MISTAKES OF A CHAPLAIN
One of the surprises of my life I received here in this same
institution. It was a disappointment as well as a surprise. It was in
the character of the chaplain--a minister of the gospel. This professed
follower of the Nazarene was as little a Christian as I. The official
above all others who should obtain the confidence of the prisoners was
the man most detested by them. This dislike on the part of the men was
well founded. He was sectarian rather than Christian, and hostile to
all creeds other than his own. His insincerity was evident from his
daily life. I have heard him preach on the blessings of poverty with
three rings on his fingers, his gold watch lying open on the table
before him, and a ruby throwing scintillating rays from its resting
place in his neck scarf.
A prisoner in the last stages of tuberculosis once sent for him. The
chaplain came to his bedside some few days later. The prisoner was weak
and exhausted from much coughing. The chaplain looked down on him and
asked in a voice toned with disapproval, “Well, what do you want with
me?” The prisoner whispered that he would like him to pray with him.
“It’s too late for that,” the chaplain answered as he turned from the
bedside. Some few days after the man died.
The duties of the chaplain consisted of opening and reading the letters
sent and received by the prisoners, and preaching and praying on
Sundays. We think the Master paid scant attention to _his_ prayers.
The personality of the warden had contaminated the characters of his
underlings with few exceptions. The guards were unsuited to their
positions and held them only by reason of political influence. Like
a flower standing amid a great expanse of tares and thistles stood
one man in this institution. He held at that time the position of
assistant warden, and I ever found him square and decent. It was due
to him in no small measure when the prisoners enjoyed any privileges.
He leaned ever on the side of the man, always human and ready to do a
favor.