From the desk of Alexander Maconochie Her Majesty’ s Prison Norfolk Island Dear W ashington, Your last letter was very welcome. I am delighted to hear of your new arrival and I send you and Julia both my warmest congratulations. Much has happened that has k ept me from responding to your welcome letter. I believe I previously related the celebration of Her Majesty’ s birthday which caused an outflow of sentiments amongst this populace of men who believed themselves abandoned and forgotten on this r emote island. Now that I am better settled, there is much to observe. What I hadn’t expected here is that, along with burglars, pickpockets, highwaymen, arsonists, murderers and rapists of Britain, there are Chinamen, Malays, Greeks, Spaniar ds and the aborigines of New South Wales. There are slaves re captur ed from the West Indies and the Caribbean with their branded skin, and English deserters from the army who bear the ghastly injuries of warfar e from some corner of Europe. Each has his own story and I have heard many now. They do not over-elaborate, or if they do, they admit to such with good grace. I am never without compassion, I find, when a man has unburdened himself, and I make no judgement. This appears to ease him mor e than any other contribution I might convey . The Commandant before me was a man called Anderson who had the pleasur e—and I do not doubt that for him it was a pleasur e—of brutalising these men for the past five years. Some of them also survived his predecessor Morisset, a man whose sadism knew few
bounds. Anderson learned from him a particular regard for patience. Under Anderson, men were given one hundred lashes for saying, ‘Oh my God,’ while on the chain gang. One hundred lashes for singing a song. Three hundred lashes for failing to sow corn properly. Sick men were lashed three hundred times for malinge ring. Sometimes the first one hundred and fifty lashes were given on one day and the man sent back to work, only to be returned to the yard three days later for the remaind er. Some were flogged day after day, in some effort to have them confess to this or that, but no man would. My predecessor also made it an offence to apply any salve to a man after a flogging. In the summatio n I received from Anderson, I was told to ke ep flagellation for the worst or least of them. I was assured that flogging is good for a certain kind of man. That it tempers the clever and vivifies the coward. When he is able to bend again, or lie on his back, there is humility in most. If anything to the contrary was evident, I was advised to flog him again, one hundred and twenty lashes being the recommended dose. I was told to maintain a certain cordiality with others to ensure that those who might rise up against their rations, or simply their imprisonment, were k ept down. Those more sensible to the implication s of re volt, who had no interest in dying by the noose, must be given a chance to subdue such conversations in their fellow prisoners, or sneak their observations into my ears. I was encouraged to employ espionage between the prisoners pr eventing the men fr om forming alliances. As you will remember , I know well that for those confined in solitude and d eprived of all light, the days and nights become one, the lack of any voice or touch becomes interminable. The injured spirit surrenders slowly. You can imagine how broken the men were after years of such torment and d eprivation. Their limbs were withered and they looked thrice their years. I saw young men of twenty with the skin hollowed from their cheeks, their teeth broken and their sunken eyes devoid of any expression. But I have already seen evidence of some r eturn of spirit. I had the hangm an’s stage and noose taken down. This was met with silence, there being no trust of authority . I explained my
method, my system, to these men who have lived through so much— the Old Hands, as they are known—and there was a small cheer, the first indication that within them still live the souls of men. I had the triangle put away . The lash, too. In my system, new arrivals are put to work breaking rocks for some weeks so that the notion of punishment is instilled. They are confined in barracks and given religious instruction before they may move on to work in the gardens. If they do well there, growing the food so essential to the island, they will be given a good patch of land to make a gar den of their own. This is how I came across a prisoner who, but for his crime and his own admission of guilt, I would not have expected to find amongst this cohort. He is a Frenchman, apparently of noble birth. He arrived during the time of my predecessor and had been breaking stone ever since. He is not a young man and the labour seemed particularly harsh. At the earliest opportunity , when his tractable character had been established, I placed him in the gardens. When his efforts there proved laudable, I assigned him to the private gardens about the house and he is making it a veritable Eden. One morning, I found he had restored an apple sapling after a storm. It is now espalier ed firm on a wall and is in early bloom. The roses he has pruned grow well. The blooms are pungent. They grace the dining table almost as if we might be in Edinbur gh. I am hopeful there may be a lemon tree arriving on the next ship. And gunpowder . If the men knew how badly equipped is the armoury ... not that I anticipate r e volt. But still, it is wise to be well pr epared. But let me return to my most curious prisoner . He is a man of significant intellect and education. I do not want to guess his thoughts, but he displays no outwar d sign of restlessness, holding himself with reserve, though I doubt he can know peace. His life under my predecessor records an early flogging, one hundred lashes for ‘looking keenly at a guard’. In the yard, amidst the clamou r of food pr eparation, he stands often alone. The other men do not rile him. His r eputation precedes him. There are few murderers here, though the newspapers would insist otherwise.
He was, I understand, famous across all England for his crime. Sometimes I have the suspicion he lets me win at chess, but we have spent many a pleasant evening over a game in my study. Perhaps you think me unwise, but this is the work I feel charged to do. To restore these men to their humanity. He alone, perhaps, in all this throng, demonstrates my goals. That a man may be condemned for his actions, may pay as the law deems for his crime, and yet still earn a sense of r egard. I determined that he would be better served by having his own quarters. In return, he was tasked with teaching the men the growing of vegetables and fruits so that, beyond this place, they might have such necessary skills to make their way. Those who do well ar e able to sell their surplus to the officers. My prisoner knows he has likely come to the end of his life here on this green rock in the sea. What potential he had is now behind him, although his knowledge of plants and medicines would be of much use in Sydney or even Hobart T own. Is there madness behind his eyes? I have seen no evidence of it. There’s not a man on Norfolk Island that doesn’t wish he was somewher e else. Not a man who is undamaged by his incar ceration. Still, there are guards here who feel it their duty to send r eports belittling my actions. Even after my own clarifications, written at length to Gipps, my time here is harried by letters of rebuke and remonstrance from my superiors. Gipps, who does his best to support my endeavours, must also look to his own career. In Sydney they fear that making this a place of reform will only cause more criminal activiti es or, I am told, a slave rebellion. This place must act as a deterr ent! But what is the purpose of a system maintained by extreme severity , that requires constant humiliation? At what cost to the lives of these twelve hundred men? For their sake, I will not relinquish my zeal. All men can be saved. I believe it passionately and fervently and never is it more evident here than in the restored love of Her Majesty , and faith amongst the men. I await the vines I have ordered from Sydney . The Frenchma n says a vineyar d might not produce for several years, but he says he
has years to wait. I may not see the wine of that fruit for my time here may end sooner than I wish. My finest regards to you, dear Washington, and to dear Julia and your young family. And to our many mutual friends in the fair town of Hobart. I sign off with this perhaps short-lived title, but one of which I r emain pr oud. Alexander Maconochie Commandant, Norfolk Island