THE COUNTY JAIL.—ENGLISH PRISON DISCIPLINE.—THE PERFECTION OF THE
PRESENT.—EDUCATION AND TAXATION.—WHAT NEXT?—CAPTAIN MACHONOCHIE.—THE
MARK SYSTEM.—THE CHRISTIAN IDEA OF PUNISHMENT.
[Sidenote: _HEREFORD JAIL._]
After breakfast, we visited the county prison. It is on the plan of
the celebrated Pentonville model prison, near London, which is an
improvement on what is called the Philadelphia plan. Any of my readers
who are much interested in the great and most puzzling problem of
prison discipline will be familiar with the elements of the last
experiment of the British Government upon the sad subject.
This specimen of it at Hereford was all that could be asked for in its
way. Evidently, no skill in planning and no expense in execution had
been wanting to make it as perfect as such a thing could be.
We were first conducted through several long, light, and airy
corridors, upon which opened the well-ventilated sleeping-cells of the
prisoners—each cell appearing the _perfection of a cell_, as if made
to the order of some noble amateur rascal, in the most complete and
finished style which would be appropriate to an apartment with that
designation: the walls of plain hewn stone, but white as bishop’s lawn;
the floor damp-proof, of asphalte; the bedstead of iron, the bed of
sufficiently appropriate coarseness, snugly and neatly _made up_ as if
by the joint labour of a tasteful upholsterer and a skilful laundress;
warmed on the hot-water plan; furnished with a wash-bowl, and pure
water brought by pipes; lighted by a beam of filtrated sunshine by day,
and a jet of gas-flame by night; provided also with a bell or signal,
by which the interesting inmate may at any time, in case of bodily
ailment, summon a regular bred physician to his relief, or a veritable
and legitimate “descendant of the apostles,” in case he should be taken
suddenly aback with repentance during the night: at every bed-head
too—regularly as the crucifix in the dormitories of monks, or the
squat, yellow _Josh_ in the habitation of the Chinese—a bible. “The
Bible! ah! how must his heart melt, and his dark mind be enlightened,
as in his retirement from the wild temptations of the wicked world the
prisoner is left to be absorbed in its glorious tidings. What a feast,
what a treasure, what a ——” nay, the shining leather and sticking
leaves tell us that even the Bible Societies may throw pearls before
swine.
“Aye,” says the turnkey:—“_He can’t read_—a young chap—in for two
months; petty larceny.”
We open and read.—“He that _knew not_, and did commit things worthy of
stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes. For unto whomsoever much is
given, of him shall much be required; and to whom men have committed
much, of him they will ask the more.”
It was given him to have a mind uneducated except in ignorance and
criminal contrivance, and it was required of him, he might tell us, to
either starve or steal; and then there is given him good, comfortable,
clean, wholesome air, water, food, lodging, and exercise, (not work.)
Moreover, there is added this _sealed_ book. Must he not think it
mockery?
But we are not allowed to philosophize, or moralize, or criticise.
We are expected only to admire, and are passed along to the culinary
department.
[Sidenote: _A MODEL PRISON._]
_Perfection_ again—of a kitchen with an admirable, stout, dignified
_chef-de-cuisine_, graduate of Paris doubtless, presiding. The
diet-table he explains to us, is scientifically ordered; the beef and
bread and vegetable are of the best, and we are shown how the quantity
for each man in each particular is accurately weighed out. The patients
are also weighed periodically, and the allowance of food and of
exercise is studiously adjusted to the condition of each.
Next we are taken to the day cells, which are in several separate
courts. Within each is an ingeniously-contrived crank attached to a
common shaft revolving through all. This crank is _the exerciser_.
The prisoner stands at a certain distance before it, takes hold of it
with both hands, and, as it turns, a certain motion is given to his
whole body—the most healthful sort of motion: expanding the chest, and
moving every joint of his limbs. He remains in this cell ten hours
each day, Sundays excepted; and the usual allowance of exercise is
half an hour, with ten minutes’ rest after it, continued alternately
during that time. There is a library in the prison, from which primers,
picture-books, and tracts, are served out for the exercise of his mind
during the ten minutes’ bodily rests.
For Sundays, there is provided another sort of cells, which are so
arranged that each prisoner can look at the same central point, but
cannot see any other prisoner. At the central point is placed a humble
vessel, (doubtless as _perfect_ as can be made by ordinances, and
duly clad in regulation vesture,) from which a stated dose of “gospel
privileges” is scientifically discharged and systematically imbibed
by every patient—prisoner I mean. There are two such rations given
on Sunday, with a dinner between, and opportunity for reflection in
private, before and after.
It is a first principle of the plan that labour should end where it
begins. The exercising shaft is sometimes applied to a pump-brake to
fill the reservoir over the prison with water, but never in any other
way saves labour. Pains are taken in every way, not with absolute
success it is admitted, to secure utter silence, and to prevent all
communication between the prisoners. Criminals are rarely sent here for
more than twelve months; and it is said, that with all the science and
care that can be devoted to them, their health, both bodily and mental,
is endangered, if their confinement is protracted longer.
It may be, as its admirers have no shadow of doubt, the happiest
idea of a prison most happily realized that the world yet knows;
yet it is one of the most painful things to examine that I ever
saw. It is hardly possible to speak well of it but in irony, or to
describe it without sarcasm, so absurd seems all this scientific care
for the well-being—physical, mental, and moral—of these miserable
transgressors, contrasted with the studied neglect, justified and
made praiseworthy by strictly economical and religious reasoning, of
the unoffending poor. While no talent, painstaking, and complicated
machinery, is too expensive and cumbrous to be devoted to the keeping
of the criminal, of the unfortunate, society, through the state, still
says—_Am I my brother’s keeper?_
Hold the hand! Dash not the book behind the grate, my conservative
friend; I would hint at nothing more dangerous than _education_—a
word one may yet speak in America without being finally condemned
as an infidel and a socialist, and a man given to _isms_. Would you
still call me to order, remind me that I am writing on the subject of
prisons—English prisons—and that I may take up the subject of schools
in another chapter. Yet there may be lessons learned from prisons, and
English prisons teach lessons that all who do not care for the subject
of education would do well to heed.
[Sidenote: _EDUCATION AND CRIME._]
In the prisons of England, in 1841, it was found that out of every
hundred criminals then supported by the state—
33 had never learned to read or write;
56 were able to read and write imperfectly;
7 were able to read and write well; and only
1 _in two hundred and twenty-two_ had been favoured, with
“instruction superior to reading and writing.”[7]
[7] Parliamentary Document, 1842.
Only 28 in every hundred were over 30 years of age! So soon in crime
come forward and pass away the children of ignorance.
The chaplain of the Brecon jail reports, that though the majority of
the prisoners to whom he ministers are able to read imperfectly, yet
their education has been so defective that they have no notion of the
bearing and connection of one part of a sentence with another. Nine out
of ten of them were ignorant of the merest rudiments of Christianity.
The chaplain of the Bedford jail states that the great majority of
prisoners there confined are “ignorant, stupid, and unconcerned.”
Another jail chaplain observes of those “children, or men still
childish,” under his care, who _had_ been instructed in reading and
writing, “they had not learned to think about or understand any thing
that they had been taught; the ears had heard, the tongue had learned
utterance, but the mind had received no idea, no impression.” (The
reader may be reminded of what I said of sailors’ reading.[8]) From the
Bucks county jail it is reported that about half the prisoners have
never been taught to read and write, and about one quarter are ignorant
of the alphabet; and that “_ignorance is uniformly accompanied with the
greatest depravity_.”[9]
[8] Walks and Talks, i. 33.
[9] Jail Returns to the House of Commons, 1848.
Had we not better give up our “godless schools,” and establish some
godly prisons for the next generation? Surely we may learn something
from the statesmanship that is wedded to a church.
I heard a crusty old bachelor say the other day, growling at the Free
School Laws: “But I have no children, and I don’t want to pay for the
schooling of my neighbour’s brats; if they were begging for bread,
it would be another thing.” The land of free trade has something to
tell us about this too. “Nine out of twelve of the inmates of the
_Poor-houses_ of Norfolk and Suffolk cannot write their names.”[10]
[10] Von Raumer.
Never forget, citizens of the United States, that the children within a
republic are, and must be, “THE CHILDREN OF THE REPUBLIC.” Do your duty
to them, or they will not do their duty to you.
To return to the Hereford jail: I intimated that every thing said in
admiration of it seemed necessarily ironical and bitter; but I do
recall one pleasant, and, I doubt not, true word, for it—“_it is a
palace compared with the old one_.”
Good!—surely that is good: no one will ask us to go back to packing
criminals, and all under surveillance of the law, promiscuously into
great stone pens, giving them rotten straw to rest upon, and supplying
only the cheapest grub that will offer to keep body and soul together.
Few will be inclined to think that the world’s prisons—hell triumphant
in Austria and Naples excepted—are not better now than in the day
of Howard. Progress there has been, even here, true and substantial
progress, thank God! Progress there must be, for the kingdom of God
moves steadily on. This palace-prison is but a mile-stone on the road.
What next? There are some pamphlets before me in which an answer to
this question is attempted to be given.[11] The matter is one of so
much difficulty and so great importance, so nearly connected with the
progress of Christianity and civilized law, and the plan of a new
prison is so often to be discussed and established among our thirty
states and thousand counties, that I must beg my readers to carefully
examine the new system of punishment that they propose, and I urge it
the more, because, so far as I know, it has, up to this time, entirely
escaped the attention of the American press.
[11] “The Principles of Punishment,” by Captain Machonochie, R. N.,
K. H: J. Ollivier, Pall Mall, London. “Crime and Punishment,” by
Captain Machonochie: J. Hatchard & Son, London. An “Essay on Criminal
Jurisprudence,” by Marmaduke B. Sampson: Highley & Son, London. These
works may all be obtained through the agency of the publisher of this
book, and will be found to contain (especially the last) some most
valuable hints and suggestions applicable to other matters besides
prison discipline. Their cost is trifling.
[Sidenote: _PRINCIPLES OF PUNISHMENT._]
But first let us distinctly recall to mind what is most unsatisfactory
and clearly defective in our present prisons and system of criminal
punishment.
There are two general principles with regard to the punishment of crime
that have been theoretically received and approved of in the minds of
all enlightened and Christian people, and yet to which there is much in
our present system that is practically false and repugnant. We _say_
“necessarily so,” and that this necessity is one of the awful results
of crime or sin. God knows if we are right. If not, we are terribly
wrong.
The principles or rules with regard to punishment, to which I refer,
are these: that it should not be _vindictive_ or revengeful, that it is
not the business of human jurisprudence to satisfy the abstract claims
of justice, “_Vengeance is mine_, saith the Lord;” that, on the other
hand, it should be our purpose, in the treatment of criminals, so far
as may be consistent with the good of society, to do them good, to
make them better, stronger, and happier. This also is a corollary of
the second principle to which I refer, namely, that the great end of
criminal law is to prevent, discourage, and lessen crime.
I say that practically, among the mass of our community, the punishment
of criminals is felt to be, and is engaged in as if it were, the
satisfaction of a vindictive feeling against an enemy of society, a
satisfaction that the law makes him _pay_ (though “_I will repay, saith
the Lord!_”) in the inconvenience and suffering of his confinement and
_hard labour_, for the injury he has done society or some member of
society. That, _practically_, the criminal has the counterpart of this
feeling, considering that society looks upon him as its enemy, and,
when it catches him, vindictively makes him suffer for his crime, as
if it were a match between him and the law, in which he was the loser;
and that the effect of looking upon it in this way is to aggravate
and intensify the evil which we theoretically propose to cure by his
imprisonment.
[Sidenote: _MORAL INFLUENCES ON THE PRISONER._]
It is true, that in accordance with the purpose of improving the
character of criminals during (I cannot say, _by_) their imprisonment,
we employ chaplains to preach and counsel them, and give them books,
that it is supposed, in the absence of any other employment of the
mind, may engage their attention. And these are the only means employed
at present for the purpose of training them to be active, efficient,
industrious, and well-disposed members of society, upon their release!
I might bring forward endless statistics in proof, but few will be
inclined to deny that for this purpose these means constantly prove
themselves entirely inadequate; that, in this respect, our system is a
_constant and complete failure_. Why? Because of the “foolishness of
preaching?” Because virtue is taught only theoretically; and a field
of practice, of resistance of the temptation to the peculiar sins
which we denominate crime, is required to give such lessons practical
value? Because under a system in which a man is provided with good
and sufficient food, clothing, lodging, fuel, and other necessities of
health and life, to a degree of perfection that he never knew before,
without the exercise of any personal care, forethought, skill, or
labour, much of the real manly virtue of active life becomes a dead
letter, and cannot be acquired? Because the religion that is preached
does not make necessary the practice of prudence, energy, economy,
industry, and honest ingenuity? Because, under such circumstances,
instead of the reception of an elevating, reforming, purifying
principle of life, a religion of weak, mystic frames of feeling, and
sentimental professions, is more likely to be encouraged, and is hardly
distinguishable or avoidable to be confused with vital piety? Or is it
because nearly _all the other influences_ about the imprisoned criminal
are enervating, or opposed to reform and virtue? Horrible thought!
But let us consider how he is situated; what are the influences, what
the natural motives, that are likely to be operating upon him in the
circumstances in which we place him.
The criminal is sentenced, we will suppose, for ten years, and finds
himself locked into a narrow cell, where it is only at occasional and
comparatively distant intervals that he can be communicated with, even
by his _keeper_, chaplain, or physician, the only human beings who
have access to him. It may be for a certain time each day he is set
to labour; _hard labour_ being given him, not as a privilege, not as
a relief, not as a means of bettering his condition, or in any way
as to be loved and valued; but as an addition to the _punishment_ of
solitary confinement. It may be practically a relief; but when we admit
it to be so, under the circumstances in which it is engaged in, we
must have some notion of the dreary loneliness and tedious prospect
which he has in his cell, though in it comforts, which in the ordinary
government of Providence he would have been taught to look upon as
the natural rewards of activity, prudence, and labour, are crowded
around him. He is left to his own thoughts; his recollections are
vicious; are his anticipations likely to be virtuous? With ten years
to be spent under these circumstances, what will his mind be most
likely to be directed to? Will it not be to means of beguiling his time
in sleep or self-forgetfulness, or to evade his compulsory labour?
Could any way be better contrived to fix a man in a disposition to
idleness and vagrancy? His life stagnates, his impulses putrify, his
only activity is directed in the search for opportunities of personal
gratification—which are obtained, we are told, even in ways most
horrible—and for this purpose his powers of _deception_ are sharpened,
or, when unable to offend in act, he seeks in fancy a gratification by
gloating over impure images.
[Sidenote: _WHAT SHALL WE WAR AGAINST?_]
And is this lame, inconsistent, miserable plan, all its details so
working at cross purposes, _the end_ of all the philanthropic labours,
private and associated, that have been given to the subject during the
last fifty years? The _result_, good friends, not the _end_. Then, in
God’s name, WHAT NEXT?
An answer from Captain Machonochie will be found in the Appendix
C, and I beg for it, with all earnestness, the thoughtful perusal
of my countrymen. It is based on plain, distinct, uncontradictory
principles, which are applicable to the punishment of all criminals,
and to the construction of all criminal laws. It is the plan of no
closet philosopher, but of a cool-headed, warm-hearted sailor, who was
chosen by his government, for his manifest natural qualifications for
undertaking the superintendence of criminals, to take charge of one of
its most responsible penal establishments. It is a plan that has been
well considered, and is ably defended to the minutest details, as the
reader, who is willing to study it further, will find, on referring to
the pamphlets I have mentioned in the note on a previous page.[12]
[12] For a refutation of objections, see, particularly, the Report
of the Committee on Criminal Law of the “_Society for Promoting the
Amendment of the Law_.”
It seems to me like a great invention, so simple, so natural, so
in every way commending itself immediately to my mind, that I am
amazed that the world is but just arriving at it, and I thank God
that I have to live and do my work in the day it brightens. For it
seems to me more than an invention—an inspiration. At least I find
in it the principles of Jesus Christ, now at length consistently and
satisfactorily applied to the treatment of criminals. The most prudent
regard for the interests of society at large will oblige us no longer
to set our teeth, and clench our hands, and steel our hearts to pity,
in the jury-box, but will combine with the truest kindness, hope, and
prayer in faith, for the individual good of the criminal. Under our
present criminal laws, and with our present systems of punishment, the
first task of the prosecuting attorney is, too often, to turn us from
the estate of warm-hearted Christian love, into cold, calculating,
vengeful savages. But now, that which has heretofore been the most
trying, confounding, and insnaring responsibility upon the Christian
citizen, may become a reasonable, happy, improving duty and privilege.
Punishment shall be awarded with loving-kindness. Punishment shall be
the handmaid of Love.
And now, is it more than a question of how long we halt in this
wretched, self-destructive darkness? Is there not light enough for the
next step? Speak out, good heart of the People! _Shall we henceforth do
battle with Criminals or with Crime?_