society in bourail, although in one sense fairly homogeneous, is from another point of view distinctly mixed. here, for example, are a few personal items which i picked up during our stroll down the main and one street of the village.
first we turned into a little saddler’s shop, the owner of which once boasted the privilege of making the harness for victor emmanuel’s horses. unfortunately his exuberant abilities were not content even with such distinction as this, and so he deviated into coining, with the result of hard labour for life. after a few years his good conduct gained him a remission of his sentence, and in due course he became a concessionnaire. his wife, who joined him after his release, is one of the aristocrats of this stratum of bourailian society.
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permit to visit a prison or penitentiary camp en détail. this is the ordinary form; but the author is the only englishman for whom the words in the left-hand corner were crossed out.
there is quite a little romance connected with[178] this estimable family. when madame came out she brought her two daughters with her. now the elder of these had been engaged to a young man employed at the ministry of colonies, and he entered the colonial service by accepting a clerkship at noumea. the result was naturally a meeting, and the fulfilment of the proverb which says that an old coal is easily rekindled. the engagement broken off by the conviction was renewed, and the wedding followed in due course. the second daughter married a prosperous concessionnaire, and the ex-coiner, well established, and making plenty of properly minted money, has the satisfaction of seeing the second generation of his blood growing up in peace and plenty about him. imagine such a story as this being true of an english coiner!
a little further on, on the left hand side, is a little lending library, and cabinet de lecture. this is kept by a very grave and dignified-looking man, clean-shaven, and keen-featured, and with the manners of a french chesterfield. “that man’s a lawyer,” i said to the commandant, as we left the library. “what is he doing here?”
“you are right. at least, he was a lawyer once, doing well, and married to a very nice woman;[179] but he chose to make himself a widower, and that’s why he’s here. the old story, you know.”
next door was a barber’s shop kept by a most gentle-handed housebreaker. he calls himself a “capillary artist,” shaves the officials and gendarmerie, cuts the hair of the concessionnaires, and sells perfumes and soaps to their wives and daughters. he also is doing well.
a few doors away from him a liberé has an establishment which in a way represents the art and literature of bourail. he began with ten years for forgery and embezzlement. now he takes photographs and edits, and, i believe, also writes the bourail indépendent. as a newspaper for ex-convicts and their keepers, the title struck me as somewhat humorous.
nearly all branches of trade were represented in that little street. but these may be taken as fairly representative samples of the life-history of those who run them. first, crime at home; then transportation and punishment; and then the effort to redeem, made in perfect good faith by the government, and, so far as these particular camps and settlements are concerned, with distinct success in the present.
unhappily, however, the government is finding[180] out already that free and bond colonists will not mix. they will not even live side by side, wherefore either the whole system of concessions must be given up, or the idea of colonising one of the richest islands in the world with french peasants, artisans, and tradesmen must be abandoned.
later on in the afternoon we visited the convent, which is now simply a girls’-school under the charge of the sisters of st. joseph de cluny. a few years ago this convent was perhaps the most extraordinary matrimonial agency that ever existed on the face of the earth. in those days it was officially styled, “house of correction for females.” the sisters had charge of between seventy and eighty female convicts, to some of whom i shall be able to introduce you later on in the isle of pines, and from among these the bachelor or widower convict, who had obtained his provisional release and a concession, was entitled to choose a bride to be his helpmeet on his new start in life. the method of courtship was not exactly what we are accustomed to consider as the fruition of love’s young or even middle-aged dream.
the kiosk in which the convict courtships were conducted at bourail.
after mass on a particular sunday the prospective bridegroom was introduced to a selection[181] of marriageable ladies, young and otherwise. of beauty there was not much, nor did it count for much. what the convict-cultivator wanted, as a rule, was someone who could help him to till his fields, look after live-stock, and get in his harvests.
when he had made his first selection the lady was asked if she was agreeable to make his further acquaintance. as a rule, she consented, because marriage meant release from durance vile. after that came the queerest courtship imaginable.
about fifty feet away from the postern door at the side of the convent there still stands a little octagonal kiosk of open trellis-work, which is completely overlooked by the window of the mother superior’s room. here each sunday afternoon the pair met to get acquainted with each other and discuss prospects.
meanwhile the mother superior sat at her window, too far away to be able to hear the soft nothings which might or might not pass between the lovers, but near enough to see that both behaved themselves. along a path, which cuts the only approach to the kiosk, a surveillant marched, revolver on hip and eye on the kiosk ready to respond to any warning signal from the mother superior.
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as a rule three sundays sufficed to bring matters to a happy consummation. the high contracting parties declared themselves satisfied with each other, and the wedding day was fixed, not by themselves, but by arrangement between those who had charge of them.
sometimes as many as a dozen couples would be turned off together at the mairie, and then in the little church at the top of the market-place touching homilies would be delivered by the good old curé on the obvious subject of repentance and reform. a sort of general wedding feast was arranged at the expense of the paternal government, and then the wedded assassins, forgers, coiners, poisoners, and child-murderers went to the homes in which their new life was to begin.
this is perhaps the most daring experiment in criminology that has ever been made. the administration claimed success for it on the ground that none of the children of such marriages have ever been convicted of an offence against the law. nevertheless, the government have most wisely put a stop to this revolting parody on the most sacred of human institutions, and now wife-murderers may no longer marry poisoners or[183] infanticides with full liberty to reproduce their species and have them educated by the state, to afterwards take their place as free citizens of the colony.
the next day we drove out to the college of the marist brothers. it is really a sort of agricultural school, in which from seventy to eighty sons of convict parents are taught the rudiments of learning and religion and the elements of agriculture.
during a conversation with the brother superior i stumbled upon a very curious and entirely french contradiction. i had noticed that families in new caledonia were, as a rule, much larger than in france, and i asked if these were all the boys belonging to the concessionnaires of bourail.
“oh no!” he replied; “but, then, you see, we have no power to compel their attendance here. we can only persuade the parents to let them come.”
“but,” i said, “i understood that primary education was compulsory here as it is in france.”
“for the children of free people, yes,” he replied regretfully, and with a very soft touch of sarcasm, “but for these, no. the administration has too much regard for the sanctity of parental authority.”
when the boys were lined up before us in[184] the playground i saw about seventy-six separate and distinct reasons for the abolition of convict marriages. on every face and form were stamped the unmistakable brands of criminality, imbecility, moral crookedness, and general degeneration, not all on each one, but there were none without some.
later on i started them racing and wrestling, scrambling and tree-climbing for pennies. they behaved just like monkeys with a dash of tiger in them, and i came away more convinced than ever that crime is a hereditary disease which can finally be cured only by the perpetual celibacy of the criminal. yet in bourail it is held for a good thing and an example of official wisdom that the children of convicts and of freemen shall sit side by side in the schools and play together in the playgrounds.
berezowski, the polish anarchist who attempted to murder napoleon iii. and the tsar alexander ii. in the champs elysées. all criminals in new caledonia are photographed in every possible hirsute disguise; and finally cropped and clean shaven.
by permission of c. arthur pearson, ltd.
on our way home i was introduced to one of the most picturesque and interesting characters that i met in the colony. we pulled up at the top of a hill. on the right hand stood a rude cabin of mud and wattles thatched with palm-leaves, and out of this came to greet us a strange, half-savage figure, long-haired, long-bearded, hairy almost as a monkey on arms and legs and breast, but still with mild and intelligent features, and[185] rather soft brown eyes, in which i soon found the shifting light of insanity.
acting on a hint the commandant had already given me, i got out and shook hands with this ragged, shaggy creature, who looked much more like a man who had been marooned for years on a far-away pacific island, than an inhabitant of this trim, orderly penal settlement. i introduced myself as a messenger from the queen of england, who had come out for the purpose of presenting her compliments and inquiring after his health.
this was the pole berezowski, who more than thirty years ago fired a couple of shots into the carriage in which napoleon iii. and alexander ii. were driving up the champs elysées. he is perfectly harmless and well-behaved; quite contented, too, living on his little patch and in a world of dreams, believing that every foreigner who comes to bourail is a messenger from some of the crowned heads of europe, who has crossed the world to inquire after his welfare. through me he sent a most courteous message to the queen, which i did not have the honour of delivering.
that night the storm-clouds came over the mountains in good earnest, and i was forced to[186] abandon my intention of returning to noumea by road, since the said road would in a few hours be for the most part a collection of torrents, practically impassible, to say nothing of the possibility of a cyclone. there was nothing more to be seen or done, so i accepted the commandant’s offer to drive me back to the port.
on the way he told me an interesting fact and an anecdote, both of which throw considerable light upon the convict’s opinion of the settlement of bourail.
the fact was this: there are in new caledonia a class of convicts who would be hard to find anywhere else. these are voluntary convicts, and they are all women. a woman commits a crime in france and suffers imprisonment for it. on her release she finds herself, as in england, a social outcast, with no means of gaining a decent living. instead of continuing a career of crime, as is usually the case here, some of these women will lay their case before the correctional tribunal, and petition to be transported to new caledonia, where they will find themselves in a society which has no right to point the finger of scorn at them.
as a rule the petition is granted, plus a free[187] passage, unless the woman has friends who can pay. generally the experiment turns out a success. the woman gets into service or a business, or perhaps marries a liberé or concessionnaire, and so wins her way back not only to respectability as it goes in caledonia, but sometimes to comfort and the possession of property which she can leave to her children.
as a matter of fact, the proprietress of the little hotel at the port was one of these women. she had come out with a few hundred francs that her friends had subscribed. she now owns the hotel, which does an excellent business, a freehold estate of thirty or forty acres, and she employs fifteen kanakas, half a dozen convicts, and a chinaman—who is her husband, and works harder than any of them.
the anecdote hinged somewhat closely on the fact, and was itself a fact.
there is a weekly market at bourail, to which the convict farmers bring their produce and such cows, horses, calves, etc., as they have to sell. every two or three years their industry is stimulated and rewarded by the holding of an agricultural exhibition, and, as a rule, the governor goes over to distribute the prizes. one of these exhibitions[188] had been held, i regret to say, a short time before my arrival, and the governor who has the work of colonisation very seriously at heart, made speeches both appropriate and affecting to the various winners as they came to receive their prizes.
at length a hoary old scoundrel, who had developed into a most successful stock-breeder, and had become quite a man of means, came up to receive his prizes from his excellency’s hands. m. feuillet, as usual, made a very nice little speech, congratulating him on the change in his fortunes, which, by the help of a paternal government, had transformed him from a common thief and vagabond to an honest and prosperous owner of property.
so well did his words go home that there were tears in the eyes of the reformed reprobate when he had finished, but there were many lips in the audience trying hard not to smile when he replied:
“ah, oui, mon gouverneur! if i had only known what good chances an unfortunate man has here i would have been here ten years before.”
what his excellency really thought on the subject is not recorded.
the hotel was crowded that night for the steamer[189] was to sail for noumea, as usual, at five o’clock in the morning; but as madame was busy she was kind enough to give up her own chamber to me; and so i slept comfortably to the accompaniment of a perfect bombardment of water on the corrugated iron roof. others spread themselves on tables and floors as best they could, and paid for accommodation all the same.
by four o’clock one of those magical tropic changes had occurred, and when i turned out the moon was dropping over the hills to the westward, and aurora was hanging like a huge white diamond in a cloudless eastern sky. the air was sweetly fresh and cool. there were no mosquitos, and altogether it was a good thing to be alive, for the time being at least.
soon after the little convict camp at the port woke up. we had our early coffee, with a dash of something to keep the cold out, and i made an early breakfast on tinned beef and bread—convict rations—and both very good for a hungry man. then came the news that the steamboat la france had tied up at another port to the northward on account of the storm, and would not put in an appearance until night, which made a day and[190] another night to wait, as the coast navigation is only possible in daylight.
i naturally said things about getting up at four o’clock for nothing more than a day’s compulsory loafing, but i got through the day somehow with the aid of some fishing and yarning with the surveillants and the convicts, one of whom, a very intelligent arab, told me, with quiet pride, the story of his escape from new caledonia twelve years before.
he had got to australia in an open boat, with a pair of oars, the branch of a tree for a mast and a shirt for a sail. he made his way to europe, roamed the mediterranean as a sailor for nine years, and then, at marseilles, he had made friends with a man who turned out to be a mouchard. this animal, after worming his secret out of him under pledge of eternal friendship, earned promotion by giving him away, and so here he was for life.
he seemed perfectly content, but when i asked him what he would do with that friend if he had him in the bush for a few minutes, i was answered by a gleam of white teeth, a flash of black eyes, and a shake of the head, which, taken together, were a good deal more eloquent than words.
one of the lowest types of criminal faces. an illustration of the ease with which it is possible to disguise the chin, typical of moral weakness, and the wild-beast mouth, which nearly all criminals have, by means of moustache and beard.
by permission of c. arthur pearson, ltd.
la france turned up that afternoon, so did the[191] commission of inspection from bourail with several other passengers. i was told that we should be crowded, but until i got on board in the dawn of the next morning i never knew how crowded a steamer could be.
i had travelled by many crafts under sail and steam from a south sea island canoe to an atlantic greyhound, but never had the fates shipped me on board such a craft as la france. she was an english-built cargo boat, about a hundred and thirty feet long, with engines which had developed sixty horse-power over twenty years ago. she had three cabins on each side of the dog-kennel that was called the saloon.
if she had been allowed to leave an english port at all she would have been licensed to carry about eight passengers aft and twenty on deck. on this passage she had twelve first-class, about fifteen second, and between fifty and sixty on deck, including twenty convicts and relégués on the forecastle, and a dozen hard cases in chains on the forehatch.
she also carried a menagerie of pigs, goats, sheep, poultry, geese, and ducks, which wandered at their own will over the deck-cargo which was piled up to the tops of her bulwarks. her quarter-deck[192] contained about twenty square feet, mostly encumbered by luggage. the second-class passengers had to dine here somehow. the first-class dined in the saloon in relays.
the food was just what a frenchman would eat on a caledonian coast-boat. it was cooked under indescribable conditions which you couldn’t help seeing; but for all that the miserable meals were studiously divided into courses just as they might have been in the best restaurant in paris.
everything was dirty and everything smelt. in fact the whole ship stank so from stem to stern that even the keenest nose could not have distinguished between the smell of fried fish and toasted cheese. the pervading odours were too strong. moreover, nearly every passenger was sick in the most reckless and inconsiderate fashion; so when it came to the midday meal i got the ma?tre d’h?tel, as they called the greasy youth who acted as chief steward, to give me a bottle of wine, a little tin of tongue, and some fairly clean biscuits, and with these i went for’rard on to the forecastle and dined among the convicts.
the forecastle was high out of the water, and got all the breeze, and the convicts were clean[193] because they had to be. i shared my meal and bread and wine with two or three of them. then we had a smoke and a yarn, after which i lay down among them and went to sleep, and so la france and her unhappy company struggled and perspired through the long, hot day back into plague-stricken noumea. when i left la france i cursed her from stem to stern, and truck to kelson. if language could have sunk a ship she would have gone down there and then at her moorings; but my anathemas came back upon my own head, for the untoward fates afterwards doomed me to make three more passages in her.
to get clean and eat a decent dinner at the cercle was something of a recompense even for an all-day passage in la france. but it is not a very cheerful place to come back to, for the shadow of the black death was growing deeper and deeper over the town. the plague was worse than ever. the microbe had eluded the sentries and got under or over the iron barriers, and was striking down whites and blacks indiscriminately, wherefore i concluded that noumea was a very good place to get out of, and, as i thought, made my arrangements for doing so as quickly as possible.
