CHAPTER XXI.
Remorse.
“Now, Clarence has his freedom and has left the prison. Next comes the trial of the officer, and poor Pat, what a predicament he is in! I must have him for a witness in this case. I must try to find out all he knows, and if it will not assist any in the Pearson case, I will try to get along without him. Well, I thought Pat just stepped out to avoid the Pearson scene. I hope that he will return soon. I shall have to notify the officials of the new prisoner’s arrival. Here comes Pat.
“Well, Pat, I thought you had walked away with Clarence Pearson. The poor fellow was a happy man when he left this place.”
“They will have the same thing to say when someone else walks away from here.”
“Pat, I did not say ‘they’; I said ‘I.’ To whom are you alluding as ‘they,’ and when who walks away?”
“Well, your honor, I am the next to give the papers to, and please give me my papers of resignment. I don’t believe I want the job anny longer. I am not after looking for a long job here.”
“It is bed-time now, Pat. To-morrow will bring forth something new. Pearson’s trial will take place, and probably you may have to fill his office, as assistant, here with me. We shall have to have another man in his place. I think you could do it.”
“Yes, I could probably fill the place he is now about to fill. I am not looking for the job, indade I am not.”
“Pat, you are worried to-night. So much excitement the last three or four months has upset you. It will have to be settled—all will be settled after Pearson gets located, and now it is late, and we must retire. Good night.”
“Good night, officer.”
Pat muttered: “As I hear the big iron door slam after me it makes me blood run cold. I am in a fix. What is money for? To make criminals, I belave. I belave every convict under this blooming roof is here for or on account of money. The vile stuff! We get a living, and have to work, or should if we don’t, and it only keeps us out of mischief—and then it don’t. I am in it now, and I have been working too, but there it leads up to money, for the fine clothes and the gentleman, and the good times that would go with it. I would be able to go and lay me head down on me pillow to-night and slape if it wasn’t for money. Instead of that, I have to pace around this place all the night. Yes, here it is nearly morning, and not a wink of slape. I’d just as soon be guilty, as so near and not, for I am taking on the same guilty condition. I belave I’ll walk around and see if me friend is worrying over me as much as I am meself. What? I hear him talking to the new prisoner. I’ll see if he is telling him how to behave himself. I don’t belave they placed the new man in 78—yes, indade, they did. I remember, he said the real murderer would be occupying Clarence’s cell and Clarence would have his freedom. Well, he is talking very nice to the new man. I will see what the conversation is about.”
“Tell me about it,” said Pearson. “How did you come to confess that you were the real murderer of this woman? They had a man serving time for the crime.”
“Yes; that is why I confessed, and for other reasons.”
“What were the other reasons? Would you mind telling me?”
“I am trying to forget it. I will tell you, and then I shall never repeat it again. It is too horrid; I can not stand it to talk about it. I was married only a short time, and a difference arose, one day, between my dear wife and myself. I became angry, and was talking loudly, when the door opened and this fellow who was serving time here for the crime came rushing in unannounced, and asked my wife if he could assist her. She was afraid of me, but she declined to accept his help. He left with apologies for intruding. I grew more excited, and in a fit of uncontrollable temper I choked her to death. I came to myself and found her lying at my feet dead. Oh, man! can you picture the agony I was in? I thought of that man, and how I could lay the murder on him. I ran from the house and met an officer. I told him my wife was just murdered by a man whom I had just seen leave the house. The officer rushed up the street, and I recognized the man as the same who had offered to help my poor wife, and I shouted, ‘There he is!’ and to jail the officer took him. At the trial I swore that he was the murderer, knowing that I myself was the guilty one, and he was the man who was given his freedom to-day. I will tell you all, as I have started. I know that all the time he was here I suffered more than he ever could.”
“In what way, Devenart?—is that your name?”
“Yes; but just call me ‘Will.’ I do not want to disgrace my father and mother by causing their name to be spoken.
“I can not tell you in what way. I can tell you the mysterious way I was punished. I never lay down and closed my eyes that I did not see my poor dead wife, and presently another woman would come up to me and point her finger at me with scorn. After many terrible nights, I began to hear noises. I could not at first understand, and one night I was touched by some unknown hand, and I was frightened beyond words. I thought, ‘If I could only die and get away from it all!’ I am so excited now I can not talk longer.”
“I should like to have you finish. We may not get a chance again, as you know the rules are, ‘No talking among the prisoners.’”
“I am glad that I have rested to-night without seeing her face, and I will never tell the story again. As I am here for life, I know that I never shall, if we can not talk.
“One night, as I was sitting on the side of my bed, I could not lie down and close my eyes, and I saw my wife walk up to me, and by her side came an elderly lady, and I tried to close my eyes so I could not see them, but I could see them as plainly with my eyes closed as with them open. I stood up and begged them to go away and let me rest for the remainder of the night. Then, for the first time, I heard a voice, and it was the motherly lady who spoke, and these were her words—oh! I am telling the terrible story under a dreadful strain; I am living it all over again. I thought I saw the same lady standing by your side, as I am looking through these bars.”
“You will have strength, I hope, to tell me all. Please finish the story.”
“I will finish now, if I am—oh, she spoke to me! Was that where I left off? I believe it was. The elderly lady came closer than my poor wife did, and as she spoke I can never explain the feelings I had. I called for help. I prayed and fell down on my knees and asked for mercy and help. The voice answered:
“‘So did your wife pray for her life, and it was not spared—by the hands of a brute, and that was you. Now you suffer as you have caused her to suffer—I say suffer!’
“My friend, can you think of a punishment like that? I could bear punishment from the hands of my fellow-men, but when I know not from whence it comes or what it is, it is terrible. I am suffering for all the sins I ever committed.
“My man, I see, I do see, the same lady by your side, and my wife!
“O Father, come to me in this hour of need. I am being punished for the terrible crime I have committed. May I not be shown mercy? I am guilty, and have pleaded so, and will plead guilty, even in my prayers to Thee. Help and forgive me. How I have suffered! Thou knowest, and Thou alone. From this on I shall live as I should—pray every day for the forgiveness of my sins. Each day will I pray for guidance and help in all my undertakings. Help me to live the way I should live. Turn not a deaf ear to me, O Father. I am in sorrow and need Thy help. I am here that the one who has received his freedom may go forth with Thy blessing; that the whole world may look on him as an innocent man, and not as a murderer, as I swore that he was. I ask also for help for him. May he forgive me. I may never have the opportunity to meet him on this earth, but I hope to meet him in Heaven, as innocent of all crime as he was of that of which I accused him. O blessed Father, I do feel that Thou wilt answer my prayers. Amen!”
“Well, well, you can pray as well as murder,” said Pearson. “I was wondering if you ever prayed before.”
“No, my friend, and if you would experience the heavy burden lifted from your shoulders as I did from that prayer, you would pray, or try to, as I did.”
“I think I had better get away from here, if they are going to have prayer-meeting,” muttered Pat. “I wonder if a bit of a prayer would do me good. The first chance I get, I belave I will do a little of it. Well, here is another day, and nearly time for the trial. I had better step in the office a bit.”
“Pat, your absence this morning makes me think you had a good night’s rest.”
“I will call it rest when I get it. Indade, I never closed me eyes.”
“Was anything wrong with the prisoners? I was going to ask you to go by cell 78 and see our new prisoner, and it passed from my mind.”
“I did the very thing that passed from your mind. I guess it came to my mind.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. We had some prayers, and I think it helped the fellow that prayed, and I am thinking of doing a little of it meself, when I get a chance.”
“The poor man! Remorse always sets in after they get in behind the bars, Pat. Do you know that this is a hard place to be—to work for a livelihood? You have no trouble of your own, but you worry about the other fellow’s trouble.”
“Faith, and if I had no troubles of me own, I would let the other fellow worry about his own.”
“You have no troubles to worry over. See how long you have been here, and you could not get into trouble here, could you?”
“No, I couldn’t, but I have.”
“You have? Tell me, Pat, what is wrong.”
“We had better put that off.”
“It will soon be time for Pearson’s trial, and you will be one of the witnesses. As he has confessed that he is guilty, I think it will go hard with him.”
“Now, me friend, your honor, I’m not going to kape the secret anny longer. I just as well have it out with, and you may cut down expenses and have two trials at once. I have a secret to tell you. Every bit of it is the truth, and I too am going to confess, and then, when I get the chance, I’ll pray, and perhaps I too will feel better.”
“Go ahead, Pat.”
“I am after listening, and I heard the man to be tried to-day trying to spend five thousand dollars easy, and I thought: ‘If you have it to give away, I meself would take a little of it.’ And I in a way as much as told him so, and then I changed me mind. I thought I would like this job the best. Now he insists I spend his money, and I don’t want it at all, and I told him so. Now he has threatened to turn me over to the officials here if I don’t be a gentleman, and I never was one, and now I know I couldn’t be one, so there is the secret.”
“Well, we must now attend court. You will have to tell all you know, Pat. You may go for Pearson and take him to court. I will be there presently.”
“Here is me punishment beginning now. I am after getting a taste of it meself. I may be the next poor devil to court. For the love of Mike! what will I do? Pray? I haven’t the time now. I will after I get through with this trial, and then I may have something to pray for. Here I am at the cell, and I belave he’s aslape. Now, I wonder if he was awake all night. I’m not aslape, and I was up too, all night. I will get him out of here.”
“Come, Officer Pearson! Your trial is at hand, and I have come for you.”
“I’m willing to go, Pat—and say, Pat, are you for me, or against me?”
“I am neither, if I don’t have to be.”
“If you are called to the stand, what will you say—anything about our plot to get away?”
“Will you say anything about it if I am not called to the stand?”
“I’m not quite sure if I will or not, Pat. I must be out of here, and if you will get me out, I will not mention anything about your offering to liberate me.”
“If you think you can get away without my help, you may do so—if I don’t see you; but if I see you, you won’t get away. Here we are at the court.”
CHAPTER XXII.
Pat’s Testimony.
“You are taking your time, Pat. We are waiting for you.”
When court had been opened and the preliminaries had been gone through, Mr. Pearson was examined.
“You are registered under your correct name, are you not?”
“I am.”
“Mr. Pearson, how long has your mother been dead?”
“Twenty-one years.”
“Did she leave a will?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you know that you were the only heir?”
“No, sir—well, I thought so.”
“But you did not know for sure?”
“No, sir.”
“Mr. Pearson, did you take oath that you knew your brother was dead?”
“I did; yes, sir. I thought he was. We had never heard from him.”
“Did you look for him, or try to find him?”
“Well, no.”
“Did you acknowledge him as a brother when you did find him?”
“I did.”
“Not until you had to.”
“Well, I tried to do for him after I found him.”
“In what way?”
“I told him I would help him.”
“Out of prison, or financially?”
“Well, I don’t know,”
“You don’t know what you were going to do, but you were going to do something for him?”
“I felt that I should.”
“Will you tell the court what you were going to do, or thought of doing? Now, Mr. Pearson, you have been holding a position of authority, have you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you done an officer’s duty?”
“I have tried to.”
“You tried to, but did you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You are excused.”
Pat was called to the stand.
“Your name?”
“Me name is Pat Dugan.”
“Well, Pat, what do you know about this Officer Pearson?”
“Your honor, I wish I had never seen the man.”
“That is not answering my question.”
“Well, I don’t know what he did all the time, but I know I wish I did not know what he did anny of the time.”
“Answer the question.”
“Plase repeat it, I am after forgetting the question.”
“Tell what you know in regard to this case. Did Officer Pearson fill his position as an officer should?”
“Now, me friend, I don’t think that is the same question at all.”
“Well, answer it, if you do or don’t think the question was worded just the same.”
“I did not hear the last question. I was thinking of how to answer the first one. Now, me friend, I will ask you to repate the last once more, and I might answer them both.”
“I suppose we must have patience with you, for I don’t think you were ever in court before, and I know it is hard for you. Now, once more, I ask you about Officer Pearson’s conduct as an officer. That is a short question and you should be able to answer it without hesitation.”
“I will say that I think the job is a hard one for me, and I will give you my club and quit at once.”
“Sit down, Pat! Sit down there and answer these questions the attorney is asking you, or I shall fine you for contempt of court.”
“Could I get off—out of that fine for contempt of court—as aisy if I told the truth?”
“I am asking you a question now, and I wish you would answer.”
“Faith, and you have been asking me some questions I didn’t know how to answer, and I am only a ignorant Irishman, and you are one of the know-alls, or should be. I’ve always thought that if annything ever came up with a business consideration, ‘I will ask me lowyer about that.’ This is the first time I have ever been smart enough to talk to one of them lowyers.”
“Well, you are taking your time to talk. You must like our company.”
“I like to hear a smart man talk, indade I do.”
“Well, the court would like to know if this is a trial, or a complimentary case.”
“Your honor, I am trying to get the witness to answer my questions.”
“Put the question to him again.”
“Now pay attention, Pat, and we will soon be through with you.”
“Couldn’t you turn me loose now? I am feeling sick, me man. I am sick.”
“Get him a drink.
“Here is water. Take this, Pat. Drink some water. You are all right now.”
“You know everything in the books, but you don’t know how a fellow feels inside, and plase don’t talk to me—plase don’t. I wonder, if I would pray, would I feel better? I am going to pray, gentlemen. I belave me toime has come right now.
“O Father in Heaven, if You ever send blessings to the Irish, send this one Irishman some now. I need it. O me God, I did not do annything. I changed me mind before I let him go, and he is here, and You can do as You plase with him. I am through with him. I think You will know what he needs, and give it to him. Have mercy on me, and him too, if he is deserving of it. I don’t think he is, but Your judgment is best, and use it, and be sure You use good judgment in my case, and help me out of this terrible perdicament, and if I never get in another, I won’t pray anny more. You will see I am in earnest and don’t delay the job. I am awfully sick, but I think I feel better now, and if the court will have mercy on me, and You do likewise, I know I will be well in a few minutes. Help Your wandering one all alone in this country. Me poor mother has been with You a long time, and if I was there too, I would not be here, in this fix. And now I have prayed for the first time in all me life, and if You don’t answer, I shall say my prayers were all in vain; but if You will let me know that they were heard, I will let you hear them again, if I get in trouble. Amen.”
“The judge spoke: ‘Stand up, Pat. You are good on praying, and you have a nice way of doing it, if you did convict yourself. Go. I don’t think your crime is punishable, and I want to give you some orders. You had better learn to pray now, and do some of it. Don’t wait until you are in trouble and then ask the Lord to help you. Serve Him all the time, and you will then be guided, so you will not have to ask for help in time of trouble. Too many wayward boys like you, Pat, get in trouble before they ever think of praying. I hope that the Father to whom you prayed has heard your prayers. I feel that He did, and that is why I am going to turn you loose; so you may say your prayers were not in vain, but go from this court-room with prayers on your lips, and pray often. It will do you good. Now you may go, and may God bless you.’
“Well, if I ever get me another job, I will never get it in a prison—I may not get out so aisy next time; but the poor man, he is there yet, and I never told a word of his trying to give me all his money and fine clothes.
“Well, I’ll be willing to work, now, for all I get. And I’ll say to meself: ‘Didn’t the man who was boss of the job make a fine spache to me?’ He must know nearly as much as the lowyer did, and I felt sorry for him when he felt sorry for me and told me to pray. Faith, and I will pray, and I will kape it up as long as I live, and after I am dead I will come back and scare some of the poor devils and make them pray like the new man. Oh, how he did pray when he thought he saw the dead woman! And it was that very thing got me started to praying, and only for that I belave they would of hanged me this very day of me life.”
“Well, here I am back to the office, and I have me clothes all here, and I want to bid me old friend good-bye before I go. I can’t kape the tears back. I guess I am feeling pretty bad again. I belave I’ll just step in here and pray to meself now, while I’m waiting for me old friend that thought so much of me.”
In the court-room the trial proceeded. At length the judge arose, saying:
“I am not of the opinion that a crime of as long standing as this one is punishable in the eyes of the law. Twenty-one years would outlaw it. If the prisoner will give his penniless brother a home for life, I will set him free.
“What have you to say to that, Pearson? Are you willing to share your home with your brother?”
“I thank your honor. I am more than willing, and I will see that he shares my home as a brother should, without feeling under obligations.”
“Pearson, I feel that you mean all right, and I will ask you to let me hear from you as soon as you find your unfortunate brother who was freed several days ago. I want you to help him to live down the disgrace of his long imprisonment, and live as brothers should. We have all learned to pray through this unfortunate affair, or we should have learned, and that not waiting until we are in trouble, and then expect our prayers to be heard, but we have learned to pray at all times—not as Pat did, if we get help, say we won’t pray any more until the next time we are in trouble.”
Later, when Pearson appeared at the office, he said: “Officer, I am discharged from all, including my position, am I?”
“Well, Pearson, we have been holding consultation in the side room—the officials and I, and we have decided to reinstate you, and Pat also. We have decided that this lesson will make honest men out of you and Pat, and trusty. You did not betray Pat and he did not betray you. It was a good principle that you both showed this morning, and we feel that you will work hand in hand together in the future. I wonder if Pat has gone. We will step over to his room and see.”
“I hope that Pat will feel kindly toward me. I have forgotten all, and will always remember that trial—how poor Pat feigned sickness to avoid answering those questions. Poor old Pat! He is a good Irishman.”
“I do believe that he is gone. This is his room, is it not?”
“Yes. Here he has left a note. He has written: ‘Good-bye to all the poor fellows in here. I have served me term and am ready to go, but with tears. I am thinking I am all alone, save God. He is ever near me. Good-bye to all fellow-men!’”
CHAPTER XXIII.
Prayer-Meeting in Prison.
“That is the first time I have seen you break down.”
“Yes, Pearson, I am heart-broken. I shall never forget Pat, not for the sickness he feigned, but for the feeling that came over me when he was praying. I have never prayed, but I am going to this day. And the very next Sabbath I am going to start a prayer-meeting in this prison. If it helps all as much as it did Pat, I will feel repaid for all these mysterious voices and visions which we have heard and seen here. Besides, it may lift up many a sad heart inside these walls, that could get no help except through prayer.”
“You locked the door as you left the office, did you?”
“Only the outside door.”
“I see bundles in there. They belong to Pat. He has not gone.”
“Take a look into the room next the office, Pearson.”
“Oh, my God!”
“What? suicide?”
“No; praying.”
“Pearson, close the door.”
“I am after being through and I feel better. I have been praying to me Father to help me find another job, or to get this one back for me.”
“Pat, your prayer is answered, once again. You may remain and do as you have done. Outside of this little trouble, you have been a good, faithful man, and I feel that you and Officer Pearson will from this day on be faithful to the trust which is imposed in you, and that you will show brotherly love and kindness toward each other and all your fellow-men. I want you to be sure to be at prayer-meeting Sunday morning, and open the meeting with prayer.
“I shall expect you, Pearson, to close the meeting with prayer. I will take a hand at it myself, and I hope that we may hear the voices of all in this prison, asking for help and guidance and peace.
“Now, Pat, see that all is right.
“Well, Pearson, I am glad to see you sitting there under different circumstances, and I hope this will be a lesson for us all. Honesty is always the best policy. If you follow that precept, you will never get into trouble,” said the superintendent, addressing Mr. Pearson.
“Well, here is one good Irishman the rest of me life, and I will be after being a Sunday-school teacher; I think that would bate being a gentleman anny time. And now I’ll see if the officer has not forgot to put the poor man that was brought in to work. Forgot? I know he did. I’ll be after going and asking where will I take the poor fellow to work, and I’ll ask mercy for him, for it means a job for life with him, poor fellow. I am after passing the knowledge-seat. I will walk in and tell me business at once. I got enough knowledge to do me at that resting-place.
“What do I see? The poor fellow that was turned out of here sitting in the office? I will pretend not to know him, and make my business be known and lave at once.
“Officer!”
“Yes. What is it, Pat?”
“You have been after forgetting to give the poor man his life job.”
“So I have, Pat. I will find a place in a trade where he will not have to toil so hard, for it means a long time for him. I will take care of that Monday morning, Pat. Don’t bother him. Let him get used to his new clothes and room. You may go, Pat. I’ll take care of him Monday.”
“So you have come back to see us, have you, Clarence?”
“Yes, officer. I could not rest and know that my brother was here in prison, all on my account. I am the cause of it all. I should have written home after I left. I should have written to my dear mother. Then I could have been notified when she died, and poor Oliver would not be in this trouble. That is why I am taking all this disgrace upon myself.
“Brother, I am going to help you, but not in the way I asked you to be helped at first. I am going to take you home now, and introduce you to my family, and try to have a family reunion, in honor of the prodigal son’s return—in honor of poor mother.”
“You may go now, Mr. Pearson. I can spare you for a few hours.”
“Come along, brother. Clasp my hand and we will walk hand in hand to my home—or, rather, yours, and we will spend the rest of our days together.”
“Oh, how beautiful your voice sounds to me, Oliver! As I walk along by your side I feel as if we were indeed beginning a new life.”
“By the way, we shall have a wedding soon. My daughter Amelia is to be married to-night, at ten o’clock—yes. And we shall be there on time, I see. The place is all aglow. I wonder—”
“Yes, and I wonder how I will be received.”
“You must be treated as my brother, and the family will do so. Music? Yes, Gertie, playing ‘Home, Sweet Home.’ There is no place like home. Oh, how true! We will surprise them. Just step in, Clarence.”
“Oh, papa, papa!”
“Yes, Gertie; I heard you playing just as I feel, that there is no place like home.”
“Mother, see who is here.”
“My dear wife, I want you to meet my brother, as a gentleman—which he is, and has been proved to be.
“And, Clarence, this is Gertie, my pet now, as I must soon give Amelia to someone else.
“I hope that he will be as kind to you, Amelia, as your father has always been.”
“THE PLACE IS ALL AGLOW.”
“Father, you have been good and kind to me. You gave me all I ever asked for, and I want you to forgive me for the way I treated you when you were in trouble, I am truly sorry.”
“Yes; and, dear husband, I shall always look on that time as the mistake of my life. For doing as I did I will ask you in the presence of your brother, and mine also, to forgive me.”
“My dear family, you are all forgiven. Now I ask that you show love and kindness to my dear brother and share our home with him—or, rather, thank him for sharing his home with us.”
“We shall always treat you as one of the family, brother.”
“Oh, Uncle Clarence, we are going to have a wedding to-night! Sister Amelia is going to get married to Mr. McHenry.”
“And, Uncle Clarence, I want you to stand up with us.”
“Gertie, go to the piano and play ‘We’ll Sin and Sorrow No More.’”