bu Ww \ 7 By J. WELLSFORD MILLS - We No Longer Hear the Clank of Crown Colony Leg Irons, Those Heavy Fetters That Shackled Evil-Doers in the Early Part of Last Century—A Pair Recently Procured for the Police Museum at Headquarters Gave Rise to This Phantasy. JS MY father. Earth is my mother. ‘orm is the product of human sweat oil. I came into being at the town of wich in England. I was wrought in mosphere of smoke and steam. Showers irks heralded my birth. The physician brought me into the world was a smith, his helper, my nurse. The sear- ame of the hearth and mighty blows e hammer gave me my strength. My yy was the squeak and sigh of the sr bellows. vas taken to a warehouse with a large er of my fellows, and left there for g time. I thought we had been forgot- vhen one morning a party of workmen into the storehouse and threw us all a wagon. We were bounced along a ed road till we arrived at a fitting dock. were then thrown upon the deck of a with towering masts and massive bul- s. A sailor with tarred cue shouldered al of us and we were carried below eres four more, Chipps” said the sailor > were tossed against a bulkhead, and continued, “I ‘opes as ‘ow no more 1e poor blokes jumps overboard with ' We found ourselves in a large space n decks. Heavy timbers lined the sides e ship and other timbers were fitted e centre. Fastened to the timbers at ar intervals there were large rings of with whom I was soon to find myself ly associated. e lay on the deck for days in an atmos- phere of stinking bilges, tar and oakum, the breath of the Medway tide flats coming down the hatches when the wind was blow- ing right. Then one day there was a great commotion on the ship. Men in bright red uniforms came down with other men clad in rough homespun garments, whose faces bore the unmistakeable stamp of despair and hate. I soon learned my purpose in this strange world. A large man came forward with a portable anvil, rivets and a heavy hammer. My grip soon encircled the ankles of a young man with a reddish face and black hair. A few blows of the hammer on a rivet, and I was the inseparable companion of this man who was never to return to his native land. In the days that followed I learned what weak things these men were. My clasp seemed to raise welts on the fellow’s ankles, which later became sores. Our journey was long, and after a month or so, the weather became very hot. The ‘tween deck space became a mass of sweating, smelling humanity with feverish glazed eyes. Only my fellows and I were undisturbed by the heat. Soon they began to rave, these poor human wretches. Mine, in the middle of the night would shout “Lizzie, I di’na mean to cut yer throat. Leave me be, leave me be,” and then he would call for water, but no one paid any attention to him. A few days of raving and blazing fever and my services were no longer required. Again the blacksmith appeared, and a few strokes of the hammer on a punch, and I had re- leased my clutch of the poor dead body. A scrap of old sail cloth, a few rocks from the ballast boxes, and the Indian Ocean closed over this fragment of banished humanity. After a long journey, we reached the penal colony half way around the world. We loaded some stuff in bales and set sail for home. About a month out, we called at an outlandish port for water and fresh meat. As the boats from our ship were pulling away to shore, there came across the heavy sultry air of the tropics the sound of clash- ing steel and then the rattle of musketry, and then, quiet. An hour later a naval officer accompanied by a bo’sun and two or three marines arrived at the Jacob’s ladder and came aboard. The naval officer was say- ing “Yes, captain, it’s a pretty pass when mutiny strikes the navy. We have been out from home for two years, and the men have become very restless and sullen. Two or three ringleaders roused the seamen, who rushed the guarter-deck and killed two of WISHING THE B. C. POLICE MAGAZINE CANADIAN FISH & COLD STORAGE PRINCE ROPERT. BC. EVERY SUCCESS CO, EMD. JRTEENTH EDITION Page Ninety-five