Part 35 (1/2)
In terror I cower on the bed All is deathly still Timidly I look around The cell is in darkness, and only a faint gas light flickers unsteadily in the corridor Suddenly a cry cuts the silence, shrill and unearthly, bursting into wild laughter And again the fearful thunder, now bellowing froly in the distance, then dying with a growl And all is hushed again, and only the unearthly laughter rings through the hall
”Johnny, Johnny!” I call in alarm ”Johnny!”
”Th' kid's in th' hole,” coh the privy ”This is Horsethief Is that you, Aleck?”
”Yes What _is_ it, Bob?”
”Some one breakin' up housekeepin'”
”Who?”
”Can't tell May be Smithy”
”What Smithy, Bob?”
”Crazy Smith, on crank row Look out now, they're coroan on their hinges Shadowlike, giant figures glide past my cell They walk inaudibly, felt-soled and portentous, the long riot clubs rigid at their sides Behind the in his hand With bated breath I listen, conscious of the presence of other hter pierce the night: there is the rattling of iron, violent scuffling, the sickening thud of a falling body, and all is quiet Noiselessly the bread cart flits by, the huge shadows bending over the body stretched on the boards
The gong boolints a ray upon the bloody trail in the hall, and hides behind the gathering ray and black is marched from the yard They kneel on the floor, and with sand and water scour the crireat relief I learn that ”Crazy Seed the man's wounds, and then the prisoner, still unconscious, was dragged to the dungeon
Little by little I glean his story from my informant Smith has been insane, at times violently, ever since his io His ”partner,” Burns, has also becoh worry over his sentence of twenty-five years Hisexpression that the authorities caused his commitment to the insane asylu that he is shaain an opportunity to escape
IV
The rare snatches of conversation with the old range to the illness of Bob, communication with my friends is alrow heavy and languid, the days drag in unvarying sa thought ofVoluh e by page I recite the history of the Holy Church, the lives of the Fathers and the Saints, or read aloud, to hear a hu with it, for the sake of variety, a few chapters froe in the ”Unknowable,” or in the heart of a difficult mathe faures on the library slate: 22 12 = 264 What is this, I wonder And immediately I proceed, in semiconscious manner, to finish the calculation:
264 30 = 7,920 days
7,920 24 = 190,080 hours
190,080 60 = 11,404,800 minutes
11,404,800 60 = 684,288,000 seconds
But the next hast at the realization that my computation allows only 30 days per month, whereas the year consists of 365, soain I repeat the process,22 by 365, and am startled to find that I have almost 700,000,000 seconds to pass in the solitary Fro promise faces me, Good conduct shortens time But I have been repeatedly reported and punished--they will surely deprive ure out my allowance: one month on the first year, one on the second; two on the third and fourth; three on the fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth; fouryear I shall therefore have to serve fifteen years and three months in this place, and then eleven months in the workhouse I have been here noo years It still leaves me 14 years and 2 ures, I pace the cell in agitation It is hopeless! It is folly to expect to survive such a sentence, especially in view of the Warden's persecution, and the petty tyranny of the keepers
Thoughts of suicide and escape, wild fancies of unforeseen develope that will sole in confusion, leaving me faint and miserable My absolute isolation holds no pro fillof my hair The evidence of physical decay rouses the fear of estion, and lash e with hatred of the Warden, the guards, the judge, and that une--the world In thecalm I apply myself to philosophy and science, deterhost is ever before me; it follows hter of ”Crazy S and waking of one mad
CHAPTER XIX
MEMORY-GUESTS
Often the Chaplain pauses at ement