3. INDIANS IN THE PENITENTIARY.
John Washington and Simmons Wolf are
two young Indians tried and convicted in the U. S. District Court on the
charge of rape. They were sentenced to be hung. After conviction these
Indians were taken to the penitentiary to await the day set for their
execution. In the meantime an application was made to the President to
change the sentence of death to that of life imprisonment. The change
was made. These two Indians were placed in the coal mines on their
arrival, where they are at the present time getting out their daily task
of coal. They both attend the school of the prison, and are learning
very rapidly. Prior to this, Washington served out a one-year sentence
in the Detroit house of correction for stealing. He is a bad Indian.
At present there are fourteen Indians incarcerated in the Kansas
penitentiary. The Indian pines for his liberty more than the white man
or negro. The burdens of imprisonment are therefore greater for him to
bear. One young Indian was sent to the penitentiary whose history is
indeed touching. Ten Indians had been arrested in the Territory by U. S.
marshals for horse-stealing. They were tried and convicted in the U. S.
District Court. Their sentence was one year in the State's
prison. On their arrival at the penitentiary they were sent to the mines
to dig coal. This was a different business from being supported by the
government and stealing horses as a diversion. The Indians soon wanted
to go home. One of them was unable to get out his task of coal. The
officer in charge thought he was trying to shirk his work and reported
him to the deputy warden. The young Indian was placed in the dungeon. He
remained there several days and nights. He begged piteously to get out
of that hole of torture. Finally the officers released him and sent him
back to the mines. While in the dungeon he contracted a severe cold. He
had not been in the mines more than a couple of days, after being
punished, when he gave suddenly out and was sent to the hospital, where
in a few days he died. That young Indian was murdered, either in that
dungeon or in the mines. A few weeks before, he came to the penitentiary
from roaming over the prairies, a picture of health. It did not take
long for the Kansas penitentiary to "box him up" for all time to come.
He now sleeps "in the valley," as the prison graveyard is called.
Another one of the same group did not
fare quite so badly as his associate. The one I am now describing was
sent with the rest of his companions to the bottom of the mines. He
remained there during the first day. A short time after he went down on
the following morning he became sick. He began to cry. The officer in
charge sent him to the surface. He was conducted to the cell-house
officer, Mr. Elliott. I was on duty that day in the cell house, and Mr.
Elliott, on the arrival of the Indian, ordered me to show him to the
hospital. After we had started on our journey from the cell house to
the hospital building to see the doctor, and had got out of hearing of
the officer, I said, "Injun, what's the matter with you?" This question
being asked, he began to "boo-hoo" worse than ever, and, rubbing his
breast and sides with his hands, said, between his sobs, "Me got pecce
ecce." I was not Indian enough to know what "pecce ecce" meant. In a few
moments we reached the hospital building, and I conducted my charge into
the nicely furnished room of the prison physician, and into the
immediate presence of that medical gentleman. Removing my cap, and
making a low bow, as required, I said, "Dr. Nealley, permit me
to introduce a representative of the Oklahoma district, who needs
medical attention."
While I was relieving myself of this little declamation the young
Indian was standing at my side sobbing as if he had recently buried his
mother.
"Reynolds, what is the matter with him?" asked the doctor.
I then turned to my charge and said, "Injun, tell the doctor what
ails you."
Mister Indian then began rubbing his sides and front, with tears
rolling down his face, and sobbing like a whipped school-boy, he
exclaimed, "Me got pecce ecce."
"There, doctor," said I, "you have it. This Indian has got that
dreadful disease known as `pecce ecce.' "
The physician, somewhat astonished, frankly informed me that he
never had heard of such a disease before. I was in a similar boat, for I
had never heard of such words prior to this. The sick Indian was unable
to talk the language of the white man. The doctor then sent down into
the mines for another of the Indians who could speak English and had
acted as an interpreter. On entering the office, the doctor said to
him, "Elihu," for that was his name, "this
Indian says he has an attack of pecce ecce. Now what does he mean by
that?"
During all this time the sick Indian kept rubbing his body and
sobbing. What was our great astonishment and amusement when the
interpreter informed us that "pecce ecce" meant nothing more nor less
than "belly-ache." The doctor administered the proper remedy for this
troublesome disease, and the Indian was sent back to the mines. He had
not dug coal more than an hour when he had another attack, and began his
crying, and was sent to the top. He kept this up until he wore out the
patience of the officers, and they finally decided to take him out of
the mines altogether and give him work at the surface. Even here, every
few minutes the Indian would have an attack of "pecce ecce," and would
start for the hospital. At last, the chaplain, taking pity on the poor
outcast, wrote to President Cleveland, and putting the case in a very
strong light, was successful in securing a pardon for the Indian. That
"cheeky" red youth was no fool. He belly-ached himself out of that
penitentiary. I trust I may never have to spend any more of my time in
prison. If I do, I think about the
first day I will get a dose of "pecce ecce," and keep it up, and see if
I can't get a pardon.
