DREAMS OF FREEDOM
I
Like an endless _miserere_ are the days in the solitary. No glimmer of
light cheers the to-morrows. In the depths of suffering, existence
becomes intolerable; and as of old, I seek refuge in the past. The
stages of my life reappear as the acts of a drama which I cannot bring
myself to cut short. The possibilities of the dark motive compel the
imagination, and halt the thought of destruction. Misery magnifies the
estimate of self; the vehemence of revolt strengthens to endure. Despair
engenders obstinate resistance; in its spirit hope is trembling. Slowly
it assumes more definite shape: escape is the sole salvation. The world
of the living is dim and unreal with distance; its voice reaches me like
the pale echo of fantasy; the thought of its turbulent vitality is
strange with apprehension. But the present is bitter with wretchedness,
and gasps desperately for relief.
The efforts of my friends bring a glow of warmth into my life. The
indefatigable Girl has succeeded in interesting various circles: she is
gathering funds for my application for a rehearing before the Pardon
Board in the spring of '98, when my first sentence of seven years will
have expired. With a touch of old-time tenderness, I think of her
loyalty, her indomitable perseverance in my behalf. It is she, almost
she alone, who has kept my memory green throughout the long years. Even
Fedya, my constant chum, has been swirled into the vortex of narrow
ambition and self-indulgence, the plaything of commonplace fate.
Resentment at being thus lightly forgotten tinges my thoughts of the
erstwhile twin brother of our ideal-kissed youth. By contrast, the Girl
is silhouetted on my horizon as the sole personification of
revolutionary persistence, the earnest of its realization. Beyond, all
is darkness--the mystic world of falsehood and sham, that will hate and
persecute me even as its brutal high priests in the prison. Here and
there the gloom is rent: an unknown sympathizer, or comrade, sends a
greeting; I pore eagerly over the chirography, and from the clear,
decisive signature, "Voltairine de Cleyre," strive to mold the character
and shape the features of the writer. To the Girl I apply to verify my
"reading," and rejoice in the warm interest of the convent-educated
American, a friend of my much-admired Comrade Dyer D. Lum, who is aiding
the Girl in my behalf.
But the efforts for a rehearing wake no hope in my heart. My comrades,
far from the prison world, do not comprehend the full significance of
the situation resulting from the investigation. My underground
connections are paralyzed; I cannot enlighten the Girl. But Nold and
Bauer are on the threshold of liberty. Within two months Carl will carry
my message to New York. I can fully rely on his discretion and devotion;
we have grown very intimate through common suffering. He will inform the
Girl that nothing is to be expected from legal procedure; instead, he
will explain to her the plan I have evolved.
My position as rangeman has served me to good advantage. I have
thoroughly familiarized myself with the institution; I have gathered
information and explored every part of the cell-house offering the least
likelihood of an escape. The prison is almost impregnable; Tom's attempt
to scale the wall proved disastrous, in spite of his exceptional
opportunities as kitchen employee, and the thick fog of the early
morning. Several other attempts also were doomed to failure, the great
number of guards and their vigilance precluding success. No escape has
taken place since the days of Paddy McGraw, before the completion of the
prison. Entirely new methods must be tried: the road to freedom leads
underground! But digging _out_ of the prison is impracticable in the
modern structure of steel and rock. We must force a passage _into_ the
prison: the tunnel is to be dug from the outside! A house is to be
rented in the neighborhood of the penitentiary, and the underground
passage excavated beneath the eastern wall, toward the adjacent
bath-house. No officers frequent the place save at certain hours, and I
shall find an opportunity to disappear into the hidden opening on the
regular biweekly occasions when the solitaries are permitted to bathe.
The project will require careful preparation and considerable expense.
Skilled comrades will have to be entrusted with the secret work, the
greater part of which must be carried on at night. Determination and
courage will make the plan feasible, successful. Such things have been
done before. Not in this country, it is true. But the act will receive
added significance from the circumstance that the liberation of the
first American political prisoner has been accomplished by means similar
to those practised by our comrades in Russia. Who knows? It may prove
the symbol and precursor of Russian idealism on American soil. And what
tremendous impression the consummation of the bold plan will make! What
a stimulus to our propaganda, as a demonstration of Anarchist initiative
and ability! I glow with the excitement of its great possibilities, and
enthuse Carl with my hopes. If the preparatory work is hastened, the
execution of the plan will be facilitated by the renewed agitation
within the prison. Rumors of a legislative investigation are afloat,
diverting the thoughts of the administration into different channels. I
shall foster the ferment to afford my comrades greater safety in the
work.
* * * * *
During the long years of my penitentiary life I have formed many
friendships. I have earned the reputation of a "square man" and a "good
fellow," have received many proofs of confidence, and appreciation of my
uncompromising attitude toward the generally execrated management. Most
of my friends observe the unwritten ethics of informing me of their
approaching release, and offer to smuggle out messages or to provide me
with little comforts. I invariably request them to visit the newspapers
and to relate their experiences in Riverside. Some express fear of the
Warden's enmity, of the fatal consequences in case of their return to
the penitentiary. But the bolder spirits and the accidental offenders,
who confidently bid me a final good-bye, unafraid of return, call
directly from the prison on the Pittsburgh editors.
Presently the _Leader_ and the _Dispatch_ begin to voice their censure
of the hurried whitewash by the State Board of Charities. The attitude
of the press encourages the guards to manifest their discontent with the
humiliating eccentricities of the senile Warden. They protest against
the whim subjecting them to military drill to improve their appearance,
and resent Captain Wright's insistence that they patronize his private
tailor, high-priced and incompetent. Serious friction has also arisen
between the management and Mr. Sawhill, Superintendent of local
industries. The prisoners rejoice at the growing irascibility of the
Warden, and the deeper lines on his face, interpreting them as signs of
worry and fear. Expectation of a new investigation is at high pitch as
Judge Gordon, of Philadelphia, severely censures the administration of
the Eastern Penitentiary, charging inhuman treatment, abuse of the
insane, and graft. The labor bodies of the State demand the abolition of
convict competition, and the press becomes more assertive in urging an
investigation of both penitentiaries. The air is charged with rumors of
legislative action.
II
The breath of spring is in the cell-house. My two comrades are jubilant.
The sweet odor of May wafts the resurrection! But the threshold of life
is guarded by the throes of new birth. A tone of nervous excitement
permeates their correspondence. Anxiety tortures the sleepless nights;
the approaching return to the living is tinged with the disquietude of
the unknown, the dread of the renewed struggle for existence. But the
joy of coming emancipation, the wine of sunshine and liberty tingles in
every fiber, and hope flutters its disused wings.
Our plans are complete. Carl is to visit the Girl, explain my project,
and serve as the medium of communication by means of our prearranged
system, investing apparently innocent official letters with _sub rosa_
meaning. The initial steps will require time. Meanwhile "K" and "G" are
to make the necessary arrangements for the publication of our book. The
security of our manuscripts is a source of deep satisfaction and much
merriment at the expense of the administration. The repeated searches
have failed to unearth them. With characteristic daring, the faithful
Bob had secreted them in a hole in the floor of his shop, almost under
the very seat of the guard. One by one they have been smuggled outside
by a friendly officer, whom we have christened "Schraube."[46] By
degrees Nold has gained the confidence of the former mill-worker, with
the result that sixty precious booklets now repose safely with a comrade
in Allegheny. I am to supply the final chapters of the book through Mr.
Schraube, whose friendship Carl is about to bequeath to me.
[46] German for "screw."
* * * * *
The month of May is on the wane. The last note is exchanged with my
comrades. Dear Bob was not able to reach me in the morning, and now I
read the lines quivering with the last pangs of release, while Nold and
Bauer are already beyond the walls. How I yearned for a glance at Carl,
to touch hands, even in silence! But the customary privilege was refused
us. Only once in the long years of our common suffering have I looked
into the eyes of my devoted friend, and stealthily pressed his hand,
like a thief in the night. No last greeting was vouchsafed me to-day.
The loneliness seems heavier, the void more painful.
The routine is violently disturbed. Reading and study are burdensome: my
thoughts will not be compelled. They revert obstinately to my comrades,
and storm against my steel cage, trying to pierce the distance, to
commune with the absent. I seek diversion in the manufacture of prison
"fancy work," ornamental little fruit baskets, diminutive articles of
furniture, picture frames, and the like. The little momentos,
constructed of tissue-paper rolls of various design, I send to the Girl,
and am elated at her admiration of the beautiful workmanship and
attractive color effects. But presently she laments the wrecked
condition of the goods, and upon investigation I learn from the runner
that the most dilapidated cardboard boxes are selected for my product.
The rotunda turnkey, in charge of the shipments, is hostile, and I
appeal to the Chaplain. But his well-meant intercession results in an
order from the Warden, interdicting the expressage of my work, on the
ground of probable notes being secreted therein. I protest against the
discrimination, suggesting the dismembering of every piece to disprove
the charge. But the Captain derisively remarks that he is indisposed to
"take chances," and I am forced to resort to the subterfuge of having my
articles transferred to a friendly prisoner and addressed by him to his
mother in Beaver, Pa., thence to be forwarded to New York. At the same
time the rotunda keeper detains a valuable piece of ivory sent to me by
the Girl for the manufacture of ornamental toothpicks. The local ware,
made of kitchen bones bleached in lime, turns yellow in a short time. My
request for the ivory is refused on the plea of submitting the matter to
the Warden's decision, who rules against me. I direct the return of it
to my friend, but am informed that the ivory has been mislaid and cannot
be found. Exasperated, I charge the guard with the theft, and serve
notice that I shall demand the ivory at the expiration of my time. The
turnkey jeers at the wild impossibility, and I am placed for a week on
"Pennsylvania diet" for insulting an officer.