The Prison Chaplaincy, And Its Experiences Part 9

Meeting a sister of a prisoner out of the city, one day, I answered her earnest inquiries about his health, and his reform efforts, carrying back to him also a word about her health and a request that he write and send to the new place to which she was about to locate.

A man had a pet.i.tion before the governor and council for pardon. As agent for our a.s.sociation, I inquired of him if he had friends to whom he could go, if successful, or what arrangement he would need made for him. He answered that he left friends in England, years before, knew not whether then living or dead, but he would like to return to them if living. Writing as he directed, I soon received a reply stating that some were living, and some were gone, and the earnest desire that he return home at once to see his father alive, of which I informed him, and on account of which his pardon was soon granted, and he left.

Finding a man, who had been here a number of months, in a gloomy and despairing state because friends had not written him since being here, thus giving him reason to feel that they had cast him off, in which case he could not think of living, I wrote to these friends, urging them to what they ought to have performed before. Soon he addressed me, when pa.s.sing, with a tone of cheer unknown in him since entering prison: "Chaplain, my folks have not cast me off. I have received a good letter from them. They will stand by me, which makes me feel a thousand dollars better." Nor has he learned how his friends were stirred to write.

Thus, in a few cases, I acted in this direction and that for the purpose of removing anxiety without and securing cheer and quietness within, though making no allusions to the one about prison managing or to the other of secular affairs.

24 1-2. _Chaplain under a system of espionage._ The former warden had been accustomed to keep his eyes upon the officers, as well as upon the men, to know that everything was moving orderly. The new inc.u.mbent took the same course, the correct one so far as that was concerned, in order to keep all matters in the prison perfectly straight. Nor did it lay me under any restraint, as I wished to do right, for the place, in everything, even though no eye might be upon me. My only anxiety in the course would be that I might so walk as to have my steps appear as they really were. Hence, my conduct there was constantly as though under the strictest inspection. And, of course, under these circ.u.mstances, I would do nothing but what I supposed to be correct, even if otherwise inclined.

Thus, having pa.s.sed a number of months with our new warden, a prisoner said, one day, as I approached his cell, "Be careful, Chaplain; they are watching you to see if they can't find some cause for turning you out."

Asking no questions, I pa.s.sed on, not knowing what he meant. But it started a new idea. "Am I under a system of especial surveillance?" I then recollected having seen the guards frequently about where I would be hearing lessons, though I had not noticed but that they were looking after the men. By giving attention now, however, it was plain to see that they were listening to what I said.

At length an overseer left the prison, and, on leaving, unfolded to me the whole matter,--that they were set by the warden to watch my actions, note with whom I conversed, hear what was said, put it down, and report to him. He said, "I was set evenings to watch you from the guard-room, through the spy-hole, but never found anything to report."

Learning this, I could but exclaim, "Consistency indeed! The warden can furnish men enough for a system of espionage over me in the hall, when toiling under such disadvantages and fatigues to help the convicts in their efforts for knowledge, but will not spare even one to guard in the chapel, where I could teach with comparative freedom from all these drawbacks."

Usually, in this cell instruction, we spoke very low, just to hear each other and thus not disturb those in near cells, or interfere with the rule about stillness in the apartment; but, after this discovery, when seeing the guards hanging about, I would purposely speak loud enough for them to hear, and also when the warden himself would be listening to my Sabbath school instruction. And they had the privilege of hearing as good, wholesome truths as I was capable of bringing out.

25. _The chaplain's pacific efforts severely taxed._ We are beings of want, and if locked in a cell unable to provide for ourselves, it is wonderful to think how many things we should need to have furnished by others, or suffer. True, we can curtail our wants to a number very much fewer than artificial life would claim, but, when coming to the indispensables, they are not a few. Hence, prisoners, under the kindest treatment and well-furnished with food, clothing, warmth, and all that nature would seem to crave, will need to call more or less frequently for attentions, or find themselves lacking not a little. But under the saving system of this year, calls from the cells must multiply, and, if unheeded, give occasion for uneasiness, angry feelings and disorder.

Hence, under such circ.u.mstances, the chaplain would naturally be called into the most active service. For, if we can not offer a man food enough to satisfy the cravings of his appet.i.te, the next thing is to reconcile his mind to going without, or so engross his thoughts, that he shall not so keenly feel the gnawings of hunger. Or, if one is cold, and we can not bring the means of warmth, by presenting a satisfactory excuse or interesting the intellect, we may do him essential service in helping him calmly endure what he otherwise could not.

Precisely on these principles I acted, and engrossed the prisoner's attention as earnestly and interestingly as possible, always, when practicable, taking special pains to immediately furnish the thing called for; or to excuse, when I could; or turn one's sufferings to as profitable a lesson as could be, to him. Hence, when the cold was reigning almost unmitigated in the cells, for a few days, I would repeat to one and another what I heard the warden say, that "the water was low and he feared it would wholly fail." Among the replies, one said, "Well, then, we must bear it the best we can, though it is hard."

One day, coming to a man's cell to hear a lesson, he said, "I have no lesson, I have been in the solitary. They did so and so to me, at which I got mad, and would not do as they wished, and they put me in there." I thought it likely, from the circ.u.mstances, that the impatience of an officer and his irritating course had much, too much, to do with the matter. But that was not for me to hint at, even. I rather said, "Well, you say you got mad and have been in the solitary. See what you have suffered for getting mad. How much better for you to govern your temper.

You know where you are, what you did to bring yourself here. You understand what is required, and that refusal on your part is of no avail. Now, why not govern yourself, no matter what they say? If you really think they bear hard upon you, control your angry pa.s.sions, and do what they require as cheerfully and promptly as possible. Thus, you can become accustomed here to governing yourself, that, when you go out, you will be the better able to meet the vexations of the world. Now, will you not try this course?" He replied, "I don't know, Chaplain, it is a hard case." In a few days he remarked, "Chaplain; I have been almost constantly thinking of what you said the other day, have come to the conclusion that your way is the best, and am resolved to attempt putting it in practice." With most hearty congratulations on his new resolve, I left him again. Some weeks after I received from his lips this satisfactory report: "Well, Chaplain, I have been practicing your method since our last conversation, and find it works like a charm. I have but little trouble now, and am determined to keep on as I have begun." Thus he proceeded till released. This man was naturally irritable and easily angered. He had not previously labored to control himself in regard to this important point; but now, when summoning all his better powers to the task, he resolutely addressed his mind to it, and a n.o.ble victory was his.

There was another man here who also could be easily aroused, but was perhaps still more stubborn, when angry. He, too, had been an inmate of the solitary more or less. To him I appealed in a manner similar to the above, and, after persistent labors, succeeded in inducing him to earnestly try the proposed course, and with like results. But he was a man who needed frequent encouragement to help him calmly endure the vexations and annoyances almost constantly surrounding him. Hence, he maintained his self-control and kept from trouble while he had one to labor for his continuance in well-doing, but afterwards he fell into difficulty again, and would consequently become an inmate of the solitary. Thus I proceeded, and, by a.s.siduous efforts, robbed this dark abode of many hours of occupancy.

There were others not rendering themselves liable to the dungeon, but who would become filled with angry, revengeful emotions at what they were forced to endure. I would labor to induce these to use what they experienced as a means of self-culture, to leave the acts of others in the hands of G.o.d, submit calmly to what they could not avoid, do their own duties faithfully, and in all things keep themselves strictly in the right. Thus I was almost constantly called to speak a word here and a word there to a pacific end, and labored untiringly in that direction.

In the women's department, also, these efforts were found needed. One of the inmates, whom we will call K., had often caused them no little trouble. With all their efforts, she would contrive to keep almost a constant broil among them. Hence, I decided to see what could be done, in her case, by moral and religious efforts. Therefore, one Sabbath, after our usual service, I remained awhile for personal conversation with the inmates respecting their desires and feelings on the subject of reform, purposely coming to K. last. After conversing awhile with her on religious subjects, I came to the direct inquiry, "Now, K., will you not turn from your former course and seek to become a true Christian?" She looked upon me as though perfectly astonished at the question, and answered, "Why, Chaplain, that would be of no sort of use. Here I have been going on in my career of life these twenty years, and, should I attempt to turn now and become good, no one would put the least confidence in me. It is of no kind of use." I labored to a.s.sure her that she was mistaken in this idea, that would she truly repent and turn from evil, people would see it, and learn to confide in her the same as in others who had reformed, also a.s.serting that she had the power for making of herself a most excellent, useful woman, if she would use it aright. I referred to what she might have been, what she had lost, how much she had suffered, the condition to which she had brought herself, and the prospect still before her, if she went on. At length the tears began to glisten in her eyes; she yielded and said, "Chaplain, I will try." The next Sabbath I asked her how she succeeded, with the answer, "Not much, but I am trying the best I can." Retiring from their room, I asked the attendant how they had prospered the past week. "Oh," said she, "first rate. We have had a perfect reformation. Everything has been peaceful and quiet, no fretting and scolding,--a perfect change." And so it was when I left the prison. But I learned that K., after my leaving, became discouraged, was thrown from the track and returned to her former habits. And no wonder, there was so great a lack of prudence and skill in managing there, so much of a vexatious character.

My position was one of difficulty, needing all the wisdom and discretion I could command. The prisoners were looking to me for direction on the one hand, while jealous watchfulness followed every step on the other.

Thus I went on, constantly doing what I could for the best good of the inst.i.tution in whatever way practicable. No matter what course others took concerning me or the prison, my duty was to act with fidelity and in the fear of G.o.d, which I endeavored sacredly to do.

One rule I constantly carried with me, never deviating from it on any occasion, which rule was, not to give a word, or hint even, against any prison officer or prison move. This seemed essential to the best being of the prisoner. For, if really wronged, my deviation from that rule would tend to impress him more deeply, make him feel his wrong more keenly, and excite to greater irritability, resulting, on his part, perhaps, in more disorderly acts, and, consequently, greater trouble.

Then, on my own part, such a deviation must be perfect suicide, so far as the plan might be concerned, showing the authorities conclusively that I was unfit for the position, and giving them the most urgent reasons for putting another in my place.

A moderate share of common sense would teach one to keep very wide of such deviation. Then it could be of no avail. If censurable things were being done in the prison management, the rulers were the parties for one to approach respecting them, those having the power to apply the remedy.

26. _Death of Gideon Sylver._ This man had been in the army, was a good soldier, strong and vigorous; very quiet and obedient; faithful to his task and never complaining, but seemed intent on doing the best he could to please those over him and thus share their good will. He was set to carrying lumber in and out of the dry room, exposed to extremes of heat and cold, at times perhaps having wet feet from want of proper shoes, till, failing in health, complaining of distress about the chest, the doctor ordered him to lighter and less exposed work, when he was set to running a planer, said, however, to be a very hard machine to run, though subsequently made easier by rollers attached. Here he grew no better, but had severe attacks. One day, in his distress, he fell on his knees, girding his arms about him and groaning repeatedly. The deputy took him from the shop and returned him relieved. But soon he wholly failed, was taken away for the last time and kept in his cell, part of the time quiet and then groaning more or less intensely. To my inquiry about the locality of his distress, he put his hand over the left lung.

Sabbath evening, Feb. 10th, I think, his distress came on with great severity, he, making no little ado, said, to my inquiry whether he needed anything more, "I have a powder to take, which will no doubt relieve me," and appeared disposed to make the best of his condition.

Meeting the steward, I asked if all was being done for the man that could be, with the answer, "Yes, I think there is. The fact is, not much ails him. He is nervous; thinks he is dreadful sick, and makes a great ado." I pa.s.sed on, thinking that Sylver must be a very sick man notwithstanding these views, that, when one naturally so patient and quiet makes such demonstrations, there must be reason for immediate a.s.sistance. It seemed to me that the hospital was the proper place for him, and that he ought to be there receiving suitable warmth and close attention. But understanding that I might say no more, and meddle no farther, I retired, feeling that the man was in a forlorn condition.

The cold in the hall was not as severe now as formerly, for the weather had become milder without, and that coal stove, before referred to, stood not far from Sylver's cell. This helped in a measure, but came short of the warmth needful to a sick man like him. Things pa.s.sed thus, with more or less of his moaning when I was in, till Wednesday evening, on which, by reason of the prayer meeting, I did not visit the apartment. Thursday noon I heard no moaning, but when the men had retired for their work, I called to visit the sufferer and found his cell empty, he having been carried to the hospital. I went to my dinner, purposing to return and visit the hospital immediately after; but, being detained, at length saw a coffin carried to the prison, and, on inquiry, learned that Sylver was dead. He died a few minutes past twelve, when I was known to be at work in the hall, but nothing was said to me about the event. How my heart sank within me, though, of the events of that terrible Wednesday night, I then knew nothing. The facts subsequently came to light in their revolting features. They were gathered from the steward, overseers, guard and released prisoners, investigated with all care, and are, no doubt, correct, as follows:

Sylver grew worse Wednesday evening, groaning often. The steward came, and, after giving him the usual attention, said, "Now, Sylver, there is no use in your making such a fuss as this. Dry up and go to sleep."

Sylver replied, "I would, if I could; but my sufferings are so great I can't help it;" to which the steward responded, "Yes, you can, if you only think so. Dry up, if you don't want to go into the solitary," and left, with the groans falling on his ears as he pa.s.sed from the apartment.

At nine the night watch went to his task in the hall, and found the inmate almost incessantly groaning, with interludes of prayer,--"Lord have mercy on me; do help me; forgive my sins," and so on, also suffering intensely with the cold, locked in his cell that none could approach him in attempts at relief. The watchman's heart was stirred, for humanity's promptings were not dead in him. He looked about for something that might afford warmth to the agonized man, and found some bricks, which he warmed and pa.s.sed through the grating to the sufferer, who for a time had strength to take and place them around him for relief.

The other prisoners could not sleep. Raps would be heard from one and another for the watch to go to them and explain. Others would cry out, "Call the deputy and have that man cared for." At about eleven, the prisoners began to stir determinedly, when the watch called a guard and sent for the deputy to come and care for Sylver. But he gave no heed to the summons, except to send the guard back to the hall, who went to the sick man's cell, made efforts to still him, and left. Those near said they heard the word _gag_ there used, and understood that the sufferer was receiving threats of being gagged, in case he did not stop his noise.

As the guard retired from the hall, all hope of relief for the doomed one came fully to an end, he being now literally left to his fate. He would still engage in prayer,--"Lord, have mercy on my soul; Lord, why won't they come and do something for my relief?"

Had the cell door been left unlocked, the watch could have done much more towards affording the needed warmth, and been more effective in efforts for his relief. But that privilege would not be allowed. At length the man became too weak and exhausted to take and use the proffered bricks, which ended the offices of kindness the watch was struggling to perform. Finally, the moaning grew more and more faint, and was of such a tone as to give clear indication that death had commenced its work. The sad hours wore slowly away. The morning finally arrived, and the men were called to their tasks, the now feeble moans dying upon their ears as they pa.s.sed out. At length, when suiting his convenience, the warden went to the dying man's cell. Seeing the result of their work, he hastened for the doctor, whom he found just starting on an imperative call. But he hurried to the prison to see the man a moment and direct the means to be used till his return. He found him thoroughly cold, as though dead, and ordered him to be taken at once to the hospital, the most vigorous rubbing to be used by two men, and other means for restoring warmth. For a time he revived somewhat, but these efforts, however beneficial they might have been in season, were of no avail now, for death soon closed the scene.

The brothers, summoned by a telegram, were present in a few hours. A post-mortem examination was had, at which one asked, "What was the matter with the man?" to which the doctor answered, "Probably some difficulty about the heart." An invited physician responded,--"From what I hear, I think it a clear case of congestion of the lungs;" one of the worst cases of which, it was found to be. A consulting physician said that the case must have been a number of days in progress.

The reader must make his own comment on this whole affair.[2] My feelings were never more stirred. We were terribly shocked at Pike's murder of the Browns, those feeble, old people. But he dispatched them at once; neither, perhaps, experiencing a moment's sensibility of suffering. True, the man lived a number of hours, but was probably not sensible of pain. But Sylver, in his agonies, begging and pleading for help, was forced to pa.s.s that terrible night carefully locked in his cell, and no heed given to his cries. Had they ended his sufferings with a single blow, without any threats of the dungeon or gag, he would have been thereby saved from the piercing agonies of those slowly dragging hours. Would not that have been compa.s.sion in comparison with what they did? But one says, "That would have been murder." True, and what was that treatment in reality? With due care and attention the man might have recovered, but they so proceeded that it was absolutely impossible for him to live. No man with a lung difficulty could survive such treatment. The blow of an ax, severing his head from his body, could have been no surer means of death.

[Footnote 2: Important facts on this matter are withheld in the narrative above, as the possessors were unwilling, at the examination, to divulge them publicly except under the s.h.i.+eld of an oath.]

I know the deputy attempted to exonerate himself from blame before the governor and council, by a.s.serting that the guard, sent for him, failed to do his errand correctly, and that he understood himself called to still the noise among the men, and for this sent the guard back.

Had that really been the case, why did not the guard go among the men and endeavor to still them? Why go to Sylver's cell and expend his efforts there? Or, admitting the deputy's statement to be true, did that help the matter for him in the least? If summoned by the watch to quell a rising tumult, was he, as an officer, acting the part of duty by remaining quietly in bed and sending nothing but a guard to the work, who could effect no more than the watch himself? All the circ.u.mstances combined in forcing one, understanding the matter, to the conclusion that they acted knowingly and intentionally respecting the man.

Do not understand me as charging them with intentionally and deliberately murdering their victim, for this I do not, but that he fell a sacrifice to a system of prison management that they were intent on establis.h.i.+ng; a system under which the officers are to be the sole judges of the prisoners' needs, use them as they may choose, put them in whatever condition they may see fit, and they in turn not allowed to utter a word, nor give the slightest expression of feeling any more than the dumb, driven ox. If they die, "it is of no account; he is only a prisoner," as an officer said to me, respecting another who had died.

On entering the hall the evening after Sylver's cruel death, I found the prisoners greatly excited. One exclaimed, as loud as he thought prudent, "Murder! murder! They have murdered one of our number." Another remarked, "Well, we see what the fate of any of us may be, if taken sick." Marked anxiety was depicted upon all their countenances; and who would wonder?

27. _The Sylver case excitement and hearing before the Governor and Council._ The brothers were greatly aroused at what they could see and gather about this death, felt that deep iniquity had been practiced in connection with it, and resolved on a criminal prosecution of the warden. But, finding, from legal counsel, that they probably could not make a case in that line hold, they were thrown into doubt respecting what to attempt.

Meanwhile the story of the affair spread in the community, carrying with it exaggerated reports, that "Sylver was really murdered; was gagged and left to die alone," and thus on. When pa.s.sing the streets in the city, I would be inquired of, if such were really the facts, to which I would respond in the negative, that he died in the hospital with attendants about him, but could explain no farther. Execrations at the prison management were often heard.

Whether true or not, I never ascertained, but report had it, that the doctor felt called upon to demand an investigation of the affair before the governor and council, and that the warden favored looking into the other departments, and so a hearing was appointed to be had at the council chamber one Friday evening, in the latter part of February, or in early March. I was summoned to be present, but with no intimation for what purpose. The Sylvers, when cheris.h.i.+ng the idea of a criminal prosecution, had looked about a little for evidence, and had secured the statements of an overseer at the prison, when the death occurred, written out in the form of an affidavit and sworn to before a justice of the peace, and also those of a released prisoner. These were in the hands of the lawyer they had employed, or purposed to employ, to manage for them. This lawyer appeared, but it was understood that the brothers had become disheartened and ceased to interest themselves in looking up evidence, preparing for a thorough investigation of the death in question; why, we know not. None were put on oath, hence the hearing failed of bringing out important matter, as the men having it, would not divulge unless under oath.

I was called on first to testify and asked to state about the Sylver case, but, as before related, I then knew but little of material value.

The transactions of that Wednesday night, I had, at that time, heard something of, but to me they were only matters of report, and among the points requiring the efficacy of the oath to bring them out. Hence, I could say nothing of them. I was asked some questions about the prison living, but on points concerning which I knew but little, and then was turned directly to my own prison management. It seemed by the questioning that, in this summary manner, with no opportunity to prepare for defense, I was virtually put on trial for a violation of prison rules on two points,--the correspondence, and pa.s.sing information to prisoners,--and called on to testify against myself. But I had nothing to cover up, had acted in all cases as I thought to be right, so frankly stated my whole proceedings in the matters, as near as I could recollect on the spur of the moment, and also explained my motives, excepting that I could not, of course, allude to anything of the warden's procedure as making my efforts especially needful to the best order of the prison.

No one else was called to testify on these points; but I was kept standing during the narrations and questionings till so far exhausted that, perhaps between ten and eleven, I had to ask the privilege of sitting.

Then I was called on to state about my lecturing for the Prison Aid a.s.sociation, whether I had alluded to the prison or not. Having become somewhat confused in mind, for the time, I could not recollect a single allusion I had made, and therefore answered unqualifiedly, "I have not,"

not thinking to say, "I have not to my present recollection." The Governor replied, "There must be some mistake in the matter, for I have received two letters from places where those lectures were given, stating differently," and he called for another witness.

As to the Sylver matter, the effort was made to leave the impression on the mind that the patient really died of a heart difficulty, though he probably would have died of the congestion, but not so soon. No pretense, however, was made that any unhealthy condition was found about the heart, except in the attending physician's a.s.sertion, that, on puncturing the pericardium; a little gas, as he thought, whizzed out, and that he recollected of having read in two medical works, of cases where such a gas collection had proved fatal. The physicians whom the Sylvers employed on the post mortem, were not present, and hence no light was gained from that source.