Chapter IV: A Brief Pen Picture of Prison Life

For the instruction of children and others who have never visited one of our large penitentiaries I insert the following sketch of such a visit written by Mrs. F. M. Lambert, author of "Holy Maternity," which was written for this work:

The prisons and buildings connected with them are enclosed by a
high stone wall. Of course there is a gate, or gates, opening
upon driveways leading into the yard where the shops are located.
The gate is securely locked and guarded, the guard having a
little room built on the wall over the gate. There is a main
entrance to the building through which criminals as well as
visitors enter. The officer closes and locks the large door
behind you upon entering. On Sabbath mornings many things are
seen and heard there. The officers come in and take up the work
of the day. The warden or deputy takes a large bunch of keys and
opens a side door that leads into the cell room, and the guards
follow him into the corridor. Soon is heard the rattling of the
keys, and the opening and closing of heavy doors, followed by the
tramp, tramp, of many feet. Passing out at a side door with the
officer, you may watch the men passing down to their breakfast in
the dining-room, which is on the ground floor of the chapel,
perhaps one hundred feet from the prison building.

Each guard marches with his company of men, from twenty to fifty
in number. They march in single file, each man with his right
hand resting upon the right shoulder of the man in front of him.

The officers wear dark blue uniforms, while the convicts are
dressed in suits made of heavy woolen goods, generally striped,
the stripes being black and white, a little over an inch wide,
even the caps being striped, and of the same material as the
suits.

You follow the officer across the yard, and notice the large
greenhouse with its beautiful plants, flowers and shrubs. But,
looking back, you see the great high wall of the prison, and
remember that the little spot in the prison yard and the sky
overhead is all the glimpse of the world that these poor men
get, and, no doubt, is all that some of them ever will get, for
some of them are shut in there for life.

THE CHAPEL SERVICE.

You follow the officer up the steps of stone into the entrance
hall, and watch the men pass out of the dining-room up the
stairway into the chapel; then you follow and are led to a seat
near the pulpit, facing the assemblage. Your eyes wander quickly
over that strange lot of from two hundred to five hundred men,
and, in some prisons, over a thousand constitute the audience.
When all are seated, the guards seat themselves on high stools
placed along the sides of the room, facing the rear door, while
the prisoners face the pulpit at the farther end of the room.

Then the prison choir sings and the organ peals forth its
beautiful strains, the prisoners joining in the singing. You
cannot keep back the tears as you look into their faces and think
that only for sin they might be free. Verily, "the way of the
transgressor is hard." Prayer is offered, and the chaplain, and
those who have permission, talk from the written word of eternal
life. Invariably your eyes sweep over that strange audience, and
here and there you see a man, or perhaps a young boy, in tears,
and you know the tender chord in their hearts has been touched.
God grant it may be so! Several testify to hope in Christ.

Services over, the prisoners are marched to their cells and
locked in. They must all attend the morning service, but are not
compelled to attend the Sunday school in the afternoon. Few
prisons conduct Sunday schools. In the afternoon, in company with
the chaplain and some of the guards, you may visit the cell
rooms, and are allowed to distribute papers and tracts, and speak
personally with each prisoner.

THE CELL ROOM is a long room with a stone floor and whitewashed
walls, the cells running through the middle of its entire length.
The cells are narrow, little rooms, perhaps four feet wide and
six or seven feet long. They vary somewhat in size. They have
doors of strong bars of iron, and no windows. All the air
received must enter through this grated door in front. The back
of each cell joins with the back of the row of cells on the other
side, thus forming a double row facing in opposite directions.

Rows of cells are built in tiers, one row above another, with a
narrow platform running along in front, with an iron railing.

Each man's name, and the number of his cell, is placed over his
door. A wide corridor runs all around the main room, which admits
the circulation of air from the large grated windows. Sabbath is
rather a hard day for the men, for they had rather be at work
than locked in lonely cells, with only their own thoughts and
troubled consciences for company.

Many of the men who are there for long terms have their cells
fixed very nicely, and one can usually tell those whose hearts
cling to home or friends. But there are some who seem to care for
nothing. One boy had his cell ornamented with festoons of
newspapers folded and torn into patterns representing lace
curtains. Another, a life convict, had his cell festooned with
colored tissue paper. This man was a trusty, who had the care of
the flowers and plants. In some prisons the cells are not
provided with Bibles, and some prisons have no chaplains.

Some of the men are very expert at making beautiful things, such
as pin cushions, picture frames, hair-braided watch guards,
pen-holders, workboxes, toy chairs and many other things. One man
I saw was making designs for embossed rocking-chair backs;
another had his tools for repairing watches.

THE WORKSHOPS.

On Monday morning we may visit the workshops and see the men at
work. Here we see all kinds of work; farm implements, such as
hoes, rakes, pitchforks and many other things, probably all made
of iron. These tools pass through many hands before they are
complete. Each process is done by a separate set of men. For
instance, the hoes are made by some and sharpened by others. It
takes only a few seconds to sharpen a tool. As soon as this is
done it is passed on to others who polish it, and the handle is
inserted and painted.

Some rooms are so warm from the many furnaces, and the red-hot
irons which are being beaten into shape, that a person can
scarcely stay long enough to see the work done, and is glad to
move on to cooler departments. The men seem to look well, but you
cannot help wondering how they ever work and endure the terrible
heat. They are not allowed to talk to each other, and are
continually under the guard's eye. Here and there one looks up
with a nod and a smile.

Each man in the shops is given a certain amount of work to do,
and if he does any more than his allotted task, he is paid for
it. The amount is kept for him. But very few except long-timers
and experts can gain any time to do extra work.

After going through all the shops we pass on to

THE HOSPITAL,

which is in the rear of the chapel, and in the same building.
Here are sights that touch hearts. Some are dying with
consumption, and some with broken hearts. One poor boy's sunken
cheeks and thin, wasted hands especially touched me. Taking him
by the hand, I began to talk to him. He said: "No one cares for
_me_." "Yes, God cares for you and He loves you." "Why does He
let me stay here and die if He loves me?" "Have you a mother?"
"Yes, I have a good Christian mother, but she doesn't know I am
here." "May I write and tell her you are sick? I am sure she
wants to know about you?" "Oh, no; I had rather die all alone
than to have mother know I am here."

So it is all through these places. For, though I have briefly
described one prison, they are all in a great measure alike, yet
vary in different states to some extent. All are not so clean
and neat as this one spoken of, and though a prison might be
lined with costly gems, it is still a prison, and without Jesus
in the heart it is only a living tomb to those confined therein.
Let none think that it is a pleasant place to be. One man may
want to be a Christian, or at least a moral man and a man of
cultured tastes, and such men find it doubly hard when they must
work side by side with the most degraded criminals. One may leave
the prison worse than when he went in.

In these places children hide their ruined lives and breaking
hearts from their dearest earthly friends. No mother to smooth
the dying one's pillow, though small it may be! No sister or
brother to wipe away the bitter tears that _will_ fall; no father
to say good-bye. O mothers, let the memory of your boy's innocent
childhood fan all your tenderness and love into a flame that
would leap over the highest breastwork Satan could erect and take
your boy or girl back to your heart. If you have been a true
Christian and have done your duty faithfully, trust still in God.
What we need is faithful teaching among the unsaved, to warn them
against their danger, before they get into such awful places.