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?”