3. CHAPTER III.
THE COAL MINES (Continued).
AFTER we had mined some twenty-five feet we took down the coal. To do
this the wedges are set and driven in at the top of the vein of coal,
with the sledge hammer. After my companion had struck the coal several
times it began to pop and crack as if it would fall at any moment. I
became alarmed. I was never in such a place before, and I said: "George,
had I not better get out of this place? I don't want the coal to fall on
me the first day." His reply was, that if I wanted to learn how to mine
I must remain near the coal and take my chances of being killed. This
was indeed comforting! Then he informed me that he was going to knock
on the coal and wanted me to catch the sound that was produced. He
thumped away, and I got the sound—a dull, heavy thud. Now, says he,
"when coal sounds in that manner it is not ready to drop." So he
continued to pound away at it. The more he pounded the more the coal
cracked and the more alarmed I became. I was afraid it would drop at
any moment
and crush me. I begged of him to cease pounding until I got into the
entry out of the way of danger. He tried to make me believe there was no
danger. I was hard to convince of that fact. There I lay stretched out
on my side next to the coal, he driving in the wedges, and the coal
seeming to me to be ready to drop at each stroke of the hammer. "Now
listen," said he, "while I knock on the coal once more." I listened.
The sound was altogether different from the first. "Now," said he, "the
coal is about ready to fall." It is necessary for the miner to know this
part of his business. It is by the sound that he determines when it is
ready to fall. If he is ignorant of this part of his work, he would be
in great danger of getting killed from the coal falling unexpectedly.
"Well," said I, "if this coal is about ready to drop, had I not better
get out of here into the entry, so that I may be out of danger?" "No,"
was his reply; "just crawl up behind that row of props and remain in the
`gob' until after the coal falls." In obedience to his command I
cheerfully got up behind the props and embraced that pile of dirt. He
struck the wedges a few more blows and then darted behind the props out
of danger. No sooner had he got
out of the way than the coal came thundering down. "Now," said my
room-mate "go out into the entry and bring in the buggy." "All right."
And out I went on my hands and knees. I soon found my way into the
entry, but found no buggy; so back I crawled into the room and reported.
At this my instructor crawled out to see what had become of that
singular vehicle known as a mining buggy. I followed after. I did not
want to remain behind in that coal mine. I did not know what might
happen should I be left there in that dark hole alone. After we had
reached the entry where we could stand erect my teacher pointed to an
object which lay close to our feet, and said to me, "Man, where are your
eyes?" "In my head," I calmly replied. "Do you see that thing there?"
"Of course I see that thing." "Well, that is the buggy." "Indeed!" I
exclaimed. "I am certainly glad to know it, for I never would have taken
that for a buggy." It had a pair of runners which were held in their
places by a board being nailed across them. On this was a small box; at
one end there was a short iron handle. On our knees we pushed the buggy
into the room, took up the hammer, broke up the coal into
lumps we could handle, filled up the small box, dragged it out into the
entry and emptied it into a heap. This is called "buggying" coal. It is
the most laborious part of mining. Whenever a new man would be placed
with the convicts for instructions in mining he would have to buggy coal
just as long as it was possible to get him to do so. After a time,
however, he would want to take turn about with his teacher.
After we had finished getting out what we had down the noon hour
had arrived. At certain places in the entries or roadways there are
large wooden doors which, when shut, close up the entire passage. These
doors are for the regulations of the currents of air which pass through
the mines. The loud noise produced by pounding on one of these doors was
the signal for dinner. It was now noon. Bang, bang, bang, bang, went the
door. I had now put in one-half day of my sentence in the mines. Oh!
the many long, dreary, monotonous days I passed after that! At the call
for dinner the convict, always hungry, suddenly drops his tools
and makes his way at a rapid pace along the entry until he comes to the
place where the division officer has his headquarters. Arriving
at this place each convict takes his position in a line with his
fellow-convicts. All talking now ceases. They sit on the ground while
eating, with their lower limbs crossed. There are no soft cushioned
chairs on which the tired prisoner may rest his weary limbs. When
seated, a small piece of pine board, about a foot square, is placed
across his knees. This is the table. No table cloth, no napkins, no
table linen of any kind. Such articles as these would paralyze a
convict! Thus seated in two rows along the sides of the entry, with
their mining lamps lighted and hanging in their caps, they present a
weird and interesting sight. The dinner had been brought down from the
top about an hour before on coal cars. Three of the prisoners are now
detailed to act as waiters. One passes down between the two rows of
convicts, carrying in his hand a wooden pail filled with knives and
forks. These culinary instruments have iron handles. Were they made of
wood or horn, the convicts would soon break off the handles and make
trinkets out of them. This waiter, passing along, drops a knife and fork
on each table. He is followed by another who drops down a piece of corn
bread; then another with a piece of meat for each man, which he
places on the pine board. There is no "Please pass the meat," or "Hand
over the bread." Not a word is spoken. After the knives and forks have
been passed around this waiter returns and gives each man a quart of
water.
This is dinner. The bill of fare is regular, and consists
of cold water, corn bread and meat. Occasionally we have dessert of
cold cabbage, or turnips or cracked corn. When we have these luxuries
they are given to us in rotation, and a day always intervenes between
cabbage and turnips. In the coal mines the prisoner never washes himself
before eating. Although he gets his hands and face as black as the coal
he has been digging, yet he does not take time to wash himself before
eating. Reader, how would you like to dine in this condition? The old
saying is, we must all eat our "peck of dirt." I think I have consumed
at least two bushels and a half! I can never forget my first meal in the
mines. I was hungry, it was true, but I couldn't manage to eat under the
circumstances. I sat there on the ground, and in silence watched the
other prisoners eat. I thought, " You hogs! I can never get so hungry as
to eat as you are now eating." In this I was mistaken. Before ten days
had gone by I could eat along
with any of them. The first day I thought I would do without my dinner,
and when supper time came go to the top and enjoy a fine meal. I
imagined that after digging coal all day they would surely give us a
good meal in the evening. My mouth "watered" for some quail on toast,
or a nice piece of tenderloin, with a cup of tea. Think of my surprise,
when hoisted to the top at the close of day, after marching into the
dining-room and taking our places at the table, when I saw all that was
put before the prisoners was a piece of bread, a cup of tea without
sugar or milk, and two tablespoonfuls of sorghum molasses. It did not
require a long time for me to dispose of the molasses, as I was very
hungry, and handed up my cup for an additional supply; this was refused.
It is considered in the penitentiary an excess of two tablespoonfuls of
sorghum is unhealthy! There is danger of its burning out the stomach!
So at each supper after that I had to get along with two spoonfuls. As
far as the tea was concerned, it was made of some unknown material whose
aroma was unfamiliar to my olfactory; the taste was likewise unfamiliar,
and in consequence of these peculiarities of the prison tea I never
imbibed of it but the one time, that
being amply sufficient to last through the entire period of my
confinement. From that day on I took cold water, which, after all, is
God's best beverage for the human race. The penitentiary, so far as I
know, is the only place in the State of Kansas where prohibition
actually works prohibition as contemplated by the laws of the State!
There are no "joints" in the Pen. No assistant attorney generals are
necessary to enforce prohibition there. I never saw a drunken man in the
prison. The Striped Temperance Society of Kansas is a success.
For breakfast in the prison we have hash, bread, and a tin cup of
coffee, without sugar or milk; no butter, no meat. The hash is made of
the pieces of bread and meat left over from the preceding day. We had it
every day in the year for breakfast. During my entire time in the prison
I had nothing for breakfast but hash. One day I was talking to an old
murderer who had been there for eighteen years, and he told me he had
eaten hash for his breakfast during his entire term—six thousand five
hundred and seventy days. I looked at the old man and wondered to myself
whether he was a human being or a pile of hash, half concluding that he
was the latter!
In conversation with the chaplain of the prison I received the
following anecdote, which I will relate for the benefit of my readers.
It is customary in the prison, after the Sunday exercises, for such as
desire to remain and hold a sort of class meeting, or, as some call it,
experience meeting. In one of these, an old colored man arose, and said:
"Breddren, ebber since Ize been in dis prison Ize been tryin' to git de
blessin'; Ize prayed God night and day. Ize rascelled wid de Almighty
'till my hips was sore, but Ize nebber got it. Some sez its la'k ob
faith. Some its la'k of strength, but I b'l'eves de reason am on 'count
ob de quality ob dis hash we hab ebbery day!"
Accidents are occurring almost daily. Scarcely a day passes but
what some man receives injuries. Often very severe accidents happen, and
occasionally those which prove fatal. Many men are killed outright.
These accidents are caused by the roof of the little room in which the
miner works falling in upon him, and the unexpected drop of coal. Of
course there are many things that contribute to accidents, such as bad
machinery, shafts, dirt rolling down, landslides, etc.
One day there was a fellow-prisoner working
in the room adjoining me; he complained to the mining boss that he did
not want to go into that room to work because he thought it was
dangerous. The officer in charge thought differently, and told him to go
in there and go to work or he would report him. The prisoner hadn't been
in the place more than a half hour before the roof fell and buried him.
It took some little time to get him out. When the dirt was removed, to
all appearances he was dead. He was carried to the hospital on a
stretcher, and the prison physician, Doctor Neeally, examined him, and
found that both arms were broken in two places, his legs both broken,
and his ribs crushed. The doctor, who is a very eminent and successful
surgeon, resuscitated him, set his broken bones, and in a few weeks what
was thought to be a dead man, was able to move about the prison
enclosure, although one of his limbs was shorter than the other, and he
was rendered a cripple for life.
On another occasion a convict was standing at the base of the
shaft. The plumb-bob, a piece of lead about the size of a goose egg,
accidentally fell from the top of the shaft, a distance of eight hundred
feet, and, striking
this colored man on the head, it mashed his skull, and bespattered the
walls with his brains.
I had three narrow escapes from death. One day I lay in my little
room resting, and after spending some time stretched out upon the
ground, I started off to another part of my room to go to work, when all
of a sudden the roof fell in, and dropped down just where I had been
lying. Had I remained a minute longer in that place, I would have been
killed. As it happened, the falling débris just struck my
shoe as I was crawling out from the place where the material fell.
At another time I had my room mined out and was preparing to take
down the coal. I set my wedges in a certain place above the vein of coal
and began to strike with my sledge hammer, when I received a
presentiment to remove my wedges from that place to another. Now I
would not have the reader believe that I was in any manner
superstitious, but I was so influenced by that presentiment that I
withdrew my wedges and set them in another place; then I proceeded to
strike them a second time with the sledge hammer, when, unexpectedly,
the vein broke and the coal fell just opposite to where my head was
resting, and came within
an inch of striking it. Had I remained in the place where I first set my
wedges, the coal would have fallen upon me; it had been held in its
place by a piece of sulphur, and when it broke, it came down without
giving me any warning.
On still another occasion, my mining boss came to my room and
directed me to go around to another part of the mine and assist two
prisoners who were behind with their work. I obeyed. I hadn't been out
of my room more than about half an hour when there occured{sic} a
land-slide in it, which filled the room entirely full of rock, slate and
coal. It required several men some two weeks to remove the amount of
débris that had fallen on that occasion. Had I been in
there, death would have been certain at that time.
Gentle reader, let me assure you, that although some persons
misunderstanding me, assert that I am without belief in anything, yet I
desire to say, when reflecting upon these providential deliverances,
that I believe in the Eternal Will that guides, directs, controls and
protects the children of men. While many of my fellow-prisoners were
maimed for life and some killed outright, I walked through that
valley and shadow of death without even a hair of my head being injured.
Why was this? My answer is the following: Over in the State of Iowa,
among the verdant hills of that beautiful commonwealth, watching the
shadows as they longer grow, hair whitened with the frosts of many
seasons, heart as pure as an angel's, resides my dear old mother. I
received a letter from her one day, and among other things was the
following:
"I love you now in your hour of humiliation and disgrace as I did
when you were a prattling babe upon my knee.***
"I would also have you remember that every night before I retire
to rest, kneeling at my bedside, I ask God to take care of and watch
over my boy."
Of the nine hundred convicts in the penitentiary not one of their
mothers ever forgot or deserted them. A mother's prayers always follow
her prodigal children. Go, gather the brightest and purest flowers that
bend and wave in the winds of heaven, the roses and lilies, the green
vine and immortelles, wreathe them in a garland, and with this crown the
brow of the truest of all earthly friends—Mother! Another reason I
give for my safe keeping in
that hour of darkness and despair: In the city of Atchison, on a bed of
pain and anguish, lay my true, devoted and dying wife. Every Sunday
morning regularly would I receive a letter dictated by her. Oh! the
tender, loving words! "Every day," said she, "I pray that God will
preserve your life while working in the jaws of death." The true and
noble wife, the helpmeet of man, clings to him in the hour of misfortune
and calamity as the vine clings to the tree when prostrate on the
ground. No disgrace can come so shameful that it will cause the true
wife to forsake. She will no more forsake than the true soldier will
desert on the battlefield. For those imps in human form that endeavor
to detract from the honor belonging to the wives of the country there
ought to be no commisseration{sic} whatever. Let us honor the wifehood
of our native land. It is the fountain of all truth and righteousness,
and if the fountain should become impure, all is lost. One more reason:
Before I was sent to the prison I was an evangelist, and was
instrumental in the hands of God of persuading hundreds of people to
abandon a wicked life and seek the good. During my imprisonment I
received many letters from these men and women who had been
benefited on account of what I had said to them, and they informed me
that they still retained confidence in me and were praying God for my
deliverence.{sic}
Now, I believe, in answer to a mother's prayers, in answer to the
prayers of my sainted wife, in answer to the prayers of good men and
women, who were converts to "the faith once delivered to the saints"
under my earnest endeavors—in answer to all these prayers, God lent a
listening ear and preserved me from all harm and danger.
1. PATHETIC OCCURRENCES IN THE MINES.
It is a great consolation for prisoners to receive letters from their
friends. One day a convict working in the next room to me inquired if I
would like to see a letter. I replied I would. He had just received one
from his wife. This prisoner was working out a sentence of five years.
He had been in the mines some two years. At home, he had a wife and five
children. They were in destitute circumstances. In this letter his
wife informed him that she had been taking in washing for the support of
herself and children, and that at times they had to retire early because
they had no fuel to keep
them warm. Also, that, on several occasions, she had been compelled to
put the children to bed without supper. But this noble woman stated to
her husband that their lot was not so bad as his. She encouraged him to
bear up under his burdens, and that the time would soon come when his
sentence would expire and he would be permitted to return home again,
and that the future would be bright once more as it had been before the
unfortunate circumstances that led to his imprisonment. It was a good
letter, written by a noble woman. A couple of days after this, as I was
mining, I heard a voice in the adjoining room. I listened. At first I
thought it was the mining boss, but I soon discovered I was mistaken.
Listening again I came to the conclusion that the convict who was
working in the next room was becoming insane, a frequent occurrence in
the mines. Many of the poor convicts being unable to stand the strain of
years and the physical toil, languish and die in the insane ward. To
satisfy my curiosity, I took my mining lamp from my cap, placed it on
the ground, covered it up as best I could with some pieces of slate, and
then crawled up in the darkness near where he was. I never saw such a
sight
as was now presented to me. This broad-shouldered convict on his knees,
with his frame bent over, his face almost touching the floor of the
room, was praying for his wife and children. Such a prayer I never
heard before, nor do I expect to hear again. His petition was something
like the following:
"Oh, Heavenly Father, I am myself a wicked, desperate man. I do
not deserve any love or protection for my own sake. I do not expect it,
but for the sake of Jesus do have mercy on my poor wife and helpless
children."
I have been able, many times in my life, to spend an hour or more
in the prayer circle, and, unmoved, could listen to the prayers of the
children of God. But I could not remain there in the darkness and listen
to such a prayer as that going forth from the lips of that poor convict;
so I glided back through the darkness into my own room, and left him
there alone, pleading with his Creator for his lone and helpless ones at
home.
Reader, did God listen to the wails of that poor heart-stricken
prisoner? Yes! yes! yes! For though a prodigal, sinful child, yet he is
still a child of the universal Father. Who of
us dare excommunicate him? What frail mortal of passing time would dare
lift up his hand and say, this poor wanderer is forgotten of his God?
What a glorious privilege is communion with God. What a sweet
consolation to know God hears, though we may be far removed from the
dear ones we love. And who can tell the glorious things that have been
wrought by the wonderful Father of the race by that strong lever of
prayer. How often has the rough ways of life been made smooth. How often
do we fail to credit the same to the kind intercession of friends with
the Father of us all.
But to continue, it often happens that in the coal mines,
persons, no longer able to sustain the heavy load that is placed upon
them of remaining in prison for a long time, give way, and they become
raving maniacs. One day a prisoner left his room, and crawling out on
his hands and knees into the entry, sat down on a pile of coal and
commenced to sing. He had a melodious voice, and these were the words,
the first stanza of that beautiful hymn:
"Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly."
After he had completed the first stanza two of
the officers came to him and directed him to go back into the room to
work. He replied that he did not have to work; that he had religion, and
that when a man had religion he did not have to work. Said he, "We are
now going to have a prayer meeting, and" addressing one of the officers,
"you you will please lead us in prayer." The officer replied, "I don't
pray in coal mines; I pray above the surface so that God can hear." At
this the insane convict picked up a large piece of coal and was going to
hurl it after him, and threatened that if he did not get on his knees
and go to praying he would compel him to do so. While he was thus
addressing one officer the other slipped around in his rear and striking
his arm knocked the piece of coal out of his hand. Then the officers
seized him, one on each side, and forced him to go with them down the
roadways to the shaft, from whence he was taken to the top and placed in
the insane ward, where he remains at this writing. As he was passing
down the entries, away in the distance we heard him singing—
"Other refuge have I none,
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee.
Leave, oh leave me not alone,
Still support and comfort me."
I can never forget the impression made upon me as those words rang
down through the dark passages, coming from the lips of that insane
convict as they led him away from the confinement of the mines to the
confinement of insanity. How true those beautiful words were in his
case!
2. THE COAL MINES A COLLEGE OF INFAMY.
The mines of this Penal institution are a college for the education
and graduation of hardened criminals, and for illustration, and the
instruction of those not familiar with the subject matter referred to, I
will relate what came under my personal observation, and some things
that I heard while in there. One day, in company with me while engaged
in mining, were two other convicts. One of these was a hardened old
crook. He was serving out a term on the charge of making and passing
counterfeit money. The other fellow-convict was a young man seventeen
years of age—a mere boy. Tired of mining, we laid off awhile, resting.
During this time the old convict gave us instructions in the manner of
making counterfeit money. He told us how he would construct his
counterfeit molds out of plaster paris,
which he would use in the same manner that bullet molds are used. He
would purchase some britannica metal. On some dark night he would go
into the forest, build up a fire, melt the metal, pour the melted liquor
into the molds, and in this manner make silver dollars. He informed us
that it didn't take very long to make a hatful of money. A few days
thereafter this young man, who was with us in the room at the time,
informed me that when he went out again into the world, if he was unable
to secure work, he would try his hand at making counterfeit money. I
advised him not to do this, as it was almost a certainty that he would
be detected. He thought differently. About a month thereafter he was
released from the prison. He went out into the world, and, unable to
obtain work,
did try his hand at making counterfeit money.
Shortly before my time expired here came this young man to prison again,
with a sentence of three years at hard labor for making and passing
counterfeit money. He had received his criminal instruction in the
penitentiary mines, the result of which will be that he will spend the
greater portion of his life a convict.
There are a great many instances where
these young convicts, having received their education in the coal mines,
go into the world to become hardened criminals. Down in this school of
crime, in the midst of the darkness, they learn how to make burglary
tools, to crack safes, and to become expert as pickpockets; they take
lessons in confidence games, and when their time expires they are
prepared for a successful career of crime. It is utterly impossible for
the officers of the coal mines to prevent these men from conversing with
each other. If these mines were sold, and the money obtained from the
sale of them was used in building workhouses on the surface, and these
men placed at work there under the watchful care of the official, they
would then be unable to communicate with each other, and would be saved
from the debasing contamination of the hardened criminals. They would
be saved from all this that degrades and makes heartless wretches.
A scene occurred in the mines one day that illustrates the fact
that judges sometimes, in their anxiety to enforce the laws, overstep
the bounds of justice, and inflict excessive punishment and place
burdens upon human beings which they are unable to bear. One afternoon
in the city of Emporia ten tramps were arrested and thrown into the
county jail. During the succeeding night one of these persons thrust a
poker into the stove, and heating it red hot, made an effort to push the
hot iron through the door, thus burning a large hole in the door-casing.
The next morning the sheriff, entering the jail, perceiving what this
vagrant had done, was displeased, and tried to ascertain which one of
the ten was guilty of the offense. The comrades of the guilty party
refused to disclose the perpetrator of the act. Court was then in
session. The sheriff had these ten fellows brought into court, hoping
that when placed upon the witness stand, under oath, they would tell
which had committed the offense. Even in court they were true to each
other, and would not reveal the perpetrator. They were then all
convicted, and the judge passed a sentence of ten years upon each of
these vagrants for that trivial offense. They came to the penitentiary.
The day after their arrival they were all sent to the coal mines. For
two years they worked day after day down in the Kansas bastile. One
morning, after they had been in the mines for two years, one of the
number, at the breakfast table in the dining-room, unperceived secreted
a knife in his clothing and carried it with him down to his place of
work. He went into his little room and began the labors of the day.
After toiling for a few hours he took a stone and sharpened his knife
the best he possibly could, then stepped out into the entry where he
could stand erect, and with his head thrown back drew that knife across
his throat, cutting it from ear to ear, thus terminating his life,
preferring death to longer remaining in the mines of the Kansas Hell!
Who is there that is not convinced of the fact that the blood of this
suicide stains the garments of the judge who placed this unbearable
burden of ten years upon this young man, and who, I subsequently
learned, was innocent of the offense. I would advise the good people of
Lyons County, and of Emporia particularly, after they have perused this
book, if they come to the conclusion that they have no better material
out of which to construct a district judge, to go out on the frontier
and lassoo a wild Comanche Indian and bring him to Emporia and place him
upon the ermined bench. I do not even know the name of this judge, but I
believe, if I am correctly informed in this case, that his judgment is
deficient somewhere. But I must say in this
connection, when the good people of Lyons County heard of this suicide,
they immediately thereafter petitioned the Board of Pardons for the
release of these prisoners, and the board at once reported favorably
upon their cases, and Governor Martin promptly granted their pardons and
they were released from the prison. If the pardon had not been granted,
others of them had resolved upon taking their lives as did their
comrade. One of these prisoners was for a time a companion of mine in
one of my mining rooms, and told me if he was required to remain in the
coal mines digging coal another three months he had made up his mind to
follow the example of his comrade, preferring death to the horrors of
the mines.
For the further information of the reader, as to the dread of the
prisoners of work in the mines, I cite the following which I call to
recollection. The gentlemanly physician of the institution, Dr.
Neeally, told me that at four different times men had feigned death in
the mines and had been carried on stretchers to the hospital; the
particulars in one case is as follows: One of these men feigned death
and was carried to the hospital, and was reported by his comrades
to be dead. He had suppressed his breathing. The physician felt his
pulse, and finding it regular, of course knew he was simply endeavoring
to deceive. In order to experiment, the physician coincided with the
statements of the attending convicts who had carried him from the mines,
and announced that he would try electricity, and if he failed to restore
him to life he would then have to bury him in the regular way. The
doctor retired for the purpose of getting his electrical apparatus. In
a few moments he returned, bringing it with him, and placing the
magnetic cups, one in each hand, commenced generating the electricity by
turning the generator attached to the machine. After a few turns of the
crank the prisoner opened his eyes; one or two more and he sat up; a few
more and he stood on his feet; another turn or two and he commenced
dancing around, and exclaimed, "For God's sake, doctor, do quit, for I
ain't dead, but I can't let loose!" Reader, what do you suppose was the
object this convict had in view in thus feigning death? What did he hope
to gain thereby? Being well acquainted with this prisoner, a few days
after the doctor had told me of the circumstances I met him, and asked
him what object he had in feigning death the time that he was taken from
the mines to the hospital? His reply was that he hadn't the nerve to
take his own life, as he believed in a future state of punishment, and
that he did not desire to step from the Kansas Hell to the hell of the
future, and that by feigning death he hoped to be taken to the hospital,
placed in a coffin, then taken out to the prison graveyard, and buried
alive, so that he would suffocate in his grave!
There is not a man in those mines but would leave them quickly
for a place on the surface.
I now call to mind one instance where a heart-broken father came
to the prison and offered one of the leading prison officials one
thousand dollars if he would take his son out of the coal mines and give
him a place on the surface during the remainder of his term. A man who
labors in these mines simply spends his time, not knowing but the next
hour will be his last.
As I have stated heretofore the prisoners are allowed to converse
in the mines, and as a result of this almost necessary rule, every
convict has an opportunity to listen to the vilest
obscenity that ever falls upon human ears. At times, when some of these
convicts, who seem veritable encyclopedias of wickedness, are crowded
together, the ribald jokes, obscenity and blasphemy are too horrible for
description. It is a pandemonium—a miniature hell! But worse than this
horrible flow of language are the horrible and revolting practices of
the mines. Men, degraded to a plane lower than the brutes, are guilty of
the unmentionable crimes referred to by the Apostle Paul in his letter
to the Romans, chapter I, verse 27, which is as follows: "And likewise
also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their
lusts one toward another,
men with men, working that which is
unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompense of their error
which was meet." Every opportunity is here offered for this vile
practice. They are far removed from the light and even from the
influences of their officers, and in the darkness and silence old and
hardened criminals debase and mistreat themselves and sometimes the
younger ones that are associated with them in their work. These cases of
self-abuse and sodomy are of daily occurrence, and, although the
officials of the prison take every precaution to prevent
such evil practices, yet, as a matter of fact, so long as prisoners are
permitted to work in the mines it will be impossible to break up these
terribly degrading and debasing practices. Oh, Kansan! you that boast
of the freedom and liberty, the strength of your laws, and the
institutions in your grand young State, what do you think of this
disclosure of wickedness, equalling if not excelling the most horrible
things ever pictured by the divine teachers of humanity,—the apostles
and their followers? A hint is only here given, but to the wise it will
be sufficient, and but a slight exercise of the imaginative powers will
be necessary to unfold to you the full meaning of this terrible state of
affairs.
It is believed by the writer that if the people of the State of
Kansas knew under what circumstances men in the prison were compelled to
work, there would be a general indignation, which would soon be
expressed through the proper channels, and which might lead to a proper
solution of the difficulty.
In many of the rooms of the mines there are large pools of water
which accumulate there from dripping down from the crevices above; this,
taken in connection with the natural
damps of the mines, which increases the water, makes very large pools,
and in these mud-holes convicts are compelled to work and wallow about
all day long while getting out their coal, more like swine than anything
else. How can this be in the line of reformation, which, we are taught
to believe outside of the prison walls, is the principal effort of all
discipline within the prison. The result of work under such unfavorable
circumstances is that many of the convicts contract rheumatism,
neuralgia, pneumonia and other lung troubles, and, of course, malaria.
Many persons that enter these mines in good health come out physical
wrecks, often to find homes in the poor-houses of the land when their
prison days are over, or die before their terms expire. In the judgment
of the writer the coal mines should be sold; until that is done,
prisoners who contract diseases there that will carry them to untimely
graves should be pensioned by the State, and thus kept from spending the
rest of their natural lives in some of the country poor-houses.
Each person in the mines is assigned a task; he is required to
get out a certain amount of coal each week. In case the convict fails to
mine the task that has been assigned him he must endure punishment, a
description of which will be given later on. It is the opinion of the
author that something should be done to remedy this. The young men from
seventeen to twenty, together with the old men from fifty to sixty, and
those suffering from diseases, are often required to dig as much coal as
middle-aged and able-bodied men. I have seen old men marching to their
cells after a hard day's work scarcely able to walk, and many times have
I laid in the mines along with these young boys who would spend hours
crying like whipped children for fear they would be unable to get out
their regular task of coal, and would therefore have to spend the
Sabbath in the dungeon, suffering unspeakable anguish.
Because of the dangers to which the inmate is exposed; because of
the debasing influences by which lie is surrounded, it is wrong, it is
wicked to work our criminals in such a place as those mines of
the Kansas penitentiary.
