Chapter 17

by Upton Sinclair

　　At seven o'clock the next morning Jurgis was let out to get waterto wash his cell--a duty which he performed faithfully, but whichmost of the prisoners were accustomed to shirk, until their cellsbecame so filthy that the guards interposed. Then he had more"duffers and dope," and afterward was allowed three hours for exercise,in a long, cement-walked court roofed with glass. Here were all theinmates of the jail crowded together. At one side of the court wasa place for visitors, cut off by two heavy wire screens, a foot apart,so that nothing could be passed in to the prisoners; here Jurgiswatched anxiously, but there came no one to see him.Soon after he went back to his cell, a keeper opened the door to letin another prisoner. He was a dapper young fellow, with a lightbrown mustache and blue eyes, and a graceful figure. He noddedto Jurgis, and then, as the keeper closed the door upon him, begangazing critically about him."Well, pal," he said, as his glance encountered Jurgis again,"good morning.""Good morning," said Jurgis."A rum go for Christmas, eh?" added the other.Jurgis nodded.The newcomer went to the bunks and inspected the blankets; he liftedup the mattress, and then dropped it with an exclamation. "My God!"he said, "that's the worst yet."He glanced at Jurgis again. "Looks as if it hadn't been slept inlast night. Couldn't stand it, eh?""I didn't want to sleep last night," said Jurgis."When did you come in?""Yesterday."The other had another look around, and then wrinkled up his nose."There's the devil of a stink in here," he said, suddenly. "What is it?""It's me," said Jurgis."You?""Yes, me.""Didn't they make you wash?""Yes, but this don't wash.""What is it?""Fertilizer.""Fertilizer! The deuce! What are you?""I work in the stockyards--at least I did until the other day.It's in my clothes.""That's a new one on me," said the newcomer. "I thought I'd been upagainst 'em all. What are you in for?""I hit my boss." "Oh--that's it. What did he do?""He--he treated me mean." "I see. You're what's called an honest workingman!""What are you?" Jurgis asked."I?" The other laughed. "They say I'm a cracksman," he said."What's that?" asked Jurgis."Safes, and such things," answered the other."Oh," said Jurgis, wonderingly, and stated at the speaker in awe."You mean you break into them--you--you--""Yes," laughed the other, "that's what they say."He did not look to be over twenty-two or three, though, as Jurgisfound afterward, he was thirty. He spoke like a man of education,like what the world calls a "gentleman.""Is that what you're here for?" Jurgis inquired."No," was the answer. "I'm here for disorderly conduct. They weremad because they couldn't get any evidence."What's your name?" the young fellow continued after a pause."My name's Duane--Jack Duane. I've more than a dozen, but that's mycompany one." He seated himself on the floor with his back to the walland his legs crossed, and went on talking easily; he soon put Jurgison a friendly footing--he was evidently a man of the world, used togetting on, and not too proud to hold conversation with a merelaboring man. He drew Jurgis out, and heard all about his life allbut the one unmentionable thing; and then he told stories about hisown life. He was a great one for stories, not always of the choicest.Being sent to jail had apparently not disturbed his cheerfulness;he had "done time" twice before, it seemed, and he took it all witha frolic welcome. What with women and wine and the excitement ofhis vocation, a man could afford to rest now and then.Naturally, the aspect of prison life was changed for Jurgis by thearrival of a cell mate. He could not turn his face to the walland sulk, he had to speak when he was spoken to; nor could he helpbeing interested in the conversation of Duane--the first educatedman with whom he had ever talked. How could he help listening withwonder while the other told of midnight ventures and perilous escapes,of feastings and orgies, of fortunes squandered in a night? The youngfellow had an amused contempt for Jurgis, as a sort of working mule;he, too, had felt the world's injustice, but instead of bearing itpatiently, he had struck back, and struck hard. He was striking allthe time--there was war between him and society. He was a genialfreebooter, living off the enemy, without fear or shame. He was notalways victorious, but then defeat did not mean annihilation, and neednot break his spirit.Withal he was a goodhearted fellow--too much so, it appeared.His story came out, not in the first day, nor the second, but in thelong hours that dragged by, in which they had nothing to do but talkand nothing to talk of but themselves. Jack Duane was from the East;he was a college-bred man--had been studying electrical engineering.Then his father had met with misfortune in business and killed himself;and there had been his mother and a younger brother and sister.Also, there was an invention of Duane's; Jurgis could not understandit clearly, but it had to do with telegraphing, and it was a veryimportant thing--there were fortunes in it, millions upon millionsof dollars. And Duane had been robbed of it by a great company,and got tangled up in lawsuits and lost all his money. Then somebodyhad given him a tip on a horse race, and he had tried to retrievehis fortune with another person's money, and had to run away,and all the rest had come from that. The other asked him what hadled him to safebreaking--to Jurgis a wild and appalling occupationto think about. A man he had met, his cell mate had replied--onething leads to another. Didn't he ever wonder about his family,Jurgis asked. Sometimes, the other answered, but not often--he didn'tallow it. Thinking about it would make it no better. This wasn'ta world in which a man had any business with a family; sooner orlater Jurgis would find that out also, and give up the fight andshift for himself.Jurgis was so transparently what he pretended to be that his cell matewas as open with him as a child; it was pleasant to tell him adventures,he was so full of wonder and admiration, he was so new to the waysof the country. Duane did not even bother to keep back names andplaces--he told all his triumphs and his failures, his loves andhis griefs. Also he introduced Jurgis to many of the other prisoners,nearly half of whom he knew by name. The crowd had already givenJurgis a name--they called him "he stinker." This was cruel,but they meant no harm by it, and he took it with a goodnatured grin.Our friend had caught now and then a whiff from the sewers overwhich he lived, but this was the first time that he had ever beensplashed by their filth. This jail was a Noah's ark of the city'scrime--there were murderers, "hold-up men" and burglars, embezzlers,counterfeiters and forgers, bigamists, "shoplifters," "confidence men,"petty thieves and pickpockets, gamblers and procurers, brawlers,beggars, tramps and drunkards; they were black and white, old andyoung, Americans and natives of every nation under the sun. There werehardened criminals and innocent men too poor to give bail; old men,and boys literally not yet in their teens. They were the drainageof the great festering ulcer of society; they were hideous to lookupon, sickening to talk to. All life had turned to rottenness andstench in them--love was a beastliness, joy was a snare, and God wasan imprecation. They strolled here and there about the courtyard,and Jurgis listened to them. He was ignorant and they were wise;they had been everywhere and tried everything. They could tell thewhole hateful story of it, set forth the inner soul of a city inwhich justice and honor, women's bodies and men's souls, were forsale in the marketplace, and human beings writhed and fought andfell upon each other like wolves in a pit; in which lusts wereraging fires, and men were fuel, and humanity was festering andstewing and wallowing in its own corruption. Into this wild-beasttangle these men had been born without their consent, they had takenpart in it because they could not help it; that they were in jailwas no disgrace to them, for the game had never been fair, the dicewere loaded. They were swindlers and thieves of pennies and dimes,and they had been trapped and put out of the way by the swindlersand thieves of millions of dollars.To most of this Jurgis tried not to listen. They frightened himwith their savage mockery; and all the while his heart was far away,where his loved ones were calling. Now and then in the midst of ithis thoughts would take flight; and then the tears would come intohis eyes--and he would be called back by the jeering laughter ofhis companions.He spent a week in this company, and during all that time he hadno word from his home. He paid one of his fifteen cents for apostal card, and his companion wrote a note to the family, tellingthem where he was and when he would be tried. There came no answerto it, however, and at last, the day before New Year's, Jurgis badegood-by to Jack Duane. The latter gave him his address, or ratherthe address of his mistress, and made Jurgis promise to look him up."Maybe I could help you out of a hole some day," he said, and addedthat he was sorry to have him go. Jurgis rode in the patrol wagonback to Justice Callahan's court for trial.One of the first things he made out as he entered the room was TetaElzbieta and little Kotrina, looking pale and frightened, seated farin the rear. His heart began to pound, but he did not dare to tryto signal to them, and neither did Elzbieta. He took his seat inthe prisoners' pen and sat gazing at them in helpless agony.He saw that Ona was not with them, and was full of foreboding as towhat that might mean. He spent half an hour brooding over this--and then suddenly he straightened up and the blood rushed intohis face. A man had come in--Jurgis could not see his features forthe bandages that swathed him, but he knew the burly figure.It was Connor! A trembling seized him, and his limbs bent as iffor a spring. Then suddenly he felt a hand on his collar, and hearda voice behind him: "Sit down, you son of a--!"He subsided, but he never took his eyes off his enemy. The fellowwas still alive, which was a disappointment, in one way; and yet itwas pleasant to see him, all in penitential plasters. He and thecompany lawyer, who was with him, came and took seats within thejudge's railing; and a minute later the clerk called Jurgis' name,and the policeman jerked him to his feet and led him before the bar,gripping him tightly by the arm, lest he should spring upon the boss. Jurgis listened while the man entered the witness chair, took the oath,and told his story. The wife of the prisoner had been employed ina department near him, and had been discharged for impudence to him.Half an hour later he had been violently attacked, knocked down,and almost choked to death. He had brought witnesses--"They will probably not be necessary," observed the judge and heturned to Jurgis. "You admit attacking the plaintiff?" he asked."Him?" inquired Jurgis, pointing at the boss."Yes," said the judge. "I hit him, sir," said Jurgis."Say 'your Honor,'" said the officer, pinching his arm hard."Your Honor," said Jurgis, obediently."You tried to choke him?""Yes, sir, your Honor.""Ever been arrested before?""No, sir, your Honor.""What have you to say for yourself?"Jurgis hesitated. What had he to say? In two years and a half hehad learned to speak English for practical purposes, but these hadnever included the statement that some one had intimidated andseduced his wife. He tried once or twice, stammering and balking,to the annoyance of the judge, who was gasping from the odor offertilizer. Finally, the prisoner made it understood that hisvocabulary was inadequate, and there stepped up a dapper young manwith waxed mustaches, bidding him speak in any language he knew.Jurgis began; supposing that he would be given time, he explainedhow the boss had taken advantage of his wife's position to makeadvances to her and had threatened her with the loss of her place.When the interpreter had translated this, the judge, whose calendarwas crowded, and whose automobile was ordered for a certain hour,interrupted with the remark: "Oh, I see. Well, if he made love toyour wife, why didn't she complain to the superintendent or leavethe place?"Jurgis hesitated, somewhat taken aback; he began to explain thatthey were very poor--that work was hard to get--"I see," said Justice Callahan; "so instead you thought you wouldknock him down." He turned to the plaintiff, inquiring, "Is thereany truth in this story, Mr. Connor?""Not a particle, your Honor," said the boss. "It is very unpleasant--they tell some such tale every time you have to discharge a woman--""Yes, I know," said the judge. "I hear it often enough. The fellowseems to have handled you pretty roughly. Thirty days and costs.Next case."Jurgis had been listening in perplexity. It was only when thepoliceman who had him by the arm turned and started to lead him awaythat he realized that sentence had been passed. He gazed round himwildly. "Thirty days!" he panted and then he whirled upon the judge."What will my family do?" he cried frantically. "I have a wife and baby,sir, and they have no money--my God, they will starve to death!""You would have done well to think about them before you committedthe assault," said the judge dryly, as he turned to look at thenext prisoner.Jurgis would have spoken again, but the policeman had seized him bythe collar and was twisting it, and a second policeman was makingfor him with evidently hostile intentions. So he let them leadhim away. Far down the room he saw Elzbieta and Kotrina, risen fromtheir seats, staring in fright; he made one effort to go to them,and then, brought back by another twist at his throat, he bowed hishead and gave up the struggle. They thrust him into a cell room,where other prisoners were waiting; and as soon as court had adjournedthey led him down with them into the "Black Maria," and drove him away.This time Jurgis was bound for the "Bridewell," a petty jail whereCook County prisoners serve their time. It was even filthier andmore crowded than the county jail; all the smaller fry out of thelatter had been sifted into it--the petty thieves and swindlers,the brawlers and vagrants. For his cell mate Jurgis had an Italianfruit seller who had refused to pay his graft to the policeman,and been arrested for carrying a large pocketknife; as he did notunderstand a word of English our friend was glad when he left.He gave place to a Norwegian sailor, who had lost half an ear ina drunken brawl, and who proved to be quarrelsome, cursing Jurgisbecause he moved in his bunk and caused the roaches to drop uponthe lower one. It would have been quite intolerable, staying ina cell with this wild beast, but for the fact that all day longthe prisoners were put at work breaking stone.Ten days of his thirty Jurgis spent thus, without hearing a wordfrom his family; then one day a keeper came and informed him thatthere was a visitor to see him. Jurgis turned white, and so weakat the knees that he could hardly leave his cell.The man led him down the corridor and a flight of steps to thevisitors' room, which was barred like a cell. Through the gratingJurgis could see some one sitting in a chair; and as he came into theroom the person started up, and he saw that it was little Stanislovas.At the sight of some one from home the big fellow nearly went topieces--he had to steady himself by a chair, and he put his other handto his forehead, as if to clear away a mist. "Well?" he said, weakly.Little Stanislovas was also trembling, and all but too frightenedto speak. "They--they sent me to tell you--" he said, with a gulp."Well?" Jurgis repeated. He followed the boy's glance to where thekeeper was standing watching them. "Never mind that," Jurgis cried,wildly. "How are they?""Ona is very sick," Stanislovas said; "and we are almost starving.We can't get along; we thought you might be able to help us."Jurgis gripped the chair tighter; there were beads of perspirationon his forehead, and his hand shook. "I--can't help you," he said."Ona lies in her room all day," the boy went on, breathlessly."She won't eat anything, and she cries all the time. She won't tellwhat is the matter and she won't go to work at all. Then a long timeago the man came for the rent. He was very cross. He came againlast week. He said he would turn us out of the house. And then Marija--"A sob choked Stanislovas, and he stopped. "What's the matter withMarija?" cried Jurgis."She's cut her hand!" said the boy. "She's cut it bad, this time,worse than before. She can't work and it's all turning green,and the company doctor says she may--she may have to have it cut off.And Marija cries all the time--her money is nearly all gone, too,and we can't pay the rent and the interest on the house; and we haveno coal and nothing more to eat, and the man at the store, he says--"The little fellow stopped again, beginning to whimper. "Go on!"the other panted in frenzy--"Go on!""I--I will," sobbed Stanislovas. "It's so--so cold all the time.And last Sunday it snowed again--a deep, deep snow--and I couldn't--couldn't get to work.""God!" Jurgis half shouted, and he took a step toward the child.There was an old hatred between them because of the snow--ever sincethat dreadful morning when the boy had had his fingers frozen andJurgis had had to beat him to send him to work. Now he clenchedhis hands, looking as if he would try to break through the grating."You little villain," he cried, "you didn't try!""I did--I did!" wailed Stanislovas, shrinking from him in terror."I tried all day--two days. Elzbieta was with me, and she couldn'teither. We couldn't walk at all, it was so deep. And we had nothingto eat, and oh, it was so cold! I tried, and then the third day Onawent with me--""Ona!""Yes. She tried to get to work, too. She had to. We were allstarving. But she had lost her place--"Jurgis reeled, and gave a gasp. "She went back to that place?"he screamed. "She tried to," said Stanislovas, gazing at him inperplexity. "Why not, Jurgis?"The man breathed hard, three or four times. "Go--on," he panted,finally."I went with her," said Stanislovas, "but Miss Henderson wouldn't takeher back. And Connor saw her and cursed her. He was still bandagedup--why did you hit him, Jurgis?" (There was some fascinating mysteryabout this, the little fellow knew; but he could get no satisfaction.)Jurgis could not speak; he could only stare, his eyes starting out."She has been trying to get other work," the boy went on; "but she'sso weak she can't keep up. And my boss would not take me back,either--Ona says he knows Connor, and that's the reason; they've allgot a grudge against us now. So I've got to go downtown and sellpapers with the rest of the boys and Kotrina--""Kotrina!""Yes, she's been selling papers, too. She does best, because she'sa girl. Only the cold is so bad--it's terrible coming home at night,Jurgis. Sometimes they can't come home at all--I'm going to try tofind them tonight and sleep where they do, it's so late and it's sucha long ways home. I've had to walk, and I didn't know where it was--I don't know how to get back, either. Only mother said I must come,because you would want to know, and maybe somebody would help yourfamily when they had put you in jail so you couldn't work. And Iwalked all day to get here--and I only had a piece of bread forbreakfast, Jurgis. Mother hasn't any work either, because thesausage department is shut down; and she goes and begs at houseswith a basket, and people give her food. Only she didn't get muchyesterday; it was too cold for her fingers, and today she was crying--"So little Stanislovas went on, sobbing as he talked; and Jurgis stood,gripping the table tightly, saying not a word, but feeling that hishead would burst; it was like having weights piled upon him, one afteranother, crushing the life out of him. He struggled and foughtwithin himself--as if in some terrible nightmare, in which a mansuffers an agony, and cannot lift his hand, nor cry out, but feelsthat he is going mad, that his brain is on fire--Just when it seemed to him that another turn of the screw wouldkill him, little Stanislovas stopped. "You cannot help us?" hesaid weakly.Jurgis shook his head."They won't give you anything here?"He shook it again."When are you coming out?""Three weeks yet," Jurgis answered.And the boy gazed around him uncertainly. "Then I might as well go,"he said.Jurgis nodded. Then, suddenly recollecting, he put his hand intohis pocket and drew it out, shaking. "Here," he said, holding outthe fourteen cents. "Take this to them."And Stanislovas took it, and after a little more hesitation, startedfor the door. "Good-by, Jurgis," he said, and the other noticedthat he walked unsteadily as he passed out of sight.For a minute or so Jurgis stood clinging to his chair, reeling andswaying; then the keeper touched him on the arm, and he turned andwent back to breaking stone.