RODNEY IN JAIL.
Such are the rewards which sin gives to its votaries; full of
soft words and tempting promises in the beginning, they find, in
the end, that "it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an
adder." Thoughts like these passed through Rodney's mind, as the
jailer led him to a room in which were confined three other
lads, all older than himself. At that time, the system of
solitary confinement had not been adopted in Pennsylvania, and
prisoners were allowed to associate together; but it was deemed
best to keep the boys from associating with older and more
hardened culprits, whose conversation might still more corrupt
them, and they were therefore confined together, apart from the
mass of the criminals.
At first Rodney suffered the most intense anguish. A sense of
shame and degradation overwhelmed him. He staggered to a corner
of the room, threw himself on the floor, and, for a long time,
sobbed and wept as though his very heart would break. For a
while the boys seemed to respect his grief, and left him in
silence. At last one of them went to him, and said,
"Come, there's no use in this; we are all here together, and we
may as well make the best of it!"
Rodney sat up, and looked at them, as they gathered around him.
They were ragged in dress, and pale from their confinement, and
Rodney involuntarily shrank from the idea of associating with them,
regarding them as criminals in jail. But he soon remembered his own
position,--that he was now one of them,--and he thought he would
take their advice, and "make the best of it."
"Well, what did they squeeze you into this jug for, my covey?"
asked the eldest boy.
Rodney told them his story, and protested that he was innocent
of any crime.
The boy put his thumb to the end of his nose, and twirled his
fingers, saying, "You can't gammon us, my buck; come, out with
it, for we never _peach_ on one another."
Rodney was very angry at this mode of treating his story. But, in
spite of himself, he gradually became familiar with the companions
thus forced upon him, and, in a day or two, began to engage with
them in their various sports, to while away the weary hours.
Sometimes they sat and told stories, to amuse one another; and thus
Rodney heard tales of wickedness and depredation and cunning, that
almost led him to doubt whether there was any honesty among men.
They talked of celebrated thieves and robbers, burglars and
pirates, as if they were the models by which they meant to mould
their own lives; and, instead of detesting their crimes, Rodney
began to admire the skill and success with which they were
perpetrated. The excitement and freedom, and wild, frenzied
enjoyment of such a life, as depicted by the young knaves, began to
fascinate and charm his mind. Something seemed to whisper in his
ear, "As you are now disgraced, without any fault of your own, why
not carry it out, and make the most of it? They have put you into
jail, this time, for nothing; if they ever do it again, let them
have some reason for it." Who knows what might have been the result
of such temptations and influences, had these associations been
long continued, and not counteracted by the interposition of God?
But then the instructions of childhood, the lessons of home and
of the Sabbath-school, were brought back to his memory, and he
said to himself, "What, be a thief! Make myself despised and
hated by all good people! Live a life of wickedness and
dread,--perhaps die in the penitentiary, and then, in all
probability, lose my soul, and be cast into hell! No, never! I
shall never dare to steal, or to break into houses; and as for
killing anybody for money, I shudder even at the thought!"
So did the bad and the good struggle together in the heart of
the poor boy. How many there are who, at the first, feel and
think about crime as he did, but who, in the end, become
familiar with vice, lose their sense of fear and shame and
guilt, become bold and reckless in sin, having their consciences
seared as with a hot iron, and violating all laws, human and
divine, without compunction, and without a thought save that of
impunity and success!
All the elements of a life of crime were in the heart of this
wayward boy; and had it not been for the instructions of his
childhood, which counteracted these evil influences, and the
providence and grace of God, which restrained him, he would have
become a miserable outcast from society, leading a wretched life
of shame and guilt.
"I wish we had a pack of cards here," said one of the boys, one
weary afternoon.
"Can't we make a pack?" inquired another.
And then the lads set their wits to work, and soon manufactured
a substitute for a pack of cards. They had a couple of old
newspapers, which they folded and cut into small, regular
pieces, and marked each piece with the spots that are found on
playing cards, making rude shapes of faces, and writing
"_Jack_," "_King_," "_Knave_," &c., under them. With these, they
used to spend hours shuffling and dealing and playing, until
Rodney understood the pernicious game as well as the rest.
"Joe," said Rodney, one day, to the oldest boy, "what did they
put you in here for?"
"Well," said he, "I'll tell you. Sam and I run with the
Moyamensing Hose Company. Many a jolly time we have had of it,
running to fires, and many a good drink of liquor we have had,
too; for when the people about the fires treated the firemen, we
boys used to come in for our share of the treat. There was a
standing quarrel between us and the 'Franklin' boys, and we used
to have a fight whenever we could get at them. I heard one of
the men say, one day, that if there was only a fire down Twelfth
or Thirteenth-street, and the 'Franklin' should come up in that
direction, we could get them foul, and give them a good
drubbing. Well, there _was_ a fire down Twelfth-street the next
night! I don't mean to say who kindled it; but a watchman saw
Sam and me about the stable, and then running away from it as
fast as we could. The fellow marked us, and as we were going
back to the fire with the machine, he nabbed us, and walked us
off to the watch-house, and the next day we were stuck into this
hole."
"But _did_ you set fire to the stable?"
"What would you give to know? I make no confessions; and if you
ever tell out of doors what I have said here, I'll knock your
teeth down your throat, if I ever catch you."
These two boys had actually been guilty of the dreadful crime
of setting fire to a stable. It was used by two or three poor
men for their horses and carts, which was the only means they
had of making an honest living; and yet these wicked boys had
tried to burn it down, just for the fun of going to a fire, and
getting up a fight! There are other boys, in large cities, who
will commit similar acts; but such young villains are ripe for
almost any crime, and must, in all human probability, come to
some dreadful end.
"Hank," said Rodney to another boy,--his real name was Henry,
but Hank was his prison name,--"tell us now what you have done."
"I'll tell you nothing about it."
"What is your last name, Hank?" inquired Sam, after a few
moments' pause.
"Johnson," said Hank.
"Ah! I know now what you did. I read it in the paper, just
before I came in, and, somehow, I thought you was one of the
larks as soon as I clapped eyes on you.
"You see, Hank and some of his gang, watching about, saw a house
in Arch-street, and noticed that it was empty. The family, I
suppose, had all gone to the country, and it was shut up. So,
one Sunday afternoon, four of them climbed over the back gate
into the yard, pried open a window-shutter, got in, and helped
themselves to whatever they could lay their hands on. After dark
they sneaked out at the back gate with their plunder. One of
them was caught, trying to sell some of the things, and he
peached, and they jugged them all. Isn't that the fact, Hank?"
"Well, it's no use lying; it was pretty much so."
"What became of the other fellows, Hank?"
"Why, their fathers or friends bailed them out, and I have no
father, or anybody who cares for me. But"--and he swore a
fearful oath--"if ever I catch that white-livered Jim Hulsey,
who was the ringleader in the whole scheme, and got me into the
scrape, and then blowed me, to save himself, I'll beat him to a
mummy, I will."
And _these_ were the companions with whom Rodney was compelled
to associate! Sometimes he shrank from them with loathing; and
sometimes he almost envied the hardihood with which they boasted
of their crimes. Had he remained in their company much longer,
who can tell to what an extent he would have been contaminated,
and how rapidly prepared for utter moral degradation and eternal
ruin?
What afterwards became of them, Rodney never knew; but they are
probably either dead,--God having said, "The wicked shall not
live out half their days,"--or else preying upon society by the
commission of more dreadful crimes, or perhaps spending long
years of life in the penitentiary, confined to hard labor and
prison fare.
One day, after he had been about two weeks in jail, Rodney took
the basin in which they had washed, and threw the water out of
the window. The grated bars prevented his seeing whether there
was any one below. He had often done so before. It had not been
forbidden. He did not intend to do any wrong.
But it happened that one of the keepers was walking under the
window, and the water fell upon his head.
He came to the door, in a great rage, and asked who had thrown
that water out. Rodney at once said that he had done it, but
that he did not know that he had done any harm.
The man took him roughly by the arm, and, telling him he must
come with him, led him through a long corridor to another part
of the prison, and thrust him into a small, dark dungeon.