I took hold of
the iron bars of my door, and tried to shake them and said: "Never mind,
you put me in here a cub, but I will go out a roaring lion and I will make
all hell howl." I wanted to let them know that I was going to grow while
in there.
Three days after, on the 30th, there was brought in and put next to
my cell an old man, named Isaiah Cooper, a lunatic, who raved, cursed
and tore his clothes and bedding. He was brought from the poor farm
where he was waiting to be sent to the insane asylum. There were some
cigarette, smokers in the jail and the fumes came in my cell, for I had
nothing but an open barred door. I begged that I might not be compelled
to smell this poison, but, instead of diminishing, the smoke increased.
Two prisoners from across the rotunda were brought next to
my cell.
What an outrage, to tax the citizens of Sedgwick County to build
such a jail as that in Wichita. It holds one hundred and sixty prisoners.
There were thirteen there when I was put in. I have been in many jails, but
in none did I ever see a rotary, except in Wichita, a large iron cage,
with one door, the little cells the shape of a piece of pie. Perhaps there
were a dozen in this one. The cage rotated within a cylinder. This was
for the worst criminals, and the cells were only large enough for a small
cot, a chair and a table about a foot square.
{illust. caption =
JUST BEFORE I LEFT WICHITA JAIL A PHOTOGRAPHER CAME TO MY CELL AND ASKED
TO TAKE MY PICTURE.
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