A MISSOURI HELL.
14. CHAPTER XIV.
THE CONVICT'S HOME.
"JEFFERSON CITY is the next station," called out the train man as the
Missouri Pacific rolled into the capital of the great commonwealth of
Missouri. It was two o'clock in the morning. From an easy reclining
chair, to an omnibus, and to a cozy room in the Madison House, was the
work of but a few moments. It being rather an unseasonable hour to begin
the investigation of a large penal institution, I made a brief journey
to the land of dreams, and there remained until a noisy porter knocked
at my bed-room door, and shouted, "Nine o'clock, last call for
breakfast, old man; if you want any thing to eat you had better get a
move on you." Being of the opinion this was rather a cheerful morning
salutation, I arose, dressed, and soon felt better because of a good
breakfast. I am now ready for my work—an investigation of the Missouri
penitentiary. Before leaving
my home in Atchison, Kansas, I procured a letter of introduction from
Hon. B. P. Waggener, mayor of that city, to Governor Francis of
Missouri. I found my way to the capitol, and to the office of the
governor. After a brief delay I was shown into the private apartment of
the obliging executive, where I presented my letter, stated the object
of my visit, and received a letter to the warden of the prison,
containing a request that the bearer be shown every thing there was to
be seen in and about the penitentiary.
From the capitol to the prison is a walk of but a few minutes. On
my way there I met a one-legged ex-convict who was just leaving the
institution. His pale face, shoddy suit of clothes and light-colored
felt hat all spoke but too plainly of the fact that he was very recently
"let loose," Entering into conversation with him, I found that he had a
few moments before completed a term of five years at hard labor. From
him I gathered a great deal of important information as to the treatment
of the prisoners, of which he had been an eye-witness for five years. He
also gave me his own history. In a saloon brawl, he became involved in
a fight with a drunken comrade, half-crazed
with drink. Pistols were drawn, and shots were exchanged. He received a
bullet in his thigh, that caused the amputation of his limb. His
antagonist was killed. On a trial for murder he received a sentence for
manslaughter. Said he, "Whisky sent me to prison. Had I not been drunk
I would never have taken the life of the man whom I shot. He had been,
for years, a good friend of mine. I will never take another drink as
long as I live. It has been my ruin." In the conversation he informed me
that he had left behind him, when sent to prison, a wife and three
children. During his confinement they had to depend for the most part on
their relatives and public charity for support. On account of their
poverty they had not been able to visit him at any time during his
imprisonment. They had continued to love him, notwithstanding his
misfortune; had been true to him during his days of bondage; and be was
now anxious to reach his home to meet them. How true it is that the blow
which falls upon the culprit, and which justice intends for him alone,
often falls with equal force and effect upon wife, child or other
helpless and dependent relative! I asked him how be felt on recovering
his liberty after being in prison for five years.
"Oh!" said he, "this is the happiest day of my life thus far; I
never knew the blessings of liberty as I do now. I never saw the sun
shine so brightly before. Everything about me seems so beautiful. From
this time I will appreciate more than ever I have done, this beautiful
world. It almost pays a man to be penned up for a time to enable him to
appreciate what there is in the world for him. Behind the walls,
however, banished from the presence of loved ones, it is a veritable
hell. I cannot find a term that expresses my views of a prison life
that is more suitable than that word—hell. Those long, dreary days of
monotonous work—the same thing must be gone over, day after day; the
food we eat, the treatment to which we are subjected, our loneliness and
solitude, all combined, make prison life almost unbearable." "Do you
know," I asked, "of any prisoners who are so satisfied with their
condition as to be willing to remain in the penitentiary, did they have
an opportunity of obtaining their liberty?" "There is not a person in
that institution," he replied, "who would not hail with joy his release.
Some of them are physical wrecks, and would have to go to the almshouse
to be taken care of in case they should obtain their freedom, yet they
would prefer any place to that of a prison cell, deprived of their
freedom. "After spending more than an hour in conversation with this
ex-convict, and bidding him "good bye," I proceded{sic} on my journey to
the prison. As I walked along thinking of the poor ex-convict I had just
passed, my imagination pictured for him a rather gloomy future. He is a
cripple, and has a large family to support; he must bear with him along
life's journey the heavy load of disgrace that whisky placed upon him.
An ex-convict! Who will give him work to do? Who will lend him a
helping hand in his struggle to regain a foothold in the outside world?
After a few vain efforts to regain what he has lost, will he not yield
to despair, as thousands have done before him, and, becoming a pitiless
wreck, pass on down the current of crime until he drifts over Time's
last precipice and drops into the arms of Death? To the average ex-convict
there is but little hope for success in this life.
The painful history of a majority of them is,
after they have fallen into the meshes of a criminal life, they never
have the moral power to extricate themselves. My musings are now at an
end, for I have just reached the entrance to the penitentiary—"A
Missouri Hell." A prison official on duty at the entrance conducted me
into the presence of the warden, Hon. John L. Morrison. This genial
gentleman is a resident of Howard County, where he was born and spent
the greater portion of his life. He is sixty years of age, and by
occupation a farmer. For four years he was sheriff of his county. He
received his appointment as warden less than one year ago. He is without
any prison experience. The reason, no doubt, for his being appointed
warden of so great a penal institution is, that outside from his being a
man of unimpeachable integrity, he exerts no little political influence
in that portion of the State where he resides. We have no cause for
criticising the governor's selection. Perhaps he is one of the very best
men that could have been procured for the place. At any rate, he is
credited with starting out well. But it is not every honest, upright man
that makes a good warden. It requires a man with a special fitness to be
a success in handling prisoners
and making a penal institution beneficial to all interested. After
Warden Morrison has been given a fair trial, and it becomes evident that
he is a successful prison man, he should be retained many years in that
responsible position. For the longer he is kept at the head of the
institution the more valuable will his services be to the State. I
remained several days, and through the kindness of the warden and other
prison officials, saw everything about the institution that was
noteworthy.
The Missouri penitentiary is located in the southern suburbs of
Jefferson City. Its entrance is from the north. It covers an area of
seventeen acres. This tract of ground is surrounded by a stone wall
twenty feet high and four feet thick. The prison enclosure is
rectangular in form. At each of the four corners, and at stated
intervals, towers arise eight feet, which are occupied by officers on
duty. Occupying this elevated position, these officers can readily
observe all that occurs within the prison walls, outside the buildings.
At stated times the officers emerge from the towers and walk along on
top of the wall to see if anything unusual is taking place about the
prison. Loose stones are piled on top of portions of the wall
that surrounds the prison, to prevent the convicts from securing a
fastening for ladder hooks, should they attempt to escape. A portion of
this wall was erected fifty-four years ago, the prison having been
established in 1836. Could these towering stones speak, what scenes of
misery and wretchedness they might describe! O, ye rocks, that make up
this barrier between freedom and the worst form of human slavery, as you
have been occupying your silent position for the past half hundred
years, had your ears been unstopped, what countless groans of despair
would you have heard? Could your eyes have opened, when first you took
your place in that prison wall fifty years ago, how many indescribable
scenes of anguish would you have witnessed? A heavy iron door swings
upon its creaking hinges. Bolts fly back into their sockets. I step into
a revolving iron cage, which, manipulated by a guard, turns half way
round on its axis, and I emerge from this into the prison campus the
space surrounded by the walls. What wonderful scenes now are discovered!
Many of them, indeed, are heartrending.
I will describe what I saw and make mention of what I heard.
There are four large
buildings of brick and stone; honeycombed with cells—the homes of the
prisoners. The cells, in
one of these buildings, are large and
commodious, and contain four criminals. In dimension they are nine feet
wide and thirteen feet long. The remainder of the cells are small and
contain but one man in a cell. The large cells are objectionable, for
the reason that the men, being locked up together in such small rooms,
get to talking, and often quarrels and fights result. A number of
convicts have been almost murdered in these larger cells, where there
were more than one occupant. Again, if there be three in a cell who
desire to have the fourth one removed, they combine against him and
render his existence while in the cell unbearable. They abuse him
constantly. If he reports them to the officer the three stoutly deny
all accusations, often bringing upon the innocent one punishment which
should have been meted out to the three guilty ones.
It requires but little stretch of the imagination to enable one
to see how miserable a prisoner may be rendered in one of these cells
when three occupants of the same cell combine against him. The large
cells are a source
of great annoyance to prison officials, and are now, after trial,
universally condemned. The small cells are about four feet wide, seven
feet long, and seven feet high. The doors are very low, and the prisoner
has to stoop as he enters. The low door gives to the cell a more gloomy
appearance than it would possess if the entrance was higher. On going
into one of these cells one has the same feeling as takes hold of him
when he crawls into a low, dark hole in the ground. The cells are
constructed of stone, with wooden floors. The cells of the Kansas and
other penitentiaries are higher and better ventilated. The furniture of
the cell consists of an iron rack, on which is placed a straw bed with
sufficient covering to keep the convict warm. There are also a bucket,
wash-basin and towel. The prisoner washes himself in the cell. He also
has a chair to sit on and a Holy Bible to read. This is about all the
furniture to be found in the cells. Occasionally a carpet covers the
floor, but the prisoner furnishes this out of his own means. If he has
no means he has no carpet. I was much surprised to learn that there was
no way provided for the convicts to take a plunge bath, and that many of
them became very filthy because of
their not being compelled to bathe at stated times. Other penitentiaries
are supplied with bath-houses, and once each week the inmates are
required to take a bath. This certainly is conducive to good health. The
cell-houses are lighted by electric lights, and each cell is provided
with a lamp. Thus the prisoner has an opportunity of reading during the
evenings, which is a great blessing, and should be highly appreciated.
The prison is supplied with a large library of choice books to
which the inmates have access. They also are allowed to read daily
newspapers, if they have money with which to purchase them. The managing
officials of the Kansas penitentiary are possessed of a very foolish
notion in regard to the reading of daily newspapers. They will not under
any circumstances allow a prisoner to take his home paper, or have
access to any political daily. They claim that it excites the prisoner
and makes his imprisonment more difficult to bear when he knows what is
going on in the outside world. It seems that this custom smacks of
barbarism, and the prison directors of the Kansas prison should discard
it at once. Imagine the condition of a prisoner who has
been in confinement for ten years, having no access to the daily or
weekly newspapers. He would be an ignoramus of the worst type. Our
penal institutions should try and improve their prisoners, instead of
rendering them more ignorant and debased. We are glad to note that the
Missouri penitentiary is in advance of the Kansas prison in this
respect. If the prisoner can take a little pleasure in reading, daily or
weekly, what takes place at his own home, why not give him the
privilege, since it is evident that such a permission will not be
detrimental to prison discipline? There are school books to be found in
the prison library, and the prisoners, if they desire, can get these
books and study them. A great many do improve these opportunities, and a
number have made great advancement in their studies. They are also
permitted to have writing materials in their cells, a privilege which is
considered very dangerous, and which but few similar institutions grant.
Many of the convicts who could not read or write on entering the prison
make considerable progress in these studies.
The Missouri prison does not go far enough in matters of
education. It should be provided
with a school. In this matter the Kansas and Iowa penitentiaries are far
in advance. They have regular graded schools, and many convicts have
acquired an education sufficient to enable them to teach when they went
out again into the free world. It is to be hoped when the Legislature
meets again the members will see to it that ample provision is made for
a first-class school at the prison, with a corps of good teachers. The
State will lose nothing by this movement.
In the Iowa prison at Ft. Madison the convicts are taught in the
evening, after the work of the day is over. In the Kansas prison,
instruction is given Sunday afternoon. These schools are accomplishing
great good. The chief object of imprisonment should be reformation.
Ignorance and reformation do not affiliate. Some will argue that if
prisoners are educated and treated so humanely they will have a desire
to return to the prison, in fact, make it their home. Experience teaches
us that, treat a human being as a prince, and deprive him of his
liberty, and the greatest burden of life is placed upon him, and he is
rendered a pitiable object of abject misery. There is no punishment to
which a human
being can be subjected which it is possible to endure, that is more to
be dreaded than confinement. Those long, weary, lonely hours that the
prisoner spends in his cell are laden with the greatest of all
continuous sorrows. There is but little danger of surfeiting him with
kindness and advantages, so long as he is deprived of his freedom. If
there is any hope for the reformation of the vicious and depraved, no
better place can be found to commence that reformation than while he is
an inmate of the prison. While there, he is shut out from the society of
his wicked companions; he is not subjected to the same temptations in
prison as on the outside. Save being deprived of his freedom, he is
placed in the most favorable position for reformation that it is
possible for one to occupy. If he is not reformed here it is not likely
he ever will be. It is to the highest interest of the State that these
opportunities should be improved. Every effort should be put forth to
make these men better while they are in prison. They are worth saving.
It must not be forgotten that one of the essential features in a
thorough reformation of a man, is to drive away the mists of
ignorance by which he is surrounded. Other things being equal, he is the
better prepared to wage successfully life's warfare, who is educated.
He will be better able to resist the temptations which he will meet when
his days of bondage are over. Yes, by all means, let every prison have
its school. It is of the greatest importance to the prisoner, likewise
to the State. As I was passing through these cell-houses, reading the
names of the convicts, placed above the cell door, I came to one which
contained four brothers. Five brothers were convicted of robbery and
sent to the prison, but a short time ago one of them was pardoned, and
the four now remain. The liberated one was on a visit to his brothers
while I was at the prison. Reader, is it not a sad thought that these
four young men, brothers, should spend ten of the best years of their
lives in a prison? Surely the way of the transgressor is hard.
Young man, you who have as yet never been an inmate of a prison,
imagine, if possible, the loneliness experienced as one spends his days,
weeks, months and years behind these frowning prison walls, shut up the
greatest portion of the time in these small cells that I have described
in this chapter. If you do not wish a life of this nature, shun the
company of wicked and vicious associates, and strive with all your power
to resist the tempter in whatever form he may approach you. It is not
force he employs to drag you down to the plane of the convict, but he
causes the sweet song of the syren to ring in your ear, and in this
manner allures you away from the right, and gently leads you down the
pathway that ends in a felon cell, disgrace and death.
15. CHAPTER XV.
THE WORK OF THE CONVICT.
IT is a great blessing to the convict that he can have the privilege
of working. When prisons were first started in this country it was
thought best to keep the prisoner in solitary confinement; have him
visited daily by a spiritual teacher, place the Bible and other good
books in his hands, and in this manner reform him, and send him out into
the world a better man than he was on entering the prison. The, great
penal institution of Auburn, New York, was for a time conducted in this
manner. The plan, at first thought to be a good one, had to be
abandoned. The criminal could not endure solitary confinement. He
must have work. Many of them became insane, while still others died
for want of the open air, out-door exercise, and some diversion for the
mind.
In all the penitentiaries of the country, at the present time,
convicts are required to perform some kind of useful labor. That is one
point of the prison question that is, doubtless, forever settled. All
prison men agree that
the convict must perform some kind of work. Labor to the prisoners
means health of body and mind. Solitary confinement means the reverse.
But what kind of labor the prisoner should perform, and what should be
done with the results of his labor, is one of the most difficult
questions to decide.
All the prisoners of the Missouri penitentiary are let out to
contractors, with the exception of those needed to do the work about the
prison. The work consists chiefly of making saddle-trees and shoes.
Several large three-story buildings are used in furnishing room for the
convicts while at labor. Those contractors who have been at the prison
for some time have grown rich. They get their men for forty-five cents a
day, on an average. They have their choice of prisoners as they come in.
Those convicts designated scrubs, do the work for the State. The
contractors are charged with controlling the prison. If one of the
officials, in the discharge of his duty, happens to do anything
displeasing to the contractors, they combine against him and have him
removed. They are charged with using their combined political influence,
and even money, to carry their points. We
have been told by some of the leading men of the State that it was a
notorious fact that the penitentiary was controlled by a political ring,
a set of jobbers, and this ring was largely influenced by the
contractors. The contract system is wrong, and should not have a place
in any of the penal institutions of the country.
The contractor assigns the task. The prisoner must perform that
task or be punished. If an avaricious contractor, in his desire to make
money, places too great a task upon the prisoner, who is there to take
the prisoner's part and shield him from abuse? Fully nine-tenths of the
punishments inflicted is the result of the reports and complaints of the
contractors. See how unjust and how hard this contract system is upon
many of the prisoners! Two convicts enter the same day. In outward
appearance they are strong, healthy men. The same task is assigned
them. One of them being adapted to that line of work, and skilled,
performs his task with ease; while the other, equally industrious,
cannot get through with his. He is reported for shirking. He states his
inability to do the amount of work assigned him. The contractor or his
foreman makes a different report. The assertions of the convict
amount to but little, as against the statements of the rich and
influential contractor. He is punished and returned to his work. A
second time he tries, again fails, and is reported as before. This being
the second offense the prisoner is subjected to a more severe
punishment. This brutal treatment is continued until the officer,
growing weary with inflicting punishment upon the poor wretch, concludes
he is unable to perform the task assigned him. If this contract system
is to continue in Missouri, there should be some one whose duty it is to
see that the prisoner is humanely treated, and not let a brutal officer
decide, who is in league with the contractors. I have it from the lips
of a prison official who has been connected with the prison for
thirty-six years, that the treatment some of the prisoners receive
because of the avariciousness of the contractors, is simply
heartrending.
After all, is not this contract system a regular jobbing
business? If these men can employ the prisoners and pay forty-five cents
a day for them, and make money and grow rich, why cannot the State work
the convicts and save all these profits? Competent men can be secured as
superintendents to carry on
this work. Some will say, that it will open up too many avenues to
jobbery; that the superintendents will get to stealing from the State,
and in the end the State will not get as much benefit as under the
present system. This seems like begging the question. If these
superintendents, after a time, become thieves, treat them as thieves,
and give them a term in the penitentiary. This kind of medicine will
soon cure all cases of jobbery. Again, prisoners should be assigned
tasks according to their ability. All men are not alike equally skilled
in the same kind of labor. All these things should be taken into
account. No prisoner should be forced to carry a burden that is
oppressive, in order to fill the coffers of avaricious contractors.
Again, I ask that there be some humane person, whose duty it is to see
that these helpless men, whose lips are sealed, are not oppressed by
this damnable contract system. Let us treat these unfortunate men
humanely, and never forget that, if stern justice was meted out to those
who had the control of convicts, as officers, guards, or contractors,
many of them would be doing service for the State, clad in a suit of
stripes. The penitentiary of Missouri is self-supporting,
with the exception of the officer's pay-roll. At each session of the
Legislature, an appropriation of $140,000 is made for this purpose.
There are over one hundred officers on the pay-roll. The records show
that it requires nearly a quarter of a million dollars annually to pay
the expenses of this institution.
Crime is an expensive luxury!
During the past two years $347,000 have been paid into the
treasury as the earnings of the prison. The goods manufactured are sold
chiefly in the State of Missouri. This brings convict labor, which is
very cheap, into competition with the labor of the poor, but honest man
on the outside. The average labor value of the convict is forty-five
cents a day. How is it possible for laboring men on the outside, who
have families depending upon them, to support themselves and families on
an amount, that will enable business men, for whom they work, to engage
in business and compete with this cheap convict labor? This is the great
argument against convict labor. The convict must be given work or he
will become insane. To bring this cheap labor into conflict with the
toil of honest but poor men on the outside, is unjust and cruel. What to
do with convict
labor is one of the unsolved problems. It is a subject that will furnish
ample scope for the thinking mind.
The prisoner is worked on an average of nine hours each day. He
goes about his labor in silence. It is against the regulations for him
to exchange a word or a knowing glance with a fellow-workman. When
visitors pass through the workshops he is not permitted to lift his eyes
from his work to look at them. An officer, perched upon a raised seat,
who commands a view of the entire work-room, is constantly on the watch
to see that no rule or regulation is violated. The convict cannot take a
drink of water, or go from one part of the room to another in the
discharge of his duties without permission from the officer. The
prisoner is always conscious of being watched. This feeling is no small
factor in making the life of a prisoner almost unbearable. Nearly all
of the inmates work in shops, and all the exercise they receive in the
open air is what they get in going to and from their meals and cells. It
is this sameness of work, this daily and hourly going over the same
routine, this monotonous labor, this being surrounded by hundreds of
busy fellow-workmen,
and not permitted to exchange a word with any of them, that makes the
life of a prisoner to be so much dreaded. Young man, as you read these
lines, it is impossible for you to conceive the misery that accompanies
this kind of a monotonous life.
In order to know all that it means, you must pass through it, as
I have done. Things are entirely different with you. While you are at
work on the outside of prisons, you can carry on conversation with those
about you and thus pass the time in a pleasant manner. After the day's
work is over, if you so desire, you can spend an hour or so with
friends. Not so with the criminal. After his day's work, done in
silence, is past, he is locked up in his solitary cell to spend the
evening as best he can.
There is no one to watch you constantly while at your daily toil,
to see that you do not violate some insignificant rule or regulation.
When you desire a holiday, and wish to take a stroll out into the woods,
to look upon the beautiful flowers or admire nature in all her
loveliness, to inhale the pure, fresh air—which is a stranger to packed
workshops—to revel in the genial sunlight, there is no one to forbid
you. You are a free man.
Oh, what a wonderful difference between the laboring man who is
free, and him who is forced to work, clad in the habiliments of
disgrace! He who penned these lines has had to toil as a convict in the
coal mines of the Kansas penitentiary, eight hundred feet below the
surface, lying stretched out on his side, and he knows what he is
talking about when he says, he would rather die and be laid away in his
grave than to spend five years as a convict.
Young man, think of these things when you are tempted to do those
things that will send you to a felon's cell. Of course, it is no
intention of yours ever to become an inmate of a prison. Permit one who
has had experience, to tell you that it is one of the easiest things in
the world to get into a prison, and that when once in, it is difficult
to secure your liberty, until Time turns the bolt and lets you out, or
in other words, until you serve out your term. May you never yield to a
temptation that will make you a prisoner.
16. CHAPTER XVI.
THE MISSOURI PRISONERS
THE Missouri penitentiary contains 1,894 convicts. This is the most
populous penal institution in the United States. Crime is on the
increase. The number of prisoners is gradually becoming larger.
Reformation is not the success that it should be. A great many of the
prisoners return a second, third and many the fourth time. There is one
old convict now an inmate who has served nine different terms in this
prison. The highest number that was ever at any prior time in this
penitentiary, was reached on Thanksgiving Day of 1889. In 1836,
fifty-four years ago, when this prison was founded, there were eighteen
prisoners received the first day. During the year one received a pardon,
leaving at the close seventeen prisoners. At the close of 1889 there
were nineteen hundred inmates. As the population of Missouri increases,
she is generous enough to contribute her quota to the felon cells within
her borders. The increase of from seventeen at the close of the first
year to that of nineteen
hundred at the close of the last year, speaks volumes. What can be done
to lessen this fearful increase of crime? It is true that the population
of the State has increased amazingly since 1836, but crime has increased
too rapidly in proportion to the increase of population.
When a man, accused of crime, is convicted and sentenced in any
of the courts of the State, a commitment is furnished the sheriff, by
the clerk of the court. This document is a writing, giving the name of
the prisoner, the crime of which he stands committed, and the term for
which he is sentenced. It is the authority given the sheriff to convey
to the penitentiary the person named therein, and to deliver him to the
warden. As soon as the warden receives the commitment he assumes control
of the prisoner, and retains it until his term of service expires, or is
liberated by pardon or some court decree. It is curious to note how
differently prisoners act on coming to the penitentiary. Some of them
quake with fear and tremble as the aspen leaf. Others weep like whipped
children. While others do not seem to mind it much. This latter class is
chiefly made up of those who have served terms before, and have had
experience. The officers
try to crush the spirit of the criminal the first day he enters. The
poor culprit, already quaking with fear, is spoken to in a cross and
harsh manner, as if he was going to be struck over the head with a club
the next moment. He is locked up in the reception cell, a low, dark
dungeon. To use the expressive language of the prison, he is left in
this dungeon to "soak" for an indefinite time, often for a day and a
night. In this dreaded spot, in his loneliness and shame he has an
opportunity for meditation. I don't suppose there ever was a person who,
in this reception cell for the first time, did not heartily regret the
commission of his crime. Here he thinks of his past life. The days of
his innocent childhood come flitting before him. The faces of loved
ones, many of whom now dead, pass in review. It is here he thinks of his
loving mother, of his kind old father, of his weeping sisters and
sympathizing brothers.
He travels, time and again, the road of his past life. In his
reveries of solitude he sits once more in the old school-house of his
boy-hood days. It comes to him, now with greater force than ever
before, what he might have been, had he taken a different course,
Alas! it is too late. He is forever disgraced. There is but little hope
for him now in the future. Reader, behold this unfortunate youth as he
sits in his lonely dungeon, his first day in the penitentiary. On a low
chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands, he
sits and tries to imagine what is in store for him. He endeavors to peer
into the future, and all is gloom. That sweet angel we call Hope, has
spread her wings, taken her flight and left him comfortless. The cloud
of despair, black as the Egyptian midnight, settles down upon him. He
wishes that he was dead. I can never forget my first day in a felon's
cell. Of all my eventful life, into which many dark days have crowded
themselves, my first day in prison was the darkest. After the "soaking
season" is over, an officer advances to the dungeon, throws back the
bolts, pulls open the door, and, in a harsh manner, commands the
broken-hearted culprit to follow. He is conducted to an apartment, takes
a bath, and dons the suit of stripes. Ye angels! did you ever behold
such a sight? Is it not a travesty on every thing that is good to dress
a human being in such a suit of clothes. A striped
coat, striped pataloons, striped shirt, striped cap, in fine everything
he wears is striped. There is nothing in this world so humiliates a
person as being compelled to wear these stripes. No language can
describe the feelings of horror that took hold upon me the first time I
saw myself arrayed in these emblems of disgrace. I passed through all
the fiery ordeal of trial, sentence, reception cell, undaunted, but when
I made my first toilet in the penitentiary, I must admit, I was "knocked
out." Then I felt keenly the sting of disgrace. The prisoner is next
introduced to a convict barber, who shaves him and "clips" his hair. By
the time the barber gets through with his part of the programme, the
prisoner has but little hair either on his face or head. The prison
physician examines him and it is decided where he is to work. He is next
shown the cell he is to occupy, and later on his place of work. Over his
cell is placed his name and number. He now enters upon that
indescribable, desolate, and dreary life of a convict.
1. THE TREATMENT OF THE PRISONERS.
The inmates of the Missouri penitentiary are well clothed. In this
respect, this prison has
no rival. All the prisoners presented the appearance of being cleanly,
so far as their clothing is concerned. All are dressed in stripes. None
are exempt. Here are nearly two thousand men on an equality. None of
them can look down upon others, and say, I am more nicely dressed than
you. I never saw a convict dude in the entire lot. The prisoners are
well fed. For breakfast, the bill of fare consists of bread, coffee,
without milk or sugar, and hash. There is no change of this bill of
fare. If the prisoner has been there for ten years, if not in the
hospital, he has feasted upon hash every morning. Boiled meat, corn
bread, potatoes and water make up the dinner, and for supper the convict
has bread, molasses and coffee. The principal objection to this diet is
its monotony. Whenever a change of diet becomes a strict necessity, the
prisoner is permitted to take a few meals in the hospital dining-room.
Here he receives a first-class meal. This is a capital idea. A great
deal of sickness is prevented by thus permitting the convict to have an
occasional change of diet. On holidays, such as Thanksgiving day,
Christmas, etc., an extra dinner is given, which is keenly relished by
all. I have before me a
statement of the expenses for a Sunday breakfast and dinner. There are
only two meals given on Sunday. The hash was made up of 612 pounds of
beef, 90 pounds of bacon, and 30 bushels of potatoes. Fifty-one pounds
of coffee were used, and four and a half barrels of flour. The entire
meal cost $68.38.
For dinner, 1,585 pounds of beef, 30 bushels of potatoes, and
4½ barrels of flour, were used. This meal cost $100.61. It costs
about ten cents each a day to feed the prisoners. Some of the convicts,
after they get their daily tasks performed, do overwork. The contractors
pay them small sums for this extra labor. With this money the convict
is permitted to purchase apples from the commissary department, which he
can take to his cell and eat at his leisure. The commissary keeps these
apples on hand at all times in packages, which he sells to the prisoners
at twenty cents each. In prison, apples are the most healthful diet the
inmate can have. Should friends on the outside desire to send delicacies
to any of the prisoners, they are permitted to receive the same, and,
taking them to their cells, eat at their leisure. These luxuries are
highly appreciated by the men in stripes, whose daily food
is largely made up of hash and corn bread. The female prisoners must
subsist on the same kind of food as the males. In some penal
institutions, Kansas for example, the women have better diet than is
furnished the men. Not so in this penitentiary. All are treated alike,
so far as food is concerned.
Three times each day the men march into the large dining-hall,
which accommodates 1,500, and partake of their meals. The tableware is
of tin and somewhat meager. The tables themselves present the appearance
of the modern school-desk, being long enough that twenty men may be
comfortably seated at each. No table-linen is used. When eating, the
convict is not permitted to call for anything he may wish. When a dish
is empty it is held aloft, and an officer or a convict waiter
replenishes it. Ample time is given to eat. All have a sufficiency of
food such as it is. Every thing is clean. After the meal is over, the
prisoners, in ranks, return to their workshops, or to their cells in
case it is the last meal of the day. It is a very interesting sight to
witness 1,500 convicts eating at the same time.
The officials are to be commended for the
following privileges they grant the prisoners: On all holidays, such as
Fourth of July, Christmas, etc., they are let out of their cells into a
large open square, inside the prison walls, and are allowed to converse
with each other, and are given full liberty to do as they wish. These
are days of freedom. Officers, of course, are among them to see that no
fighting occurs, and also to prevent any from effecting their escape by
scaling the walls. The prisoners do certainly enjoy these times. They
shake hands with each other, run about, shout, leap for joy, and have
more real happiness than a lot of school-boys who have been shut up in a
room all day at their studies and are in the evening turned out for
play. The men are very careful not to abuse this privilege which they
prize very highly. There never have been any disturbances, nor fights,
nor attempts at escape during these holidays. These privileges granted
the prisoners demonstrate the humaneness of the prison officials.
The question often arises, why is it there are no more riots and
insurrections in this prison. Here are nearly two thousand men huddled
up together. They are prisoners, suffering the worst kind of bondage.
Why is it they do
not make a rush for liberty whenever an opportunity presents itself?
Many of them are in for life, and may never again see beyond their
prison walls. Why are they so docile? These questions can be easily
answered. Many of the men are short-time prisoners, having from one to
three years, and cannot afford to get into trouble, as their time is
short. Added to this, if the prisoner behaves himself, and obtains a
good prison record, he obtains a pardon and restoration to citizenship
when three-fourths of his time has expired. If a man is sent for ten
years, by good conduct he will be pardoned at the end of seven and a
half years. This is a great inducement to good behavior. The reason the
life-men cause but little, if any, disturbance in the prison is, that
they all have a hope sometime or other of receiving a pardon, and they
know very well that, if they do not have a good prison record, they can
never obtain a pardon. A custom also prevails at the prison, that has
much to do in causing the long-time men to behave themselves, and be
obedient to the regulations of the institution. Every Fourth of July and
Christmas the governor of the State grants pardons to two long-time men,
so there are
four chances annually for a man to obtain his freedom. Before the
governor will pardon one of these men, he must be satisfied, among other
things, that the convict has a good prison record.
Any one can readily see that this is a great inducement for the
prisoner to behave himself. Missouri is the only State, so far as my
knowledge extends, that has this custom. It should become, not only a
custom, but a law, in every State. It is founded on good sense.
2. THE PRISONER'S SENTENCE.
I believe in capital punishment. When a man falls so low as
maliciously, willfully and premeditatedly, to take the life of a human
being, he should be hung by the neck until he is dead. Before it is just
to impose such a sentence as this upon a human being he should have a
fair and impartial trial, which many persons charged with crime do not
get. If poor and unable to employ the best legal talent, the court
should see that it is furnished. Too often is it the case when a poor
man, charged with crime, makes affidavit that he is unable to procure
counsel, that some young and inexperienced attorney is selected, in
order to give
him a start in practice. The consequence of this inexperience is that
the man charged with crime has to suffer for his lawyer's inability to
secure for him his rights. After the jury has brought in a verdict of
guilty he should have the privilege of taking his case to the Supreme
Court, and have it reviewed by that tribunal at the expense of the
State. No human being should be hung on circumstantial evidence,
unsupported by positive testimony. If the judgment below is confirmed,
then let the murderer be kept in close confinement in the penitentiary
for one year, and, if during that time no new evidence or mitigating
circumstances arise let him be hung by the neck until he is dead.
Let the execution take place in the prison, let it be private and
witnessed by but few persons, designated by the executive of the State.
It is better for the criminal to be hung than to be sent to the
penitentiary for life. While serving out a lifetime sentence he suffers
ten thousand deaths. Those States where the death penalty is inflicted
have the least number of brutal murders, in proportion to their
population. The dread of death is a better protection to society than a
life of imprisonment.
The fiend with murder in his heart thinks "while there is life, hope
remains," and if he is sent to the penitentiary for life he may get a
pardon after a time. But if he is aware of the fact that if he strikes
the fatal blow he must atone for his crime on the gallows, he is more
liable to think twice before striking his innocent victim once. There
should be no such a thing as a life sentence. No criminal should be sent
to the penitentiary for a term longer than fifteen years. The suffering
he endures during this long sentence is enough to atone for any crime he
may commit aside from a brutal murder, and for this he should be hung.
Fifteen years of imprisonment is sufficient to break down almost any
constitution. Having spent this length of time behind prison walls a
man is a physical wreck, and, having atoned for his crime, let him have
the last days of life in the world of freedom. The greatest desire of a
life man in our penitentiaries is to die outside of prison walls. No
criminal should be sent to the penitentiary for less than five years.
After giving him one fourth off for good behavior, he has but little
more than three years of actual service. This will give him plenty of
time to learn a trade, so that
when he goes out of prison he can make a living for himself and for
those depending upon him. For crimes that require lighter sentences of
imprisonment let jails or reformatories be brought into requistion.{sic}
In the eyes of the world a jail sentence is not so disgraceful as one in
the penitentiary.
The plumage of a jail-bird is not so black as that of a
penitentiary bird. The disgrace of being sent to the penitentiary for
one year is as great as being sent for five or ten years. Whether he
goes for one or five years, for all the future he is set down as an
ex-convict. People do not stop to inquire as to the length of his
sentence. The main question is: Was he in the penitentiary? If so, he
wears the mark of Cain—the stamp of disgrace. Not so, if he simply has
been in jail. There are a great many young men, while surrounded by bad
company, yield to temptation and commit crime. A dose of jail service
will do them as much good as a year in the penitentiary. After they get
out they do not feel the disgrace so keenly, and there is some hope for
their reformation. Send them to the penitentiary and it will be a
miracle if they ever amount to anything in the future. If a jail
sentence of a year does not reform a young criminal, or a man of older
years, who has committed his first offense, then give a term in the
penitentiary for five years for the second offense. It is too true that
a sentence to the penitentiary for a first term is the irretrievable
ruin of the young offender. This becomes an obstacle which, during all
the future, he cannot surmount. This plan being adopted let everything
be done to reform the youthful offender while in jail. It is much easier
to carry forward the work of reformation in a jail or reformatory than
in a penitentiary.
17. CHAPTER XVII.
THE MISSOURI PRISONERS—(Continued.)
DURING the years 1887 and 1888, 1,523 prisoners were received into
the Missouri penitentiary. Of this number 1,082 were white males, 398
colored males, 17 white females, and 26 colored females. These figures
show that the women of Missouri are a great deal better than the men, or
they do not get their share of justice.
TABLE SHOWING THE AGES OF CONVICTS
RECEIVED DURING THE YEARS 1887 AND 1888.
- From 16 to 20.................320
- "20 to 25.................441
- "25 to 30.................344
- "30 to 35.................143
- "35 to 40.................113
- "40 to 45................. 70
- "45 to 50................. 34
- "50 to 55................. 31
- "55 to 60................. 15
- "60 to 65................. 5
- "65 to 70................. 4
- "70 and upward............ 5
- Total .......... 1,523
There is nothing that should interest the good people of Missouri
more than the foregoing table. These appalling figures I copied from the
prison records. Of the 1,523 criminals received during the past two
years, more than one-fifth of them were mere children. Would it not be
better to give these boys a term in the county jails, or in some
reformatory, instead of sending them to a penitentiary? Coming in
contact with hardened and vicious criminals, what hope is there for
getting these boys into the paths of honesty and uprightness? Then
there follows the large number of 441, representing the youthful age
from twenty to twenty-five years. These are the years most prolific of
criminals. Who can say these boys are vicious and hardened criminals?
Then follow the young men of from twenty-five to thirty. Three hundred
and fourty-four of this age find a home in felon cells. Are these boys
and young men not worth saving? What can be done to snatch them from a
career of crime, and to save them from becoming miserable wrecks?
Father, if one of these boys was a son of yours, you would think
seriously over this important question.
Something should be done to save this large
army of youth who are annually finding their way into felon cells.
Is the penitentiary the proper place to send those youthful
offenders? If so, then they should not come in contact with the older
and hardened criminals. One of the most essential things to be done in a
prison is the classification of the inmates. This is not done in the
Missouri penitentiary. Here the mere youth often cells with a hardened
old criminal of the worst description. I would rather a child of mine
would be boxed up with a rattlesnake. In this institution there are
nearly 2,000 criminals huddled up together—an indiscriminate mass. The
officials are not to blame for this. They realize the terrible condition
of things at the prison. They have not sufficient room for the
classification and proper arrangement of the inmates. They know, perhaps
better than anyone else, that the prison is not what it should be.
Warden Marmaduke says, in his last report to the prison directors, "This
prison is now too much crowded and it becomes a serious question at
once, as to what disposition will be made of them in the future. If this
prison is to accommodate them, another cell building
should be built at once. If another prison is to be the solution, it
should be commenced. If a reconstruction of our criminal laws, looking
to the reduction of crime, it should be done now. And in any event, and
whatever may be done, certainly our management of prisons should be so
modified or changed that the practical, not the sentimental system of
reform, should be adopted. I believe that our
present system is
making criminals instead of reforming them, and I believe that it is
practicable to so classify, treat, feed, work and uniform these people,
as to make better men instead of worse men out of them. I have profound
respect for the good purposes of the benevolently disposed men and
women, and they are numerous, who are devoting themselves to the effort
of reforming criminals. Yet their efforts must be supplemented by a
practical building up and the development of the better instincts of the
man, which cannot be done under our present system. The surroundings are
against it.
We are constantly developing and stimulating the very
worst instincts. I believe it practicable to institute methods for
this reform, at once creditable to the State." Who can doubt our
statements on
this subject when we quote such high authority as the above. The last
warden of this great institution comes out and officially announces that
awful fact that our
present system of prison treatment is constantly
developing and stimulating the very worst instincts. Constantly
making men worse, and when a young man enters the prison he is morally
tainted, when he goes out he is completely saturated, with moral
pollution. After such statements from so high an authority will the
great State of Missouri, so well-known the world over for her numerous
acts of benevolence, continue to have an institution within her borders
for the complete demoralization and ruin of multitudes of her young men.
Should a youth of Missouri, surrounded by influences and temptations
which he could not resist, once fall from a position of honor and
integrity, although it is his first violation of the law, he will be
taken into custody of the State, hurled into a pit, where for a time he
will inhale the fetid breath of wickedness, then, later on, to be
released and sent out into the free world a moral leper.
The State should not provide this machine for the moral
destruction of her unfortunate
youth. If this be the real and true condition of affairs, what can be
done to change them? I would suggest the erection, at once, of a
reformatory. Classify the prisoners. Let those who are in for the first
offense be separated from those who are professional and debased
criminals. Give these youthful offenders the benefit of schools,
connected with the reformatory. Let them have moral instruction, and
many of these young men will be reclaimed, However well a criminal is
treated, when behind prison walls, however good the advantages granted
him, all this will avail but little, if some provision is not made to
aid him when he leaves the prison. Many prisoners, at the time of their
discharge, may be, in heart, as pure as angels, and resolve to lead good
lives, yet they are convicts, and carry out with them the shame and
disgrace of such a life. They must live even if they are disgraced. They
must have work. Who will employ a convict? Should a man, just from the
prison, come to you and frankly inform you that he was recently
discharged from a felon's cell, that he had been convicted of
horse-stealing, for instance, and wanted employment with you on the
farm, how many of you, my readers, would give him
work? You would be afraid of him. You would decline his services, and
who could blame you? But the convict must live, and it is easily seen,
how, that after applying to several for work and being refused each time
on account of his past trouble, he would, after a time, become
discouraged and return to a life of a criminal. Hunger drives him to
deeds of desperation, and more especially is this the case if he have a
wife or helpless children depending upon him. On his discharge from the
prison the State presents him, with a shoddy suit of clothes (very
cheap), buys him a ticket for the town from which he came, and then lets
him shift for himself. Disgraced, penniless, friendless, helpless, how
is it possible for anyone of them ever to secure another foothold in
life.
Something should be done, to help these men to secure work for a
time after their discharge from prison. This would prevent a vast
majority of criminals from returning to the prison after their first
term. That my views on this subject may not be considered visionary, and
that I may not be regarded as standing alone in my suggestions, I will
give a portion of the report of Rev. J. Gierlow, ex-chaplain of the
Missouri penitentiary
"The increase of crime is necessarily attracting the attention of
all thinking people, and there is abundant evidence that crime-causes
are increasing, for which there seems to be no adequate prevention. It
has been said, that nearly all crime originates in the saloon, but this
statement requires discrimination. Very few professional thieves are
inebriates. That class of criminals are sober men, they could not ply
their trade without a clear head, nor do they go with those who drink,
for they talk too much. No, intemperance to a considerable extent, is
only a secondary cause of crime which must be reached by well-ordered,
sanitary, hygienic and educational measures. Diseased bodies and
unbalanced minds are largely characteristic of criminals; and these are
two factors in producing crime.
"There is a numerous class in whom crime seems to be hereditary,
a taint in the blood. In the same family there are generations of
criminals. Prison life adds another large section to the criminal class.
By the congregate system the prison becomes a school of crime, where the
young offender is both demoralized by contact with hardened criminals,
and initiated into the mysteries of professional villainy.
It is a question whether detention in prison, without remedial
influences, is not more of a loss than a gain. The critical time of
a prisoner, desirous of building up a new life, is when he crosses the
threshold of the prison and goes out into the world. He is met with
distrust wherever his past is known. He is in constant terror of
exposure if he tries to keep it secret. And what does the State do to
put him on his feet or to give him a chance? It gives him a few dollars
to carry him here or there, and bids him shift for himself. And finding
every avenue of honest employment closed against him, he is driven in
desperation, however well disposed he may be, to renew his criminal
habits and associates. What, then, are the remedies, as far as the
prison system is concerned? Chiefly, classification. Let not one who
desires to reform be compelled to associate with those who are almost
sure to degrade and debase him. The neglect of discriminating
classification of offenders is a dark stain upon civilization. Then,
again, I believe it to be the duty of the State to reinstate the
penitentiary man in society. This may be secured by a conditional
discharge, the finding of work for him, and the obligation to report
himself at stated periods to the proper authority.
"I have regarded it as within the province of my office to thus
briefly set forth what I have gathered from experience in my intercourse
with convicts, as well as from sober conviction, after mature
deliberation. Let the State consider and act.
I have here inserted the foregoing table to show the reader about how
the sentences are.
It will be observed that of the one thousand five hundred and
twenty-three prisoners admitted during the past two years, seven hundred
and forty-five of them, or nearly one-half, have but a two-years'
sentence. This shows that the crimes committed were not very "horrible
in their nature," or the sentences imposed would have been more severe.
This is probably the first offense for these offenders. By good conduct
in the prison one-fourth of their time will be deducted. This will give
them but eighteen months of actual service. What can they accomplish in
so short a time? The contractors care but little for them, since their
time will expire before they can master a trade and be of any service.
Had these youthful offenders been given a term in a county jail or
reformatory, would not justice been satisfied, and there would have been
more hope for the prisoner as to the future.
He would not have been a
penitentiary convict. I hope soon to see the day when the great
State of Missouri will have a reformatory institution which will receive
the wayward youth of that great commonwealth, and, after keeping and
training them for a time, will send them out into the world
stronger and better men than when first received. So far as reformation
is concerned, the Missouri penitentiary is a dismal failure.
18. CHAPTER XVIII.
PRISON DISCIPLINE.
THE Missouri penitentiary ranks among the leading penal institutions
of the country in matter of discipline. The rules and regulations are
placed in the hands of the prisoner as soon as he enters. If an inmate
obeys these rules and regulations he will be let alone, and will go
through his term of service without being punished. If he becomes unruly
and disobedient he will be punished, and that, too, very severely.
Each prisoner is allowed one pound of tobacco a month for chewing
and smoking purposes. In this prison the inmate is permitted to smoke in
his cell. This is the only institution with which I am acquainted that
permits smoking. The prisoners seem to enjoy their smoke very much, and
I do not see but that it is just the thing, for if a person on the
outside takes comfort from the use of his pipe, much more will the man
who sits in the solitude of a felon's cell. If a prisoner violates a
prison rule his tobacco is taken away
from him for a time. The majority of the inmates will obey the rules of
the prison through fear of having their tobacco, taken away from them.
Each prisoner also has access to the books of the library, and another
mode of punishment is to deprive the offender the use of the library for
a time. This, also, has a very salutary effect. Another mode of
punishment, is to place the unruly convict in a dungeon and feed him
nothing but bread and water. The prisoner on entering this dreary abode
must leave behind him his hat, coat and shoes, and in this condition he
is required often to spend days and weeks in solitary confinement. The
dungeon contains no furniture of any description save a night bucket.
Prisoners do not remain in these dark holes very long until they promise
obedience. It is one of the most successful modes of prison punishment.
In case of a second or third offense, and sometimes for the first, in
case it is a bad one, the offender is liable to receive a flogging.
This is one of the few penal institutions in our country where
the cat-o'-nine-tails is used. When a prisoner's conduct has been such
that it is deemed advisable to whip him, he is taken
from his cell and led to a post in the rear of one of the large
buildings, out of sight of the other convicts. His clothing is then
removed, with the exception of his shoes. These are left on his feet to
catch the blood that flows down his limbs. In this nude condition he is
tightly bound to a post with chains. Standing at the post, in a helpless
condition, he receives the lash. The whip consists of several leather
straps, or thongs, at the ends of which small pieces of steel are
fastened. Every blow brings the blood. I have been told by reliable
persons that, at times, prisoners have been so severely flogged that the
blood, flowing down their limbs into their shoes would fill them and run
out over the tops. This seems barbarous in the extreme, and my humane
reader at once cries out, "It should not be tolerated." In Missouri this
flogging of human beings in prison has been going on for more than fifty
years. After the punishment is over, the prisoner, half dead with fright
and pain, is led back to his cell, where he remains for a day or two,
that he may recuperate. He throws himself down on his "bunk," and
remains there for hours, the blood still flowing from his lacerated
back.
Often the blanket on which he lies, sticks to his bleeding back, and a
fellow convict is asked, often, to assist in removing it. Many a poor
fellow carries with him through life the scars which were made while a
convict in this prison. One day while I was working in the coal mines
of the Kansas penitentiary, a fellow-convict showed me his scarred
back. He had served a term in the Missouri penitentiary, and while there
had been severely whipped. His back told the story too plainly that his
whipping had been a severe and cruel one. It would seem that the day of
the whipping-post had passed away; that the doors of our advanced
civilization were shut against it.
Many of the prison officials claim that it is the most healthy
mode of inflicting punishment; that to place a convict in a dungeon and
to feed him on bread and, water is far more injurious to his health than
to give him a good "paddling," and it don't require so long to do the
work. The same results are reached more quickly. Others claim that it is
impossible to have good prison discipline without resorting to the lash.
This statement is not correct. There is no better discipline to be
found in any penal institution, than that in the Kansas
penitentiary, where no prisoner ever receives a stroke from a whip. The
laws of that State forbid it. In our humble judgment it would be the
best thing that the Missouri Legislature could do at its next session,
to prohibit any further use of the lash. Sometimes a paddle is used,
with small holes bored in the end, and every time this paddle strikes
the nude flesh, blisters are raised. Again, another instrument of
punishment in use is a thick, broad, leather strap, fastened in a wooden
handle, at the end of which lateral incisions are made that give it the
appearance of a saw. There is no trouble in raising huge blisters "with
this engine of warfare." All these modes are barbarous, and should be
forbidden. Whenever severe punishment becomes essential, let the
prisoner remain in the dungeon, living on bread and water until he
promises, in good faith, to behave himself. A great deal of useless
punishment can be avoided if the officer in charge of the prison
discipline is a humane man and a good judge of human nature, and no
other should be permitted to fill this important position. We must not,
however, be too hasty in condemning prison officials for harsh treatment
of those under their charge.
They have some of the most desperate men on the face of the earth to
deal with, and at times it becomes a necessity to use harsh measures.
Notwithstanding this is all true, there are but very few human beings
but what have white spots in their otherwise darkened souls, and often a
word of kindness does more than a cruel blow from a merciless officer.
The excellent discipline of this institution is due, in the main,
to Captain Bradbury, the deputy warden. He is beyond doubt, one of the
best, and most experienced prison men in the United States. He has been
connected with the Missouri prison for thirty-three years. The warden
looks after the finances of the institution, and it belongs to Captain
Bradbury to hold in subjection the two thousand criminals that are
crowded together in that small prison enclosure. This celebrated deputy
warden is a Virginian by birth. He is sixty-two years of age. He served
in the Mexican war, and now draws a pension from the Government, because
of his services there. If a prisoner conducts himself properly, Captain
Bradbury will treat him as humanely as he can under the circumstances.
If he becomes willful and unruly, the Captain
no doubt will take great pleasure in giving the offender "a good
paddling," to use his own forcible expression. This official is a strong
advocate of corporal punishment. He claims that a "little loosening up
of the hide" of an obstreperous prisoner does the said prisoner a vast
amount of good. Among the convicts the deputy warden is austere. He is
never seen sauntering about the prison enclosure with his long arms
entwined about any of "the boys in stripes." He claims, that too great a
familiarity breeds contempt. This seeming harshness when in the presence
of the prisoners is only borrowed for the occasion, for, away from the
convicts, there is not a more social gentleman in the State of Missouri.
Great credit is due to Captain Bradbury for his excellent management of
this institution, under such unfavorable circumstances. Could he be
persuaded to quit the use of the whipping post, and use other measures
less barbarous, I think the same discipline could be secured, as now
exists. The officers here do not seem to be so exacting as in many other
prisons. In the Kansas penitentiary, when prisoners are in ranks going
to and from their meals, their cells, or workshops, they are
required to fold their arms, and keep their eyes fixed upon the back of
the one's head just in front. No gazing about is permitted, and should a
prisoner speak to one in the front of him and be detected, he would be
summarily dealt with. In the Missouri prison I noticed that the convicts
while marching would gaze about wherever they wished, and go swinging
along with their arms dangling at their sides. In many prisons the
inmates are required, while in ranks, to keep their hands on the
shoulders of the man in front. This would seem to be the most desirable
way of having the prisoners march. In this prison one can detect more of
a homelike feeling, not so rigorous and exacting as in many institutions
of this nature. Captain Todd, assistant deputy warden, is another
official of long standing. He has been with this prison for eighteen
years, and is very popular. In this connection we must not fail to
mention Captain Crump, who has been connected with this prison for
thirty-six years, but who was discharged during the last administration
because of his making statements to the effect that the prison was run
by a political ring." He is now deputy marshal of Jefferson City, and is
a faithful officer. He incurred the displeasure of the contractors
because of the grave charges he made against them, because of their
inhuman demands upon the prisoners, requiring of them more work than
they were able to perform. Because of his humaneness, and because he
wanted to see the helpless prisoner treated as he should be, after
thirty-six years of faithful service was discharged from the
institution. In 1883 there was an investigation made of many serious
charges preferred against the contractors and some of the leading
officials. The committee made their report to the governor, and some
five hundred pamphlets containing this report were printed for
distribution. When the Legislature met none of these books could be
found, and the whole matter was a specimen of whitewash. The report
contained some very damaging charges, but nothing was ever done with the
matter. I visited the office of the secretary of state and asked to see
one of these books, but even his office did not contain a copy of this
State document. The Legislature should keep a watchful eye over this
penal institution, and, while there should be good discipline
maintained,
the prisoners should not be treated in a barbarous manner{.}
A PARDONING BOARD.
The governor has the pardoning power. He extends executive clemency
to a number annually. He has not time to attend to the duties connected
with this prerogative. There are 2,000 prisoners. No doubt many of them
have excessive sentences. If a thorough investigation was made, many
would be found innocent. The governor has not the time to attend to
these matters. There should be a pardoning board appointed to
investigate these cases and advise with the governor. To show the
necessity of such a board, I have only to state that during the past
year the Pardoning Board of Kansas has advised executive clemency to
fifteen crimimals{sic} who received their pardons on the grounds of
innocency. One of the number being a Mrs. Henrietta Cook, who was
sentenced for life, and who had served fifteen years of imprisonment,
when, upon an investigation of her case by the Pardoning Board, she was
discharged, there being no doubt as to her innocence. The great
majority of these prisoners are poor
and friendless. They have no one on the outside to aid them in securing
their rights, and unless a pardoning board is appointed to investigate
these cases, many a man and woman entirely innocent, will have to serve
out a sentence in this prison.
It is but natural for the contractors to use their influence to
prevent the men under their control from receiving pardons. If a man is
sentenced for ten years, and has been in one of the shops for two or
three years, and has learned to do his work well, the contractor will
want to keep him instead of letting him go, and will, no doubt, in an
underhanded way, do all against the poor prisoner he can. This strong
influence in many cases will have to be counteracted and overcome before
the prisoner can receive his pardon and obtain his liberty. A pardoning
board, when appointed, should be men who would not be in collusion with
the contractors, but be men who would see that the prisoner had
justice.
19. CHAPTER XIX
NOTED CONVICTS.
AT the present time there are fifty-six females who find homes in
this living tomb. Two-thirds of them are colored. The greater portion
are kept busy making underclothing for the prisoners. They are detained,
during working hours, in a room, seated at tables, with a lady guard
watching them. They are not allowed to converse with each other, only as
they get permission from this officer. They are not permitted to see the
male prisoners. In fact there is no way of entering the female prison
from the male department. The dormitory is on the third floor. The
female convicts wear striped calico dresses, the stripes running
lengthwise. The female prison is kept scrupulously clean, which reflects
great credit upon those having the management of this department.
In company with Doctor Lewellyn, the prison physician, I passed
through the dormitory. Here I found a great curiosity. It was a baby
prisoner, six months old. The little
convict was born in the penitentiary. It is a colored child—its mother
being a mulatto, who was sent to prison for fifteen years for murdering
two of her children. When on the outside, she lived with her paramour, a
white man, and, as fast as children were born to them, she would murder
them in cold blood. The white man was tried also as accessory to the
murder, but, owing to her refusal to testify against him, there was not
sufficient evidence to convict him, and he was set at liberty. He often
visits her at the prison, bringing her eatables, which are very much
relished in the penitentiary. I saw also the notorious Sadie Hayes, who
was sent up from St. Louis for killing a policeman. She was under the
influence of strong drink, and, thus crazed with whisky, the officer
tried to arrest her. She drew a razor, and began to slash away at the
officer, and, in spite of his club and large, muscular frame, she soon
cut him to pieces. He expired on the sidewalk, where the engagement took
place. She was sent up for ninety-nine years, and has now been in prison
about three years. She is one of the most desperate looking women I ever
saw, and, when crazed with drink, becomes an infuriated demon. She is an
adept in the use of the razor.
The oldest female prisoner is an aged German woman by the name of
Oldstein, from Gasconade County. She has been in the penitentiary
thirteen years, and, doubtless, would get a pardon if she had any place
where she could make her home after securing her liberty. The old woman
is entirely broken down and is a physical wreck. She spends the most of
her time knitting. Aside from keeping her own bedding clean she is not
required to perform any labor. She was charged with a cold-blooded
murder. She, her husband and daughter murdered her daughter's husband.
The old man was hung, the daughter was sent up for life, and died in a
few months after entering prison. The old woman was sentenced to be hung
also with her husband, but the governor commuted her sentence to that of
life imprisonment. For thirteen long, dreary years she has lived behind
these prison walls. She longs for death, but death refuses, as yet, to
claim her as his own. Broken in health, friendless, penniless, this poor
old woman is but another proof that "the way of the transgressor is
hard." I also saw Anna Brown, another female prisoner, who, with her
step-brother, planned and carried into execution a
terrible cold-blooded murder. It was none other than the killing of her
aged father. The boy was sent to prison for life and the woman received
a sentence of forty-nine years. Her sentence might just as well have
read "life imprisonment" as forty-nine years, for she cannot live but a
few years longer in confinement. Nannie Stair is another interesting
prisoner. She came from Vernon County. An old and crippled man was
driving through the country. Night coming on found him near the house of
the Stair family. He stopped and asked for a night's lodging. His
request was granted. That was the old man's last night of earth. During
the hours of the night Stair and his wife made their way into the
bed-chamber where the helpless traveler lay asleep unconscious of his
doom. It was not long until the husband sent an axe crushing through his
brain, his wife standing by, a witness to the fearful deed. During the
same night they dug his grave in the garden back of the house, and
buried him. Next day the husband drove the murdered man's team to a
town not far distant, and sold it. In a couple of weeks friends began to
institute search for the missing man. He was
traced to the home of the Stair family. The husband and wife being
separated, and the officers telling the wife that she would be let out
of the scrape without much punishment in case she would tell all she
knew, she informed them of all the details of the bloody deed, where the
victim lay buried, and what disposition was made of the murdered man's
team and money. The two were arrested, tried and convicted. The husband
was hung, and the wife sent to the penitentiary for six years. Her time
will now soon be served out, and she will once more be a free woman. The
desire of this family to obtain filthy lucre was too great. Of the
fifty-six female inmates of of the Missouri penitentiary, fifteen of
them were sent for murder. Kansas City has several female
representatives. It is stated, on good authority, that the sentences
imposed by the judges of the Kansas City district are far more excessive
than in any other portion of the State. I was told that a number of
these female convicts were very desperate characters, while others of
them, driven to deeds of desperation on account of poverty, committed
acts that for a time placed them behind prison bolts and bars. Something
should be done to
aid these poor women, when their terms expire, to get a start in life.
If something is not done for them, it will be but a short time when they
will drift back again into crime and prison.
The author of this book believes that it is all right to send
money to India and other remote countries to aid the heathen, but
instead of sending it all away to lands beyond the seas, he thinks a
portion of it, at least, could be well expended this side the briny deep
in helping some of these poor unfortunate convicts to get another start
in life, and thus lift them out of a life of crime.
1. WHISKY AND CARDS.
Felix Bagan's history shows the career of many a boy, when thrown
into bad company. At an early age Felix was left an orphan. When his
parents both died he had not a relative living that cared anything for
him. Taken from the grave of his mother, who died shortly after the
death and burial of her husband, the unfortunate lad was placed in the
orphan's home in St. Louis. Here he remained for several years, and
acquired all the education that he possessed. After becoming old enough
to do some work, he was given to a farmer, who took him to his home in
the country.
Possessed of a genial disposition, he soon made many friends. He was
highly esteemed by the lady and gentleman who adopted him. He was honest
and industrious. It was on election day that his down-fall took place.
In company with several young men, who resided on neighboring farms, he
went to a small town near by to pass the day. Being invited to
participate in a game of cards, he and several of his companions found
their way into the back part of a saloon, where the day was spent in
drinking and gambling. Toward evening a dispute arose about the cards, a
drunken fight was the result. Bagan, half crazed with drink, drew his
knife and stabbed to the death one of his companions. The young man whom
he murdered, prior to this had been one of his best friends. When he saw
the life-blood of his companion ebb away, he came to his senses, and was
soon sober. He wept like a child when he saw his friend sinking away
into, the arms of death. The awful deed was done, and nothing was left
to the unfortunate youth but to be led away to prison, with the blood of
a human being upon his garments. In due time he had his trial, and was
sent to the penitentiary for thirty years. He was twenty-two
years of age when he received the sentence. He has now been in the
prison thirteen years. For seven years he worked in the saddle-tree
shop for Sullivan, Hayes & Co., prison contractors. At the end of that
time his health failing, he refused to work. The prison authorities
thought he was trying to shirk his work. After being severely flogged,
he was placed in the dungeon and kept there in solitary confinement for
three months. Half dead, he was taken to the hospital and left in the
hands of the prison physician. For a time it was thought he would die.
After a while he began to recover; large patches of hair fell from his
scalp, leaving his head thickly covered with bald spots. When he entered
the prison he was a fine-appearing young man, but thirteen years of
imprisonment have converted him into a broken-down old man and physical
wreck. That was a sad day for that unfortunate youth when he entered the
saloon to take part in the game of cards. He will not live to the end of
his sentence, but will die in the penitentiary, and find his last, long
home in the prison grave-yard. Young man, as you read the history of
this convict, can you not
persuade yourself to let whisky and cards alone for the future?
2. BILL RYAN.
Passing through the cell houses, I was shown the room occupied by the
notorious Bill Ryan for seven years. He was a member of the James boys'
gang. Being convicted of highway robbery he was sent to the prison for
twenty years. After Jesse James had been killed by young Ford, and
Frank's crimes had been pardoned, Ryan's sentence was commuted to ten
years, and after serving seven he regained his liberty.
Ryan was accredited with being one of the best prisoners in the
penitentiary. On the outside, if reports be true, he was one of the most
desperate men in Missouri. His time was spent in drinking, gambling,
quarreling, fighting and killing. He is charged with killing a number of
men. He was twice tried for murder, but proving an alibi, the jury
brought in a verdict of "not guilty." The prison officials speak in the
highest terms of his conduct while an inmate of the penitentiary. He
was an obedient and hard-working convict. Now that he is once more a
free man it is to
be hoped that he will show himself as good a citizen on the outside, as
he was on the inside, of prison walls.
3. WILLIE HILDRUM.
This youthful convict is but sixteen years of age. He is the youngest
prisoner in the penitentiary. He was formely{sic} a boot-black on the
streets of St. Louis. Getting into a fight one day with one of his
boot-black companions over a nickel that they had jointly earned
"shining up" a patron's boots, young Hildrum drew an old knife from his
pocket, which he had found a few days before, and sent the rusty blade
into the heart of the street Arab. The youthful murderer was tried and
convicted of manslaughter, and on account of his youth was given but two
years in the penitentiary.
4. S. D. HENSON.
This convict was at one time county judge of Stoddard County, and
highly respected. He is one of the finest appearing men I ever saw. His
finely shaped head bespeaks intelligence. It is sad to see such grand
looking specimens dressed in the garb of disgrace. Judge Henson became
involved in a quarrel with one of his neighbors over some trivial
matter, and killed him. His sentence is for twenty years, which for him
at this advanced age means death in the prison. Great efforts are being
put forth for his pardon, but it is a question left entirely with the
governor, and no one can tell how he may act.
Judge Henson is not at heart a criminal. On that open
countenance there is no mark of Cain. Thinking of his sad case, more
than ever am I convinced that we are creatures of circumstances. How
many of my readers, had they in the past, been surrounded by the same
circumstances, subject to the same temptations, would not have acted in
the same manner, and like judge Henson found a home in a convict's
cell.
5. FORTY-EIGHT YEARS A PRISONER.
John Hicks is the veteran penitentiary convict of the United States.
Under an alias he served one term in the Missouri penitentiary. Most of
his time has been spent in prisons further east. He is now eighty-four
years of age, and quite recently was released from the Michigan City
penitentiary. Prison authorities have compared notes and find that he
has actually served forty-eight years of prison life. He
is the oldest living criminal in this country. He has served ten terms,
the greater portion of them being in Indiana. His first crime was
committed in 1839. In some way he learned that a man named Bearder had
$360 in his house. While the family were at church Hicks rifled the
house and stole their money. A marked coin led to his conviction, and he
got a three years' sentence. He was never, afterward, out six months at
a time, and was sent up successively for burglary, criminal assault,
robbery, larceny, cattle-stealing and horse-stealing. At the expiration
of his fifth term, at Michigan City, he made his way to the office,
where the directors were in session. He begged them to allow him to
build a shanty in a part of the prison in which he could sleep and call
his home. All that he asked was that the scraps from the table be given
him for food. The board refused to allow him this, and Hicks bade them
good-by. He walked to a small town near by, where he soon was arrested
for thieving, and was taken to prison to serve what he declared to be
his last term. His head is as white as snow, and in keeping with his
long, flowing beard, and he looks like a patriarch, yet is not stooped a
particle. His
desire now is to secure honest work, that will guarantee him a home. He
wishes to spend the rest of his days a free man. Had this man been
assisted just a little at the expiration of his first term, he might
have become a useful citizen, but as it was, his life was spent behind
the bars. When once the feet find themselves walking in the pathway of
crime, it is very difficult for them ever to walk in paths of honesty
and uprightness thereafter.
6. NINE TIMES.
As I was walking through the penitentiary, in company with Deputy
Warden Bradbury, he pointed out an old convict, and said, "There is a
fellow that has seen prison life. He is here this time under the name of
Gus Loman. He is now serving his ninth term in this prison. At
the expiration of one of his sentences he went away and was gone over a
year, and when he came back I asked him where he had been so long. His
reply was, `Simply rusticating at Joliet, Ill., with some friends.'
Every time he is sent to prison he gives in a new and different name
and, of course, no one but himself knows what his real name is." When
asked why he comes to the prison so often, he
remarked that, when once in prison it is impossible to get work to do on
the outside, and he had made up his mind to spend the rest of his days
in prison. He claimed that the fates were against him and he could not
make a living on the outside, as no one would employ him; that he had
tried it several times and failed, and now he had given up all hope. He
is a bold, bad and natural thief. As soon as his term is out he goes a
little distance from the prison, gets on a spree, gets into trouble,
steals something, and soon finds himself back again in the penitentiary.
He is now over seventy years of age, and is both a physical and moral
wreck. What an awful warning for the young is the history of such a
wasted life.
7. DESPERADO JOHNSON.
This convict is the most daring and desperate criminal in the
Missouri penitentiary. The prison authorities have had more trouble
with him than with any other man who ever found a home behind the walls
of this great institution. He was sent up from Jackson County, and was
charged with murdering two men before he was finally convicted of crime.
On trial for these two murders be was successful
in proving an alibi. The last time be was not so successful, and
received a sentence of twelve years. Soon after his arrival at the
prison he was set to work in one of the shops. When he became a little
acquainted, his innate cussedness induced him to raise a riot in the
prison. It was a desperate undertaking, but he was equal to the
emergency. For days and weeks he was on the alert, and when a guard was
not on the watch he would communicate with a convict, and enlist his
services, and give him his instructions as to what part he should
perform when the signal should be given.
At last the day came when all was ready for the plans so well
laid to be carried into execution. Each of the convicts who were to act
in concert with him piled up a lot of kindling in their respective shops
and saturated it with kerosene. When the prisoners were being marched
out to supper, they threw matches into the piles of kindling-wood, and
soon several buildings were on fire. Intense excitement now prevailed
among the two thousand convicts. The ranks were quickly broken, and all
was confusion. Some of the better disposed convicts tried to assist the
officers in
putting out the fires, and were in turn knocked down and trampled upon
by those who were in favor of the riot. In the midst of this great
excitement Johnson, the leader, with four of his associates, knocked
down one of the guards and stripped him of his clothing. Johnson put on
this suit of blue and started to one of the towers. Reaching the same,
he asked permission of the officer on duty to let down the ladder and
allow him to ascend and assist him in "holding the fort," as this was
Captain Bradbury's orders. Johnson's intentions were to get on top of
the wall and into the tower, where the guard opened the large gate below
by the use of a lever. The convict, once inside the tower, would knock
the officer down, seize his gun, raise the lever, throw open the large
gate in the wall, and permit the prisoners all to rush out. This was a
bold scheme, and it is a wonder, during the great excitement that
prevailed, that it was not successful. The officer on duty, when
requested by the convict to allow him to ascend the ladder, coolly drew
his gun, and told him if he dared to ascend he would send buckshot into
his body.
Foiled in this, the desperado returns to
where the officials are fighting the flames, and began cutting the hose
so as to stop the supply of water. The fire raged furiously. A strong
wind sprung up adding intensity to the flames. Over $200,000 worth of
property was soon swept away in this direful storm of fire. After a
fearful conflict the prisoners were overpowered and driven into their
cells.
A number of them were severely wounded. Several died of the
injuries received. The prison directors had a called meeting and
investigated the riot. The blame fell upon convict Johnson. A criminal
charge was preferred against him in the courts, for arson. He was
convicted and served an additional sentence of twelve years. This, added
to his former sentence, makes twenty-four years of imprisonment for this
desperado. When he was taken out of the penitentiary to stand trial for
setting fire to the prison, he was heavily loaded with chains, and in
the custody of six prison officials. It was feared he would make a
desperate effort to escape during this trial. On his return to the
prison he was placed in a dark dungeon, and has been kept caged up ever
since, like a wild beast. When he is given exercise he wears a ball and
chain
and an officer walks immediately behind him, with a loaded Winchester,
ready to shoot him down if he makes any bad breaks. The officials are
very careful when they enter his cell for any purpose, as he is liable
to kill them. Captain Bradbury, the deputy warden, in speaking of him,
says, he is the most desperate criminal he has met during his
thirty-three years of prison experience.
8. HENRY BUTLER,
a colored representative of Pettis County, has served the longest
consecutive term of any of the male prisoners. Henry killed his man, and
for this mistake has been doing service for the State of Missouri
"without money and without price" for the past fifteen years. The story
of his downfall is very romantic. He was a married man, and the father
of an interesting family. There lived near him a young lady of color,
very handsome and attractive, so the story goes, and for whom Henry had
a great liking. There was nothing wrong about all this, perhaps, if
Henry had not permitted his affections to go too far. Instead of
admiring this dusky maiden at a distance, as he should have done, he
brought her to his home, and cared for her there in a manner too
affectionate for the tastes of his colored neighbors. Henry was
remonstrated with, but to no purpose. At the close of church services
one moonlight Sunday evening his neighbors held an indignation meeting,
and it was resolved to put a stop to Henry's little love scheme, as it
was now very evident that his wife was getting tired of having the
maiden about her so much. The meeting adjourned that evening to have the
next one the following night at Henry's front gate. During the ensuing
day he was apprised of the intentions of his callers, and was urged to
let the young lady depart from under his roof. Henry refused, since love
is blind. He got his shotgun in readiness to protect his home and his
rights. At the appointed hour some twenty-five or thirty neighbors
gathered at the place selected, and demanded of Henry that he should
give up the maiden loved, or pull hemp. At this juncture Henry called
into requisition his double-barreled shotgun and turned both barrels
loose on the excited throng. The result was a stampede, one negro killed
and two wounded. For this brave deed he was arrested, tried and sent to
prison
for life. In solitude for fifteen years, Henry has had the privilege of
thinking of his illicit love, none of his former neighbors daring to
molest him or make him afraid.
The case of a prisoner who was in the Missouri prison under the
name of
9. GEORGE ELLIS
is very remarkable. Over in Kansas a cold-blooded murder had been
committed. It seemed impossible for the authorities to discover any
trace of the murderer. Shortly after this murder had been committed,
Ellis was arrested and tried in Missouri on a charge of horse-stealing,
and got a two years' sentence. He heard of this murder having been
committed in Kansas, and, for some reason best known to himself, he went
to Deputy Warden Bradbury and confidentially told him that he had
committed the offense, and asked him to notify the authorities of
Kansas. This was done and a pardon was granted Ellis that he might be
taken to Kansas and tried for murder. No doubt, Ellis' motive in stating
that he was guilty of this offense was to get out of the penitentiary.
He supposed that after getting pardoned out of the Missouri
prison, he would have no trouble in proving an alibi in the Kansas
murder case, and in this way go free. He was taken to Kansas, tried, and
failed to establish his alibi, and was found guilty of murder and
sentenced to the penitentiary for life. If Ellis was guilty of murder,
he surely would not have told on himself and exchanged a two years'
sentence in the Missouri prison for a life sentence in the Kansas
penitentiary. He is, no doubt, innocent of this crime, but should serve
a few years in the Kansas institution because of his smartness.
10. THE SUICIDE.
A young man by the name of John Welch was sent from Stoddard County
for an heinous offense, under a sentence of ten years. His family were
among the best people of that county, and highly respected. John proved
to be a black lamb of the flock. He had not been in prison but a few
weeks when he got enough of that kind of living, and, being unable to
have his resignation accepted, he concluded to end his career by
committing suicide. It was on a beautiful Sunday morning, and the
prisoners having been to religious services, were on their way back to
their cells to spend
the rest of the day in solitude. The chapel where the services were held
is in the third story of a large brick structure. An iron stairway is
attached to the wall on the outside of the building. It was down this
stairway the convicts were marching, one behind the other, when John,
stepping out of the door on to the stairway, instead of following his
comrades down and into his cell, as he had done on former occasions,
leaped out into space and fell to the ground. When he was picked up,
life was extinct. He received his pardon that day, but gave his life as
the ransom. No one can imagine how much this youth suffered before he
brought himself to that point when he decided to make that leap into
eternity.
20. CHAPTER XX.
THE EX-CONVICT.
HEAVY are the burdens which men in prison must bear. They are
deprived of liberty, separated from friends, no social intercourse, and
constantly maintaining an unnatural position. The convict's place is
lower than the most degraded menial; he must ask for permission even to
get a drink of water. No serf of earth, no slave, however wretched, has
a sadder lot. These unhappy mortals have yielded to temptation, have
fallen, and are paying the penalty of violated law. Who can think of
these degraded beings, without, to some extent, its calling forth the
sympathy of the human heart, for we must not forget that they, too, are
children of one universal Father. However deplorable the condition of
these men while in prison, is it much better when they regain their
freedom?
One morning about a month after my release from prison, as I was
getting ready for breakfast, there came a knock at the door. Opening it
I saw a young man—a tramp—who begged
for something to eat. I recognized him immediately as a former
fellow-convict. He had forgotten me. It has always been a rule in my
home, when any one came to my door hungry, he should have something to
eat. At times, adhering to this practice has almost converted my home
into a hotel for tramps. I invited this young man in, and requested him
to take a seat with me at the table. He did not wait for a second
invitation. He was very hungry. During the meal I inquired as to his
past history. He gave me the same old tramp "racket." I had listened to
the same story many times. After breakfast was over I asked him if he
would have a cigar. With a smile, he said, if I would furnish the cigar,
he would be pleased to indulge. I invited him into another room, closed
the door and locked it. The turning of the key rather took him by
surprise. I reached out my hand to him, and said: "Charley D—,
don't you know me? Don't you remember the man who worked with you for a
couple of weeks in the penitentiary coal mines, room No. 3? Have you
forgotten the last day we worked together, when a large piece of slate
fell upon your leg, and I had to
assist you in reaching the foot of the shaft as you were being conveyed
to the hospital?"
"My God! Reynolds, is this you?" he exclaimed. "I would never
have known you in your pleasant surroundings. Had I met you in the
penitentiary coal mines, dressed in prison stripes, your face and hands
covered with coal dust, I would have recognized you."
I gave him his much coveted cigar and invited him to a chair. I
was anxious to learn his history since be left the prison. He had
regained his liberty almost one year before I was released.
After he had reached the quiet contentment which is the
inevitable result of a well appreciated breakfast and a good cigar, I
said to him: "Charley, just drop your tramp story and tell me your true
history since leaving the prison. I am anxious to know just what an
ex-convict must meet."
This young fellow was twenty-five years of age. He served five
years in the penitentiary for stealing horses. He had an inferior
education, and might be considered an average ex-convict. His narrative
will show what the great majority of these men are called upon to
endure.
His story revealed the fact that when he left the penitentiary he
had thirteen dollars in money and a suit of inferior clothes, such as is
furnished the prisoner when discharged. Having been closely confined for
five years, without even a newspaper to read, with but few visitors, he
was entirely ignorant of what had occurred during his period of
incarceration. His parents had been dead for several years, and he had
no friends to whom he could apply for aid. The large iron doors swung
upon their hinges, and he went forth a free but bewildered man. He had
liberty, it is true, but liberty replete with such trials as awaited
this young man is certainly little better than prison confinement.
Passing under the big stone archway, and out beyond the prison
enclosure, he paused for a few moments upon the little eminence on which
the prison stands, and viewed the surrounding country, not knowing what
to do or where to go. Finally he takes the principal road that leads
across the country, and in a half hour's walk reaches a farm house. He
asks for work. The farmer needs a hand, but asks the applicant for whom
he worked last.
"I am just out of prison," was the reply.
"I thought so," said the farmer, "for I have seen so many of
these men coming out of that place wearing clothes similar to those you
have on. How long were you in prison, and what was your offense?"
"I served five years, and my crime was horse-stealing."
At this frank confession the farmer slightly coughed, and stated
that a man called the day before, and he had partially promised the
place to him, and he did not feel like employing any one until he heard
from him. Had the farmer been as frank as the convict he would have
said, "I don't want a penitentiary-bird about me, and particularly one
that has been a horse-thief."
Finding no employment he moved on. For two weeks this friendless
ex-convict walked about the country, going from one farm house to
another, seeking employment. He practiced great economy, but at the
expiration of this time his thirteen dollars were gone. He was now
penniless, friendless and almost hopeless. For two weeks he had told the
truth, and frankly confessed he was an ex-convict. He had a desire to do
right. He felt that the first step down the hill toward the penitentiary
was lying.
But two weeks squandered in trudging about the country seeking
employment and finding none, convinced him that it was impossible to
obtain work and tell the truth as to his past history, so he imagined
nothing was left but to practice deception, steal or starve. Reader,
what would you have done? He did what you probably would, surrounded by
the same circumstances—he made up his mind to lie. On making further
inquiries for work, he learns of a farmer living several miles away, who
desired hired help. He immediately set out for that place. This farmer,
like all the rest, put the question, "For whom did you last work?"
Instead of imparting the information that he was an ex-convict, he
invented a little story to the effect that he had worked for a farmer
living some miles distant, with whom he had become quite well
acquainted, having spent a Sunday at his home, and whose name he gave
his inquisitor. He received employment. A bargain was made, and our now
happy ex-convict went to work. Three weeks passed away. The employer and
the employee were mutually satisfied. The prisoner worked hard. He felt
that at last the clouds which had so long obscured his sky were about to
break away, and the sunshine of prosperity would soon be his.
But how mistaken we sometimes are when forecasting the future!
One afternoon, at the end of three weeks, the old farmer rode up for
whom the ex-convict had stated that he worked. The ex-criminal was
recognized. The old farmer had some business with the employer of the
prisoner, and in the evening before leaving for his home, thinking to do
humanity a great favor, confidentially informed his neighbor that he had
an ex-penitentiary convict on his farm at work, and that he was an old,
hardened horse-thief, and beyond all hope of redemption. That evening,
after supper, the prisoner got the "grand bounce." The small amount of
money he received for his three weeks' services on the farm was expended
in paying his expenses while continuing his search for work.
He at length arrives at Kansas City, with but a few cents, and
completely discouraged about securing work. At this place he met a
criminal, a former acquaintance. He, too, was without money. They talked
over their misfortunes, and after duly considering the matter, came to
the conclusion that out of
crime there was no chance to get another start. They planned a burglary
for the following night. A residence some distance from the central
portion of the city was entered. They obtained ten dollars and a silver
watch, and concluded to continue their criminal efforts the next
evening. During the day, however, the "pal" was arrested on another
charge, and locked up in the city prison. He thought it about time to
fly, and so took his departure.
He spent the rest of his time in Kansas, tramping about and
stealing. When he had money he would live well; when his pocketbook was
empty he would beg and steal. There was one crime he committed for
which he could not be much blamed. The old farmer that went to so much
trouble to convey the intelligence to his brother granger that the hero
of our story was an ex-convict, was the sufferer. The ex-convict, to get
"even," one dark night entered the barn, rode away a beautiful riding
pony, sold him for fifty dollars in cash, and forgot to mention the fact
to the farmer. In stealing, tramping and begging the time had been
chiefly taken up from the day he had left the prison, to the morning he
came to my house for something to eat. He will doubtless continue this
course until caught in some criminal act, which will result in another
term in the penitentiary.
The great majority of the criminals in the penitentiary are young
men. One dose of prison life is all they desire. Did they but have the
least opportunity of living useful lives, and becoming respectable
citizens when out of prison, they would improve it, instead of
committing crime and being returned to hard labor without compensation.
I am now pleading for hundreds of young men who are in prison for the
first time, and have all the punishment along this line they desire, who
would like to reform and become useful citizens. But how can they
accomplish this? Unaided they will come out of the prison, drift about
awhile, and then the current of sin and crime will bear them back again
to a felon's cell. In an unguarded hour they succumbed to the tempter's
power, and fell. The dark mantle of disgrace has enveloped them. And if
there were some kind friend to lend a helping hand, how quickly would
they tear it off and put on the robe of useful citizenship. Will not the
great State of
Missouri adopt some plan to afford aid to these men who would like to be
extricated from this dangerous quagmire into which they have fallen?
