The Inmate of the Dungeon | Page 2

another that he could not have had time
to form a conception of the persons present, until his swift eyes

encountered the face of the warden, Instantly they flashed; he craned
his neck forward; his lips opened and became blue; the wrinkles
deepened about his mouth and eyes; his form grew rigid, and his
breathing stopped. This sinister and terrible attitude--all the more so
because he was wholly unconscious of it--was disturbed only when the
chairman sharply commanded, "Take that seat."
The convict started as though he had been struck, and turned his eyes
upon the chairman. He drew a deep inspiration, which wheezed and
rattled as it passed into his chest. An expression of excruciating pain
swept over his face. He dropped the ball, which struck the floor with a
loud sound, and his long bony fingers tore at the striped shirt over his
breast. A groan escaped him, and he would have sunk to the floor had
not the guard caught him and held him upright. In a moment it was
over, and then, collapsing with exhaustion, he sank into the chair.
There he sat, conscious and intelligent, but slouching, disorganized,
and indifferent.
The chairman turned sharply to the guard.
"Why did you manacle this man," he demanded, "when he is evidently
so weak, and when none of the others were manacled?"
"Why, sir," stammered the guard, "surely you know who this man is: he
is the most dangerous and desperate--"
"We know all about that. Remove his manacles."
The guard obeyed. The chairman turned to the convict, and in a kindly
manner said, "Do you know who we are?"
The convict got himself together a little and looked steadily at the
chairman. "No," he replied after a pause. His manner was direct, and
his voice was deep, though hoarse.
"We are the State Prison Directors. We have heard of your case, and we
want you to tell us the whole truth about it."

The convict's mind worked slowly, and it was some time before he
could comprehend the explanation and request. When he had
accomplished that task he said, very slowly, "I suppose you want me to
make a complaint, sir."
"Yes--if you have any to make."
The convict was getting himself in hand. He straightened, and gazed at
the chairman with a peculiar intensity. Then firmly and clearly he
answered, "I've no complaint to make."
The two men sat looking at each other in silence, and as they looked a
bridge of human sympathy was slowly reared between them. The
chairman rose, passed around an intervening table, went up to the
convict, and laid a hand on his gaunt shoulder. There was a tenderness
in his voice that few men had ever heard there.
"I know," said he, "that you are a patient and uncomplaining man, or
we should have heard from you long ago. In asking you to make a
statement I am merely asking for your help to right a wrong, if a wrong
has been done. Leave your own wishes entirely out of consideration, if
you prefer. Assume, if you will, that it is not our intention or desire
either to give you relief or to make your case harder for you. There are
fifteen hundred human beings in this prison, and they are under the
absolute control of one man. If a serious wrong is practiced upon one, it
may be upon others. I ask you in the name of common humanity, and
as one man of another, to put us in the way of working justice in this
prison. If you have the instincts of a man within you, you will comply
with my request. Speak out, therefore, like a man, and have no fear of
anything."
The convict was touched and stung. He looked up steadily into the
chairman's face, and firmly said, "There is nothing in this world that I
fear." Then he hung his head, and presently he raised it and added, "I
will tell you all about it."
At that moment he shifted his position so as to bring the beam of light
perpendicularly across his face and chest, and it seemed to split him in

twain. He saw it, and feasted his gaze upon it as it lay upon his breast.
After a time he thus proceeded, speaking very slowly, and in a
strangely monotonous voice:
"I was sent up for twenty years for killing a man. I hadn't been a
criminal: I killed him without thinking, for he had robbed me and
wronged me. I came here thirteen years ago. I had trouble at first--it
galled me to be a convict; but I got over that, because the warden that
was here then understood me and was kind to me, and he made me one
of the best