LAST DAYS OF MILLBANK
Captain Groves at Millbank—New Staff—Governor a strict
disciplinarian—His methods unpopular—Discontent among old
officers—Petition to House of Commons charging Captain Groves with
tyranny and misconduct—Another Parliamentary enquiry—Prolonged
investigation—Report fully absolves Groves—His task difficult—The
boys’ reformatory gives the most trouble—Mistaken methods employed,
but Captain Groves’ firmness in due course establishes peace—Later
history of Millbank—“Wormwood Scrubs” to replace it—Erected on the
same lines as Sing Sing built by Elam Lynds—Some of the later Millbank
celebrities—Latest uses of Millbank—Closed in 1891.
WITH the changes which were instituted in Millbank in 1843, its
character and constitution were alike materially altered. It was a
penitentiary no longer, for it did not now deserve the high-sounding
title. The lofty purposes with which it started were unfulfilled,
and its future usefulness depended upon the wide area it embraced
within its gloomy walls, rather than on the results its reformatory
system might be expected to achieve. But as a plain prison, it might
yet render more tangible service to the state. And just as Millbank
became more practically useful than heretofore, so those who ruled it
were no longer amateurs. The superintending committee, composed of
well-disposed gentlemen of rank, were replaced by a board of three
permanent inspectors, two of whom were already well known to prison
history. Mr. Crawford, the senior member, had given much time to the
examination of the American prisons; and Mr. Whitworth Russell, the
second member, had been for years chaplain of Millbank. Both also had
been long employed as inspectors of all prisons in England. Under them
was a new governor—a person of a different stamp from mild Captain
Chapman, or pious, painstaking Mr. Nihil. Captain John B. Groves, a
gentleman of some position and not unknown in society, was also a
military officer of distinction. He did not seek the appointment, but
as those in high places who knew his character thought him eminently
well suited for the post, he was told that if he applied he could have
it. A soldier, firm and resolute of will, but clear-headed, practical,
able, Captain Groves had but one fault,—he was of an irascible temper.
However, like many other passionate men, though quickly aroused, he was
as speedily cooled. After an outburst of wrath he was as bright and
pleasant as a summer landscape when the thunderstorm has passed. Added
to this was a certain roughness of demeanour, which, though native
often to men of his cloth, might easily be mistaken for overbearing,
peremptory harshness. But that Captain Groves was well-suited for the
task that had devolved upon him there could be little doubt. The
Millbank he was called upon to rule differed more or less from the
old Penitentiary which had just been wiped out by Act of Parliament.
The population was no longer permanent, but fluctuating: instead of
two or three hundred men and youths specially chosen to remain within
the walls for years, Captain Groves had to take in all that came,
_en route_ for the colonies; so that in the twelve months several
thousands passed through his hands. Moreover, among these thousands
were the choicest specimens of criminality, male and female, ripe
always for desperate deeds, and at times almost unmanageable; yet
these scoundrels he had to discipline and keep under with only such
means as Mr. Nihil had left behind; for the most part the same staff
of warders and with no increase in their numbers. And with all the
difficulties of maintaining his repressive measures, were the gigantic
worries inseparable from a depot prison, such as Millbank had become.
The constant change of numbers; the daily influx of new prisoners, in
batches varying from twos and threes to forties and fifties, in all
degrees of discipline—sometimes drunk, always dirty, men and women
occasionally chained together; the continuous outflow of prisoners
to the convict transport ships—a draft of one hundred one day, three
hundred the next, all of whom must carefully be inspected, tended, and
escorted as far as the Nore,—these were among the many duties of his
charge.
But Captain Groves soon seated himself firmly in the saddle, and made
himself felt as master. The promptitude with which he grasped the
position is proved by his early orders. On the first day he found out
that there were no standing regulations in case of fire. No fixed
system or plan of action was established, but it was left to the
governor, at the moment of emergency, to issue such instructions as
might suggest themselves. There were no stations at which the several
officials should take post on the first alarm, no regular practice
with the fire engine; the machine itself was quite insufficient, and
the hose out of repair. There had been one or two fires already inside
the prison, and the consequences had been sufficiently disastrous;
yet no attempt had been made to reduce the chances by previous
forethought and arrangement. Captain Groves begged therefore to be
permitted to frame regulations in advance and in cold blood, instead
of leaving the calamity to be coped with amid the excitement of an
actual conflagration. The fire question disposed of, the governor
turned his eyes upon the appearance of the men under his charge; and,
true soldier again, I find him complaining seriously of the slouching
gait and slovenly garb of the warders trained under the late regime.
“I think,” he says, “that the officers when together on parade, or at
other times, should present something of the appearance of a military
body.” He wished, therefore, to give them drill, and a waist-belt,
and a smarter uniform. Again, he found fault with the armoury, and
remarked that all the fire-arms in the prison consisted of one or
two old blunderbusses, with brass barrels exceedingly short, and he
suggested a stand of fifty carbines from the Tower. Next he made a raid
upon the dishevelled locks of the convicts, remarking: “The practice
of cutting the prisoners’ hair appears to be much neglected. I observe
the majority of the prisoners’ heads are dirty; the hair long, and
the whiskers growing under the chin.” To remedy this, he introduced
forthwith the principles of the military barbers of that time,—the hair
to be short on the top and sides of the head and whiskers trimmed on a
level with the lower part of the ear—an innovation which the prisoners
resented, resisting the execution of the order, one to the extent of
saying that the next time he was given a razor he would cut his throat
with it. But the rules were enforced, as all other rules that issued
from Captain Groves. Not that the adjustment of such trifles satisfied
his searching spirit of reorganization. He was much annoyed at the
idleness and determined laziness of all the prisoners. They did not
do half the work they might; the tailoring was a mere farce, and the
little boys in Tothill Fields Prison picked twice as much coir-junk as
full grown men in Millbank, and in a shorter time. As for great-coats,
the average turned out was one per week, while they should have been
able to complete three or four at least. The governor attributed this
chiefly to the undercurrent of opposition to his orders from officers
of the manufacturing department.
Indeed, not only from this branch, but from all his subordinates,
Captain Groves appears to have got but half-hearted service. The
double-faced backbitings, which had brought many to preferment in the
last regime, were thrown away on the new governor. He preferred to
see things with his own eyes, and he did not encourage officers to
tell tales of one another. When a senior officer reported a junior
for using bad language, Captain Groves remarked, “I must state my
apprehensions that the practice which has prevailed of _watching_ for
bad or gross language uttered by warders off duty, and reported without
their knowledge, accompanied by additions to the actual offence, will
be most certain to introduce discussion and discord into the prison,
and produce universal distrust and fear. No warder can feel himself
safe when he knows that an unguarded word may be brought against him
at some future day.” The practical common sense of these remarks no
one can deny; but those who knew Captain Groves will smile as they
remember that his own language at times savoured “of the camps,” and he
possibly felt that under such a system of espionage he might himself
be caught tripping. But in setting his face against the old practices
he was clearly right, although it might bring him into disfavour with
those hypocritical subordinates who felt that their day of favour was
over. Of most of the Penitentiary officers, indeed, Captain Groves had
formed but a low estimate. In more ways than one he had found them
lax, just as he found that the routine of duties was but carelessly
arranged. There was no system: the night patrols, two in number to
every two pentagons, slept as they pleased half the night or more, and
were seldom subject to the visits of “rounds” or other impertinences
from over-zealous officials; no one was responsible for the prison
during the night; by day, strangers came and went through the inner
gates and passed on to the innermost part of the prison, ostensibly to
buy shoes and other articles made by the prisoners, but really to see
their friends among the latter; coal porters, irresponsible persons,
often from the lowest classes (one was afterwards a convict), were
admitted with their sacks into the heart of the wards, male and female,
and could converse and traffic with the prisoners all day long. There
was no notice board at the gates or elsewhere to warn visitors of the
penalties of wrong-doing.
In all these matters the reform that was so urgently needed Captain
Groves introduced, and that with no faltering hand. Naturally in the
process he trod on many toes, rubbed up many old prejudices, and made
himself generally unpopular. Nor was the bad feeling lessened when
it became known that he looked on the bulk of the old officers as
inefficient, and recommended their dismissal _en masse_. Discontent
grew and rankled among the majority; but although nearly all chafed
under the tightened bit, few for a long time went beyond a certain
insolent restiveness, though some were brave enough to complain against
the governor’s tyranny and to talk of active resistance. It was not,
however, till Captain Groves had been in office nearly three years
that all these muttered grumblings took shape in an actual combination
against him. Of this he had notice, for a paper was put into his
hand giving full disclosures and a list of the conspirators, many of
whom he had thought trustworthy men; but he disdained to act on the
information. The malcontents were not, however, to be disarmed by his
magnanimity. Feeling certain that their case was strong, and that they
could substantiate their charges against him, one of their number, in
the name of all, presented a petition to the House of Commons, praying
for an inquiry into the condition of Millbank Prison. This petition was
signed by Edward Baker, ex-warder, and it was laid upon the table of
the House by Mr. Duncombe, M. P.
Baker’s petition set forth that he had filled the office of warder for
more than three years, but that he had at length been compelled to
resign “in consequence of the oppressive and tyrannical conduct” on
the part of Captain Groves, the governor of the prison, towards the
prisoners and officers themselves. He also impugned the character of
the governor, charging him with drunkenness and the habitual use of
foul language, and indirectly reflecting on the three inspectors, who
in permitting such malpractices had culpably neglected their duties.
The first allegation was that on one occasion a prisoner, Chinnery, had
a fit in the airing-yard, just before the governor entered it.
“What’s the matter here?” asked Captain Grove.
“A prisoner in a fit.”
“A fit—he’s not in a fit!” (He was standing on his feet.)
“No, he’s reviving.”
“Nonsense,” said the governor, “he never had a fit. If this man has any
more of his tricks report him to me.”
Further, the governor had sent the supervisor to bring up the prisoner
for this same feigning of a fit, and had sentenced him, without medical
testimony, to three days’ bread and water. Yet this very Chinnery had
been in the prison under a previous sentence, and had been lodged
always next door to a warder, so that assistance might always be at
hand when he had a fit.
The next charge was that the governor had sentenced three boys for
opening their Bibles in church, to seven days’ bread and water,
censuring them for such conduct, “which he considered irreverent.” (The
words are Baker’s.)
The third charge was that a prisoner who had assaulted and wounded
a warder with a pair of scissors, had not only been flogged, but the
governor had specially sentenced him to be deprived henceforward of all
instruction, religious or moral.
The fourth charge referred to a prisoner, Bourne, whom it was alleged
the doctor had neglected, refusing to see him, although he was actually
in a dying state. At length the officer of his ward sent specially to
the doctor, who came and had Bourne removed to the infirmary, where
he died two days afterward. “It was the governors plain duty to have
prevented such a catastrophe,” said Baker.
Fifth: a prisoner, Harris Nash, died of dysentery after three months
of the ordinary discipline. “The body was what may be termed a perfect
skeleton.”
Sixth: another prisoner, a boy, Richmond, from Edinburgh, died after
four months, having been confined in a dungeon on one pound of bread
and two pints of water per diem, for an unlimited number of days. At
night he lay upon the boards and had only a rug and blanket to cover
him.
Seventh: several prisoners who had been present at the infliction of
corporal punishment had immediately after hanged themselves, shocked by
the sight they had seen.
Eighth: many instances were quoted of the governor’s harshness and
partiality: fines inflicted unequally, old officers punished through
his misrepresentation, others deprived of their situations as
inefficient, though for years they had been considered efficient; while
several had resigned sooner than submit to such tyranny.
Ninth: Edward Baker further asserted that the reply furnished to
the House to his first petition was garbled and untrue. It had been
prepared secretly in the prison; it was altogether false; facts had
been suppressed or distorted; and that besides, the “cats” used were
not those sanctioned by law.
Tenth: that the governor had exceeded his powers of punishment, and
that in some cases prisoners had undergone as many as eighteen days’
bread and water in one month.
Finally, to quote the words of the petition, Baker urged that—“During
the last three years the cruel conduct of the governor is known to
have induced twenty prisoners to attempt suicide, and that four have
actually succeeded in destroying themselves, and that others are
constantly threatening self-destruction; forming a melancholy contrast
with the system pursued during the twenty-three preceding years at
the Millbank Penitentiary, that system being free from any such stain
during that period:
“That the severity of punishments for alleged offences has led to the
removal of many prisoners in a dying state to the invalid hulk at
Woolwich, where every seventh man has since died, although when they
came into the prison they were in good health. This cruel removal
takes place to prevent the necessity for coroner’s inquests within the
walls, and exposure of the discipline of the prison.”
The petitioner therefore prays for an immediate inquiry into the
manner in which Millbank is conducted, the deaths that have occurred,
the cruelties that are practised, the dying prisoners that have been
removed; also into the numerous reports and irregular hours and conduct
of the governor, and how far the inspectors have done their duty by
allowing such irregularities to pass unnoticed; “such facts being
notorious to all the prison.”
In consequence of this petition an inquiry was instituted by the House
of Commons; and the Earl of Chichester, Lord Seymour, and Mr. Bickham
Escott were appointed commissioners.
A very searching and patient investigation followed, the full report
of which fills an enormous Blue-Book of hundreds of pages. It would
be tedious to the reader if I were to go through the evidence, in
anything like detail, of the many witnesses examined; the commissioners
may be trusted to have done this conscientiously, and their summing
up in deciding on the allegations against Captain Grove may be quoted
here. The evident animus of the subordinates against their governor
is very clearly shown in every page: nothing he did was right, and
the complaints when not actually false, as in the case of prisoner
Chinnery, were childish and almost beneath consideration. One officer
declared that Captain Groves did not like the old prison officers; that
he had said openly “he would get them all out.” They could never please
him; they got no credit however much they might exert themselves.
Another told the governor he was breaking his (the officer’s) spirit
and his heart. “He (Captain Groves), after making his rounds, would
send for supervisors and warders in a body and reprimand them in his
office. Once when an officer expostulated with him, Captain Groves
struck him to the ground with his stick, and swore he’d have none of
his d——d Penitentiary tricks.” Another officer, who had been sent to
Pentonville and came back without an important document, complained
that he had been sent again all the way to the Caledonian Road to
fetch it. Mr. Gray (the victim) considered this was a great hardship,
although he admitted that he was none the worse for his walk. All the
officers were positive they had much more to do now than ever before.
Mr. Gray, above-mentioned, complained also that he had been deprived of
his lawful leave; yet he admitted that when all the paint work of the
prison was filthily dirty and had to be scrubbed, it was badly done;
and that the governor had only insisted on officers remaining on duty
till the whole was properly cleaned.
It was indeed quite evident from cross-examination and from the
evidence of Captain Groves, that the bulk of his officers were
slovenly, slack in the execution of their duties, and contentious.
Captain Groves, on the other hand, was doing his best to improve
the tone of discipline. No doubt he was stern and peremptory in his
dealings. We can quite understand that his reprimands were not couched
in milk-and-water language; that he more than once said, “By this, or
that,” and swore he would not suffer such doings to pass unpunished,
and that those who opposed him should forthwith be dismissed. But it
is also clear that he was not well served. Those who held under him
important posts were not always reliable and fitted for the charge.
On one occasion, for instance, an officer was so negligent of the
prisoners in his charge, that the governor, as he came by, was able to
remove one unobserved. This prisoner he took back to his cell, and then
returned to the spot to ask the officer how many he had in charge.
“So many.”
“Are you sure? Count them.”
“No; I am one short!”
“Ah!” said the governor, and added something more in rather stronger
language. Again, in the case of two barefaced escapes the governor
expressed himself as follows:
“Prisoner Howard escaped under the very nose of No. 2 sentry. The night
was clear and fine, and the governor cannot acquit the sentry of No. 2
beat of great negligence. It is quite impossible, on such a night as
the night of last Friday, for any individual to have performed such
work in the garden as raising planks, etc., against the boundary wall
without detection had common care been taken.”
“In regard to the escape of Timothy Tobin, the operations he had
recourse to, to break through the cell, made great noise, and attracted
the attention of several of the night guard; and the governor is
concerned to find that the principal warder in charge of the prison
as orderly officer made no effort to detect the cause of the constant
knocking in Pentagon five, but contented himself with the reports of
inferior officers without rising from his bed or anticipating his
intended time of going his rounds. The qualifications which entitle
an officer to promotion in this and every other establishment, are
intelligence, activity, and a sense of individual responsibility; and
no person is fit for the situation of supervisor or principal warder
who is not prepared to exercise them on all occasions.”
This was a reference to Mr. Gray; and it was he who, with others
equally negligent, were so sensitive, that they felt aggrieved
at Captain Groves’ seemingly merited reprimands. But in actual
investigation all charges of this kind melted into thin air as soon
as the commissioners looked into them. The charges of tyranny were
not substantiated, because they were far-fetched and exaggerated.
Such stories must have been difficult to find when one of the charges
trumped up against the governor was that he had kept the chaplain’s
clerk one day without his dinner. We should even assert that the whole
inquiry was another monument of misdirected zeal, were it not that the
original petition opened up serious topics which demanded attention.
The mere details of administrative bickering might have been better
settled by officials within the department than by parliamentary
interference; but when it is alleged in an indictment that unfortunate
prisoners, without a friend in the world, are done to death by
ill-treatment, it is clearly necessary that the said charges should be
sifted without delay. In this way the inquiry was distinctly useful,
and I shall now give the decision at which the commissioners arrived.
“These petitions seriously impugned the character and conduct of
the governor of Millbank Prison; and consequently imputed to the
inspectors, under whose superintendence the government of this prison
is placed, a culpable neglect of their duty in having permitted such
maladministration to continue.
“First: the allegation respecting the treatment of Chinnery is the
only charge on which the petitioner could prove anything from his own
knowledge; and, since it occurred after he had sent in his resignation,
could not be one of the instances of cruelty in consequence of which
he resigned. The fault or innocence of the governor on this occasion
depends entirely upon the validity of reasons alleged by him for
concluding that the prisoner was only feigning a fit. There being no
other witness but himself and Baker, we cannot pronounce a decided
opinion upon so very doubtful a question. Reviewing, however, all
the circumstances which were brought under our notice in connection
with this case, we think the governor should, before awarding the
punishment, have made a closer investigation into all the facts, and
have consulted the medical officer for the purpose of testing the
probable accuracy of his impressions. In this case, therefore, we are
of opinion that the punishment, whether merited or not merited by the
prisoner, was injudiciously inflicted by the governor.
“Second: The commissioners think the governor rather overstrained his
powers in punishing the boys for reading their Bibles in chapel.
“Third: The prisoner Bunyan was sentenced and punished by flogging,
as described, for an aggravated and malicious assault. The second
allegation, that he was ordered to receive ‘no instruction, either
religious or moral’ is untrue. He was visited by the chaplain, and had
the usual access to religious books.
“Fourth: No evidence to support charge against the governor in case
of H. Bourne; but the latter was certainly not well treated by the
resident medical officer.
“Fifth: Harris Nash died of a severe attack of dysentery. He was
an ill-conditioned, mutinous prisoner, who frequently attacked
his officers; but, though he was often punished, his death was
attributable to the dysentery and nothing else.
“Sixth: No responsibility rests with the governor as to Richmond’s
death. No symptom of disease on him when first he arrived at Millbank,
and he was never punished when the disease showed itself.
“Seventh: There does not appear to be the slightest foundation for the
suggestion insinuated in this charge; neither of the three prisoners
named having witnessed any punishments calculated to produce a bad
effect on their minds.
“Eighth: The charges of partiality were distinctly disproved; as were
also the allegations contained under Ninth and Tenth, which were found
to be quite ‘unfounded, in fact.’
“Upon the general charge of irregularity, and especially upon a charge
of intoxication preferred by some of the witnesses, after a minute
consideration of all the circumstances detailed in the evidence,
we feel bound to acquit the governor, and to express our strong
disapprobation of the manner in which the charge was attempted to be
proved.
“Having thoroughly sifted the complaint against the governor, and
made some allowance for exaggeration on the part of witnesses, whose
accusations were seldom warranted by the facts which they attempted
to prove, we have no hesitation in pronouncing our opinion that he
(Captain Groves) has endeavoured to perform his duties with zeal
and intelligence, and has done nothing to discredit the very high
testimonials which he possesses from the officers in the army under
whom he formerly served. His treatment of the prisoners, except in
the two cases above mentioned, appears to have been judicious and
considerate. Cases were indeed brought under our notice in which the
prisoners complained of excessive severity; but the responsibility
for these cases rests upon the subordinate officers, as it does not
appear that the governor was made acquainted with these complaints. The
substitution of the punishment of reduced diet in lieu of a dark cell
appears to have been made by the governor from motives of leniency and
with a view to preserving the health of prisoners.
“The only faults with which he appears justly chargeable are:—
“First: A too hasty method of dealing with his officers when reported
to him by others, or detected by himself in some neglect of duty; not
always giving them a sufficient opportunity for explanation or defence.
“Second: The occasional use of improper or offensive expressions, of
which we should express our condemnation more strongly were it not that
the instances adduced by all the witnesses amounted only to three.
“Third: An insufficient attention to the rules of the prison; it
appearing from his own evidence that he was entirely ignorant of the
legal force of the old penitentiary rules, and that in two important
instances the rules actually stuck up in the prison were not strictly
attended to by him.
“The want of a complete code of rules suited to the present government
of the prison has apparently given rise to many of the charges and to
much of the ill-feeling which have come under our observation during
this inquiry.
“No doubt there existed a very extended feeling of discontent among
the officers. It is probable that this may partly have originated
in the changes which took place in the organization of the present
establishment, by which the duties of the prison were necessarily
rendered more irksome and severe.
“The old prison possessed more of a reformatory character: the
prisoners were confined there for much longer periods, were under the
influence of stronger motives to good conduct, and by habits longer
exercised became more accustomed to the regular routine of prison life.
In the prison, as now constituted, few of the adult convicts remain for
more than two, or at most, three months; and of those who remain for a
longer period, the greater part are criminals of the worst description,
who are awaiting embarkation for their final destination, Norfolk
Island.
“The effective government of these convicts can only be carried on by
a very strict and vigilant attention on the part of the officers. We
must add that these important changes had to be commenced and carried
out by a new governor with an old set of officers, and, in our opinion,
with an inadequate addition of strength. It was but natural that the
old officers, receiving little or no increase of pay, while their
duties were generally augmented, should have felt some dissatisfaction,
and that a portion of it should have vented itself in personal feelings
towards the governor, who appears to be both a zealous and energetic
officer, giving his orders in a peremptory manner as a man accustomed
to military life, and expecting them to be obeyed with soldierlike
precision. We regret, however, to observe that, whilst these officers
omitted to make a single complaint or suggestion of grievance to
their legitimate superiors, they formed a kind of combination amongst
themselves for the discussion of their supposed wrongs and for
collecting matter for complaint against the governor.”
On the whole, then, Captain Groves came triumphantly out of the inquiry
into his conduct. Beyond doubt his task was a difficult one. He had
within the walls of his prison a large body of criminals who were
not to be managed easily. Their offences were more deliberate, and
their violence more systematic than anything which I have described
in the Penitentiary days. When they assaulted officers, which they
did frequently, from Captain Groves himself downwards, it was with
the intention of murdering them; and when they wished to escape, as
often as not they managed to get away. They stabbed their officers
with shoemakers’ knives, or dug scissors into their arms; while one,
when searched, was found with a heavy cell stone slung to a cord,
supplying thus a murderous weapon, of which he coolly promised to make
use against the first who approached. Another ruffian, named Long, a
powerful, athletic man, dashed at his officer’s throat and demanded
the instant surrender of his keys. Edward King, another, meeting the
governor on his rounds, assailed him with abuse, then struck him on the
mouth; whereupon Captain Groves promptly knocked him down.
Of all the annoyances, none equalled those that came from the “juvenile
ward,” as it was termed. In this Captain Groves had raised a sort of
Frankenstein to irritate and annoy him, which he found difficult to
control. Early in his reign he had felt the necessity for some special
treatment of boy prisoners. There were nearly two hundred of these;
and though styled boys, they were many of them youths of ages varying
from seventeen to twenty years. After much anxious consideration he
constructed from his own plans a large general ward to accommodate the
whole number. This building long existed, although it was afterwards
converted into a Roman Catholic chapel. It was built of brick, only one
story high, with a light roof supported by slender iron rods. Around
the wall were bays, holding each three hammocks by night, but in which
these juveniles worked during the day. And they could work well if they
pleased. For general intelligence and astuteness these boys were not
to be matched in all the world. They were the _élite_ of the London
_gamins_, the most noted rogues, the cleverest thieves, and the most
unmitigated young vagabonds of the whole metropolis. It was a similar
gathering, but on a larger scale, to that with which we are familiar in
the pages of “Oliver Twist.” Properly directed, they had talent enough
for anything. They were soon taught to be expert tradesmen; could
stitch with the best tailors, and turn out an “upper” or a “half sole”
without a flaw. It was part of Captain Groves’ scheme to drill them;
and these active lads soon constituted an uncommonly smart battalion.
So far we see only the bright side of the picture; the reverse is not
so exhilarating. The mere fact of bringing together in this way a mass
of juvenile rascality, without adequate means of restraint, was to
open the door to mutinous combinations and defiant conduct. Over and
above the buoyancy of spirits natural to youth, which tempts every
schoolboy to mischief, there was present among the inmates of this
juvenile ward an amount of innate depravity, due to early training and
general recklessness of life, which soon led them to the most violent
excesses. Within a week or two of the opening of the ward under the
brightest auspices, the governor recorded that already they exhibited
strong tendencies to run riot. They used threatening language to their
officers, were continually at loggerheads with each other, and their
quarrels soon ended in blows. Presently one made a violent attack on
his warder, and kicked his shins; but for this he was incontinently
flogged, and for a time the lightheartedness of the ward was checked.
But only for a time; within a week the bickering recommenced, and there
were half a dozen fights in less than half a dozen days. Appeal was now
made to the birch-rod, also for a time effectual. But the temptation to
misconduct in marching to and fro from drill, exercise, or chapel was
too strong for these young ragamuffins, and their next feat was to put
out the gas as they went, then lark along the passages. The governor
prayed for more power to punish them. “By their refractory and insolent
conduct,” he says, “they wear out the patience of every officer set
over them, and turn him into an object of ridicule and contempt.”
It occurred to them now that they could cause some considerable
inconvenience by breaking out at night; so night after night, when the
watch was set and the prison was quiet, they burst out into yells and
general uproar, till the night guards were compelled to ring the alarm
bells to call assistance. This continued to such an extent that Captain
Groves feared it would be impossible to persuade officers to remain
in the general ward after dark. Of course they were all experienced
thieves. On one occasion an officer on duty had his pocket picked
of a snuff-box. “I know where it is,” volunteered a boy; but after a
long search it could not be found in the place he indicated: then they
searched the boy himself, and found the box secreted on his person.
Another lad, with infinite cunning, nearly succeeded in effecting his
escape. One night after midnight he left his bed, and crawling under
the other hammocks, got to a wide stone which covered the entrance
to the ventilating flues. This stone he removed, and then descended
into the flue, meaning to follow it till he reached the airing-yard;
thence he meant to climb to the roof and descend again. In view of
this he carried with him a long cord, made of sundry skeins of thread,
which from time to time he had stolen and secreted. As it happened,
a warder going his rounds set his foot on the mat which the boy had
placed over the hole into the flue, tripped, and nearly tumbled in;
then the prisoner, who was in the flue, fearing he was discovered, came
out. But for this accident he might have got clean away. After this
the uproarious behaviour of the boys waxed worse. The governor began
to have serious apprehensions that discipline would greatly suffer.
Stronger measures of repression were tried, but without effect. They
continued to fight, to yell in concert after dark, and refused to work,
assaulting and maltreating their officers by throwing brooms at their
heads and kicking their shins. Throughout, too, their conduct in chapel
was most disgraceful, and it became a serious question “whether they
ought not to be kept away altogether from divine service, as their
example would certainly attract followers among the general body of the
prisoners.”
At length it came to pass that the ward must be broken up, and the boys
distributed among the various pentagons. It was felt to be dangerous
to keep so many elements of discord concentrated together in one room.
This was accordingly done; but by and by, for reasons that are not
given—probably on account of want of space in the crowded condition of
the prison—the general ward was again occupied with these precocious
juveniles. Yet, as I find it recorded, within a few days a scene
took place in the room at a late hour of the night, which called for
immediate decisive action.
About eleven o’clock the governor was sent for. The ward was described
to be in a state of mutiny. On his arrival the prisoners appeared
much excited, but comparatively quiet. At his order they assembled
quietly enough and fell in by word of command. He then asked what it
all meant, and heard that for a half hour there had been periodic
shoutings, and this chiefly from one particular boy. As it rose at last
to something serious, the alarm bell was rung, and on the arrival of
the reserve guard the ringleader was pointed out, by name Sullivan,
who had shouted the loudest. Ordered first to get out of his hammock,
he obstinately refused to move, and when at last dislodged by force,
he broke away from the officers, jumped on to the hammock rails, and
thence to the iron girders of the roof. An officer promptly followed
him, and “a scene ensued which it is impossible to describe.” He was at
length captured, and upon the whole incident the governor remarks as
follows: “These circumstances afford matter for grave consideration.
Hitherto, owing to strict discipline and energy on the part of the
officers, the system of the juvenile ward has been successful, with
occasional exceptions in regard to misbehaviour on the part of a few
turbulent characters. Of late, generally speaking, their conduct has
been insubordinate and disorderly, and the fact is that the officers in
charge of them are under serious apprehensions for their own personal
safety. Besides, as I have before noticed, owing to the paucity of
their number, their rest is broken night after night by being obliged
to rise from their beds to quell disturbances; whilst the night guards,
who ought to be taking their rest in the day time, are obliged to
attend at the prison for the purpose of substantiating their reports of
the previous night.
“It is quite evident that there are so many prisoners (180) assembled
an outbreak would be difficult to quell; and in my opinion the
situation is a serious one, calling for immediate consideration. Many
of them are athletic, and fierce in point of temper likewise.”
The governor decided to place patrols in the juvenile ward taken from
the garden, although he was loath to denude the garden of guards,
seeing that the prison was full to overflowing of convicts.
I have dealt in the last few pages with the misconduct of the boys as
it showed itself in a comparatively short period of time.
The contumacy of these lads continued for more than a year: again and
again they broke out, insulted, bearded, browbeat their officers till
the latter stood almost in awe of their charges; night after night the
pentagon was made hideous with their outcries and uproar. The governor
was pressed to abolish the ward altogether; but the project was a pet
one, and he hesitated to abandon it. He never quite got the better
of the boys; but in the end firmness and a resolute exhibition of
authority had its effect, and the ward, if not entirely quelled, was at
least brought to something like subordination and order.
It is of course clear to the reader that the convicts who were now and
hereafter contained within the Millbank walls comprised the worst of
the criminal class. There is this difference between the calendars at
Newgate and at Millbank, that at the former place the worst criminals
passed without delay to the gallows, while at the large depot prison
they remained to continually vex their keepers.
The life of Millbank was prolonged until the end of the nineteenth
century, by which time the new and palatial buildings at Wormwood
Scrubs, on the western outskirts of London, had been completed. A
word is appropriate here as to this imposing edifice which was begun
in a very small way by the writer, in the winter of 1874. The plan
pursued was identical with that of Elam Lynds when he built Sing Sing
on the banks of the Hudson. Lynds must have been a fine self-reliant
character, of such unwavering courage that it gave him personal
ascendency over the dangerous elements in his charge. When they told
him that a certain convict openly threatened to murder him, he sent for
the man, who was a barber, and made him shave him. “I knew you had said
you would kill me,” he remarked quietly after the shaving was over. “I
despised you too much to believe you would do it. Here alone, unarmed,
I am stronger than you, and the whole of your companions.”
The work at Wormwood Scrubs as at Sing Sing was almost entirely done
by the convicts themselves under the supervision of the warders and
directing staff.
An indispensable preliminary was the provision of a boundary fence
enclosing an area of three acres of common land. This fence was of
simple planking ten feet in height. Inside this space the shell of a
slight temporary prison had also been erected, a two-storied building,
of wood on an iron framework filled in with brick “nogging” (a single
brick thick), the cells lined and separated with sheet iron. Nine
of these cells were completed with locked doors and barred windows
when they were at once occupied by nine “special class” prisoners,
men who were in the last year of a lengthy sentence and little likely
to run away and forfeit privileges already earned. From this germ or
nucleus the whole establishment grew. The first comers laboured on the
still unfinished cells and as they were gotten ready fresh arrivals
were imported to fill them. In a short time the whole block of a
hundred cells was completed, and with the numbers which could now be
lodged there was strength sufficient for very extended operations:
the erection of a second block for another hundred convicts; and
the preparation of clay for brickmaking, and the digging for the
foundations of the main prison. Such rapid progress was made that
within six months I had established the brick mills and had turned out
a large number of “London stock,”—the sound, hard, light yellow bricks,
the chief building material of our modern metropolis. The place was
largely self-contained and self-supporting; we did everything as far
as possible for ourselves; we had our own carpenters and smiths; we
dressed stone for the window sills and cast the iron bars and framework
for staircases. Ere long the prison population reached a daily average
of from five to six hundred, and in less than five years we had built
four large blocks containing 350 cells apiece, a spacious chapel, a
boundary wall and beyond it numerous residences for the governor
and staff. Throughout this period, Millbank was the parent prison,
Wormwood Scrubs only an offshoot drawing support, supplies, cash, all
necessaries from the older establishment.
Millbank continued to be a centre of great criminal interest to the
very end. As has been shown, it became the depot and starting-point
for all convicts sentenced to penal exile, and when a peremptory stop
was put to transportation, it worked in with the substituted system of
Public Works prisons. For fifty years it was a receptacle for male and
female convicts undergoing the first period of separate confinement,
the preliminary to associated work with greater freedom. Notorieties
of all kinds passed through it; and the names of almost all the
celebrated prisoners of the time were to be found upon its registers.
There were murderers who had scraped through and just escaped the
death penalty, such as Dixblanc, the French cook who murdered her
mistress in Park Lane. Constance Kent, who confessed to the mysterious
crime of killing her infant brother, spent many years at Millbank;
the cruel and infamous Stantons, who starved poor Alice—— at Penge,
began their retribution there; Madame Rachel, the would-be benefactor
to her sex which she desired to make beautiful for ever, tried her
blandishments on more than one Millbank matron. It was my fate to
welcome the Tichborne claimant to durance vile, to watch him wasting
from excessive obesity to a decent and respectable size, lachrymose and
repentant, but secretive and defiant to the last. The moving spirits
in the De Goncourt affair, Kurr and Benson, made Millbank their medium
of communication with the dishonest detective officers who for a time
shook public confidence in the London police force.
Millbank served for other prison purposes. In its latest phases, part
of its accommodation was leased to military authorities and it was long
the home of court-martial prisoners. When the State finally acquired
all prisons of every category in the country, it was used for the
retention of venial offenders sent by petty sessions and police courts.
The end came in 1891, when Millbank was finally closed and the site
surrendered by the prison authorities to the government Office of Works.
Here the London County Council have built dwellings for the poor; a
handsome military hospital for the Guards and London District has been
erected by the War Office; and the trustees of the Tait bequest have
put up a fine gallery to house the valuable pictures with which that
munificent patron has endowed London. Thus buildings of a new and very
different character have now replaced the old Penitentiary.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Every cell at Millbank has two doors: one of wood, next the
prisoner, the other a heavy iron trellis gate. The former was closed by
a running bolt; the gate had a double lock.
[2] Known as the “thieves’ whistle.”
[3] The dress of women in the second or superior class consisted of
dark green jacket and stuff petticoat; the first or lower class wore a
yellow jacket.
[4] A piece of long yarn issued to be worked up in the looms.
[5] I can vouch for the accuracy of this measurement which I verified
myself when Millbank was still standing.
[6] The account of this experience I have ventured to extract from my
work “Fifty Years of Public Service.” (Cassell & Co.)
[7] “Stiffs” are letters written clandestinely by prisoners to one
another on any scrap of paper they can find.
[8] The “hopper” is a contrivance for preventing the inmate of a cell
from looking out of the window. It is a board resting on the window
ledge at a slant, rising to a height above the window, the sides filled
in with other boards.
[9] This model prison was that built at Pentonville, under the active
supervision of Colonel Jebb, R. E., and a board of commissioners
specially appointed by the Secretary of State. The first stone was laid
in April, 1840, and it was occupied by prisoners in December, 1842.
[10] The Eighth Report of the Inspector of Prisons.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.