by W. H. Davies
The trial was not here ended, as most of us believed. A citizen, who had been an interested spectator of this scene, and who had been fidgeting in his seat for some time, now rose to his feet, and said—“Where is the justice of this? These men are all guilty of the same offence, and yet one is fined five dollars, and the other two get off more leniently, with the loss of three dollars each; this certainly cannot be called justice.” At this the Judge showed the first signs of passion. “Sir,” he shouted in wrath, “who is the Judge, I or you? If you ever again interfere with our proceedings, in this manner, I shall fine you for contempt of court—contempt of court, sir, contempt of court.” This citizen and lover of justice, collapsed stricken with awe, bluffed and discouraged. “Come, boys,” said the Judge, and he led the way back to the bar. There, he produced a two dollar bill, which was part of our fine, and called for drinks for the house. We followed his example, late prisoners and citizens, and were all happy together until a late hour.
The marshal, who seemed to have a little respect for me, for having shown the spirit of free speech before the judge, took me aside and asked whether we intended to take advantage of the invitation given by the citizen who had been threatened for contempt of court—to spend the night at his house. “I don’t think so,” I said; “we have had enough of this town, and intend leaving it to-night.” Shortly after these words we left the saloon, but had scarcely reached the street end, when I heard steps following, and to my surprise, the marshal was soon at our side. Now comes the most extraordinary part of this story, which I have often been diffident in relating, thinking it would not be credited.
“Boys,” said this burly fellow, who could not get any sleep day or night, “get you to the railroad, and if any one interferes with you, tell them that the marshal sent you; I shall be with you in about twenty minutes.” We were soon at the railroad, were not interfered with, and the marshal followed in a short time. “Listen,” he said to us, who were again trespassers on the railroad, at his pleasure and instigation: “There is a train already made up to start in five minutes’ time; get into this empty car, and by heavens, no man shall interfere with you.” Which we did, and when the train started, the marshal was there, beside the car, wishing us a pleasant good-bye. “Why,” said Brum, when I commented in astonishment at all this, “it is nothing unusual. One day,” he began, “I was in a small town in Ohio. Seeing a freight train leaving the station, I leaped into an empty car, just as the train started. When safe inside, I turned and stood in the open doorway, and looking out, saw the marshal standing on the platform, looking after me, so I waved him a sarcastic farewell. But the train, instead of increasing in speed, began to slow, and coming to a standstill, began at once to back towards the station. Before I could decide on my course of action, we were again standing in front of the station, with my car facing the marshal, who seemed to have waited, expecting this to happen. ‘Hallo,’ he cried, ‘come out of that for you are under arrest.’ I was lodged in jail, and was next morning brought up for trial. The marshal gave evidence as to seeing me jump the train, and I was charged with that offence. Having no money, I was about to be sent to jail when the judge asked the marshal to examine my hands which, although I had done no work for a number of years, were still hard and horny. I said that I was a seafaring man, and exhibited pictures of boats and anchors tattooed on my arms, at the same time offering to show the Polly Jane in full sail across my breast. My strange calling, in that inland town more than a thousand miles from the coast, appeared to greatly interest the judge, who, after several friendly questions, discharged me with a caution. Instead of at once taking advantage of my freedom, I sat down, waiting the end of the court. Another prisoner was then brought up, who had been seen loafing on the station platform all the previous day. This prisoner pleaded guilty, and said that he had waited in vain for hours for a freight train to carry him to his destination, he having no money to pay his fare as a passenger. “Hold,” cried the marshal, “that is a lie, for I myself saw a train steaming out when you were loafing indifferently on the platform.” “Ten dollars, or sixty days,” said the judge. This will show you how one prisoner was charged for stealing a ride on a freight train, and another prisoner was charged for not doing so as the opportunity occurred, happening in the same court, and under the same judge. Again,” continued Brum, “I know a prisoner, in an adjoining state, who was sentenced to ten years for embezzlement. The money was never recovered, and he probably has it safe until his time expires. This prisoner is receiving a salary of ten dollars a week for keeping the prison books, is allowed to converse with any one, and is entrusted to go the rounds of the turnkey. He is the one man allowed to wear private clothes, and is even allowed at night the liberty of a stroll in the open air, and unattended, with the one stipulation that he returns before a certain hour at night. And,” continued Brum, “what with the money he has concealed—held probably by a relative—and his weekly salary of ten dollars as the bookkeeper of the prison, he will never need work more, after his sentence is served. But, listen to me,” continued Brum more earnestly, “some of these queer laws are to a tramp’s advantage. The winter is already here, and promises to be a most severe one. Now, if you would like to rest and grow fat during the coldest months, come with me to Michigan. You can there enter jails without committing offence of any kind, and take ten, fifteen, twenty or thirty days, all at your own sweet discretion. No work to do, good food to be had, and tobacco daily supplied. There is nothing else but begging before you, for the coming winter,” said Brum, warming to his subject, “but if you like to enter with me those blessed havens of rest, where one can play cards, smoke or read the time away, you will become strong and ready for work when the spring of the year arrives.”
This project did not seem to me to be very attractive. For one thing, it was a long journey to that part of the country, and the weather being cold, we were forced to travel at night and sleep in the day. I was certainly not a very pleasant companion at this time, being occupied so much with my own dreams, which ever took the one shape of a small comfortable room with a cosy fire; books, papers, tobacco, with reading and writing in turns. At any rate, we decided to follow Brum’s suggestion, and, instead of going to New York, we got off, and took another road.
We had a rough time in beating our way to Michigan. We were marched out of one town by the marshal, where we were waiting to catch a train. This necessitated us either to walk three miles to catch a train as it was on a grade, or to walk ten miles to the next watering tank, where all freight trains stopped. We decided on doing the former. To do this required an activity of which I hardly thought Brum to be capable. The grade was long and before the train reached the top, its speed would be slackened to about ten miles an hour, or less, if it had heavy freight. It was necessary to lie low, and out of sight, until the train appeared, and then run beside it, so as to leap and catch the handle bar, the feet at the same time catching the iron step; after doing which we could step on to the bumpers, or climb the ladder to the top of the car. If either the hand or foot failed to do its duty, it meant a fall, and a very serious accident or death. I was the youngest and most active, and leapt the first part of the train. As soon as I was safe I looked around the car, and had the pleasure of seeing Australian Red succeed just three cars behind, and Brum succeeding on the next car to him. When we reached the next stopping place, we all got together on the same car, so as to be prepared for any trouble with the train’s crew. A brakesman passed over the top, and shouted to us in a friendly manner; passed and re passed several times before the train reached its destination, but treated our presence with the utmost indifference, which is often the case in that part of America.
What a difference it made in our feelings, this changing of seasons! It seemed but a few days ago the birds were singing, the orchards were heavy and mellow with fruit, and we could sleep in the open air all night. It was now necessary to light great fires, when the front parts of our bodies burned whil
st a cold chill crept up and down the spine; and the first fall of snow, which was likely to occur at any time, would soon make it difficult to enjoy even this small comfort.
At last we reached a small town in Michigan which, Brum informed us, was the county town; and which, said he, chuckling with delight, had an exceedingly pleasant jail.
CHAPTER 8
A PRISONER HIS OWN JUDGE
“NOW,” SAID BRUM, as the freight train steamed into the town and came to a standstill, “we must see the marshal.” With this end in view we walked towards the passenger depot, which, Brum informed us, was visited by the marshal several times a day, so that he might the better accost such tramps as were going through that town. We arrived at that place and stamped up and down the platform, to circulate our blood, for it was now snowing heavily, and the wind blowing in small gusts that discovered us shelter wherever we would.
How the snow falls in the north! Flake on flake falling incessantly, until the small dingles are almost on a level with the uplands. It throws itself on the leaves of Autumn, and holds them down in security from the strongest winds. It piles great banks against people’s doors, and mothers and daughters are made prisoners to their own hearths, until fathers and sons set to and cut a path to the open thoroughfare. Special snow trains are at work clearing the track to make the way easier for passenger trains and freight trains that run on passenger lines, being loaded with cattle or other perishable goods; whilst other freight is often delayed for days, and sometimes weeks.
We had been here some fifteen minutes, when we saw the marshal coming down the road leading to the station, the bright star of his authority being seen distinctly on his breast. “Now,” said Brum, “let me be the spokesman, and I will arrange for a month’s comfort.” By this time the marshal stood before us. “Boys,” he began, “cold weather for travelling, eh?” “We don’t feel the cold,” was Brum’s reply. “You will though,” said the marshal, “this is but the beginning, and there is a long and severe winter before you, without a break. You would certainly be better off in jail. Sixty days in our jail, which is considered one of the best, if not the best, in Michigan, would do you no harm, I assure you.” “As for that,” said Brum, “we might take thirty days each, providing of course, that you made it worth while. What about tobacco and a drink or two of whisky?” “That’ll be all right,” said the marshal, “here’s half a dollar for a drink, and the sheriff will supply your tobacco.” “No, no,” objected Brum, “give us a dollar and three cakes of tobacco, and we will take thirty days, and remember, not a day over.” The marshal produced the three cakes of tobacco, seeming to be well prepared for these demands, and giving us a paper dollar, requested us to go to Donovan’s saloon, which we would find in the main street, where he would see us later in the day; “when of course,” he added, winking, “you will be supposed to be just a bit merry.”
“What is the meaning of all this?” I asked Brum, as we went our way to Mr. Donovan’s saloon. “It simply means this,” he said, “that the marshal gets a dollar each for every arrest he makes—in our case three dollars; the judge receives three or four dollars for every conviction, and the sheriff of the jail is paid a dollar a day for boarding each prisoner under his charge; we benefit by a good rest, warmth, good food and plenty of sleep, and the innocent citizens have to pay for it all.”
We had not much difficulty in finding Donovan’s saloon, which we entered, and called for whisky. It so happened that two strangers were there, who had made a considerable stake in the backwoods, and had come to this town to squander their earnings. We therefore came into many a free drink, through the liberality of these men.
About an hour and a half had elapsed when we discovered ourselves to be alone in the bar, and without means of procuring more liquor. “We had better be going,” said Brum, and we passed into the street. Brum saw the marshal coming up the road and began singing in a lusty voice, to the astonishment of some of the storekeepers. Australian Red, being the worse for drink, and forgetting that we had only to feign this part, began to roar like a bull, merry in earnest. On this the marshal quickly crossed the street and in the hearing of several citizens, shouted in an authoritative voice:—“I arrest you for being drunk and disorderly,” and we followed him like lambs. We were then led to the sheriff’s house, adjoining the jail. That gentleman, being in, received us with open arms saying—“Welcome, boys, you want thirty days, and thirty you shall have, no more or less; and you will be none the worse for it, I promise you, at the end of the month.” He then made a few casual items in a large book, roughly descriptive of our weight, height, and personal appearance, and then led the way through two or three corridors, until we were confronted by a large iron door. This he opened with an iron key, and we were ushered into a large room, where were assembled between thirty or forty prisoners. Some were reading, some were pacing to and fro, and several batches of them were playing cards. What a reception we had, bringing in a fresh supply of information from the outside. “Have you seen Detroit Fatty?” asked one. “Or the Saginaw Kid?” asked another. “Or Chicago Slim?” asked another. Brum, who seemed to know these wonderful persons, answered according to his knowledge.
In this large room, for the common use of the prisoners, were twenty or more cells, to which they retired for sleep, but were never locked in—except maybe, an occasional prisoner, who might be waiting trial under a charge of grand larceny, manslaughter, or murder. Supper was soon brought in, and it was a good substantial meal. Its quantity seemed to be more than idle men needed, if they had three such meals every day, and its quality would satisfy me in any position in life. What a pleasure it was that night to be in warmth, and with our minds eased of a month’s anxiety. “What time are you going to do?” asked one. “Thirty days,” answered Brum. “Plenty,” said the other. “There is more jails than this, and not much difference in them, and to go out in the cold for a day or two makes us better appreciate the warmth and comfort within.”
Next morning we were taken by the sheriff to the court-house, where a number of town people were assembled, owing to the more interesting trial of a local man. I have often thought with amusement of this scene. Despite the judge’s severe expression, and his solemn deliberate utterance, we knew what to expect,—thirty days, no more or less. The sheriff whispered to the judge, and the judge nodded sagely, at the same time casting his eyes in our direction. We were charged with being drunk and disorderly, and with disturbing the public peace. “He did not see,” he said, “why peaceable citizens should be disturbed in this way by drunken strangers, and would fine us seven dollars and costs, in default of which we would be lodged in the county jail for thirty days.” We were then led back by the sheriff, and when we were again among the prisoners, they seemed to express very little curiosity as to our sentences, knowing it was our wish that we should receive thirty days, and that the judge was at our pleasure—we being in fact our own judges.
Every morning the sheriff required half a dozen prisoners to sweep and clean the court-house, which was situated about half a mile from the jail. Australian Red and myself went with him several mornings, for a little fresh air, but prisoners could please themselves, and Brum, I know, never left the jail during the whole thirty days. It was an understood thing that any prisoner could discharge himself on these occasions, if inclined, without any fear of capture. The Marshal and the Judge had had their dollars for arrest and conviction, and I suppose, the sheriff charged for board and lodging, without mention of a prisoner’s escape. Perhaps they were afraid of bringing back an escaped prisoner, for fear he might make some awkward disclosures. At any rate, liberty could be had by a very deliberate walk and there was certainly no need to make a desperate dash for it. Of course, there was no reason why any prisoner should seek to escape these conditions, which were of his own seeking, and which, during this unpleasant time of the year, could not in any way be bettered by homeless men.
