the jacket (the star-rover)- 第6部分

been　written　on　the　books。　　And　it　is　because　of　my　status　of　life…

timer　that　I　am　to　be　hanged　for　battery　committed　on　the　guard

Thurston。　　It　is　clearly　EX　POST　FACTO；　and；　therefore；

unconstitutional。



But　what　bearing　has　the　Constitution　on　constitutional　lawyers　when

they　want　to　put　the　notorious　Professor　Darrell　Standing　out　of　the

way？　　Nor　do　I　even　establish　the　precedent　with　my　execution。　　A

year　ago；　as　everybody　who　reads　the　newspapers　knows；　they　hanged

Jake　Oppenheimer；　right　here　in　Folsom；　for　a　precisely　similar

offence　。　。　。　only；　in　his　case　of　battery；　he　was　not　guilty　of

making　a　guard's　nose　bleed。　　He　cut　a　convict　unintentionally　with

a　bread…knife。



It　is　strangelife　and　men's　ways　and　laws　and　tangled　paths。　　I　am

writing　these　lines　in　the　very　cell　in　Murderers'　Row　that　Jake

Oppenheimer　occupied　ere　they　took　him　out　and　did　to　him　what　they

are　going　to　do　to　me。



I　warned　you　I　had　many　things　to　write　about。　　I　shall　now　return

to　my　narrative。　　The　Board　of　Prison　Directors　gave　me　my　choice：

a　prison　trustyship　and　surcease　from　the　jute…looms　if　I　gave　up

the　non…existent　dynamite；　life　imprisonment　in　solitary　if　I

refused　to　give　up　the　non…existent　dynamite。



They　gave　me　twenty…four　hours　in　the　jacket　to　think　it　over。　　Then

I　was　brought　before　the　Board　a　second　time。　　What　could　I　do？　　I

could　not　lead　them　to　the　dynamite　that　was　not。　　I　told　them　so；

and　they　told　me　I　was　a　liar。　　They　told　me　I　was　a　hard　case；　a

dangerous　man；　a　moral　degenerate；　the　criminal　of　the　century。

They　told　me　many　other　things；　and　then　they　carried　me　away　to　the

solitary　cells。　　I　was　put　into　Number　One　cell。　　In　Number　Five　lay

Ed　Morrell。　　In　Number　Twelve　lay　Jake　Oppenheimer。　　And　he　had　been

there　for　ten　years。　　Ed　Morrell　had　been　in　his　cell　only　one　year。

He　was　serving　a　fifty…years'　sentence。　　Jake　Oppenheimer　was　a

lifer。　　And　so　was　I　a　lifer。　　Wherefore　the　outlook　was　that　the

three　of　us　would　remain　there　for　a　long　time。　　And　yet；　six　years

only　are　past；　and　not　one　of　us　is　in　solitary。　　Jake　Oppenheimer

was　swung　off。　　Ed　Morrell　was　made　head　trusty　of　San　Quentin　and

then　pardoned　out　only　the　other　day。　　And　here　I　am　in　Folsom

waiting　the　day　duly　set　by　Judge　Morgan；　which　will　be　my　last　day。



The　fools！　　As　if　they　could　throttle　my　immortality　with　their

clumsy　device　of　rope　and　scaffold！　　I　shall　walk；　and　walk　again；

oh；　countless　times；　this　fair　earth。　　And　I　shall　walk　in　the

flesh；　be　prince　and　peasant；　savant　and　fool；　sit　in　the　high　place

and　groan　under　the　wheel。







CHAPTER　V







It　was　very　lonely；　at　first；　in　solitary；　and　the　hours　were　long。

Time　was　marked　by　the　regular　changing　of　the　guards；　and　by　the

alternation　of　day　and　night。　　Day　was　only　a　little　light；　but　it

was　better　than　the　all…dark　of　the　night。　　In　solitary　the　day　was

an　ooze；　a　slimy　seepage　of　light　from　the　bright　outer　world。



Never　was　the　light　strong　enough　to　read　by。　　Besides；　there　was

nothing　to　read。　　One　could　only　lie　and　think　and　think。　　And　I　was

a　lifer；　and　it　seemed　certain；　if　I　did　not　do　a　miracle；　make

thirty…five　pounds　of　dynamite　out　of　nothing；　that　all　the　years　of

my　life　would　be　spent　in　the　silent　dark。



My　bed　was　a　thin　and　rotten　tick　of　straw　spread　on　the　cell　floor。

One　thin　and　filthy　blanket　constituted　the　covering。　　There　was　no

chair；　no　tablenothing　but　the　tick　of　straw　and　the　thin；　aged

blanket。　　I　was　ever　a　short　sleeper　and　ever　a　busy…brained　man。

In　solitary　one　grows　sick　of　oneself　in　his　thoughts；　and　the　only

way　to　escape　oneself　is　to　sleep。　　For　years　I　had　averaged　five

hours'　sleep　a　night。　　I　now　cultivated　sleep。　　I　made　a　science　of

it。　　I　became　able　to　sleep　ten　hours；　then　twelve　hours；　and；　at

last；　as　high　as　fourteen　and　fifteen　hours　out　of　the　twenty…four。

But　beyond　that　I　could　not　go；　and；　perforce；　was　compelled　to　lie

awake　and　think　and　think。　　And　that　way；　for　an　active…brained　man；

lay　madness。



I　sought　devices　to　enable　me　mechanically　to　abide　my　waking　hours。

I　squared　and　cubed　long　series　of　numbers；　and　by　concentration　and

will　carried　on　most　astonishing　geometric　progressions。　　I　even

dallied　with　the　squaring　of　the　circle　。　。　。　until　I　found　myself

beginning　to　believe　that　that　possibility　could　be　accomplished。

Whereupon；　realizing　that　there；　too；　lay　madness；　I　forwent　the

squaring　of　the　circle；　although　I　assure　you　it　required　a

considerable　sacrifice　on　my　part；　for　the　mental　exercise　involved

was　a　splendid　time…killer。



By　sheer　visualization　under　my　eyelids　I　constructed　chess…boards

and　played　both　sides　of　long　games　through　to　checkmate。　　But　when

I　had　become　expert　at　this　visualized　game　of　memory　the　exercise

palled　on　me。　　Exercise　it　was；　for　there　could　be　no　real　contest

when　the　same　player　played　both　sides。　　I　tried；　and　tried　vainly；

to　split　my　personality　into　two　personalities　and　to　pit　one

against　the　other。　　But　ever　I　remained　the　one　player；　with　no

planned　ruse　or　strategy　on　one　side　that　the　other　side　did　not

immediately　apprehend。



And　time　was　very　heavy　and　very　long。　　I　played　games　with　flies；

with　ordinary　houseflies　that　oozed　into　solitary　as　did　the　dim

gray　light；　and　learned　that　they　possessed　a　sense　of　play。　　For

instance；　lying　on　the　cell　floor；　I　established　an　arbitrary　and

imaginary　line　along　the　wall　some　three　feet　above　the　floor。　　When

they　rested　on　the　wall　above　this　line　they　were　left　in　peace。

The　instant　they　lighted　on　the　wall　below　the　line　I　tried　to　catch

them。　　I　was　careful　never　to　hurt　them；　and；　in　time；　they　knew　as

precisely　as　did　I　where　ran　the　imaginary　line。　　When　they　desired

to　play；　they　lighted　below　the　line；　and　often　for　an　hour　at　a

time　a　single　fly　would　engage　in　the　sport。　　When　it　grew　tired；　it

would　come　to　rest　on　the　safe　territory　above。



Of　the　dozen　or　more　flies　that　lived　with　me；　there　was　only　one

who　did　not　care　for　the　game。　　He　refused　steadfastly　to　play；　and；

having　learned　the　penalty　of　alighting　below　the　line；　very

carefully　avoided　the　unsafe　territory。　　That　fly　was　a　sullen；

disgruntled　creature。　　As　the　convicts　would　say；　it　had　a　〃grouch〃

against　the　world。　　He　never　played　with　the　other　flies　either。　　He

was　strong　and　healthy；　too；　for　I　studied　him　long　to　find　out。

His　indisposition　for　play　was　temperamental；　not　physical。



Believe　me；　I　knew　all　my　flies。　　It　was　surprising　to　me　the

multitude　of　differences　I　distinguished　between　them。　　Oh；　each　was

distinctly　an　individualnot　merely　in　size　and　markings；　strength；

and　speed　of　flight；　and　in　the　manner　and　fancy　of　flight　and　play；

of　dodge　and　dart；　of　wheel　and　swiftly　repeat　or　wheel　and　reverse；

of　touch　and　go　on　the　danger　wall；　or　of　feint　the　touch　and　alight

elsewhere　within　the　zone。　　They　were　likewise　sharply

differentiated　in　the　minutest　shades　of　mentality　and　temperament。



I　knew　the　nervous　ones；　the　phlegmatic　ones。　　There　was　a　little

undersized　one　that　would　fly　into　real　rages；　sometimes　with　me；

sometimes　with　its　fellows。　　Have　you　ever　seen　a　colt　or　a　calf

throw　up　its　heels　and　dash　madly　about　the　pasture　from　sheer

excess　of　vitality　and　spirits？　　Well；　there　was　one　flythe

keenest　player　of　them　all；　by　the　waywho；　when　it　had　alighted

three　or　four　times　in　rapid　succession　on　my　taboo　wall　and

succeeded　each　time　in　eluding　the　velvet…careful　swoop　of　my　hand；

would　grow　so　excited　and　jubilant　that　it　would　dart　around　and

around　my　head　at　top　speed；　wheeling；　veering；　reversing；　and

always　keeping　within　the　limits　of　the　narrow　circle　in　which　it

celebrated　its　triumph　over　me。



Why；　I　could　tell　well　in　advance　when　any　particular　fly　was　making

up　its　mind　to　begin　to　play。　　There　are　a　thousand　details　in　this

one　matter　alone　that　I　shall　not　bore　you　with；　although　these

details　did　serve　to　keep　me　from　being　bored　too　utterly　during

that　first　period　in　solitary。　　But　one　thing　I　must　tell　you。　　To

me　it　is　most　memorablethe　time　when　the　one　with　a　grouch；　who

never　played；　alighted　in　a　moment　of　absent…mindedness　within　the

taboo　precinct　and　was　immediately　captured　in　my　hand。　　Do　you

know；　he　sulked　for　an　hour　afterward。



And　the　hours　were　very　long　in　solitary；　nor　could　I　sleep　them　all

away；　nor　could　I　while　them　away　with　house…flies；　no　matter　how

intelligent。　　For　house…flies　are　house…flies；　and　I　was　a　man；　with

a　man's　brain；　and　my　brain　was　trained　and　active；　stuffed　with

culture　and　science；　and　always　geared　to　a　high　tension　of

eagerness　to　do。　　And　there　was　nothing　to　do；　and　my　thoughts　ran

abominably　on　in　vain　speculations。　　There　was　my　pentose　and

methyl…pentose　determination　in　grapes　and　wines　to　which　I　had

devoted　my　last　summer　vacation　at　the　Asti　Vineyards。　　I　had　all

but　completed　the　series　of　experiments。　　Was　anybody　else　going　on

with　it；　I　wondered；　and　if　so；　with　what　success？



You　see；　the　world　was　dead　to　me。　　No　news　of　it　filtered　in。　　The

history　of　science　was　making　fast；　and　I　was　interested　in　a

thousand　subjects。　　Why；　there　was　my　theory　of　the　hydrolysis　of

casein　by　trypsin；　which　Professor　Walters　had　been　carrying　out　in

his　laboratory。　　Also；　Professor　Schleimer　had　similarly　been

collaborating　with　me　in　the　detection　of　phytosterol　in　mixtures　of

animal　and　vegetable　fats。　　The　work　surely　was　going　on；　but　with

what　results？　　The　very　thought　of　all　this　activity　just　beyond　the

prison　walls　and　in　which　I　could　take　no　part；　of　which　I　was　never

even　to　hear；　was　maddening。　　And　in　the　meantime　I　lay　there　on　my

cell　floor　and　played　games　with　house…flies。



And　yet　all　was　not　silence　in　solitary。　　Early　in　my　confinement　I

used　to　hear；　at　irregular　intervals；　faint；　low　tappi