The next thing I remember is being "frisked," as they say in prison parlance, when the keeper looks through the prisoner\'s pockets for contraband.
They lead me to my cell and the iron doors clang behind me. A deep sigh of relief escapes me. The terrific mental strain of the last ten months, the long and sleepless nights of vigil, the knowledge of impending danger, have been blown away like an unhealthy mist, and I feel calm, secure, safely barred beyond the reach of the Mexican Czar\'s sicarii and thugs.
The necessary things for comfort are sent by kind friends, and I inspect my future abode.
The cell is spacious, enclosed on three sides by solid steel; air, light and ventilation come through the bars; two iron beds are [Pg 6]attached to chains on one side and let down at night; there is running water for washing, drinking and sanitary purposes. An electric bulb and a small wooden bench complete the furniture.
The first thing in the morning I make the acquaintance of a prisoner who eagerly offers to become my guide and monitor.
We walk around the spacious corridor which surrounds the prison proper like an ellipse, and by a connecting gallery cuts it in half like number 8. Three tiers of steel cages go up to the ceiling and can be observed by standing close to the wall opposite our cells.
The men in the tiers above us walk around, some one way, others the opposite, like restless animals in captivity. Some young prisoners hang on to the bars and make faces at us downstairs, reminding us of monkeys in a gigantic cage.
Side by side with tough "mugs" and [Pg 7]countenances worthy of the gallows, we notice the apparently refined and well-mannered aristocrats of crime, dissipated looking boys, confidence men in pious demeanour, election repeaters, dandified "cadets" and "sissies." There are also sturdy looking laborers, a few black handers, a tramp or two, several negroes, two Chinamen.
A chauffeur with leggings, cap and automobile suit, tramps around with a dapper young pickpocket. They shout, laugh, talk, sing, whistle; and above all is heard the shuffling of several hundred feet walking, walking unceasingly.
A look upward to the superposed steel cages suggests their similarity to the circles in Dante\'s Inferno; the picture is completed by comparing my mentor to Virgil, but the sarcasm is lost on him, as he is only a very prosaic forger.
He informs me that the circle above contains the murderers, awaiting trial; higher up those on charges of grand larceny; and[Pg 8] then follow the petty larceny men, and so on.
We who are on the ground floor have more walking space than those above us. The side walls have four rows of barred windows which give poor ventilation and poorer light. The air has a pungent, mouldy smell. The rumbling noise of the city traffic on the Centre Street side is heard plainly through the din in the prison.
My companion is a voluble and incessant gossip; his knowledge of jails, penitentiaries, and court procedure is amazing; he is a perfect walking prison encyclopedia. Nearly forty years old, he has passed twenty years behind the bars, either in Sing Sing, the Island Penitentiary or the Tombs. Very pale, clean shaven, rather plump, he speaks in a harsh whisper which gives a disagreeable impression of his uncanny knowledge; when he inquires or talks about the outside world he is like a child seeking knowledge about a strange, far-away land.
[Pg 9]
My next door neighbor is a southerner. He shot a man who cheated him out of all his money, and he spent several months in Sing Sing; now he has been brought back to the Tombs for retrial. Dark, with passionate eyes, black hair and sallow complexion, thin, calm, deliberate in manner and speech, he tells me of his case, and what led to his murderous assault, which he claims was done in self-defense. When I asked if he was resigned to return to Sing Sing, he answered with gleaming eyes: "I\'ll kill myself before I\'ll go back to that hell hole."
I
As we are forbidden to keep knives or razors in our possession, those who require a daily shave climb to the circle above to the barber shop.
On the waiting line there is a familiar face, a young man who had been a waiter in a Broadway café. He has not lost his red[Pg 10] cheeks and boyish manner while awaiting trial on the charge of seduction.
Those who can afford it and cannot eat the common prison fare have their meals ordered from outside restaurants. A young man with a capacious basket offers us our breakfast in the shape of bread, pies, coffee; and he also sells cigars, cigarettes, writing paper, stamps and various knickknacks.
About nine A. M. we are locked in and are allowed to buy newspapers from a boy. I scan the daily papers and notice that they are beginning to pay attention to this libel case. There are several editorials, one signed by William Randolph Hearst, whose championship in my case was a brave act, as it endangered his interests in Mexico. The mail is voluminous; scores of clippings come in from out of town papers. An unknown doctor in California sends a check, a laboring man in St. Louis sends a dollar bill, to help in the fight.
My first visitor appeared to me like a[Pg 11] vision from a strange planet. I felt clumsy and impatient behind the cold and angular bars.
I am informed that two witnesses saw the president\'s brother and a prominent Mexican lawyer waiting for my verdict on the ground floor of the Criminal Court building. Those two lawyers were the king pins working the wires behind the scenes, and when the glad tidings were brought they hastened to telegraph it to Mexico.
After the visit we are let out of our cells for exercise, which takes place three times a day, morning, noon and evening.
All visitors are permitted to see the prisoners, but not twice in the same day. Keepers and matrons search the visitors, and I hear repeated complaints of the arrogant and rough behaviour of these men who seem to have no power of discrimination; they treat everybody on equal terms of brutality and incivility—those found guilty by the[Pg 12] courts, those awaiting trial and the innocent visitors.
Newspapermen are almost daily visitors.
My friend and lawyer, K——, visits me every day in the barred chamber set apart for that purpose. As I descend to see him some one points out to me a special room wherein I recognize the banker Morse conferring with his lawyers. My friends on the New York World send an ambassador, in the person of a reporter, offering their good will and assistance. I am touched by their kindness and loyalty.
The days pass swiftly as if on wings while waiting for the sentence. My trial-lawyer, J——, visits me one evening and informs me that somebody has told the judge that I had boasted that I would get off with a fine. A strenuous denial is made, but the futility of the protest is apparent. The purpose of these underhand tactics is to prevent the[Pg 13] imposition of a fine which could be paid by friends.
Criminal libel is a misdemeanor, and the limit or maximum sentence is one year in the penitentiary or a fine of $500, or both.
The prosecuting lawyers hope, by the imposition of a prison sentence, to frighten me into accepting either a pardon or a commutation of the sentence, thus forcing me to accept their favors and preventing further investigation into certain proceedings.
A suggestion is made to enter a protest with my ambassador. Such a procedure would empower the judge to offer me the choice between going back to Europe or serving one year in the penitentiary. The Mexican government would prefer to get rid of my agitation in this country and does not relish the idea of assisting the publicity of a willing martyr.
My suspicion of these tactics is aroused when I learn of the case of a young cockney valet who stole from his employer, and who[Pg 14] was offered the alternative, when the judge sentenced him, of going back to England or serving five years in Sing Sing. The young valet took great pains to inform me of his case and the advantage to be derived from accepting the lesser of two evils. I mused over the incident, and wondered if the valet\'s case was not a gentle hint emanating from the Machiavellian brains interested in my case. The trial lawyer, J——, suggested the advisability of appealing to the governor for clemency in case of loss of the appeal. A protest to the ambassador was also proposed. I declined both suggestions.
II
I have become acquainted with a prisoner a few doors from my cell, next to the shower baths. Small of stature, almost a boy, deathly pale, dark, with strong features, this young English pickpocket is a new type in my limited experience with criminals.
[Pg 15]
Every afternoon we sit together at a five o\'clock tea in his model cell. The walls are covered with half-tone pictures of famous stage beauties. He offers me the place of honor, which is an old, rickety, but comfortable armchair which belonged to Harry Thaw.
The bed, the bench, everything, is decorated with paper, cut out with infinite pains. The tea is excellent and there are also condensed milk, Huntley & Palmer\'s biscuits, butter and orange marmalade. Mine host seldom talks to prisoners; he says the place is filled with stool pigeons. When asked if he does not suspect me, he smiles and remarks that in his profession a deep and varied familiarity with human nature is necessary, as well as a cool head, an impassive mask, and great dexterity with hands and fingers.
Very good-naturedly he answers my questions as to his early life and the influences of which brought him to steal; he tells me also[Pg 16] of his philosophy of life. His father and mother were both thieves, and he was taught to steal as soon as he could walk. The whole of Europe was the field of his operations.
Soon after he came to New York he was arrested, and although the detectives could not find any stolen goods on him, nevertheless he was sentenced to seven years in Sing Sing on his past criminal record, which was sent over by Scotland Yard.
Considering this man\'s record and nationality, the question comes to mind as to why he was not sent bac............