As the turnkey called us from our little, dark cells he said: “Please get ready, for we will have to take the morning train to your home—for some of you a home for some time to come.”
That included me; that meant a home for ten years—and innocent! I had no appetite that morning, for I was thinking of the injustice done to many innocent men, and I was one of them.
We were locked together—shackled—and started away to prison. On arrival we were listed for different crimes. A murderer, numbered 78! And the worst, I thought, was when they cut and shaved my head of hair. Then I was told to don my new suit of stripes and checks. That alone was enough to make any man falter.
“This way,” I heard a gruff voice say.
I looked for someone to look and in a second I felt the strong arm.
“To you I am speaking. I want to show you your cell.”
I had not recovered from the shock of my garments. I was shoved headlong into my cell, dark, and oh, so dreary! Anyone who could experience my feelings at that moment would never commit a crime.
I can not say that I rested well on my new bed that night. I thought that morning would never come. Yet I do not know why I should have longed for day, as I had so long a time to stay. At last breakfast was served—or, rather, thrown at us. I was feverish and excited. All the time I wondered what my work would be. I did not have to wonder long. I was unlocked from my cell and told to step out and fall in line. I did so and onward we marched. A halt was called and I was told to step aside.
A very important man, called guard, said: “You are wanted here, sir!”