the jacket (the star-rover)- 第4部分

hanging；　but　I　have　been　told　by　eye…witnesses　the　details　of　a

dozen　hangings　so　that　I　know　what　will　happen　to　me。　　Standing　on

the　trap；　leg…manacled　and　arm…manacled；　the　knot　against　the　neck；

the　black　cap　drawn；　they　will　drop　me　down　until　the　momentum　of　my

descending　weight　is　fetched　up　abruptly　short　by　the　tautening　of

the　rope。　　Then　the　doctors　will　group　around　me；　and　one　will

relieve　another　in　successive　turns　in　standing　on　a　stool；　his　arms

passed　around　me　to　keep　me　from　swinging　like　a　pendulum；　his　ear

pressed　close　to　my　chest；　while　he　counts　my　fading　heart…beats。

Sometimes　twenty　minutes　elapse　after　the　trap　is　sprung　ere　the

heart　stops　beating。　　Oh；　trust　me；　they　make　most　scientifically

sure　that　a　man　is　dead　once　they　get　him　on　a　rope。



I　still　wander　aside　from　my　narrative　to　ask　a　question　or　two　of

society。　　I　have　a　right　so　to　wander　and　so　to　question；　for　in　a

little　while　they　are　going　to　take　me　out　and　do　this　thing　to　me。

If　the　neck　of　the　victim　be　broken　by　the　alleged　shrewd

arrangement　of　knot　and　noose；　and　by　the　alleged　shrewd　calculation

of　the　weight　of　the　victim　and　the　length　of　slack；　then　why　do

they　manacle　the　arms　of　the　victim？　　Society；　as　a　whole；　is　unable

to　answer　this　question。　　But　I　know　why；　so　does　any　amateur　who

ever　engaged　in　a　lynching　bee　and　saw　the　victim　throw　up　his

hands；　clutch　the　rope；　and　ease　the　throttle　of　the　noose　about　his

neck　so　that　he　might　breathe。



Another　question　I　will　ask　of　the　smug；　cotton…wooled　member　of

society；　whose　soul　has　never　strayed　to　the　red　hells。　　Why　do　they

put　the　black　cap　over　the　head　and　the　face　of　the　victim　ere　they

drop　him　through　the　trap？　　Please　remember　that　in　a　short　while

they　will　put　that　black　cap　over　my　head。　　So　I　have　a　right　to

ask。　　Do　they；　your　hang…dogs；　O　smug　citizen；　do　these　your　hang…

dogs　fear　to　gaze　upon　the　facial　horror　of　the　horror　they

perpetrate　for　you　and　ours　and　at　your　behest？



Please　remember　that　I　am　not　asking　this　question　in　the　twelve…

hundredth　year　after　Christ；　nor　in　the　time　of　Christ；　nor　in　the

twelve…hundredth　year　before　Christ。　　I；　who　am　to　be　hanged　this

year；　the　nineteen…hundred…and…thirteenth　after　Christ；　ask　these

questions　of　you　who　are　assumably　Christ's　followers；　of　you　whose

hang…dogs　are　going　to　take　me　out　and　hide　my　face　under　a　black

cloth　because　they　dare　not　look　upon　the　horror　they　do　to　me　while

I　yet　live。



And　now　back　to　the　situation　in　the　dungeons。　　When　the　last　guard

departed　and　the　outer　door　clanged　shut；　all　the　forty　beaten；

disappointed　men　began　to　talk　and　ask　questions。　　But；　almost

immediately；　roaring　like　a　bull　in　order　to　be　heard；　Skysail　Jack；

a　giant　sailor　of　a　lifer；　ordered　silence　while　a　census　could　be

taken。　　The　dungeons　were　full；　and　dungeon　by　dungeon；　in　order　of

dungeons；　shouted　out　its　quota　to　the　roll…call。　　Thus；　every

dungeon　was　accounted　for　as　occupied　by　trusted　convicts；　so　that

there　was　no　opportunity　for　a　stool　to　be　hidden　away　and

listening。



Of　me；　only；　were　the　convicts　dubious；　for　I　was　the　one　man　who

had　not　been　in　the　plot。　　They　put　me　through　a　searching

examination。　　I　could　but　tell　them　how　I　had　just　emerged　from

dungeon　and　jacket　in　the　morning；　and　without　rhyme　or　reason；　so

far　as　I　could　discover；　had　been　put　back　in　the　dungeon　after

being　out　only　several　hours。　　My　record　as　an　incorrigible　was　in

my　favour；　and　soon　they　began　to　talk。



As　I　lay　there　and　listened；　for　the　first　time　I　learned　of　the

break　that　had　been　a…hatching。　　〃Who　had　squealed？〃　was　their　one

quest；　and　throughout　the　night　the　quest　was　pursued。　　The　quest

for　Cecil　Winwood　was　vain；　and　the　suspicion　against　him　was

general。



〃There's　only　one　thing；　lads；〃　Skysail　Jack　finally　said。　　〃It'll

soon　be　morning；　and　then　they'll　take　us　out　and　give　us　bloody

hell。　　We　were　caught　dead　to　rights　with　our　clothes　on。　　Winwood

crossed　us　and　squealed。　　They're　going　to　get　us　out　one　by　one　and

mess　us　up。　　There's　forty　of　us。　　Any　lyin's　bound　to　be　found　out。

So　each　lad；　when　they　sweat　him；　just　tells　the　truth；　the　whole

truth；　so　help　him　God。〃



And　there；　in　that　dark　hole　of　man's　inhumanity；　from　dungeon　cell

to　dungeon　cell；　their　mouths　against　the　gratings；　the　two…score

lifers　solemnly　pledged　themselves　before　God　to　tell　the　truth。



Little　good　did　their　truth…telling　do　them。　　At　nine　o'clock　the

guards；　paid　bravoes　of　the　smug　citizens　who　constitute　the　state；

full　of　meat　and　sleep；　were　upon　us。　　Not　only　had　we　had　no

breakfast；　but　we　had　had　no　water。　　And　beaten　men　are　prone　to

feverishness。　　I　wonder；　my　reader；　if　you　can　glimpse　or　guess　the

faintest　connotation　of　a　man　beaten〃beat　up；〃　we　prisoners　call

it。　　But　no；　I　shall　not　tell　you。　　Let　it　suffice　to　know　that

these　beaten；　feverish　men　lay　seven　hours　without　water。



At　nine　the　guards　arrived。　　There　were　not　many　of　them。　　There　was

no　need　for　many；　because　they　unlocked　only　one　dungeon　at　a　time。

They　were　equipped　with　pick…handlesa　handy　tool　for　the

〃disciplining〃　of　a　helpless　man。　　One　dungeon　at　a　time；　and

dungeon　by　dungeon；　they　messed　and　pulped　the　lifers。　　They　were

impartial。　　I　received　the　same　pulping　as　the　rest。　　And　this　was

merely　the　beginning；　the　preliminary　to　the　examination　each　man

was　to　undergo　alone　in　the　presence　of　the　paid　brutes　of　the

state。　　It　was　the　forecast　to　each　man　of　what　each　man　might

expect　in　inquisition　hall。



I　have　been　through　most　of　the　red　hells　of　prison　life；　but；　worst

of　all；　far　worse　than　what　they　intend　to　do　with　me　in　a　short

while；　was　the　particular　hell　of　the　dungeons　in　the　days　that

followed。



Long　Bill　Hodge；　the　hard…bitten　mountaineer；　was　the　first　man

interrogated。　　He　came　back　two　hours　lateror；　rather；　they

conveyed　him　back；　and　threw　him　on　the　stone　of　his　dungeon　floor。

They　then　took　away　Luigi　Polazzo；　a　San　Francisco　hoodlum；　the

first　native　generation　of　Italian　parentage；　who　jeered　and　sneered

at　them　and　challenged　them　to　wreak　their　worst　upon　him。



It　was　some　time　before　Long　Bill　Hodge　mastered　his　pain

sufficiently　to　be　coherent。



〃What　about　this　dynamite？〃　he　demanded。　　〃Who　knows　anything　about

dynamite？〃



And　of　course　nobody　knew；　although　it　had　been　the　burden　of　the

interrogation　put　to　him。



Luigi　Polazzo　came　back　in　a　little　less　than　two　hours；　and　he　came

back　a　wreck　that　babbled　in　delirium　and　could　give　no　answer　to

the　questions　showered　upon　him　along　the　echoing　corridor　of

dungeons　by　the　men　who　were　yet　to　get　what　he　had　got；　and　who

desired　greatly　to　know　what　things　had　been　done　to　him　and　what

interrogations　had　been　put　to　him。



Twice　again　in　the　next　forty…eight　hours　Luigi　was　taken　out　and

interrogated。　　After　that；　a　gibbering　imbecile；　he　went　to　live　in

Bughouse　Alley。　　He　has　a　strong　constitution。　　His　shoulders　are

broad；　his　nostrils　wide；　his　chest　is　deep；　his　blood　is　pure；　he

will　continue　to　gibber　in　Bughouse　Alley　long　after　I　have　swung

off　and　escaped　the　torment　of　the　penitentiaries　of　California。



Man　after　man　was　taken　away；　one　at　a　time；　and　the　wrecks　of　men

were　brought　back；　one　by　one；　to　rave　and　howl　in　the　darkness。

And　as　I　lay　there　and　listened　to　the　moaning　and　the　groaning；　and

all　the　idle　chattering　of　pain…addled　wits；　somehow；　vaguely

reminiscent；　it　seemed　to　me　that　somewhere；　some　time；　I　had　sat　in

a　high　place；　callous　and　proud；　and　listened　to　a　similar　chorus　of

moaning　and　groaning。　　Afterwards；　as　you　shall　learn；　I　identified

this　reminiscence　and　knew　that　the　moaning　and　the　groaning　was　of

the　sweep…slaves　manacled　to　their　benches；　which　I　heard　from

above；　on　the　poop；　a　soldier　passenger　on　a　galley　of　old　Rome。

That　was　when　I　sailed　for　Alexandria；　a　captain　of　men；　on　my　way

to　Jerusalem　。　。　。　but　that　is　a　story　I　shall　tell　you　later。　　In

the　meanwhile　。　。　。　。







CHAPTER　IV







In　the　meanwhile　obtained　the　horror　of　the　dungeons；　after　the

discovery　of　the　plot　to　break　prison。　　And　never；　during　those

eternal　hours　of　waiting；　was　it　absent　from　my　consciousness　that　I

should　follow　these　other　convicts　out；　endure　the　hells　of

inquisition　they　endured；　and　be　brought　back　a　wreck　and　flung　on

the　stone　floor　of　my　stone…walled；　iron…doored　dungeon。



They　came　for　me。　　Ungraciously　and　ungently；　with　blow　and　curse；

they　haled　me　forth；　and　I　faced　Captain　Jamie　and　Warden　Atherton；

themselves　arrayed　with　the　strength　of　half　a　dozen　state…bought；

tax…paid　brutes　of　guards　who　lingered　in　the　room　to　do　any

bidding。　　But　they　were　not　needed。



〃Sit　down；〃　said　Warden　Atherton；　indicating　a　stout　arm…chair。



I；　beaten　and　sore；　without　water　for　a　night　long　and　a　day　long；

faint　with　hunger；　weak　from　a　beating　that　had　been　added　to　five

days　in　the　dungeon　and　eighty　hours　in　the　jacket；　oppressed　by　the

calamity　of　human　fate；　apprehensive　of　what　was　to　happen　to　me

from　what　I　had　seen　happen　to　the　othersI；　a　wavering　waif　of　a

human　man　and　an　erstwhile　professor　of　agronomy　in　a　quiet　college

town；　I　hesitated　to　accept　the　invitation　to　sit　down。



Warden　Atherton　was　a　large　man　and　a　very　powerful　man。　　His　hands

flashed　out　to　a　grip　on　my　shoulders。　　I　was　a　straw　in　his

strength。　　He　lifted　me　clear　of　the　floor　and　crashed　me　down　in

the　chair。



〃　Now；〃　he　said；　while　I　gasped　and　swallowed　my　pain；　〃tell　me　all

about　it；　Standing。　　Spit　it　outall　of　it；　if　you　know　what's

healthy　for　you。〃



〃I　don't　know　anything　about　what　has　happened　。　。　。〃；　I　began。



That　was　as　far　as　I　got。　　With　a　growl　and　a　leap　he　was　upon　me。

Again　he　lifted　me　in　the　air　and　crashed　me　down　into　the　chair。



〃No　nonsense；　Standing；