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land； but at landscape； and pronounce the virtues and the
shortcomings of the soil。 Litmus paper is not necessary when I
determine a soil to be acid or alkali。 I repeat； farm…husbandry； in
its highest scientific terms； was my genius； and is my genius。 And
yet the state； which includes all the citizens of the state；
believes that it can blot out this wisdom of mine in the final dark
by means of a rope about my neck and the abruptive jerk of
gravitationthis wisdom of mine that was incubated through the
millenniums； and that was well…hatched ere the farmed fields of Troy
were ever pastured by the flocks of nomad shepherds！
Corn？ Who else knows corn？ There is my demonstration at Wistar；
whereby I increased the annual corn…yield of every county in Iowa by
half a million dollars。 This is history。 Many a farmer； riding in
his motor…car to…day； knows who made possible that motor…car。 Many
a sweet…bosomed girl and bright…browed boy； poring over high…school
text…books； little dreams that I made that higher education possible
by my corn demonstration at Wistar。
And farm management！ I know the waste of superfluous motion without
studying a moving picture record of it； whether it be farm or farm…
hand； the layout of buildings or the layout of the farm…hands'
labour。 There is my handbook and tables on the subject。 Beyond the
shadow of any doubt； at this present moment； a hundred thousand
farmers are knotting their brows over its spread pages ere they tap
out their final pipe and go to bed。 And yet； so far was I beyond my
tables； that all I needed was a mere look at a man to know his
predispositions； his co…ordinations； and the index fraction of his
motion…wastage。
And here I must close this first chapter of my narrative。 It is
nine o'clock； and in Murderers' Row that means lights out。 Even
now； I hear the soft tread of the gum…shoed guard as he comes to
censure me for my coal…oil lamp still burning。 As if the mere
living could censure the doomed to die！
CHAPTER II
I am Darrell Standing。 They are going to take me out and hang me
pretty soon。 In the meantime I say my say； and write in these pages
of the other times and places。
After my sentence； I came to spend the rest of my 〃natural life〃 in
the prison of San Quentin。 I proved incorrigible。 An incorrigible
is a terrible human beingat least such is the connotation of
〃incorrigible〃 in prison psychology。 I became an incorrigible
because I abhorred waste motion。 The prison； like all prisons； was
a scandal and an affront of waste motion。 They put me in the jute…
mill。 The criminality of wastefulness irritated me。 Why should it
not？ Elimination of waste motion was my speciality。 Before the
invention of steam or steam…driven looms three thousand years
before； I had rotted in prison in old Babylon； and； trust me； I
speak the truth when I say that in that ancient day we prisoners
wove more efficiently on hand…looms than did the prisoners in the
steam…powered loom…rooms of San Quentin。
The crime of waste was abhorrent。 I rebelled。 I tried to show the
guards a score or so of more efficient ways。 I was reported。 I was
given the dungeon and the starvation of light and food。 I emerged
and tried to work in the chaos of inefficiency of the loom…rooms。 I
rebelled。 I was given the dungeon； plus the strait…jacket。 I was
spread…eagled； and thumbed…up； and privily beaten by the stupid
guards whose totality of intelligence was only just sufficient to
show them that I was different from them and not so stupid。
Two years of this witless persecution I endured。 It is terrible for
a man to be tied down and gnawed by rats。 The stupid brutes of
guards were rats； and they gnawed the intelligence of me； gnawed all
the fine nerves of the quick of me and of the consciousness of me。
And I； who in my past have been a most valiant fighter； in this
present life was no fighter at all。 I was a farmer； an
agriculturist； a desk…tied professor； a laboratory slave； interested
only in the soil and the increase of the productiveness of the soil。
I fought in the Philippines because it was the tradition of the
Standings to fight。 I had no aptitude for fighting。 It was all too
ridiculous； the introducing of disruptive foreign substances into
the bodies of little black men…folk。 It was laughable to behold
Science prostituting all the might of its achievement and the wit of
its inventors to the violent introducing of foreign substances into
the bodies of black folk。
As I say； in obedience to the tradition of the Standings I went to
war and found that I had no aptitude for war。 So did my officers
find me out； because they made me a quartermaster's clerk； and as a
clerk； at a desk； I fought through the Spanish…American War。
So it was not because I was a fighter； but because I was a thinker；
that I was enraged by the motion…wastage of the loom…rooms and was
persecuted by the guards into becoming an 〃incorrigible。〃 One's
brain worked and I was punished for its working。 As I told Warden
Atherton； when my incorrigibility had become so notorious that he
had me in on the carpet in his private office to plead with me； as I
told him then：
〃It is so absurd； my dear Warden； to think that your rat…throttlers
of guards can shake out of my brain the things that are clear and
definite in my brain。 The whole organization of this prison is
stupid。 You are a politician。 You can weave the political pull of
San Francisco saloon…men and ward heelers into a position of graft
such as this one you occupy； but you can't weave jute。 Your loom…
rooms are fifty years behind the times。 。 。 。〃
But why continue the tirade？for tirade it was。 I showed him what
a fool he was； and as a result he decided that I was a hopeless
incorrigible。
Give a dog a bad nameyou know the saw。 Very well。 Warden
Atherton gave the final sanction to the badness of my name。 I was
fair game。 More than one convict's dereliction was shunted off on
me； and was paid for by me in the dungeon on bread and water； or in
being triced up by the thumbs on my tip…toes for long hours； each
hour of which was longer than any life I have ever lived。
Intelligent men are cruel。 Stupid men are monstrously cruel。 The
guards and the men over me； from the Warden down； were stupid
monsters。 Listen； and you shall learn what they did to me。 There
was a poet in the prison； a convict； a weak…chinned； broad…browed；
degenerate poet。 He was a forger。 He was a coward。 He was a
snitcher。 He was a stoolstrange words for a professor of
agronomics to use in writing； but a professor of agronomics may well
learn strange words when pent in prison for the term of his natural
life。
This poet…forger's name was Cecil Winwood。 He had had prior
convictions； and yet； because he was a snivelling cur of a yellow
dog； his last sentence had been only for seven years。 Good credits
would materially reduce this time。 My time was life。 Yet this
miserable degenerate； in order to gain several short years of
liberty for himself； succeeded in adding a fair portion of eternity
to my own life…time term。
I shall tell what happened the other way around； for it was only
after a weary period that I learned。 This Cecil Winwood； in order
to curry favour with the Captain of the Yard； and thence the Warden；
the Prison Directors； the Board of Pardons； and the Governor of
California； framed up a prison…break。 Now note three things： （a）
Cecil Winwood was so detested by his fellow…convicts that they would
not have permitted him to bet an ounce of Bull Durham on a bed…bug
raceand bed…bug racing was a great sport with the convicts； （b） I
was the dog that had been given a bad name： （c） for his frame…up；
Cecil Winwood needed the dogs with bad names； the lifetimers； the
desperate ones； the incorrigibles。
But the lifers detested Cecil Winwood； and； when he approached them
with his plan of a wholesale prison…break； they laughed at him and
turned away with curses for the stool that he was。 But he fooled
them in the end； forty of the bitterest…wise ones in the pen。 He
approached them again and again。 He told of his power in the prison
by virtue of his being trusty in the Warden's office； and because of
the fact that he had the run of the dispensary。
〃Show me；〃 said Long Bill Hodge； a mountaineer doing life for train
robbery； and whose whole soul for years had been bent on escaping in
order to kill the companion in robbery who had turned state's
evidence on him。
Cecil Winwood accepted the test。 He claimed that he could dope the
guards the night of the break。
〃Talk is cheap；〃 said Long Bill Hodge。 〃What we want is the goods。
Dope one of the guards to…night。 There's Barnum。 He's no good。 He
beat up that crazy Chink yesterday in Bughouse Alleywhen he was
off duty； too。 He's on the night watch。 D