6. CHAPTER VI
SCENES IN THE HOSPITAL.
WHEN a prisoner gets sick he reports to the prison physician in the
morning, before working hours. As the men march out of their cells to go
to their breakfast, those who are sick and desire to see the doctor fall
out of the ranks and occupy seats in the cell house. Soon the prison
physician, Dr. Nealley, calls and examines them. Many try to deceive the
physician and thus get into the hospital, simply to avoid work. But the
shirkers are pretty well known, and have to be very sick and give
unmistakable symptoms of their illness before they can get excused. It
is very difficult to deceive Dr. Nealley. He has been with the prisoners
so long, nearly six years, that he knows them and can tell without much
effort when one of them is sick or is not in condition to work. At these
morning examinations, sometimes there are nearly one hundred who report
as being sick. Most of them, instead of being excused, get a dose of
medicine and are sent to work. When a prisoner takes sick during
the day while at work, he is excused by his officer, and permitted to go
to the hospital to see the physician. Fully nine-tenths of the sickness
of the prison is contracted in the coal mines. The principal physical
disabilities are prison fever, colds, pneumonia, lung diseases and
rheumatism. Very few contagious diseases ever find their way into the
prison, and those that do are quickly discovered and checked by the
prison physician. When a convict is unable to work he is sent to the
hospital. This department contains two wards, in the first of which
those remain who are not sick enough to be confined to their beds, while
the very sick are kept in the second ward. Convicts, detailed for that
purpose, are the hospital nurses. It is gratifying to know that these
convict nurses have a sympathy for their sick comrades truly admirable.
Many of these sick men die. It is sad to die in the State's
Prison! I recollect one case that came under my own observation which
was indeed pathetic. A man had been sentenced for five years, and had
served out his time save one week, when, taken suddenly ill, he was sent
to the hospital and died the day before his term would have expired.
This poor
fellow piteously begged of the doctor to try and extend his life so that
he could die a free man; but all in vain! On the day which would have
brought liberty he was borne through the large gate and buried in the
prison graveyard. It is heartrending to hear those men dying in the
hospital, call for their mothers, wives or sisters! The convict nurses
are as kind and sympathetic as possible, but in sickness and death there
is no one that can take the place of mother, wife or sister.
There was one man who died a few days before my term expired, for
whom I felt the greatest sympathy. His name was Frank Rhodes. He was
sent from Holton. While in jail and awaiting trial at that place he was
converted. Several Christian ladies had visited the jail and left with
the inmates a few Bibles and other religious literature. At his trial
Frank was convicted of crime and sentenced to the penitentiary for five
years. When he came to the State's prison he brought his religion with
him. For two years this man performed his duties faithfully. He soon
gained the good will of the officers. He was a true Christian man; he
showed it in his life while in prison. After awhile his religion got the
better of him; he
could not control his emotions. Often during the chapel services, when
the convicts were singing their Christian songs, overcome by his
feelings, Frank would weep like a child. Time passed. It was a bright
Sabbath morning. The prisoners were marching out of the cell houses to
the chapel, to attend divine service. All nature seemed to be
rejoicing. Frank could not longer restrain himself. The glowing sunshine
has much to do with causing a man's religion to boil over. All of a
sudden, clapping his hands, Frank shouted at the top of his voice,
"Glory to God in the highest I peace on earth, good will to men!" This
was too much for the discipline of the prison. Convicts are expected to
keep quiet. A couple of officers seized him and led him back into the
cell house, where he was placed in a cell of the insane ward and was
called a religious crank. He remained in this cell for the following
eighteen months. He told me afterward these were the happiest months of
his life. He would read his Bible, sing, pray, and exhort the officers
to be religious. The deputy warden would often tell him that when he
could control his religion enough to keep quiet he should be taken out
of the insane ward and sent to work again. When
eighteen months had passed he concluded he could keep quiet, and so
informed the deputy warden. He was immediately released from his place
of confinement and went to work. While at work he was honest and quiet.
His only trouble was, too much religion! Months went by. His wife came
to see him frequently. These visits were enjoyable affairs to them. On
a certain Friday his wife was to visit him. I met him the day before,
and he was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing his wife the next day.
She came. They had a joyful time. Little did either think they should
see each other in this life no more. When the hour of her departure came
they separated not to meet again until in the world of perpetual
sunshine. The next day this poor convict was taken with the prison
fever, and in one short week he was a corpse. He died trusting in his
Saviour. The chaplain, speaking of this man's death, said if officers or
convicts at death go from the Kansas penitentiary to heaven, then Frank
Rhodes was among the saved; he was a true Christian man. After death his
body was sent to his former home, Holton, where it was buried.
The following is my experience with a poor friendless colored boy
who had a six years'
sentence for burglary. I took the prison fever and was sent to the
hospital. This colored convict was detailed as my nurse. He had been
sick, but was then convalescent. He was very kind to me; because of this
kindness and good care I began to like him. He seemed anxious to make me
comfortable. "Be kind to the sick and you will win their friendship." I
was quite sick for two weeks, but began to recover slowly. About this
time my nurse suffered a relapse. He grew worse and worse. The doctor
gave him up. "Bob must die," he said to the head nurse one day in my
hearing. A day or two after this, Bob, for that was the sick prisoner's
name, sent for me to come to his couch. I sat down on the edge of his
bed and asked him what he wanted. He said: "I am going to die, and want
a friend. In all this wide world," continued he, "there is not a single
human being that I can look upon as my friend." He then told me how he
had lost his father and mother when a mere child, had drifted out into
the world an orphan boy, got into bad company, into crime and into
prison. As I sat there looking into the face of that little darkey, I
thought how sad his lot must be, and my sympathies were aroused. I said,
"Bob, is
there anything I can do for you? I am your friend, and will do all I can
to aid you." I spoke words of encouragement, and tried to cheer him up
by saying that I thought he would not die. In this I used a little
deceit, but it was to assuage his grief. I really thought he would die
very soon. Then he told me what he wanted. He said, "I am going to die;
my angel mother came to my bedside last night; I saw her as plainly as I
see you now. She said she was coming soon to take me out of prison and
out of this world of sorrow. Yes, I am going to die, but I am afraid to
cross the dark river. When I am dying I want you to sit by my bedside,
take hold of my hand and go with me down the vale of death as far as
possible. It will do me so much good. Will you do this for me? It is the
only favor I ask." I told him I would only be too glad to do so if it
would aid him in the moment when life shrinks from the shadow of death,
but told him I thought he would not die—another little fib on my part.
However, that did no harm, for I failed to convince him he would live.
About 1 o'clock A. M. a couple of nights after this, one of the watchers
came to my cot and said Bob wanted to see me immediately. I
felt his time had come. Hastily dressing, I went to his bedside. I found
him dying. I sat down by his side and took his hand in mine. I was going
with him to the dark river. He pressed my hand and a smile of
satisfaction passed over his countenance. He said, "You are so kind." I
spoke words of hope and encouragement suitable to the time and occasion.
I sat thus for some little time; his limbs grew cold; his eyes became
glassy; the death dew was dampening his brow. It was evident he would
soon breathe his last. Poor, helpless, friendless negro! What was your
life's mission? Many similar pious thoughts flitted through my mind.
Without a friend! Among all the millions of earth he could not call one
by the endearing name of friend! Sad, sad thought! After I had remained
there some time, expecting every breath to be his last, what was my
astonishment to discover his hands and limbs growing warmer. The crisis
of his disease was passed. No dark river this time! Soon his "glassy"
eyes were closed, and in a few moments he began to snore! Disappointed,
I dropped that black "paw," and went back to my cot. That little darkey
is still alive. He often asked me
after that if I wanted to take another trip down to "de da'k ribbah!"
The prisoners who die in the penitentiary are buried in the
graveyard of the institution, unless they have friends who will pay for
the removal of the body. Just outside the prison walls is the cemetery.
Its location is a walnut grove in a deep ravine. The first graves were
dug near the eastern side of the cemetery and as near to each other as
possible. As fast as this space is filled with graves it is covered over
many feet deep with the slate and dirt taken from the coal mines, a few
yards distant. Beneath this rubbish will the prisoners sleep until the
trump shall sound and the dead arise. Prisoners dying are dressed in a
neat suit of black clothes, if the body is to be forwarded to the
friends; otherwise, the burial suit consists of a cotton shirt and a
pair of drawers of the same material. The coffin is very plain, and is
made in one of the prison shops.
