Why should my trained mind crumble like a match box and be destroyed under physical torture, mental distress and moral humiliation?
Is not suffering the greatest of all tests, necessary,
purifying and regenerating? Why not wait patiently and 长沙桑拿微信号 courageously for the day of reckoning, worthy of the gods on Olympus?
I count my heart-beats to get an idea of the passing of time. The minutes seem to have frozen on the fountain of time; they[Pg 41] drip laboriously as if each and every one of them represented eons of memories and experiences; as if each was attempting to demonstrate that in the accounting of eternity they were as significant as centuries. In a supreme physical effort of my will I grip the bars and grit my teeth to stop the impending and foolish disintegration of my mind. The waves of despair, the racking pain, the insane delirium are slowly beaten back into submission, like a defeated army. The imagination is disciplined, the will has thrown the switch and illuminated the real inward self, as I stand watching, through the steel bars, the windows on the opposite 长沙桑拿论坛 wall. I feel calm, serene and strong.
Of a sudden, as if to illustrate my state of mind, out of the gray, blue mist, a large, luminous, rose disk slowly arises beyond the opening.
The sun, the glorious sun! Silently it looms up, magnificent through the haze, like[Pg 42] a mirage announcing the advent of better things and more hopeful days.
The same sun I had seen arise in India, Egypt, Italy, Mexico, in many frames of classical and tropical beauty; but never has it seemed to me so divine, so perfect, so precious as on that awful morning.
At 6 A. M. a quick, metallic carol announces a new day—and a Sunday. With a clanking noise and in swift succession the cell doors are unlocked and on every tier the whole line of convicts walks along the galleries and down to the ground floor, to a long iron sink, divided into small dirty 长沙桑拿论坛社区 tubs that are filled with murky water.
Our ablutions are performed in rapid military style; those not strong or nimble enough to get near the crowded trough, before the command, “Back out,” is shouted, have to return to their cells half-washed or[Pg 43] dirty. Sometimes a laggard insists on finishing his washing; and then an angry voice assails him rudely: “Come on, you God damn bum, didn’t yeh hear me? Back out!” And a guard “fans” him over the back with a club, pushing and shoving him all the way to the galleries, as a reminder to quicker obedience.
Back at the cells, every man stands at attention behind the door with hands on the bars, waiting for the keeper to count the men until he orders, “Close,” and with a deafening noise every iron door bangs in unison. Then after a short rest the bell rings for breakfast, and we march 长沙桑拿论坛贴吧 into the mess hall.
What a depressing, fantastic assemblage there unfolded itself before my eyes! Row after row of cropped gray heads, the black and gray stripes, moving unceasingly in a rippling pattern, giving the semblance of an enormous, ghostly, shivering tiger skin. The faint light from the barred windows[Pg 44] forces the tonality to a low pitch and adds to the vagueness, uneasiness and consternation of my mind.
The benches and narrow tables seat fifteen to twenty in a row; and the two mess halls over a thousand convicts.
Breakfast is served in dented low pans, filled with potato and corn beef hash, alternating every 长沙桑拿哪里好 other day with oatmeal and syrup. The rusty tin cups are half filled with an unsweetened, brownish, transparent concoction called coffee, which the convicts long ago nicknamed “bootleg.”
But the bread, made 长沙桑拿SPA of wheat and cornmeal, is very good. The raising of the hand is the signal for an additional slice of bread, which is distributed by a convict, and when it reaches you it has usually been handled by ten or fifteen different, not to say unclean, hands.
The men eat voraciously and in great haste, coughing, chewing, smacking their lips; grunting and snorting like pigs with[Pg 45] their snouts in the trough. My poor appetite is not improved by their disconcerting exhibition, and my portion is quickly swallowed by my neighbours.
On both sides of the hall we are
watched by keepers standing against the wall, or perched on high 长沙桑拿全套 stools, swinging their sticks.
On my right there is a goodnatured-looking keeper with a bullet head and sleepy eyes; on the other hand a small, wiry, thin-faced, long-nosed, white-mustached keeper, with 长沙桑拿爽记 wicked eagle eyes, who uses not only the foulest of language, but also his stick, on the slightest provocation.
After the “feed” comes the bucket parade. Each man carries his own bucket into the yard behind the prison building, facing the Brooklyn side. The Queensboro bridge on the north, with two feet on the island uniting Brooklyn and New York, appears gigantic on the horizon.