When one is taken to serve a term in prison, has exchanged his
citizen’s clothes for a suit of stripes, is measured, and a full
description is written in the prison books, he is taken to a cell which
is to be his future abode during his confinement, except what time
he is at work, at his meals, or is otherwise stationed by the prison
officers. We can here only give a description of what is commonly found
to be a prison cell. It is a small iron room with a stone floor, and
when two convicts are to occupy the same cell, there are two bunks or
beds in the cell. The bed-rack is made of iron or wood slats, and the
bed-tick is generally filled with corn-husks or some similar material,
likewise the pillow. When the beds are not in use they are fastened
to the side of the wall with a chain. When down and in use they take
up nearly the entire space of the cell, so that it is impossible for
the two occupants to pass each other in walking to and fro. The other
furniture generally consists of a small tinbucket holding about two
quarts of water, and a washbasin. A short-handled broom is also found
in one corner of the cell with which the convict brushes it every
morning. The walls are either iron or stone, decorated with a small
looking-glass and a towel. Each cell contains one chair, as there is
not room for two; so that when one sits on the chair the other stands
or occupies a seat on the stone floor. The door is made of half-inch
iron bars crossing each other at right angles, leaving spaces about two
by six inches. Through these spaces come the air, light, and heat.
To give the reader an idea of how one would naturally feel on the
first introduction to such a place, we will give it in the language of
a prisoner, who says: “After examination I was shown to my cell. It
was now about two o’clock in the afternoon of my first day in prison.
I remained in the chair during the entire afternoon. Of all the dark
hours of an eventful history none have been filled with more gloom and
sadness than those of my first day in prison. All my life I moved in
the highest circles of society, surrounded by the best and purest of
both sexes, and now I was in the deplorable condition of having been
hurled from that high social condition down to the low, degraded plane
of a convict. As I sat there in that desolate abode of the disgraced I
tried to look out down the future. All was dark. For a time it seemed
as if that sweet angel we call Hope had spread her wings and taken her
departure from me forever. The black cloud of despair somewhat settled
down upon me. But very few prisoners possess the ability to make
anything of themselves after having served a term in the penitentiary.
I sat brooding over these things for an hour or more and my manhood
asserted itself and hope returned. I reasoned thus: I am a young man,
I enjoy good health, there will be only a few months of imprisonment,
and then I will be free. I thought of my loving wife, little children,
my aged mother, my kind friends, and for their sake I would not yield
to despair. Soliciting aid of a kind heavenly Father I resolved to do
the best I could toward regaining what I had lost. I was aware of the
fact that when I got out of the penitentiary all the money I would
have with which to make another start in life would be five dollars.
The United States presents her prisoners upon discharge with a suit of
citizens’ clothes and five dollars. This was my capital.”
Truly such a sad condition would be deplorable, but the prisoner can
only assert his manhood, lay his plans for the future, and determine to
rise above it all, which is not impossible. Many have risen to a good
standing in life. What has been done can be done again.
Prisoners who are sentenced to be hanged are generally taken to a
cell in the execution house separate from the other prisoners. The
convict thus doomed spends the time in this prison and is not required
to work. A few months ago I visited a prison, and in the execution
building I found two prisoners in solitary cells. One seemed to have
made his peace with God, but the other was in deep trouble over his
soul, was not ready to meet God, and had only a few more days to live.
It seemed he could not pray. He had been reading his Bible and other
religious books, but hope had almost fled. After talking with him for
a time, I said, “Young man, your time is short unless God in some way
intervenes. If you have been guilty of crime and are trying to hide
it from your fellow men or denying the charge, you can not hide it
from God. Acknowledge before him the facts as they are and call upon
him for help.” After praying with him for a while he gave vent to his
feelings in most earnest pleas to God, crying out, “I am a murderer.”
He continued his earnest pleas until the Lord did forgive him. A week
or two later when the death sentence was read to him in his cell, he
was ready, and made the remark that they could only take away his
breath, for his soul would be forever landed in peace. I saw him march
up to the gallows, and as his legs and arms were being strapped and
a rope tied about his neck he glanced heavenward as if breathing a
silent prayer, and when the electric signal was given, he dropped into
eternity.