Chapter XXX: Whitewashed Again

CHRISTMAS, 1897.

MY DEAR CARL:

I have been despairing of reaching you _sub rosa_, but the
holidays brought the usual transfers, and at last friend
Schraube is with me. Dear Carolus, I am worn out with the misery
of the months since you left, and the many disappointments. Your
official letters were not convincing. I fail to understand why
the plan is not practicable. Of course, you can't write openly,
but you have means of giving a hint as to the "impossibilities"
you speak of. You say that I have become too estranged from the
outside, and so forth--which may be true. Yet I think the matter
chiefly concerns the inside, and of that I am the best judge. I
do not see the force of your argument when you dwell upon the
application at the next session of the Pardon Board. You mean
that the other plan would jeopardize the success of the legal
attempt. But there is not much hope of favorable action by the
Board. You have talked all this over before, but you seem to
have a different view now. Why?

Only in a very small measure do your letters replace in my life
the heart-to-heart talks we used to have here, though they were
only on paper. But I am much interested in your activities. It
seems strange that you, so long the companion of my silence,
should now be in the very Niagara of life, of our movement. It
gives me great satisfaction to know that your experience here
has matured you, and helped to strengthen and deepen your
convictions. It has had a similar effect upon me. You know what
a voluminous reader I am. I have read--in fact, studied--every
volume in the library here, and now the Chaplain supplies me
with books from his. But whether it be philosophy, travel, or
contemporary life that falls into my hands, it invariably
distils into my mind the falsity of dominant ideas, and the
beauty, the inevitability of Anarchism. But I do not want to
enlarge upon this subject now; we can discuss it through
official channels.

You know that Tony and his nephew are here. We are just getting
acquainted. He works in the shop; but as he is also coffee-boy,
we have an opportunity to exchange notes. It is fortunate that
his identity is not known; otherwise he would fall under special
surveillance. I have my eyes on Tony,--he may prove valuable.

I am still in solitary, with no prospect of relief. You know the
policy of the Warden to use me as a scapegoat for everything
that happens here. It has become a mania with him. Think of it,
he blames me for Johnny Davis' cutting "Dutch." He laid
everything at my door when the legislative investigation took
place. It was a worse sham than the previous whitewash. Several
members called to see me at the cell,--unofficially, they said.
They got a hint of the evidence I was prepared to give, and one
of them suggested to me that it is not advisable for one in my
position to antagonize the Warden. I replied that I was no
toady. He hinted that the authorities of the prison might help
me to procure freedom, if I would act "discreetly." I insisted
that I wanted to be heard by the committee. They departed,
promising to call me as a witness. One Senator remarked, as he
left: "You are too intelligent a man to be at large."

When the hearing opened, several officers were the first to take
the stand. The testimony was not entirely favorable to the
Warden. Then Mr. Sawhill was called. You know him; he is an
independent sort of man, with an eye upon the wardenship. His
evidence came like a bomb; he charged the management with
corruption and fraud, and so forth. The investigators took
fright. They closed the sessions and departed for Harrisburg,
announcing through the press that they would visit
Moyamensing[47] and then return to Riverside. But they did not
return. The report they submitted to the Governor exonerated the
Warden.

The men were gloomy over the state of affairs. A hundred
prisoners were prepared to testify, and much was expected from
the committee. I had all my facts on hand: Bob had fished out
for me the bundle of material from its hiding place. It was in
good condition, in spite of the long soaking. (I am enclosing
some new data in this letter, for use in our book.)

Now that he is "cleared," the Warden has grown even more
arrogant and despotic. Yet _some_ good the agitation in the
press has accomplished: clubbings are less frequent, and the
bull ring is temporarily abolished. But his hatred of me has
grown venomous. He holds us responsible (together with Dempsey
and Beatty) for organizing the opposition to convict labor,
which has culminated in the Muehlbronner law. It is to take
effect on the first of the year. The prison administration is
very bitter, because the statute, which permits only thirty-five
per cent. of the inmates to be employed in productive labor,
will considerably minimize opportunities for graft. But the men
are rejoicing: the terrible slavery in the shops has driven many
to insanity and death. The law is one of the rare instances of
rational legislation. Its benefit to labor in general is
nullified, however, by limiting convict competition only within
the State. The Inspectors are already seeking a market for the
prison products in other States, while the convict manufactures
of New York, Ohio, Illinois, etc., are disposed of in
Pennsylvania. The irony of beneficent legislation! On the other
hand, the inmates need not suffer for lack of employment. The
new law allows the unlimited manufacture, within the prison, of
products for local consumption. If the whine of the management
regarding the "detrimental effect of idleness on the convict" is
sincere, they could employ five times the population of the
prison in the production of articles for our own needs.

At present all the requirements of the penitentiary are supplied
from the outside. The purchase of a farm, following the example
set by the workhouse, would alone afford work for a considerable
number of men. I have suggested, in a letter to the Inspectors,
various methods by which every inmate of the institution could
be employed,--among them the publication of a prison paper. Of
course, they have ignored me. But what can you expect of a body
of philanthropists who have the interest of the convict so much
at heart that they delegated the President of the Board, George
A. Kelly, to oppose the parole bill, a measure certainly along
advanced lines of modern criminology. Owing to the influence of
Inspector Kelly, the bill was shelved at the last session of the
legislature, though the prisoners have been praying for it for
years. It has robbed the moneyless lifetimers of their last
hope: a clause in the parole bill held out to them the promise
of release after 20 years of good behavior.

Dark days are in store for the men. Apparently the campaign of
the Inspectors consists in forcing the repeal of the
Muehlbronner law, by raising the hue and cry of insanity and
sickness. They are actually causing both by keeping half the
population locked up. You know how quickly the solitary drives
certain classes of prisoners insane. Especially the more
ignorant element, whose mental horizon is circumscribed by their
personal troubles and pain, speedily fall victims. Think of men,
who cannot even read, put _incommunicado_ for months at a time,
for years even! Most of the colored prisoners, and those
accustomed to outdoor life, such as farmers and the like quickly
develop the germs of consumption in close confinement. Now, this
wilful murder--for it is nothing else--is absolutely
unnecessary. The yard is big and well protected by the
thirty-foot wall, with armed guards patrolling it. Why not give
the unemployed men air and exercise, since the management is
determined to keep them idle? I suggested the idea to the
Warden, but he berated me for my "habitual interference" in
matters that do not concern me. I often wonder at the enigma of
human nature. There's the Captain, a man 72 years old. He should
bethink himself of death, of "meeting his Maker," since he
pretends to believe in religion. Instead, he is bending all his
energies to increase insanity and disease among the convicts, in
order to force the repeal of the law that has lessened the flow
of blood money. It is almost beyond belief; but you have
yourself witnessed the effect of a brutal atmosphere upon new
officers. Wright has been Warden for thirty years; he has come
to regard the prison as his undisputed dominion; and now he is
furious at the legislative curtailment of his absolute control.

This letter will remind you of our bulky notes in the "good" old
days when "KG" were here. I miss our correspondence. There are
some intelligent men on the range, but they are not interested
in the thoughts that seethe within me and call for expression.
Just now the chief topic of local interest (after, of course,
the usual discussion of the grub, women, kids, and their health
and troubles) is the Spanish War and the new dining-room, in
which the shop employees are to be fed _en masse_, out of
chinaware, think of it! Some of the men are tremendously
patriotic; others welcome the war as a sinecure affording easy
money and plenty of excitement. You remember Young Butch and his
partners, Murtha, Tommy, etc. They have recently been released,
too wasted and broken in health to be fit for manual labor. All
of them have signified their intention of joining the
insurrection; some are enrolling in the regular army for the
war. Butch is already in Cuba. I had a letter from him. There is
a passage in it that is tragically characteristic. He refers to
a skirmish he participated in. "We shot a lot of Spaniards,
mostly from ambush," he writes; "it was great sport." It is the
attitude of the military adventurer, to whom a sacred cause like
the Cuban uprising unfortunately affords the opportunity to
satisfy his lust for blood. Butch was a very gentle boy when he
entered the prison. But he has witnessed much heartlessness and
cruelty during his term of three years.

Letter growing rather long. Good night.

A.

[47] The Eastern Penitentiary at Philadelphia, Pa.