Charges of harshness and cruelty—Parliamentary enquiry—Charges entirely disproved—Increased efforts at reform by segregating prisoners—Their improved demeanour—Prison very quiet—Cases of weakened intellect and insanity—Rules relaxed and contemplated change in the penitentiary system—Millbank a failure—New uses devised for the prison—Becomes part of the new scheme for transportation.

While the criminals of the period were passing in and out of Millbank, and Mr. Nihil, backed up by his committee, was working indefatigably and with the best intentions, the credit of the establishment was suddenly impugned in no measured terms. It was doubtful indeed whether the ship could weather the storm of invective that broke upon it. Had the managers of Millbank been ogres instead of painstaking philanthropists working for the public good, they could not have been more rancorously assailed. But here was a case where the people suffered because their rulers squabbled. It was a period when party warfare ran high and the Opposition hailed eagerly any opportunity of bringing discredit upon the Ministry. The attack made upon the Penitentiary was really directed against the Government.

On the 26th February, 1838, a noble lord rose in his place to call the attention of the House of Lords to a grave failure in the administration of criminal justice. “All London, the whole country, was ringing with it,” said another noble lord. “It has been a topic of universal reprobation co-extensive with the hourly increasing sphere in which it has been known. All Westminster has talked of it, all Middlesex has turned its eyes to the quarter in which the abuse occurred. I will venture to say,” continued his lordship, “that it has been more talked of, more discussed, more indignantly commented upon in every corner of this great town and of this populous country, than any one subject either in or out of Parliament, or in any one of the courts of justice, civil or criminal.” It appeared that in Millbank, a prison exempt from the general jurisdiction of the county magistrates, and governed only by the Home Secretary, there had occurred five cases of unwarranted harshness and cruelty. Three little girls and two fine young men had been completely broken down by the system of solitary confinement therein practised. The children were mere infants: one, as it was alleged, was little more than seven years old; the other two were eight and ten respectively. Yet at this tender age they had been cut off entirely from the consoling influences of home and the kindly intercourse of relatives and companions, to be immured in solitary wretchedness for nearly thirteen consecutive months. So bitterly did these little ones lament the loneliness of their lengthened seclusion, that one asked piteously for a doll to keep her company, and all three were found at different times sleeping with their bedclothes twisted to simulate a baby, so earnestly did they yearn for something like ideal society in their dreary confinement. More than this: the punishment of continued solitude had produced in them a marked infirmity of mind, manifested by great impediment of speech, and general difficulty in the expression of ideas. A gentleman, one of the Middlesex magistrates, who had visited the Penitentiary, described the effect upon their speech such as to render their voices “feeble, low, and inarticulate—to produce a kind of inward speaking, visible to and palpable to every one who heard them.” So much for the children. As for the young men, one of them, who had previously been remarkable for great activity and intelligence, came out in a state of idiocy, and was afterwards retained as an idiot in St. Marylebone workhouse, reduced to such a state of utter and helpless imbecility as to be incapable of being employed even in breaking stones. The other was similarly affected. And yet all this was contrary to law. Here were prisoners subjected to uninterrupted solitary confinement for twelve and thirteen months, when by a recent Act it was expressly ordered that no such punishment should last for more than one month at a time, and never for more than three months in the year. Circumstances very disgraceful beyond doubt, if the charge were only proved, and entailing a weight of awful responsibility on those who were accountable to the public.

As the attack was made without a word of warning, Lord Melbourne, at that time the head of the Government, was unable to defend himself. All he could urge was that the House should reserve its opinion until upon a close investigation the grievances and evils alleged should be proved to exist. He felt certain that the whole statement was exaggerated and over-coloured; of this he had, indeed, no doubt, but he must claim a little time before he made a specific reply.

The next night he stated that full inquiry had been made. In the first place the ages of the children had been understated. Each of them was at least ten years old. But this was not a point of any very material importance. They were all three very profligate children. One of the worst signs of the day was the great increase of crimes committed by children of tender age. The principal cause of this was, no doubt, the wickedness of parents, who made their children the instruments for carrying out their own evil designs. In the present instance the three girls had been guilty of theft and sentenced to transportation, but they were recommended for the Penitentiary solely to remove them for a lengthened period from the influence of their parents, and to give the Government an opportunity of effecting a reform in their character and conduct. The only place suitable for such an attempt was the Millbank Penitentiary, and to this they were removed. This establishment was governed by rules laid down by the Lords’ Committee of 1835, and, therefore, if undue severity had been practised, it must have been in defiance of those very rules. But it was quite untrue that any of these prisoners had been subjected to protracted solitary confinement. There was no such thing in the Penitentiary except for prison offences, and then only for short periods. Separate confinement there certainly was, but solitary confinement—complete seclusion, that is to say, without being seen, without going out to public worship—as a general practice was practically unknown in the establishment.

“These children took exercise regularly twice a day, for half an hour at a time, in company with other prisoners of their ward; they had school also together twice a week; went to chapel on Sunday; and were regularly visited by benevolent Christian ladies (Mrs. Fry and her associates), who spent long hours in their cells. Surely their condition was not one of great hardship!

“The young men, Welsh and Ray, were notorious rogues, who had also been sent to the Penitentiary to effect, if possible, some reformation in their ill-conducted and irregular lives. Their behaviour had been very rebellious and disorderly, but though they had been frequently punished they had left the Penitentiary at the expiration of their terms of imprisonment in perfect health and full possession of all their faculties.”

The Opposition laughed at the explanation. Not solitary confinement—what was it then? The children went out to exercise. Yes; but they were not allowed to communicate or talk to one another. They went to church, and to school, but only for a few hours together in the week, and for the rest of the time they were shut up in their cells alone, utterly alone. Was not this solitary confinement? Were these accusations all unfounded then? Had they been disproved? Let the Government wait till a committee of the House had been appointed to inquire and had reported upon the whole case.

A committee met, took evidence, and at the end of a month sent in their report. It was quite conclusive. The whole of the charges necessarily fell at once to the ground. “On the whole,” they stated, in summing up, “the committee think it due to the officers of the Penitentiary to state, that all the convicts have been treated with all the leniency, and—in the case of the female children particularly—with all the attention to their moral improvement that was consistent with the rules laid down for the government of the Penitentiary.” The children had come in dirty, ignorant, and in ill health; they were now cleanly, had learned to read, could make shirts, and were all quite well and strong. Nothing was wrong with their voices: one could shout as loud as any girl of her age, but she was shy before strangers; the second led the singing of the hymns in her ward, though her voice was only of ordinary power, and had been even husky from the time of her reception; the third usually spoke from choice in a low tone, but she had been heard to shout often enough to other prisoners. It was quite evident, then, that in these three cases, not only had the cruelty been distinctly disproved, but it was equally clear that their imprisonment in the Penitentiary had been a positive benefit to the children in question.

Nor was the charge a bit better substantiated in the case of the two “fine young men.” Both of them had been cast for death at the Old Bailey, which was commuted afterwards to one year in the Penitentiary. One, Welsh, was a good-for-nothing vagrant, who had spent most of the seventeen years he had lived inside the Marylebone workhouse, and to this he had returned on his release from Millbank. He was a clever but unruly prisoner; he could read and write well, and his faculties had been sharpened rather than impaired by his residence in prison. The master of the Marylebone workhouse was decidedly of opinion that he had improved much; he was more civil now than before, and he was greatly grown. Welsh said himself he had no fault to find with the Penitentiary; in fact, he was quite ready to go back to it, if they would only take him in. But this Welsh was in the habit of counterfeiting idiocy, either to procure some extra indulgences, or to amuse himself and others, and he played the part so well that many who saw him were deceived.

William Ray, the other “victim,” was older, having reached his twenty-fifth year. He also had passed the greater part of his life in the Marylebone workhouse; but he had enlisted twice into the army, and had gone with Sir de Lacy Evans to Spain. He had been discharged for incompetence, and it was perfectly clear from the evidence taken, that he was a person of very weak intellect long before he became an inmate of the prison: he had a vacant countenance, a silly laugh, and a habit of blinking his eyes and tossing his head about. Still he perfectly understood what he was ordered to do. He had become a good tailor, and had improved in reading.

Thus all the charges were disposed of, and the system in force having been held blameless, it might fairly be continued without change. The system then was as follows: The prisoners slept in separate cells which opened into a common passage, and at the centre of the passage was the warder’s bedroom. The cells were ten feet by seven, and had a partition wall between them fourteen inches thick. The entrance to each cell had two doors—one of open iron work, the other of wood. At the first bell, every morning about daylight, the prisoners were let out to wash, about six or eight at a time; and they then returned to their cells for the rest of the day, except during their two hours’ exercise, and twice a week when they attended chapel and school. Their meals were brought to them in their cells by other prisoners let out for the purpose. The chaplain, assistant chaplain, and schoolmaster were continually visiting them. All day long the wooden door of the cell remained wide open, and there were plenty of opportunities of talking to their neighbours through the gate of iron grating, where even a whisper could be heard. They were always talking—at washing time, at exercise, even when in their cells with both doors locked and bolted. Now this was manifestly not solitary confinement. Nay, more, it was not even separate confinement. But yet, without the latter, without perfect isolation and the prevention of all intercourse and intercommunication, it was felt by Mr. Nihil that his efforts to reform his prisoners were vain. Whatever good his counsels might accomplish was immediately counteracted by the vicious converse that still went on in spite of all attempts to check it. It was found that extensive communications were carried on; that prisoners learned each other’s histories, formed friendships and enmities, and contrived in many ways to do each other harm. Unless this were ended all hope of permanent cure was out of the question. Mr. Nihil says, in 1838, that he is in great hope that by the thorough separation of the prisoners, important advantages in respect to the efficiency of imprisonment and the reformation of the convicts would ensue. “The more perfect isolation of the prisoner by non-intercourse with fellow-criminals, not only renders the punishment more effective, but places him in a condition more susceptible to the good influences with which we seek to visit him—now constantly frustrated by communication through the wards.”

So eager were the authorities to restrict the means of intercourse, that they were not above taking the advice of a prisoner on the subject. His suggestions were such as a prisoner is qualified to give, being the fruits of experience, and an intimate acquaintance with the various devices that are practised. If talking was to be prevented, he said, several new arrangements must be made; thus the officer, when prisoners were at exercise, instead of standing motionless should walk on an inner circle, in an opposite direction to the prisoners, so as to see their faces. The prisoners always talked whenever the officer’s back was turned. Nor should they be allowed to eat while in the yard: under the pretence of chewing they really were engaged in conversation. Again, to put an end to clandestine letters, all the blank pages of library books should be numbered and frequently examined, so that none might be abstracted and used as writing paper. Nor should any whiting be issued to clean the pewters: the prisoners only used it to lay a thick white coat upon any damped paper, thus making a surface to write upon. By scraping off the whiting the same paper could be used over and over again. To make a pencil they scraped their pewter pints, then with the heat from the tailors’ iron, with which many were supplied, they ran these scrapings into a mould. Lastly, all searching of cells and prisoners should be more frequent and complete; care should be taken in the latter case to examine the cuff and collar of the jacket, the waistband and the lower part of the legs of the trousers, and the cap. The bedding in the cells, all cracks in floor or shopboard, and the battens or little pieces below the tables should be thoroughly overhauled. With such precautions as these much might be effected; nevertheless, said the informer, misconduct must always continue, for prisoners often incurred reports solely to gain the character of heroes.

And so with the new year many further changes were introduced. All the governor’s recommendations were adopted, and not a few of the suggestions last quoted, in spite of the source from which they came. Within a week or two—rather soon, perhaps—the governor considers that the new discipline works extremely well. Reports diminish, and the control of officers is more complete. Ill-tempered prisoners evinced great annoyance at the change; but by meeting this spirit by firmness and good temper it has, he thinks, been repressed. Three months later he notices a distinct improvement in behaviour, traceable beyond question to the new rules. Prisoners formerly constantly reported are now quite quiet, and in a very good state of mind—tractable, submissive, and grateful. “Several had learned to read; and many evinced a softened and subdued tone of feelings, and thanked God they had been brought to the Penitentiary. Some expressed a grateful sense of the value of the late regulations. One youth told me that previously they might almost as well have been in the same room with a crowd.... In Thomas Langdale, a desperate housebreaker and a very depraved man, the most hopeful change has taken place. He has written a most artless and interesting letter to his wife.... Some prisoners have acquired a great mastery over their violent tempers, and look quite cheerful and happy.... A few only still manifest great discontent.”

All that year the principle has ample trial. In April, 1840, the governor asserts that in his opinion the state of the prison is highly satisfactory. The prisoners, as testified by their letters (which were meant for him to see), were as happy as the day was long. They had good food, good clothing, and spoke with gratitude of the provision made for their religious instruction. Moreover, now the reins are as tight as they can be drawn. “Separation has within the last two years been much more carried out than formerly, and the effect has been very materially to reduce offences and punishments, and to promote reformation,” says Mr. Nihil. His great difficulty now is that he cannot ventilate the cell without opening the door to communication. In fact he might seem to wish to seal up his prisoners hermetically; but he says, “I do not mean to advocate long separation from all social communication. I should prefer a system of regulated intercourse upon a plan of classification and superintendence and mutual education, guarded by occasional separation. What I object to is nominal separation accompanied with secret fraudulent vicious communication. Health is certainly a great consideration, but are morals less? Ought health to be sought by the rash demolition of an important moral fence? If health is alone to be looked to it would be very easy to suggest very simple means for keeping the prisoners in general good health; but then the objects of imprisonment would be altogether frustrated. Considering these objects indispensable, and that one of them is the moral reformation of the prisoners, I conceive it would be much better to leave them to the remedy of opening their cell windows for fresh air.”

Mr. Nihil’s notions were certainly clearly developed. He was for no half measures. But in his extreme eagerness to push his theory as far as it could go, he actually courted disaster. He was apparently blinded by a misconception of phrases. So long as he steered clear of what was called solitary confinement he thought he was safe. But he forgot that the more separation was insisted upon, the more nearly solitude was approached. In point of fact there was absolutely no distinction between the separate confinement practised at Millbank, and that solitary confinement which had already been universally condemned, and which by law was not to be inflicted except for very limited periods of time. Naturally the same fatal consequences, the inevitable results that follow such imprisonment protracted beyond the extreme limit, began to be plainly visible. Cases of insanity, or weakened intellect came to light, first in solitary instances, then more and more frequently. The committee were compelled to run counter to Mr. Nihil, and relax the rigorous separation from which he hoped to effect so much. I find in their report for 1841 that they consider it necessary to make great alterations in the discipline of the institution.

“In consequence of a distressing increase in the number of insane prisoners, the committee, under sanction of the medical superintendent, came to the resolution that it would be unsafe to continue a system of strict separation for the long periods to which the ordinary sentences of the prisoners in the Penitentiary extend. They therefore propose that the system should be relaxed with regard to all classes of prisoners except two; viz., military prisoners whose sentences were extremely short, and persons convicted of unnatural offences; and that to all other prisoners the prohibition of intercourse should be limited to the first three months after their admission, and that upon the expiration of that period they should be placed upon a system of modified intercourse.” But they surrendered their views evidently with the utmost reluctance, and remarked further in this report that “they are inclined to believe that no scheme of discipline in which intercourse between prisoners, however modified, forms an essential part, is ever likely to be made instrumental either to the prevention of crime or to the personal reformation of convicts to the same degree as a system of separation. Whether the latter system can be rendered compatible with the maintenance of the mental sanity of the prisoners is a subject of much controversy, and can only be determined by actual experiment, accompanied by such advantages as are proposed in the Model Prison.”[9]

But it now becomes plainly evident that the waters are beginning to close over the Penitentiary. There are people outside its walls who are clearly not its friends, if not openly inimical. Thus dissatisfaction finds voice in the House of Commons, where, on the 15th March, 1841, Mr. Alderman Copeland asks for certain information which the prison authorities must have found it awkward to supply. This return called for was to show the numbers sent to the Penitentiary during the past five years; the number removed during that period for insanity, the number for bad health, and who had died; and it was to be stated how often the several members of the committee attended during the year.

From different causes, one difficulty added to another, the Penitentiary was drawing nearer and nearer to its doom. At length its death-blow fell, accelerated doubtless by the sweeping alterations contemplated in the whole system of secondary punishments. These changes, by which also the whole constitution of the Penitentiary was altered, will be detailed at length in another volume, and the closing chapter shall be devoted to the last days of old Millbank.

It was on the 5th May, 1843, that Sir James Graham, then Home Secretary, introduced a Bill for the better regulation of the Penitentiary. The House must be fully aware, he said, of the Report[10] in which it was stated that as a penitentiary “Millbank Prison had been an entire failure.” Its functions, therefore, in that respect were now to cease. The next thing to be considered was what use might be made of it, for it was a large building and had many conveniences for a prison. Just at this moment, however, the Government had determined to carry out a certain new classification of all convicts sentenced to transportation. In other words, felons were to suffer this punishment in different degrees, according to their condition and character. But to ascertain in which category offenders should be placed a time of probation and proof was needed, and this period should be passed at some general depot, where for nine or ten months the character of each convict might be tested. Millbank was admirably suited for the purpose. From here, after the necessary interval, the juveniles were to be sent on to the new prison at Parkhurst, the best and most promising convicts to Pentonville, the rest to the hulks, but one and all only in transitu to the antipodes.

Nothing now remained but for the Penitentiary Committee to go through the ceremony of the happy despatch; for by the new arrangements the control of the prison was to be vested in a body of government inspectors, and of a governor acting under them. Under the new system, the committee states, “there will be a rapid succession of transports continually passing through the prison; and the shortness of their confinement, though very desirable on the score of health, will necessarily militate against any great mental or moral improvement.” Nothing is intimated as to the nature of the discipline to which the transports are to be subjected during their detention here. The committee, however, “are satisfied that a vigorous system will be found necessary for the maintenance of order among criminals of so depraved and desperate a character as the male transports are evidently expected to be. In short, it is obvious that an entirely new state of things is at hand, one never contemplated by any members of the committee when they originally consented to act; one moreover which will require, in their opinion, an active and unremitting superintendence such as their other avocations render them incapable of undertaking.” Therefore one and all of them were glad to resign their functions into other hands. But they “cannot conclude without remarking that the new system contemplated would never be properly administered by a clerical governor, even if he considered it consistent with his sacred functions to undertake such a charge.”

I find in the minutes of the committee on the 9th June, 1843, all members were requested to attend at their next meeting, which was probably to be their last.

At the same time they passed votes of thanks also to the assistant-chaplain, the medical superintendent, the matron, manufacturers, steward, and officers generally. And from that time forth Millbank, as a penitentiary, ceased to exist.