Herald and tribune. [volume] (Jonesborough, Tenn.) 1869-current, 1885-11-19
SUNDAY IN SING SING.
FERDINAND WARD BEHIND THE
BARS.
Thirteen Hundred Silent Men at Breakfast
How Ward Looks and Acts.


teen hundred tired convicts are swelling
the matutinal anthem of sleep. But there
is one weary brain that does not rest, and
one white, troubled face, with cold, gray
eyes. that does not soften. A narrow
forehead, pinched nose, bloodless lips !
and hard, fine lines about the mouth. |
Even the stern guard looks in through |
the thick iron bars with pity at the lean.
lonely man sitting on his little cot and
picking at his rumpled livery of disgrace.
Now there is wild clamor as the pris.
on bell is jerked roughly by keeper.
Hundreds Of feet begin to shuttle and
stamp, heavy doors open and shut with
startling accompaniments of chain rat
ting. Suddenly all the cell doors in the
five long, gloomy tiers are opened and
the whole thirteen hundred silent men
step out and put their hands on each 9th
er's shoulders as they form in line. Ward
is there. He puts the tips of his long,
thin fingers on the back of the sullen man
ahead of him and shivers as he realizes
that his companions hands have been
red with human blood.
! The slow march begins, and the sound
as of the washing of the sea in the hours
of the night changes to the tramp Of an
army. Ward is at the end of the stove
mo.untcrs' gang. If he were in the mid
die his awkward attempts at the k-step
would break up the line. Past hundreds
OF dark, yawning cells he goes along the
lofty tier and then down, down, down,
four steep flights of iron stairs and out
into the open yard with its soft green
lawns and its frowning walls. Ali 1t is
good TO breathe the open air, to look at
the sky, even if it is dark with cloudsl
Ward turns his cold gray eyes upward
and sighs.
Into the great dim mess room, with its
scores Of benches and hundreds of tin
cups and platters, the long lines of
speechless prisoners go. AT one end OF
the room are the scampering cooks and
at the other is Chief Keeper Connaugh-
ton, tall, grim and kecn-eyed, with one
hand toying with his chin and the other
grasping heavy black. thorn club. There
is loud rap and 1 ,075 men sit down with
suddenness that makes Wards hair
bristle as he stands alone. Then he sits
down slowly and bends slowly over a
plate of hash. Daintily, as if dissecting
the tender flesh of young partridge, the
whilom millionaire picks at the substan-
tial but deprcssingly unheroic food. 1t is
slow work, but finally the TIN plate is
emptied. Ward reaches for his quart
cup of stcaming coffee and takes gulp.
Then his features writhe as the plebeian
"bootleg" gurgles down his delicate
throat Burned bread mixed with the
real bean doesn't compare at all with the
delicious draughts of fragrant Java furn-
ished at Delmonico's and the Ludlow
Street Jail. Still, coffee Is coffee and
hunger is hunger. Ward chews loath-
ingly at o slice of bread; then he looks
pleased. The bread is sweet and good
He eats another slice, and then he folds
his hands and bows his peaked face upon
his breast All the browed, thick
necked ruf1lans in the room are glaring
stealthily at him. When Ward becomes
aware of the battery Of glances he looks
uneasy and passes his hand wcarily
across his face.
Two quick, hard raps. Everybody is
on his feet and the line begins to march.
The Roman Catholic wheels out and pro-
ceeds to the laundry. All the rest trudge
slowly up flight of steps to- the Metho-
dist Chapel.-The sound of an organ,
, low and sweet, steals softly through the
shadows, Then 1t breaks out into loud
strains. But all through it is the sound
of marching men. At the door Of the
chapel Ward falters Then he bends his
: head as he enters long low ceiling room
filled with rows of rough wooden benches,
stiff backed and unpainted. At each end
is an immense picture Of the Hudson
river seen through brick arches. 1t is
: the facy of some poor, prison pent artist
in the front of the hall is platform
, surrounded by yellow rails and flanked
by low fences. A pale convict sits at the
; organ and seven other convicts with
viols and clarionets suddenly send burs
of loud music through the room. Ware
sits in the middle Of bench thirty fee
from the pulpit with Its open Bible. A
burglar rubs elbows with him on on,
y side and a manslaughtercr on the othes
The pale mans eyes wander. The choi
sings "Will Jesus Find Us Watching?'
4 and six hundred voices roar out th,
s words in harmony. Ward is silent ant
} trembling. Now the ch oir sings why
: Do You Waltz" Ward starts In Justly
4 in shrill tenor voice at the beginning o
s the next hymn, nodding his head gentl,
s and beating time with his little foot as h
: sings;
: The mistakes of my life have been many
v The sins OF my lifo have been more,
/ And scarce can see for my weeping,
, But I'll knock at the open door,
: know am weak and sinful,
. IL comes to me more and more:
I, Bnt when the dear Saviour shall bid III
q come In,
v III enter the open door.
y Gray haired Parson Edgarton utters
: simple sermon, and little, jolly Brothe
! Brown talks sense and wrestles vigorous
9 ly with Satan. The choir sings "Wait
$ ing and Watching for me-" and quar-
v tet murmurs Eternity" The next me
ment handsome young fellow advance
to the front Of the platform and render
o 20 Fair Dovel o Fond Dove!" In
: sweet baritone voice, after which dee
DuSS NOlCC VIC IJiu III,
u It's all over and the long line marche
. down again Ward empties his slo
. bucket with the rest, takes his loaf {
y bread and three-quart can of apple sauC
le on his bent arm and shufiles back to h
q lonely cell.
"a Such was the fist Sunday of the or
Napoleon of Finance in prison.. WhC
Keeper Tiernan came around the prison,
eagerly asked about the prison rules an
: wondered how other men stood con1n
a mcnt.
lg "If / have nothing but prison 70,
in offered to me-" he said bitterly, "I
lc starvc."
n "Oh, no, you WON'T said the kin
n. hearted keeper; you'll get fat on
lg Keep stout heart and you'll be all rig
yet"