Before the law I stand a confessed criminal; before God I am only a weak
man trying to do good toward my fellow man. I am guilty of helping a
convicted man escape the clutches of man-made law. I couldn’t help it.
The love I bear humanity welled up, when the young man told his story,
and flooded my reason with the sunshine of sympathy; and I helped him get
away.
Early one morning I went to my wood shed to get kindling to build the
kitchen fire. In the dim light I thought I saw a man crouching in one
corner. A second look convinced me that it was true—there was a man
crouching there.
At first I was frightened, and thought of flight. It’s the first impulse
that comes over me at sight of possible danger. And a strange man, in
a strange place for that man to be, is danger enough to startle even a
brave man, like my wife, for instance.
But on looking closer, and catching a full glance of the startled eyes,
that looked up to me in fear and wild, beseeching hunger for something
his heart yearned for, I changed my mind. Fear gave way to curiosity and
sympathy. I said, “Good morning, brother—can I do anything for you this
morning?”
At the sound of friendly words he stood up, and I recognized in him the
young man who was tried and found guilty of forgery, and sentenced to 15
years in prison.
“I’ve escaped from jail, you see,” he said with a quiver in his voice,
while his boyish blue eyes looked away down into my soul (if I still had
it with me).
“So I see,” I replied. “And now, what are you going to do?”
“You heard me telling my story on the witness stand last week, didn’t
you?” I nodded in the affirmative, and he went on. “Well, nobody believed
me. They thought I was lying to save myself from prison. I told the court
that in my confession, when first arrested and sent to jail, I had plead
guilty to the charge of forgery, to save another man, because the father
of that other man promised to get me out of prison if I would assume the
crime and save the honor of his family.
“Before God that story is true. But the family I was bribed to save has
no honor. From the moment that confession was wheedled out of me, I was
forsaken, and left to the mercy of a jury whom I could not convince
that I was innocent. Not one amongst them would believe that I had
honor enough in my soul to assume the crime of another, because I am a
cobbler’s son. Neither could I convince them that the rich merchant on
B—d street had played false to me.
“I do not blame them. I could not believe it of that merchant myself,
were I not the victim of his perfidy.
“This morning I concealed myself in a barrel of ashes and other trash and
was hauled out of the jail yard by the darkie who drives the refuse cart.
When we got safely away from the jail I rose up out of the trash barrel
and scared that black man half to death. I took advantage of his fright
and told him if he informed the officials of my escape I would swear that
he was guilty of helping me away, for a price, and because I couldn’t pay
him he would not let me off. He promised to keep quiet, so I ran through
the fog and came here.”
“Why did you come here?”
“Because I know you appreciate life and love humanity. I knew you would
believe my story, or at least believe enough of it to awaken your
sympathy and think of the long time fifteen years must be—fifteen years
taken out of my life! The time is too long, even if I were guilty. Won’t
you try to think of how long fifteen years must seem to one so young as
I, and then hide me for a day, and then help me get away tonight? Won’t
you, for the love you bear humanity? Won’t you do so for my mother’s
sake?”
“For God’s sake, stop!” I cried; and then I sat down on the chopping
block and buried my face in my arms and tried to think. “Fifteen years
is a long, long time to take out of a boy’s life! Fifteen years, without
sight of a mother’s face, without flowers or the songs of birds; without
sunshine and the dews that fall from heaven for all. Fifteen years shut
up between black walls, and away from the smiles of women and little
children. God, the sentence is too hard, the punishment too great! We
can’t reform men by treating them as wild animals.”
I looked into his frank blue eyes and asked: “Tell me once more,
truthfully, are you innocent?” And he answered: “Before God I swear that
the story I told you is true!”
I plead guilty to helping a prisoner escape, and I feel no pangs of
regret. Fifteen years between black walls is a long, long time, and the
boy had a mother.