|
Magazine
SLICE OF THE PAST
The paradox of Port Arthur
|
Port Arthur, as home to Australia’s first penal settlement, has a dark history. MAYA RANGANATHAN
|
Photo: Maya Ranganathan
Stangely beautiful: The penitentiary at Port Arthur.
The historians have two reasons for why the scenic Port Arthur in Tasman peninsula was made Australia’s first penal settlement in 1832: its location and topography that made escape impossible. But a sociologist would add another: no state of be
ing can be more torturous than to be condemned to lead a wretched life in so beautiful a place!
Even on a cold, cloudy and windy day, the stark beauty of the prisoners’ area is hard to miss. The green trees, the lush lawns, the calm sea and even the stone ruins lull one into a state of tranquillity that it is difficult to imagine that just over a century ago men slogged away at saw pits, cook house, blacksmith’s shop, shoe worker’s shop and dockyard, some with huge chains clanging around their ankles, and died only to be buried in unmarked graves.
The 100-km scenic drive alongside rivers and vast expanses of green from the State capital Hobart hardly prepares one for the dark history of Port Arthur that received its first load of 200 male convicts on July 31, 1833. Ironically, the convicts had left England by a vessel named “Enchantress” on April 13, 1833, bidding fond farewells to their loved ones, with messages of hope and their names, that were soon to be forgotten, tattooed on their forearms, never to return.
By 1877, when transportation was finally stopped, Port Arthur had played host to 7,500 male convicts who served 12,500 sentences for offences ranging from absconding from place of work, for stealing, for being poor, too young, old or infirm, for refusing to work, for being declared not guilty by the court but suspected nevertheless of crime and for being drunkards. It was also a place for juvenile offenders, some as young as seven, for stealing toys, the scenic island Point Puer serving as the prison for those under 17 years of age.
Considered decision
Given its history, it is not hard to understand why turning Port Arthur into a tourist destination was a slow and considered decision. Even the quaint little “Dootown” that comprises houses with names such as “Much Adoo”, “We Doo it”, “Just Doo It” that one passes on the way to Port Arthur does not help shake off the melancholy that sets in on hearing its history. The place that was named Carnavaron after transportation stopped was the destination not only for curious visitors whom the locals took around, but also for scavengers of the ruins. Devastating fires in 1895 and 1897 reduced the number of buildings to one-third the original number, but tourism grew gradually so that the name was restored to Port Arthur in 1927 and funds allotted for its preservation in 1979.
Today, the partly restored buildings serve as a reminder of the experiment that was — of a model penal system that would “reform” hardened criminals. The convicts, when they first arrived, were housed in barracks of weather board huts adjoining the flogging yard. This was replaced by buildings. As the numbers increased, the flour mill was turned into a penitentiary. Repeated offenders, some re-offending as many as six times, and those of bad character termed “the lions” were kept in the bottom floor of the penitentiary while the better-behaved ones occupied the top floors.
The convicts were put to work on the dreaded treadmill that powered the penitentiary, some spending as many as 16 years working in the mill. Then were established the workshops and the industrial complex that comprised carpenters, coopers, painters, blacksmiths, saw mills and bone mills. Injuries were many and those who reported to the medical officer in the hospital often returned without limbs. Amputation without anaesthesia was the cure for infections. The men at Port Arthur were a skilled lot and built ships and bridges, but none of them could lead them to freedom.
It is not surprising why even the most outrageous escapades did not succeed. Port Arthur is surrounded by small islands that were all convict settlements. The nearest land mass is Antarctica which is still thousands of miles away and the approach to the Port Arthur peninsula by land is by the 30-metre wide isthmus named “Eaglehawk neck” that was guarded by soldiers and half-starved dogs that were ready to pounce on any adventurous convict. Guides regale tourists with the story of how one Billy Hunt killed a kangaroo, skinned it, and wearing the skin attempted to take the leap to freedom. But he was spotted by the soldiers who, low on rations, decided to make a meal of the kangaroo instead. For poor Billy Hunt, there was hardly a choice. He gave himself up and was given 150 lashes before being taken back to Port Arthur. A group of eight convicts who daringly set sail in the Commandant’s boat, after sailing for four months, landed somewhere in New South Wales only to be sent back to Port Arthur.
Four principles marked the penal system in Port Arthur: discipline, separation and classification, religious instruction and education and training. In 1853, following new ideas in reforming criminals, the “separate prison” based on Pentonville prison system in London, was implemented. “Hardened” criminals were segregated and housed in 80 tiny cells that were laid out in the shape of a cross. They were to remain alone and in silence for 23 hours a day so that they could reflect on their life and reform. This treatment was extended to even the boys at Point Puer, with solitary confinement of 21 days prescribed for losing a knife and a fork. For these criminals was built a church where the men were taken every Sunday. They were locked into a box so they could see none other than the Pastor in front. It is not clear what sermons were preached but it was soon discovered that religious instruction had no remarkable effect upon the convicts.
The shift from corporal punishment to psychological punishment was accompanied by the building of an asylum to house those who lost their moors. Their lot however was better, for, their rooms were more spacious and they were treated better than the convicts. Much like the paupers, they were treated with more consideration than their counterparts in Britain. A commandant, a pastor, a medical officer, military officer and soldiers oversaw the operations in Port Arthur.
The way to hell
Perhaps, as the guide says on the introductory tour of the place, “the way to hell is paved with best intentions.” If in life the convicts remained without a name and hope, in death they continued to be looked down upon by the free men who lorded over them. In the “Isle of death”, an island that is not far away from Port Arthur, lie 1,646 graves, of which 180 in the north are alone marked. The convicts died as they lived, unnoticed. It does not take much effort to believe the stories that float, of the cells ringing with ghostly screams and of empty chairs rocking eerily at night.
Today, Port Arthur is one of the most popular tourist destinations in Tasmania, a town of about half a million. There is perhaps much to see but one lesson to take away. Port Arthur’s penal settlement might have faded into history, but the brutality that it witnessed still remains and is practised different ways.
Printer friendly
page
Send this article to Friends by
E-Mail
Magazine
|
