 Chapter 14 of It's Never Too Late to Mend. This is a LibreVox recording. All LibreVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibreVox.org. Recording by Mary Maxwell. It is Never Too Late to Mend by Charles Reid. Chapter 14. Mr. Lapel returned somewhat earlier than he had intended. On entering the jail, it so happened that he met the governor and seized this opportunity of conversing with him. He expressed at once a warm and admiration of the jail and the system pursued in it. That pause began to take a fancy to him. They compared notes and agreed that no system but the separate and silent had a leg to stand on. And as they returned together from visiting the ground floor cells, Mr. Lapel had the honor of giving a new light to Hawes himself. If I could have my way, the debtors should be in separate cells. I would have but one system in a jail. Hawes laughed incredulously. There would be a fine outcry if we treated the debtors the same as we do the rogues. Mr. Hawes, said the other firmly, an honest man very seldom finds his way into any part of a jail. Extravagant people and tradesmen who have abused the principle of credit deserve punishment, and above all require discipline and compulsory self-communion to bring them to amend their ways. That is right, sir, cried Hawes, a sudden light breaking on him. And it certainly is a mistake letting them enjoy themselves and corrupt each other. Hawes, a prison should be confinement, lapel, and seclusion from all but profitable company. Hawes, it is not a place of amusement. Lapel, there should be no idle conversation and no noise put in Hawes hastily. However, this prison is a model for all the prisons in the land and I shall feel quite sad when I go back to my duty in Cumberland. Cumberland? Why, you are our new chaplain, aren't you? No, I am not so fortunate. I am a friend of his. My name is Lapel. Oh, you are Mr. Lapel, and where is our one? I heard he had been all over the jail. What, have you not seen him? No, he's never been near me. Not very polite, I think. Oh, oh. Hello, what is wrong? I think I know where he is. He's not far off. Can you go and find him if you will excuse me? No, we won't trouble you here. Hodges, come here. Have you seen the new chaplain? Where is he? Well, sir, Evans tells me that he is… click. Confound you don't stand there grinning. Where is he? In the black hole, sir. What do you mean by the black hole? The dust hole? No, sir, I mean the dark cells. Then why don't you say the dark cells? Has he been there long? Mr. Lapel answered the question. Ever since three o'clock, and it is nearly nine, and we both are of us to drink tea with Mr. Jones. Mr. Haas showed no hurry. What did he want to go in them for? I have no idea, unless it was to see what it was like. Well, but I like that, said Haas. That is entering into the system. Let us see how he comes on. Mr. Haas, Mr. Lapel, and Hodges went to the dark cells. On their way, they were joined by Evans. The governor took out his own keys, and Evans, having indicated the cell, for there were three. He unlocked it and threw the door wide open. They all looked in, but there was nothing to be seen. I hope nothing is the matter, said Mr. Lapel in considerable agitation, and he gripped his way into the cave. As he put out his hand, it was taken almost violently by the cell from Yerde, who cried, Oh, Lapel, and held him in a strong but tremulous grasp. Then, after a pause, he said more calmly, The light dazzles me. The place seems on fire now. Perhaps you will be kind enough to lend me your arm, Lapel. Mr. Lapel let him out. He had one hand before his eyes, which he gradually withdrew while speaking. He found himself in the middle of a group with a sly sneer on their faces, mixed with some curiosity. How long have I been there? asked he quietly. Six hours. It is nine o'clock. Only six hours. Incredible. Well, sir, I suppose you are not sorry to be out? This is Mr. Haas, the governor, put in Mr. Lapel. Haas continued joculously. What does it feel like, sir? I shall have the honor of telling you that in private, Mr. Haas. I think, Lapel, we have an engagement with Mr. Jones at nine o'clock. So, saying the new chaplain, with a bow to the governor, Took his friend's arm and went to tea with Mr. Jones. There, now, said Haas to the turnkeys, that is a gentleman. He doesn't blurt everything out before you fellows. He reserves it for his superior officer. Next morning, the new chaplain requested Mr. Lapel to visit the prisoner's cells in a certain order and make notes of their characters as far as he could guess them. He himself visited them in another order and made his notes. In the evening, they compared these. We must be content with an extract or two. Mr. Lapels. Rock, number 37, a very promising subject, penitent and resigned, says if the door of the prison was left open, he would not go out. Has learned 250 texts and is learning 15 a day. The new chaplains. 37, Rock, professes penitence, asked him suddenly what sins weighed most on his conscience. No answer. Prepared with an abstract penitence, but no particulars, reason obvious. Memo, with this man, speak on any topic rather than religion at present. Pray for this self-deceiver as I would for a murderer. Lapel. Joseph's, an interesting boy, ignorant but apparently well diagnosed. In ill health, the surgeon should be consulted about him. The new chaplain. Joseph's, an amiable boy, seems out of health and spirits. Says he has been overworked and punished for inability. Shall intercede with the governor for him. Memo, pale and hollow-eyed, pulse feeble. Lapel, strut. Sullen, impenitent and brutal, says it is no use his learning texts, they won't stay in his head. Discontented, wants to go out in the yard. The best one can hope for here is that the punishment which he finds so severe will deter him in the future. Says he will never come here again, but doubts whether he shall get out alive. Gave him some tracks. The new chaplain. Strut. This poor man is in a state of deep depression. I much fear the want of light and air and society is crushing him. He is 50 years old. Memo, inquire whether separate confinement tries men harder after a certain age. Talk to him. Told him stories with all the animation I could. Stayed half an hour with him. He brightened up a little and asked me to come again. Nothing to be done here at present but amuse the poor soul. Memo, watch him jealously. Lapel. Jessup. The prisoner whose term owing to his excellent conduct is reduced from 12 months to 9 months so that he goes out next week. Having discovered that the news had not been conveyed to him, I asked Mr. Haas to let me be the bearer. When I told him his only remark was with an air of regret, then I shall not finish my gospels. I begged for an explanation when he told me that for 8 months he had been committing the gospels to heart and that he was just beginning St. John which now he should never finish. I said he must finish it at home in the intervals of honest labor. His countenance brightened and he said he would. A most cheering case and one of the best proofs of the efficacy of the separate and silent system I have met with for some time. I fear I almost grudge you the possession of such an example. The New Chaplain. Jessup. Like Rock, professes extravagant penitence, indifference to personal liberty and love of Scripture. He overdoes it greatly. However, it appears he has gained his point by it. He has induced Mr. Jones to plead for him in mitigation of punishment and next week he leaves prison for a little while. He asked me to hear some texts. I said no, my poor fellow. They will do you as much good whether I hear you them or not. By a light that flashed into his eye I saw he comprehended the equivogue. But he expressed his intelligence and answered piously that they will your reverence. Lapel. Robinson. A bad subject, rebellious and savage, refuses to speak. Time and discipline will probably break him of this, but I do not think he will ever make a good prisoner. The New Chaplain. Robinson. This man wears a singular look of scorn as well as hatred which, coupled with his repeated refusals to speak to me, provoked me so that I felt strongly tempted to knock him down. How unworthy to be provoked at anything a great sufferer can say or do. Every solitary prisoner must surely be a great sufferer. My judgment is quite at fault here. I know no more than a child what is this man's character and the cause of his strange conduct. Memo. Enquire his antecedents of the term keys. O Lord, enlighten me and give me wisdom for the great and deep and difficult task I have so boldly undertaken. The next day the New Chaplain met the surgeon in the jail and took him into Joseph's cell. He only wants a little rest and nourishing food. He would be the better for a little amusement, but, and the man of science, shrugged his shoulders. Can you read, said Mr. Lapel? Very little, sir. Let the schoolmaster come to him every day, suggested that experienced individual. He knew what separate confinement was, what boars a boy out of prison amuses him in it. Oz gave him a cold consent. So poor little Joseph's had a richer diet and rest from crank and pillory. And the schoolmaster spent half an hour every day teaching him. And above all, the New Chaplain sat in his cell and told him stories that interested him. Told him how very wicked some boys had been. What a many clever, wicked things they had done and not been happy. Then, how they had repented and learned to pray to be good. And how, by divine help, they had become good. And how some had gone to heaven soon after. And they were now happy and pure as the angels. And others had stayed on earth and were good and honest and just men. Not so happy as those others who were dead, but content. And that the wicked never are. And waiting in God's pleasure to go away and be happy forever. Joseph's listened to the Good Chaplain's tales in conversation with wonderful interest. His face always brightened when that gentleman came into his cell. The schoolmaster reported him not quick, but docile. These were his Halcyon days. But Robinson remained a silent basilisk. The Chaplain visited him every day, said one or two kind words to him, and retired without receiving a word or a look of acknowledgment. One day, surprised and hurt by this continued abduracy, the Chaplain retired with an audible sigh. Robinson heard it and ground his teeth with satisfaction. Solitary, tortured and degraded, he had still found one whom he could annoy a little bit. The Governor and the new Chaplain agreed charmingly. Constant civilities passed between them. The Chaplain assisted Mr. Haas to turn the phrases of his yearly report. And Mr. Haas more than repaid him by consenting to his introducing various handicrafts into the prison. At his own expense, not the county's. Parson must have got a longer purse than most of us thought Haas, and it increased his respect. Haas shrugged his shoulders as much as to say, you are just flinging your money into the dirt, but the other interpreting his look. I hope more good from this than from all the sermons I shall preach in your chapel. Probably Mr. Haas would not have been so indifferent had he known that this introduction of rational labor was intended as the first step toward undermining and expelling the sacred crank. This clergyman had a secret horror and hatred of the crank. He called it a monster got by folly upon science to degrade labor below theft. For theft is immoral, but crank labor is immoral and idiotic too, said he. The crank is a diabolical engine to keep thieves from ever being anything but thieves. He arrived at this conclusion by a chain of reasoning for which there is no room in a narrative already smothered in words. This antipathy to the crank quite overpowered him. He had been now three weeks in the jail and all that time only thrice in the labor yard. It cut his understanding like a knife to see a man turn a handle for hours and nothing come of it. However, one day from a sense of duty he forced himself into the labor yard and walked wincing down the road. These are our schoolmen, said he, as the schoolmen labored most intellectually and scientifically. Practical result, nil, so these labor harder than other men result, nil. This is literally beating the air. The ancients imagined tortures, particularly trying to nature, that of Sisyphus to wit, everlasting labor, embittered by everlasting nullification. We have made Sisyphism vulgar. Here are 15 Sisyphi. Only the wise or ancients called this thing infernal torture, or old women called it salutary discipline. He was running on in this style, heaping satire and sorrow upon the crank, when suddenly, at the mouth of one of the farthest cells, he stopped and threw up his hands with an ejaculation of astonishment and dismay. There was a man jammed in a straight waistcoat, pinned against the wall by a strap, and throttling in a huge collar. His face was white, his lips livid, and his eyes rolling despairingly. It was Thomas Robinson. This sight took away the chaplain's breath. When he recovered himself, What is this? said he to the turnkey sternly. Prisoner refractory at the crank, answered Hodges doggedly. The clergyman walked up to Robinson and examined the collar, the waistcoat, and the strap. Have you the governor's authority for this act? said he firmly. Rule is, if they don't do their work, the jacket. Have you the governor's authority for this particular act? In a general way we have. In a word, you are not acting under his authority, and you know it. Take the man down this moment. The man hesitated. If you don't, I shall. The turnkeys, a little staggered by his firmness, began to confer in whispers. The chaplain, who was one of your decided men, could not wait the consultation. He sprang to Robinson's head and began to undo the collar. The others, seeing this decided move, came and helped him. The collar and the strap being loosed, the thief's body, in sacked as it was, fell helplessly forward. He had fainted during the discussion. In fact, his senses were shut when the chaplain first came to the cell. The chaplain caught him, and being a very strong man, saved him from a dangerous fall, and seated him gently with his back to the wall. Water was sprinkled in his face. The chaplain went hastily to find the governor. He came to him pale and out of breath. I found the turnkeys out raging a prisoner. Indeed, said the governor. It was a new idea to him that anything could be an outrage on a prisoner. They confessed they had not your authority, so I took it upon me to undo their act. Hmm. I now leave the matter in your hands, sir. I will see into it, sir. The chaplain left Mr. Hawes abruptly, for he was seized with a sudden langer and nausea. He went to his own house, and there he was violently sick. Shaking off as quickly as he could this weakness, he went at once to Robinson's cell. He found him coiled up like a snake. He came hastily into the cell with a natural effusion of a man who had taken another man's part. I want to ask you one question. What have you done that they should use you like that? No answer. It is not from idle curiosity I ask you, but that I may be able to advise you or intercede for you if the punishment should appear too severe for the offense. No answer. Come, I would wait here ever so long upon the chance of your speaking to me if you were the only prisoner, but there are others in their solitude longing for me. Time is precious. Will you speak to one who desires to be your friend? No answer. A flush of impatience and anger crossed the chaplain's brow. In most men it would have found vent in words. This man but turned away to hide it from its object. He gulped his brief ire down and said only, So then I am never to be of any use to you and went sorrowfully away. Robinson coiled himself up a little tighter and hugged his hatred of all mankind closer like a treasure that someone had just tried to do him out of. As the chaplain came out of his cell he was met by Hawes, whose countenance were a gloomy expression that soon found its way into words. The chaplain is not allowed to interfere between me and the prisoners in this jail. Explain, Mr. Hawes. You have been and ordered my turn keys to relax punishment. You forget, Mr. Hawes, I explained to you that they were acting without the requisite authority from you. That is alright and I have called them to account but then you are not to order them either. You should have applied to me. I see, I see, forgive me this little breach of routine where a human being's sufferings would have been prolonged by etiquette. Ugh, well it must not occur again. I trust the occasion will not. For that matter you will often see refractory prisoners punished in this jail. You had better mind your own business in the jail it will find you work enough. I will, Mr. Hawes, to dissuade men from cruelty as a part of it. If you come between me and the prisoners, sir, you won't be long here. The new chaplain smiled. What does it matter whether I'm here or in Patagonia so that I do my duty wherever I am? Said he with a fine mixture of good humor and spirit. Hawes turned his back rudely and went and reduced Robinson's supper 50%. Evans, is that sort of punishment often inflicted here? Well, sir, yes, it is a common punishment of this jail. It must be very painful. No, sir, it's a little uncomfortable, that is all. And then we've got such a lot here we are obliged to be down on them like a sledgehammer where they'd eat us up alive. Have you got the things, the jacket, collar, etc.? I know where to find them, said Evans with a sly look. Bring them to me directly to this empty cell. Well, sir, higgled Evans, in course I don't like to refuse your reverence. Then don't refuse me, retorted the other, sharp as a needle. Evans went off directly and soon returned with the materials. The chaplain examined them a while, then he took off his coat. Operate on me, Evans. Operate on you, sir. Yes, there, don't stand staring, my good man. Hold up the waistcoat, and I'll strap it tight. Tighter, no nonsense. Robinson was strapped tighter than that yesterday. I want to know what we are doing to our fellow preachers in this place. The collar now. But, sir, the collar will nip you. I tell you that beforehand. Not more than it nips my prisoners, and I'll strap me to the wall. Why do you hesitate? I don't know whether I am doing right, sir, you being a parson. Perhaps I shall have no luck after this. Don't be silly, Evans. I am not a t'nun fit injuria. That means you may torture a bishop if he bids you. There you are, sir. Yes, here I am. Now go away and come in half an hour. I think I'd better stay, sir. You will soon be sick of it. Go and come in half an hour," was the firm reply. Our chaplain felt that if the man did not go, he should not be five minutes before he asked to be released, and he was determined to know what we are doing. Evans had not been gone ten minutes before he bitterly repented, letting him go, and when that worthy return he found him muttering faintly, It is in a good cause, it is in a good cause. Evans wore a grin. You shall pay for that grin, said the chaplain to himself. Well, sir, have you had enough of it? Yes, Evans, you may loose me, said the other with affected nonchalance. What is it like, sir? It is as you described it, uncomfortable, but the knowledge I have gained in it is invaluable. You shall share it. With all my heart, sir, you can tell me what it is like. Oh no! Such knowledge can never be imparted by description. You shall take your turn in the jacket. Not if I know it. What? Not for the sake of knowledge? Oh, I can guess what it is like, but you will oblige me. Some other way, sir, if you please. Besides, I will give you a guinea. Oh, that alters the case, sir, but only for half an hour. Only for half an hour. Evans was triced up and pinned to the wall. The chaplain took out a guinea and placed it in his sight and walked out. In about ten minutes he returned and there was Evans, his face drawn down by pain. Well, how do you like it? Oh, pretty well, sir. It isn't worth making an outcry about. Only a little uncomfortable. That is all. If it wasn't for the confounded cramp, let us compare notes, said the chaplain, sitting down opposite. I found it worse than uncomfortable. First, there was a terrible sense of utter impotence. Then came on racking cramps, for which there was no relief because I could not move. Oh, what? Nothing, sir, mum, mum, dear guinea. The jagged collar gave me much pain, too. It rasped my poor throat like a file. Why, the dickens, didn't you tell me all this before, sir, said Evans, roofily. It is no use now I've been and gone into the same oven like a fool. I had my reasons for not telling you before. Goodbye for the present. Don't stay over the half hour for goodness sake, sir. No, adieu for the present. He did not go far. He whistled and heard the plucky Evans groan. He came hastily in. Courage, my fine fellow, only eight minutes more and the guinea is yours. How many more minutes, sir? Eight. Then, oh, undo me, sir, if you please. What forfeit the guinea for eight minutes? Seven. It is only seven now. Hang the guinea. Let me down, sir, if there's pity in you. With all my heart, said the reverend gentleman, pocketing the guinea, and he loosed Evans with all speed. The man stretched his limbs with ejaculations of pain between every stretch, and put his handkerchief on very gingerly. He looked sulky and said nothing. The other watched him keenly, for there was something about him that showed his mind was working. There is your guinea. Oh, no, I didn't earn it. Oh, if you think that, putting it to the lips of his pocket, let me make you a present of it, handing it out again. Evans smiled. It is a good servant. That little coin has got me one friend more for these poor prisoners. You don't understand me, Evans. Well, you will. Now, look at me. From this moment, sir, you and I stand on different footing from others in this jail. We know what we are doing when we put a prisoner in that thing. The others don't. The greater the knowledge, the greater the guilt. May we both be kept from the crime of cruelty. Good night. Good night, your reverend, said the man gently, awed by his sudden solininity. The chaplain retired. The man looked after him and then down into his own hand. Well, I'm bloated. Well, I'm blessed. Got a guinea, though. End of chapter 14. Chapter 14 of It Is Never Too Late to Mend. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mary Maxwell. It Is Never Too Late to Mend by Charles Reed. Chapter 15, Part 1. Governor Haas had qualities good in themselves, but ill-directed and therefore not good in their results. Determination for one. He was not a man to yield a step to opposition. He was a much greater man than Jones. He was like a torrent to whose progress, if you oppose a great stone, it brawls and struggles past it and round it and over it with more vigor than before. I will be master in this jail, was the creed of Haas. He docked Robinson's supper one-half, ditto his breakfast the next day, and set him a tremendous task of crank. Now in jail, a day's food and a day's crank are too nicely balanced to admit of the weights being tampered with. So Robinson's demi-starvation paved the way for further punishment. At one o'clock he was 500 revolutions short, and instead of going to his dinner he was tied up in the infernal machine. Now the new chaplain came three times into the yard that day, and the third time, about four o'clock, he found Robinson pinned to the wall, jammed in the waistcoat and gripped in the collar. His blood ran cold at the sight of him, for the man had been hours in the pillory and nature was giving way. What has he done? Refractory at the crank. I saw him working at the crank when I came here last. Has it made his number good, though? Huh, you have the governor's own orders? Yes, sir. How long is he to be so? Till fresh orders. I will see the effect of this punishment on the prisoner and note it down for my report, and he took out his notebook and leaned his back against the wall. The simple action of taking out a notebook gave the operators a certain qualm of doubt. Frye whispered Hodges to go and tell the governor. On his return Hodges found the parties as he had left them, except Robinson. He was paler and its lips turning bluer. Your victim is fainting, said the chaplain sternly. Only shamming, sir, said Frye. Bucket, Hodges. The bucket was brought and the contents were flung over Robinson. The chaplain gave a cry of dismay. The turn keys both laughed at this. You see, he was only shamming, sir, said Hodges. He has come to the moment the water touched him. A plain proof he was not shamming. A bucket of water thrown over anyone about to faint would always bring them to. But if a man had made up his mind to sham, he could do it in spite of water. Of course, he will take him down now. Not till fresh orders. On your peril be it if any harm befalls this prisoner. You are warned. At this juncture, Hodges came into the yard. His cheek was flushed and his eye glittered. He expected and rather hoped to collision with his reverence. Well, what is the matter? Nothing, sir, only his reverence is threatening us. What is he threatening you for? Mr. Hodges, I told these men that I shall hold them responsible if any harm came to the prisoner for their cruelty. I now tell you that he is just fainted from bodily distress caused by this infernal engine, and I hold you, Mr. Hodges, responsible for this man's life and well-being, which are here attacked contrary to the custom of all Her Majesty's prisons and contrary to the intention of all punishment, which is for the culprit's good, not for his injury either in soul or body. And what will you do, said Hodges, glaring contemptuously at the turnkey's, who wore rather a blank look. Mr. Hodges replied the other gravely, I have spoken to warn you, not to threaten you. What I do is done with the consent of the visiting justices. They are my masters and no one else. They have not seen a prisoner crucified, crucified, what do you mean by crucified? Don't you see that the torture before our eyes is crucifixion? No, I don't. No nails. Nails were not always used in crucifixion, sometimes chords. Don't deceive yourself with a name. Nothing misleads like a false name. This punishment is falsely called the jacket. It is jacket, collar, straps, applied with cruelty. It is crucifixion minus nails, but plus a collar. Whatever it is, the justices have seen and approved it. Even they fry. That they have, sir, scores of times. Then may heaven forgive them and direct me, and the chaplain entered the cell despondently and bent his pitying eye steadily on the thief, who seemed to him at the moment a better companion than the three honest but cruel men. He waited there very, very sorrowful and thoughtful for more than half an hour. Then Haas, who left the yard as soon as he had conquered his opponent, sent in Evans with an order to take Robinson to his dormitory. The chaplain saw the man taken down from the wall, and that done went hastily to his own house. There, the contest being over, he was seized with a violent sickness and trembling. To see a fellow creature suffer and not be able to relieve him was death to this man. He was game to the last drop of his blood so long as there was any good to be done, but action ended, a reaction came, in which he was all pity and sorrow and distressed because of a fellow creature's distress. No one that saw his firmness in the torture cell would have guessed how weak he was within, and how stoutly his great heart had to battle against a sensitive nature and nerves tuned too high. He gave half an hour to the weakness of nature, and then he was all duty once more. He went first into Robinson's cell. He found him worse than ever to spare as well as hatred gleamed in his eye. My poor fellow, is there no way for you to avoid these dreadful punishments? No answer. It is to be observed, though, that Robinson had no idea how far the chaplain had carried his remonstrance against his torture. That remonstrance had been uttered privately to the turnkeys and the governor. Besides, the man was half stupefied when the chaplain first came there, and now he was in such pain and despair, he was like the genie confined in the chest and thrown into the water by Solomon. Had this good friend come to him at first starting, he would have thrown himself into his arms, but it came too late now. He hated all mankind. He had lost all belief in genuine kindness. Like Orlando, he thought that all things had been savage here. The chaplain, on the other hand, began to think that Robinson was a downright brute, and one on whom kindness was and would be wasted. Still, true to his nature, he admitted no small peak. He reasoned gently and kindly with him. Very kindly. My poor soul, said he, have you so many friends in this hard place that you can afford to repulse one who desires to be your friend and to do you good? No answer. Well then, if you will not let me comfort you, at least you cannot prevent my praying for you. For you are on the road to despair and will take no help. So then this good creature did actually kneel upon the hard stones of the cell and offer a prayer, a very short but earnest one, O God, to whom all hearts are open, enlighten me that I may understand this my afflicted brother's heart, and learn how to do him good and comfort him out of thy word, thy grace assisting me. Robinson looked down at him with wild, staring but lackluster eyes and open mouth. He rose from the floor and, casting a look of great benignity on the sullen brute, he was about to go, when he observed that Robinson was trembling in a very peculiar way. You are ill, said he hastily, and took a step toward him. At this Robinson, with a wild and furious gesture, waved him to the door and turned his face to the wall. Then this refined gentleman bowed his head, as much as to say you shall be master of this apartment, and dismiss anyone you do not like, and went gently away with a little sigh. And the last that he saw was Robinson trembling with averted face and eyes bent down. Outside he met Evans, who said to him half bluntly, half respectfully, I don't like to see you going into that cell, sir. The man is not to be trusted. He is very strange. What do you mean? Do you fear for his reason? Why not, sir? We have sent a pretty many to the lunatic asylum since I was a warder here. Ah, and some have broken prison a shorter way than that, said the man very gloomily. The chaplain groaned and looked at the speaker with an expression of terror. Evans noticed it and said gravely, you should not have come to such place as this, sir. You are not fit for it. Why am I not fit for it? Too good for it, sir. You talk foolishly, Mr. Evans. In the first place, too good is a ludicrous combination of language. In the next, the worse a place is the more need of somebody being good in it to make it better. But I suppose you are one of those who think that evil is naturally stronger than good. Delusion springs from this that the wicked are in earnest and the good are lukewarm. Good is stronger than evil. A single, really good man in an ill place is like a little drug yeast in a gallon of dough. It can leaven the mass. If St. Paul or even George Whitfield had been in lots place all those years, there would have been more than 50 good men in Sodom. But this is out of place. I want you to give me the benefit of your experience, Evans. When I went to Robinson and spoke kindly to him, he trembled all over. What on earth does that mean? Trembled? Did he? And never spoke? Yes. Well? I'm thinking, sir. I'm thinking. You didn't touch him? Touch him? No. What should I touch him for? Well, don't do it, sir, and don't go near him. You have had an escape you have. He was in two minds about pitching into you. You think it was rage. Hmm. It did not give me that impression. Sir, did you ever go to Pat a strange dog? I've done myself that honor. Well, if he wags his tail, you know it is all right. But say he puts his tail between his legs. What will he do if you pat him? Bite me, experto crete. No, if you are ever so expert, he will bite you or try. Now putting of his tail between his legs, that passes for a sign of fear in a dog. All one is trembling does in a man. Do you see what I'm driving at? Yes. Then you'd better leave the spiteful brute to himself. No, that would be to condemn him to the worst companion he can have. But if he should pitch into you, sir, then he will pitch into a man twice as strong as himself and a pupil of Bendingo. Don't be silly, Evans. Sunday. Hodges, pity you wasn't in chapel, Mr. Fry. Fry, why? Hodges, the new chaplain. Fry, well, what did he do? Hodges, he waked him all up, I can tell you. Governor couldn't get a wink all the sermon. Fry, what did he tell you? Hodges told us he loved us. Fry, loved who? Hodges, all of us. Governor, turnkeys, and especially the prisoners because they were in trouble. My master loves you though he hates your sins, says he. And I love every mother's son of you. What do you think of that? He loves the whole billing. Told him so, however. Fry, loves him, does he? Well, that's a new lay. After all, there's no accounting for taste, you know. Ha, ha. Hodges, ha, ha, oh. This same Sunday afternoon, soon after service, the chaplain came to Robinson's cell. Evans unlocked it, looking rather uneasy and would have come in with a reverend gentleman but he forbade him and walked quickly into the cell as Van Omburg goes upon his lepers and pamphlets. He had in his hand a little box. I brought you some ointment, some nice cooling ointment, said he to roll on your neck. I saw it was frayed by that collar. No answer. Will you let me see you use it? No answer. Come. No answer. The chaplain took the box off the table, opened it and went up to Robinson and began quietly to apply some of the grateful soothing ointment to his frayed throat. The man trembled all over. The chaplain kept his eye calm but firm upon him as on a dog of doubtful temper. Robinson put up his hand in a feeble sort of way to prevent the other from doing him good. His reverence took the said hand in a quiet but powerful grasp and applied the ointment all the same. Robinson said nothing but he was seized with this extraordinary trembling. Goodbye, said his reverence kindly. I leave you the box and see here are some tracks I have selected for you. They are not dull, there are stories in them and the dialogue is pretty good. It is nearer nature than you will find it in works of great pretension. Here a carpenter talks something like a carpenter and a footman something like a footman and a factory girl something like a girl employed in the factory. They don't all talk book, you will be able to read them. Begin with this one, the wages of sin are death. Goodbye and with these words and a kind smile he left the cell. From the chaplain sir said Evans to the governor touching his hat. Dear sir, will you be good enough to send me by the bearer of a copy of the prison rules, especially those that treat of the punishments to be inflicted on prisoners. I am yours, et cetera. Pause had no sooner read this innocent looking missive than he burst out into a tide of execrations. He concluded by saying tell him I've not got a spare copy. Mr. Jones will give him his. This answer disappointed the chaplain sadly for Mr. Jones had left the town and was not expected to return for some days. The hostile spirit of the governor was evident in this reply. The chaplain felt he was at war and his was an energetic but peace-loving nature. He paced the corridor looking both thoughtful and sad. The rough Evans eyed him with interest and he also fell into meditation and scratched his head. Invariable concomitant of thought with Evans. It was toward evening and his reverence still paced the corridor downhearted at opposition and wickedness but not without hope and full of lovely and charitable wishes for all his flock. When the melancholy fry suddenly came out of a prisoner's cell radiant with joy. What is a miss asked the chaplain. This is the matter said fry and he showed him a deuce of clubs, a five of hearts and an ace of diamonds and so on. Two or three cards of each suit. A prisoner has been making these out of his tracks. How could he do that? Look here sir, he has kept a little of his gruel till it turned to pace and then he has pasted three or four leaves of the tracks together and dried them and then cut them into cards. But the colors, how could he get them? That is what beats me altogether but some of these prisoners know more than the bench of bishops. More evil I conclude you mean. More of all sorts sir, however I am taking them to the governor and he will fathom it if anyone can. Leave one red card and one black with me. While fry was going, the chaplain examined the cards with curiosity and that admiration of inventive resource which a superior mind cannot help feeling. There they were, a fine red deuce of hearts and a fine black four of spades. Cards made without pace board and painted without paint. But how? That was the question. The chaplain entered upon this question with his usual zeal but happening to reverse one of the cards it was his fate to see on the back of it the wages of sin or death attract. He reddened at the site. Here was an affront. The sulky brute could amuse himself cutting up my tracks. Presently the governor came up with his satellites. Take number 19 out of his cell for punishment. At this word the chaplain short lived anger began to cool. They brought Robinson out. So you've been at it again, cried the governor in threatening terms. Now you will tell me where you got the paint to make these beauties with. No answer. Do you hear he sulky brute? No answer but a glittering eye bent on haws. Put him in the jacket, cried Haas with an oath. Hodges and fry laid each a hand upon the man's shoulder and walked him off. Stop, cried Haas suddenly. His reverence is here and he's not partial to the jacket. The chaplain was innocent enough to make a graceful, grateful bow to Haas. Give him the dark cell for 24 hours, continued Haas with a malicious grin. The thief gay, a cry of dismay and shook himself clear of the turnkeys. Anything but that cried he with trembling voice. Oh, you have found your tongue, have you? Any punishment but that almost shrieked the despairing man. Leave me my reason. You have robbed me of everything else or pity's sake, leave me my reason. The governor made a signal to the turnkeys. They stepped toward the thief. The thief sprung out of their way, his eye rolling wildly as if in search of escape. Seeing this, the two turnkeys darted at him like bulldogs, one on each side. This time, instead of flying, the thief was observed to move his body in a springy way to meet them. With two motions, rapid as light and almost contemporaneous, he caught Hodges between the eyes with his fist and drove his head like a battering ram into Fry's belly. Smack, oof! And the two powerful men went down like ninepins. In a moment, all the waters within sight or hearing came buzzing round and Hodges and Fry got up, the latter bleeding, both staring confusedly. Seeing himself hemmed in, Robinson offered no further resistance. He plumped himself down on the ground and there sat and they had to take him up and carry him to the dark cells. But as they were dragging him along by the shoulders, he caught sight of the governor and chaplain looking down at him over the rails of corridor B. At sight of the latter, the thief wrenched himself free from his attendance and screamed to him, do you see this, you in the black coat? You that told us the other day, you loved us and now stand coolly there and see me taken to the black hole to be got ready for the madhouse. Do you hear? I hear you replied the chaplain gravely and gently. You called us your brothers, you. I did and do. Well, then here's one of your brothers being taken to hell before your eyes. I go there a man, but I shall come out a beast and that cowardly murderer by your side knows it. And you have not a word to say. That is all a poor fellow gets by being your brother, my curse on you all butchers and hypocrites. Give him 12 hours more for that, Lord Hawes. His eyes, I'll break him. Ah, yelled the thief, you curse me, do you? Do you hear that? The son of a appeals to heaven against me. What, does this lump of dirt believe there is a God? Then there must be one. Then suddenly flinging himself on his knees, he cried. If there is a God who pities them that suffer, I cry to him on my knees to torture you as you torture us. May your name be shame. May your life be pain and your death loathsome. May your skin rot from your flesh, your flesh from your bones, your bones from your body and your soul split forever on the rock of damnation. Take him away, yelled Hawes, white as a sheet. They tore him away by force, still threatening his persecutor with outstretched hand and raging voice and blazing eyes and flung him into the dark dungeon. Cool yourself there, you varmint-said fry spitefully. Even his flesh crept at the man's blasphemies. Meantime, the chaplain had buried his face in his hands and trembled like a woman at the frightful blasphemies and passions of these two sinners. I'll make this place hell to him. He shan't need to go elsewhere, muttered Hawes aloud between his clenched teeth. The chaplain groaned. The governor heard him and turned on him. Well, parson, you see he doesn't thank you for interfering between him and me. He would rather have had an hour or two of the jacket and have done with it. The chaplain sighed. He felt weighed down in spirit by the wickedness both of Hawes and of Robinson. He saw it was in vain at that moment to try and soften the former in favor of the latter. He moved slowly away. Hawes eyed him sneeringly. He is down upon his luck, thought Hawes, his own fault for interfering with me. I liked the man well enough and showed it if he hadn't been a fool and put his nose into my business. Half an hour had scarce elapsed when the chaplain came back. Mr. Hawes, I come to you as a petitioner. Indeed said Hawes with a supercilious sneer, very hard to bear. The other would not notice it. Pray, do not think I side with a refractory prisoner if I beg you not to countermand but to modify Robinson's punishment. What for? Because he cannot bear some any hours of the dark cell. Nonsense, sir. Is it too much to ask that you will give him six hours a day for four days instead of 24 to stretch? I don't know whether it is too much for you to ask. I should say by what I see of you that nothing is but it is too much for me to grant. The man has earned punishment. He has got it and you have nothing to do with it at all. Yes, I have the care of his soul and how can I do his soul good if he loses his reason? Stuff, his reason's safe enough, what little he has. Do not say stuff. Do not be rash where the stake is so great or confident where you have no knowledge. You have never been in the dark cell, Mr. Hawes, I have and I assure you it tried my nerves to the uttermost. I had many advantages over this poor man. I went in of my own accord, animated by a desire of knowledge, supported by the consciousness of right. My memory enriched by the reading of five and 20 years on which I could draw in the absence of external objects. Yet so dreadful was the place that had I not been fortified by communion with my omnipresent God, I do think my reason would have suffered in that thick darkness and solitude. I repeated thousands of lines of Homer, Virgil and the Greek dramatists. Then I came to Shakespeare, Cornel, Racine and Victor Hugo. Then I tried to think of a text and compose a sermon but the minutes seemed hours, ledden hours and they weighed my head down and my heart down and so did the Egyptian darkness till I sought refuge in prayer and there I found it. You pulled through it and so will he and now I think of it. It is too slight a punishment to give a refractory blaspheming villain no worse than a pious gentleman took on him for sports, Mr. Hawes. You heard his language to me, the blaspheming dog. I did, I did and therefore pray you to pity his sinful soul exasperated by the severities he has already undergone. Oh, sir, the wicked are more to be pity than the good and the good can endure trials that wreck the wicked. I would rather see a righteous man thrown into that dismal dungeon than this poor blaspheming sinner, the douche you would. For the righteous man has a strong tower that the sinner lacks. He is fit to battle with solitude and fearful darkness. An unseen light shines upon his soul and unseen hands sustains him. The darkness is no darkness to him for the son of righteousness is nigh. In the deep solitude he is not alone. For good angels whisper by his side. Yea, though he walked through the valley of the shadow of death, yet shall he fear no evil for God is with him. His rod and his staff, they comfort him. The wicked have not this comfort. To them darkness and solitude must be too horrible. Satan, not God, is their companion. The ghosts of their past crimes rise and swell the present horror. Remorse and despair are added to the double gloom of solitude and darkness. You don't know what you are doing when you shut up a poor lost sinner of excitable temperament in that dreadful hole. It is a wild experiment on a human frame. Pray be advised, pray be warned. Pray let your heart be softened and punish the man as he deserves, but do not destroy him. Oh, do not, do not destroy him. Up to this moment, Hawes had worn a quiet malicious grin. At last, his rage broke through this veil. He turned round black as night upon the chaplain who was bending toward him in earnest, gasping yet sweet and gentle supplication. The vagabond insulted me before all my servants and that is why you take his part. He would send me to hell if he had the upper hand. I've got the upper hand and so he shall taste it instead of me till he goes down on his marrow bones to me with my foot on his vipers tongue, curse him. Oh, do not curse him above all now that he is in trouble and defenseless. Let me alone, sir, and I'll let you retorted Hawes savagely. If I curse him, you can pray for him. I don't hinder you. Good night and Mr. Hawes turned his back very rudely. I will pray for him and for you. Buh. So then the chaplain retired sorrowfully to his private room and here sustained no longer by action, his high tuned nature gave way. A cold langer came over him. He locked the door that no one might see his weakness and then succumbing to nature, he fell first into a sickness and then into a trembling and more than once hysterical tears gushed from his eyes in the temporary prostration of his spirit and his powers. Such are the great men know their feats, but not their struggles. End of chapter 15 part one, chapter 15 of it's never too late to mend. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mary Maxwell. It is never too late to mend by Charles Reed. Chapter 15 part two. Meantime Robinson lay in the dark cell with a morsel of bread and water and no bed or chair that hunger and unrest might cooperate with darkness and solitude to his hurt. To this horrid abode it is now our fate to follow a thief and a blasphemer. We must pass his gloomy portal over which might have been inscribed what Dante has written over the gates of hell. All ye who enter here abandon hope. At six o'clock, Robinson was thrust in and his pittance of bread and water with him. The door, which fitted like mosaic, was closed. The steps retreated, carrying away hope and humankind. There was silence and the man shivered in the thick black air that seemed a fluid, not an atmosphere. When the door closed, his heart was yet beating with rage and wild desire of vengeance. He nursed this rage as long as he could, but the thick darkness soon cooled him and cowed him. He sat down upon the floor. He aged his pittance very slowly, two mouthfuls a minute. I will be an hour eating it, said he, and then an hour will have passed. He thought he was an hour eating it, but in reality he was scarce 20 minutes. The blackness seemed to smother him. I will shut it out, said he. He took out his handkerchief and wrapped his head in it. What a weak fool I am, cried he. When we are asleep, it does not matter to us whether it is light or dark, I will go to sleep. He lay down, his head still wrapped up, and tried to sleep. So passed the first hour. Second hour, he rose from the stone floor after a vain attempt to sleep. Oh no, cried he, sleep is for those who are well and happy, and who could enjoy themselves as well awake. It won't come to me to save a poor wretch from despair. I must hire myself, and I am too cold to sleep. Here goes for a warm. He grew up to the wall, and keeping his hand on it went round and round like a caged tiger. Oz hopes to drive me to bedlam. I'll do the best I can for myself to spite him. May he lie in a place narrower than this, and almost as dark, with his jaw down and his toes up before the year is out, curse him. But the poor wretch's curses quavered away into sobs and tears. Oh, what have I done to be used so as I am here? They drive me to despair, then drive me to hell for despairing. Patience, or I shall go mad. Patience, patience. This hour was passed cursing and weeping and groping for warmth and fatigue in vain. Third hour, the man sat rocking himself to and fro, trying not to think of anything. For now the past too was coming with all its weight upon him. Every minute he started up as if an adder had stung him, crawled about his cell seeking refuge in motion and finding none, then he threw himself on the floor and struggled for sleep. Sleep would not come so sought, and now his spirits were quite cowed. He would cringe to haas, he would lick the dust at his feet to get out of this horrible place. Who could he get to go and tell the governor he was penitent? He listened at the door, he rapped, no one came. He put his ear to the ground and listened. No sound, blackness, silence, solitude. They have left me here to die, shrieked the despairing man, and he flung himself on the floor and writhed upon the hard stone. It must be morning and no one comes near me. This is my tomb. Fear came upon him and trembling in a cold sweat bedued his limbs. And once more the past rushed over him with tenfold force. Days of happiness and comparative innocence now forfeited forever. His whole life whirled round before his eyes in a panorama, seen dissolving into scene with inconceivable rapidity. Thus passed more than two hours, and now remorse and memory concentrated themselves on one dark spot in this man's history. She is in the tomb, cried he, and all through me, and that is why I am here. This is my grave. Do you see me, Mary? She is here. The spirits of the dead can go anywhere. Then he trembled and cried for help. Oh, for a human voice or a human footstep. None. His nerves and senses were now shaken. He cried aloud most piteously for help. Mr. Fry, Mr. Hodges, help, help, help. The cell is full of the dead and devils are buzzing round me, waiting to carry me away. They won't wait much longer. He fancied something supernatural past him like a wind. He struck wildly at it. He flung himself madly against the door to escape it. He fell back bruised and bleeding and lay awhile in a stupor. Sixth hour. Robinson was going mad. The blackness and solitude and silence and remorse and despair were more than his excitable nature could bear any longer. He prayed haws to come and abuse him. He prayed fry to bring the jacket to him. Let me but see a man or hear a man. He screamed and cursed and prayed and dashed himself on the ground and ran round the cell wounding his hands and face. Suddenly he turned deadly calm. He saw he was going mad. Better die than so. I shall be a beast soon. I will die a man. He tore down his collar. He had on cotton stockings. He took one off. He tied it in a loose knot round his naked throat. He took a firm hold with each hand. And now he was quiet and sorrowed calmly. A man to die in the prime of life for want of a little light and a word from a human creature to keep him from madness. Then as the thought returned, lynching his teeth, he gathered the ends of the stocking and prepared with one fierce pull to save his shaken reason and end his miserable days. Now at this awful moment, while his hands gripped convulsively the means of death, a quiet tap on the outside of the cell door suddenly rang through the dead stillness and a moment after a human word forced its way into the cave of madness and death. Brother, when this strange word pierced the thick door and came into the hell cave, feeble as though wafted over water from a distance, yet distinct as a bell and bright as a sunbeam, Robinson started and quaked with fear and doubt. Did it come from the grave, that unnerfly tone and word, still holding the ends of the stocking, he cried out wildly in a loud but quavering voice. Who, who, who calls Thomas Sinclair brother? The distant voice rang back. Francis Eden, ah, where are you, Francis Eden? Here, within a hand's breath of you and Mr. Eden struck the door. Here, there, are you there? And Robinson struck the door on his side. Yes, here, ah, don't go away, pray don't go away. I don't mean to. Take courage, calm your fears. A brother is close by you. A brother, again, now I know who it must be, but there is no telling voices here. What were you doing? What was I doing? Oh, don't ask me. I was going mad. Where are you? Here, wrap. And I am here close opposite. You won't go away yet awhile. Not till you bid me. Compose yourself, do you hear me? Calm yourself, compose yourself. I will try, sir. Thank you, sir. I will try. What o'clock is it? Half past 12. Night or day, night. Friday night or Saturday, Thursday. How came you to be in the prison at this hour? I was anxious about you. You were what? Fearful about you. What? Did you give up your sleep only to see after me? Are you not glad I came? Is a shipwrecked sailor glad when a rope has flung him? I hold on to life and reason by you. Is not this better than sleeping? Did you speak? No, I am thinking. I'm trying to make you out. Were you ever a, hmm, was I ever what? The door is so thick. Oh, nothing, sir. You seem to know what a poor fellow suffers in the dark cell. I have been in it. What, what, what a shame. What did they put you in for? They didn't put me in. I went in. The devil you did, mother of the emerald. What? Speak out. Nothing, your reverence, Bald Robinson. Why did you go into such a curt, such a hole? It was my duty to know what a fellow creature suffers there. Lest, through an experience, I might be cruel. Ignorance is the mother of cruelty. I hear you, sir. And cruelty is a fearful crime in his eyes whose servant I am. I am thinking, sir, I am putting two or three things together. I see, speak more slowly and articulately. I will. I see what you are now. You are a Christian. I hope so. I might have guessed as much, and I did suspect it, but I couldn't know. I had nothing to go by. I never fell in with a Christian before. Where did you go to look for them, asked Mr. Eaton, his mouth twitching. I've been in many countries and my eyes open, and I've heard and read of Christians, and I've met hypocrites, but never met a living Christian till tonight. Then, after a pause, sir, I want to apologize to you. What for? For my ignorant and ungrateful conduct to you and myself. Let bygones be bygones. Could you forgive me, sir? You punished yourself, not me. I forgive you. Thank you. Robinson was silent. After a pause, Mr. Eaton tapped. What are you doing? I am thinking over your goodness to me. Are you better now? That I am. The place was a tomb. Since you came, it is only a closet. I can't see your face. I feel it though, and your voice is music to me. Have you nothing to say to me, sir? I have many things to say to you, but this is not the time. I want you to sleep. Why, sir? Sleep is the balm of mind and body. You need sleep. And you, sir, I shall sit here. You will take your death of cold. No, I have my great coat. There was a long pause. Robinson tapped. Sir, grant me a favor. What is it? Go home to your bed. What, leave you? Yes. Shall you not miss me? Yes, sir, but you must go. The words you have spoken will stay with me while you are gone. I shall stay. No, sir, no, I can't bear it. It isn't fair. What do you mean? It isn't fair that a gentleman like you should be kept shivering at an unfortunate man's door like me. I am not quite good for nothing, sir, and this will disgrace me in my own eyes. I'm on the best side of the door. Don't trouble your head about me. I shouldn't, sir, if you had not about me. But kindness begets kindness. Go to your comfortable bed. Mr. Eden hesitated. You will make me more unhappy than I am if you stay here in the cold. Now, at the beginning of this argument, Mr. Eden was determined not to go, but on reflection he made up his mind to, for this reason. This, said he to himself, is an act of uncommon virtue and self-denial in this poor fellow. I must not balk it, for it will be good for his soul. It is a step on the right road. This good, and I might say noble act, is a foundation stone on which I ought to try and build an honest man and a Christian. Well then, as you are so considerate, I will go. Thank you. Can I do nothing for you before I go? No, sir. You have done all a man can. Yes, you can do something. You spoke a word to me when you came. It is a word I am not worthy of, but still if you could leave me that word, it would be a companion for me. Brother, thank you. When he heard Mr. Eden's steps grow fainter and fainter and at last inaudible, Robinson groaned. The darkness turned blacker and the solitude more desolate than ever. Mr. Eden paced the corridors of meditation. It is never too late to mend, he said. This man seemed an unredeemable brute. Yet his heart was to be touched by persevering kindness and once touched, how much of goodness left in his fallen nature, genuine gratitude and even the embers of self-respect. I hate myself for my conduct in the cell. It would disgrace me in my own eyes if I let you shiver at my door. Poor fellow, my heart yearns toward him for that. Go, or you will make me more unhappy. Why, that was real delicacy. I must not let him suffer for it. In an hour I will go back to him if he is asleep, well and good. If not, there I stay till morning. He went to his room and worked. The hour soon glided by to him, not so to the poor prisoner. At two in the morning, Mr. Eden came softly back to the dark cell to see whether Robinson was asleep. He scratched the door with a key, a loud, unsteady voice cried out, what is that? It is I, brother. Why are you not in your bed? I couldn't sleep for anxiety. Come, chat with me till you feel sleepy. How did you color those cards? I found a coal and a bit of brick in the yard. I pounded them and mixed them with water and laid them on with a brush I had made and hid. Very ingenious. Are you cold? No, because your voice trembles. Does it? What is the matter? Can't you guess? No, but I remember you used to tremble when I spoke to you in the cell. Why was that? Have your nerves been shaken by oh usage, my poor fellow? Oh no, it is not that. Tell me then. Oh, sir, you know all the poor fellow feels. You can guess what made me tremble and makes me tremble now like an aspen I do. No, indeed, pray tell me. Are we not friends? The best ever I had or ever shall. Then tell me. I'll try, but it is a long story and the door is so thick. Ah, but I hear you better now. I have got used to your voice. Well, sir, but I've no words to speak to you as I ought. Why did I used to tremble when you used to speak kind to me? Sir, when I first came here, I hadn't a bad heart. I was a felon, but I was a man. They turned me to a brute by cruelty and wrong. You came too late, sir. It wasn't Tom Robinson you found in that cell. I had got to think all men were devils. They poisoned my soul. I hated God and man. The very chaplain before you said good kind words in church, but out of it he was Haas's tool. Then you came and spoke good kind words. My heart ran to meet them, then it drew back all shivering and said this is a hypocrite too. I was a fool and a villain to think so for a moment and perhaps I didn't at bottom, but I was turned to gall. Oh, sir, you don't know what it is to lose hope. To find out that do what you will, you can't be right. Can't escape abuse and hatred and torture. Treat a man like a dog and you make him one. But you came, your voice, your face, your eye were all pity and kindness. I hoped, but I was afraid to hope. I had seen but two things, butchers and hypocrites. Then I had sworn in my despair never to speak again and I wouldn't speak to you. Fool, how kind and patient you were. Sir, once you left me, you sighed as you closed the cell door. I came after you to beg your pardon when it was too late. Indeed, I did upon my honor. And when you would rub the ointment on my throat in spite of my ingratitude, I could have worshiped you. But my pride held me back like an iron hand. Why did I tremble? That was the devil and my better part fighting inside me for the upper hand. And another thing, I did not dare speak to you. I felt that if I did, I should give way altogether, like a woman or a child. I feel so now, for oh, can't you guess what it must be to a poor fellow when all the rest are savage as wolves and one is kind as a woman? Oh, you have been a friend to me. You don't know all you have done. You have saved my life. When you came here, a stocking was knotted around my throat. A minute later, the man you call your brother, God bless you, would have been no more. There, I never meant you should know that. And now it has slipped out. My benefactor, my kind friend, my angel, for you are an angel and not a man. What can I do to show you what I feel? What can I say? There, I tremble all over now as I did then. I'm choking for words and the cruel thick door keeps me from you. I want to put my neck under your foot for I can't speak. All I say isn't worth a button. Words, words, words. Give me words that mean something. They shan't keep me from you. They shan't. They shan't. My stubborn heart was between us once. Now there is only a door. Give me your hand. Give me your hand before my heart bursts. There, there, hold it there. Yes, yes. My lips are here close opposite. I am kissing your dear hand. There, there, there. I bless you. I love you. I adore you. I am kissing your hand. And I am on my knees blessing you and kissing. Oh, my heart, my heart, my heart. There was a long silence disturbed only by sobs that broke upon the night from the black cell. Mr. Eden leaned against the door with his hand in the same place. The prisoner kissed the spot from time to time. Your reverence is crying too was the first word spoken very gently. How do you know? You don't speak and my heart tells me you are shedding a tear for me. There was only that left to do for me. Then there was another silence. And true it was that the good man and the bad man mingled some tears through the messy door. These two hearts pierced it and went to and fro through it and melted in spite of it and defied and utterly defeated it. Did you speak, dear sir? No, not for the world. Weep on, my poor sinning suffering brother. Heaven sends you this blessed rain. Let it drop quietly on your parched soul. Refresh you and shed peace on your troubled heart. Drop gentle dew from heaven upon his spirit. Prepare the dry soul for the good seed. And so the bad man wept abundantly. To him old long dried sources of tender feeling were now unlocked by Christian love and pity. The good man shed a gentle tear to of sympathy. Of sorrow too to find so much goodness had been shut up, driven in, and well-nigh quenched forever in the poor thief. To both these holy drops were his dew of hermon on their souls. Oh, Lachrynarum faun's tenor sacros. Ducentium ortus ex animo. Quater felix in emo quiscatentum pector tapia nympha sensit. Robinson was the first to break silence. Go home, sir, now. You have done your work. You have saved me. I feel at peace. I could sleep. You need not fear to leave me now. I shall sit here until you are asleep, but then I will go. Do you hear this? He scratched the door of this key. Yes, sir. Well, when I do so, and you do not tap and reply, I shall know you are asleep. Robinson, whose heart was now so calmed, felt his eyes get heavier and heavier. After a while he spoke to Mr. Eden, but received no reply. Perhaps he is dozing, thought Robinson. I won't disturb him. Then he composed himself, lying close to the door to be near his friend. After a while, Mr. Eden scratched the door with his key. There was no answer. Then he rose softly and went to his own room. Robinson slept, slept like an infant after this feverish day. His body lay still and whole, dark, and almost as narrow as the grave, but his spirit had broken prison. Tired nature's sweet restorer descended like a dove upon his wet eyelids and fanned him with her downy wings and bedued the hot heart and smarting limbs with her soothing, vivifying balm. At six o'clock, Evans went and opened Robinson's cell door. He was on the ground sleeping with a placid smile on his face. Evans looked down at him with a puzzled air. While contemplating him, he was joined by Fry. Ugh, grunted that worthy, seems to agree with him, and he went off and told Haas. Directly after chapel, which he was not allowed to attend, came in order to take Robinson out of the dark cell and put him on the crank. The disciplinarian, defeated in his attempt on Robinson, was compensated by a rare stroke of good fortune. A case of real refractoriness, even this was not perfect, but it answered every purpose. In one of the labor cells, they found a prisoner seated with the utmost coolness across the handle of his crank. He welcomed his visitants with a smile and volunteered a piece of information. It is all right. Now it couldn't be all right, for it was impossible he could have done his work in the time. Haas looked at the face of the crank to see how much had been done, and lo, the face was broken, and the index had disappeared. As Mr. Haas examined the face of the crank, the prisoner leered at him with a mighty, silly cunning. This personage's name was Carter. It may be as well to explain him. Go into any large English shale on any day in any year you like. You shall find there two or three prisoners who have no business to be in such a place at all. Half-witted, half-responsible creatures, missent to jail by shallow judges contentedly executing those shallow laws they ought to modify and stigmatize until civilization shall come and correct them. These imbeciles, if the nation itself was not both half-witted and a thoughtless, ignorant dunce in all matters relating to such a trifle, heaven forgive us, as its prisons would be taken to the light, not plunged into darkness, would not be shut up alone with their no minds to accumulate the stupidity that has undone them, but forced into collision with better understandings, would not be closeted in a jail, but in a mild asylum with a school attached. The offenses of these creatures is seldom theft, hardly ever violence. This idiot was sentenced to two years separate confinement for being the handle with which two naves had passed base coin. The same day, the same tribunal sentenced a scoundrel who was not an idiot and had beaten and kicked his wife to the edge of the grave to 14 years imprisonment, no, to four months. Mr. Carter had observed that Frye looked at a long iron needle on the face of the crank and that when he had been lazy, somehow this needle pointed out the fact to Frye. He could not understand it, but then the world was brimful of things he could not understand one bit. It was no use standing idle till he could comprehend rerum natterum, bother it. In short, Mr. Carter did what is a dangerous thing for people in his condition to do. He cogitated and the result of this unfamiliar process was that he broke the glass of the crank face, took out the index, shied the piece of glass carefully over the wall, secreted the needle, took about 10 turns of the crank and then left off and sat down, exalting secretly. When they came as usual and went to consult the accusing needle, he chuckled and leered with foolish cunning. But his chuckle died away into a most doleful quaver when he found himself surrounded, jacketed, strapped, and collared. He struggled furiously at first like some wild animal in a net. And when resistance was hopeless, the poor, half-witted creature lifted up his voice and uttered loud, wild-beast cries of pain and terror that rang through the vast prison. These horrible cries brought all the warders to the spot and Mr. Eden. There he found Carter howling and haws in front of him, cursing and threatening him with destruction if he did not hold his noise. He might as well have suspended a dog from a branch by the hind leg and told him he mustn't howl. This sight drove a knife through Mr. Eden's heart. He stood among them white as a sheet. He could not speak, but his pale face was a silent protest against this enormity. His look of horror and righteous indignation chilled and made uneasy the inquisitors, all but haws. Hold your noisy howling brood or all and he clapped his hand before Carter's mouth. Carter seized his thumb with his teeth and bit it to the bone. Haws yelled with pain and strove furiously to get his hand away, but Carter held it like a tiger. Haws capered with agony and yelled again. The first to come to his relief was Mr. Eden. He was at the biped side in a moment and pinched his nose. Now, as his lungs were puffing like a blacksmith's bellows, his mouth flew open the moment the other breathing hole was stopped and Haws got his bleeding hand away. He held it with the other and shook it and moaned dismally like a great girl. But suddenly, looking up, he saw a half grin upon the faces of his mermidens. For the contrast of a man telling another who was in pain not to make a row and the next moment making an abominable row himself for no better reason was funny. For all this occurred 10 times quicker in action than in relation. Mr. Haws' conversion to noise came rapidly in a single sentence. After this fashion, you hold your infernal noise. Oh, ah, oh, wee, ee, ee, ah, oh, ee, ee, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh. So Fry and Hodges and Evans and Davis grinned. For all these men had learned from Haws to laugh at pain, another's. One man alone did not even smile. He was an observer and did not expect anyone to be great at bearing pain who was rash and inflicting it. Moreover, he suffered with all who suffer. He was sorry for the pilloried biped and sorry for the bitten brute. Then he gave them another lesson. All you want the poor thing to do is to suffer in silence. Withdrawal 20 yards from him. He set the example by retreating. The others, Haws included, being off their guard, obeyed mechanically the superior spirit. Carter's cries died away into a whimpering moan. The turn keys looked at one another and with a sort of commencement of respect at Mr. Eden. Harsen knows more than we do. Haws interrupted this savagely. Ye fools! Couldn't you see it was the sight of your ugly faces made him roar, not the jacket? Keep him there till further orders and he went off to plaster his wounded hand. Mr. Eden sat down and covered his face. He was as miserable as this vile world can make a man who lives for a better. The good work he was upon was so difficult in itself and those who ought to have helped fought against him. When with intelligence, pain, and labor, he had built up a little good. Haws was sure to come and knock it down again and this was the way to break his heart. He had been taking such pains with his poor biped. He had played round his feeble understanding to find by what door a little wisdom and goodness could be made to enter him. At last he had found that pictures pleased him and excited him and awakened all the intelligence he had. Mr. Eden had a vast collection of engravings and photographs. His plan with Carter was to show him some engraving presenting a fact or anecdote. First he would put under his eyes a cool or unjust action. He would point out the signs of suffering in one of the figures. Carter would understand this because he saw it. Then Mr. Eden would excite his sympathy. Poor so-and-so would Mr. Eden say in a pitying voice. Poor so-and-so would biped Carter echo. After several easy lessons, he would find a picture of some more moderate injustice and so raise the shadow of a difficulty and draw a little upon Carter's understanding as well as sympathy. Then would come pictures of charity, of benevolence and other good actions. These and their effects upon the several figures Carter was invited to admire and so on to a score of topics. The first thing was to make Carter think and talk, which he did in the happy-go-lucky way of his class, uttering nine mighty simple remarks and then a bit of superlative wisdom or something that sounded like it. And when he has shot his random bolts, Mr. Eden would begin and treat each picture as a text and utter much wisdom on it in simple words. He found Carter's mind in a state of actual lethargy. He got it out of that. He created an excitement and kept it up. He got it as little bit of mind through his senses. Honor to all the great arts. The limit to their beauty and their usefulness has never yet been found and never will. Painting was the golden key this thinker held to the Brahma lock of an imbecile's understanding the ponderous words were beginning to revolve when a blockhead came and did his best to hamper the lock. In English, Eden was gradually making the biped a man, comes haws and turns him a brute. The whimpering moans of Carter were thoroughly animal and the poor biped's degradation as well as his suffering made Eden wretched. Today, for the first time, the chaplain saw a prisoner crucified without suffering that peculiar physical weakness, which I have more than once noticed. Poor soul, he was so pleased at this that he thanked Heaven for curing him of that contemptible infirmity, so he called it. But he had to pay for this victory. He never felt so sick at heart as now. He turned for relief to the duties he had in his zeal added to a chaplain's acknowledged routine. He visited his rooms and all his rational work people. The sight of all the good he was doing by teaching the sweets of anti-theft was always a cordial to him. End of chapter 15, part two.