The next morning, the warden showed up again. He said we had gotten off on the wrong foot, and that we should be able to work something out. He smoked a pipe, and I saw that as he tried to fill it just outside of my cell, he was shaking so badly that the pipe tobacco was falling to the floor. Something seemed strange. He said that we would be given back our mattresses, our bedding, our bibles and our toothbrushes. In return, could we just try to keep the singing down a little, and to limit the times during which we sang?
David Fankhauser 