The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 23 July 1914, Page 5

The Storyteller

(By John Boyle O’Reilly.)

MOONDYNE

{Continued.) BOOK SECOND. SANDALWOOD TRADE. VI I. MILL HANK. Arrived in London, lie proceeded at once to the Colonial Office, and left his letters for the Secretary, and with them his address in the metropolis, lie went through the same routine with the dispatches for the Prison Directors. Then, though his heart craved instant action, he was forced to exercise his patience, to wait until these high and perhaps heedless officials were pleased to recognise his presence. The great city was a wonder to him; but in his intense pre-occupation he passed through it as if it had been familiar from childhood. On the day after his arrival, not expecting an answer from the officials, one of whom, the Colonial Secretary, was a Cabinet Minister, he tried to interest himself in the myriad .strangenesses of London, lie visited Westminster Abbey and the British Museum. But, everywhere, his heart beat the same dolorous key ; he saw the white face, the slight crouching figure in the dock, the brown hair bowed in agony and disgrace. On the walls of the great picture-gallery the gilded frames held only this pitiful •scene. Among the tombs of the kings in Westminster, ho thought of her ruined life and shattered hope, and envied, for her sake, the peace of the sleeping marble knights and ladies. All day, without rest or food, he wandered aimlessly and wretchedly’ through the sculptured magnificence of the galleries. When the night closed, he found himself, almost unconscious of how he had come to the place, or who had directed him thither, walking with bared and feverish brow beneath a high and gloomy wall—the massive outer guard of Millbank Prison. Hour sped after hour, yet round and round the shadowy, silent precipice of wall the afflicted heart wandered with tireless feet. It was woful to think how near she was, and to touch the silent' graniteyet it was a thousand times more endurable than the torture and fear that were born of absence. Surely, if there he any remote truth in the theory of psychic magnetism, the afflicted soul within those walls must have felt the presence of the loving and suffering heart without, which sent forth unceasingly ■silent cries of sympathy and comfort. Surely, if communion of living spirits be possible, the dream of the lonely prisoner within must have thrilled with tenderness when his fevered lips were pressed as lovingly to the icy stone of the prison wall, as once they were pressed to her forehead in affectionate farewell.

Back to his hotel, when morning was beginning to break, the lonely watcher went, spiritless and almost despai Ihe reaction had begun of his extreme excitement for the past four days, tie passed along the lonesome river, that hurried through the city like a. thief in the night, flashing under the yellow quaylights, then diving suddenly beneath dark arches or among slimy keels, like a. hunted murderer escaping to the sea. Wild and incoherent fancies flashed through Will s feverish mind. Again and again he was forced to steady himself, by’ placing his hand on the parapet, or he should have fallen in the street, like a drunken man. At last he reached his hotel, and flung himself on his bed, praycrless, friendless, and only saved from despair by the thought of an affliction that was deeper than his, which he, as a man and a faithful friend, should be strong to relieve and comfort. It was past noon when he woke. The fever had passed, and much of the dejection. While dressing, lie was surprised to find his mind actively at work forming plans and surmises for the day’s enterprise. At breakfast, a large official letter was brought him. It was a brief but unofficially-cordial message from the Colonial Secretary’, Lord George Somers, appointing an hour—2 o’clock that day— he should bo happy to receive Mr. Sheridan at the Colonial Office; Under other circumstances such an appointment would have thrown off his balance a man so unused to social or formal ways as this stranger from Australia, whose only previous training had been on a merchant ship. Hut now, Will Sheridan prepared for the visit without thinking of its details. His mind was fastened on a point beyond this meeting. Even the formal solemnity of the powdered servant who received him had no disturbing effect. Will Sheridan quite forgot the surroundings, and at length, when ushered into the presence of the Colonial Secretary’, his native dignity and intelligence were in full sway, and the impression he made on the observant nobleman was instantaneous and deep. He was received with more than courtesy. Those letters, Lord Somers said, from Australia, had filled him with interest and desire to see a man who had achieved so much, and who had so rapidly and solidly enriched and benefited the Colony. The Colonial Secretary was a young man for his high positioncertainly not over forty, while he might be still younger. He had a keen eye, a mobile face, that could turn to stony rigidity, but withal a genial and even frank countenance when conversing cordially with this stranger, whom he knew to bo influential, and who certainly was highly entertaining. Will Sheridan was soon talking fluently and well. He knew all about Hie Penal Colony, the working of the old penal system and the need of a new one, the value of land, and the resources of the country, the capabilities for commerce and all this the Secretary was most anxious to learn. After a long interview, Sheridan rose to take leave, and the Secretary said he hoped to see a great deal of him before his return to Australia, and told him plainly that the opinions of a settler of wealth and intelligence on colonial matters in Western Australia were just then of special importance to the Government. He also wished it were in his power to give Mr. Sheridan pleasure while he remained in England. There was only one thought in Sheridan’s mind all this time, and now was the moment to let it work. He said he desired very much to visit the convict prisons in England, and compare the home system with that of the Penal Colony. The minister was gratified by the request, and, smiling, asked which prison he would visit first. Will mentioned Millbank ; and the minister with his own hand wrote a few lines to the governor, and handed the paper to his visitor.^

Will Sheridan took his departure, with a tremulous hope at his heart, and drove straight to Millbank Prison. There is something strange, almost unaccountable, and yet terrible, in the change that appears in half a century in the building of prisons, hew people have A thought of this, perhaps; but it contains a suggestion ”of a hardening of hearts and a lessening of sentiment. The old prisons were dark and horrible, even in aspect; while the new ones arc light and airy. In the latter the bar takes the place of a wall —and the bar is often ornamented with cast-iron flowers and other sightly but sardonic mockery. Better the old dungeon, with all its gloom'; better for the sake of humanity. The new prison is a. cage— a hideous hive of order and commonplace severity, where the flooding sunlight is a derision, and the barred door only a. securer means of confinement. For the sake of sentiment, at least, let us have the dismal old keep, that proclaims its mission on its dreadful brow, rather than the grinning bar-gate that covers its teeth-like rails with vulgar metal efflorescence. The great penitentiary of Millbank is, or rather was, an old-fashioned orison, its vast arched gateway sombre and awful as a tomb. It has disappeared now, having been pulled down in 1875 : but those who visited it once, or who even passed it, will never forget the oppression caused by its grated and frowning portal. In the early part of this century, tho Government of Great Britain determined to build an immense penitentiary, on the plan laid down by Jeremy Bentham in his celebrated ‘Panopticon, or the Inspection House.’ Bentham's scheme proposed a colossal prison, which should contain all England’s convicts and dispense entirely with transportation. The Government, acting on his plan, purchased a large and unhealthy tract of flat land, lying beside the Thames, and on this the unique structure was raised. The workmen were ten years in completing it; but when it was finished, Englishmen said that it was the model prison of the world. And it certainly was a great improvement on the older prisons, where those confined were often herded, many in a room, like cattle innocent with the guilty, the young and pure with the aged and the foul. In Millbank, every prisoner had his or her own cell — a room of stone, walls, ceiling, and floor, with a large and heavily-barred window. Each cell was eight feet square. The prison was built in six vast pentagons, radiating from a central hexagon, from which every cell was visible. The entrance to the prison, from the street, was a wonder of architectural gloom. First, there was a dark archway of solid masonry, from the roof of which, about six feet from the portal, sprang a heavy grate or portcullis, with spear-points apparently ready to fall and cut the. unfortunate off for ever from the world. Far within the arch appeared a mighty iron gate, ponderously barred, with an iron wicket, through which an armed warder could be seen on sentry, within the yard. These details were not noticed by Will Sheridan as he entered the echoing archway ; but he was chilled nevertheless, by the cold shadow of the surroundings. The warder within came to the wicket, and took the letter, leaving Will outside. In a few minutes, he found that his introduction was an ‘ open sesame.’ The governor of Millbank himself, an important gentleman in a black uniform with heavy gold facings, came speedily to the wicket, the ponderous bars were flung back, the awful door rolled aside, and Will Sheridan entered. The governor was very gracious to his distinguished visitor. On learning his desire to sec the arrangements of the prison he himself became the guide. _ , An hour was spent in the male side of the establishment, which was an age to Will Sheridan. While the governor thought his attention was engaged in observing tho features or motions of some caged malefactor, the mind and fancy of the visitor were far otherwise employed. He did not see the wretched, crime-stained countenances in the cells he passed; but

in every one he saw the white face, brown hair, and the crouching figure that filled his mind. At last the governor asked him to visit the female prison, in which the discipline was necessarily different. They passed through a long passage built in the wall, and entered the corridors of the female prison. ‘ Sheridan’s heart beat, and the blood fled from his face, leaving him ghastly pale, as he passed the first iron door. He feared the governor might notice his agitation : and he wondered how he should learn whether Alice were there or not. As he walked down the corridor he noticed that on every door was hung a white card, and, approaching h® read the name, crime, and sentence of the prisoner printed thereon. This was a relief to him ; as he walked ho read the name on every card, and on and on they went, up stairs and down, and round and round the pentagons, until he thought she surely was not in the prison, and the governor concluded that his visitor evidently meant to see all that was to bo seen. When the last corridor on the ground floor was entered, Will read every name on the doors with a despairing persistence, and his heart sunk within him as he came to the last. The governor opened the door at the end of tho passage, and they entered a light, short corridor, with largo and pleasantly-lighted cells. Here, the governor said, were confined those prisoners, who, by extreme good conduct, had merited less severe treatment than the others. Will Sheridan’s heart leapt within him, fo’ he knew that this was the place he should see her. On the doors were simply printed the names an 4 sentences of the occupants ; and at the fourth door Will stopped, and read the card;