2. CHAPTER II.
THE COAL MINES.
I WAS next taken to the coal mines. These mines are located just
outside of the prison enclosure, and are surrounded by high stone walls
and stone buildings, which, by their location, take the place of walls.
The coal yards are separated from the prison campus by a partition wall,
which constitutes the south wall of the coal department and the north
wall of the prison.
Passing from one of these departments to the other, through a
large gateway, the gate being kept by a convict, an old man who murdered
his son, and who has a life sentence. Reader, how would you like to
spend your entire life, day after day, week after week, month after
month, year after year, in the monotonous employment of opening and
closing a large gate? When my escort and myself reached the mines, I was
placed in charge of Mr. Dodds, the official in control of the mines at
the surface. Mr. Dodds is a very competent officer, and has been on duty
at that place more
than twenty years. From this officer I received a mining cap. This piece
of head-wear was turban-shaped, striped, of course, with a leather
frontlet, on which was fastened the mining lamp. This lamp, in shape,
resembled an ordinary tea-pot, only it was much smaller. In place of the
handle was a hook, which fastened to the leather frontlet. The bowl of
the lamp contained the oil; a wick passes up through the spout, at the
end of which is the light. The miner carrying his lamp in this position
has it out of his way. With the cap on my head and lamp lighted, I stood
on the verge of a ten by twelve hole in the earth, that was almost eight
hundred feet deep. We think that a well one hundred feet deep is quite a
distance down into the ground, but here was a hole eight times deeper.
In the mining vernacular this hole is termed a shaft—the term that will
be employed in speaking of it hereafter. There are two of these shafts,
about one hundred yards apart. Each shaft is divided by a wooden
partition which descends from the top to the bottom. Two elevators, or
cages, as they are called, ascend and descend along the shaft. While one
cage is coming up the other is going down. They derive their motor power
from
two large engines, one for each shaft. The officer in charge inquired,
before making my descent into the mines, if I ever fainted. "Never,"
was my reply. Persons sometimes faint in going down this shaft. "Step
into the cage," was the order given. I obeyed, and, reaching up, took
hold of some iron bars that went across the top. The signal was given,
down I started. After I had descended a few feet a current of air coming
up from below put out my light, which left me in the darkness of an
Egyptian night. Down, down, down I went. There are a great many things
in life that I have forgotten. There are a great many more that I expect
to forget, but that first ride down the coal shaft I never can forget.
Thug! I had struck bottom. It is said that when one starts down hill in
this world he keeps on going until he strikes bottom. My readers will
certainly agree with me that reaching a resting place eight hundred feet
under the surface I had found the lowest round of the ladder. Whatever
I may be in the future, to whatever heights I may ascend, I shall not
forget that my starting point was nearly a thousand feet under the
Kansas penitentiary. Water seeks its level. You may force one below the
surface,
and to whatever depth you please, to the extent of your power, but if he
does not belong there, you cannot keep him down: in the course of time
he will rise.
It was six long, dreary months before I was able to reach the
first round in the ladder. Through that period I lay in the
penitentiary mines, or at the bottom of "The Kansas Hell." It is said
the old fashioned Hell has fire and brimstone; while the "Kansas Hell"
has no fire, one thing is certain, it has plenty of material out of
which to make it, and an abundant supply of sulphur.
At the end of my descent I found an officer there on duty. He
told me to step off and occupy a seat on a small bench near by. He
desired to impart some information. He advised me that while I was
there, a convict, it would not be proper to assume the warden's
privileges or endeavor to discharge his duties. In other words, the
best thing to do was to keep my place, revolve about in my own orbit,
carefully regarding all laws, both centripetal and centrifugal;
otherwise, I might burst by the natural pressure of too highly confined
interior forces! I confess that, though not subject to such infliction,
I very nearly fainted over
these ponderous polysyllables! He also informed me that the beautifully
paved highway to popularity in the coal mines was to excavate large
quantities of the carboniferous substance contained in the subterranean
passages of the mine; the more coal I got out the more popular would I
be!
After his lecture was over the officer gave a low whistle, and
out from a dark recess there emerged a convict in his stripes. His face
and hands were covered with coal dust. He came out grinning, showing his
white teeth. As I caught sight of him I thought, surely, this is a fiend
from the lower regions. Take one of those prisoners with his striped
clothes, a light burning on his head, his face black and shining like
ebony, behold him in the weird darkness of the mines, and if he does not
call to your mind the picture of one of the imps of Eternal Night there
is nothing in this world that will. This prisoner was the runner or
messenger for this officer at the foot of the shaft. Each officer in the
penitentiary who has charge of a division of men has a messenger to run
errands for him. When this messenger came up to the officer he made his
obeisance. Convicts are taught to observe good manners in the presence
of the officials. He was told to take me to another officer in a distant
part of the mines, a Mr. Johns, who would give me work. From the foot
of the shaft there go out in almost all directions, roadways or
"entries." These underground roadways are about six feet in width and
height. I could walk erect in most of them. Along these entries was a
car track, over which the small coal cars pass to and from the rooms
where the coal is taken out, to the shaft, and hoisted to the top with
their load of coal. Some of these entries extend more than a mile out
into the earth from the base of the shaft. As my fellow-prisoner and I
were passing along one of these roadways to the place where I was to
work, he asked me my name and the nature of my offense. At this place
let me inform, the reader that the prisoners are given permission to
converse with each other in the mines. Their instructions are to the
effect that they are not to talk about anything but their work, but in
the penitentiary the same rule holds good as on the outside: "Give a man
an inch and he will take a yard." So, when permission is given to the
convict to talk about his work, he talks about everything else. In
answer to my escort's question as to the
length of my sentence, I informed him that I had eighteen months. He
dryly remarked that was nothing, and if the judge who sent me up could
not give me a longer term than that, he should have sent me home to my
family. He also remarked that he was afraid I would get into trouble in
the mines on account of my short sentence. There were a great many
long-term fellows down there, who were envious of short-term men, and were
likely to put up jobs on them by reporting their mistakes and violations
of regulations to the officer in charge, and thus get them punished. I
informed my guide that I thought I would get along some way with the
prisoners, and keep out of trouble. I then inquired of him as to the
length of his sentence.
"Twenty-five stretches," was his reply. I did not know what he
meant by the term "stretches" and asked for information. "That is the
prison term for years, a stretch meaning a year," was his reply. I
learned that my companion, having twenty-five stretches, was carrying
about with him a twenty-five years' sentence. A quarter of a century in
prison! This was a young man. He had been in the prison for three years.
When
he entered this living tomb he had the bloom of youth upon his cheek.
When he goes out, at the end of his term, if he lives so long, he will
be an old, broken down man. He will not be likely to live that long. The
average life of a convict is but fourteen years under the most favorable
surroundings, but in the coal mines it cannot exceed five years at most.
Let me tell you of this man's crime, and then you can determine
for yourself how easy it is to get in the penitentiary. This young
fellow is the son of one of the most respectable farmers in the State.
He attended a dance one night in company with some of the neighbor boys
at a village near by. While there, he got under the influence of strong
drink, became involved in a quarrel over one of the numbers with the
floor managers, and in the fight that ensued he drew his knife and
disemboweled the man with whom he was fighting. In a few moments the
wounded man died. The young fellow was tried, convicted of murder, and
sent to the penitentiary for twenty-five years at hard labor. It is
awful to contemplate. Young man, as you read this, had you not better
make up your mind
to go rather slow in pouring whisky down your throat in future?
As we passed along through the mines I thought about that word
"stretch," and as I did not like the idea of having jobs put up on me,
came to the conclusion that I would render myself popular by telling the
prisoners in the mines who might ask me as to my sentence, that I had
eighteen "stretches." I did not think that calling a month a "stretch"
would be "stretching" my conscience to such a degree as to cause me any
particular distress, for I knew that by the time I had served out a
month it would seem equivalent to a year on the outside.
After following along the entry for some distance, almost a mile,
we came to that portion of the mines where I was to work. Coming up to
the place where the officer was seated, the headquarters of this
division, my guide made a low bow, and informed the officer in charge
that he had brought him a man. Then bowing himself out, he returned to
his place at the foot of the shaft.
The officer in whose division I was to work now signaled his
messenger, and there came
out of the darkness another convict, stripes, cap, lamp and all.
"Get Reynolds a set of mining tools," said the officer.
These were soon brought, and consisted of a pick, a short-handled
shovel, two iron wedges and a sledge hammer,
"Take him," said the officer, "to room number three, and tell
George Mullen, who is working in that room, to teach him how to mine."
I got my arms around those implements of coal warfare, and
following my escort, passed along the entry for some distance, possibly
two hundred yards, when the roadway in which we were walking suddenly
terminated, and instead, there was a small hole that went further on
into the earth. When we came to this place my guide dropped down on his
hands and knees and passed into the room. I halted. I had never been in
such a place before. I did not know what there was in that dark hole.
Soon my escort called out, "Come along, there is nothing in here to hurt
you." So I dropped down on my hands and knees and into the dark hole I
went.
These rooms where the miners work are
about twenty-eight inches in height, twenty-four inches wide, and about
fifty feet long. Think of working in such a place as that! Oh, how
often have I sighed for room enough to spread myself! How I would have
made that coal fly had the vein been on top where I could have stood on
my feet and mined. George Mullen, the convict who was to teach me to
mine, was at the farther end of the room at work when we entered. We
crawled on our hands and knees to him, and when my guide had delivered
his message he withdrew and hastened back to his headquarters near the
stand where his officer sat.
After he had gone and my room-mate and myself were left alone,
about the first question that George asked me was, "How long have you
got?"
"Eighteen stretches," was my quick reply.
George loved me dearly from that moment. I very soon discovered
that I was very popular with him on account of my long sentence.
"How long are you in for?" said I to him.
"Always," was his answer.
He was a life prisoner. At one time he was marshal of a Kansas
town, and while acting in that capacity he killed his man. He was trying
to arrest him, so he informed me, and the fellow showed fight, when he
took out his gun and shot him. It was claimed by the authorities that
the shooting was unprovoked, and that the man could have been arrested
without killing him. Aside from the fact that he had killed his man, I
must say that I never met a man for whom I had a higher regard. He was
very kind to me, very patient, and made my work as easy for me as he
possibly could. I remained with him for nearly a month, when, having
learned the business, I was taken to another part of the mines and given
a task.
"Have you ever mined any?" inquired my instructor.
"No; I never was in a coal mine before coming here."
He then gave me my first lesson in mining. I lay on my right
side in obedience to his orders, stretched out at full length. The
short-handled shovel was inverted and placed under my right shoulder.
This lifted my shoulder up from the ground a little distance and I was
thus enabled to strike with my pick. The vein of coal is about
twenty-two inches in thickness. We would mine out the dirt, or fire-clay
as it was called, from under the coal to the distance of
two feet, or the length of a pick-handle, and to the depth of some six
inches. We would then set our iron wedges in above the vein of coal, and
with the sledge hammer would drive them in until the coal would drop
down. Imagine my forlorn condition as I lay therein that small room. It
was as dark down there as night but for the feeble light given out by
the mining lamp; the room was only twenty-eight inches from the floor to
the ceiling, and then above the ceiling there were eight hundred feet of
mother earth. Two feet from the face of the coal, and just back of where
I lay when mining, was a row of props that held up the roof and kept it
from falling in upon me. The loose dirt which we picked out from under
the coal vein was shoveled back behind the props. This pile of dirt, in
mining language, is called the "gob." I began operations at once. I
worked away with all my might for an hour or more, picking out the dirt
from under the coal. Then I was tired completely out. I rolled over on
my back, and, with my face looking up to the pile of dirt, eight hundred
feet thick, that shut out from me the light of day, I rested for awhile.
I had done no physical work for ten years. I was physically soft. To put
me down in the mines and set me to digging coal was wicked. It was
murder. Down in that dark pit how I suffered! There was no escape from
it. There was the medicine. I had to take it. I do not know, but it
seems to me that when a man is sent to that prison who has not been in
the habit of performing physical labor, he should not be put to work in
the mines until he becomes accustomed to manual labor. It would seem
that it would be nothing more than right to give him an easier task at
first and let him gradually become hardened to his work at coal digging.
Nothing of this kind is done. The young, the old, the middle-aged are
indiscriminately and unceremoniously thrust into the mine. Down there
are nearly five hundred prisoners. Among them are boys from seventeen to
twenty years of age, many of whom are in delicate health. Here are to be
found old men, in some cases sixty years of age. I do not wish to be
understood as casting any reflections upon the officers of this
institution. They cannot help these things. If Warden Smith could avoid
it there would not be a single man sent down to that region of death.
The mines are there and must be worked. Let this blame fall where it
belongs. I must say injustice to our common humanity, that to work these
two classes, the boys and old men, in those coal mines is a burning
shame and outrage. It is bad enough, as the sequel will show, to put
able-bodied, middle-aged men to work in that pit. The great State of
Kansas has opened those mines. Her Legislature has decided to have them
worked. It becomes the duty, therefore, of the prison directors to work
them as long as they are instructed to do so, even if scores of human
beings are maimed for life or murdered outright each year. The blame
cannot rest on the prison officials, but upon our lawmakers.
