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.
