A frightful scene was before me.  Williams, my assistant, was on the ground, covered with blood, and around him was a crowd of the worst boys in the prison, pounding, kicking, and trying to snatch his keys so as to escape by unlocking the gate.  Luckily my bat with which I had played baseball with the boys stood in the corner, and grabbing this I struck out with all my strength, knocking down the boys right and left.  Just then the guard came up on the run, the wounded man was carried to the hospital, and his assailants locked up.

Williams, it appeared, had, in his absent-mindedness, unlocked the jail instead of the wall gates, and let out upon him this horde of ruffians who had been put in there for safe-keeping.  He finally recovered, but left the island through fear of his life.

The discipline of the school was much benefited by forming a school regiment, and drilling them to the music of a brass band composed of the boys themselves.  They were as proud of their uniforms, shoulder straps and accoutrements, as were the old guard of Napoleon, and their ambition was stimulated by merited promotions from the ranks.

For more than a year I thoroughly enjoyed the work of uplifting those waifs on our sea of life; they responded appreciatively to the influence of kindly words and acts, even as the Aeolian harp yields its sweetest music to the caresses of the airs of heaven.  It was an inspiration to watch the blossoming of purer thoughts and higher aspirations, and to feel that we were cooperating with the invisible spirits in developing the hidden angels in this youthful army.

All at once the shadows fell, the baneful greed of that organized appetite called “Tammany Hall,” reached out its devil-fish tentaculae, which neither fear God, nor have any mercy on men, to seek our blood.  Evil looking Shylock-faced trustees began to supplant those noble men who had made this refuge a veritable gate of heaven to so many more sinned against than sinning,—­children of the vile.  These avaricious, beastly emissaries of “Tammany,” soon snarled at us poor teachers that we must divide our small salaries with them or give place to those that would.  Not a school book, or a shin-bone for soup, could be bought unless these leeches had a commission from it; they brought enormous baskets and filled them with fruit practically stolen from our children, and carted them home for their own cubs.

Our superintendent and chaplain were strong sectarians, but very weak Christians, and they readily made friends of the “Mammon of unrighteousness.”  One hot Sunday, when I was in command at chapel, the somnolent tones of the chaplain, who, as usual, was pouring forth a stream of mere words—­words almost devoid of thought, lulled a large number of my fifteen hundred boys and girls into the land of dreams.

As soon as the services were over and I had surrendered my flock to the yard master, I was summoned before the superintendent where the pious chaplain accused me of insulting him by not keeping the children awake.  I quietly asked him how this could be done.  “Go among them with a rattan,” said he.  I told him I thought the preacher deserved the rattan much more than the children, that they would listen gladly if he would give them anything worth hearing.  From that moment he was my malicious foe.