Of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law ILLUSTRATED WITH MAPS (BY E. WELLER), PORTRAITS, AUTOTYPE AND OTHER FULL-PAGE PLATES, AND NUMEROUS PLANS AND WOODCUTS (BY G. PEARSON), CHIEFLY FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY F. DUSCHEK, BUCAREST Post Tenebras Lux LONDON LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 1882
There are five salt mines in Roumania, two of which are worked by convicts, and the one we propose to visit is that of Doftana, generally known as the Telega mine, which is situated at a short distance from Campina, a station on the railway line, about halfway between Ploiesti and Sinaïa. Before descending into the mine, however, a few particulars concerning the treatment of the prisoners maybe of interest. These are men (never women nor young persons) sentenced to penal servitude for a period of ten years or more, and until the year 1848 they lived, or rather died a slow death, entirely in the mine. They were compelled to sleep in their clothes on the floor of rock salt; never saw the light of day after they had once entered the mine; and whatever might have been the nominal term of their sentence, disease and their unnatural surroundings invariably cut short their miserable existence after about four years' confinement. Now they work in the mine from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. in winter, and from 6 a.m. to 6.30 p.m. in summer, and then leaving it, they march to the penitentiary, about a mile distant. They work in gangs of about six or seven, and each man is obliged to raise at least 700 kilogrammes (about 14 cwt.) of salt per day. For that quantity they receive, or at least they are credited with, 30 per cent, of their wages, which are fixed by tariff, and for all above 700 kilos they get half their wages. These are reckoned at fourteen centimes per 100 kilos up to 600, and eighteen centimes per 100 for all above. So far as the actual labour is concerned, we have no hesitation in saying that it is not nearly so exhaustive nor painful as that of thousands of our English colliers, besides being free from the dangers which constantly impend over our poor miners, but there are some serious and quite unnecessary hardships inflicted upon the men. One of these is that they get nothing to eat until noon, and therefore, unless they buy food with their earnings, they must walk to and from their[Pg 108] work and labour for several hours upon an empty stomach; another is that the benevolent intentions of the State in regard to the stimulus of remuneration are defeated by the neglect or dishonesty of certain of the officials. The prisoners now rarely work out their term. Either their sentences are shortened for good conduct, or on some special occasions a certain number are pardoned by royal grace, and we were informed that they rarely die in penal servitude. And now let us descend into the mine, a proceeding which will be facilitated in the reader's thoughts if he will kindly take before him our little plan, which is reduced from the engineer's drawing of a section actually in use on the spot.
SECTION OF THE TELEGA PENAL SALT MINE.
The descent is effected on foot through a vertical cylindrical shaft used for that purpose only, and divided at intervals by platforms which communicate with one another by good broad wooden staircases. The visitor is provided with a lighted candle attached to the end of a stick, which serves at the same time as an excellent test of the purity or impurity of the air in the mine, for the lower he descends, the more frequently he will find his light to be extinguished by carbonic acid gas, arising chiefly from the exhalations of the convicts. There are no inflammable gases in the mine, and the men work with naked lights. As he descends ladder or staircase after staircase, the visitor becomes conscious of the presence of human beings in the mine, for strange unearthly sounds greet his ear more and more plainly as he approaches the long gallery which traverses the mine at about 110 feet below the surface; and this effect is rendered still more weird through the surrounding darkness, relieved only by the faint light of his candle and those of his companions. From moment to moment he hears hollow echoes of the human voice uttered in snatches and accompanied by a continuous clanking of chains, which makes his blood creep until he has become to some extent accustomed to the sound. The shaft through which he is descending is cut and rounded with great precision, first through a mixture of clay and rock-salt, and then in the solid rock-salt itself. To render it impervious to water he will find the wall here and there lined with buffalo hides.
Arrived at the horizontal gallery the visitor passes along it until he comes to a platform guarded by a fence or railing, and then he finds himself near the roof of an enormous cave which is probably unlike anything to be seen elsewhere.
We have been in a good many strange localities, and have witnessed many impressive scenes both on and under the earth's surface, but we confess that none has ever been comparable to this one. All is dark excepting where our candles cast a faint glimmer about our immediate neighbourhood, and far below we now hear the voices, as well as the rattling of the convicts' chains, more continuously and distinctly, and see numerous lights dancing about fitfully in small clusters. Those are the candles of the convicts who are cutting rock-salt in gangs on the floor of the cave. Continuing our descent down another flight, or rather series of flights, of stairs, we at length arrive at that floor which is about 200 feet from the surface, and there we find ourselves surrounded by homicides, burglars, and the very dregs of the criminal ranks of Roumania. There is no guard with us; and, indeed, of what use would even a small escort be against about two hundred and fifty desperate ruffians armed with pickaxes if they thought fit to unite in an assault upon our little party? They have no such intention, however, and the feeling of the visitor is rather one of pain and sorrow to see so many able-bodied fellows manacled than of fear in their presence. The mode in which they get the salt is by cutting an oblong figure in the floor, deepening this until it resembles a mound, and then cutting the block thus formed transversely into smaller ones and breaking the salt out in lumps.
Their work, which is little if at all impeded by their light chains, is performed with pickaxes; and, as already stated, they raise in this manner from 700 to 1,400 kilos (14 to 28 cwt.) per day, which is conveyed to the surface through a special shaft.
SALT MOUND IN FLOOR OF MINE PRIOR TO BREAKING UP.
The cave is 80 feet high and 400 feet long, and there is another smaller one at right angles with it, shown by a dotted line upon the plan, and every part of it, floor, roof, and walls, is of solid rock-salt. A curious effect is produced by the officials of the mine causing a mass of lighted tow to be dropped through the shaft used for raising the salt, whilst the visitors stand below; this partially illuminates the cave in its descent, and shows its vast proportions. But there is nothing further to detain us in this great chamber of crime, so we will again mount the ladders and seek the genial air and sunshine above ground. The penitentiary in which the convicts are confined after they leave the mine is about a mile distant, and as we drive thither we pass small bodies of them trudging along in the same direction and manacled at their feet. It is a large barrack-like structure, with dirty dormitories, where the men lie in long rows upon wretched pallets. The air of these dormitories is foul, and burning resin is used to fumigate them. One of our companions, a young Roumanian, remarked that during the day the convicts breathe an atmosphere vitiated by their own exhalations, whilst at night they are suffocated by the fumes of resin. Their food is wholesome enough, consisting of mamaliga and soup. For making the latter the prisoners receive, theoretically, meat at the rate of 100 grammes (3-1/2 ounces) per head; but when we instituted a diligent search for some, bones only were the result, and one of the gentlemen observed that the meat was consumed a mile off, meaning at the quarters of certain officials, whilst the bones fell to the prisoners' share. However this may be, one fact was admitted, namely, that by some process of conversion, known only to the initiated, the convict rarely sees his share of his wages, and certainly receives no more nourishment than is necessary to keep body and soul together. It is said that they spend their earnings in luxuries, and probably some may do so; but that the officials are poorly paid, and that it is difficult to find an honest one, these are statements we heard on authority which it was impossible to discredit.
As we have said, however, the rules of the prison are framed with a view to the welfare of the convicts, with the exception that nothing is done to educate them. But there are no harsh punishments; if a man misbehaves himself, his chains are shortened, and very bad conduct is punished with solitary confinement. The prisoners, we were told, are never whipped nor otherwise ill-treated; and if it be true that men who are sent there for robbery are themselves often the victims of plunder at the hands of officials, the minister who is at the head of the department involved will no doubt take measures to prevent the continuance of such an iniquitous example.
And after all there is another phase of this question which must not be lost sight of when we criticise the institutions of a young nation which has only just achieved its independence, and whose first step was to abolish the vindictive capital sentence of 'a life for a life.' The first law of nature is self-preservation, and Roumania is still obliged to economise in all departments of the State in order to place her national police—her army—on a sound footing. It is wonderful how she is able to conduct her department of justice even as she does. Her convict labour is so well utilised that it leaves her a handsome profit. Her total expenditure on all judicial and penal matters in 1880 was under 170,000l. with a population of 5,000,000, whilst with only seven times that number of inhabitants the Government outlay of Great Britain in the same year amounted to the enormous sum of 5,922,443l., without reckoning the heavy local burdens for the protection of life and property. And yet both life and property are certainly as secure in Roumania as in England, without the halter or the cat, two of the barbarous expedients for the prevention of crime which are still employed in our boasted Western civilisation.
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