The Vancouver independent. (Vancouver, W.T. [Wash.]) 1875-1910, 1882-03-16

him. But that was before he began to
| pity his former self, and separate his life
before and after sentence, as the life of
the hopeless drunkard is separated from
that of hopeful son.
His story was known to all the officers
and their children. He was on his way
home from the shop one night when the
awful event which twisted his life so
happened. He had been working late,
as he had for several nights, and had
learned to carry thick stick, for Sacra-
mento, even so late as the early sixties,
had plenty of rough characters abroad O.
nights. He was passing saloon just as
rush of angry men came out, with oaths,
flash of light and blast of hot air from
the interior. A man whom he recognized
as peace officer was evidently trying to
arrest man whom the rest of the crowd
were trying to rescue. Suddenly one of
the men ran around behind the officer,
and raised knife to strike him in the
back. ILstinctively, only with the
thought to save an officer from dastardly
assassination, the strong armed mechanic
struck with his cane.
He admitted on bis trial that he struck
the man, and the Coroner testified that
it was the blow of the cane that had
killed the man. He did not know until
several days after that night that he had
killed one of the best known and "pop-
ular" members of the sporting fra
ternlty. The fraternity was strong and
wealthy in Sacramento at that time,
which meant much more than the hon
est mechanic comprehended. The
officer whose life he had saved mysteri
To
dumbfounded. at the testimony offered
against him. He heard dozen wit
nesses swear that he had entered the
saloon, picked quarrel with the dead
gambler, and, just as the officer APP
peared and tried to separate them, he had
struck the gambler on the neck with his
heavy cane.
Tommy said to his wife: ST won't
touch our money in the bank to. defend
me in this trial, for even L can see they
are bound to convict and punish me. If
1 spend all our money, and then am sent
to prison, there will be nothing left for
you and the boys. They will soon be
old enough to run the shop, and the
money will keep you all till then"
During the first, long dreadful year in
prison his wife came every month to see
him, and told him how we'll the boys
were getting along. The visits cost
money, for the river competition never
got so warm as to put the fare down to
nothing, and so the visits became farther
apart. Finally his wife came no more,
but she sometimes wrote him. At last
he learned that the boys had left school
and had started up the shop, but they
did not keep his trade. People did not
care to patronize convict's son. Poor
Tom thought he could see evidence in
these letters that there was much for him
to be blamed for in the opinion of the
boys. Then came word that his wife
had given up the little house to the boys
and also given them charge Of the money.
That was the last letter he got. Years,
two or three, before his term had expired
Tommy had figured out how many more
days he had, deducting credits under the
Goodwin law. He never lost any cred
its. He was trusted implicitly by all the
officers, and any one about the prison
would have laughed at the idea of
Tommy the boatman running away,
or in any way trying to escape.
His only limits were the guard lines,
but there was no night or day there the
last four years that he could not have es-
capped if he had minded to. Yet he
looked forward to his liberty as he
called it, with the feverish anxiety with
which all conyicts do. 1t is part of
their lives. Those who like Tommy,
have been in for twenty years, retain,
strangely enough, the roseate pictures of
liberty they form under the fearful stress
of contrast in the first few dreadful
months. Tommy's feeble lips trembled
more, and he talked more to the children
when they came down to the beach for a
frolic in the surf, when he was always by
to see that no harm came to them. He
talked to them in rambling, sometimes
beseeching way, about the delights of
liberty, and sometimes would look at
them as if he would learn from their
faces whether they believed he really
would enjoy all he promised himself he
would.
Tommy, the boatman, goes out in a
in few days." one officer said to an
other.
Eyes, poor old man, wonder what
will become of him? I've written to his
sons, in Sacramento, but they have not
answered my letter. They got hold of
his money some way, l believe. His
wife died some years ago"
Al last the morning came when Tommy
was to go. He was up before daylight,
had clean shave, and dressed himself in
the new suit of decent black furnished
by the prison. When the office opened,