Armed with an order from a Supreme Court Judge, which I presented to Warden Johnson, I was led along corridors and passageways till I came to the office of the principal keeper, who then took me in charge. After a brief delay we came to the inner door which is made of steel. A dull heavy thud from my guide, the principal keeper, brought the inside guard to the bull’s eye. He then saw who were at the entrance without opening the door. In a few seconds I was inside the death chamber and the steel door was closed on me. I was then in a place the law calls a living tomb. It was as still as the grave. Not a word was spoken in the room above a whisper. As the shoes worn by the condemned men and keepers are made of felt, no sound came from their movements. These felt shoes are called “sneakers.” The law says that all persons sent to the electric chair must be kept in solitary confinement and in silence till the sentence of the Court is carried out.
Perhaps I ought to say that the mode of changing the death penalty from hanging to electricity went into effect in the three State prisons of New York in January, 1890. The electric chair was set up in Sing Sing in the latter part of 1889, so as to be all ready the following year. On account of the uncertainty of the law, no electrocution took place in this prison until July 7th, 1891; then four men were electrocuted on the same day, one after the other. The names of these men are as follows: James J. Slocum, Harris A. Smiler, Joseph Wood and Schihiok Jugigo.
Nearly two years after the first electrocution, when the death house had five inmates awaiting the death sentence, Osmond, George Megan, Carlyle Harris, Thomas Pallister and Frederick W. Roche, the two latter prisoners made good their escape from the death chambers on the night of April 20th, 1893, and have never been seen or heard of since. These escapes caused a great sensation at the time, as they were the most daring that ever took place, and they seemed to be so well planned and successfully carried out that the general belief was that a dozen of people must have had a hand in it.
The manner of their escape from the doomed quarters was as follows: It had always been customary since the death house was first opened for the inmates to have food warmed at night on one of the stoves. Nor was it uncommon for the keeper in charge to let the prisoners come out of their cell and brew tea or coffee at midnight on a stove which stood in the centre of the room. On the night in question, Frederick W. Roche, one of the condemned men, requested Keeper Hulse to permit him to leave his cell so that he might warm some tea, as he had eaten no supper. The keeper readily acceded to his request as he had done so many times before, not thinking that anything was wrong. Just then Roche threw a handful of pepper into the keeper’s eyes, which almost blinded him. Then Roche took away the keeper’s pistol and keys, and locked him in the cell which he had just vacated and threatened to kill him if he made the slightest disturbance.
After he had opened Pallister’s cell, he invited the other prisoners in the chamber to accompany him, but they all declined. When he requested Carlyle W. Harris to come with him, he politely refused, saying that as he was innocent, he preferred to wait till the Courts gave him a vindication. But the vindication never came, as Harris was afterwards electrocuted, the highest Court having denied his appeal. Pallister and Roche left the death house by way of the skylight window, then dropped into the yard, a distance of fifteen feet. Strange to say, the yard keeper could not be found—where was he? And stealing a boat, which was afterwards found, they made for the river and disappeared. This looks like a put up job!
Strange to say, these jail breakers were gone nine hours before the authorities knew what had taken place. As soon as Warden Brown took in the situation, he dispatched searching parties on both sides of the river, but without the least success. He also suspended Keepers Hulse and Murphy, and Yard Watchman Maher, and then started a searching investigation to find out how it was possible for these criminals to get away as they did. After the investigation, the Warden exonerated the keepers and restored them to their positions.
Where they went to after leaving the prison, no one has ever been able to learn. A common opinion is that they may have been drowned in the river, as two bodies were afterwards found, but this is not sure. Most people seem to think that a schooner was awaiting them in the middle of the river and took them to South America, and the graft in the job amounted to $5,000.
On the day of our visit to Sing Sing there were nine men in this doomed building, all under sentence of death. A week before the Court of Appeals had decided that one of the inmates, a Greek, should have a new trial, which left a vacancy. The persons then present in the death chamber were all well known to me except the two men from Brooklyn, who were Italians.
The whole scene presented to my mind a grewsome spectacle. I was then in the place for the first time, which Mr. Roland B. Molineux describes in his book as “The Room with the Little Door.”
The eight original cells are ranged in a row side by side against the south wall. The thick horizontal steel bars make you think of a cage of wild beasts. In front of each cell,—perhaps a foot from the steel bars, there is a closely woven steel wire netting which prevents a visitor from passing anything to the condemned man, or even shaking hands with him. All conversations must be carried on in whispers. A few doors away there is a little room which contains the death chair. All around it there are straps, belts and wires, which are used for fastening around the body and legs of the condemned man when the sentence of law is about to be carried into effect. As you again look over the audience in the death chamber, unconsciously your blood chills and the cold sweat drops in beads from your brow. It is a dreadful place. Human beings waiting for the slaughter!