, Page 3

HORRORS OF A COMMUNIST PRISON.

Tae following letter from a transported Communist has been forwarded to the “ London Echo” for publication. It is said to be written by a journalist, condemned to death for life for articles written during the life of the Commune : isio of Nou, 28th January, 1873. Dear Friend,—Ton are told that we are free hd'e, that transportation colonises. J£ is false; the exiles themsclvGSj our frieods of tli6 Islo of Pinos and of the Peninsula of Dacos are not free. They are tormented; they are exasperated. The councils of war have thrown among them, as among us, alas! a certain city scum, and they are left to be quietly flooded by this scum. The design of dishonoring the whole band of exiles by means a handful of rascals may be guessed. The Isle of Nou is the prison of the galley-slave, aggravated by exile. Yes, the‘bagne,’ with all its < horrors, its apparatus, its guards, its executioners, its punishments. What do I say? There are some that are new and terrible. At Toulon they did not dare all. France might have caught the sound of our complaints. Here all shame is cast to the winds. ■ The torture is re-established, and ;,is daily at work, I have seen, seen ■frith my own eyes wretches whose fingers Lave been broken with thumb-screws tightened by degrees. I have seen others who have been hung by the feet by hours, head downwards, gasping and delirious! Finally, I have seen one who was flogged, and whose quivering flesh was Btfrnt with a red hot iron after each stroke of the whip ! What thinkest thou of that refinement ? I do not speak to thee of the whip—it is habitual. There are at the penitentiary four lads whose sole business is to flog; base youths moulded out of the slime of blood and wine! We are compelled to respect these monsters; we must respect their whip like Gessler’s hat. The superintendents fraternise with each other; the gaolor allies himself with the martinet; the executioners carouse together. What banditti! The warders have the power of life and death over us. They use it wickedly, killing for trifles. A certain Charpiat is passing by me who killed a drunken man in the ranks. He was staggering ; that was his crime, not a word of insult or rebellion! Charpiat obtained advancement for this great deed! For trifles of the same calibre indulgent warders are satisfied with sending men to the punishment squadron. There one drags the double chain, there one never drinks wine, there one works without mercy or truce at rolling rocks and razing mountains. The suspected are incorporated with it as soon as they disembark. But, thou wilt ask, what are the suspected, and of what are they suspected ? The word suspected is elastic! It is a convenient label which is fastened on the forehead of J:bo cent, who are to be made to suffer, The malre of Puteaux, M. Roques, belonged to this baud from his arrival in April till ours in November ; Hr bain still belongs to it; Trinquet has been there^ a long while; Marsteau only escaped it by the' hospital—-poor child, his state makes shudder. , . * I forgot to

tell thee of the hospital. It is not a refuge for the unfortunate, a last asylum ; it is a hideous lazaretto, where they gag the death-rattle and flog the dying in their last agony. The guardian of this lazar-house is a doctor, whose life is spent in drinking and debauchery; so; vile that he is cut by all the officers in the colony. He feasts with the guards and the priestly rabble, poisons or maims between two drams of absinthe, and holds the dying choked beneath his staggering feet. Without of a pretext, he orders the dying to be strangled, in their beds. The good Sisters find these traits delightful, and are on the best terms with the blackguard. He has a pious soul; his devout zeal goes far. One evening a sick man falls half dead upon his pillow. The infirmarians calls the doctor ; the Sisters seek the priest. Priest and doctor are together hobnobbing. ‘After ypu,’ says the doctor, rising with a zigzag motion. The priest exhorts to resignation, tries to confess the poor devil, breathes Latin and wine in his- face for an hour, and at length goes to get his salver, his goblets, his paternosters, to perform the last rite. The doctor .then approaches, finds that ail is' not lost, and writes a prescription. ‘ You will administer it,’ says he, ‘ after the priest’s work is done !’ The priest lingers to drink again, then proceeds to perform his part *, but when the patient comes to be afterwards attended to, he is dead ! Friend, remember ! Should not the mother's, widows, and sisters of the condemned protest ?”