the jacket (the star-rover)- 第58部分

of　the　non…existent　dynamite　and　who　was　responsible　for　the　five

years　I　had　then　spent　in　solitary。



I　decided　to　kill　Cecil　Winwood。　　You　see；　Morrell　was　gone；　and

Oppenheimer；　until　the　outbreak　that　finished　him；　had　remained　in

the　silence。　　Solitary　had　grown　monotonous　for　me。　　I　had　to　do

something。　　So　I　remembered　back　to　the　time　when　I　was　Adam　Strang

and　patiently　nursed　revenge　for　forty　years。　　What　he　had　done　I

could　do　if　once　I　locked　my　hands　on　Cecil　Winwood's　throat。



It　cannot　be　expected　of　me　to　divulge　how　I　came　into　possession　of

the　four　needles。　　They　were　small　cambric　needles。　　Emaciated　as　my

body　was；　I　had　to　saw　four　bars；　each　in　two　places；　in　order　to

make　an　aperture　through　which　I　could　squirm。　　I　did　it。　　I　used　up

one　needle　to　each　bar。　　This　meant　two　cuts　to　a　bar；　and　it　took　a

month　to　a　cut。　　Thus　I　should　have　been　eight　months　in　cutting　my

way　out。　　Unfortunately；　I　broke　my　last　needle　on　the　last　bar；　and

I　had　to　wait　three　months　before　I　could　get　another　needle。　　But　I

got　it；　and　I　got　out。



I　regret　greatly　that　I　did　not　get　Cecil　Winwood。　　I　had　calculated

well　on　everything　save　one　thing。　　The　certain　chance　to　find

Winwood　would　be　in　the　dining…room　at　dinner　hour。　　So　I　waited

until　Pie…Face　Jones；　the　sleepy　guard；　should　be　on　shift　at　the

noon　hour。　　At　that　time　I　was　the　only　inmate　of　solitary；　so　that

Pie…Face　Jones　was　quickly　snoring。　　I　removed　my　bars；　squeezed

out；　stole　past　him　along　the　ward；　opened　the　door　and　was　free　。　。

。　to　a　portion　of　the　inside　of　the　prison。



And　here　was　the　one　thing　I　had　not　calculated　onmyself。　　I　had

been　five　years　in　solitary。　　I　was　hideously　weak。　　I　weighed

eighty…seven　pounds。　　I　was　half　blind。　　And　I　was　immediately

stricken　with　agoraphobia。　　I　was　affrighted　by　spaciousness。　　Five

years　in　narrow　walls　had　unfitted　me　for　the　enormous　declivity　of

the　stairway；　for　the　vastitude　of　the　prison　yard。



The　descent　of　that　stairway　I　consider　the　most　heroic　exploit　I

ever　accomplished。　　The　yard　was　deserted。　　The　blinding　sun　blazed

down　on　it。　　Thrice　I　essayed　to　cross　it。　　But　my　senses　reeled　and

I　shrank　back　to　the　wall　for　protection。　　Again；　summoning　all　my

courage；　I　attempted　it。　　But　my　poor　blear　eyes；　like　a　bat's；

startled　me　at　my　shadow　on　the　flagstones。　　I　attempted　to　avoid　my

own　shadow；　tripped；　fell　over　it；　and　like　a　drowning　man

struggling　for　shore　crawled　back　on　hands　and　knees　to　the　wall。



I　leaned　against　the　wall　and　cried。　　It　was　the　first　time　in　many

years　that　I　had　cried。　　I　remember　noting；　even　in　my　extremity；

the　warmth　of　the　tears　on　my　cheeks　and　the　salt　taste　when　they

reached　my　lips。　　Then　I　had　a　chill；　and　for　a　time　shook　as　with

an　ague。　　Abandoning　the　openness　of　the　yard　as　too　impossible　a

feat　for　one　in　my　condition；　still　shaking　with　the　chill；

crouching　close　to　the　protecting　wall；　my　hands　touching　it；　I

started　to　skirt　the　yard。



Then　it　was；　somewhere　along；　that　the　guard　Thurston　espied　me。　　I

saw　him；　distorted　by　my　bleared　eyes；　a　huge；　well…fed　monster；

rushing　upon　me　with　incredible　speed　out　of　the　remote　distance。

Possibly；　at　that　moment；　he　was　twenty　feet　away。　　He　weighed　one

hundred　and　seventy　pounds。　　The　struggle　between　us　can　be　easily

imagined；　but　somewhere　in　that　brief　struggle　it　was　claimed　that　I

struck　him　on　the　nose　with　my　fist　to　such　purpose　as　to　make　that

organ　bleed。



At　any　rate；　being　a　lifer；　and　the　penalty　in　California　for

battery　by　a　lifer　being　death；　I　was　so　found　guilty　by　a　jury

which　could　not　ignore　the　asseverations　of　the　guard　Thurston　and

the　rest　of　the　prison　hangdogs　that　testified；　and　I　was　so

sentenced　by　a　judge　who　could　not　ignore　the　law　as　spread　plainly

on　the　statute　book。



I　was　well　pummelled　by　Thurston；　and　all　the　way　back　up　that

prodigious　stairway　I　was　roundly　kicked；　punched；　and　cuffed　by　the

horde　of　trusties　and　guards　who　got　in　one　another's　way　in　their

zeal　to　assist　him。　　Heavens；　if　his　nose　did　bleed；　the　probability

is　that　some　of　his　own　kind　were　guilty　of　causing　it　in　the

confusion　of　the　scuffle。　　I　shouldn't　care　if　I　were　responsible

for　it　myself；　save　that　it　is　so　pitiful　a　thing　for　which　to　hang

a　man。　。　。　。





I　have　just　had　a　talk　with　the　man　on　shift　of　my　death…watch。　　A

little　less　than　a　year　ago；　Jake　Oppenheimer　occupied　this　same

death…cell　on　the　road　to　the　gallows　which　I　will　tread　to…morrow。

This　man　was　one　of　the　death…watch　on　Jake。　　He　is　an　old　soldier。

He　chews　tobacco　constantly；　and　untidily；　for　his　gray　beard　and

moustache　are　stained　yellow。　　He　is　a　widower；　with　fourteen　living

children；　all　married；　and　is　the　grandfather　of　thirty…one　living

grandchildren；　and　the　great…grandfather　of　four　younglings；　all

girls。　　It　was　like　pulling　teeth　to　extract　such　information。　　He

is　a　queer　old　codger；　of　a　low　order　of　intelligence。　　That　is　why；

I　fancy；　he　has　lived　so　long　and　fathered　so　numerous　a　progeny。

His　mind　must　have　crystallized　thirty　years　ago。　　His　ideas　are

none　of　them　later　than　that　vintage。　　He　rarely　says　more　than　yes

and　no　to　me。　　It　is　not　because　he　is　surly。　　He　has　no　ideas　to

utter。　　I　don't　know；　when　I　live　again；　but　what　one　incarnation

such　as　his　would　be　a　nice　vegetative　existence　in　which　to　rest　up

ere　I　go　star…roving　again。　。　。　。



But　to　go　back。　　I　must　take　a　line　in　which　to　tell；　after　I　was

hustled　and　bustled；　kicked　and　punched；　up　that　terrible　stairway

by　Thurston　and　the　rest　of　the　prison…dogs；　of　the　infinite　relief

of　my　narrow　cell　when　I　found　myself　back　in　solitary。　　It　was　all

so　safe；　so　secure。　　I　felt　like　a　lost　child　returned　home　again。

I　loved　those　very　walls　that　I　had　so　hated　for　five　years。　　All

that　kept　the　vastness　of　space；　like　a　monster；　from　pouncing　upon

me　were　those　good　stout　walls　of　mine；　close　to　hand　on　every　side。

Agoraphobia　is　a　terrible　affliction。　　I　have　had　little　opportunity

to　experience　it；　but　from　that　little　I　can　only　conclude　that

hanging　is　a　far　easier　matter。　。　。　。



I　have　just　had　a　hearty　laugh。　　The　prison　doctor；　a　likable　chap；

has　just　been　in　to　have　a　yarn　with　me；　incidentally　to　proffer　me

his　good　offices　in　the　matter　of　dope。　　Of　course　I　declined　his

proposition　to　〃shoot　me〃　so　full　of　morphine　through　the　night　that

to…morrow　I　would　not　know；　when　I　marched　to　the　gallows；　whether　I

was　〃coming　or　going。〃



But　the　laugh。　　It　was　just　like　Jake　Oppenheimer。　　I　can　see　the

lean　keenness　of　the　man　as　he　strung　the　reporters　with　his

deliberate　bull　which　they　thought　involuntary。　　It　seems；　his　last

morning；　breakfast　finished；　incased　in　the　shirt　without　a　collar；

that　the　reporters；　assembled　for　his　last　word　in　his　cell；　asked

him　for　his　views　on　capital　punishment。



…　Who　says　we　have　more　than　the　slightest　veneer　of　civilization

coated　over　our　raw　savagery　when　a　group　of　living　men　can　ask　such

a　question　of　a　man　about　to　die　and　whom　they　are　to　see　die？



But　Jake　was　ever　game。　　〃Gentlemen；〃　he　said；　〃I　hope　to　live　to

see　the　day　when　capital　punishment　is　abolished。〃



I　have　lived　many　lives　through　the　long　ages。　　Man；　the　individual；

has　made　no　moral　progress　in　the　past　ten　thousand　years。　　I　affirm

this　absolutely。　　The　difference　between　an　unbroken　colt　and　the

patient　draught…horse　is　purely　a　difference　of　training。　　Training

is　the　only　moral　difference　between　the　man　of　to…day　and　the　man

of　ten　thousand　years　ago。　　Under　his　thin　skin　of　morality　which　he

has　had　polished　onto　him；　he　is　the　same　savage　that　he　was　ten

thousand　years　ago。　　Morality　is　a　social　fund；　an　accretion　through

the　painful　ages。　　The　new…born　child　will　become　a　savage　unless　it

is　trained；　polished；　by　the　abstract　morality　that　has　been　so　long

accumulating。



〃Thou　shalt　not　kill〃piffle！　　They　are　going　to　kill　me　to…morrow

morning。　　〃Thou　shalt　not　kill〃piffle！　　In　the　shipyards　of　all

civilized　countries　they　are　laying　to…day　the　keels　of　Dreadnoughts

and　of　Superdreadnoughts。　　Dear　friends；　I　who　am　about　to　die；

salute　you　with〃Piffle！〃



I　ask　you；　what　finer　morality　is　preached　to…day　than　was　preached

by　Christ；　by　Buddha；　by　Socrates　and　Plato；　by　Confucius　and

whoever　was　the　author　of　the　〃Mahabharata〃？　　Good　Lord；　fifty

thousand　years　ago；　in　our　totem…families；　our　women　were　cleaner；

our　family　and　group　relations　more　rigidly　right。



I　must　say　that　the　morality　we　practised　in　those　old　days　was　a

finer　morality　than　is　practised　to…day。　　Don't　dismiss　this　thought

hastily。　　Think　of　our　child　labour；　of　our　police　graft　and　our

political　corruption；　of　our　food　adulteration　and　of　our　slavery　of

the　daughters　of　the　poor。　　When　I　was　a　Son　of　the　Mountain　and　a

Son　of　the　Bull；　prostitution　had　no　meaning。　　We　were　clean；　I　tell

you。　　We　did　not　dream　such　depths　of　depravity。　　Yea；　so　are　all

the　lesser　animals　of　to…day　clean。　　It　required　man；　with　his

imagination；　aided　by　his　mastery　of　matter；　to　invent　the　deadly

sins。　　The　lesser　animals；　the　other　animals；　are　incapable　of　sin。



I　read　hastily　back　through　the　many　lives　of　many　times　and　many

places。　　I　have　never　known　cruelty　more　terrible；　nor　so　terrible；

as　the　cruelty　of　our　prison　system　of　to…day。　　I　have　told　you　what

I　have　endured　in　the　jacket　and　in　solitary　in　the　first　decade　of

this　twentieth　century　after　Christ。　　In　the　old　days　we　punished

drastically　and　killed　quickly。　　We　did　it　because　we　so　desired；

because　of　whim；　if　you　so　please。　　But　we　were　not　hypocrites。　　We

did　not　call　upon　press；　and　pulpit；　and　university　to　sanction　us

in　our　wilfulness　of　savagery。　　What　we　wanted　to　do　we　went　and

did；　on　our　legs　upstanding；　and　we　faced　all　reproof　and　censure　on

our　legs　upstanding；　an