the jacket (the star-rover)-第4章

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What　was　Captain　Jamie　to　do？　　He　was　convinced　that　thirty…five

pounds　of　dynamite　were　loose　in　the　prison　and　that　forty　desperate

lifers　were　ready　for　a　break。　　Oh；　he　had　Summerface　in　on　the

carpet；　and；　although　Summerface　insisted　the　package　contained

tobacco；　Winwood　swore　it　was　dynamite　and　was　believed。



At　this　stage　I　enter　or；　rather；　I　depart；　for　they　took　me　away

out　of　the　sunshine　and　the　light　of　day　to　the　dungeons；　and　in　the

dungeons　and　in　the　solitary　cells；　out　of　the　sunshine　and　the

light　of　day；　I　rotted　for　five　years。



I　was　puzzled。　　I　had　only　just　been　released　from　the　dungeons；　and

was　lying　pain…racked　in　my　customary　cell；　when　they　took　me　back

to　the　dungeon。



〃Now；〃　said　Winwood　to　Captain　Jamie；　〃though　we　don't　know　where　it

is；　the　dynamite　is　safe。　　Standing　is　the　only　man　who　does　know；

and　he　can't　pass　the　word　out　from　the　dungeon。　　The　men　are　ready

to　make　the　break。　　We　can　catch　them　red…handed。　　It　is　up　to　me　to

set　the　time。　　I'll　tell　them　two　o'clock　to…night　and　tell　them

that；　with　the　guards　doped；　I'll　unlock　their　cells　and　give　them

their　automatics。　　If；　at　two　o'clock　to…night；　you　don't　catch　the

forty　I　shall　name　with　their　clothes　on　and　wide　awake；　then；

Captain；　you　can　give　me　solitary　for　the　rest　of　my　sentence。　　And

with　Standing　and　the　forty　tight　in　the　dungeons；　we'll　have　all

the　time　in　the　world　to　locate　the　dynamite。〃



〃If　we　have　to　tear　the　prison　down　stone　by　stone；〃　Captain　Jamie

added　valiantly。



That　was　six　years　ago。　　In　all　the　intervening　time　they　have　never

found　that　non…existent　explosive；　and　they　have　turned　the　prison

upside…down　a　thousand　times　in　searching　for　it。　　Nevertheless；　to

his　last　day　in　office　Warden　Atherton　believed　in　the　existence　of

that　dynamite。　　Captain　Jamie；　who　is　still　Captain　of　the　Yard；

believes　to　this　day　that　the　dynamite　is　somewhere　in　the　prison。

Only　yesterday；　he　came　all　the　way　up　from　San　Quentin　to　Folsom　to

make　one　more　effort　to　get　me　to　reveal　the　hiding…place。　　I　know

he　will　never　breathe　easy　until　they　swing　me　off。







CHAPTER　III







All　that　day　I　lay　in　the　dungeon　cudgelling　my　brains　for　the

reason　of　this　new　and　inexplicable　punishment。　　All　I　could

conclude　was　that　some　stool　had　lied　an　infraction　of　the　rules　on

me　in　order　to　curry　favour　with　the　guards。



Meanwhile　Captain　Jamie　fretted　his　head　off　and　prepared　for　the

night；　while　Winwood　passed　the　word　along　to　the　forty　lifers　to　be

ready　for　the　break。　　And　two　hours　after　midnight　every　guard　in

the　prison　was　under　orders。　　This　included　the　day…shift　which

should　have　been　asleep。　　When　two　o'clock　came；　they　rushed　the

cells　occupied　by　the　forty。　　The　rush　was　simultaneous。　　The　cells

were　opened　at　the　same　moment；　and　without　exception　the　men　named

by　Winwood　were　found　out　of　their　bunks；　fully　dressed；　and

crouching　just　inside　their　doors。　　Of　course；　this　was　verification

absolute　of　all　the　fabric　of　lies　that　the　poet…forger　had　spun　for

Captain　Jamie。　　The　forty　lifers　were　caught　in　red…handed　readiness

for　the　break。　　What　if　they　did　unite；　afterward；　in　averring　that

the　break　had　been　planned　by　Winwood？　　The　Prison　Board　of

Directors　believed；　to　a　man；　that　the　forty　lied　in　an　effort　to

save　themselves。　　The　Board　of　Pardons　likewise　believed；　for；　ere

three　months　were　up；　Cecil　Winwood；　forger　and　poet；　most

despicable　of　men；　was　pardoned　out。



Oh；　well；　the　stir；　or　the　pen；　as　they　call　it　in　convict　argot；　is

a　training　school　for　philosophy。　　No　inmate　can　survive　years　of　it

without　having　had　burst　for　him　his　fondest　illusions　and　fairest

metaphysical　bubbles。　　Truth　lives；　we　are　taught；　murder　will　out。

Well；　this　is　a　demonstration　that　murder　does　not　always　come　out。

The　Captain　of　the　Yard；　the　late　Warden　Atherton；　the　Prison　Board

of　Directors　to　a　manall　believe；　right　now；　in　the　existence　of

that　dynamite　that　never　existed　save　in　the　slippery…geared　and　all

too…accelerated　brain　of　the　degenerate　forger　and　poet；　Cecil

Winwood。　　And　Cecil　Winwood　still　lives；　while　I；　of　all　men

concerned；　the　utterest；　absolutist；　innocentest；　go　to　the　scaffold

in　a　few　short　weeks。





And　now　I　must　tell　how　entered　the　forty　lifers　upon　my　dungeon

stillness。　　I　was　asleep　when　the　outer　door　to　the　corridor　of

dungeons　clanged　open　and　aroused　me。　　〃Some　poor　devil；〃　was　my

thought；　and　my　next　thought　was　that　he　was　surely　getting　his；　as

I　listened　to　the　scuffling　of　feet；　the　dull　impact　of　blows　on

flesh；　the　sudden　cries　of　pain；　the　filth　of　curses；　and　the　sounds

of　dragging　bodies。　　For；　you　see；　every　man　was　man…handled　all　the

length　of　the　way。



Dungeon…door　after　dungeon…door　clanged　open；　and　body　after　body

was　thrust　in；　flung　in；　or　dragged　in。　　And　continually　more　groups

of　guards　arrived　with　more　beaten　convicts　who　still　were　being

beaten；　and　more　dungeon…doors　were　opened　to　receive　the　bleeding

frames　of　men　who　were　guilty　of　yearning　after　freedom。



Yes；　as　I　look　back　upon　it；　a　man　must　be　greatly　a　philosopher　to

survive　the　continual　impact　of　such　brutish　experiences　through　the

years　and　years。　　I　am　such　a　philosopher。　　I　have　endured　eight

years　of　their　torment；　and　now；　in　the　end；　failing　to　get　rid　of

me　in　all　other　ways；　they　have　invoked　the　machinery　of　state　to

put　a　rope　around　my　neck　and　shut　off　my　breath　by　the　weight　of　my

body。　　Oh；　I　know　how　the　experts　give　expert　judgment　that　the　fall

through　the　trap　breaks　the　victim's　neck。　　And　the　victims；　like

Shakespeare's　traveller；　never　return　to　testify　to　the　contrary。

But　we　who　have　lived　in　the　stir　know　of　the　cases　that　are　hushed

in　the　prison　crypts；　where　the　victim's　necks　are　not　broken。



It　is　a　funny　thing；　this　hanging　of　a　man。　　I　have　never　seen　a

hanging；　but　I　have　been　told　by　eye…witnesses　the　details　of　a

dozen　hangings　so　that　I　know　what　will　happen　to　me。　　Standing　on

the　trap；　leg…manacled　and　arm…manacled；　the　knot　against　the　neck；

the　black　cap　drawn；　they　will　drop　me　down　until　the　momentum　of　my

descending　weight　is　fetched　up　abruptly　short　by　the　tautening　of

the　rope。　　Then　the　doctors　will　group　around　me；　and　one　will

relieve　another　in　successive　turns　in　standing　on　a　stool；　his　arms

passed　around　me　to　keep　me　from　swinging　like　a　pendulum；　his　ear

pressed　close　to　my　chest；　while　he　counts　my　fading　heart…beats。

Sometimes　twenty　minutes　elapse　after　the　trap　is　sprung　ere　the

heart　stops　beating。　　Oh；　trust　me；　they　make　most　scientifically

sure　that　a　man　is　dead　once　they　get　him　on　a　rope。



I　still　wander　aside　from　my　narrative　to　ask　a　question　or　two　of

society。　　I　have　a　right　so　to　wander　and　so　to　question；　for　in　a

little　while　they　are　going　to　take　me　out　and　do　this　thing　to　me。

If　the　neck　of　the　victim　be　broken　by　the　alleged　shrewd

arrangement　of　knot　and　noose；　and　by　the　alleged　shrewd　calculation

of　the　weight　of　the　victim　and　the　length　of　slack；　then　why　do

they　manacle　the　arms　of　the　victim？　　Society；　as　a　whole；　is　unable

to　answer　this　question。　　But　I　know　why；　so　does　any　amateur　who

ever　engaged　in　a　lynching　bee　and　saw　the　victim　throw　up　his

hands；　clutch　the　rope；　and　ease　the　throttle　of　the　noose　about　his

neck　so　that　he　might　breathe。



Another　question　I　will　ask　of　the　smug；　cotton…wooled　member　of

society；　whose　soul　has　never　strayed　to　the　red　hells。　　Why　do　they

put　the　black　cap　over　the　head　and　the　face　of　the　victim　ere　they

drop　him　through　the　trap？　　Please　remember　that　in　a　short　while

they　will　put　that　black　cap　over　my　head。　　So　I　have　a　right　to

ask。　　Do　they；　your　hang…dogs；　O　smug　citizen；　do　these　your　hang…

dogs　fear　to　gaze　upon　the　facial　horror　of　the　horror　they

perpetrate　for　you　and　ours　and　at　your　behest？



Please　remember　that　I　am　not　asking