Present system faulty everywhere—Reforms contemplated—Too great intercourse among prisoners condemned—Labour for the spiritual welfare of the prisoners becomes a leading idea—Unwearied zeal and activity of the chaplain—Succeeded by Mr. Nihil who combines the offices of chaplain and governor—Admonition and persuasion are the leading principles of the new Penal Discipline—The chaplain-governor’s difficulties and vexations.

We now come to another stage in the onward career of the Penitentiary. The committee, compelled to admit that the discipline was not sufficiently severe, resolved to tighten the reins. In order to understand this decision we must take into consideration certain influences at work outside the walls.

There was, about this time, a sort of panic in the country at the alarming prevalence of crime in England. Its continuous and extraordinary growth was certainly enough to cause uneasiness. In the years between December, 1817, and December, 1831, it had increased one hundred and forty per cent. For this there was more than one reason, of course. One, and no insignificant cause, was the comparative immunity enjoyed by offenders. It came now to be understood that the lot of the transgressor was far from hard. The system of secondary punishments in force for their correction was felt to be inadequate, either to reform criminals or deter from crime. Here was an explanation: evidently a screw was loose in the way in which the sentence of the law was executed. The judges and the juries did their duty, but the criminal snapped his fingers at the ordeal to which they subjected him. This discontent with the system of imprisonment grew and gained strength, till at last the whole question of secondary punishments was referred to a Select Committee of the House of Commons.

All prisoners found guilty of non-capital crimes were at that time disposed of by committal for short periods to the county gaols and houses of correction, or they were sentenced to transportation for various terms of years. Those whose fate brought them within the latter category were further disposed of, according to the will of the Home Secretary, in one of three ways: either, by committal to Millbank Penitentiary; or, by removal to the hulks; or, finally, by actual deportation to the penal colonies beyond the seas. There were therefore four outlets for the criminal. How he fared in each case, according as his fate overtook him, I shall describe hereafter.

The county gaols were in these days still faulty. They made no attempt to reform the morals of their inmates, nor could they be said to diminish crime by the severity of their discipline. Indeed, they held out scarcely any terrors to offenders. Of one of the largest, Coldbath Fields, Mr. Chesterton, who was appointed its governor in 1829, speaks in the plainest terms. “It was a sink of abomination and pollution. The female side was only half fenced off from the male—evidently with an infamous intention; its corrupt functionaries played into each other’s hands to prevent an inquiry or exposure. None of the authorities who ruled the prison had acquired any definite notion of the wide-spread defilement that polluted every hole and corner of that Augean stable. Shameless gains were promoted by the encouragement of all that was lawless and execrable.” The same writer describes Newgate, which he visited, as presenting “a hideous combination of all that was revolting.” The thieves confined therein smoked short pipes, gamed, swore, and fought through half the night: the place was like a pandemonium. Again, when he saw them, “The prisons of Bury St. Edmund’s, Salford, and Kirkdale created in my mind irrepressible disgust. I wondered why such detestable haunts should be tolerated.” Gaolers and criminals were on the best of terms with each other. At Ilchester the governor was in the habit of playing whist with his prisoners, and at Coldbath Fields the turnkeys shook hands with new arrivals and promised to take “all possible care” of them. With all this there was such a deficiency of control that unlimited intercourse could not be prevented, and there followed naturally that corruption of innocent prisoners by the more depraved which was a bugbear even in the time of John Howard.

Indeed, it was a wonder that Howard did not rise from his grave. Half a century had elapsed since his voice first was heard, and yet corrupt practices, idleness, and wide-spread demoralization characterized the greater part of the small prisons in the country. Herein were confined the lesser lights of the great army of crime, and if they escaped thus easily, it could not be said that the more advanced criminals endured a lot that was much more severe. The reader has, perhaps, some notion by this time of the kind of punishment to be met with in the walls of the Penitentiary; the hulks, too, have already been mentioned. The third method of coercion, by transportation, that is to say, beyond the seas, remains to be described; but this I reserve for a later page, recording only here the opinion of the committee of 1831, that as a punishment transportation held out to the dangerous classes absolutely no terrors at all. “Indeed, from accounts sent home, the situation of the convict is so comfortable, his advancement, if he conducts himself with prudence, so sure, as to produce a strong impression that transportation may be considered rather an advantage than a punishment.”

After a long and careful investigation, the committee wound up their report with the following pregnant words: “Your committee having now passed in review the different modes of secondary punishment known to the practice of this country, wish once more to direct the attention of the House to their obvious tendency. If it is a principle of our criminal jurisprudence, that the guilty should escape rather than the innocent suffer, it appears equally a principle, in the infliction of punishment, that every regulation connected with it, from the first committal of a prisoner to gaol to the termination of his sentence of transportation, should be characterized rather by an anxious care for the health and convenience of the criminal than for anything which might even by implication appear to bear on him with undue severity.”

The authorities at Millbank now wished to set their house in order. With the publication of this parliamentary report, the managers of Millbank awoke all at once to the true condition of the prison. On account of the repeated “irregularities” laid before them, they now considered it necessary to ascertain whether any, and what abuses existed; and whether there were any and what defects in the system upon which the prison was conducted. The whole subject was therefore entrusted to a sub-committee, which, after some months of patient investigation, was of opinion that all the irregularities arose from “the too great intercourse which the present system permits prisoners to hold with one another. The comparatively ignorant are thus instructed in schemes and modes of vice by the hardened and the depraved; and those upon whom good impressions have been made are ridiculed and shamed out of their resolutions by associating with the profligate.” We have here an admission that one of the old evils of prison life—indiscriminate association—which was to have been abolished by the Penitentiary system, was still in full vigour, and that in fact it had never been interfered with.

The committee arrived therefore at the conviction “that the prosperity and well-being of the establishment must depend upon effecting a more strict seclusion of the prisoners, one from another.” At the same time a new chaplain, Mr. Whitworth Russell, who became largely identified with prisons and penal discipline, urgently recommended a greater development of religious instruction. He proposed that in future the open part of the Millbank chapel should be provided with benches, so that he might assemble daily, large classes for religious instruction. To these classes he was to devote three hours every morning, the schoolmaster performing the same duty in the afternoon. During the morning instruction by the chaplain this schoolmaster had to visit the prisoners, cell by cell, either collecting information, as to the previous habits and connections of the prisoners, or carrying on the instruction commenced at school or the lectures in chapel. In this we find the key-note of the new system that was from now on to prevail with increasing strength, till by and by, as we shall see, it grew to be altogether supreme.

Never since the opening of Millbank, in 1817, had the spiritual welfare of the prisoners been forgotten, nor the hope abandoned of reforming them by religious influences. But now, and for years to come, the chaplain was to have the fullest scope. Whether much tangible benefit followed from his increasing ministrations, will be best shown in the later development of the narrative; but it cannot be denied that the efforts of Mr. Whitworth Russell, and of his successor, Mr. Nihil, who in himself combined the offices of governor and chaplain, were praiseworthy in the extreme. Speaking, however, with all due reverence, I cannot but think that their zeal was often misdirected; that conversion, such as it is, obtained by force almost, could never be either sincere or lasting; and in short, that the continued parade of sacred things tended rather to drag them into the mire, while the incessant religious exercises—the prayers, expositions, and genuflexions, were more in keeping with a monastery of monks than a gaol full of criminals.

There are numberless instances scattered up and down among the records of the sort of spirit in which the prisoners received their sacred instruction. It was the custom for a monitor, specially selected from among the prisoners, to read aloud the morning and evening service in each ward. He was frequently disturbed. Once when Balaam’s name appeared in the lesson, it was twisted into “Ba—a—Lamb!” and as such went echoing along with peals of laughter from cell to cell. The monitor was frequently called upon for a song just before he gave out the hymn; others mocked him as he sang, and sang ribald verses so loud as to drown the voices of the rest; many said they couldn’t sing, and nothing should compel them; often they would not join in the Lord’s Prayer—there was no law, they said, to make them say their prayers against their will. Then a certain Joseph Wells, an old offender, was reported for writing on his pint cup these lines:—

and when remonstrated with, he merely laughed in the governor’s face. There was constant antagonism between the prisoners and their comrade the monitor, generally over the church catechism, in which, as a species of chaplain’s assistant, the latter had to instruct the others. “What’s your name?” he asked one. “George Ward; and you know it as well as I do,” replied the prisoner. Another read his answers out of the book. The monitor suggested that by this time he ought to know the catechism by heart. “Ah, every one hasn’t got the gift of the gab like you have. And look here, don’t talk to me again like that, or you’ll be sorry for it.” Again, as a proof of the glibness with which they could quote scriptural language, I must insert here a strange rhapsody found on a prisoner’s slate. He pretended to be dumb, and when spoken to, he merely shook his head and pointed to the writing, which was as follows:

“My kind Governor,—I hope you will hearken unto me, as your best friend; in truth I am no prophet, though I am sent to bear witness as a prophet. For behold my God came walking on the water, and came toward me where I stood, and said unto me, Fear not to speak, for I am with you. Therefore I shall open my mouth in prophesies, and therefore do not question me too much; but if you will ear my words, call your nobles together, and then I will speak unto you of all he has given me in power, and the things I shall say unto you shall come to pass within 12 months; therefore be on your guard, and mind what you say unto me, for there be a tremor on all them that ear me speak, for I shall make your ears to tingle. And the first parable I shall speak is this: Behold, out of the mire shall come forth brightness against thee.”

This man, when brought before the governor, continued obstinately dumb. The surgeon consulted was satisfied he was shamming, but still the prisoner persisted in keeping silence. “Is there any reason why he should not go to ‘the dark?’” the surgeon was asked. “Certainly not; on the contrary, I think it would be of service to him,” answered the surgeon; and to the dark he was sent, remaining for six days, till he voluntarily relinquished the imposture.

The energy and determination of the new chaplain, who was appointed about the time the new system was established, were very remarkable. He was a man of decided ability, and his influence could not fail to be soon felt throughout the prison. Perhaps in manner he was somewhat overbearing, and disposed to trench on the prerogative of the governor as to the discipline of the establishment. He soon came into collision with the prisoners. Many “tried it on,” as the saying was, with him, but signally failed; and any who were guilty of even the slightest disrespect were immediately punished. Mr. Russell constantly reported cases of misconduct. Thus, having asked at school, whether any present had been unable to write on coming into prison, a man named Fleming, answered, “Yes! I could not.”

“You have every cause to be thankful, then, for the opportunities afforded you here.”

“Not at all,” replied Fleming. “I have reason to curse the Penitentiary and everybody belonging to it.”

“Be silent,” said the chaplain, “I shall not stand by and listen to such reprehensible language.”

“I’ll not be gagged, I shall speak the truth,” persisted Fleming.

And for this without loss of time he was transferred to the dark.

All the chaplain’s professional feelings were also roused by another incident that transpired not long after his arrival. It was discovered that a prisoner, George Anderson, a man of colour, who had been educated at a missionary college, had through the connivance of a warder been endeavouring to sow the seeds of disbelief in the minds of many of the prisoners. He had turned the chaplain and his sacred office into ridicule, asserting that the services of the Church of England were nonsense from beginning to end, that the prayers contained false doctrine, that the Athanasian Creed was all rubbish, and that the church “went with a lie in her right hand.” This man Anderson must have been a thorn in the chaplain’s side, for they had more than once a serious scuffle in the polemics of the church. Mr. Russell got warm in the discussion of a certain passage in Scripture, and jumping up suddenly to reach his Bible, struck his leg against the table. After this Anderson had drawn a caricature of the scene, writing underneath, “Oh, my leg!” and from henceforth the chaplain went by the name of “Oh, my leg.” At another time there was a long dispute as to the date of the translation of the Septuagint, and upon the service for “the Visitation of the Sick.” Anderson, on returning to his cell from Mr. Russell’s office, had been in the habit of taking off his coat, and shaking it, saying always: “Peugh—— I smell of fire and brimstone.” One cannot refrain from observing here how much better oakum picking would have suited Anderson than theological controversy.

Fortunately among the prisoners were two—Johnson and Manister Worts—who were more than a match for the unorthodox black man. Anderson asserted that the Athanasian Creed was objected to by many able divines; he took exception to the title, “religious” given to the king in the prayer for the High Court of Parliament, whether he was religious or not; he maintained that his animadversions upon the church were the very words used by his former pastor, the Reverend Silas Fletcher, from the pulpit. The knowledge and acquirements of Johnson and Worts however enabled them “triumphantly to refute Anderson.”

Nor were the women behindhand in giving the chaplain annoyance. In the middle of the service on one occasion a woman jumped up on to her seat, crying out, “Mr. Russell, Mr. Russell, as this may be the last time I shall be at church, I return you thanks for all favours.” The chaplain replied gravely that the House of God was no place for her to address him, but the attention of the male prisoners in the body of the chapel below was attracted, and it was with some difficulty that a general disturbance was prevented. At another time there was actually a row in the church. Just as the sermon began, a loud scream or huzza was heard among the females. At first it was supposed that some woman was in a fit, but the next moment half a dozen prayer-books were flung at the chaplain’s head in the pulpit. With some difficulty the culprits were removed before the uproar became general; but as soon as the chaplain had finished his sermon, and said “Let us pray,” a voice was heard audibly through the building replying, “No, we have had praying enough.” A year or two later a more serious affair was only prevented with difficulty, when the women in the galleries above plotted to join the men in the body of the church below in some desperate act.

Mr. Whitworth Russell, however, through it all continued to exhibit the same unwearied activity and zeal. He never spared himself; and as the years passed by, he became known as one experienced in all that concerned prisons and their inmates. Therefore, when the cry for prison reform echoed loudly through the land, he was at once named one of Her Majesty’s inspectors of prisons. His colleague was Mr. Crawford, who had made a lengthened visitation of the prisons in the United States, and the two divided the whole of Great Britain between them and vigorously applied themselves to their task.

Mr. Russell was succeeded as chaplain at Millbank by the Rev. Daniel Nihil, a gentleman who soon gave satisfactory evidence that he was worthy to wear his predecessor’s mantle. All that Mr. Russell did, Mr. Nihil did also, and more. Ere long he found himself so firmly established in the good graces of the committee, that he was soon raised by them to wider, if not higher, functions, and in 1837 it was decided that he should hold the appointment of both governor and chaplain combined.

On the 15th of April in that year, the governor, Captain Chapman, wrote to tender his resignation for various reasons. “The changes that have taken place, those about to be introduced by the new Bill, his advanced age and indifferent health, induced him to consider it due to the public service to retire, for the purpose of enabling the committee to supply his place by the appointment of an officer who might begin the new system at its commencement.” In reply came a gracious message from the committee, to the effect that they were aware of the “unwearied assiduity, zeal, and ability” with which he had discharged his arduous duties for fourteen years, and they recommended him “for the most liberal and favourable consideration of the Secretary of State, on account of his long and faithful services.” At the same meeting it was at once mooted that Mr. Nihil should succeed to the vacancy.

Some account may here be given of the chaplain’s reign in the Penitentiary. It will be seen at once that his appointment as head of the establishment sufficiently shows the influences that were in ascendancy with the committee of the Penitentiary. This body was not alone and peculiar in its views; the general tone of public opinion at that time turned towards entrusting the ministers of religion with full powers to preach prisoners out of their evil courses into honesty and the right path. Far be it from me to detract from the efforts made in such a cause; but they are liable to be misconstrued. The objects of so much tender solicitude are apt to take the kindness that is well meant, for weakness, and wax in consequence insolent and unmanageable. The Millbank committee were sanguine still, in 1838, when Mr. Nihil came into power under them. We shall see now how far their agent, having carte blanche and every facility, prospered in this difficult mission. His real earnestness of purpose, and the thoroughness of his convictions, were incontestable.

Immediately on assuming the reins Mr. Nihil applied himself with all the energy of his evidently vigorous mind to the task before him, seeking at once to imbue his subordinates with something of his own spirit, and proclaiming in plain terms, to both officers and prisoners, his conception of the proper character of the institution he was called upon to rule. He considered it “a penal establishment, constituted with a view to the real reformation of convicts through the instrumentality of moral and religious means;” and in the official records made the following entry, wherein he intimated his views, and appealed to those under him for co-operation and support.

“Having, in my capacity of chaplain, observed the injurious effects arising from a habit which appears prevalent among the inferior officers, of regarding our religious rules as empty forms, got up for the sole purpose of prison discipline, and conceiving it right to let them understand the principles on which I propose to administer the prison, I drew up, and have since circulated, the following intimation:

“Having been appointed governor of this institution, I desire to express to the inferior officers my earnest and sincere hope that they will one and all bear in mind the objects of a penitentiary. The reformation of persons who have been engaged in criminal acts and habits is the most difficult work in the world. God alone, who rules the heart, can accomplish it; but God requires means to be used by man, and amongst the means used here, none are more important than the treatment of prisoners by the officers in charge of them. That treatment should always be regulated by religious principle. It should be mild, yet firm, just, impartial, and steady. In delivering orders to prisoners, care should be taken to avoid unnecessary offence and irritation, at the same time that those orders are marked by authority. Command of temper should be particularly cultivated. The rules require certain religious observances. It is of the greatest importance that the officers should always remember the reverence which belongs to sacred things, otherwise the prisoners will be apt to regard them not as religious services, but as matters of prison discipline. It should appear that officers themselves have a concern in religion and love and venerate it for its own sake. I do not by any means wish them to put on an appearance of religion which they do not feel—that would be hypocrisy,—but I wish them, as members of a religious institution, to cultivate the feeling and demeanour of true Christians—not only for the sake of the prisoners under their charge, but for their own.”

That the intention of this order was of the best no one who reads it can deny; but its provisions were fraught with mischievous consequences, as will soon appear. It struck at the root of all discipline. The prisoners were insubordinate and insolent, and needed peremptory measures to keep them in check; they were already only too much disposed to give themselves airs, and quite absurdly puffed up with an idea of their own importance. In all this they were now to be directly encouraged; for although the order in question was not made known to them in so many words, they were quick witted enough, as they always are, to detect the altered attitude of their masters. These masters were such, however, only in name; and one of them within a month complains rather bitterly that he is worse off than a prisoner. The latter, if charged with an offence, need only deny it and it fell to the ground, while a prisoner might say what he liked against an officer and it could not be refuted. The governor did not at first see how injudicious it was to weaken the authority of his subordinates, and continued to inculcate mildness of demeanour. In a serious case of disturbance, where several prisoners were most turbulent and needed summary repression, he took a very old warder to task for his unnecessary severity. One of these mutineers, whom they had been obliged to remove by force, cried, “You have almost killed me,” though nothing of the kind had occurred. This officer was injudicious enough to reply, “You deserve killing.” Upon this Mr. Nihil, as I find it recorded, states, “I thought it necessary to reprove the warder for such language. If the prisoners are to be properly managed, it is by authority administered with firmness, and guided, not by passion, but by reason and principle.”

Later he issued the following order: “In consequence of what the governor has sometimes observed, he wishes to impress on the inferior officers the importance of coolness and command of temper in the management of prisoners.... Cases will, of course, arise when prisoners by their violence give much provocation. At such times it is particularly necessary that the officers should endeavour to maintain calmness and self-possession. The best way is to use as few words as possible, taking care at the same time to adopt the necessary means of securing a refractory prisoner; but to fall into a passion, or to enter into a war of words, only lowers the authority of the officer, and adds to the irritation it is intended to allay.” Excellent advice, but not always easily followed.

Indeed, the condition of his officers was hardly to be envied. They were mostly men of the camp, soldiers who had served their time in the army, little fitted either by previous training or the habits of their mind for the task required of them now. Mr. Nihil, to be fully served and seconded in his conscientious efforts to effect reformation, should have been provided with a staff of missionaries; though these were hardly to be got for the money, nor would they have been found of much assistance in carrying out the discipline of the prison. As it was, the warders had to choose between becoming hypocrites, or running the risk of daily charges of irreligious impropriety, and of losing their situations altogether. Placed thus from the first in a false position, there was some excuse for them in their shortcomings. It is not strange that many went with the stream, and sought to obtain credit by professing piety whether they felt it or not, using scripture phrases, and parading in the pentagons and ward passages with Bibles carried ostentatiously under their arms, though it could be proved, and was, that many of the same men when safe beyond the walls were notorious for debauchery and looseness of life. It was in these days that a curious epithet came to distinguish all who were known as the chaplain’s men. They were called in the thieves’ argot “Pantilers,” and the title sticks to them still. The “pantile,” according to the slang dictionary, from which I must perforce quote, was the broad-brimmed hat worn by the puritans of old. From this strange origin is derived a word which, with the lower orders, is synonymous still with cant and a hypocritical profession of religion to serve base ends. Millbank was long known as the headquarters of the “Pantilers.”

On the other hand, officers in whom the old mammon was too strong to be stifled altogether, occasionally forgot themselves, and when accused or suspected of unorthodoxy or unbelief they naturally went to the wall. Thus it was not likely that one who was reported to be a confirmed infidel would escape instant dismissal; though in one instance the information was given by a prisoner, and should at least have been received with caution. The substance of the complaint made by the prisoner was that the officer had asserted that the nature of man was sinful, but that the worst man that ever lived was no worse than God had made him, with other remarks of a carping and irreverent character. Mr. Nihil immediately sent for both officer and prisoner, and confronted them together, questioning the former as follows:—

“Mr. Mann, are you a member of the Church of England?”

“No, sir.”

“To what church, then, do you belong?”

“I was brought up a Baptist, sir; but I am not a member of any society at present.”

“Are you a believer in the Scriptures?”

“I would rather not enter into that subject.”

“Did you not represent yourself a member of the Church of England when first employed?”

“I did not. I was never asked the question.”

He was then asked if he had ever tried to controvert the religion of the Penitentiary, but he distinctly denied having done so.

Then came the prisoner’s turn.

“I assure you, sir,” he told Mr. Nihil, “that this officer on one occasion remarked to me that St. Paul took up several chapters in telling women what sort of ribbons they wore in their bonnets.” And on this evidence Mr. Mann lost his situation; for, says the Governor, “I considered his answers evasive throughout; while the prisoner being an exceedingly well-conducted man, I have no doubt, from the tenour of the whole proceedings, that he spoke the truth.” Hard measure this, and scarcely calculated to maintain the discipline of the establishment.

Still harder, perhaps, was the dismissal of another officer, who was found using what was characterized as a species of low slang in speaking of prisoners. “It came out very artlessly,” says Mr. Nihil, “as he was telling me of some boyish irregularity of a prisoner, whom he styled a ‘rascal.’ This, coupled with other appearances, determined me that the man may have meant no great harm, but that he was quite unfit for the moral charge here entrusted to him; and I thought it necessary, not only in regard to this offence, but that others might take a lesson from it, to mark my sense of the unfitness of one in the habit of familiarly using such language for the situation of warder.” When a fate so severe overtook these two for the offences recorded, a third was not likely to escape who was proved to have occasionally sworn, and who admitted that he considered it was all humbug taking the prisoners to chapel. Although this culprit held the grade of taskmaster, and had completed a service of many years, he too was forthwith sent about his business. But then it was brought home to him that he had once been heard to say, “The governor thinks himself a sharp fellow—I think him the—— fool I ever knew.” It also appeared that this officer’s familiar language among other officers was very profane. He sometimes ridiculed religion; and at one time scoffed at the miracle of the sun standing still. On one occasion he spoke of the chaplain’s lectures as humbug. “My own impressions of T.,” says the governor-chaplain, “were that though he was an efficient officer, he was a conceited self-sufficient man, and of his moral principles I had no good opinion. Everything led to the conviction that he was a very dangerous character in an institution of this kind; his general bearing giving him influence over the inferior officers, and his principles and habits being such as to turn that influence to pernicious account.” He was accordingly dismissed by the committee “with the strongest reprobation of his abominable hypocrisy.”

Although thus studiously bent upon raising the moral tone of his officers, in many other respects, hardly of inferior importance, the utmost laxity prevailed. The rules by which the Penitentiary was governed, and by which all undue familiarity between officers and prisoners was strictly prohibited; which forbade certain luxuries, such as tobacco, ardent spirits, and the morning papers; and which insisted upon certain principles to insure the safe custody of those confined—all these were often contravened or neglected. Upon no one point are gaolers bound to be more vigilant and circumspect than in the security of their keys. In all well-ordered prisons now the most stringent rules prevail on this head. To lose a key entails exemplary punishment, heavy fines, or immediate dismissal. Yet in these old Millbank days we find an officer coolly lending his keys to a prisoner to let himself in and out of his ward; and another who wakes up in the morning without them, asserts at once that they have been stolen from him in the night. In this latter case instant search was made, and after a long delay one key was found in the ventilator of a prisoner’s cell, and below his window, outside, the remaining three. This man was of course accused of the theft; and a circumstantial story at once invented, of his escaping after school, repairing to the tower, and possessing himself of the keys. He would infallibly have suffered for the offence, had it not been accidentally discovered that the officer who had lost them was drunk and incapable on the night in question, and had himself dropped them from his pocket. There was more than one escape, which though ingeniously conceived and carried out could never have succeeded but for a want of watchfulness and supervision on the part of the officer. Of the improper intimacy there could be little doubt, when it was proved that officers and old prisoners were seen in company at public houses—the latter standing treat, and supplying bribes freely, to compass the conveyance to their friends, still inside, of the luxuries prohibited by the rules. All this came out one fine day, when it was discovered that, through the connivance of certain dishonest warders, several prisoners had been regularly supplied with magazines and morning newspapers. Wine, spirits, and eatables more toothsome than the prison fare, and the much-loved weed, found their way into the prison by the same reprehensible means. It is but fair to add here, that in this and in every other case, as soon as the irregularities referred to were brought to light, they were invariably visited with the condemnation they deserved.

Even a man of shrewd intelligence like Mr. Nihil could not fail to be occasionally taken in. On one or two points he was especially vulnerable. Signs of repentance, real or feigned, won from him at once an earnest sympathy which not seldom proved to be cruelly misplaced. There was also a certain simplicity about him, and want of experience, that sometimes made him the dupe of his subordinates when they tried to curry favour by exaggerating the sufferings of the prisoners. One day when he was en route to the dark cells, intending to pardon a culprit therein confined, the taskmaster who accompanied him voluntarily observed, “You are quite right to release him, sir. His legs would get affected, I am afraid, if he were left there any time, like all the rest.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked the governor at once. “Explain.”

“I mean, sir, that whenever a prisoner is kept any length of time in the dark, his loins are always affected. It may be seen in their walk. Take the case of Welsh. Welsh is quite crippled from being so much in the dark.”

“Do they never recover it?”

“Never.”

Mr. Nihil was naturally much struck with this observation, and gave it credence, thinking the officer’s opinion worth attention, as he was particularly shrewd and intelligent. But on consulting the medical man of the establishment, he found the statement quite without foundation. Nothing of the kind ever happened; there was nothing the matter with Welsh, and never had been. It was all pure nonsense.

Then there was the case of Stokes, a boy continually in mischief, an arrant young villain, who coolly tells the governor that it is no use sending him to the dark—the dark only makes him worse. The governor reminded him that he had often tried kind and gentle methods in vain, and asked what would make him better. Stokes replied that the only thing to cure him would be a good sound flogging—knowing full well that this it was not possible to inflict except for certain offences, all of which he studiously avoided. Three days later when liberated from the dark, to which he had been sent in default of corporal punishment, he tried a fresh tack with Mr. Nihil, who observes, “This boy sent for me, and spoke as from the very abyss of conscious depravity. He complains of the hardness and wickedness of his heart. He thinks there is something wrong about him. He cried much. I urged him to pray, but he said his heart was too full—too full of wickedness to pray. I have promised to visit him in his cell, when I shall endeavour to soften and raise the tone of his mind, and pray with him.” Of course his new attitude is all hypocritical deceit. Almost the next day he breaks out in conduct more disorderly than ever, and after smashing his window, spends his time in shouting to the prisoners below. The governor, now alive to his real character, declares “that the injury done to the discipline of the prison by the perpetual insubordination of this boy has become so serious, that I think he must be sent up to the committee as incorrigible.” Again he wavers, and again he changes his mind. “John Stokes applied to me yesterday evening, and spoke so sensibly, with such an appearance of a sincere desire for reformation, that I must beg to suspend my recommendation for his removal to the hulks. The result of such removal would probably be to consign him to the destroying influences of the worst companions.” Stokes did not remain long in this way of thinking, and continued still to be a thorn in the governor’s side for many a month to come.

But we have in this an instance of the extreme pains Mr. Nihil was at to do his duty conscientiously by all. And if he had sometimes to deal with designing hypocrites, he was not always wrong—at least, in cases like the following, the imposture, if any, was well concealed.

A woman came forward of her own accord to confess that she had made a false charge against another prisoner.

“What led you to make the charge?” (She had accused the other of calling her names.)

“Spite.”

“And what leads you now to confess?”

“I was so much impressed by the sermon I heard yesterday from the strange gentleman.”

The governor admitted that it was a most impressive discourse, well calculated to awaken the guilty conscience. “Being anxious,” he says, “to foster every symptom of repentance, I did not punish this woman. She freely acknowledged she deserved to be punished, but I thought it might tend to repress good feeling were I, under the circumstances, to act with rigour.”

Another woman, named Alice Bradley, sent for the governor, and told him that she had put down her name for the sacrament, but that she could not feel happy till she had told him all the truth. “I encouraged her to make the communication,” says the governor, “whereupon,” with a subdued voice and many tears, she said, “I was guilty of what I was sent here for.”

“This girl had invariably,” goes on Mr. Nihil, “with much appearance of a tender conscience, and a spirit wounded by injustice, protested her innocence. This perseverance in her protestations had now lasted six months, and it appeared that the girl had imposed a persuasion of her innocence on her nearest relations. I was much gratified with the contrition that was now developed under the system of this place, so consolatory amidst the numerous instances of a contrary description which we daily witness; and I endeavoured to trace the prisoner’s impression to some distinct instrumentality, which might be improved to further usefulness. She could only attribute her recent feelings to prayer.”

Again, he states the case of George Cubitt, who had been extremely well-conducted since he came to the Penitentiary. “He looks ill, and much altered within a short time, and seems much distressed. He told me he had of late been affected with the most dreadfully wicked thoughts, that he had a strong temptation to sell himself to the devil, and feared he had done so. That, on Friday week, when in bed, he was much oppressed with these thoughts, which he long resisted, but at last gave way, and made an oath to himself to sell himself. He got up immediately, and felt a chill all over him, as if his nature was quite changed. Ever since he has been subject to the most shocking thoughts and fears. He attributed the calamity to his having been alone, and seemed to dread the idea of returning to a cell by himself. I see no signs of pretence about this boy, and greatly pity him. His nerves have evidently been shaken by confinement. I prayed with him, and said what I could to dissipate his terrors, and bade him make the goodness of God his protection. I could wish that in a case of this kind the discipline of the prison admitted of a little labour in the garden; but I see great practical difficulties in making practical arrangements for the purpose.”

Of course Mr. Nihil was in his element in dealing with a case of this kind; just as the following claimed at once the whole of his sympathy and attention.

A prisoner was seized suddenly with an attack of hydrophobia. The only cause known was that he had been badly bitten by a dog six or seven years before. “The poor patient was in a most distressing state, being a fine intelligent youth, and in an admirable spirit of Christian resignation. He observed to me repeatedly that he was a poor friendless boy, and that this was a wise and merciful providence, for if he lived to get his liberty he might get into trouble and come to a bad end. When I saw him next morning, most edifying was the whole tenour of his observations and his prayers. That night he grew to be in a state of high excitement, continually imploring me and every one for tea, while unable to taste a drop out of a basin which he held in his hand. About midnight he took a turn—no longer expressed any bodily want, but, as from a mind stored with scriptural truths, poured out the most appropriate ideas and expressions, though in a raving and delirious manner. It was most gratifying to observe the just views he exhibited, and the expressions of his deep repentance and humility. But dreadful to our feelings was the succeeding phasis which his disorder assumed. He seemed to struggle with a deadly foe, beating about his arms, and striving with incessant violence, while he uttered the language of abhorrence towards his enemy. Then, after a while, he began to give utterance to the most senselessly obscene and filthy language and ideas, nor were we able to repress them; but with these were mixed pleasing expressions of a pious, confiding tendency. This mixed and incongruous exhibition continued till about 3 a.m., when he sunk into death.”

Even if it could have been proved against Mr. Nihil that he was lacking in the resolute peremptoriness of persons bred to command, this chaplain-governor was, however, not wanting in many of the qualities of a good administrator. It must be recorded to his credit that he brought in many reforms, of which time has since proved the wisdom. There was for instance the change he instituted in the system of hearing and adjudicating upon charges of misconduct. It had been the custom for the governor to rush off post-haste to the scene of action, and then and there administer justice. Now, Mr. Nihil resolved to take “the reports” the same hour every morning, “thereby economizing time, and having the advantage of previous calm consideration. Besides,” he says, “officers and prisoners are both much irritated when the offence is still fresh, and the frequent interruptions took the governor often away from other subjects which at the time had full possession of his mind.” Again, after a daring and successful escape, he recommends that every prisoner at night should be obliged to put outside his cell gate all the tools, etc., with which he has been at work during the day. An obvious precaution, perhaps, which is the invariable rule now with all men, especially “prison breakers,” but the necessity of it was not recognized till Mr. Nihil found it out. Although in his management of his officers he erred somewhat in being too anxious to obtain a standard of impossible morality, still he knew that more than mere admonition was needed to maintain order and obedience to the regulations. With this in view he instituted a system of fines, as the best method of insuring punctuality and exact discharge of duties. It is really a marvel how the Penitentiary had been governed for so long without it. Nor did his tenderness and solicitude for the spiritual welfare of the prisoners prevent his entering a sound protest against over-much pampering them in food. “I have frequent occasion to observe,” he remarks in one part of his journal, “the extreme sauciness of prisoners with regard to their victuals. It appears from Mr. Chadwick’s report, and the evidence that he collected, that the industrious labourers are the worst fed; the next best are the poor-house paupers; the next, convicts for petty thefts; the best are felons, with the exception of transports, who are still more abundantly supplied abroad. The idle and the profligate act upon the knowledge of these facts, and we have in the Penitentiary several of that description. Their fastidiousness and impertinence strangely illustrate the fact that our diet is much too high for the purposes of a prison.”

Certainly the calls upon his time were many and various. Now for the first time, in consequence of the great complaints made against the county gaols, arising chiefly from the want of separate cells, the Penitentiary became the receptacle for soldiers sentenced to imprisonment by court-martial. And with the introduction of this new element he brought about his ears a crowd of new questions and new difficulties—a different dietary scale, different labour, and a great accession of misconduct of a new description; above all, new officials to deal with, and plenty of punctilious red-tapism, to which, as a civilian, he was altogether unaccustomed. Then, through strong representations made to the Government of the scandalous manner in which female transports were shipped to the penal colonies, it was decided that most of those who came from a distance should be lodged in Millbank to await embarkation. All these women were the scum of the earth, and added greatly to the governor’s trials. They came to the Penitentiary in a miserable state of rags and wretchedness, shoeless, shiftless, and filthy. They were often accompanied by their children of all ages, from infancy to fourteen or fifteen years; and in nearly every case the conduct of all was violent and outrageous beyond description. Knowing they had nothing to gain by a conformity to the rules of the establishment, and that by no possibility could they escape transportation, they gave vent to their evil passions and set all authority at defiance.

Another vexation, which pressed perhaps more sorely on him than any I have described, was the invasion of his territory by a Roman Catholic clergyman, appointed under a recent Act of Parliament to visit Roman Catholic prisoners. I do not suppose that Mr. Nihil was more intolerant than were others of his cloth in those days, when antagonism between churches ran unusually high, and there is much excuse for the remarks he makes on the subject. By the Act provision was made for the payment of the priest from the prison fund. This Mr. Nihil characterizes as tantamount to “establishment.” He does not see the necessity for anything of the kind, especially as the scruples of all the Roman Catholic prisoners have hitherto been most punctiliously respected. He foresees trouble and difficulty: Where was the line to be drawn with respect to discipline? Would not friction and difficulty arise from the Roman Catholic prisoners placing themselves under the patronage of the Roman Catholic priest in opposition to the governing authority of the prison? Happily, these anticipations proved almost groundless, and, except in one or two trivial instances, which are hardly worth recording, no evil results followed the occasional admission of the priest to the Penitentiary.