Bold Counterfeiters in Auburn Prison

A few years ago the authorities of Auburn Prison were startled by the discovery that two of their convicts were engaged in the work of counterfeiting, which is a crime against the United States Government.

The two prisoners who were caught red-handed were Louis Julien and Adelbert Chapin. They are good mechanics and know how to handle tools. The curse of our prison system is that those who are sentenced to a term for hard labor have only child’s play for work, hence it is that many convicts find that time often hangs heavily on their hands.

Julien and Chapin, the Auburn counterfeiters, were indicted by the United States Grand Jury at Syracuse, in June, 1904, but were left to fill out their unexpired sentence before being put on trial for the crime of counterfeiting.

On June 14th, 1905, Julien and Chapin, after they had finished their imprisonment in Auburn, were placed on trial in the United States District Court for the crime of counterfeiting while in prison. As both were caught “red-handed,” or as they say “dead to rights,” and with the goods on them, they, on advice of counsel, pleaded guilty and were sentenced, Chapin to two years in Clinton Prison, and Julien to one year in the same place.

It may be of interest to know that these convicts worked in the same shop in Auburn. Their benches joined each other. In their idle moments they conceived the idea of coining money. It was not difficult to carry out this plan, even under the eyes of the prison guards. They succeeded in making a mould for silver dollars and one for nickels; one of the two men was engaged in work that required the use of molten metal. At the proper time Chapin had the moulds all ready and Julien at intervals would carry over the metal in ladles and fill the moulds, until they had made several hundred dollars worth of money, the guard supposing all the time that they were doing their regular prison work. The counterfeit money is said to have been well made and before long much of it placed in circulation.

Two female friends of the convicts came at intervals to visit them during each month and carried away pockets full of the spurious coin and exchanged the same for commodities, which they sent to Julien and Chapin. When one of the women was arrested for passing bad money she confessed everything and then a watch was put upon the men in prison, who were afterwards caught “red-handed.” The astonishing thing is not how they made counterfeit money, before the eyes of the keepers and guards, but how they were able to carry pockets full of the “stuff” to the women in the waiting room.

This is not the first time, however, that counterfeit money was made in a prison. A few years ago a full set of dies, moulds, etc., were discovered accidentally by secret service officers of the Government in the Eastern Prison of Pennsylvania, near Philadelphia.

This was one of the biggest finds ever discovered in a prison and it made a sensation at the time.

Four “cons” were involved in that crime, Hoffman, Smith, Hall and Ashton. Before they had served their time they were indicted and afterwards put on trial in Philadelphia for counterfeiting. Smith and Ashton pleaded guilty and received a suspended sentence and have been living straight ever since. Hoffman and Hall were released on their own recognizance, but having broken their promise to keep out of crime, were re-arrested and are now serving time for the crime of counterfeiting.

CHAPTER XXVIII
SCENES DURING VISITING HOURS IN THE TOMBS

The Tombs Prison is in the nature of a detention barracks, where persons awaiting trial are kept for a season, and where one-half are discharged for lack of evidence and other legal loopholes through which men and women slip to freedom. Here prisoners are permitted to see their friends every day of the week, except Sundays and legal holidays. At the present time when the Tombs contains about 400-500 state and federal prisoners, it can be readily seen that one-half of the inmates are visited daily, which would average a thousand visitors a week.

What a Babel of tongues operate here from every part of the world! What scenes may be witnessed during the visiting hours! Here may be found wives and mothers, fathers, brothers, children and friends all in tears!

Sometimes as many as eight to ten different nationalities are found speaking their own peculiar language on one tier of forty prisoners,—English, German, French, Spanish, Russ, Bohemian, Scandinavian, Polish and even Chinese.

With their arms stretched out through the bars, taking hold of each other in the anguish of a death bed scene, they kiss each other, weep and groan over one another and frequently become hysterical. And these scenes continue during the entire visiting hour, and when the gong rings for the recess, they are so loath to depart that often the keepers have to drag them from each other. As the wives, mothers, children and friends pass along the corridors toward the gate, you can see their eyes still full of tears and red with weeping.

These scenes, which are unspeakably pathetic, are almost daily witnessed in the New York Tombs. Here, for example, is an aged mother at a cell door, whose heart is wrung with anguish over the downfall of a son. She holds his hand while the tears trickle down her kindly, motherly face. Oh, how sad that the innocent have to suffer because of the wrong doing of others, that human love and sympathy are so interwoven that the crime of one individual causes many to sorrow, and renders life burdensome! At the cell of a man charged with murder stands his sorrowing wife and three children. Their plain and faded garments indicate poverty. The pinched and careworn face of the wife tells of the terrible struggle for a livelihood she is making because deprived of her husband’s help. The chances are that both she and her children will become inmates of the almshouse or some charitable institution. The prisoner apparently fully realizes the gravity of his position and seeks to comfort his wife and caress into cheerfulness his unfortunate children. The evidence against the prisoner, however, is so positive and convincing that he will be electrocuted. He realizes this but conceals from his wife his feelings, and assures her that he will be acquitted. She becomes hopeful and with a kiss and a smile on her tearful face, departs. Picture if you can the scene in the home of this murderer when the news of his conviction is received, the wringing of hands, the moans of anguish, the appeals to God, and the frenzied outcry of inconsolable grief! The innocent suffering because of the guilt of another. Home broken up, mother and children separated, the looks askance of the neighbors, the world’s frown, and a heritage of shame and woe for mother and children!

At another cell door stands a father silently weeping, while the guilty son tries to comfort him with asservations of innocence, but the father does not believe him; he knows his boy is guilty; he knows that for years he has been dishonest and intemperate, and has at last reached the end of his wayward career. The father reminds the son of the earnest warnings, the wise advice, the prayers and the tears of his dear mother. The son pleads for forgiveness and renewed efforts in his behalf. The father gently, lovingly, yet firmly says, “My son, you are guilty. My respect for the law is so powerful that I must uphold it, though it means the imprisonment of my only son. Had this been your only offence to my knowledge, I would do my utmost to secure your release. I have shielded you several times to my sorrow. Had you been imprisoned for your first offence, you would not perhaps be where you are to-day; you might have reformed and been a great comfort to your good mother and myself.” To some extent this father was right, even if he did take a stand contrary to that taken by most men whose sons have violated the law. I do not believe in sending any man to prison who demonstrates his fitness for freedom. If prisons reclaimed and uplifted men and women I would say otherwise, but they do not. I believe that seventy-five out of every hundred leave prison worse than when they entered.

One day my attention was called to a young woman who was silently weeping by a cell door. She was richly attired, and very much of a lady in appearance, and could not be more than twenty years of age. I became interested and on inquiring learned that she was a bride of only a few weeks. She had been wooed and won by a handsome, talented, clever rascal under false pretensions. He had spent a number of months in a Massachusetts town, where his faithful attendance at church and earnest prayers and eloquent exhortations had gained him the confidence of the leading people of the place. At a sociable he had formed the young lady’s acquaintance and by his ingratiating ways, scholarly address and earnest protestations of affection, soon induced her to consent to marry him. Her parents at first stoutly protested, but yielded to the importunities of the much loved daughter. A brilliant wedding was the result, with guests from New York and all parts of New England. To the bride the father gave $10,000 as a wedding gift. A trip to Montreal, where the wily rascal obtained control of the money, terminated her dream of a happy married life. In three days he had gambled away the entire sum. To New York city they then journeyed, where at one of the leading hotels the rascal passed a worthless check, which led to his apprehension and confinement in the Tombs to await the action of the grand jury. Earnest petitions to the bride’s father were stubbornly and wisely denied. A careful investigation established the fact that the rascal who had so cruelly and unpardonably deceived the estimable young lady, had been an inmate of four prisons, and was one of the most notorious criminals in the country. It furthermore became known that at the time he was in Massachusetts, he was wanted in St. Louis for defrauding an Insurance Company to the extent of five thousand dollars. He was hiding in a quiet Massachusetts town and improved the time in winning for a bride the daughter of one of the most influential and aristocratic families in old New England. He was sent to Sing Sing Prison for several years, and the wife well nigh brokenhearted and bowed to the dust in humiliation, returned to her parents a sadder and a wiser woman. A divorce was the result.

I have seen mothers and wives kneeling at cell doors and pleading with God for the deliverance and reclamation of sons and husbands. I have seen prisoners so conscience stricken and so moved by the tears and sufferings of dear ones, that they wept in their agony and firmly resolved to lead moral lives, and they kept the resolve.

I have said nothing about the poor and their sufferings, and more especially the children of the poor when for some unknown reason they came within the meshes of the law. Some years ago I had occasion to meet a German lad in the Boys’ Prison. He was what the boys call a “tenderfoot.” He cried night and day. I felt very sorry for him. He was indeed inconsolable and it seemed nothing could be said which would make him dry his tears or infuse new hope into his discouraged heart. He cried continually for his mother and although word was sent to her, no mother came. His sufferings became so acute that I would have done anything in my power for the boy. After waiting ten days and no mother came, at the urgent request of one of the keepers I went in search for her. She lived on the East side, near Station Street, about five blocks from the Bowery. She was bloated, coarse, unmotherly, without any natural affection, and I saw at once that she cared more for her vile business than her own child. I could do nothing with her.

I do not think I shall ever forget the case of the newsboy, who was arrested at the Brooklyn Bridge entrance for selling papers. Complaints had been made to the police of some ruffian boys who took pleasure in insulting people who would not buy papers. The officers had received orders to arrest the first offender and make him an example. Frank Smith was then at the desk in the old prison. He had just taken a boy to the ten day house, and asked me to go and see him. I did so. I found the poor boy inside the big iron gate crying his life out. No one could comfort him. I tried to find out his offence, but he would not stop his crying long enough to tell me. I went over to the police court, but as there was a large calendar that day, I could get no information. I returned to the Tombs. As I came near the boy I found that his two little sisters had come to see him. They had heard of his misfortune and had sought him out as soon as possible. It was one of the most pathetic sights that I ever witnessed. The boy lived with his mother and sisters on East Broadway. They were Jews and very poor. The mother was ill at home, suffering from an incurable disease, and was then on her death bed. Reuben, the diminutive newsboy, was trying to support the family by selling papers. The sentence of the court was thirty days in the city prison or a hundred dollars bond. But this was out of question for the family. When I returned from court I found the two sisters crying bitterly at the gate and begging Rubie to come home. Their cry was, “O Rubie, come home, won’t you? Mamma is sick and ready to die. Won’t you come home with us, Rubie?” All this time they were weeping bitterly and everybody was affected, even the tiermen. I could not stand it any longer. I saw the magistrate at once and told him the situation. He would not discharge him under any circumstances. When I saw that I could make no further impression I offered myself as Rubie’s bondsman, and the Judge accepted me and the boy was at once discharged and went home with his sisters. I saw one of the Bridge policemen and asked that Rubie be not arrested on account of his poverty and the fact that he had a dying mother at home, and he kindly spoke to the others at the Bridge and Rubie was never molested after that day.

The scene which had the most powerful effect on me and which has stayed by me the longest, moving me to tears even to this day, was the beholding two little girls, sisters, conversing with their brother who was accused of burglary. The oldest sister was about thirteen years of age, the youngest about three. All were crying bitterly, with the little one sobbing out, “Oh brother Willie, come home, please come home, we have had nothing to eat all day, and we had no supper last night. Why don’t the naughty man (the keeper) let you come home?”

What were the facts about this little sorrowing group? Three orphans, the boy about nineteen had cared for his sisters faithfully and tenderly. His record was good, had been employed by one firm for more than nine years, and had given general satisfaction. One evening while passing along Second Avenue, a thief rushed by pursued by a policeman; as he passed Daly (so we will call him) he thrust into his pocket a gold watch and chain, which the policeman observed. Daly was arrested as a confederate of the thief and turned over to the police. After learning these facts and fully verifying them, I succeeded in securing the release of the prisoner, who to-day is one of the best and most prosperous carpenters in the city. The pathetic face of the baby sister I have never forgotten, nor her innocent pleading for the return home of her dearly and deservedly loved brother.

I have stood opposite “Murderers’ Row” and counted more than twenty-five visitors eagerly talking with men whose brutal appearance and awful crimes rendered them repulsive even to their fellow men. Some of these twenty-five visitors did not even so much as know the prisoners, and had merely read of their crimes in the papers and prompted by curiosity, and a mawkish sentimentality, had called to express sympathy and tender their help. Some of the visitors were richly gowned and daintily gloved men and women. They brought hampers of food and large bouquets. One would think that these murderers were heroes and martyrs, from the treatment accorded them by these women whose conduct seemed to me almost inexplicable. The man whose crime was most awful and grewsome in its details received the most attention. What is there about a murderer to attract refined women I cannot understand, and I have given the subject considerable thought. To see a cultured woman almost caressing a brutal murderer who is an entire stranger to her is a sight sufficient to cause any sane man to wonder. It seemed to me it would be more consistent if they called on the family of the victim and offered them help and sympathy.

To the student of human nature, visiting hours at the Tombs afford a good opportunity to study phases of life not found elsewhere. Let him pass from cell to cell, carefully observing the visitors at each, the expression of their features, their gestures, their attitudes. On some faces sits hope, radiant, beautiful and very encouraging to the prisoner. On another face the stamp of fear, doubt and uncertainty is clear. The son or husband is in danger. The evidence points to guilt and conviction, too much indeed to encourage even the shadow of hope. Another face bears sorrow and tears, and discouragement has left its unmistakable impress. One finds on few faces the stamp of resignation. Hard it is for a mother or a wife to become reconciled to the thought of a son or a husband, serving a term in prison, however guilty he may be.

Negro criminals have the most cheerful and encouraging visitors. The Black race is blessed with a disposition to view the bright side of all situations and experiences. It is a cheerful race. The Negro is a foe to gloomy thoughts. It is hard to depress him. He will dance, sing and make merry at the foot of the gallows. The Negro visitors enter smiling and so depart. They talk with prisoners just as though they were free and comfortably ensconced in pleasant homes. They cheer instead of depressing the prisoner.

The Italians are really distressing in their efforts to comfort friends in prison. They jabber, whine, cry, caress and condemn and reproach until they have the prisoner in a state bordering on insanity. They leave him in a condition truly pitiful. Instead of cheering him, he has been rendered far more miserable by his visitors. He dreams of electric chairs, prisons, policemen and handcuffs. The bananas his visitors bring he could well do without, as he could the visits of friends who so greatly depress him.

Fritz appears and says to Hans, “I think you go by the prison alretty, ain’t it?” “Naw, I thinks I go by the shudge bimeby, pretty quick, and he lets me go home to mine Louisa. I am not guilty alretty,” responds the hopeful Hans. German visitors as a general thing conduct themselves sensibly. They are not emotional, but hardheaded and sensible. They smoke with the prisoner, laugh and joke, and leave him in a cheerful frame of mind. The German is sociable and not easily rendered gloomy or depressed. The German visitors try to imbue prisoners with the idea that their trouble will soon end, and in a few days they will be sitting in Hoffmans’ beer garden with a glass of lager, and a plate of sauerkraut before them. So believing, the prisoner lies down to pleasant dreams.

The privilege of seeing and conversing with friends, all things considered, is a great boon to prisoners and should never be denied them, especially those awaiting trial. Many a man naturally inclined to take a dark view of his trouble has been kept sane and sound from self-murder by the daily appearance of some loved one. The human heart when filled with fear and foreboding yearns for sympathy, encouragement and comfort. If these influences be withheld, the sufferings are so terrible as to pass human understanding. To an imprisoned man who is friendless, the coming of sympathy and kindly helpful interest is like a visit from God’s Holy Angels.

No wonder the prisoner cries out in the night in the agony of soul. No wonder he offers a plaint that is sad and sorrowful. The following lines from the pen of an unfortunate show the harshness of even our modern prison life:

“I know not whether the law be right,

Or whether the law be wrong;

All that we know who lie in jail

Is that the bars are strong;

And that each day is like a year—

A year whose days are wrong!

And this I know that every law,

That men have made for man,

Since man first took his brother’s life,

And the wretched world began,

But scatters the wheat and saves the chaff

With a most unlucky fan!

This too I know and wise it were

If each could know the same

That every prison that men have built,

Is built of bricks of shame,

And bound with bars lest Christ should see

How men their brothers maim.”

CHAPTER XXIX
DOES IMPRISONMENT REFORM?

This is a hard question to answer, although it has been asked extensively down through the ages. The answer will turn mainly on what you mean by reform. It is interesting to know that students of criminology have wrestled with the question, but cannot agree on the answer. As an abstract question it is very clear to us that imprisonment of itself cannot reform. Force cannot change a life, nor restore the image of God in the soul. When a lawbreaker is placed inside the walls of a prison, force uses the machinery of the institution to compel him to pay the penalty of the law. But it cannot reform him, nor make him a better man, nor change his nature. That work must be done by a higher Power.

Not only can it be truthfully said that imprisonment does not reform the law-breaker, but in most of our prisons the culprit has only to serve a brief sentence, to come out a worse man than when he went in. This is a sad statement to make, when we think of all our boasted liberties and advanced civilization, but it is nevertheless true. For the explanation of this condition of affairs it is not necessary to look far. The fact is, the unfortunate lack of proper classification in all of our prisons makes the companionship of thieves and cutthroats so demoralizing, the fellowship so infectious, the language and habits so debasing, that out of thousands of persons who mingle together in a modern prison, few escape the contaminating influences.

When a man has been charged with a crime, the first thing that is done by society is to arrest him and lock him up in a little dark dungeon, 4x6 feet, with hardly enough cubic space of air coming in through the small iron grating to make it sanitary. Here he is kept weeks and sometimes months before a trial is given him, breathing the fetid atmosphere of the institution, which after a time poisons his entire system, and paints his face with the prison pallor.

Here it is that many a man who has brooded over the past to such an extent that when he has atoned for his crime, and he finds himself a free man once more, has made up his mind to fight society to a finish! From this time on his hand is against every man, and every man is against him. The imprisonment has aroused in him the darkest passions of an unregenerate life, and made him a moral anarchist for the fancied wrongs he has suffered. Said a man to me who had spent nearly twenty-four years in prison, having been convicted of crime eight or ten different times, when I asked him why he did not go to work when he came out of Caldwell Prison, N. J., “Me work! I will never work. When I was sent to prison for the first time, I received a good deal of harsh treatment. I then vowed vengeance for the wrongs done me. No! I will steal as long as I live, but I will never work.” Whenever I touched on prison life, the subject awoke bitterness in his soul, and for the time being he spoke like a maniac. The fact is, over fifty per cent. of all first offenders come from our penal institutions, and after a brief period return to crime again, unreformed and uncured.

The prison authorities should always bear in mind that no matter how deep-dyed in crime the inmates may be, they are moral beings, made in the image of God, and are therefore worth saving, and may be saved if the proper methods and influences are brought to bear the right way on their minds and lives. While there is life there is hope.

It is true, the men in prison, no matter how intelligent, have little influence over the authorities in bringing about needed reforms. They are regarded as having no right to complain, nor even to ask for favors. If they are to receive favors, others must speak in their behalf. Even the suggestions of criminals are usually ignored by the prison authorities, as they are supposed to be moved by sentiment, or often by mercenary reasons.

In dealing with crime, it should be the settled policy of the State to use every means possible, although sometimes expensive, to bring about the reformation of the prisoner. It is a well known fact that when a thief is sent to prison, absolutely nothing is done to teach him the why and wherefore of the Eighth Commandment, “Thou shalt not steal.” Out of 168 hours in seven days, one, or possibly two, hours are devoted to religious training. If the thief, the perjurer, the gambler, the swindler and others of that ilk are to be reformed, why not use means for the accomplishment? Why not have moral and ethical teaching, or addresses of some kind daily? Every one saved from a life of wrongdoing will necessarily reduce the cost of crime!

Although all cruel and inhuman methods of punishment are forbidden in nearly all of our prisons, and the punishment for crimes that is meted out to criminals was never so free from malice and revenge as it is to-day, yet we are free to say that as far as prison reform is concerned, we have not yet reached the ideal.

Capital punishment as it is practised at the present time is in our opinion simply a relic of barbarous times. No one on this planet is authorized to take away life. God gave it, and He is the only One that can take it away. And no matter what kind of punishment may be meted out to the homicide, the worst and most foolish thing that can be done to him is to put him to death. It matters little what a man’s crime is, if he is to be reformed, he should have a future hope held out to him, and he should realize it, provided he can show by his life that he is worthy of it.

While it is true civilization has been in the forward march the past three hundred years, crime has been slowly and perceptibly on the increase; that is to say, crime has been growing faster than the population. The fact that so many jails and reformatories are being erected in all the States and Territories is evidence enough to substantiate that statement. Statistics show that the growth of population in this country has maintained a steady increase since 1850, with an average perhaps of about thirty per cent. each decade, while the criminal increase during these same periods will average eighty per cent., or nearly three times as large as the increase in population.

In former years the methods in vogue for reforming men and women behind the bars were the stocks, the dark cell or dungeon, the whipping-post and the tread-mill, nearly all of which have been abolished during the past century, and more humane methods have been used, we are glad to say, which is a cause for rejoicing among Christian people everywhere.

Perhaps one of the greatest needs of the prisons of this country is their complete divorce from politics and their reorganization on business principles of merit and capability. While it is true that the civil service law, which operates in nearly every State, has raised the standard of merit among the prison officiary, notwithstanding inferior men, entirely unfitted for such work, creep into these institutions as a reward for political services.

But it is also true that the prisons of the twentieth century are as far advanced from those of the middle ages as those of the middle ages are ahead of the prisons that existed at the beginning of the Christian era. In those days jails were little better than hog pens, perhaps much like the old cistern into which they thrust Jeremiah the prophet, when they let him down with cords, and where his feet sank in the mire. Such prisons were places of pestilential horror, cold and damp, from which the sunlight was entirely excluded, and where the chains often rusted on the hands and feet of the prisoners.

The evolution of the prison has been a long, dark, cruel process, as it did not excite the interest and sympathy of the church till within recent times. It is admitted now that prison reform began with Jesus Christ, who, when He had conquered death and hell on the Cross, went up to glory with the blood-washed soul of a repentant prisoner in His arms, leading captivity captive. From this time on, the era of seeking to save and help the prisoner began. But it did not make the advances it should have made till the days of John Howard, who is called the morning star of prison reform.

It is greatly to be regretted that no efforts are put forth to raise the moral tone of our prison management. In Great Britain and the Continent of Europe, there are schools for the proper training of prison officials. In these schools are taught the military spirit, alertness, courteous behavior, and quick movements in case of emergency. But it is doubtful if in any of the schools they teach the officers to appeal to the better nature of the prisoners for any permanent reform. The work of a modern prison is largely one of punishment and repression. There are no lectures on hygiene and sanitation, nor on manliness or how to resist temptations, nor is anything done to incite them to live a new life, except what comes through the Chaplain, and that only once a week.

In studying the early stages of lawlessness from the rudest times to the present day, I am satisfied that crime grows on the mind by insensible degrees, and shows itself only at the propitious time when the overt act brings the individual into prominence.

I also believe that a certain class of delinquents are made more vicious by prison life, simply, because their moral instincts are already perverted, and by the lives they have led in the past. Such hopeless people should be sent to lunatic asylums, rather than to prisons, as we believe they are more in need of medical treatment than punishment.

One of the most needed reforms of the present century is the necessity of putting forth more efforts to save beginners in crime. In many of our prisons, criminals are huddled together like sheep, and as a result the young offender learns more evil in one week from old crooks than ever he knew before. There is nobody to blame for this but the old methods that are still in vogue. Often criminals are driven to crime by motives generated in a vicious nature, and as they are too weak to resist the high pressure of modern temptations, they soon become law-breakers. It is foolish to talk of the criminal classes, but criminal individuals. Criminality is simply the darkened side of a human life, showing itself in deeds of wickedness and rebellion. Anybody under the dominion and power of the Evil One will dare to commit the most atrocious crime on record, and will not think of the consequences at the time.

I am satisfied that the reclamation of the criminal, and his restoration to society, a saved man, should be the first duty of every well organized prison.

It is to be regretted that the greatest barrier in the way of reforming and saving the prisoner is found in our antiquated methods of dealing with him. Whatever else imprisonment is to-day, it certainly does not reform the unfortunates who are sent there. Hundreds and thousands of lives have been blasted forever by prison life, that might have been saved if proper efforts had been made at the right time to place them on parole before being sent to prison. All first offenders should get a chance by being paroled.

CHAPTER XXX
STRONG DRINK AND CRIME

From actual observation as a Prison Chaplain, and a careful study of this subject extending over several years, together with repeated interrogations and conversations with thousands of prison inmates, committed thereto for every crime on the calendar; and, further, from personal inquiry among experienced prison officials in various parts of the country, I say frankly without any hesitation or equivocation that strong drink is the most prolific cause of crime in the United States. I further affirm that after thousands of personal conversations with men and women charged with murder, robbery, assault and every form of larceny, and from interviews with criminal judges and magistrates, I firmly believe that from seventy to eighty per cent. of all the crimes of the day can be traced directly or indirectly to strong drink. I have said more than once in public addresses, in the past twelve years, that if the saloons of this city were outlawed for two years, the prisons of Greater New York would be almost tenantless.

I believe the only way to reduce crime is to stop the manufacture and sale of intoxicating liquors, which in the end will close the gin-mills that swarm our cities and villages, and which are the real generators of crime.

We deeply regret that many of our well meaning people are poorly informed on this question. They look with longing eyes for help from our State and National political partisans for the overthrow of this traffic, but these fond idols of the people care nothing whatever for moral reforms. They are in politics only for what they can make out of it, and not for the reformation of the people, and are indulgent toward the saloon vote.

Some time ago, a New York paper gave a list of persons who were confined in the City Prison charged with the crime of homicide. In this list the names of thirty men, two women and a boy were given. They were then awaiting trial for murder. All of them have since been tried, with the result that several have been sent to the death house at Sing Sing, a large number to prison for long and short terms, and a few discharged for lack of evidence. In an analysis which we personally made at that time we counted twenty-five persons who admitted that they were under the influence of strong drink when they committed the crime of murder.

At that time, Dr. Robert S. Newton, a New York physician and specialist in mental disorders, presented a carefully prepared paper on the causes that led to murder in each case, but, strange to say, he does not mention strong drink, although that was the principal direct cause of twenty-five out of the thirty-three cases. Dr. Newton never met any of these persons mentioned in this article, charged with the crime of murder, nor had he any conversation with them before or after their imprisonment, but simply from the standpoint of an alienist, he presents a speculative analysis of what he considered the causes that led to their crimes.

I met all of these people face to face, conversed with them, and watched their trials in the Criminal Courts till finally disposed of. Most of them made voluntary statements in relation to their crime, and I was painfully struck with almost the identical words from the lips of each, and all of these men, who closed the narrative by saying: “I was drunk at the time, and did not know what I was doing.” They did not say this for the purpose of securing sympathy, or apologizing for their crime, but simply admitted that strong drink made them half-insane, and in that state they committed the crime of murder.

With only the names of the actors and victims before him, and a brief statement of each crime given by a New York paper, Dr. Newton proceeds to give reasons for the homicides in detail. This is what he says by way of explanation:

“New York is one of the hardest places in the world in which to analyze crime. One of the chief motives of crime is the publicity given to it. It allows every criminal to keep thoroughly posted as to what is done with his own class, what is the character of the punishment, and the number accused who escape punishment. The relations between the criminals and the police are well known. The police certainly have no deterrent effect upon the criminal, for there are numerous cases in which they acted as intermediaries.” And further he says: “I believe that this great wave of crime which has suddenly come upon New York within the last few months is due solely to the opportunities which the evil-disposed, but not yet criminal, have of mixing with this dangerous element. In foreign countries crime is restricted, and the criminal readily found, for the reason that he is compelled to associate with people of his own class, and the only public places he goes to are known as thieves’ dens. In no city in the world but New York are men whose pictures are in the Rogues’ Gallery and known to every police official, allowed to enter reputable hotels, restaurants, theatres, etc. There is not only less crime in the large continental cities than here, but crime is surely punished. When the reputable citizen is robbed or assaulted, he knows or suspects where the criminal came from, but here criminals go everywhere, and the person has really no protection from them.”

In regard to suicides, the Medical News says:

“New York City is not the worst of the cities of the United States in the matter of its suicide statistics. By actual comparison it is only fifth on the list, St. Louis having the unenviable distinction of being first in this regard. It is a curious reflection that St. Louis, with its German population and the reputation the city has acquired for the manufacture, if not the consumption, of a large amount of high-grade beer, should occupy the same place in suicide statistics that was held for a long time by Munich, in Bavaria, which enjoys the distinction of supremacy in the same line of business.”

In General Bingham’s report for 1907, it is recorded that the New York police arrested 204,119 for the year. Out of this number no less than 92,045 persons were arrested for intoxication, disorderly conduct, and the violation of the Liquor Tax Law. As can be readily seen, all of these arrests were the direct result of the licensed saloon. In other words, if there were no saloons or intoxicants in this city, more than 92,000 persons would have been immune from arrest and imprisonment. These facts speak for themselves, and need not the impassioned eloquence of the orator to make them clear.

In his report for 1908, the Commissioner omits all mention of the arrests for intoxication and disorderly conduct, but places these offences under the head of misdemeanors. This was done, no doubt, to ease the consciences of the rum and beer interests, who do not want to see in cold type the number of persons who are daily ruined by this damnable business.

Last year there were 244,000 arrests in Greater New York. Judging from the figures of other years, one half must be laid at the door of the saloon.

The following table, which we received from the State Department of Excise, shows the number of liquor tax certificates in force, and the money received therefor. This table covers what are known as the five boroughs of Greater New York:

LIQUOR TAX CERTIFICATES AND MONEY RECEIVED.


Boroughs		No. Ctfs. in Force.Money Received.
Manhattan and the Bronx7,015$7,876,561 09
Brooklyn3,8363,632,191 91
Queens1,344513,095 65
Richmond479181,523 75
───────────────
Total12,674$12,203,372 40

From these figures it will be seen that the license tax paid the State for the privilege of selling rum, which damns our fellow men, amounted in 1907 to $12,203,372.40.

In an article of mine which appeared in Harper’s Weekly for March, 1907, I computed the cost of crime in Greater New York, in a tabulated statement, at $35,552,134.34, which is about a third of the entire expense appropriated by the Board of Apportionment for running the city for the year.

It ought to be known that the churches, chapels and mission halls of Greater New York, of all denominations, Protestant, Catholic and Jewish, number 1,200. The number of licensed saloons, on the other hand, in these boroughs, is 12,674. That is to say, the Devil has more than ten saloons in Greater New York for every church. This is a sad reflection on our Christian civilization. But it is true.

The cost of the congregational and charitable work of the 1,200 churches and chapels of Greater New York is not more than $8,000,000 a year—possibly less.

But the gross receipts of the 12,674 New York gin mills are not far from $250,000,000 a year!

CHAPTER XXXI
THE ANGELS OF THE TOMBS

To a score at least of ladies of every nationality, creed and culture was the term Tombs Angel given the past seventy years. But out of this number only two ladies by their good deeds had obtained a distinct and permanent claim to the title. These were Mrs. Ernestine Schaffner and Mrs. John A. Foster. The first of these ladies was a native of Hesse-Cassel, Germany. She began her labors in the city prison more than thirty years ago, and became noted for her generous and valorous deeds. Being a widow and in good circumstances, she was able to contribute time and money to aid the unfortunate, so that her services were in great demand. As she was the owner of some real estate in this county, she was able to furnish bonds to hundreds of prisoners, many of whom after they had secured their liberty skipped the country.

To facilitate matters in her chosen work, Mrs. Schaffner opened a law office on Centre street, where friends and relatives of prisoners could call and consult her on all legal matters, without money or price. On many occasions, the late Recorder Smyth, for the sake of protecting her from lying crooks, refused to take her on a bail bond. Although her work was entirely of a humanitarian character, she helped all persons without regard to creed, race or nationality. It might be interesting to know that the first case that attracted Mrs. Schaffner’s attention to prison work was the attempted suicide in the East River of a young German. After he was fished out of the water, he was committed to the Tombs Prison, where Mrs. Schaffner sought him out, took a deep interest in his case, greatly encouraged him, went on his bail bond, furnished him with a lawyer, and finaly secured his discharge. Mrs. Schaffner was a very charitable lady, and did many acts of kindness from time to time, for the inmates of the Tombs.

About ten years ago I had the pleasure of meeting her, and talking over her early labors in the City Prison. She seemed to be a very interesting woman, and intelligent. If she had written a book on her experiences with crooks and how they had disappointed and deceived her after she had expended on them $50,000, she would have chronicled lies big enough to make your hair stand. It is said she died in poor circumstances, about six years ago.

The second Tombs “Angel” was Mrs. Rebecca Salome Foster, the widow of Gen. John A. Foster, a veteran of the Civil War. She began her philanthropic work as a “Prison Angel” about the year 1886-7. She was a woman of much ability and considerable force of character. She was quick in her movements, generous to a fault, and ready to help everyone in time of need, regardless of creed, color or race, and, of course, was often greatly imposed upon by people who used her for selfish purposes.

As her husband was a well known lawyer in his day, and had been a general in the Civil War, this fact gave Mrs. Foster at the start a great amount of influence with judges and magistrates, which would have taken others of lesser note many years to acquire.

At first she confined her labors to the Police Courts and District Prisons, where she gave help to women and girls who had been locked up for petty offences. But for the last ten years of her life she confined her labors to the Tombs Prison almost exclusively.

It is interesting to know how Mrs. Foster began what proved to be her life work as an angel of mercy among prisoners. As I received it directly from her own lips, I feel sure that I have the true account of what is generally believed to be the beginning of a most useful life. The whole thing seems to be providential, and clearly shows how the channels of a life may be changed for good by an insignificant event.

When General Foster was yet alive, Mrs. Foster was called upon to go hurriedly to a police court to intercede on behalf of a boy twelve years of age, the son of a washer woman, who worked occasionally around the Foster home. The boy had been arrested for a petty offence, and General Foster had agreed to defend him in the Police Court, as he was innocent of any crime, but on the day when his case was to be called, the General was too ill to leave his room. He accordingly sent Mrs. Foster with a note to Magistrate Hogan, who was then sitting at Jefferson Market Police Court, asking for an adjournment of the case. When Mrs. Foster reached the court, the case was then on, and when the opportunity came she made such a powerful plea that the Magistrate discharged the boy. He then thanked Mrs. Foster for the interest she took in the case, and as she was about to leave, the Court called her attention to the case of a young, homeless girl, who had been arrested that day for soliciting on the street. The Magistrate asked Mrs. Foster to investigate the girl’s story before he took final action, as he did not wish to send her to the Island, where she would be ruined by association with the depraved inmates of the work house. Mrs. Foster made the investigation, had her paroled in her own custody, and then sent her home to another part of the country. By these acts of kindness, the girl was saved.

One of the most celebrated cases of the day, that brought Mrs. Foster’s name prominently before the public, was the trial and conviction of Maria Barberi, for the murder of Dominico Catalonia, in July, 1895. Miss Barberi was a woman of considerable intelligence. She had been greatly wronged by her lover, who refused to marry her. While suffering mental agony brought on by remorse of conscience, when she saw herself ruined and disgraced as she then was, she killed Catalonia.

While she lay in the Tombs Prison, Mrs. Foster took a deep interest in the case of this Italian woman, and aided her in every way possible. During her trial in the Criminal Court Building, she stood by her side as her best friend. The jury found her guilty. On the day she was sentenced to the electric chair, she swooned when brought to the bar. As she lay in the arms of Mrs. Foster, the Recorder passed sentence of death on her. The same day she was taken to the State Prison. Being in a state of nervous collapse, Mrs. Foster accompanied her to Sing Sing, and was locked in the same cell with her from 5:30 p. m. until 8:00 next morning. That was a sad and dreary night to Mrs. Foster, and seemed long enough to be a year! In that cell Maria Barberi, utterly exhausted, slept and moaned alternately all night, oblivious of her dismal surroundings. During the entire period Mrs. Foster ministered to her needs. There was a solemn stillness everywhere in that sepulchre of the living during those fifteen hours. And the only sounds that could be heard were the tramp, tramp, tramp of the keepers and guards as they patrolled the yards and corridors of the great prison.

In the morning, Miss Barberi was so far recovered that she could be left alone, and Mrs. Foster returned to New York.

After that night, prison life was no longer a theory to the Tombs Angel, but a stern reality.

Mrs. Foster could enter into the fullest sympathy with such people, and give them encouragement. The following year, the Court of Appeals granted Miss Barberi a new trial, and she was in the end acquitted, and is said to be living in this city at present.

Mrs. Foster was killed at the Park Avenue Hotel fire, in March, 1901, and her untimely death has been deeply regretted.

Prison Angels are born—not made. Many persons have tried to be an “Angel to the Prisoners,” but have failed, as no amount of training can make one.

Mrs. Foster during her long and useful life, was a very charitable lady, and in course of a year gave away much money, clothing, shoes and railroad tickets and meals, to hundreds of men and women as they came out of prison. That she had been deceived scores of times by worthless “fakirs” cannot be denied, yet she continued in this thankless work down till her untimely death. In early life, she had the means to give away, and she gave it with a lavish hand. But much of the money, clothing and railroad tickets which she so generously gave to “panhandlers” and crooks just out of prison was worse than wasted, as a great deal of it went for drink, and before long all those “bums” which she had helped were back in the Tombs again. I can recall at the present moment a person of this character, receiving money from Mrs. Foster on a Sunday afternoon to go, as he said, to his home in Connecticut, where he said his friends would give him employment. She was careful when she gave him the railroad fare to hand him a postal card, requesting him to write a few lines when he arrived at his destination. For weeks afterwards, whenever I met her, I asked her if she had heard from the fellow whose fare she had paid to Connecticut. But she always replied in the negative. That worthless fellow was a sample of hundreds of others who had been befriended, but who used the money for drink. My own impression was that he never left the city. When I afterwards came to place him, I found that his name was Murray. I then remembered that he was a chronic “dead beat,” and always took a special delight in swindling tender-hearted humanitarians.

One of the last cases that Mrs. Foster took an interest in before her death was that of Florence Burns, who was charged with the murder of a young man named Brooks. The examination took place in the Court of Special Sessions, before Justice Meyers, who acted the part of a sitting magistrate. The District Attorney was represented by one of his assistants, and ex-District Attorney Backus, of Brooklyn, represented the defendant. Justice Meyers, who is the personification of fairness in his rulings, satisfied both sides. During the hearing, which lasted several days, Mrs. Foster stood by the young woman as her best friend, when all others had apparently forsaken her. But this is just the kind of work Mrs. Foster had been doing—of the most unselfish and loving character to prison unfortunates for nearly twenty years. A year or two before her death, a couple of lying officials of the Tombs told her an untruthful story about one of the missionaries. As soon as she learned how these officials had deceived her, she shunned them forever afterwards.

As is well known, some of the habitues of “Bummers’” Hall become very religious after their own way, and are ready to believe in any or all the creeds of Christendom, provided they can make a few dollars out of the credulous.

I have found that when these fellows try to sell you a “gold brick” or borrow money from you, the best thing to do is to “drop them.” Nearly all of them possess unlimited cheek, more especially as borrowers and beggars. After they have duped you, they chuckle over their smartness.

A Tombs keeper asked one of these chronic “panhandlers” why he did not buy his own tobacco. He replied: “What’s the use, when you have so many ‘suckers’ around here?” A maiden lady, the daughter of a city clergyman, was in the habit of doing missionary work in the prison.

In those days, there was a tall, slick gentleman, who had a remarkable oily tongue. He occupied a cell in the old prison, immediately behind the desk. This crook was able to ingratiate himself into the affections of this young lady, so that he was able to secure from her no less than seventy to one hundred dollars, together with a good deal of warm clothing, and two or three meals prepared at her own home weekly. With the money received, he had one of Begg’s men fetch a pint of “booze” daily. When it was discovered he was immediately shipped to the “Annex,” and all his privileges cut off. Soon after this he was sent to Sing Sing, where he served about five full years.

It is the commonest thing in the world for a crook to ask the assistance of a lady missionary to get him out of prison, and present a “gold brick” story that is nothing but deception and fabrication from first to last. After hearing hundreds of these stories made out of “whole cloth,” I have come to the conclusion that criminals, with rare exceptions, are born liars, and they seldom tell the truth, although it would do them far more good in the end. I have found by careful observation that anyone who has started in to cover up his guilt with lies is in a hopeless state of depravity, and remains beyond the reach of even the Gospel. But it is not alone missionaries and Tombs Angels that are deceived by such characters, but all who give credence to what they say.

Crooks as a rule read the missionary’s character, and soon find out who are the “easy marks” in the prison. As soon as they find a person—usually a woman who is sympathetic—they pour into her ear a tale of woe in which the crook presents a real case of injured innocence and persecution.

Oftentimes people living at a distance write to the authorities asking that something be done to save heinous offenders who are not entitled to any sympathy whatever. And many times young ladies of good breeding and respectability come to the Tombs and ask to see old crooks whose pictures they had perhaps seen in the morning papers.

CHAPTER XXXII
WEDDINGS IN THE TOMBS PRISON

Marriages have been performed in the Tombs Prison since it was first opened in 1838, by clergymen of all denominations, Protestant, Catholic and Jewish, without the least objection. During its long and eventful history it may be said truthfully that Cupid’s arrows have penetrated the gloomy old walls of this dark prison scores of times, where in such cases the love-making ended in a marriage ceremony in which two hearts were made one.

It ought further to be said that these Tombs weddings are of two kinds: Voluntary and involuntary. The latter kind is performed at the request of the Judges of Special Sessions. When a woman goes to the Superintendent of Outdoor Relief in this city, and swears that she and her babe are liable to be a town charge because John Doe, the father of her illegitimate child refuses to give them a support, he is forthwith arrested. If convicted after a fair trial, he is given the alternative of going to prison for a year, marrying the girl, or paying her a weekly allowance. As a rule, if poor, he marries her, as the easiest way out of his troubles. As soon as the knot is tied, “they go on their way rejoicing,” provided everything is all right, and the case against him falls to the ground.

We regret to say that many of these marriages are a failure, simply because the male end of the contract gets mad at being forced into matrimony against his will, even though he knows that he has ruined that girl. As there is seldom any love in such a match, we find in a great many cases after the ceremony is performed, the man runs away. The only redeeming thing about the marriage is that it has saved the name of the mother and child from lasting disgrace. And from henceforth she has a claim upon him for legal support, no matter where he may go. Of course, I always explain the nature of such a marriage to the bridal candidate. If she is willing to take her chances in the lottery of life, and is satisfied, I am always willing to do my part to help her with my services, and for this reason, if he refuses to live with her, she can compel him to pay her alimony in any part of the United States.

But the marriages that attracted the most attention during these years were of persons who really wished to be man and wife, from choice. Of course, their wish is not always granted, for reasons best known to the authorities. The first marriage of this character which excited the people of the city was that of John C. Colt, who was convicted of the murder of Samuel Adams. This marriage took place November 18th, 1842. During the time that Colt lay in the Tombs he was repeatedly visited by one Caroline Henshaw, who had been his common-law wife. As they had never been legally married, Colt expressed a wish that they should be made husband and wife before his execution. The authorities at first refused to give the necessary consent, but afterwards gave permission and agreed that it should take place on the day of his execution, which was fixed for November 18th, 1842. At 11:30 on the fatal day, the bride appeared at the condemned cell, neatly attired in a straw bonnet, green shawl, claret colored cloak trimmed with red cord, and a muff.

Colt was remarkably cheerful for a man who was to die four hours afterwards, but it was his wedding day, and when should a man be cheerful if not that day? The ceremony, which took place in the condemned cell, was witnessed by Judge Merritt, the Sheriff of the County, Colt’s brother, John Howard Payne, the author of “Home, Sweet Home,” and several others. The bride and groom were allowed to be alone for one hour, after which he must prepare for death.

Two hours after she left him to change orange blossoms for sombre weeds, the sheriff and his deputies went to his cell to escort him to the scaffold, which was all ready, when to their amazement, they found that Colt was dead. The gallows had been cheated of its victim. The honeymoon of an hour was past, and he was cold in death.

Protestant chaplains more than once have been severely criticised for performing marriages in the Tombs Prison at the request of the authorities, but when marriages were performed by Catholic priests in the same place, there was no publicity given, nor were they in the least criticised.

On June 29th, 1897, a man named Max H. was married to an actress on the train between New York and Sing Sing. Max had just received a sentence of four years and six months in State Prison. He had asked the authorities to allow him to be married in the Tombs several days before, but they positively refused. At the Grand Central Depot his lady love boarded the same train on which he was, with an Episcopal minister named Lindsay, who was a Tombs missionary. They were bound to be married. Dave Burke was deputy sheriff in charge of the prisoners going to Sing Sing that day. He consented to the marriage of Max and his lady love on the train, and they were married. Cupid could not be put off under any circumstances. The marriage would not have been known, but when the commitment papers were carefully examined at State Prison after the prisoner’s pedigree was given, it was found that when Max was sentenced he was single, but when he reached Sing Sing he was married. This marriage on the railroad train created a great furore in New York, and as a result, the deputy sheriff was dismissed, and the minister soon afterwards left the city.

A few years ago, Lawyer Patrick, who was convicted of the murder of Millionaire Rice, wished to be married before he was sent to Sing Sing, where he has been ever since. Mr. Patrick took pains to sound the feelings of the authorities on the subject, with the result that objections were made against any such ceremony taking place in the prison. But Cupid in this case was smarter than the authorities. On the Sunday previous to his receiving the death sentence, three persons came to the prison, a lawyer, a friend and Patrick’s lady love. The lawyer requested permission from the Warden to see the condemned man, which was granted in the Women’s Prison, where a civil contract was signed, which made them husband and wife, according to the new law. The following day Patrick was taken to Sing Sing.

During the past six years a number of convicted men awaiting trial have begged to be married before going to prison, but I have positively refused, as I found on inquiry that the object in view was solely to secure clemency for some miserable scoundrel on the day of sentence. A recent case was that of a girl named Stella Hamilton, a native of Connecticut. She called at the Tombs more than a dozen of times, and begged to be married to a convict named Williams or Willinsky. This man was a convicted pickpocket, and had served three or four terms in prison already. She told a romantic story that moved many hearts. Her story was that more than a year ago she had been saved from drowning by this man, and now she wished to marry him in return for saving her life on that occasion. Since then it has turned out that the whole romance was a scheme to get clemency for Williams.

A few years ago, a crook asked the Chaplain to marry him to a woman he had wronged, and with whom he had lived as husband and wife. I refused, as I knew him to have a criminal record. The woman had not known this, but should have made an inquiry into his character before entering into such an alliance. He wished the marriage to take place so as to secure sympathy, and save her name. After he had gone to prison, the woman followed him, and asked the Warden to permit the ceremony to take place, as soon as possible, to save her good name and that of the child, but he refused. Then she called on a Supreme Court Justice, who resided in the neighborhood, and stated her case to him. The Judge gave her an order which was served on the warden of the Prison, compelling him to permit the marriage to take place, which was performed by a minister of the Gospel the following day.

It seems the law is very clear on these things. If a man has wronged a woman under a promise of marriage, the fact that the man is in prison does not deprive her of her rights before the law. If they are both willing, she can marry him in spite of busy-bodies, judges and prison authorities.

A scene in the Tenderloin Station House at midnight.

MRS. JOHN A. FOSTER, The Tombs Angel.

CORNELIUS V. COLLINS,
Superintendent of State Prisons.

CHAPTER XXXIII
AFTER SENTENCE, WHAT?

After a person has been convicted of a felony in New York County, either in the Criminal Branch of the Supreme Court, or in the Court of General Sessions, if the sentence is a year in prison, or less, he is sent to the New York Penitentiary on Blackwell’s Island. But if he is sent away for more than a year, he is taken to Sing Sing, or Bear Mountain, the new prison on the west bank of the Hudson, where if he is a first offender, he is detained till he has finished his time.

As soon as he leaves Court, he is taken in charge by the Sheriff, or one of his deputies, who hurries him off soon after to the prison destined for the fulfillment of the sentence.

In the case of those who have been sentenced to the electric chair, they are taken the same day to the place where the sentence is to be carried out. The reason for this is obvious. While in the Tombs or Raymond Street jail, Brooklyn, he is visited by his friends, who might aid in his escape or death by suicide. As the Sheriff knows from experience that it is best to take no chances, he hurries him to prison at once. After he reaches the death house, he is never again allowed to shake hands with any of his friends, lest they might communicate to him poison or a knife.

After reaching prison, the prisoner is practically dead to the world, except that his friends may visit him monthly. Some will return to citizenship again as honest men; others will never pass through the gate till they are carried out to a bed of lime in the little cemetery on the hill-side.

During the transition from court to prison, kaleidoscopic scenes pass through the brain of the prisoner, and are continued indefinitely in his little 3×7 cell, where he spends his first sleepless night.

In England all persons sentenced to penal servitude for a period of two years and over, are sent to what is called the Central Prison for six months for the purpose of observation. This is done that the authorities may be able to put the prisoner to some work best suited to his nature. The Central Prison is the Experimental Station of the English system. The inmate’s physical, mental and moral nature are carefully inquired into, and observations made. This reform was begun about a third of a century ago, and has met with success.

After the newly arrived prisoner enters the Sing Sing or Bear Mountain Prison reception room, he is interviewed by an official, who forthwith takes his pedigree. If the prisoner happens to have any money or valuables, he is relieved of the same, and a receipt given him. They are returned when he leaves the prison.

As soon as the reception is over, he is taken by a keeper to the State Shop. This is the storehouse for clothing. Here he receives a suit of clothes, including underwear, shoes, stockings and cap. The next place is the bath house, where the prisoner has the privilege of staying fifteen or twenty minutes, after which he dons his prison garments, and is sent to his cell for the night. “Some men have a natural aversion to water, and refuse to take a bath when they come here,” said the principal keeper of a large State institution, as he showed me around his establishment. Being anxious to know what they did in such a case, I asked: “What then?” “Oh,” said the P. K., with a twinkle in his eye, “we fix ‘em all right.” I said, “How do you do it?” “Well,” he said, pointing to a corner of the large stone bath-house, “We set ‘em up there, and turn the hose on them. The fact is,” said the P. K., “we give the kickers a good soaking, and then tear the clothes off their back, and they never rebel against a bath afterwards. It cures ‘em, sure.”

This is the first step in the transformation of the prisoner. Next day he is taken before the P. K., who carefully interviews him, to know just what particular work he is best fitted for. The P. K. may interview him daily for three weeks or even a month before sending him to one of the shops. If his health is not good, the prison doctor may be called in, and if suffering from some contagious disease, he is sent to the hospital, or if it is found that he has incipient or chronic tuberculosis, he is sent to Napanoch, in the Ulster Mountains, or Clinton Prison, in the Adirondacks.

These steps in the reformation of the criminal are little known to the outside world. But they are all necessary and important, and carefully observed by our State prison authorities.