“I think if you had a day or two rest in the rest-room it would help you. Come along here with me.”
The rest-room was a dungeon, dark as night. When I heard the heavy iron door close after me, I fell upon my knees and prayed God to take me from the place of darkness. I was hungry and cold. All the time I could hear the words:
“We know you are innocent and will help you, and you shall be out of this place of unjust punishment.”
That night—oh, so long! Cold and hungry I was—I had no bed. The following morning I was given water and was told to drink and be merry; yes, to be merry! I wonder if the outside world could and does believe the stories of the unfortunate ones who, guilty or not guilty, have to endure tortures behind prison walls.
I remained there three days and grew weaker all the time. Why should I not grow weak, living on water and darkness and standing up to sleep?
I was put to work at the same hard labor which I had performed before. I grew faint and fell at my post. I lay there when the guard came upon me. How he did swear! He clubbed me to my feet and reached out for me. One jerk from him raised me from my feet. He had subsisted upon good, substantial food. I was weak, hungry, and sick.
I was taken to the office for a talk on “the carpet,” as we called it in prison. As the Power over all men seemed to look down on me, I raised my eyes to Heaven and asked for proof to convince the official that I was an innocent man. I was hoping against hope for proof, and I heard a voice say: “Take him out. I will see what this lady wants.” The official saw one whom neither the guard nor I saw. I was led away, back to the dungeon.
Some hours afterwards I was again taken to “the carpet.” I was praying silently for proof of my innocence. Again I was told: “Step aside, for the ladies come first.” Later I was told of a very mysterious lady who showed herself unannounced and when she was spoken to, vanished.
Who could it be? When I was a child, I often sat with my dear father and mother around the fireplace and listened with the cold chills running down my back to stories of ghosts, as they called them, and how the ghosts would come and go. No, not where I sat in my dark dungeon and wondered if that lady could talk, and, if so, why could she not come to me and talk to me, as I was all alone. And I again thought perhaps I would not care to have her come to me—not as long as I was in the dark and all alone. But what and who could the mysterious lady be? I was so interested in our ghost woman that I forgot my own troubles.
That night, as I was wishing and praying for morning, and wondering what would be done with me on “the carpet,” I felt that I could hardly wait. At last the sun shone on the prison walls once more, and I was heartily glad. One more day less of my ten years served. But there were still years to serve, and with such treatment and hard labor there was not much encouragement for a poor convict.