I try to answer, but there is nothing to say. What can one do except to humble oneself before such a spirit of self-sacrifice? Moreover, while my whole being is thrilled with the wonder of all this new revelation of the essential nobility of mankind, my physical condition is approaching very near to complete collapse. Silently therefore I clasp Jack's hand in mine, and silently we stand looking out of the window while each of us masters his emotion. Then with a brief "Good-bye, Jack!" "Good-bye, Tom!" in the back office, I watch the heavy iron door close with a clang behind him, as he descends the iron staircase back into the prison; and so to his stone cage, four feet by seven and a half, in the damp basement of the north wing.

Then, with one last look through the grated window of the back office, I turn and make my way down the front steps of the prison. The guard at the gate unlocks and opens the outer barrier. I am free.

No, not free. Bound evermore by ties that can never be broken, to my brothers here within the walls. My sentence, originally indeterminate, is now straight life, without commutation or parole.

It may be of interest, as a matter of record, to append a transcript of the official punishment report of the five prisoners with whom I spent the night in the jail.

------------------------------------------------------------------------ Date Reg. No. Name When Received Location Keeper Punished by ------- -------- --------- ------------- -------- --------- ------------ Oct. 5 32648 N-L[16] Dec. 30, 1912 Yard H----[16] A. P. K.[17]

[No. 3] 32812 E-D Mar. 15, 1913 Yard G---- "

[No. 2] 31175 A-J July 18, 1910 State M---- "

[No. 5] 31342 J-M July 19, 1912 State M---- "

[No. 4] 32465 J-W Sept. 4, 1912 Enamel F---- "

[No. 8] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Pun. Days Compensation Cell Forfeited forfeited Offense and Remarks.

Days ------- -------- --------- ------------- ------------------------------- No. 3 3 days 10 days $5.00[18] Striking another inmate while in yard.

No. 2 3 days 10 days $5.00 Disobeying orders by loud talking in hospital after being cautioned.

No. 5 2 days 10 days $5.00 Fighting with 31342. M-- No. 4 2 days 10 days $5.00 Fighting with 31175. J-- No. 8 2 days 10 days $5.00 Disobeying orders by refusing to work as told by officer and foreman.

CHAPTER XV

CUI BONO?

February 1, 1914.

Since the eventful week I have attempted to describe in the foregoing chapters, I have received a large number of letters which throw light on the Prison Problem. Letters from the Auburn prisoners, letters from men in other prisons, letters from ex-convicts, giving ideas based upon their own experiences, letters from prison officials in other states, expressing keen interest in the results of my experiment, letters from sympathetic men and women of the outside world, proving the existence of a large amount of sentiment in favor of a rational reform of our Prison System.

Many of these letters are valuable in connection with the broad question of Prison Reform but have no direct bearing upon my personal experiences in Auburn Prison; they would therefore be out of place here. Others of them do deal directly with that incident, reflecting the prisoners' side of the matter. A selection from these letters has a distinct place in the story of my stay within the walls. If the tone of some of them seems unduly laudatory, let it be understood that they have been included not for that reason, but simply to enable us to gauge the actual results of the visit of Tom Brown--that fortunate representative of the sympathy of the outer world. These expressions of friendship and gratitude should not be considered as personal tributes, their importance lies not in the character of the recipient but in the state of mind of the writers.

In other words, the vital point of this matter, as in all others connected with the Prison Problem, is this: After all has been said and done, what manner of men are these prisoners? Are they specimens of "the criminal" we have had pictured to us in so many works on "Penology"? Or are they simply men from the same stock as the rest of us--some of them degenerate, some mentally ill balanced, some slaves to evil habits, diseased, sinful, or simply unfortunate--whatever you like--but still men? I think these letters may help others to an answer as they have helped me.

A few days after the memorable Sunday on which I left prison, Warden Rattigan found a paper placed upon his desk. It came from the slight, pale man with whom I had talked in July, the man who struck me as being such a cynic--so discouraged and discouraging, the one with whom I had not shaken hands upon leaving, because--Heaven forgive me--I thought he had no interest or confidence in me or my experiment.

It seems, according to the Warden, that this man (his name is Richards) had at first been very sceptical concerning my visit; but he had, as will appear, watched me very carefully; and, after having changed his own point of view, was much irritated by certain sarcastic editorials in the newspapers. So he applied to the Warden for permission to write a letter on the subject to one of the great New York dailies.

When the Warden showed the letter to me I advised against its publication--as I cared for no personal vindication. But I treasured the letter, and Richards and I have since become the warmest of friends. Here is what he wrote to the Warden:

I think that in justice to the prisoners in this institution that objection should be taken to some of the editorials which are being printed about Mr. Osborne's experience as a voluntary prisoner in Auburn prison. I for one desire to protest and take exception against some of the editorials which appear in the papers--especially in the New York A---- and S----.

I have only used my privilege of letter writing on one occasion during my nearly two years' incarceration here, and I wish that I could be allowed to write to one of these papers a letter setting forth my exceptions in the following strain, and I want to assure you that I mean every word of what I have written.

The following is his draft of the proposed letter to the New York paper.

I am one of those whom society calls a confirmed criminal. I have had the misfortune to be unable to resist temptation on several occasions, with the result that I carry upon my left sleeve the red disc of shame. But I want to say to you, and to the rest of the world, that although society looks upon me as a creature unworthy of sympathy, as one whose life has been a waste, as one not fit to associate with the people at large, yet I still have left within me a little spark of gratitude.

I have watched with careful eye and keen interest this self-imposed imprisonment. My cell was very close to Tom Brown's, and at night I could look straight from my cell into the window opposite and see there reflected the cell of Tom Brown, No. 15 on the second tier, and its occupant. I know that everything he went through was real. I know that there was no fake about his imprisonment. And I know this, that he went through a great deal more hardship and mental torture as a voluntary prisoner than he would had he been regularly committed to the prison. With his education and knowledge he would have been put to work in a clerical capacity, instead of making baskets, and his labor would not have been so hard. His incarceration in the cooler was real. I know this for a positive fact. I heard him coming from the cooler early Sunday morning in his stocking feet, so as not to wake up his fellow prisoners.

The editorial in the A-- is unjust. It speaks of Jack London and others writing about prison conditions. It says that the convicts in the penitentiary "cannot get out," and that "they are locked in at night." Granted that all this is what you want to ridicule it to be, the man that wrote this editorial would be accused of being inhuman if he were to put his dog through what Mr. Osborne went through during his week of imprisonment.

There is one thing I want to emphasize, and it is this. Mr. Osborne has seen with his own eyes, heard with his own ears and felt with his own feelings just what it is to be an outcast, even for so short a time as a week--just what it is to be deprived of your liberty for even so short a period, and your editorial writers and no one else that has not gone through the actual experience are qualified to criticise his efforts.

These papers would not believe a prisoner who came out of prison and told you of these facts; you must believe Mr. Osborne--you can't do otherwise.

I want to say that this self-sacrifice is going to do much to make better men of us criminals, not only now but in the future when we are again thrust upon society; and if there was just a little more Osbornism and a little less Journalism the prisoners would have a greater incentive to reform than they now have.

I speak not only for myself, but for many other old timers with whom I have talked. I claim as an old timer and one who knows what he is talking about, as I have been through the mill since childhood, that one act of kindness will do more toward reforming a criminal than a thousand acts of cruelty and than all the punishment that you can inflict.

Men will err, men will fall, and men will continue to commit crime, and society must be protected. We must have prisons; but I claim that the better way to treat a criminal in order to try and reform him is to use a little more kindness in our prisons and a little less punishment and cruelty.

I don't want to be misunderstood in this matter. I have no favor to ask of anyone. I expect to do my time--all of it. But I want to take exception to the insinuation that Mr. Osborne's stay was made any softer by the fact that the editor of his paper is Warden of Auburn Prison. The fact is that Warden Rattigan was away from the prison during the most of the week of Mr. Osborne's imprisonment, and I know positively and from my own knowledge that his orders were to treat Tom Brown the same as any other convict in this prison; and 1,329 men here can testify that these orders were carried out to the letter.

If some of these editorial writers could have heard the spontaneous applause in our chapel when Mr. Osborne, clad in the garb of a convict, rose from his seat and walked to the platform to address us, and could have seen the tears in the eyes of hardened rogues, I am sure that they would never treat this experiment in the light way they do. It was really a sorrowful and heart-rending spectacle and one which will never be forgotten by those who witnessed it. And if they could have witnessed the tears which flowed from Mr. Osborne's eyes after he had once again put on the clothes of civilization, they would have been convinced that his heart was almost breaking for the men whom he was leaving for a time.

I am firmly convinced that Mr. Osborne is as much a friend of society as he is of the prisoner--there is no question about that; that he has at heart the interest and welfare of society, as well as the interests of the under dog, and that his motives are not inspired by any wholly sympathetic feeling, but by a feeling of brotherly love and justice and the feelings of one who believes in all of the words in the little line of the Lord's Prayer:

"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

L. RICHARDS, No. 31--.

I leave it for any one to judge whether the writer of that letter is a hopeless criminal. Yet he speaks of himself as an old-timer, who bears upon his sleeve that cruel symbol of a repeated failure to make good--"the red disc of shame."

To gauge this one man's ability, his latent power for good, I add another letter from him, written at a time when the whole prison population was fearful that the new order of things in the prison department of New York State might be upset by the change of governors.

Auburn Prison, October 20, 1913.

Mr. Thomas Mott Osborne, Auburn, N. Y.

My dear Sir:

I learn of your expected visit to Albany during the present week, and I most earnestly request that if you take up any of the matters with reference to the work of your Commission, that you present a plea of the prisoners here for a continuance of the work which you have started.

I have read numerous criticisms of your acts, most of them coming to the one conclusion--that you could not during your stay here undergo mentally what other prisoners were enduring. I know that was not calculated on by you; and I, as well as quite a number of others with whom I have spoken, fully understand and appreciate your motive.

Were not one of your ideas adopted, were not a single thing done to better the physical condition of the prisoners in the penal institutions of the state, yet you have brought into our hearts and minds a desire to make better men of ourselves, to prove to the world that kindness and not punishment is the reformative agency.

We wonder what there is in us that impels men to take up our cause. I have given considerable thought to this in my solitary moments at night, and have come to the conclusion that there must be some good still left in even the most wretched and degenerate, that there must be some seed of righteousness, some spirit of manhood still left which only needs the proper nourishment to bring it into life.

Punishment has been tried for centuries, and has failed. The doctrine of kindness and brotherly feeling as set forth by you will, I am sure, succeed; and I wish that you would plead our cause and lay before the proper authorities the importance of continuing the work.

A spirit of hope has sprung up in our hearts. Is this to be crushed and turned to despair? Are we to see the efforts of your Commission defeated at this time? God forbid.

I do not plead for myself. I plead for the wives and the innocent babes of some of our unfortunates. For their sakes, if for no other reason, this work should continue. I know that the prisoners here will show by their conduct, not only now but in the future, that they have been influenced to do good and to do right, by the efforts which you have made and are making in their behalf.

I am one of those dyed deep with crime, in the opinion of society. I have been in several prisons, but I still feel that I have a chance, that there is still hope; and this feeling has been strengthened within the past month by your act of self-sacrifice; and I see around me 1,300 other men whose lives are worth something to society--worth the effort which your Commission is making for their uplift.