The author of this book has been guilty of a great many bad breaks during the course of his earthly pilgrimage up to the present date.

Making the race for State senator from the Atchison district while an inmate of the Kansas penitentiary, actually an occupant of a felon's cell, and robed in the livery of disgrace, probably eclipsed anything that maybe charged to my account in the past.

One Sunday afternoon, after the usual exercises of the day were over, I was sitting in my little 4x7 of stone. The outside world was in convulsions over the presidential campaign. There were no convulsions, however, where I was. It was painfully quiet. Everywhere, all over the broad land, except behind prison walls, politics was the all-absorbing topic. As I sat there in my solitude the question came to my mind as to what part of the great political play I would be engaged in were I a free man. Some months prior to this a pet.i.tion signed by 5,000 people had been forwarded to President Cleveland for my pardon. Had I secured my liberty it was my intention to make the race for State senator in my district for vindication. Mr. Cleveland interfered with my plan by refusing my pardon.

Thinking over the matter in my cell that Sunday afternoon, I determined that while the President had the power of keeping me in prison he should not keep me from making the race for the position I coveted. Immediate action followed my decision. Within thirty minutes I had written a letter for publication, stating my intention of becoming an independent candidate. But how was I to get this letter out of the prison and into the newspapers of my district.

It is expected of the convict that during Sunday afternoon he will sit quietly in his cell and meditate about his past misdeeds. I would be dishonest if I did not state that my thoughts were now more taken up with the probable outcome of the course I had adopted than of lamenting over my past shortcomings. I reasoned that I was not only pursuing an original, but a safe course. Original, in that no one, so far as my knowledge extended, had ever made the race for office while a convict; safe, in that I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. I will frankly confess that when the thought, suppose I should not get more than a dozen votes, would rush into my mind, I would feel as if I had better not be so fresh while in limbo. Several times during the afternoon and evening I took up the piece of paper, on which was written my announcement, to tear it into shreds, and as often I would lay it down. I viewed the subject from almost every conceivable standpoint. I reasoned as follows: Prior to this I had decided to write a book on my penitentiary career, as well as to deliver a lecture at various points in the State on the same subject. To be successful in these enterprises I must be advertised. And I knew that should I announce myself as a candidate for such an important office while in the penitentiary I would get a good ventilation. In this I was not mistaken. When the announcement appeared in the Leavenworth "Times" it was quickly copied and commented upon by the newspapers all over the country. Some of these newspapers in their comments stated that I had more "cheek" than should be allotted to ordinary mortals. Some said "he is a nervy cuss." Others said his back isn't broken. Now and then one could be found that predicted my election. So the matter was discussed, pro and con, for several weeks, not only by the newspapers of Kansas, but whole columns would appear in the St. Louis, Chicago and Denver papers, as well as those of other cities. I was advertised. It would have cost me thousands of dollars to pay for the ventilation I received just for making that little simple announcement, had I been forced to pay the regular rates of advertising.

But to return. It was at a late hour of the night when I closed my eyes in slumber. Before doing so I had made the final decision; I had crossed the Rubicon; I had looked the ground over, and had my plans well matured. The next morning, after the day's work had commenced, and the warden had come down to his office, I asked permission of my officer to see Captain Smith. The officer wanted to know what my business was with the warden. My reply was, "Official and strictly private." My request was granted. I was soon standing in the presence of the big-hearted Warden Smith, and being asked as to what I wanted, I said, "Captain, I thought I would come in and get your opinion as to whether I was crazy or not, and if you think I am not beside myself I would like to make a statement to you and ask your advice." A few days before this I had had several interviews with him as to my pardon, and other business matters, and I suppose he thought he was going to get something more along the same line. "Go ahead, John," he said, "and let me know what it is." I then told him of my intentions and plans. He made no reply until I had gone over the whole subject. Then he said. "You are certainly on the safe side, for you can lose nothing. I always thought," continued he, "that it was practical to engage in any enterprise where all was gain and nothing to lose. And, furthermore, knowing your standing at home, it would not surprise me very much if you would receive more votes than your compet.i.tors."

This was encouraging. I then asked permission to write letters to a number of my friends, and also to receive letters from them. He informed me he could not do this, as it would be a violation of the rules of the prison, but if any of my friends should come down I could send out anything by them I wished. I then wired a personal friend, A. S. Hall, Esq., of Atchison, who called at the prison, to whom I gave my letter of announcement, and several letters I had written to political friends.

The news spread rapidly, and in a few days I was squarely before the people as an independent candidate. Shortly after this announcement I wrote an article for the papers, stating my reasons for making the senatorial race. When writing this communication I forgot I was a prisoner, and said some things that reflected seriously upon some of the warden's personal friends. Here, I made a mistake. The warden, on reading this article, became enraged, and took away my writing material.

At this juncture the senatorial outlook was rather discouraging. My friends championed my cause. Being an independent candidate, and my name not printed on any ticket, I received no accidental votes. An elector voting for me had to erase the name of my compet.i.tor and insert mine.

There were four candidates in the field. While I was not elected, I was far from coming in last in the race. I received twice as many votes as one of my compet.i.tors. He is one of the best men in the senatorial district, one of the old settlers, and a gentleman highly esteemed. To receive twice as many votes as this man was highly complimentary to me, I certainly felt flattered. When the vote was made known I received an official copy of the returns, and forwarded it to President Cleveland.

My term was then almost ended, and I felt confident that because of the splendid vote I had received, and consequent endors.e.m.e.nt of the people who were personally acquainted with me, Mr. Cleveland would certainly grant a pardon. He did not so much as answer my communication.

No one can imagine the anxiety I felt during that campaign. Had I received but a small vote it would have required more nerve than I possess to have induced me to return to my old home. But when the vote was counted, and I received the returns, I must write it down as one of the happiest hours of my life. I had many true friends, and they demonstrated that fact by voting for me. Although in the garb of a felon, was not the vote I received a grand vindication? Any person of sense must answer in the affirmative.

Looking over the past, I can now see that I made no mistake in carrying into effect the scheme to which my mind gave birth on that Sunday afternoon as I sat in my little-cell.

I will close this chapter by tendering my friends who voted and worked for me at the time when I so much stood in need of their aid, my heartfelt grat.i.tude.

CHAPTER XII. A DARK HOUR

It was a bright Sabbath morning. I had been detailed to a.s.sist the prison choir in their preparation for the religious services of the day.

While engaged in this duty, the deputy warden sent for me. Meeting this official, he said to me, "John, I have sad news for you. Governor Martin has just telephoned from Atchison that your wife is dead, and that it was his wish to have you sent home at once." This was a great surprise to me. I had heard from my wife only two days before this. At that time she was quite sick, but was thought to be improving. With a heart filled with sadness I now prepared for my journey home. The warden was absent, and the deputy warden said, "There was no precedent for permitting a prisoner to go home on a visit, as such a thing had never occurred before in the history of the State, but," continued he, "if you will give me your word that you will return to the prison I will let you go." I told him to set the time for my return and I would be back. Mr.

Morgan, the turnkey of the prison, was my guard. My journey from the prison was the saddest of my life. It was a bright May morning.

Everything around seemed joyful and happy, but to me the world was gloomy. I imagined my wife lying at home a corpse, surrounded by my weeping, motherless little ones. She had pa.s.sed away without my being at her bedside to go with her to the brink of the dark river. Mr. Morgan, my attendant, had lost his mother but a short time before this, and he could sympathize with me in a manner that aided me in bearing my burdens.

After riding for a couple of hours we arrived at Atchison. The train on reaching the city pa.s.ses on some two blocks beyond the depot; then backs down. As I thus pa.s.sed by the depot I saw numerous friends who had heard of my coming, and were there waiting to welcome me to my home. They saluted me as I sat in the car at the window and pa.s.sed on by the depot.

I thought they exhibited too much joy in receiving a friend who was coming back to see his dead wife. I wondered at it. When the train stopped to back down to the depot, I got off and took the nearest cut to my residence. Walking some four blocks I reached my home. When nearing the gate, one of my little daughters came bounding across the street, full of joy and gladness, welcoming me home. I thought she acted rather strange for her mother to be lying in the house a corpse. Without saying anything I stepped to the door; it was standing ajar. Looking in, I saw my wife lying in the adjoining room--not dead! Thank G.o.d! It seemed as if I had stepped into another world. My wife was very sick, but still conscious. Oh! what joy I felt at once more being able to see my wife and to talk with her. All the way from the prison to the door of my residence I was laboring under a false impression. I drank the cup to its very dregs. I could have suffered no more on that journey home if she had been dead. In fact I supposed she was. Governor Martin had made a mistake in transmitting the message, or had been wrongly informed.

I do not know how it came that I was permitted to return home. I was a United States' prisoner. As such, Governor Martin had no control over me. No one had authority to send me home on such a furlough except President Cleveland. But I care nothing about this. I did not stop to inquire about the authority; when the prison doors came open I left for home. I was furnished a citizen's suit of clothes. I remained at home for nearly a week. Many friends came to see me. This to me was one of the best weeks of my life.

A little occurrence took place, during this short stay at home, which I will mention here. I have a legal friend at Atchison by the name of Hon.

D. C. Arnold. This man, when tested, proves himself true to those who have gained his good will. He conceived the idea that sending me out of the penitentiary, IN CITIZEN'S CLOTHING, was without WARRANT IN LAW OR PRECEDENT IN FACT, and that, by releasing me in that way, they had lost control of me. Unknown to me he had prepared an application in "habeas corpus." The judge of the District Court, Hon. W. D. Gilbert, who was on the bench at the time, was a personal friend of his and mine also, as I had something to do in his election, and had the application been presented to him, the judge would have inclined to turn me loose, and I would have been a free man. When Mr. Arnold informed me as to what he was doing, I told him that I had given my word of honor that I would return to the prison, and that I would keep it.

At the expiration of a week I returned to my prison cell. A pet.i.tion, signed by nearly five thousand people, had been forwarded to President Cleveland for my pardon. I had some hopes of securing relief. I bade my wife good-by. I thought sure I would be sent home in a few days. My wife hopefully entertained the same opinion. We were both deceived. When I reached the prison, the deputy warden, Mr. Higgins, when he was informed by the officer, Mr. Morgan, who attended me home, how I refused my chances of liberty by means of the proceedings in "habeas corpus,"

contemplated by my friends, choosing imprisonment rather than breaking my word, called me into his office, and said that there was not one man in ten placed in my circ.u.mstances that would have done as I did. He then said to me: "Reynolds, I will see that you have no more hard work to do while you are in the penitentiary; I would give you your liberty if I could, but that is beyond my power. I will make it as agreeable for you as possible in the prison." He got another man to take my place in the mines, and I was given an easy task from that on. I was detailed to make out reports for the prison officials, and was kept busy, and was, as I was informed, a very valuable man in that capacity. This kind of work was in keeping with my labors when on the outside, and was not hard on me like digging coal. I was given the liberty of the prison; was allowed to converse with the prisoners, and because of these favors shown me, I was able to secure the material for this book.

The month following my return to the prison was the darkest, the most desolate, and the most sorrowful portion of my earthly pilgrimage yet experienced. My wife was at home dying! I was behind the prison walls!

During that month I was entirely unfit for any kind of work. The prison officials, knowing my sorrows, took pity on me and did not insist upon my performing any kind of labor. I was left alone with my grief. None but G.o.d and the angels knew what I suffered. During the day I could think of nothing but my dying wife; in the night-time, when the angel Sleep closes the eyelids down to rest, none came to me; in my dreams the pale face of my dear one at home in the agonies of death was before me.

I would but drop sometimes into a dull slumber when I fancied that I could hear her calling for me, and thus aroused, it seemed to me that I must burst the prison bars and go to her. Knowing how much deeper and stronger, purer and sweeter the affections and sympathies of woman are than those of man, what must my poor, dead wife have borne! For thirty days and nights I endured these torments. At last the hour came when her sufferings ceased. Reader, doubtless you have lost a loved one. If so, you were permitted to go down to the very brink of the River of Death; you were permitted to sit at the bedside and administer words of comfort and cheer. Not so with me. My loved one pa.s.sed away, her husband kept from her side by prison bolts and bars. And, reader, when you buried your loved one, kind friends condoled with you, and in some degree a.s.suaged your grief. Not so with me. When the news came that my wife was dead I sat down in my solitary cell and shed my tears alone. The cup that was placed to my lips was indeed a bitter one, and I drank to the dregs. My wife was one of earth's purest and best. We lived together as husband and wife the fifth of a century. During those twenty years of married life my wife never uttered a cross word to her husband. What greater eulogy could be p.r.o.nounced! In the sunshine, and as certainly amid the storms of life, she was constant and true. Because of her goodness of heart my home was cloudless. Many times during life have the storms and waves swept against my trembling barque, but in that little harbor called home no storms ever came. Oh, how much a man loses when a good wife dies! So great was my distress that, had it not been for the strength imparted by a pitying G.o.d, I never could have pa.s.sed through that long night of suffering. Gone, never to return.

When my prison days were over, I returned to my old home in Atchison, but how changed it was. My wife in her grave; my motherless children among strangers; my home desolate. As I pen these lines, surrounded by the fogs and mists of time, the question comes to me ever and anon, when the hour shall come for me to close my eyes to the scenes of earth, will I be permitted to greet my sainted wife in the beautiful city above?

Yes. I have the faith that the loving Galilean--the man of sorrows, who was acquainted with grief--will in that hour open the gates of pearl, and let me in. Until that happy hour--until we meet in the land where none of life's storms ever reach, my darling wife, farewell!

CHAPTER XIII. FREEDOM

To all things earthly there comes an end. Sixteen long, dreary months of imprisonment finally pa.s.sed away. The dark clouds of sadness and gloom that for so long hung above me now parted, and folding themselves together rolled away in the distance. The large iron doors swung upon their hinges, and once more I breathed the air of freedom. Drowsy Nature was just being aroused from her wintry slumber by the gentle touch of Spring, as I began life anew. On that, to me, eventful morning the sky appeared brighter than I had ever beheld it before. O liberty! No one can ever appreciate thy blessings save him upon whose limbs have pressed the cruel fetters of slavery. The sunlight of freedom falls with its greatest refulgence upon him who has been surrounded for months and years by the baleful mists and darkness of abject bondage. The air of liberty comes doubly surcharged with the fragrance of the rarest flowers to him who has inhaled the feted breath of serfdom. Grateful to G.o.d that my life had been spared; retaining all the ambition of former years; possessed of my manhood; conscious of no guilt, I felt that, under the guiding hand of Providence, there was for me a bright future. With a determination to succeed, that can never be satisfied short of success, I returned to my home. I concluded that instead of going to some distant place, among strangers, it was best for me to return to the locality where all knew of my misfortunes and the true causes that led to them.

On my arrival at the depot I was met by a mult.i.tude of friends. By the reception that was given me no one, ignorant of the facts, would have for a moment imagined that I had but a few hours before vacated the cell of a criminal. I pen these lines three months from the day when I began life anew, and during that time I have met with no one so base as to "snub" a man, who, having met with misfortune, is honestly endeavoring to regain what he lost.

Is there any hope for the ex-convict? Is it possible for him to be clothed in the garments of respectability who once has been attired in the habiliments of disgrace? Can he ever be a man among men who has for a time been numbered with the debased of earth? To these questions, with all the powers of my being, I answer, YES! I do not know how the outlook may appear to others who have met a similar misfortune; but as for myself I can truthfully say I was never more hopeful in my life. There may be storms in the future, obstacles to meet and overcome, but self reliant, and trusting in Him who observes the struggles even of the worm, I hope to soon reach my proper place among men, and in the end reap the golden harvest of success. The world is full of kind-hearted people who are ready to help those who, though unfortunate, are willing to help themselves. Scores of men annually go out from the "Kansas h.e.l.l," having paid the penalties of their crimes, who are not so highly favored as myself, and whose struggles will have to be greater than mine if they ever secure a foothold of respectability in life. In behalf of these in their efforts to become better men I appeal to the great, loving heart of the true Kansan. HELP THE FALLEN IN HIS STRUGGLES TO RISE AGAIN.

Since my return home, several times have I visited the grave of my wife, and often on these occasions would the hot blood go surging through my veins, and my baser nature would demand that I avenge the death of her who was so heartlessly sent to an untimely grave. A better judgment has prevailed, and as I drop the tear of affection upon the grave of her who is the mother of my children, I leave the wrongs of the past in the hands of an avenging G.o.d. May there fall upon those who were so kind to my sorrowing family and myself while we were pa.s.sing through the deep waters, the radiant smiles of Him who says, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me."

A MISSOURI h.e.l.l

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 inst.i.tution, 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 inst.i.tution. 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 he 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 he 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 h.e.l.l. I cannot find a term that expresses my views of a prison life that is more suitable than that word--h.e.l.l. 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 inst.i.tution," 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 proceeded on my journey to the prison. As I walked along thinking of the poor ex-convict I had just pa.s.sed, 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, pa.s.s 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 h.e.l.l." 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 inst.i.tution 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 inst.i.tution 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 inst.i.tution 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 inst.i.tution 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 s.p.a.ce 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 circ.u.mstances 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 inst.i.tutions 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 inst.i.tutions 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-cla.s.s 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 pa.s.sing 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.