August 24, 1863: It would seem passing notes hasn’t been the only troubles Mrs. Mason has had with “her girls” – who are, apparently, a rowdy bunch of young women:

Not only were they using the yarn given to them for mending to send notes to the cellblock below, but they’ve been making socks and hiding them away for their own use; cat-calling the men on hard labour; making passes at the governor and the chaplain on their rounds (would have loved to see their faces); and one of them even assaulted the surgeon.

Interestingly enough, she wasn’t punished for it, which leads me to believe that our incompetent and questionable doctor in residence deserved it.

Mrs. Mason won’t provide any details, but I did catch a glimpse of the girl in question – not only was she a looker (I’ll admit it, I looked), but she had a black eye and swollen lip.

July 27, 1863: With everyone re-organized, we’ve got Mrs. Mason and the women (including our many prostitutes from a week or two ago) up on the right side of cellblock 6 – each of the other cellblocks has been reserved for a different class of male prisoner.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I was outside overseeing hard labour, and I saw a piece of string, or yarn coming out a window from the women’s cellblock and re-entering into a window on the floor below – one of the men’s cellblocks. Couldn’t quite figure out what was up – so I decided to investigate.

Got one of the watchmen to take over for me outside, and headed in to confer with George (we wanted to catch the prisoners at whatever it was they were at, and not give them time to hide).

Turns out they were passing notes to each other.

The women were using balls of yarn they’d been given to do mending for the gaol, and using the paper that wrapped the yard to write notes. Then they’d tie the notes (and pencils they’d scrounged from somewhere) to the end of the yarn, throw it out the window, and lower it to the floor below, where the men grabbed it, and pulled it in.

Of course we punished them all (everyone involved got 3 hours chained to their cell doors – to keep them away from the windows, of course!), but you have to give them credit for coming up with the scheme.

Mrs. Morris wasn’t too pleased that it was us turnkeys who’d discovered that “her girls” were breaking the rules right under her nose, though…better watch ourselves around her until she’s over the embarrassment.

July 13, 1863: So we’ve had to do a little musical chairs with our inmates of late. Everyone’s been shifted and re-classified since the Board of Inspectors were here last week. A real effort is being taken to keep the accused and convicted separate from one another, the repeat from the first time offenders, as well as the petty offenders from the more serious criminals.

Means everyone is spread out pretty thin throughout the gaol, and it’s requiring George and I to do a whole lot of running around (Mrs. Mason is lucky – the board wasn’t so concerned with segregating the women from each other…though I’m sure she could tell them stories about some of those gals that’d make their hair stand on end).

I just don’t think we have enough inmates at the moment to make classifying them into so many groups necessary – if we keep them all together, then there’s still us turnkeys to watch over them and ensure nothing untoward is going on….But they say there’s too much risk of inmates “infecting” each other with criminal intents.

Personally, I think that’s a load of bull. If someone is going to commit a crime, he’s either already got it in him, or he’s been driven to it by some exterior force (say…he’s lost all his money and needs to feed his family) – he’s not going to talk to a murderer and suddenly decide that he, too, would fancy killing someone – just for a change of pace.

You can really tell these “inspectors” are suits. Sure, they mean well. But they’re too “by the book” – it’s just not always practical to follow the official guidelines.

July 13, 1863: Well, I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that I am, according to the half-dozen or so brothel-workers who just got brought in to serve 20 days each, a “fine specimen of a man.”

Alice is just thrilled, I can assure you.

July 6, 1863: Turns out I’m not the only one who keeps hearing about the blasted pea soup. George has had a whole slew of complaints about it as well (and has also resorted to tasting it for himself, only to discover he quite liked it as well – poor bloke – had to be damn good to him – he hasn’t a wife to cook for him).

We’re starting to think that reference to “pea soup” is actually some sort of code. Inmates are always complaining about it, in general, or else saying it’s “not fit” for “such and such” – what if “pea soup” is actually a reference to the gaol?

As in, the gaol isn’t fit for humans, and it isn’t even good enough for dogs…that sort of thing.

I mean…they’d be right to think so. The cells are far too small, dark and smelly – it hasn't even been a humid summer yet!

(Oh bugger…imagine what this place is going to smell like once it DOES get humid outside?)

June 28, 1863: Had another complaint about the pea soup today. Something like: “I wouldn’t even serve it to my dog” followed by what can only be described as a hissy fit. Gave him two days in the dark cell to let him know grown men aren’t supposed to throw temper tantrums – especially when they’re in gaol. I mean what did he expect? Prime rib?

But it did get me wondering: could the pea soup really be all that bad? So I decided to go to the kitchen and taste it for myself.

It’s pretty good.

I don’t know what they’re complaining about.

April 18, 1863: It’s starting to show a little that Alice is pregnant – I’m just amazed that a tiny human being is growing inside her belly. I don’t care if it’s not manly to say so, but I’m really excited about this baby.

And thankful. The hopes I have for Alice and my new family are what keep me afloat. Without them, I’d only have this stinking prison, its morally decrepit inmates, and the strict discipline we impose upon them to keep me going. Needless to say, if that were all I had, I’d be a very different person (sure, I’m becoming hardened from working here – but I take that hard, brittle, and cynical exterior off with my uniform when I’m with Alice).

March 27, 1863: So you know that guy I brought up to the hospital, because he’d stepped on a nail? Turns out that incompetent doctor left it so long, that the wound festered, became gangrenous, and the whole foot had to be amputated!

Mrs. Mason said she could hear the guy screaming in pain as the surgeon sawed off his foot without any kind of medication, or anything. Her theory is that the liquor meant for the patients (to dull their senses while one of their limbs is being hacked off), is going into the doctor, and not the patient.

I bet she’s right.

March 25, 1863: One of my worst nightmares was realized three days ago. Couldn’t write about it ‘til now, I was in such a state of shock and disgust.

Had a lunatic in here – and I mean a verifiable insane person awaiting transfer to an asylum – that just went berserk in his cell after lockdown. He started ripping his bedding (that alone would normally get you the strap and a few nights in the dark cell), shouting, cussing, screaming incoherently, and banging his water dipper against the bars.

We’d already been told to just let him get this sort of thing out of his system – since he was in here for just being crazy, and not for committing any crime, we’ve been trying to cut him a little slack (he’s also, apparently, the son of someone the governor knows).
But I guess due to our lack of response, he decided to up the ante: by smearing the contents of his night bucket all over the walls of his cell (did I mention he was in one of my cellblocks?). So of course at that point, I had to get him out of there – my plan was to bring him straight to the hospital and get him drugged into oblivion, or into a straightjacket, or something.

I opened up the cell feeling a little nervous (lunatics are not my specialty), and this now faeces covered maniac just threw himself on me!

Worst thing is…I think he was meaning to hug me for letting him out of there, but…oh God it was disgusting. I can still smell it, just thinking about it.

Being somewhat traumatized by the event, George (ever the good fellow) took the lead in getting the cell cleaned up.

March 17, 1863: Been a hellish week. Mrs. Mason says it had something to do with the Ides of March. I don’t know about that, but what I do know is that every single dark cell has been occupied for the last 4 or 5 days, and we’ve got at least a half dozen or so prisoners restricted to their cells.

I don’t know what’s gotten into them.

Maybe it’s the soup.