ESCAPE AND RECAPTURE
The life of the school for the first six months or so was uneventful.
I spent the time in learning the routine, getting acquainted with the
boys, etc. My first punishment came when I had been there about eight
months. I had been put to work in the kitchen, working there each
morning before school for four hours; in the afternoon returning again
to work till supper at six. The kitchen work was supervised by a woman,
good and gentle, but inclined to be supersensitive about the authority
her position conveyed. One morning I received a barrel of particularly
fine apples, as I supposed, for the usual kitchen purposes. Having a
few pals to whom apples would be in the nature of a treat, I selected
a dozen or so of the largest and finest and stored them away. Imagine
my state of mind when I found out that the apples had been shipped as
the special property of the kitchen overseer. Of course there was high
commotion over the missing top layer, and, of course, I denied that I
had seen the barrel, not to speak of opening it and abstracting the
choicest dozen. It transpired that envious eyes other than mine had
seen me hide them, the “stool” of the family, in fact, and he lost no
time in conveying the information to the head. That night I was led
gently into the punishment room, and experienced for the first time in
my life the pain which sodden leather coming into violent contact with
the bare skin brings. That licking was another step downward. I never
got over the humiliation of that night. It made me revengeful; I vowed
I would get even. I knew I did wrong in taking the apples, and it was
not so much the punishment, it was the method by which I was caught and
found out. That system of espionage exists and is encouraged by the
officials in every penal institution I have been in. It seems that in
every collection of individuals, no matter the strata, there are always
some a little more despicable and lower than the rest. These are termed
“stool pigeons” by the men. I have found them, without exception,
cowards at heart and with less soul than a corporation.
Soon after receiving the punishment I began laying my plans for an
escape. The place had become monotonous. The routine, day after day,
was galling. I longed for the outside life, for just a glimpse of the
city. I wanted to mix again with the people of the outside world.
Daily, at frequent intervals, I heard the long shrill whistle of a
locomotive. How my heart used to beat when I heard it! I imagined the
train with its cushioned seats, and I in one of them, journeying to one
of the many summer resorts for a day’s outing. I envied the birds as
they flew above me in the free air. I wanted to get away from the sight
of the blue coats and visored officials. All of my nature craved for
freedom once more.
The opportunity came. In the middle of the night my pal and I tied the
ends of our bed sheets together and noiselessly slid to the ground,
fifty feet below. We walked five miles to the railroad and boarded a
train that took us speedily away from our former prison. It was good to
be free again. The stars shone like diamonds in what seemed to me the
bluest sky I had ever seen. The air was soft and cool and the rattle of
the train was like music to our ears. We were bound we knew not where,
contented with the fact that we were free. I have thought since then
that I can imagine the feeling of a bird as it rises wing on wing in
the bright heavens after a cage life of weary years.
Daylight found us in a city by the sea in southern New Jersey. I shall
never forget my first sight of the ocean on that eventful morning. It
was the season of summer. The atmosphere was clear as crystal, save
for a glimmering haze in the distance, above which the morning sun
was now sending down rays of golden color. To the far right an ocean
liner was lazily steaming along, the smoke from its funnels darkening
the cast of the sky overhead. Before us a schooner, sails full set,
rolled to the swell of the ocean. The dull moan of the waves as they
broke against the sand-strewn beach seemed full of symphonies. Above
all was the silence of the early morn, broken only by the call of the
wayward gull. Since then I have seen some of the famous scenery of
the world, but never have I been impressed by the beauty of nature as
I was on that morning of long ago. My contemplation of the beautiful
picture before me was rudely interrupted by a slight noise behind me.
I turned and was confronted by one of the officials of the school, his
arms outstretched before him in the very act of laying hands upon me.
I tried to dodge, but the attempt was useless. In a minute he had the
handcuffs on me and I was being led back again to my prison.