battered　all　anew　by　the　violence　with　which　the　water　smote　us；
  until　we　stood　knee…deep　in　the　water　which　we　had　raved　for　and　for
  which　now　we　raved　to　cease。
  I　shall　skip　the　rest　of　what　happened　in　the　dungeons。　　In　passing
  I　shall　merely　state　that　no　one　of　those　forty　lifers　was　ever　the
  same　again。　　Luigi　Polazzo　never　recovered　his　reason。　　Long　Bill
  Hodge　slowly　lost　his　sanity；　so　that　a　year　later；　he；　too；　went　to
  live　in　Bughouse　Alley。　　Oh；　and　others　followed　Hodge　and　Polazzo；
  and　others；　whose　physical　stamina　had　been　impaired；　fell　victims
  to　prison…tuberculosis。　　Fully　25　per　cent。　of　the　forty　have　died
  in　the　succeeding　six　years。
  After　my　five　years　in　solitary；　when　they　took　me　away　from　San
  Quentin　for　my　trial；　I　saw　Skysail　Jack。　　I　could　see　little；　for　I
  was　blinking　in　the　sunshine　like　a　bat；　after　five　years　of
  darkness；　yet　I　saw　enough　of　Skysail　Jack　to　pain　my　heart。　　It　was
  in　crossing　the　Prison　Yard　that　I　saw　him。　　His　hair　had　turned
  white。　　He　was　prematurely　old。　　His　chest　had　caved　in。　　His　cheeks
  were　sunken。　　His　hands　shook　as　with　palsy。　　He　tottered　as　he
  walked。　　And　his　eyes　blurred　with　tears　as　he　recognized　me；　for　I；
  too；　was　a　sad　wreck　of　what　had　once　been　a　man。　　I　weighed　eighty…
  seven　pounds。　　My　hair；　streaked　with　gray；　was　a　five…years'
  growth；　as　were　my　beard　and　moustache。　　And　I；　too；　tottered　as　I
  walked；　so　that　the　guards　helped　to　lead　me　across　that　sun…
  blinding　patch　of　yard。　　And　Skysail　Jack　and　I　peered　and　knew　each
  other　under　the　wreckage。
  Men　such　as　he　are　privileged；　even　in　a　prison；　so　that　he　dared　an
  infraction　of　the　rules　by　speaking　to　me　in　a　cracked　and　quavering
  voice。
  〃You're　a　good　one；　Standing；〃　he　cackled。　　〃You　never　squealed。〃
  〃But　I　never　knew；　Jack；〃　I　whispered　backI　was　compelled　to
  whisper；　for　five　years　of　disuse　had　well…nigh　lost　me　my　voice。
  〃I　don't　think　there　ever　was　any　dynamite。〃
  〃That's　right；〃　he　cackled；　nodding　his　head　childishly。　　〃Stick
  with　it。　　Don't　ever　let'm　know。　　You're　a　good　one。　　I　take　my　hat
  off　to　you；　Standing。　　You　never　squealed。〃
  And　the　guards　led　me　on；　and　that　was　the　last　I　saw　of　Skysail
  Jack。　　It　was　plain　that　even　he　had　become　a　believer　in　the
  dynamite　myth。
  Twice　they　had　me　before　the　full　Board　of　Directors。　　I　was
  alternately　bullied　and　cajoled。　　Their　attitude　resolved　itself
  into　two　propositions。　　If　I　delivered　up　the　dynamite；　they　would
  give　me　a　nominal　punishment　of　thirty　days　in　the　dungeon　and　then
  make　me　a　trusty　in　the　prison　library。　　If　I　persisted　in　my
  stubbornness　and　did　not　yield　up　the　dynamite；　then　they　would　put
  me　in　solitary　for　the　rest　of　my　sentence。　　In　my　case；　being　a
  life　prisoner；　this　was　tantamount　to　condemning　me　to　solitary
  confinement　for　life。
  Oh；　no；　California　is　civilized。　　There　is　no　such　law　on　the
  statute　books。　　It　is　a　cruel　and　unusual　punishment；　and　no　modern
  state　would　be　guilty　of　such　a　law。　　Nevertheless；　in　the　history
  of　California　I　am　the　third　man　who　has　been　condemned　for　life　to
  solitary　confinement。　　The　other　two　were　Jake　Oppenheimer　and　Ed
  Morrell。　　I　shall　tell　you　about　them　soon；　for　I　rotted　with　them
  for　years　in　the　cells　of　silence。
  Oh；　another　thing。　　They　are　going　to　take　me　out　and　hang　me　in　a
  little　whileno；　not　for　killing　Professor　Haskell。　　I　got　life…
  imprisonment　for　that。　　They　are　going　to　take　me　out　and　hang　me
  because　I　was　found　guilty　of　assault　and　battery。　　And　this　is　not
  prison　discipline。　　It　is　law；　and　as　law　it　will　be　found　in　the
  criminal　statutes。
  I　believe　I　made　a　man's　nose　bleed。　　I　never　saw　it　bleed；　but　that
  was　the　evidence。　　Thurston；　his　name　was。　　He　was　a　guard　at　San
  Quentin。　　He　weighed　one　hundred　and　seventy　pounds　and　was　in　good
  health。　　I　weighed　under　ninety　pounds；　was　blind　as　a　bat　from　the
  long　darkness；　and　had　been　so　long　pent　in　narrow　walls　that　I　was
  made　dizzy　by　large　open　spaces。　　Really；　mime　was　a　well…defined
  case　of　incipient　agoraphobia；　as　I　quickly　learned　that　day　I
  escaped　from　solitary　and　punched　the　guard　Thurston　on　the　nose。
  I　struck　him　on　the　nose　and　made　it　bleed　when　he　got　in　my　way　and
  tried　to　catch　hold　of　me。　　And　so　they　are　going　to　hang　me。　　It　is
  the　written　law　of　the　State　of　California　that　a　life…timer　like　me
  is　guilty　of　a　capital　crime　when　he　strikes　a　prison　guard　like
  Thurston。　　Surely；　he　could　not　have　been　inconvenienced　more　than
  half　an　hour　by　that　bleeding　nose；　and　yet　they　are　going　to　hang
  me　for　it。
  And；　see！　　This　law；　in　my　case；　is　EX　POST　FACTO。　　It　was　not　a　law
  at　the　time　I　killed　Professor　Haskell。　　It　was　not　passed　until
  after　I　received　my　life…sentence。　　And　this　is　the　very　point：　　my
  life…sentence　gave　me　my　status　under　this　law　which　had　not　yet
  been　written　on　the　books。　　And　it　is　because　of　my　status　of　life…
  timer　that　I　am　to　be　hanged　for　battery　committed　on　the　guard
  Thurston。　　It　is　clearly　EX　POST　FACTO；　and；　therefore；
  unconstitutional。
  But　what　bearing　has　the　Constitution　on　constitutional　lawyers　when
  they　want　to　put　the　notorious　Professor　Darrell　Standing　out　of　the
  way？　　Nor　do　I　even　establish　the　precedent　with　my　execution。　　A
  year　ago；　as　everybody　who　reads　the　newspapers　knows；　they　hanged
  Jake　Oppenheimer；　right　here　in　Folsom；　for　a　precisely　similar
  offence　。　。　。　only；　in　his　case　of　battery；　he　was　not　guilty　of
  making　a　guard's　nose　bleed。　　He　cut　a　convict　unintentionally　with
  a　bread…knife。
  It　is　strangelife　and　men's　ways　and　laws　and　tangled　paths。　　I　am
  writing　these　lines　in　the　very　cell　in　Murderers'　Row　that　Jake
  Oppenheimer　occupied　ere　they　took　him　out　and　did　to　him　what　they
  are　going　to　do　to　me。
  I　warned　you　I　had　many　things　to　write　about。　　I　shall　now　return
  to　my　narrative。　　The　Board　of　Prison　Directors　gave　me　my　choice：
  a　prison　trustyship　and　surcease　from　the　jute…looms　if　I　gave　up
  the　non…existent　dynamite；　life　imprisonment　in　solitary　if　I
  refused　to　give　up　the　non…existent　dynamite。
  They　gave　me　twenty…four　hours　in　the　jacket　to　think　it　over。　　Then
  I　was　brought　before　the　Board　a　second　time。　　What　could　I　do？　　I
  could　not　lead　them　to　the　dynamite　that　was　not。　　I　told　them　so；
  and　they　told　me　I　was　a　liar。　　They　told　me　I　was　a　hard　case；　a
  dangerous　man；　a　moral　degenerate；　the　criminal　of　the　century。
  They　told　me　many　other　things；　and　then　they　carried　me　away　to　the
  solitary　cells。　　I　was　put　into　Number　One　cell。　　In　Number　Five　lay
  Ed　Morrell。　　In　Number　Twelve　lay　Jake　Oppenheimer。　　And　he　had　been
  there　for　ten　years。　　Ed　Morrell　had　been　in　his　cell　only　one　year。
  He　was　serving　a　fifty…years'　sentence。　　Jake　Oppenheimer　was　a
  lifer。　　And　so　was　I　a　lifer。　　Wherefore　the　outlook　was　that　the
  three　of　us　would　remain　there　for　a　long　time。　　And　yet；　six　years
  only　are　past；　and　not　one　of　us　is　in　solitary。　　Jake　Oppenheimer
  was　swung　off。　　Ed　Morrell　was　made　head　trusty　of　San　Quentin　and
  then　pardoned　out　only　the　other　day。　　And　here　I　am　in　Folsom
  waiting　the　day　duly　set　by　Judge　Morgan；　which　will　be　my　last　day。
  The　fools！　　As　if　they　could　throttle　my　immortality　with　their
  clumsy　device　of　rope　and　scaffold！　　I　shall　walk；　and　walk　again；
  oh；　countless　times；　this　fair　earth。　　And　I　shall　walk　in　the
  flesh；　be　prince　and　peasant；　savant　and　fool；　sit　in　the　high　place
  and　groan　under　the　wheel。
  CHAPTER　V
  It　was　very　lonely；　at　first；　in　solitary；　and　the　hours　were　long。
  Time　was　marked　by　the　regular　changing　of　the　guards；　and　by　the
  alternation　of　day　and　night。　　Day　was　only　a　little　light；　but　it
  was　better　than　the　all…dark　of　the　night。　　In　solitary　the　day　was
  an　ooze；　a　slimy　seepage　of　light　from　the　bright　outer　world。
  Never　was　the　light　strong　enough　to　read　by。　　Besides；　there　was
  nothing　to　read。　　One　could　only　lie　and　think　and　think。　　And　I　was
  a　lifer；　and　it　seemed　certain；　if　I　did　not　do　a　miracle；　make
  thirty…five　pounds　of　dynamite　out　of　nothing；　that　all　the　years　of
  my　life　would　be　spent　in　the　silent　dark。
  My　bed　was　a　thin　and　rotten　tick　of　straw　spread　on　the　cell　floor。
  One　thin　and　filthy　blanket　constituted　the　covering。　　There　was　no
  chair；　no　tablenothing　but　the　tick　of　straw　and　the　thin；　aged
  blanket。　　I　was　ever　a　short　sleeper　and　ever　a　busy…brained　man。
  In　solitary　one　grows　sick　of　oneself　in　his　thoughts；　and　the　only
  way　to　escape　oneself　is　to　sleep。　　For　years　I　had　averaged　five
  hours'　sleep　a　night。　　I　now　cultivated　sleep。　　I　made　a　science　of
  it。　　I　became　able　to　sleep　ten　hours；　then　twelve　hours；　and；　at
  last；　as　high　as　fourteen　and　fifteen　hours　out　of　the　twenty…four。
  But　beyond　that　I　could　not　go；　and；　perforce；　was　compelled　to　lie
  awake　and　think　and　think。　　And　that　way；　for　an　active…brained　man；
  lay　m