Message written on his prison wall,
by Francisco Ferrer.
It was a clear December morning when, from the little boat which carried me across the river, I spied the outline of the penitentiary4 squatting5 on the lower end of Blackwell's Island. It was my first view of it and the impression made on my mind was so ominous6 and sinister7 that my heart almost sank within me as I entered the fateful gates.
"Hey, there! Where do you t'ink you are? Take dem gloves off!" shouted a tough, strong voice as I stood waiting in[Pg 30] front of the office window, recounting my pedigree and giving up my private belongings8 for safe keeping. In the old prison, I found six new prisoners waiting in line.
Our hair was clipped by a convict barber, and we were ordered to divest9 ourselves of our civilian10 clothes and take a shower bath. While we were trying to dry ourselves with two small hand towels, prison underwear and striped suits were thrown at our feet.
The trousers were decidedly too long, the coat, and the rag—unjustly named a vest—both too short; a cap which came down to my eyebrows11 made up this uniform of degradation12 and infamy13. Harlequin's costume never looked more ridiculous than our own, which was mended, patched and repatched from long use by generations of long-suffering convicts.
The prison authorities, I suppose, are to be commended for their thrift14; but I cannot help feeling that by putting on those frayed[Pg 31] and wornout caricatures of uniforms we are endangering our health.
In the photographer's house behind the shower baths we are "mugged"; our Bertillon measurements are taken, even to "beauty spots" and pimples15, by a red-haired, freckled-faced young man. A sign twelve inches long, black, with white numerals, is hung round my neck over a black cotton coat, and I am told to look pleasant until the camera has focussed my profile and full face.
Sitting on benches, waiting for their turn, are a dozen prisoners. They are all old, white-haired, naked and shivering; old offenders17, recidivists, tramps, bums18, drunken louts; lean, pale, bruised20, with anemic, unhealthy skins, red noses, fishy21 eyes, bloated faces, large hands, knotty22, ungainly feet, purple with the cold.
A very old man attracts my attention by his immobility, his general paleness, and his extraordinary gauntness, which shows the[Pg 32] perfect outline of his muscles, and reminds me of the statue representing San Bartolommeo in the cathedral of Milan, holding his whole skin over his arm like a bath robe.
Squint-eyed and almost blind, this old man, of more than the allotted23 span of seventy years, seems unable to recollect24 his name, occupation or social status.
"A bum19, I guess," remarks the keeper.
It appears that he is deaf, and his neighbour nudges him with an elbow and shouts in his ear:
"Say yes!"
"Yes, sir!" hastily answers the old man.
These derelicts of society are going to the workhouse on Monday.
Later we are ordered to clean and wash the small glass panes25 in the windows of the main prison. Trusties in smart, new, striped clothes, with creased26 pants and caps, rushed by eyeing us with curiosity. "Whatcheh in[Pg 33] fer?" "What did the judge hand yeh?" are the leading whispered queries27.
A pungent28, musty, sickening smell pervades29 the old prison, which is barely lighted by a dismal30 and gray reflection filtering through the small windows. An inscription31 on the wall shows the date of construction to be 1864. The cell where Boss Tweed died is pointed32 out to me.
Suddenly the electric lights are switched on and a bell starts ringing in a loud, metallic33, persistent34 note, not unlike the subway starting bells. A heavy, automatic, dull noise in the distance announces the approaching footsteps of the convicts returning from work. In measured step, each gang followed by its keeper, more than a thousand men march past the head keeper's desk.
All the varieties of ages, figures, physiognomies, expressions, are illustrated35 to my astonished eyes. Young men with red cheeks and simple faces; strong men with[Pg 34] bullet heads, broad shouldered, surly or impassive; fat men with wabbling bellies37 and cheerful faces; old men bent38 and hoary39 with age; slow and listless young men with effeminate gestures; a few cripples on sticks or crutches40, and wobbling along behind the lines, a paralytic41 led by a companion. They all file by, stamping their feet in German military fashion.
At moments the order is given to slow up or stop, and the convicts continue to move the legs in rhythmic42 step, their bodies almost touching43, and giving the appearance of an enormous centipede dancing a gruesome, macabre44 saraband.
Finely shaped heads are rare; it looks as if an almighty45 sculptor46 had left his handiwork unfinished, or purposely kept it in rude outline. Foreheads are either too bulging47 or too retreating, eyes too sunken or too protruding48, noses too large or too small, mouths too sensual or too cruel, chins too powerful or too weak.
[Pg 35]
Smiling or frowning, aggressive or indifferent, surly or pleasant, all the different expressions and gestures are sketched49 out in violent chiaroscuro50, and compose a cartoon worthy51 of a Frans Hals or a Michelangelo.
My eyes absorb the kaleidoscopic52, ignoble53, unbelievable pageant54. As an artist I am fascinated, hypnotized by this fantastic procession of human zebras, slashed55 with broad stripes of gray and black, with the four prison tiers as a background, and the dark blue uniforms and gold buttons of the keepers adding a touch of color.
As a human being I am shocked and repelled56 by this grotesque57, degrading parade.
Is this really the Inferno58 or only the last Judgment59, I ask myself?
"Get in line, you loafer!" shouts a red-faced keeper, shaking his stick at me. Thus I am awakened60 from my dreams.
[Pg 36]
I
I am locked in the old prison for the night—my first night in the penitentiary.
A bed made of an iron frame with coarse canvas stretched across it, two cheap cotton blankets, a straw pillow, a large covered pail and a drinking cup, complete the total of my furniture. It is the simple life with a vengeance61. The bed takes up the whole length of the cell; there is no room for walking except sideways from the bucket to the cell door. Sitting in a lateral62 position on the couch, with my back touching the wall, I can place my legs on the opposite wall only in a bended posture63.
A tier man comes to the cell shouting "Water." While pouring it into my cup from a large can I peer at his face through the bars. His pale features, beaked64 nose, cruel mouth and yellow eyes make him seem like some tropical carrion-eating bird. I am so fascinated by his depraved and satanic[Pg 37] look that I allow water from the cup to drop onto the floor.
He utters curses, "not loud, but deep," and returns to mop the floor.
I try to interest myself in an old magazine, but my mind seems unable to concentrate in a continued effort; I read, but my imagination wanders away in an interminable circle without beginning or end.
The cold is intense; the blankets, thin and gray, afford no protection. My whole body is shivering and shaking uncontrollably as if in high fever, my teeth rattle65 like castanets accompanying a Spanish fandango. I light a cigar and watch the smoke curl slowly, lazily across the cell until it appears like a veil between the ceiling and the floor and finally settles over my couch like a pale, transparent66 shroud67.
Evidently there is no ventilation, but I continue to puff68 away, hoping to fumigate69 and kill the fetid odor in the cell.
Everything is still except for the [Pg 38]occasional moaning of a sick man. Finally the electric light at the foot of the bed is extinguished, and I am left in the dark.
I turn into bed with all my clothes, including cap and shoes, trusting in this manner to warm myself and in the hope of forgetting my troubles in blissful sleep.
But there seems to be no rest for me.
As soon as a little heat radiates from my body, scores of bedbugs are attracted and start a vicious, incessant70 campaign. When I am deceived into sleep by a lessening71 of their attacks, I am awakened by the cold air under the canvas, which freezes my back and forces me to shift my position.
Horrible nightmares shake me with a start as soon as I am lulled72 into slumber73. My throat is parched74 as if sand had been my last meal, and I pick up the tin cup to get a drink; to my intense despair the rusty75, filthy76 cup has a leak, and all the water has trickled77 to the floor.
I dream that the cell, with its massive[Pg 39] walls reeking78 with stench and humidity, is growing smaller, closing upon me like an accordeon, until the cell door is as small as a keyhole from which I get the last gasp79 of air; then instead of air, an endless cool, refreshing80 flow of water runs down my throat. But, unluckily, my intense thirst awakens81 me and I start toward the cell door calling for water in a faint, hoarse82 whisper.
A keeper silences me with a gruff, impatient voice: "Where in hell do you think I can get it?"
And I can hear the water dripping lustily from a faucet83 into a full barrel on the ground floor!
I try philosophically84 to force my thoughts into past and pleasant memories, but the present distress85 is so tyrannical and overpowering that all the physical, moral and intellectual suffering of the world seems to be centered within the few square feet of this dungeon86. My via crucis has begun. I reflect with terror that my mind may not[Pg 40] withstand the strain of uninterrupted agony, and suicide appears as an easy solution.
The absurdity87 of the impulse is evident, for my death in this filthy cell, like a rat in a hole, would delight those responsible for my presence here; and furthermore it would shock and sadden those dearest to me.
What is all my fortitude88 and philosophy worth if it cannot steady and concentrate my will at the most crucial, heart racking and desperate moment of my life?
Why should my trained mind crumble89 like a match box and be destroyed under physical torture, mental distress and moral humiliation90?
Is not suffering the greatest of all tests, necessary, purifying and regenerating91? Why not wait patiently and courageously92 for the day of reckoning, worthy of the gods on Olympus?
I count my heart-beats to get an idea of the passing of time. The minutes seem to have frozen on the fountain of time; they[Pg 41] drip laboriously94 as if each and every one of them represented eons of memories and experiences; as if each was attempting to demonstrate that in the accounting95 of eternity96 they were as significant as centuries. In a supreme97 physical effort of my will I grip the bars and grit98 my teeth to stop the impending99 and foolish disintegration100 of my mind. The waves of despair, the racking pain, the insane delirium101 are slowly beaten back into submission102, like a defeated army. The imagination is disciplined, the will has thrown the switch and illuminated103 the real inward self, as I stand watching, through the steel bars, the windows on the opposite wall. I feel calm, serene104 and strong.
Of a sudden, as if to illustrate36 my state of mind, out of the gray, blue mist, a large, luminous105, rose disk slowly arises beyond the opening.
The sun, the glorious sun! Silently it looms106 up, magnificent through the haze107, like[Pg 42] a mirage108 announcing the advent109 of better things and more hopeful days.
The same sun I had seen arise in India, Egypt, Italy, Mexico, in many frames of classical and tropical beauty; but never has it seemed to me so divine, so perfect, so precious as on that awful morning.
II
At 6 A. M. a quick, metallic carol announces a new day—and a Sunday. With a clanking noise and in swift succession the cell doors are unlocked and on every tier the whole line of convicts walks along the galleries and down to the ground floor, to a long iron sink, divided into small dirty tubs that are filled with murky110 water.
Our ablutions are performed in rapid military style; those not strong or nimble enough to get near the crowded trough, before the command, "Back out," is shouted, have to return to their cells half-washed or[Pg 43] dirty. Sometimes a laggard111 insists on finishing his washing; and then an angry voice assails112 him rudely: "Come on, you God damn bum, didn't yeh hear me? Back out!" And a guard "fans" him over the back with a club, pushing and shoving him all the way to the galleries, as a reminder113 to quicker obedience114.
Back at the cells, every man stands at attention behind the door with hands on the bars, waiting for the keeper to count the men until he orders, "Close," and with a deafening115 noise every iron door bangs in unison116. Then after a short rest the bell rings for breakfast, and we march into the mess hall.
What a depressing, fantastic assemblage there unfolded itself before my eyes! Row after row of cropped gray heads, the black and gray stripes, moving unceasingly in a rippling117 pattern, giving the semblance118 of an enormous, ghostly, shivering tiger skin. The faint light from the barred windows[Pg 44] forces the tonality to a low pitch and adds to the vagueness, uneasiness and consternation119 of my mind.
The benches and narrow tables seat fifteen to twenty in a row; and the two mess halls over a thousand convicts.
Breakfast is served in dented120 low pans, filled with potato and corn beef hash, alternating every other day with oatmeal and syrup121. The rusty tin cups are half filled with an unsweetened, brownish, transparent concoction122 called coffee, which the convicts long ago nicknamed "bootleg."
But the bread, made of wheat and cornmeal, is very good. The raising of the hand is the signal for an additional slice of bread, which is distributed by a convict, and when it reaches you it has usually been handled by ten or fifteen different, not to say unclean, hands.
The men eat voraciously123 and in great haste, coughing, chewing, smacking124 their lips; grunting125 and snorting like pigs with[Pg 45] their snouts in the trough. My poor appetite is not improved by their disconcerting exhibition, and my portion is quickly swallowed by my neighbours.
On both sides of the hall we are watched by keepers standing126 against the wall, or perched on high stools, swinging their sticks.
On my right there is a goodnatured-looking keeper with a bullet head and sleepy eyes; on the other hand a small, wiry, thin-faced, long-nosed, white-mustached keeper, with wicked eagle eyes, who uses not only the foulest127 of language, but also his stick, on the slightest provocation129.
After the "feed" comes the bucket parade. Each man carries his own bucket into the yard behind the prison building, facing the Brooklyn side. The Queensboro bridge on the north, with two feet on the island uniting Brooklyn and New York, appears gigantic on the horizon.
The air is cold, crisp, exhilarating, after the oppressive night. The whole prison is[Pg 46] marching line after line to a well-shaped opening, wherein the dirty water and excreta are dumped in succession by the men, while an old convict belabors130 its interior with a long pole to prevent the opening being clogged131. The clear morning air cannot blow away the overpowering stench of a thousand dirty buckets, intensified132 by the acrid133 smell of chloride of lime which is thrown into the hastily washed pails.
III
The resting day without reading or occupation or exercise of any sort is agonizing134; intolerable in the extreme.
From four o'clock on Saturday afternoon until Monday morning at eight, except for the short freedom for meals, we are locked up in our cells. There is no exercise, no work, for almost forty hours. Most of the cases of insanity135 in prison are due to this enforced inaction, and the accumulation of[Pg 47] foul128 air in the cells. Even the keepers who have to inspect the top tiers run swiftly along the galleries with their noses closed tight.
Hoping to break up this dreadful monotony, I attend the Catholic mass in the morning and the Protestant service in the afternoon. The one delightful137 and exquisite138 balm to our jaded139 minds is the music of the organs, which accompanies the singing of hymns140 by convicts.
The chapel141 on the second floor is crowded with prisoners; and on one side there are a few women, with large poke142 bonnets143 covering their faces to prevent their flirting144 with the men.
A convict informs me that I would have been punished "against the wall" if I had been caught going to the two services. At the slightest infraction145 of the rules, I learn, the offender16 is dragged towards the main prison and kept standing, facing the wall, sometimes all day without food or water—and [Pg 48]there is no way of finding out what and how many rules there are.
On week days the warden146 stops to inquire and punishes according to the state of his mind or his stomach, or perhaps the weather.
The dinner consists of a soup of beans, carrots, lentils or potatoes; meat with vegetables, or cornbeef and cabbage; and "bootleg." For supper there is unsweetened tea, bologna sausage or red gelatine with bread.
The anticipation147 of another night like the last one fills my mind with uneasiness and dread136 and fright. The memory of it is burned forever into my consciousness. But fortunately it was not so full of terror. It was bad; but no other night ever could be as horrible as the first night I spent in that place.
IV
In the morning we are ordered into the new section of the prison. The old bums go[Pg 49] to the workhouse, and we await our turn to be placed in the shops, according to our sentences and our work or profession. The distribution of labor93 among us is strange and mysterious. A butcher, for instance, is sent to work in the stone quarry148, a smuggler149 into the kitchen gang, a lawyer in the "skin gang," a "sissy" into the coal gang, a waiter into the garden; a burglar is sent to make socks, and I am sent into the tailor shop.
In this simple distribution of labor we shall learn many things which will be highly useful and remunerative150 when we go out into the world again.
I am finally alone in my new cell, which is spacious151, clean, airy. I can walk seven or eight paces up and down, like an animal in a cage.
The steel beds are chained to the walls; instead of the filthy canvas, a steel wire is stretched across the frame, but there is no mattress152 or sheets as there were in the[Pg 50] Tombs. There is also a covered bucket in the lower corner, and a tin cup. The bars are strong, but nevertheless plenty of air and light come in from the large windows opposite our cells. Two small hand towels and a piece of scrubbing soap are added to our simple belongings.
The number of my cell is 23, the last one in our row, and on the second tier, which contains men who work in the tailor shop. The shops stand together, in a separate building between the prison and the river, on the Brooklyn side. The shops where they make brushes, shoes, beds, and the tailor and repair shops, are under one roof, and under the control of a contractor153. In the shops all kinds of work are performed: repairing, cutting and making clothes for outgoing prisoners; there are machines turning out underwear and socks; mattresses154 are made, stuffed and sewn up. At one end of the large room a keeper sits on a platform, while another surveys it from the other end.
[Pg 51]
Although the prisoners are forbidden to talk, nevertheless they communicate as freely as if the rule did not exist. When I attempted to ask my neighbour a question, he hushed me up with a hissing155 noise—but he answered my question. His lips did not move, but I could hear him talk in a faint murmur156 which would have been inaudible ten paces away.
It is very hard at first to follow this new method of carrying on conversation, as in everyday life one is used to watching a man's eyes and lips while listening to his voice. But after a while the hearing becomes used to it and is trained to listen and catch these slightest sounds, which escape the untrained ear of the keeper.
The convicts never glance into the speaker's face or at his lips; they look straight ahead and talk in the manner of ventriloquists, but instead of using a loud and clear tone they whisper in a low murmur. Men who have passed years in jail can always be[Pg 52] recognized by their monotonous157, whispering manner and their almost expressionless faces. This form of speech is necessary in order to avoid punishment.
Under the pretext158 of helping159 me, a young convict comes over to my side of the shop. He shows me the intricate workings of the machine which turns out the uncut cloth for the prisoners. Later it is cut and fashioned into prison underwear.
On top of the machine the spools160 feed the thread incessantly161. Care has to be taken not to use "sabotage162" methods, as punishment is meted163 out unmercifully by the contractor, who seems to have as much power over us as the warden.
My other companion is a young Russian sailor, healthy looking, fair and quite peaceful when let alone. He warns me that my anxious instructor164 is a "stool pigeon," who proves his status by giving me very detailed165 instructions as to how to manage to escape successfully.
[Pg 53]
I ask why he has not put his own methods into practice; and he gives as an excuse that he is going to be released in a few days.
Then he furnishes me with paper, pencil, and soap; and he even offers to send out letters for me. When I answer that I have no letters to write he recites an endless list of rules, and tells me how to evade166 them, and how to keep the friendship of the keepers.
He reveals to my astonished ears the underground system of communication with the outer world. With money and friends a convict can get all the contraband167 he desires: dope, newspapers, matches, letters—coming in and going out—whiskey, writing paper and pens, stamps, delicacies168, tobacco. My mentor169 has passed a year in the penitentiary for the offense170 of "repeating," or of voting many times on election day. The gang leader who paid him for his work is looking out for him from his Brooklyn haunts.
Facing us there is a long table at which[Pg 54] old convicts are sitting, without making a pretence171 at working. As long as they keep quiet nobody notices them. Some of them look over seventy years old; sad-faced, pallid172, curved, almost venerable in their old age. They are mostly old sneak173 thieves and pickpockets174, the wrecks175 and failures of their profession. They sit like graven images, silently, patiently, hour after hour, year in and year out, until some fine day one of them will be found rigid176 in his cell, and then four striped convicts and a keeper acting177 as a pallbearer will carry him away in a large black coffin178 to the morgue.
To-day for the first time since my incarceration179 I beheld180 the reflection of my face in a mirror. The sight was humiliating and shocking in the extreme. My keen sense of caricature lowered my well fed conceit181 half way down the ladder of vanity.
Then I consoled myself by thinking of all the good-looking, impressive, well-groomed men friends, enemies and acquaintances of[Pg 55] mine; and I tried to imagine them with clipped hair, togged out in ill-fitting, patched, striped garments and cap; collarless and tieless; with a week's growth of beard on their cheeks—and the comparison made me laugh and cheered me up considerably182.
The Deputy Warden comes in on his daily visit. His approach has been telegraphed in some mysterious manner and the whole shop takes on a lively bustling183 appearance. Second in rank as an officer of the penitentiary, the "Dep," a tall, good-looking man, strides into the room like a Prussian officer. He is not disliked by the convicts, as he seems just in his dealings with them.
Going back from work through the yards, a fat German convict who had been working in the brush shops, broke away from the line and, before he could be stopped, jumped into the river in an attempt to drown himself. A few shots were fired. A negro and two[Pg 56] white convicts jumped in after him, and with the help of a keeper who patrols the island in a row boat, they fished him out. They laid him flat on the ground and worked to revive him.
His fat belly184 stuck out like a barrel, his face was livid, his lips purple. Finally he opened his eyes, and sputtered185 and murmured: "Let me die! Let me die!" "Shut up, you s——!" yelled an angry keeper, and he was dragged feet first to the hospital.
V
My skin has been itching186 for two days, and I attribute it to the coarse underwear and ill-fitting clothes. In my cell after the day's work I make a careful inspection187 and am quite frightened to find my whole body covered with red spots. Evidently I have caught some skin disease from those tattered188 old rags which have been worn by generations of unclean and diseased convicts. The[Pg 57] thought of having to pass a year in a prison hospital is anything but cheerful.
I turn my thoughts to other things by trying to read a novel from the prison library. A slip had been left in the cell to be filled out with the name of any book that I might desire to read. In my innocence189 I put down "Shakespeare's plays or the Bible." A novel entitled "Truthful190 Jane" was left in their stead.
But I cannot read. And so I start instead to inspect my surroundings. The new cells compare very favorably with the cells of the old prison, which are really holes in the wall and reeking with the mysterious unwholesome smell of rat holes and graveyards191.
At one end of the cell opposite the door are two small openings for ventilation; one at the top on the right hand side and the other at the bottom on the left. In trying to find out the depth and direction of the holes I plunge192 my arm into the opening, and my[Pg 58] hand feels a square object. It is a small bible! I am delighted by the discovery. On the fly leaf there is some handwriting in pencil in a careful, intelligent hand: "To my successor: May this book while away your long and weary hours and make you forget your troubles and worries as it did to me. Don't forget to replace the book where you found it when you leave."
A tier man comes to the cells with a light for those who care to smoke. He is a pleasant-faced individual, quite polite and ready to do any small services within his limited powers. I find out that he has been condemned193 to a year for keeping back mail in the post office. The tier man who had made such a disagreeable impression on me that first night in the old prison, is a church thief.
My battered194 and rusty cup has been filled up with water. I am afraid to drink from it, as it might have been used by some consumptive or syphilitic convict. Necessity being a great inventor, I press some paper[Pg 59] to the rim195 of the cup to prevent my lips from touching it.
As I walk up and down the cell I am always unconsciously trying to put my cold hands in my trousers pockets, only to discover over and over again that there are no pockets there, only one on the inside of the coat.
The clipping of my hair so close to the skin at the height of the cold season has brought a cold in the head. I have no handkerchief, and shall have to wait a whole month until they allow me to write to have a few sent by mail.
These apparent trifles, and all the nagging196, idiotic197 rules, invented by senile commissions and wardens199 to torment200 the helpless captives of society, are always magnified by men brooding in the solitude201 of cells. But I have made up my mind not to permit anything to ruffle202 my equanimity203, so I pick up some letters from friends and read and reread their cheering contents. If people[Pg 60] who write to their unfortunate friends in prison only guessed how they yearned204 to receive those familiar scrawls205, and how they are treasured and memorized, they would write oftener.
A night keeper walks by like a shadow, flashing a bull's eye lamp into the cells to catch us in any infringements206 of the rules.
There is only one rule tacked207 up on the walls, but the other 999 we have to guess or learn from fellow convicts. The list of rules which we have to find out at our own expense or from wiser convicts would fill up a small volume.
As there are no written rules, and nobody informs us of all the unwritten rules on our entrance here, as is done in Sing Sing, the thought comes to my mind that this apparent forgetfulness is really meant to give the warden and the keepers an unchallenged power of persecution208 over suspected and unruly convicts.
Most of the punishments inflicted209 by the[Pg 61] warden are for infractions of rules which the newcomers are in entire ignorance of, and these infractions occur no matter how obedient and willing the new arrivals may be to keep within bounds of the prison laws. The foreigners, Italians, Slavs and Teutons, all those who do not know English and who cannot learn the rules from their fellow prisoners, are the greatest sufferers from this carelessness, whether it is intentional210 or otherwise.
VI
After breakfast I was watching from my cell some sparrows that had nested inside the prison walls, high up on top of the large windows facing the tiers. I dropped some bread crumbs211 on the floor of the gallery, and some on my cell floor, to induce the little birds to come in.
At first they were afraid to trust themselves inside the bars of my cell; but they[Pg 62] kept fluttering about nervously212 outside, keeping up an incessant twitter and chatter213 that sounded quite musical to my ears.
Finally they grew bolder, and recklessly they flew into my cell, first peeping at me, with bended heads as if they would ask: "Are we really safe here from capture or treachery of any kind?" And hastily picking up the crumbs, they flew out to inform their companions of the god-send of fat bread crumbs in a large, barred room, instead of the poor hunting in the prison courtyard.
Then they came back fearlessly, and thanked me with quick little nods of their pretty heads, and sidelong trusting looks from their black beads214 of eyes; with low, graceful215 courtesies and a cheerful piping song.
And then one morning a keeper who had been attracted by the noise, shooed the birds away and swore in a gruff voice, warning me that it was against the rules to throw[Pg 63] crumbs on the floor, as well as to keep bread in my pockets or in my cell.
Once a week the prisoners are privileged to wait in line to see the warden, to protest against any injustice216, to recount a grievance217, or to ask a favor.
Like a dozen or more I stood waiting for the quick-lunch justice of the Czar of the penitentiary. After a while he appeared, accompanied by a tall young secretary who jotted218 down our names and the details of the business on hand. Walking slowly, with bent shoulders, hands behind his back, the warden seemed to be about seventy-five years old. His face was furrowed219 with irregular, meaningless wrinkles, and he had small shifty eyes, with white hair and a white beard. He had a habit of staring at the convict who was speaking to him, and suddenly bending one ear toward the speaker as if he were partially220 deaf.
The warden's answers came quickly, in[Pg 64] the jerky, high pitched voice of the Sistine Chapel cantors, and often breaking under the strain of anger. A convict suffering from locomotor ataxia, leaning on a walking stick, hanging on to a companion, begged for permission to get a pair of crutches ... his mother would get them for him.
"What for?" queried221 the warden, innocently.
"Because I can't walk with this stick," answered the convict.
"Then why don't you get a cab!" said the warden. And he snickered and then coarsely guffawed222.
Again he furiously upbraided223 another petitioner224.
"Where do you think you are? At the Waldorf-Astoria? Next thing they'll be asking me to get them flowers, candy and theatre tickets. I am here to see that you are punished. See?"
After having thus vented198 his spleen he uttered some alleged225 witticism226 at the [Pg 65]expense of the helpless convict, and showed a great appreciation227 of his own humor, uncovering a row of yellow, brown, half-decayed teeth in a sneering228 grin most unpleasant to behold229.
My turn came, and I asked for an extra blanket, as the cold was intense and the metal springs of the bed offered no protection against it. This it seemed was also against the rules. When I suggested that as he was the warden he could make and unmake the rules, he did not answer, but asked irrelevantly230 how I liked his hotel?
I answered that it was preferable to the castle of San Juan de Ulloa in Vera Cruz.
He looked puzzled, then he smiled as if he saw the point.
"We'll take care of you," he repeated twice, waving a thin, wrinkled, old hand.
[Pg 66]
VII
At lunch time the sick convicts ask their keepers for permission to see the doctor. They are kept waiting in line near the head keeper's desk. The head keeper is a person of great power in the prison, only third in importance of rank, but as he comes in daily contact with the convicts, his good or ill will is felt more keenly than the warden's. The discipline of the prison, the distribution of the mails, of the clothes, underwear, shoes, all the details of management, are carried on through him.
As we were waiting for the doctor, the head keeper came along to look us over. He had a big brown face, and a large mustache covered his mouth; two piercing gray eyes gave the impression of an unlimited231 reserve of pent-up bile, anger and contempt, which at times flowed in a torrent232 of choice and rare blasphemies233.
"Damn you, wop! I'll cure you! You[Pg 67] s——!" he shouted, and with both hands he clutched the neck of an Italian, and shook him as savagely234 as a terrier shakes a rat. His face red and with sickness in his eyes, the unfortunate man tried to explain that he had a sore throat and a fever; but without success. He only aroused another fit of anger.
"You're a faker, that's what you are! You're all fakers, every one of you!" he yelled at us, and finished up by spitting on the floor. The next moment he punished a convict for doing the selfsame thing.
A young doctor hardly out of his teens entered the old prison, escorted by a convict carrying a tray filled with medicine bottles.
Sick prisoners are cured in the simple, old-fashioned way of having mixtures administered to them, the medicine bottles being labeled according to the contents, and the most prevalent ailments235, which do not require the remanding of the sick man to the hospital. Cough mixture seemed to be[Pg 68] quite popular, fever mixture less so, then followed constipation and diarrh?a mixture, toothache mixture, court-plaster, some pills, and various ingredients for venereal diseases, some cotton gauze, and the indispensable large bottles containing salts and codliver oil.
The visit did not take long. Those who had come twice on the line without having been found sick were punished "against the wall."
After a short inspection the doctor ordered me to the hospital, without allaying236 my fears by any diagnosis237 or declaration of a disease, but cautioned me to take a hot bath every day, and to rub the skin with sulphur ointment238.
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1
authorized
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| a.委任的，许可的 | |
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2
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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3
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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4
penitentiary
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| n.感化院；监狱 | |
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5
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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6
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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7
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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8
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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divest
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| v.脱去，剥除 | |
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civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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12
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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14
thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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15
pimples
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| n.丘疹，粉刺，小脓疱( pimple的名词复数 ) | |
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16
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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offenders
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| n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 )；犯规者；罪犯；妨害…的人（或事物） | |
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18
bums
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| n. 游荡者，流浪汉，懒鬼，闹饮，屁股 adj. 没有价值的，不灵光的，不合理的 vt. 令人失望，乞讨 vi. 混日子，以乞讨为生 | |
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19
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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20
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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21
fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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22
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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23
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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25
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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26
creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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27
queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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28
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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30
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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31
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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32
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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33
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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34
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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35
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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36
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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37
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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38
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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39
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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40
crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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41
paralytic
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| adj. 瘫痪的 n. 瘫痪病人 | |
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42
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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43
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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44
macabre
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| adj.骇人的，可怖的 | |
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45
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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46
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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47
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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48
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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49
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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50
chiaroscuro
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| n.明暗对照法 | |
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51
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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52
kaleidoscopic
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| adj.千变万化的 | |
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53
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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54
pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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55
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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56
repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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57
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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58
inferno
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| n.火海；地狱般的场所 | |
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59
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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60
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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61
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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62
lateral
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| adj.侧面的，旁边的 | |
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63
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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64
beaked
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| adj.有喙的，鸟嘴状的 | |
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65
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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66
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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67
shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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68
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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69
fumigate
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| v.烟熏；用香薰 | |
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70
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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71
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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72
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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73
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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74
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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75
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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76
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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77
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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78
reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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79
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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80
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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81
awakens
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的第三人称单数 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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82
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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83
faucet
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| n.水龙头 | |
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84
philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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85
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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86
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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87
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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88
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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89
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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90
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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91
regenerating
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| v.新生，再生( regenerate的现在分词 )；正反馈 | |
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92
courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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93
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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94
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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95
accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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96
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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97
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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98
grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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99
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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100
disintegration
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| n.分散，解体 | |
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101
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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102
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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103
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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104
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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105
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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106
looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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107
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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108
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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109
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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110
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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111
laggard
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| n.落后者；adj.缓慢的，落后的 | |
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112
assails
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| v.攻击( assail的第三人称单数 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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113
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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114
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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115
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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116
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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117
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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118
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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119
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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120
dented
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| v.使产生凹痕( dent的过去式和过去分词 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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121
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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122
concoction
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| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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123
voraciously
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| adv.贪婪地 | |
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124
smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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125
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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126
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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127
foulest
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| adj.恶劣的( foul的最高级 )；邪恶的；难闻的；下流的 | |
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128
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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129
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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130
belabors
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| vt.毒打一顿（belabor的第三人称单数形式） | |
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131
clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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132
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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134
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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135
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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136
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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137
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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138
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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139
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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140
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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141
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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142
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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143
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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144
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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145
infraction
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| n.违反；违法 | |
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146
warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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147
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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148
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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149
smuggler
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| n.走私者 | |
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150
remunerative
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| adj.有报酬的 | |
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151
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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152
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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153
contractor
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| n.订约人，承包人，收缩肌 | |
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154
mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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155
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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156
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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157
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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158
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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159
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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160
spools
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| n.（绕线、铁线、照相软片等的）管( spool的名词复数 )；络纱；纺纱机；绕圈轴工人v.把…绕到线轴上（或从线轴上绕下来）( spool的第三人称单数 )；假脱机（输出或输入） | |
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161
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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162
sabotage
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| n.怠工，破坏活动，破坏；v.从事破坏活动，妨害，破坏 | |
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163
meted
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| v.（对某人）施以，给予（处罚等）( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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164
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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165
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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166
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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167
contraband
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| n.违禁品，走私品 | |
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168
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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169
mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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170
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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171
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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172
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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173
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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174
pickpockets
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| n.扒手( pickpocket的名词复数 ) | |
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175
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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176
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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177
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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178
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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179
incarceration
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| n.监禁，禁闭；钳闭 | |
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180
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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181
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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182
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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183
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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184
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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185
sputtered
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| v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的过去式和过去分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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186
itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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187
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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188
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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189
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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190
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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191
graveyards
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| 墓地( graveyard的名词复数 )； 垃圾场； 废物堆积处； 收容所 | |
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192
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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193
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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194
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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195
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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196
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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197
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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198
vented
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| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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199
wardens
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| n.看守人( warden的名词复数 )；管理员；监察员；监察官 | |
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200
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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201
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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202
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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203
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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204
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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205
scrawls
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| 潦草的笔迹( scrawl的名词复数 ) | |
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206
infringements
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| n.违反( infringement的名词复数 )；侵犯，伤害 | |
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207
tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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208
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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209
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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210
intentional
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| adj.故意的，有意（识）的 | |
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211
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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212
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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213
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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214
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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215
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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216
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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217
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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218
jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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219
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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220
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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221
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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222
guffawed
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| v.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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223
upbraided
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| v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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224
petitioner
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| n.请愿人 | |
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225
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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226
witticism
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| n.谐语，妙语 | |
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227
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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228
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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229
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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230
irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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231
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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232
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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233
blasphemies
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| n.对上帝的亵渎，亵渎的言词[行为]( blasphemy的名词复数 )；侮慢的言词（或行为） | |
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234
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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235
ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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236
allaying
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的现在分词 ) | |
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237
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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238
ointment
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| n.药膏，油膏，软膏 | |
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