The Final Adversary (7 page)

And then the chorus:

Tears gathered in Barney’s eyes, and he choked on the
words. Barney heard little of the sermon, but the words of the song rolled over and over in his mind:
It was there by faith I received my sight—and now I am happy all the day.

After the service he returned to his cell, and that afternoon he allowed Awful Gardner to speak of his love for the Lord Jesus Christ.

From that time on, Barney attended chapel every Sunday. He said little, but Awful was happy just to have him there. “You’ll find it, laddie, never fear!” he would whisper every night.

The months rolled by, and Barney was surprised to discover that he had been in prison for a year. “Time don’t work in here like it does on the outside,” Gardner said.

“You’ll be getting out pretty soon, Awful,” Barney said. They were sitting in the chapel where they could speak quietly, waiting for the service to begin.

“Right-O! Only a few more months. And I’m prayin’ that you’ll get time out for good behavior. I’ll be waitin’ for you out there, no fear!”

Fortunately, Barney didn’t let his mind think of release, for only a month later he got into deep trouble.

Winslow had always been a good self-taught artist. One day he found a tablet and began illustrating sketches of prison life. Most of the simple drawings were of the men in the prison—inmates and guards. He showed them to no one, and it was only by accident they were discovered when Barney and Awful Gardner were sitting side by side in chapel. As Barney was sketching the visiting minister, Awful caught a glimpse and nudged Barney.

“Lem’me see the rest!”

Gardner was delighted as he recognized various individuals. “Look at ’im!” he exclaimed. “It’s Captain Dollar down to ’is last hair! And ’ere’s Timmy Mackey—the spittin’ image!” He handed them back, saying, “Better not let any of the wardens see these. They don’t like it when a chap enjoys ’imself!”

Barney had no intention of any prison official seeing them.
He continued to sketch, then in his second year he began to draw different aspects of Sing Sing—the grimmer side.

From the first day he was aware of the cruel punishments dealt by the guards. The iron collar was one of the more gentle ones Barney’d seen; but the cat-o’-nine tails, a whip with nine leather thongs embedded with bits of metal in each strap, was common. He had never seen it used, but he had been a witness of the result. Once while cleaning the primitive “hospital” floor, he had been shoved out of the way by two guards who brought an unconscious man through the door and dumped him on one of the cots. “Better give him a pill, Doc,” one of them laughed. “He’s got a backache. Got it from talking back to a guard.”

Barney had turned to look, and one glance made him sick. Naked to the waist, the man’s upper back was a mass of bleeding pulp. He was unconscious, but his body was jerking, crawling like the skin of a horse trying to shake off flies. The flesh was laid back in such terrible furrows that the back of the rib cage was exposed, white bone laid bare in the bloody flesh.

One of the guards had seen Barney’s revulsion at the sight. “Better watch yourself, Con. You might get a bit of this yourself.”

Barney had been unable to forget the sight, and one of the victim’s descriptions had only intensified his vision of what it was like. The man from Tennessee, eyes stark with fear, stared at Winslow. “They chain you to the floor, all stretched out, and then one of them puts on a special white coat and a little flat hat. The rest of them gather around to watch. It’s bad at first, like fire! But then you pass out. Look at my back.”

His back had been so deeply scarred that it would never heal, and for months afterward Barney had nightmares about the event. He drew a sketch of it, not understanding why.

The other punishment was known as “The Shower.” It sounded innocent enough when Barney first heard of it. One of the inmates said that he’d been caught breaking the rules
and was going to get “The Shower” that night. Barney had remarked, “Well, that’s not so bad, is it?”

“I’d rather have the cat!” he’d said bitterly.

Awful had been subjected to “The Shower” more than once. “They puts you in the regular shower, the one you know, Barney. Big wooden box with the shower head up high. Only they put a chair in there, and it’s got a sort of thing like a trough attached to the top, you see? It fits around a bloke’s neck, and it’s like havin’ your ’ead in a big basin. Your hands is strapped to the arms and you can’t move a finger, see?” Awful’s face contorted. “So when the guard starts the shower, the bowl fills up—and when it fills up to your mouth, you try to drink it to keep it out of your nose. But you can’t do it, so under goes your nose. What you do is
drown.
So they let you drown; then they takes you out and pumps you dry. And then—they do it again. Once they done me six times.” Gardner’s battered face was pale at the memory, and he shook his head. “Rather die than go through it again, I would!”

Barney had drawn a graphic sketch of that scene, unconsciously using Gardner as the victim and Captain Nathaniel Dollar as the executioner. It had been Dollar who had applied the cat to the prisoner Barney had talked to, and the man had become a symbol to Barney of the many guards who were cruel and savage.

If he had thrown away the sketches, he would never have encountered the most harrowing experience of his life. Actually he forgot them, having tucked them in the back of the tablet, continuing to sketch the less terrible aspects of his surroundings. And it was on a Sunday morning that this oversight caught up with him in a burst of fury he had never dreamed could happen.

He had taken his tablet to chapel, and the service ran overtime. When the preacher closed, the guards came running down the aisles, hurrying the prisoners in order to keep to the rigid schedule. Barney had placed the tablet beside him, and in the pressure forgot it. He was outside the chapel before
he remembered what he’d done, and stopped abruptly. The sudden movement jostled the man behind Barney, invoking the guard’s wrath. “Get on now!” he yelled.

“I left something in chapel—” Barney began, but the guard punched him with his stick, waving him on. Barney was heartsick, but when he told Awful what had happened the other was not worried.

“One of the preachers will probably find it. It’ll be there next Sunday.”

But an hour later Barney was aroused from a nap by the abrupt sound of his cell door opening. He opened his eyes, but not soon enough, for he was struck in the stomach with a club and dragged out of his cell, gasping in pain.

“What’s wrong?” he cried hoarsely when his breath returned.

The two burly guards silently dragged him down the narrow walkway. Fear coursed through him, and he tried to resist, but a sharp crack on the side of his head sent showers of bright lights before his eyes. The next thing he knew he was hauled through a door and shoved so violently that he fell sprawling on the stone floor. Rolling over on his side, he saw Captain Nathaniel Dollar standing rigidly in the center of the room beside the shower. Barney saw at once that a chair was fastened inside with a bowl affixed to it.

“Is this yours?” Dollar demanded. He held out the tablet, and Barney’s heart sank. He nodded silently. Dollar stared at him, then slowly nodded. “Quite an artist, aren’t you, Winslow? What did you intend to do with these pictures? Sell them to a New York newspaper?”

“No, sir!” Barney said with alarm. “I don’t do anything with them.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Dollar scoffed. “You think I’m a fool? You’re a clever one—but we have ways of dealing with smart ones.” Anger blazed out of his close-set eyes, and he waved his hand. “Put him in the chair.”

There was no use struggling, and Barney tried to get
himself mentally prepared for what was coming as the guards strapped him in the chair. He stared straight ahead as they fastened the basin around his face, and then he heard Dollar say, “Let’s see if we can’t wash a little of that smartness out of you!”

What followed was the most horrendous experience of Barney’s life. As the water rose, he began to gag, and he held his breath, but the water filled the bowl so that his nose was under, forcing him to breath. The water surged up his nose and into his mouth. He struggled with all his might. The torture was repeated over and over until he eventually passed out.

When he became conscious, he was still in the chair, and Dollar snarled, “That was just the beginning. Here’s some more for you!” Barney tried to cry out, but it was useless. Again he lost consciousness, and again he was revived. How many times this occurred, he could never remember.

Barney was only dimly aware of being hauled by his arms across a floor. Then he felt the cold bite of iron on his wrists and ankles. Gagging from the water, he rolled his head to one side and saw Dollar standing over him with the whip in his hands. A smile curled his thin lips as he said, “Now, Winslow, we’ll bleed you a little bit. The old-time doctors always bled their patients, I understand.”

Barney shut his eyes and pressed his cheek against the cold stone. The first stroke of the cat ran through him like fire. Again and again the whip struck his back. Barney had one thing on his mind as the punishment went on:
I won’t let them make me cry out!

And he didn’t, though it would have been better if he had. His silence enraged Dollar, and he continued until one of the guards said nervously, “Better give it up, Captain. He’s had it, I reckon.”

Barney did not hear this—nor anything else for a long time. The experience with “The Shower” and the beating taken together put him into a coma. He was taken back to
his cell, but when he didn’t regain consciousness the next day, he was carried to the hospital. His wounds became infected, and it was many days before he returned to his cell.

Awful Gardner watched as two guards came down the walkway, supporting Winslow’s thin body. One glimpse of Barney’s face made Gardner cringe at the change he saw. When the guards left, Gardner waited until he heard the cot creak, then whispered gently, “Are you all right, laddie?”

“Yes.”

The brief answer was curt, but Gardner went on. “I know ’tis been hard, lad, but you’re alive. We’ll see you through.” He paused, and when there was no reply, added, “I’ve prayed for you every day, you know.”

Again silence. Then Gardner heard Barney Winslow’s reply, laced with bitterness and steely anger. “Don’t pray for me, you hear? And never mention the name of God to me! I’m through with all that.”

Gardner put his cheek against the cold steel bars and shook his head. When he lay down on his cot, he put his hand on the foot-thick stone that separated him from his friend and began to pray.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lola Makes a Call

Mark leaned back in his chair and looked across the table, picked up his cup of coffee and sipped slowly. “Are you glad to be back home, Lola?” he asked.

“Yes, I am. Are you?” Lola lifted her eyes to the dining room she had not seen for eighteen months.

“I like the climate better there.”

“So do I, but—” She broke off abruptly and dropped her white linen napkin in her lap. Ordinarily a strong and composed woman, Lola could not hide the pain that was wrenching her heart.

“I know,” he nodded slowly. “You never were settled on the coast, but you’ve been more restless than usual.” He got up and placed his hand on her shoulder. She held it tightly. He squeezed it hard. “It’s Barney, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. It’s been hard for me, too.”

Lola stood up and leaned against him, pressing her face to his chest. He held her trembling body, surprised at the emotion. The past months had been extremely difficult for her. She had lost the sparkle and glow that made her so delightful, and none of the activities he had suggested to entice her in Sacramento had worked. He knew it was because of Barney. He had tried everything to help him, had even hired an expert private detective agency, but they had found nothing that would exonerate him. Finally, Frank Carswell, head
of the agency, said, “Mr. Winslow, we can’t keep taking your money for nothing. We’ve exhausted every lead.”

Mark and Lola had written Barney, but his rare answers were so empty and meaningless. He never spoke of himself, just thanked them for the gifts and the money they sent. His last reply had been only two lines.

“He’s given up on life, I’m afraid,” Mark said.

“He can’t!” Lola cried, the fiery Spanish blood showing in her eyes as she drew back. She struck Mark on the chest as though he were the prison she so hated. “I won’t let him give up!”

The grandfather clock in the foyer struck, the hollow sound reverberating through the house, and Mark said, “We’ll talk about it when I get back. We’ll go to the prison this week.”

“Mark, do you have to go to the meeting?”

“I’m afraid so. You know how I hate political meetings, but this one may be important. The Democrats are going to nominate their candidate for president pretty soon, and I think it may be the young man who’s speaking tonight. Name’s William Jennings Bryan. I’m meeting with the committee to talk with him afterward.” He paused. “I wish you’d come with me. I hate for you to be home alone on our first night back home.”

Lola smiled and patted his arm. “I won’t be home. Andy and I are going to Moody’s meeting.”

“Wish I could go with you,” Mark said enviously. “I’d rather hear Dwight L. Moody preach than listen to the best political speech ever made! What about Esther?”

“She’s spending the night with Louise Fellows.” Lola reached up and patted Mark’s cheek. “You’d better get ready. Let’s have a midnight snack when we get home, just as we used to do.”