Having been appointed by the reformer Brace, I was naturally supposed to be his personal spy. I was saved from falling into so fatal a mistake by a queer old prison missionary called "General Jerry." He had lost an arm at Three Oaks, in the hospital at Andersonville he had found "religion." And as the Lord had visited him in prison, he had devoted what was left of his life to similar work. I think he had no income beyond his pension—he was always shabby. He had very little learning, but an immense amount of homely wisdom. If ever a man has won a right to a starry crown it was Jerry. He and the Father—each in his different way—were the most wholesouled Christians I have ever encountered. Such a noble dignity shone from the eyes of this humble old man that I felt it ever a privilege to sit at his feet and learn of him. First of all, from watching him, I found that a man who was sincere and honest could win the respect of the Tombs, in spite of such handicaps. Before long we became friends, and he gave me much shrewd advice. "I come here to save souls," he said. "That’s all I come for. I don’t let nothin’ else interest me. I ain’t no district attorney. Sure, I see graft. Can’t help it. Every year—onct—I talk to each one of the screws about his soul. ’Big Jim,’ I says, ’you ain’t right wid God. I ain’t the only one as seed you take money from the mother of that dago what was hanged. I ain’t the only one as heard you lie to that Jew woman, telling her how you’d help her husband out. I ain’t the only one as knows the hotel you took her to. God sees! God hears! He knows! You’d better square it wid Him!’ That’s all I says. They knows I don’t go round tellin’ it. And they helps me wid my work. Just yesterday Big Jim comes to me. ’General,’ he says, ’there’s a guy up in 431 what’s crying. I guess you’d better hand him a bit of Gospel.’ "What do you come down here to the Tombs for? To help out the poor guys what they’ve got wrong. Well. Don’t do nothin’ else. The screws all think you’re gum-shoein’ for Brace. ’Jerry,’ they says to me, ’who’s the new guy? What’s he nosin’ around here for?’ ’Don’t know,’ I says. ’Better keep your eye on him—same as I’m doin’,’ I says. ’After a while we’ll know.’" I felt their eyes on me all the time. A couple of months later I sat down beside Jerry in the courtyard; he had a Bible on his knees and a cheese sandwich in his hand.