Another day, following some months of constant deterioration in the
food, and diminution in the quantity of it, a dinner of hash and bread
was served, and both bread and hash were sour. The air of the room was
full of the sour smell; the captain came down the aisle near mine, and a
prisoner had the boldness to stop him and hold up his plate. "It's sour,
Captain!" said he. The captain looked the man in the eye and replied
sternly, "It is not sour!" "But, Captain--" "I say it is not sour!" the
other repeated with a threatening look. It was either submit, or the
hole; the man sat down.
But a few minutes later, some one hissed; before he could be identified,
hisses came from every part of the room. It was a critical juncture. The
captain ordered the band to play, and play it did at the top of its
compass; but the hissing was audible and continued through the playing.
Presently the men got up and began to march out; it was then that a
group of guards from the smoking room below came running up the stairs
armed with clubs and revolvers and tried to get through the barred door
at the stair head, but were checked by the captain, who was a wise
tactician. The men went to their cells, and there began to howl and
screech like a crazy menagerie, and kept it up for hours. Twenty or
thirty of the supposed ringleaders were sent to the dark holes; but the
revolt was not checked until the warden personally promised reforms, and
gave his word that no further punishments should be inflicted--fair
promises, made to be broken.
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