1. CHAPTER I.
MY INITIATION AND CRIME.
GUILTY! This word, so replete with sadness and sorrow, fell on my ear
on that blackest of all black Fridays, October 14, 1887.
Penitentiary lightning struck me in the city of Leavenworth,
Kansas. I was tried in the United States District Court; hence, a United
States prisoner.
The offense for which I was tried and convicted was that of using
the mails for fraudulent purposes. My sentence was eighteen months in
the penitentiary, and a fine of two hundred dollars. I served sixteen
months, at the end of which time I was given my liberty. During the
period I was in prison I dug coal six months in the penitentiary coal
mines, and was one of the clerks of the institution the remainder of the
term. Getting permission to have writing material in my cell, I first
mastered short-hand writing, or phonography, and then wrote my book: "A
Kansas Hell; or, Life in the Kansas Penitentiary." My manuscript being
in short-hand, none of the prison officials were able to read it, and
did not know what I was doing until I obtained my liberty and had my
book published.
This, no doubt, will be the proper place to give some of my
antecedents, as well as a few of the details of the crime for which I
was sent to the penitentiary. I spent my youth and early manhood at
Indianola, Iowa, from which place I removed to Nebraska. After residing
for some time in Columbus, of that State, I was appointed by the
governor to assist in organizing the Pawnee Indian Reservation into a
county. When organized it was called Nance County, being named for Hon.
Albinus Nance, then governor of the State. I held the position of
county clerk of that county for four consecutive years. During this time
I organized the Citizens' Bank. I was its cashier at first, and, later
on, its president. I had a lucrative business and was doing well. My
wife's health failed her; she became consumptive. My family physician
advised a removal to the South. I closed out my business
at a great sacrifice, and came to Atchison, Kansas. Here I located, and
made it my future home. Soon after my arrival I commenced the
publication of a daily newspaper, known as the
Times. In the
county in which I located I found one of the worst and most corrupt
political rings on the face of the earth. This combination had
controlled the politics of the county for almost a quarter of a century.
Soon I became involved in a terrific newspaper war with the members of
this political organization. An election of county and State officials
was soon to take place. In order to test the strength of the contending
elements, in my newspaper, I presented the name of Hon. W. D. Gilbert as
a candidate for district judge in opposition to the ring candidate. A
sharp fight ensued. Mr. Gilbert was elected by an overwhelming majority.
This was the first time for twenty-five years that this ring had been
defeated. The members of it were very sore. Looking upon me as the
principal spirit, I was the object toward which they directed all their
shafts of spite.
Some time before this an insurance company had been organized in
the city of Atchison. I was invited to become its president. I
examined the books of the corporation, and found it to be organized
according to the laws of Kansas; that the company had a charter from the
State, and also certified authority to issue policies of insurance,
granted by the State insurance commissioner. I accepted the presidency
on condition that the company was simply to have the use of my name, and
that I was not expected to give any of my time to the company, as I was
otherwise engaged. I was editor of a daily newspaper, and could not
attend to anything else. While this company was doing business a printed
circular was used, stating that the corporation had one hundred thousand
dollars PAID up capital. This circular was sent out through the mails
over the State advertising the business. It was charged this circular
was fraudulent; that the company did not have that amount of capital
paid in. My name was attached to this printed circular. For this, I
was indicted in the United States District Court, on the charge of using
the mails for fraudulent purposes. The advertised capital of this
corporation was
subscribed, but not all paid in, as it was not
needed in the business of the company. After indictment I was arrested,
and gave bonds for my appearance
at the next term of court, which was held soon after.
Not being able to secure the attendance of all my witnesses, my
attorney wrote the prosecuting attorney asking his consent that my case
be continued. The request was granted. When the case was called, my
attorney appeared and introduced a motion to continue the case, filing
affidavits necessary in such cases. The prosecuting attorney having
given his consent, there was no doubt in the minds of those interested
as to the continuance of the case. For some cause best known to himself,
the judge would not grant the continuance, and forced me to trial
without having a single witness. It was my intention to have some fifty
witnesses subpœnaed, to prove that the insurance company of which
I was president was not a fraud. Not being allowed to have my witnesses,
I was, under the instructions of the court, which were, indeed,
exceedingly pointed, found guilty, and sentenced to eighteen months'
imprisonment and to pay a fine of two hundred dollars. The political
ring now triumphed for a brief period. In order to prove conclusively to
the reader that this was a piece of spite work, I have only to
state that I was the only one of all the officers of that company that
was ever tried for running a bogus insurance company. Why was it that I
was the only one sent to the penitentiary when there was the secretary,
treasurer, and six directors equally as guilty as myself?
To prove more conclusively that it was political spite work that
sent me to prison, let me inform the readers that about the time the
insurance company at Atchison was organized, a similar one was organized
in Topeka. They were similar in EVERY RESPECT. I was president of the
one at Atchison, while a distinguished gentleman by the name of Gen. J.
C. Caldwell was president of the one at Topeka. Both of these companies
failed. The president of the Atchison company was sent to the
penitentiary, while the president of the Topeka company was appointed by
the governor of the State to the responsible position of chairman of the
State Board of Pardons. Many persons have asked why this difference in
the treatment of the presidents of these two companies. The only answer
that can be given is that General Caldwell stood in with the Kansas
political ring, while I did not. Every sensible man must admit that if
it was just for me to
serve a term in prison for the offense charged against me, General
Caldwell should have been prescribed for in the same manner. I have no
fight to make upon Mr. Caldwell. He is an excellent gentlemen. He was in
luck. The fates were against me. Had I been a State instead of a United
States prisoner, no doubt Mr. Caldwell, as chairman of the Board of
Pardons, would have used his influence to secure for me my liberty. That
I was sent to prison is wholly due to politics. It is unnecessary,
therefore, for me to inform the reader that I am now "out of politics."
Having served out my term I returned to my home in Atchison. As to the
ring that sent me to prison, some of them are dead, others have left
Atchison to make their homes in other places, others have failed
financially, and still others have fallen so low that they have scarcely
friends enough to bury them should they happen to die.
The big wheel of life keeps on revolving. Those who are up
to-day may be down to-morrow, and vice versa. But to continue my
narrative. Immediately after my conviction and sentence I was taken to
the Leavenworth County jail. Here I remained until the following
Tuesday in the company of a dozen or more prisoners who were awaiting
trial. On Sunday, while in this jail, my wife, who died during my
imprisonment of a broken heart, and an account of which is given in a
subsequent chapter, came to see me. I can never forget this visit. She
remained with me during the entire day. During the conversation of the
day I said to her that, it seemed that the future appeared very gloomy.
That it would be a miracle if I ever was able to survive the disgrace
that had been so cruelly placed upon me. That all ambition and hope as
to the future had fled, and that I could not blame her if she should now
free herself by means of divorce, as my conviction of crime was a legal
ground for divorce in Kansas. In reply to this, the noble little woman,
her face aglow with the radiance of womanly devotion, said, that for
twenty years of married life our home had been one of sunshine; that I
had been kind to her and made her life one of happiness, and that now,
when misfortune came, it was not only a duty, but the highest pleasure,
to prove her fidelity. She kept her word. She was true to the last. When
dying, her last words were a petition for the blessings of God upon
her husband who was far away behind frowning prison walls. On Tuesday
morning a deputy United States marshal came to the jail and gave me
notice that in a few moments we would leave for the penitentiary. This
officer was a gentleman, and did not seek to further humiliate me by
placing irons on my person. I have often thought of this act of
kindness on the part of this humane official. We took the train at
Leavenworth, and in a very few moments were at my future place of
residence. Lansing, the small village where the penitentiary is
located, is about five miles from the city of Leavenworth. The entrance
to the prison is from the west. Under the watchful care of the officer
who had me in charge, I passed under a stone archway, to the left of
which was a small office, where a guard was on duty during the day time.
We were halted by this officer, who inquired if we had any firearms. No
one visiting the penitentiary is allowed to carry fire-arms within the
enclosure. The marshal who had me in custody handed over a large navy
revolver. Between this archway and the western wall of the prison is a
beautiful lawn. The walks are lined with fragrant flowers; beautiful
fountains send aloft
their silvery sprays. Passing up the roadway leading to the entrance
door, and looking about me upon the rich carpet of green, the flowers
and fountains, I came to the conclusion that the penitentiary was not so
bad a place as I had imagined. I changed my mind, however, as soon as I
had seen inside the walls.
The prison enclosure contains about ten acres of ground. This is
surrounded by a stone wall some fifteen feet high, and six feet thick at
the base. It is not more than four feet at the top. At each of the four
corners may be found a tower rising some ten feet above the wall. A
guard is on duty in each of these towers during the day. He carries a
double-barreled shotgun loaded with buckshot. In case a prisoner tries
to escape he is liable to get a dose of lead, provided the officer on
duty is a good marksman. The western wall is almost entirely made of a
large stone building with its two long wings. The main building is four
stories. The wings stretching to the north and south, each two hundred
and fifty feet, contain the cells. On the first floor of the main
building are the offices of the warden, clerk, deputy warden
and turnkey. The upper rooms are used by the warden's family.
I was first conducted into the clerk's office and introduced to
Mr. Jones, the clerk. He is a very pleasant gentleman, and spoke kindly
to me, which I can assure all was very acceptable, for just about that
time I was feeling very badly. His remark was: "I am very glad to meet
you, Mr. Reynolds, but sorry to meet you under these sad circumstances."
On his invitation I took a chair and sat down to await the next part of
the progamme. As I sat there and thought of the kind words spoken to me
by the clerk, I quickly reached the conclusion that if all the officers
of that institution were as kind as Mr. Jones, it would not be as bad a
place as I had anticipated. I had no experience then that would justify
any other conclusion. Soon a side door of the office opened and in came
the deputy warden, Mr. John Higgins. Mr. H. is the sourest appearing
man I ever met in my life. At least, it seemed so to me on that day. He
can get more vinegar on the outside of his face than any other person in
the State of Kansas. He did not wait to be introduced to me. He never
craves an introduction to a criminal.
As soon as he came into the room he got a pole with which to measure me.
Then, looking at me, in a harsh, gruff voice he called out: "Stand up
here." At first I did not arise. At the second invitation, however, I
stood up and was measured. My description was taken by the clerk. In
this office there is to be found a description of all the criminals that
ever entered the Kansas penitentiary. I was asked if I was a married
man, how many children I had, and how much property I possessed. These
questions were easily answered. After the deputy warden had discharged
his duty he retired. I soon discovered that it was according to the
rules of the prison for the officers to talk in a harsh and abrupt
manner to the prisoners. This accounted for the way in which I was
greeted by the deputy warden, who is the disciplinarian of the prison. I
may say, in passing, that all the harsh manners of Mr. Higgins are
simply borrowed for the occasion. Away from the presence of prisoners,
over whom he is to exert his influence, there is not to be found a more
pleasant and agreeable gentleman. In came a second official, and, in the
same gruff manner, said to me, "Come along." I followed him out to
the wash-house, where I took a bath. A prisoner took my measure for a
suit of clothes. After he had passed the tape-line around me several
times, he informed the officer that I was the same size of John
Robinson, who had been released from the penitentiary the day before.
"Shall I give him John Robinson's clothes?" asked the convict. In the
same gruff manner the officer said, "Yes, bring on Robinson's old
clothes." So I was furnished with a second-hand suit! The shoes were
second-hand. I am positive about this last statement, judging by the
aroma. After I had been in the penitentiary some four months, I learned
that John Robinson, whose clothes I had secured, was a colored man.
Being arrayed in this suit of stripes I was certainly "a thing of
beauty." The coat was a short blouse and striped; the stripes, white
and black, alternated with each other, and passed around the body in a
horizontal way. The pantaloons were striped; the shirt was striped; the
cap was striped. In fine, it seemed that everything about that
penitentiary was striped—even to the cats! Being dressed, I was next
handed an article that proved, on examination, to be intended for a
handkerchief. It was covered with large blue
letters—"Leavenworth Mills. XXX Flour," etc. It was a quarter section
of a flour sack! Nine hundred prisoners very soon empty a great many
flour sacks. After the flour has been consumed the sack is cut up into
quarter sections, washed, hemmed and used for handkerchiefs. No better
handkerchief can be invented. They are stout, stiff and durable! They
will bear all manner of nasal assaults! There is no danger of blowing
them into atoms, and the officials are not afraid to give them out to
convicts sent there charged with the use of dynamite! One of them has
been known to last a prisoner for five years.
After I had donned my suit and taken possession of my
handkerchief, I was ordered to fold my arms. Prisoners marching in
ranks, or going to and fro about the prison enclosure, are required to
have their arms in this position. The object is to prevent them from
passing articles. I was marched to the building known as the south wing
of the cell house. In this building, which is two hundred and fifty feet
long, there are cells for the accommodation of five hundred convicts.
The prisoners who occupy this wing work in the shops located above
ground, and within the prison enclosure.
The officer in charge conducted me to cell number one. Click went the
lock. The door was pulled open, and in his usual style, he said, "Get
in." I stepped in. Slam went the door. Click went the lock, and I was in
a felon's cell! These rooms are about four feet wide, seven feet long,
and seven feet high. In many of the cells two men are confined. These
rooms are entirely too small for the accommodation of two prisoners. A
new cell house is being built, which, when completed, will afford
sufficient additional room so that each prisoner can have a cell. In
these small rooms there are two bunks or beds when two convicts occupy
the same cell. The bed-rack is made of iron or wood slats, and the
bed-tick is filled with corn-husks; the pillow is also filled with the
latter material, and when packed down becomes as hard as a board. When
the beds are not in use they are fastened to the side of the wall with a
small chain. When down and in use they take up nearly the entire space
of the cell, so that it is impossible for the two occupants to pass each
other in walking to and fro. The other furniture consists of a small
tin bucket, holding about two quarts of water, and a wash-basin. A
short-handled broom is also
found in one corner of the cell, with which the convict brushes it out
every morning. The walls are of stone, decorated with a small looking-glass
and a towel. Each cell contains one chair and a Holy Bible. There
is no rich Brussels carpet on the floor, although prisoners are allowed
one if they furnish it themselves. No costly upholstered furniture
adorns these safe retreats! Nothing in that line is to be discovered
except one cane-bottomed chair for the accommodation of two prisoners,
so that when one sits on the chair the other stands, or occupies a seat
on the stone floor. There is not room for two chairs, or the State would
furnish another chair. These rooms are built of stone. The door is of
one-half inch iron bars, crossing each other at right angles, leaving
small spaces about two by six inches; through these spaces come the air
, light and heat for the health and comfort of the inmates. When I
entered my cell on that eventful morning I found it occupied by a
prisoner. He was also a new arrival; he had preceded me about an hour.
When I entered he arose and gave me his chair, taking a seat on the
floor in the opposite corner. After I had been locked in, before going
away the officer said, "Now I don't want you fellows
to get to talking, for that is not permitted in this institution. "We
sat in silence, surveying each other; in a few moments my companion,
seeing something in my personal appearance that caused him to lose his
self control, laughed. That he might give full vent to his laughing
propensities, and not make too much noise, he drew from his pocket his
quarter section of a flour bag and put it into his mouth. He soon became
as red in the face as a lobster. I was curious, of course, to know what
it was that pleased him so much. Rising from my chair, going to the door
and looking through the openings I could see no officer near, so I asked
my companion, in a whisper, what it was that pleased him so. It was with
difficulty and after several trials before he could succeed in telling
me what it was that caused him to be so convulsed. I told him to take
his time, cool off gradually, as I had eighteen months, and could wait
patiently. At last, being able to control his feelings sufficiently to
tell me, in the midst of his outbursts of laughter, he said, "You look
just like one of them zebras in Barnum's Circus!" When my attention was
called to the matter, sure enough, I did look rather striped, and I,
amused at his suggestion, laughed also.
Soon an officer came gliding around in front of the cell, when our
laughing ceased. My companion was a young fellow from Doniphan County.
He got drunk and tried to rob an associate, still drunker, of a twenty
dollar gold piece. He was arrested, tried and convicted of robbery,
receiving a sentence of one year. Directly an officer came, took him
out of my cell and conducted him to another department. All alone, I
sat in my little parlor for nearly an hour, thinking over the past. My
reverie was at length broken by the turning of my door lock. A fresh
arrival was told to "git in." This prisoner had the appearance of just
having been lassoed on the wild western prairies. He resembled a
cow-boy. His whiskers were long and sandy. His hair, of the same color,
fell upon his shoulders. As soon as the officer had gone away and
everything had become quiet, I asked this fellow his name. "Horserider,"
was his reply, from which I inferred that he was a horse-thief. "How
long a term have you?" was my next question. "Seven years," was his
reply. I comforted him by saying it would be some time before he rode
another horse.
The next part of the programme consisted
in a little darkey coming in front of our cell with a rudely constructed
barber's chair. The cell door opened, and an officer said to me, as if
he would hit me with a club the next moment, "Git out of there." I went
out. Pointing to the barber's chair, he said, "Squat yourself in that
chair." I sat down. "Throw back your head." I laid it back. It was not
long before my raven mustache was off, and my hair cut rather
uncomfortably short for fly time. After this tonsorial artist had
finished his work then came the command once more, "Git in." I got in.
It now came Mr. Horserider's turn to bid a long farewell to his auburn
locks. He took his place in the chair, and the little darkey, possibly
for his own amusement, cut off the hair on one side of the head and left
the other untouched. He then shaved one side of his face without
disturbing the other. At this moment the bell for dinner rang, and the
little colored fellow broke away and ran to his division, to fall in
ranks, so that he would not miss his noon meal. Once more Mr. Horserider
entered his cell and we were locked in. A more comical object I never
beheld; he did not even possess the beauty of a baboon; he might
certainly have passed for the eighth wonder of the
world. When he came in I handed him the small looking-glass and asked
him how he liked his hair-cut. Remember, one side of his head and face
was shaved close, and the other covered with long sandy hair and beard.
Looking into the glass, he exclaimed: "Holy Moses! and who am I,
anyway?" I answered his question by stating that he favored Mr.
What-Is-It. He was very uneasy for a time, thinking that he was going
to be left in that condition. He wanted to know of me if all
horse-thieves of the penitentiary wore their hair and whiskers in this
style. I comforted him all I could by imparting the information that
they did. He was much relieved when the darkey returned after dinner and
finished the shaving.
I was next taken out of my cell to pass a medical examination.
Dr. Mooney, the gentlemanly officer in charge of the hospital, put in an
appearance with a large book under his arm and sat down by a table. I
was ushered into his presence. He began asking me questions, and wrote
down my answers in his book, which proved to be the physician's
register.
"Have you any decayed teeth?" was his first question,
"No, sir," was my reply.
"Have you ever lost any teeth? "
"No, sir."
"Have you ever had the measles?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you ever had the mumps?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you ever had the chicken-pox?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you ever had the thresh?"
Well, I didn't know what was meant by the thresh. I knew that I
had been "thrashed" a great many times, and inferred from that fact that
I must have had the disease at some time or other in my youth, so I
answered,
"Yes, sir."
"Have you ever had the itch?"
"What kind?" said I. "The old fashioned seven year kind? Y-e-s,
sir, I have had it."
He then continued asking me questions, and wanted to know if I
ever had a great many diseases, the names of which I had never heard
before. Since I catch almost everything that comes along, I supposed, of
course, that at some period during my childhood, youth or early manhood
I had suffered from all those physical ills, so I always answered,
"Yes, sir." He wound up by inquiring if I ever had a stroke of
the horse glanders. I knew what was meant by that disease, and replied
in the negative.
He then looked at me over the top of his spectacles, and, in a
rather doubting manner, said, "and you really have had all these
diseases? By the way," he continued, "are you alive at the present
moment after all that you have suffered?" Mr. Mooney is an Irishman. He
was having a little cold-blooded sport at my expense. Whenever you meet
an Irishman you will always strike a budget of fun.
His next question was, "Are you a sound man?"
My reply was to the effect that I was, physically, mentally and
morally. So he wrote down in his book opposite my name "physically and
mentally a sound man." He said he would take my word for being sound
morally, but that he would not put that down on the books for the
present, for fear there might be a mistake somewhere. Before discharging
me, he calmly stated that I would make a good coal miner. All the
prisoners undergo this medical cross-examination.
After I had run the doctor's gauntlet, I was conducted from the
south wing of the cell-house to the north wing. Here I met for the
first time Mr. Elliott, who has charge of this building during the
daytime. It is a part of this highly efficient officer's duty to
cross-examine the prisoners as to where they have lived and what they have
been doing. His examinations are very rigid. He is a bright man, a good
judge of human nature, and can tell a criminal at sight. He would make
an able criminal lawyer. He is the prison detective. By means of these
examinations he often obtains clues that lead to the detection of the
perpetrators of crime. I have been told by good authority that on
account of information obtained by this official, two murderers were
discovered in the Kansas penitentiary, and, after their terms had
expired, they were immediately arrested, and, on requisition, taken back
to the Eastern States, where the crimes had been committed, and there
tried, convicted and punished according to the laws of those States.
After I had been asked all manner of questions by this official, he very
kindly informed me that I came to the penitentiary with a bad record.
He further stated that I was looked upon as
one of the worst criminals in the State of Kansas. This information was
rather a set-back to me, as I had no idea that I was in possession of
any such record as that. I begged of him to wait a little while before
he made up his mind conclusively as to my character, for there might be
such a thing as his being mistaken. There is no man that is rendering
more effective service to the State of Kansas in the way of bringing
criminals to justice than Mr. Elliott. He has been an officer of the
prison for nearly nine years. As an honest officer he is above reproach.
As a disciplinarian he has no superior in the West.
After this examination I was shown to my cell. It was now about
two o'clock in the afternoon of my first day in prison. I remained in
the cell alone during the entire afternoon. Of all the dark hours of my
eventful history, none have been filled with more gloom and sadness than
those of my first day in prison. Note my antecedents—a college
graduate, a county clerk, the president of a bank, and an editor of a
daily newspaper. All my life I had moved in the highest circles of
society, surrounded by the best and purest of both sexes, and now, here
I was, in the
deplorable condition of having been hurled from that high social
position, down to the low degraded plane of a convict. As I sat there in
that desolate abode of the disgraced, I tried to look out down the
future. All was dark. For a time it seemed as if that sweet angel we
call hope had spread her wings and taken her departure from me forever.
The black cloud of despair seemed settling down upon me. But very few
persons possess the ability to make any thing of themselves after having
served a term in the penitentiary. Having once fallen to so low a plane
it is almost impossible to rise again. Young man, as you peruse this
book, think of these things. Once down as a felon it is a miracle if
one ever regains what he has lost. I sat brooding over these things for
an hour or more, when my manhood asserted itself. Hope returned. I
reasoned thus: I am a young man. I enjoy good health. There will be only
a few months of imprisonment and then I will be free. I thought of my
loving wife, my little children, my aged mother, my kind friends, and
for their sake I would not yield to despair. Soliciting the aid of a
kind Heavenly Father, I resolved to do the best I
could toward regaining what I had lost. My father was a minister of the
gospel for fifty years prior to his death. He was not blessed with much
of this world's goods. For this reason I began in very early life to aid
myself. I spent seven years in college preparing for the struggles that
awaited me. I earned every dollar of the money which paid my expenses
while securing my education. I carried the hod to assist in building the
college in which I afterward graduated. Few men can truthfully make this
statement of themselves. While working my way through the institution
where I received my education, I learned one useful lesson—self
reliance. I learned to depend upon my own efforts for success. Every
one must learn this useful lesson before he can become anything in life.
After I had met with misfortune and found myself in a prison cell, I was
glad that I had learned to rely upon my own efforts.
The question: "What shall I do in the future?" now came to me.
That afternoon I laid my plans which I would carry out out in the years
to come. I was financially ruined in the great battle I carried on with
the Atchison ring. I was aware of the fact that, when I got out
of the penitentiary, all the money that I would have with which to make
another start in life would be five dollars. The United States presents
her prisoners, when discharged, with a suit of citizen's clothes and
five dollars. This was my capital. What could I do with five dollars, in
the way of assisting me in getting another financial foot-hold in life?
After my release it was necessary for me to do something at once to get
money. It never entered my mind to borrow. It will be interesting to the
reader to know what I did, after my prison days were past, to make a
"quick raise." Sixteen months of imprisonment slipped away. I regained
my liberty on Monday. I received my five dollars and immediately started
for my home, in Atchison. On my arrival, Monday night, I had four
dollars and ten cents. On Tuesday morning I went to the proprietor of
the Opera House, in Atchison, and inquired how much money was necessary
to secure the use of the building for the next evening. "Fifty
dollars,"was his reply. I gave him all the money I had, and persuaded
him to trust me for the rest. I informed him that I was going to deliver
a lecture on my prison life. He asked if I thought anybody would come
to
hear a convict talk. In answer, I told him that was the most important
question that was agitating my mind at the present moment, and if he
would let me have the use of the Opera House we would soon settle that
question. I further told him that if the receipts of the evening were
not enough to pay him for the use of the house, that I would pay him as
soon as possible. He let me have the use of the house. I advertised in
the daily papers of the city that I would lecture in the Opera House the
following evening on my prison life,—admission fifty cents. I thought
if the good people wanted to come at all they would come even if they
had to pay well for it. I was very restless from the morning that I
engaged the Opera House until the next evening, at which time I was to
speak. I did not know whether I would have any audience. If not, I was
fifty dollars deeper in debt. The evening for the lecture came, I went
to the Opera House prepared to interest anyone that might put in an
appearance; I entered the building in the rear, and took my position on
the platform. The signal was given and up went the curtain. I was highly
pleased when I saw my audience. The building was
packed. The lecture was a financial success. In this manner I secured a
nice "stake" for furture{sic} use. I delivered that lecture for several
weeks in Kansas, and made a thousand dollars above expenses. To return
to my first afternoon in the cell. I thought of another scheme. I
conceived the idea that a book about, a penitentiary, giving its
history, and also the history of many of the leading criminals, modes of
punishment, escapes, etc., would be very interesting, and would sell. I
decided to write such a book while in prison. In order to write a book
it became necessary to have writing material. How was I to secure this?
It was against the prison regulations for a prisoner to have a
lead-pencil or scrap of paper. The officials were very strict on this
point. It was essential they should be. If the prisoners could pass
notes, it would not be long before a prison insurrection would be the
result. The plan that I adopted to secure writing material was rather
unique, and perhaps the reader will like to know how I managed this
difficult matter. It is wonderful what a man can accomplish, with
adverse surroundings, if he wills it. As I have stated before, I had
much to do in securing the election of
Hon. W. D. Gilbert to the district judgeship. This made him feel very
kind toward me. He came often to visit me at the prison. One day while
visiting me, I asked him to use his influence with the warden to secure
for me the privilege of having writing material in my cell. "What do
you want with writing material," said he. The answer I gave was, that I
might pass away my leisure hours in learning to write short-hand. He
called on Warden Smith, and got his consent. He told the warden that if
I would master this useful art while in prison, on my release, he would
appoint me his district court reporter, at a salary of $2,500 a year.
The scheme was a success. I sent and got my short-hand books and writing
material. I mastered short-hand, and can now write as fast as one would
care to dictate. It was not long before I began writing my book in
short-hand. The officials, as was their custom, would examine my cell
daily to see if anything had crept in that did not belong there. They
could not read short-hand. They did not know what so many little
straight marks and curves indicated. I persevered, and one month before
my time expired I had my book completed, and sent it out by a friend
who visited the prison, who kept it for me until I secured my liberty.
As before stated, I lectured until I got money sufficient, and then I
published my first book on prisons, giving it the impressive title of "A
Kansas Hell." This book sold rapidly, and soon the first edition was
disposed of. I made enough money out of this book to place me on my
feet, financially. But, to return to my cell the first afternoon. I
remained alone until time for the prisoners to come in from their work,
when I found that I was to have a "life man" for my cell-mate, whose
name was Woodward R. Lopeman. I have given his history in a subsequent
chapter. I remained in my cell during the evening, until the prison bell
rang for retiring. Strange to say, after going to bed, I soon fell
asleep, and did not awake until the prison bell rang on the following
morning. When I did awake, it was to find myself, not in my own pleasant
little home in the city of Atchison, Kansas, but in a felon's cell. I
arose and dressed, and then waited and wondered what would be the next
thing on the programme.