THE PENITENTIARY IMPUGNED
Charges of harshness and cruelty—Parliamentary enquiry—Charges
entirely disproved—Increased efforts at reform by segregating
prisoners—Their improved demeanour—Prison very quiet—Cases of weakened
intellect and insanity—Rules relaxed and contemplated change in the
penitentiary system—Millbank a failure—New uses devised for the
prison—Becomes part of the new scheme for transportation.
WHILE the criminals of the period were passing in and out of Millbank,
and Mr. Nihil, backed up by his committee, was working indefatigably
and with the best intentions, the credit of the establishment was
suddenly impugned in no measured terms. It was doubtful indeed
whether the ship could weather the storm of invective that broke upon
it. Had the managers of Millbank been ogres instead of painstaking
philanthropists working for the public good, they could not have
been more rancorously assailed. But here was a case where the people
suffered because their rulers squabbled. It was a period when party
warfare ran high and the Opposition hailed eagerly any opportunity
of bringing discredit upon the Ministry. The attack made upon the
Penitentiary was really directed against the Government.
On the 26th February, 1838, a noble lord rose in his place to call
the attention of the House of Lords to a grave failure in the
administration of criminal justice. “All London, the whole country,
was ringing with it,” said another noble lord. “It has been a topic
of universal reprobation co-extensive with the hourly increasing
sphere in which it has been known. All Westminster has talked of it,
all Middlesex has turned its eyes to the quarter in which the abuse
occurred. I will venture to say,” continued his lordship, “that it has
been more talked of, more discussed, more indignantly commented upon
in every corner of this great town and of this populous country, than
any one subject either in or out of Parliament, or in any one of the
courts of justice, civil or criminal.” It appeared that in Millbank, a
prison exempt from the general jurisdiction of the county magistrates,
and governed only by the Home Secretary, there had occurred five cases
of unwarranted harshness and cruelty. Three little girls and two fine
young men had been completely broken down by the system of solitary
confinement therein practised. The children were mere infants: one, as
it was alleged, was little more than seven years old; the other two
were eight and ten respectively. Yet at this tender age they had been
cut off entirely from the consoling influences of home and the kindly
intercourse of relatives and companions, to be immured in solitary
wretchedness for nearly thirteen consecutive months. So bitterly did
these little ones lament the loneliness of their lengthened seclusion,
that one asked piteously for a doll to keep her company, and all three
were found at different times sleeping with their bedclothes twisted to
simulate a baby, so earnestly did they yearn for something like ideal
society in their dreary confinement. More than this: the punishment of
continued solitude had produced in them a marked infirmity of mind,
manifested by great impediment of speech, and general difficulty in the
expression of ideas. A gentleman, one of the Middlesex magistrates,
who had visited the Penitentiary, described the effect upon their
speech such as to render their voices “feeble, low, and inarticulate—to
produce a kind of inward speaking, visible to and palpable to every
one who heard them.” So much for the children. As for the young men,
one of them, who had previously been remarkable for great activity
and intelligence, came out in a state of idiocy, and was afterwards
retained as an idiot in St. Marylebone workhouse, reduced to such a
state of utter and helpless imbecility as to be incapable of being
employed even in breaking stones. The other was similarly affected.
And yet all this was contrary to law. Here were prisoners subjected
to uninterrupted solitary confinement for twelve and thirteen months,
when by a recent Act it was expressly ordered that no such punishment
should last for more than one month at a time, and never for more
than three months in the year. Circumstances very disgraceful beyond
doubt, if the charge were only proved, and entailing a weight of awful
responsibility on those who were accountable to the public.
As the attack was made without a word of warning, Lord Melbourne, at
that time the head of the Government, was unable to defend himself. All
he could urge was that the House should reserve its opinion until upon
a close investigation the grievances and evils alleged should be proved
to exist. He felt certain that the whole statement was exaggerated and
over-coloured; of this he had, indeed, no doubt, but he must claim a
little time before he made a specific reply.
The next night he stated that full inquiry had been made. In the first
place the ages of the children had been understated. Each of them was
at least ten years old. But this was not a point of any very material
importance. They were all three very profligate children. One of the
worst signs of the day was the great increase of crimes committed by
children of tender age. The principal cause of this was, no doubt, the
wickedness of parents, who made their children the instruments for
carrying out their own evil designs. In the present instance the three
girls had been guilty of theft and sentenced to transportation, but
they were recommended for the Penitentiary solely to remove them for a
lengthened period from the influence of their parents, and to give the
Government an opportunity of effecting a reform in their character and
conduct. The only place suitable for such an attempt was the Millbank
Penitentiary, and to this they were removed. This establishment was
governed by rules laid down by the Lords’ Committee of 1835, and,
therefore, if undue severity had been practised, it must have been in
defiance of those very rules. But it was quite untrue that any of these
prisoners had been subjected to protracted solitary confinement. There
was no such thing in the Penitentiary except for prison offences, and
then only for short periods. Separate confinement there certainly was,
but solitary confinement—complete seclusion, that is to say, without
being seen, without going out to public worship—as a general practice
was practically unknown in the establishment.
“These children took exercise regularly twice a day, for half an
hour at a time, in company with other prisoners of their ward; they
had school also together twice a week; went to chapel on Sunday; and
were regularly visited by benevolent Christian ladies (Mrs. Fry and
her associates), who spent long hours in their cells. Surely their
condition was not one of great hardship!
“The young men, Welsh and Ray, were notorious rogues, who had also been
sent to the Penitentiary to effect, if possible, some reformation in
their ill-conducted and irregular lives. Their behaviour had been very
rebellious and disorderly, but though they had been frequently punished
they had left the Penitentiary at the expiration of their terms
of imprisonment in perfect health and full possession of all their
faculties.”
The Opposition laughed at the explanation. Not solitary
confinement—what was it then? The children went out to exercise. Yes;
but they were not allowed to communicate or talk to one another. They
went to church, and to school, but only for a few hours together in
the week, and for the rest of the time they were shut up in their
cells alone, utterly alone. Was not this solitary confinement? Were
these accusations all unfounded then? Had they been disproved? Let the
Government wait till a committee of the House had been appointed to
inquire and had reported upon the whole case.
A committee met, took evidence, and at the end of a month sent in their
report. It was quite conclusive. The whole of the charges necessarily
fell at once to the ground. “On the whole,” they stated, in summing
up, “the committee think it due to the officers of the Penitentiary to
state, that all the convicts have been treated with all the leniency,
and—in the case of the female children particularly—with all the
attention to their moral improvement that was consistent with the rules
laid down for the government of the Penitentiary.” The children had
come in dirty, ignorant, and in ill health; they were now cleanly, had
learned to read, could make shirts, and were all quite well and strong.
Nothing was wrong with their voices: one could shout as loud as any
girl of her age, but she was shy before strangers; the second led the
singing of the hymns in her ward, though her voice was only of ordinary
power, and had been even husky from the time of her reception; the
third usually spoke from choice in a low tone, but she had been heard
to shout often enough to other prisoners. It was quite evident, then,
that in these three cases, not only had the cruelty been distinctly
disproved, but it was equally clear that their imprisonment in the
Penitentiary had been a positive benefit to the children in question.
Nor was the charge a bit better substantiated in the case of the two
“fine young men.” Both of them had been cast for death at the Old
Bailey, which was commuted afterwards to one year in the Penitentiary.
One, Welsh, was a good-for-nothing vagrant, who had spent most of
the seventeen years he had lived inside the Marylebone workhouse,
and to this he had returned on his release from Millbank. He was a
clever but unruly prisoner; he could read and write well, and his
faculties had been sharpened rather than impaired by his residence
in prison. The master of the Marylebone workhouse was decidedly of
opinion that he had improved much; he was more civil now than before,
and he was greatly grown. Welsh said himself he had no fault to find
with the Penitentiary; in fact, he was quite ready to go back to it,
if they would only take him in. But this Welsh was in the habit of
counterfeiting idiocy, either to procure some extra indulgences, or to
amuse himself and others, and he played the part so well that many who
saw him were deceived.
William Ray, the other “victim,” was older, having reached his
twenty-fifth year. He also had passed the greater part of his life in
the Marylebone workhouse; but he had enlisted twice into the army, and
had gone with Sir de Lacy Evans to Spain. He had been discharged for
incompetence, and it was perfectly clear from the evidence taken, that
he was a person of very weak intellect long before he became an inmate
of the prison: he had a vacant countenance, a silly laugh, and a habit
of blinking his eyes and tossing his head about. Still he perfectly
understood what he was ordered to do. He had become a good tailor, and
had improved in reading.
Thus all the charges were disposed of, and the system in force having
been held blameless, it might fairly be continued without change. The
system then was as follows: The prisoners slept in separate cells
which opened into a common passage, and at the centre of the passage
was the warder’s bedroom. The cells were ten feet by seven, and had a
partition wall between them fourteen inches thick. The entrance to each
cell had two doors—one of open iron work, the other of wood. At the
first bell, every morning about daylight, the prisoners were let out
to wash, about six or eight at a time; and they then returned to their
cells for the rest of the day, except during their two hours’ exercise,
and twice a week when they attended chapel and school. Their meals
were brought to them in their cells by other prisoners let out for
the purpose. The chaplain, assistant chaplain, and schoolmaster were
continually visiting them. All day long the wooden door of the cell
remained wide open, and there were plenty of opportunities of talking
to their neighbours through the gate of iron grating, where even a
whisper could be heard. They were always talking—at washing time, at
exercise, even when in their cells with both doors locked and bolted.
Now this was manifestly not solitary confinement. Nay, more, it was not
even separate confinement. But yet, without the latter, without perfect
isolation and the prevention of all intercourse and intercommunication,
it was felt by Mr. Nihil that his efforts to reform his prisoners were
vain. Whatever good his counsels might accomplish was immediately
counteracted by the vicious converse that still went on in spite of
all attempts to check it. It was found that extensive communications
were carried on; that prisoners learned each other’s histories, formed
friendships and enmities, and contrived in many ways to do each other
harm. Unless this were ended all hope of permanent cure was out of
the question. Mr. Nihil says, in 1838, that he is in great hope that
by the thorough separation of the prisoners, important advantages in
respect to the efficiency of imprisonment and the reformation of the
convicts would ensue. “The more perfect isolation of the prisoner by
non-intercourse with fellow-criminals, not only renders the punishment
more effective, but places him in a condition more susceptible to
the good influences with which we seek to visit him—now constantly
frustrated by communication through the wards.”
So eager were the authorities to restrict the means of intercourse,
that they were not above taking the advice of a prisoner on the
subject. His suggestions were such as a prisoner is qualified to give,
being the fruits of experience, and an intimate acquaintance with the
various devices that are practised. If talking was to be prevented, he
said, several new arrangements must be made; thus the officer, when
prisoners were at exercise, instead of standing motionless should walk
on an inner circle, in an opposite direction to the prisoners, so as
to see their faces. The prisoners always talked whenever the officer’s
back was turned. Nor should they be allowed to eat while in the yard:
under the pretence of chewing they really were engaged in conversation.
Again, to put an end to clandestine letters, all the blank pages of
library books should be numbered and frequently examined, so that none
might be abstracted and used as writing paper. Nor should any whiting
be issued to clean the pewters: the prisoners only used it to lay a
thick white coat upon any damped paper, thus making a surface to write
upon. By scraping off the whiting the same paper could be used over
and over again. To make a pencil they scraped their pewter pints, then
with the heat from the tailors’ iron, with which many were supplied,
they ran these scrapings into a mould. Lastly, all searching of cells
and prisoners should be more frequent and complete; care should be
taken in the latter case to examine the cuff and collar of the jacket,
the waistband and the lower part of the legs of the trousers, and the
cap. The bedding in the cells, all cracks in floor or shopboard, and
the battens or little pieces below the tables should be thoroughly
overhauled. With such precautions as these much might be effected;
nevertheless, said the informer, misconduct must always continue, for
prisoners often incurred reports solely to gain the character of heroes.
And so with the new year many further changes were introduced. All
the governor’s recommendations were adopted, and not a few of the
suggestions last quoted, in spite of the source from which they came.
Within a week or two—rather soon, perhaps—the governor considers that
the new discipline works extremely well. Reports diminish, and the
control of officers is more complete. Ill-tempered prisoners evinced
great annoyance at the change; but by meeting this spirit by firmness
and good temper it has, he thinks, been repressed. Three months later
he notices a distinct improvement in behaviour, traceable beyond
question to the new rules. Prisoners formerly constantly reported
are now quite quiet, and in a very good state of mind—tractable,
submissive, and grateful. “Several had learned to read; and many
evinced a softened and subdued tone of feelings, and thanked God they
had been brought to the Penitentiary. Some expressed a grateful sense
of the value of the late regulations. One youth told me that previously
they might almost as well have been in the same room with a crowd....
In Thomas Langdale, a desperate housebreaker and a very depraved man,
the most hopeful change has taken place. He has written a most artless
and interesting letter to his wife.... Some prisoners have acquired a
great mastery over their violent tempers, and look quite cheerful and
happy.... A few only still manifest great discontent.”
All that year the principle has ample trial. In April, 1840, the
governor asserts that in his opinion the state of the prison is highly
satisfactory. The prisoners, as testified by their letters (which were
meant for him to see), were as happy as the day was long. They had
good food, good clothing, and spoke with gratitude of the provision
made for their religious instruction. Moreover, now the reins are as
tight as they can be drawn. “Separation has within the last two years
been much more carried out than formerly, and the effect has been
very materially to reduce offences and punishments, and to promote
reformation,” says Mr. Nihil. His great difficulty now is that he
cannot ventilate the cell without opening the door to communication.
In fact he might seem to wish to seal up his prisoners hermetically;
but he says, “I do not mean to advocate long separation from all social
communication. I should prefer a system of regulated intercourse upon
a plan of classification and superintendence and mutual education,
guarded by occasional separation. What I object to is nominal
separation accompanied with secret fraudulent vicious communication.
Health is certainly a great consideration, but are morals less? Ought
health to be sought by the rash demolition of an important moral fence?
If health is alone to be looked to it would be very easy to suggest
very simple means for keeping the prisoners in general good health;
but then the objects of imprisonment would be altogether frustrated.
Considering these objects indispensable, and that one of them is the
moral reformation of the prisoners, I conceive it would be much better
to leave them to the remedy of opening their cell windows for fresh
air.”
Mr. Nihil’s notions were certainly clearly developed. He was for no
half measures. But in his extreme eagerness to push his theory as far
as it could go, he actually courted disaster. He was apparently blinded
by a misconception of phrases. So long as he steered clear of what
was called solitary confinement he thought he was safe. But he forgot
that the more separation was insisted upon, the more nearly solitude
was approached. In point of fact there was absolutely no distinction
between the separate confinement practised at Millbank, and that
solitary confinement which had already been universally condemned, and
which by law was not to be inflicted except for very limited periods
of time. Naturally the same fatal consequences, the inevitable results
that follow such imprisonment protracted beyond the extreme limit,
began to be plainly visible. Cases of insanity, or weakened intellect
came to light, first in solitary instances, then more and more
frequently. The committee were compelled to run counter to Mr. Nihil,
and relax the rigorous separation from which he hoped to effect so
much. I find in their report for 1841 that they consider it necessary
to make great alterations in the discipline of the institution.
“In consequence of a distressing increase in the number of insane
prisoners, the committee, under sanction of the medical superintendent,
came to the resolution that it would be unsafe to continue a system
of strict separation for the long periods to which the ordinary
sentences of the prisoners in the Penitentiary extend. They therefore
propose that the system should be relaxed with regard to all classes
of prisoners except two; viz., military prisoners whose sentences
were extremely short, and persons convicted of unnatural offences;
and that to all other prisoners the prohibition of intercourse should
be limited to the first three months after their admission, and that
upon the expiration of that period they should be placed upon a system
of modified intercourse.” But they surrendered their views evidently
with the utmost reluctance, and remarked further in this report that
“they are inclined to believe that no scheme of discipline in which
intercourse between prisoners, however modified, forms an essential
part, is ever likely to be made instrumental either to the prevention
of crime or to the personal reformation of convicts to the same degree
as a system of separation. Whether the latter system can be rendered
compatible with the maintenance of the mental sanity of the prisoners
is a subject of much controversy, and can only be determined by actual
experiment, accompanied by such advantages as are proposed in the Model
Prison.”[9]
But it now becomes plainly evident that the waters are beginning to
close over the Penitentiary. There are people outside its walls who are
clearly not its friends, if not openly inimical. Thus dissatisfaction
finds voice in the House of Commons, where, on the 15th March, 1841,
Mr. Alderman Copeland asks for certain information which the prison
authorities must have found it awkward to supply. This return called
for was to show the numbers sent to the Penitentiary during the past
five years; the number removed during that period for insanity, the
number for bad health, and who had died; and it was to be stated how
often the several members of the committee attended during the year.
From different causes, one difficulty added to another, the
Penitentiary was drawing nearer and nearer to its doom. At length its
death-blow fell, accelerated doubtless by the sweeping alterations
contemplated in the whole system of secondary punishments. These
changes, by which also the whole constitution of the Penitentiary was
altered, will be detailed at length in another volume, and the closing
chapter shall be devoted to the last days of old Millbank.
It was on the 5th May, 1843, that Sir James Graham, then Home
Secretary, introduced a Bill for the better regulation of the
Penitentiary. The House must be fully aware, he said, of the Report[10]
in which it was stated that as a _penitentiary_ “Millbank Prison had
been an entire failure.” Its functions, therefore, in that respect were
now to cease. The next thing to be considered was what use might be
made of it, for it was a large building and had many conveniences for
a prison. Just at this moment, however, the Government had determined
to carry out a certain new classification of all convicts sentenced to
transportation. In other words, felons were to suffer this punishment
in different degrees, according to their condition and character.
But to ascertain in which category offenders should be placed a time
of probation and proof was needed, and this period should be passed
at some general depot, where for nine or ten months the character of
each convict might be tested. Millbank was admirably suited for the
purpose. From here, after the necessary interval, the juveniles were to
be sent on to the new prison at Parkhurst, the best and most promising
convicts to Pentonville, the rest to the hulks, but one and all only
_in transitu_ to the antipodes.
Nothing now remained but for the Penitentiary Committee to go through
the ceremony of the happy despatch; for by the new arrangements
the control of the prison was to be vested in a body of government
inspectors, and of a governor acting under them. Under the new system,
the committee states, “there will be a rapid succession of transports
continually passing through the prison; and the shortness of their
confinement, though very desirable on the score of health, will
necessarily militate against any great mental or moral improvement.”
Nothing is intimated as to the nature of the discipline to which
the transports are to be subjected during their detention here. The
committee, however, “are satisfied that a vigorous system will be
found necessary for the maintenance of order among criminals of
so depraved and desperate a character as the male transports are
evidently expected to be. In short, it is obvious that an entirely
new state of things is at hand, one never contemplated by any members
of the committee when they originally consented to act; one moreover
which will require, in their opinion, an active and unremitting
superintendence such as their other avocations render them incapable of
undertaking.” Therefore one and all of them were glad to resign their
functions into other hands. But they “cannot conclude without remarking
that the new system contemplated would never be properly administered
by a clerical governor, even if he considered it consistent with his
sacred functions to undertake such a charge.”
I find in the minutes of the committee on the 9th June, 1843, all
members were requested to attend at their next meeting, which was
probably to be their last.
At the same time they passed votes of thanks also to the
assistant-chaplain, the medical superintendent, the matron,
manufacturers, steward, and officers generally. And from that time
forth Millbank, as a penitentiary, ceased to exist.