of the forty have died in the succeeding six years.
After my five years in solitary, when they took me away from San Quentin for my trial, I saw Skysail Jack.

I could see little, for I was blinking in the sunshine like a bat, after five years of darkness; yet I saw enough of Skysail Jack to pain my heart.

It was in crossing the Prison Yard that I saw him.

His hair had turned white.

He was prematurely old.
His chest had caved in.