[Illustration: A LIFETIMER'S CELL]
_After Prison--What?_
_By
Maud Ballington Booth_
[Illustration: Logo]
_New York Chicago Toronto
Fleming H. Revell Company
London and Edinburgh_
Copyright, 1903, by
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
(_September_)
New York: 158 Fifth Avenue
Chicago: 63 Washington Street
Toronto: 27 Richmond Street, W
London: 21 Paternoster Square
Edinburgh: 30 St. Mary Street
_DEDICATION_
_Lovingly dedicated to our boys in prison by
their Little Mother
who
believes in them and looks with confidence
to a bright, victorious future
when they shall have lived down
the old, sad record, stormed the walls
of prejudice,
wrested just recognition from the skeptical
and
answered convincingly the question,
"can a convict be reformed?"_
Preface
This message from my pen is not a work on criminology or penology.
No gathering of statistics, nor comparative study of the works or
theories of learned authorities on these subjects will be found within
its pages. It is just a plea from the heart of one who knows them, for
those who cannot voice to the world their own thoughts and feelings. We
ask no sentimental sympathy or pity, no patronage or charity, but only
understanding, justice, and fair play.
My point of view is that of the cell. All I know of this great sad
problem that casts its shadow so much further than the high walls of
prison I have learned from those for whom I work, and my great joy in
every labor is the knowledge that "the boys" are with me. In speaking
of them thus I do so in prison parlance; for just as Masons on the
floor call each other "Brothers"; soldiers in camp "Comrades"; men in
college "Fellows"; so we of the prison use the term "The Boys," and
leave unspoken that hated word "Convict," which seems to vibrate with
the sound of clanging chains and shuffling lock-step.
If I do not write of others, who, during the past century, have worked
in prison reform, it is not that I have disregarded their efforts,
but as this is a record of what I have personally seen and learned,
space and time will not permit the recording of experiences which can
doubtless be read elsewhere.
In sending forth these pages of personal experience I pray that
they may stir the hearts of the free, the happy, and the fortunate
throughout our dear country, that they, in their turn, may champion the
cause of those who cannot fight their own battle, giving to them the
practical help that they so sorely need.
Contents
I. GOLD IN THE MINE 11
II. "REMEMBER ME" 29
III. THE VOLUNTEER PRISON LEAGUE 48
IV. THE POWER BEHIND THE WORK 81
V. LETTERS FROM THE "BOYS" 103
VI. UNWELCOMED HOME-COMING 115
VII. WELCOMED HOME 141
VIII. THE SAME STORY FROM OTHER PENS 170
IX. LIFE STORIES 194
X. WIVES AND MOTHERS 217
XI. SANTA CLAUS RESURRECTED 241
XII. PRISON REFORM 255
XIII. DOES IT PAY? 273
After Prison What?
I
GOLD IN THE MINE
Long before the discovery of gold in Australasia, geologists had
pronounced the strata auriferous. They had propounded to the world
their theories and scientific conclusions on the subject. Those
who read undoubtedly gave respectful credence to their interesting
treatises because of the learning of the writers, and then as quickly
forgot the facts that had not very strongly appealed to any personal
interest. No one thought it worth while to sell out business, and leave
home to risk or venture anything on the theories advanced. The gold lay
there untouched until one day some shepherds from the bush came into
Melbourne and displayed fragments of rock encrusted with glittering
yellow particles which were found to be pure gold. After that people
believed, for they had seen and to almost all the world "seeing is
believing." The shepherds knew nothing of geology. They could not
speak of the strata, but they had found and could show the gold, and
in their footsteps tens of thousands followed in the great rush that
opened up the mines and sent forth to the world the vast wealth that
had lain hidden for ages.
Many who have faith in the hopefulness of all human nature have
believed and told the world of their belief in the possible reformation
of criminals. They have argued that every soul is precious in the eyes
of the great Father in heaven, and that beneath the stain and dross of
crime and sin must always be some grain of gold worth redeeming. Their
great difficulty is to convince those who are hopeless as to human
nature and who, seeing very vividly the evil, have not the discernment
to see beneath it any possible good.
To the world at large a State Prison has been looked upon as an abode
of the utterly evil, depraved and good-for-nothing. In the slums are
the unfortunate victims of drink, the helpless poor and straying
ones who can still be sought and saved, but in the prisons are those
whose lives are spoiled and ruined beyond repair. Many of course give
the subject no thought and their prejudices are the result of utter
ignorance. Others form their conceptions from the sensational accounts
of notorious criminals whose deeds have been exploited in the press.
Some, perhaps, base their unfavorable judgment on the theories advanced
against the possibility of reforming the criminal, and speak as if our
prisons were full of perverted degenerates, at the mention of whom it
is proper to shudder and about whom one can speak as of some species of
human animal quite alien to the common thoughts, feelings, instincts
and possibilities which are possessed by denizens of the outside world.
How truly may it be said that prejudice builds a higher, thicker wall
around our prisoners than those of brick and stone within which the
law has placed them. Naturally in my extensive travels all over this
country and my personal contact with people of every description, I
have had ample opportunity to gauge the thought and feeling of the
world towards those in whom I am so deeply interested, and, though
during the last few years I have seen with joy a very marked change of
feeling, there is yet much gross miscomprehension of the whole subject.
Those of us who have become familiar with the question on the inside of
the walls have found a veritable gold mine of possibility. We realize
fully however that it is only when they see this gold for themselves
that the world will lay aside its doubting for faith in the future
of these men and, casting to the wind prejudice, will stretch out a
friendly hand of good-will to those who come forth from the testing
furnace.
We realized in the early years of its history that such a work as
the one of which I write could only be seen and appreciated by the
world at large in the years of the future when our "boys" had come
back into liberty and had had time to prove the genuineness of their
purpose. Already this day has dawned, and all over the country the
forerunners of the thousands still to come are proving that the work is
no experiment, though naturally many have neither seen them nor looked
into the lives of those still in prison. It is hard to make the wholly
uninformed concede that any good thing can come from such a place.
Many a time when talking to friends after some drawing-room gathering,
at a dinner table or in the cars, they will say with a look of almost
compassion, "But are you not afraid to talk with these men? Is it not
very dreadful to have to come into contact with them?" I try to explain
that they are my friends, that the respect, courtesy and attention I
receive from them could not be excelled in any circle of society; but
the raised eyebrows and incredulous looks tell plainly that I have not
answered the question, simply because to their minds all criminals
are of the same stamp as Tracy, the James brothers and Czolgosz.
They cannot conceive of men of education, refinement or gentlemanly
instincts in prison.
Constantly I am asked, "But how can you talk to these men; what can
you say; how do you touch or appeal to such an audience?" I answer,
"Precisely as I should to any lecture audience or from the pulpit of
any fashionable church." I am talking, not to the criminal with the
theft of a pocketbook or with manslaughter, burglary or murder on his
record but to the man, to the soul, the heart. It is just here that a
grave error could be made. If we always associate the prisoner with his
crime, with the stripes, the cell, the surroundings, we get wofully
far away from him and even find ourselves beyond the point where we
can reach him at all. The crime was one incident of his life, his
imprisonment is but the fact of to-day. Before he was a prisoner he
was a man, and in the future world he will be simply a man, so why not
talk to him and think of him as a man to-day. A lady was recently being
shown over a penal institution (which will remain nameless save to say
that it was not a state prison), and the officer who was explaining
the system took her from room to room that she might understand their
régime. He showed off company after company as a professor might
exhibit specimens in the different classes of zoology, talking of them
loudly in their hearing. At last coming to one of the lower grades he
said, "You will note the inferior intelligence of these men, their
poorer development. These are much lower in mental and moral capacity
and there is very little hope for them. They are many of them very
degraded and seem devoid of moral instinct." Certain malformed heads
and many poorly nourished bodies were pointed out and all this while
these classified animals stood listening. How should we like such an
experience? What thoughts passed through those minds, what fierce hate,
what hopeless despair may not have swept over them as they listened to
the summing up of their case?
Prison communities come from no uncivilized island where they form
a different species of the human family nor are they drawn from one
section of the population confined to the slums. They are from the
great, wide world at large. Some have had homes of ease and comfort
and have been educated in our finest colleges and schools. Society
gives its quota, so does the great world of the common people, while
yet others come from homes of poverty and some from no homes at all.
There are the educated and the ignorant, the rich and the poor, the
industrious and the idle, the brilliant and the poorly endowed. In
fact our audiences in Prison are much like the audiences that we meet
in the free world, save that their hearts are sore and sensitive and
that that great shadow of suffering, the awful loss of liberty, has
brought anguish, despair and shame to quicken every feeling. Nowhere
have I found audiences more attentive, earnest and intelligent than
in prison and I find all who have had any experience will compare
them most favorably with those of the outside. One thing is very
evident--superficiality, seeming and artificiality have been swept away
by the close and bitter contact with life, hence the real man is easier
to recognize and reach. They in their turn are quick to read and judge
the speaker behind the subject, the faith behind the doctrine.
Another gross misconception is the belief that all men in prison are
dishonest. People forget how many and devious are the causes for which
men can be imprisoned. Sometimes when I have asked a business man to
employ one of our "boys" the answer has been, "I am in sympathy with
your work and pity these poor fellows, but in my business I dare not
do it as there would be opportunities to steal and it would not be
right to those whose interests I must protect." This has shown me how
constantly the thought of theft and robbery is associated with all
who come from prison. There are many within the walls who have never
misappropriated a cent. This does not mean they are guiltless, for
their crime may have very justly brought them to conviction but there
is no reason to imagine that because of that punishment they must be
ranked as dishonest.
Then there are those within prison walls who, though evil well nigh all
their lives, claim our sincerest pity. They may have done desperate
deeds, may perhaps be ranked as habitual criminals and may represent
to-day the most hardened and determined offenders and yet in strict
justice they should not be spoken of with harsh condemnation, before
the sad pages of their lives have been read. The judge and jury take
cognizance only of the offense; the police and prison record note the
list of charges and the number of returns to prison but those of us
who seek to know the man beneath the criminal have a right to go back
and ask ourselves, "What chance did this man have to do right, to act
and to be as we are?" The answer sometimes is a pathetic revelation
of a loveless babyhood and childhood where blows and curses took the
place of kiss and caress; a youth where revolt against society in
an embittered heart made it easy to develop every evil tendency and
to follow the lead of those in the under-world who proved the only
possible friends and associates.
Many, many letters have I received from just this class of prisoner. I
remember especially one that spoke of such a history. It was written
just after my first visit to Joliet State Prison and was in the
natural unrestrained language of one who had never learned the art of
deftly turning sentences. He began with an apology for bad spelling and
poor writing in which he explained that it was the first letter he had
attempted to write in seven years, for he had no one in the world who
cared whether he lived or died. Then he thanked me for what I had said
to them Sunday, adding, "You said you loved us. Nobody ever said that
to me before in my whole life and I hardly know what the word means.
You spoke of home. The nearest approach to it I ever had was my time
in the kitchen of one of the state prisons where the officer was very
kind to me." Briefly this was his story. He was born in a poorhouse
in Ireland and never knew father or mother and received in childhood
no touch of love or sympathy. When still very young he was sent out
to work and soon found evil companionship and was led into trouble.
He came out to this country only to continue on the same path which
was in fact the only path he had ever known. It naturally led him to
state prison and his whole life here has been spent within the walls
except for the few short holidays in the slums between the day of his
discharge and the next arrest. All through the letter I could see that
he had never dreamed there was another life for him. He confessed he
had never tried to be good, had had no inducement or chance to be
so. Very pathetic to me was the closing sentence in which he said,
"Now that I know somebody cares, I will try." Let me diverge from my
point enough to add that he made a success of the effort and became
an earnest member of our League. On his discharge from prison he had
a happy experience at our Home and from there launched out into a new
life. He soon proved himself a good workman and in time became the
possessor of a happy little home of his own and has for several years
been a useful member of society.
I have mentioned but one but I could fill a volume with such stories. I
do not think that the happy and fortunate in this life need look upon
it as foolish sentimentality to pity the prisoners. Surely our pity
is no more misspent upon them than upon the heathen for they too have
never seen the light that they might follow it.
A young man came not long since to our Home. He was a poorly developed,
broken-spirited, frightened looking boy. His parents died when he
and his brothers and sisters were very young. He was brought up in a
juvenile asylum, bound out to people who were hard on him, ran away
and herded with criminals. He never knew home, love, sympathy or
friendship. Our Home was the first true home he had ever known. It
took weeks to work a change in the physical, mental and moral attitude
of the man but when the change commenced it was wonderful to notice
how he developed. Naturally he became devotedly attached to the one
bright happy spot in a very sad and gloomy life. When we sent him out
to his first position which was some way from the Home, he broke down
and sobbed like a child whose vacation is over and he was so utterly
homesick that those who had offered him employment had to return him to
us so that we could place him somewhere nearer the Home, for, as they
wrote, they feared that his homesickness was incurable.
Again wholesale condemnation should be withheld by the thought that
there are some innocent men within prison walls. It is natural that
justice should sometimes miscarry and yet alas, the stigma and brand
remain with the man even after his innocence has been proved. A man
was sentenced to life imprisonment for murder and served sixteen and a
half years. Most of the evidence had been purely circumstantial and he
was convicted mainly on the testimony of one witness. He was only saved
from the gallows by the earnest efforts of those who had known of his
previous good character. Last winter the woman who had borne witness
against him came to what she believed to be her deathbed and sending
for the priest she confessed that she had committed perjury. The matter
being brought to the Governor, the man was at once liberated. To the
world into which he passed nervous, unmanned and broken, he will always
be an "ex-convict."
At the present time I know a man who has served nine years and is still
in prison where he has been visited by the boy whom he was supposed to
have murdered. His "victim," a mere child, disappeared and this man,
a tramp who was overtaken in the forest by a search party was held
responsible. Some years after his conviction to state prison, the boy
returned from what proved to have been a runaway adventure, alive and
well. It is sometimes very hard work to make the wheels of justice turn
backward for those once confined within prison walls so the man who was
poor and friendless is in prison still.
A young German who was a member of the League told me one day his
story, not with a plea that I should help him for my "boys" know that
my mission is not to get them out of prison, and I found he was serving
an eight years' sentence for an offense of which at the time of his
conviction he was utterly ignorant. When arrested he could speak no
English and understood absolutely nothing of his trial. He had no
friends and could make no appeal and when he found himself within the
prison walls, he asked to be enlightened as to what he was supposed
to have done. He was a very bright fellow, a skilled workman and when
he had mastered the language, he very much impressed all who knew him
with his honest straightforwardness. I brought the matter to the notice
of the Governor who on investigation was perfectly satisfied with the
truth of the story and sent the innocent man home to me after he had
served some six years in prison. We found for him a good position and
he became a trusted and well-paid employee. In the first years of
his freedom he was able to lay by money with which he later bought a
farm. He was married to an estimable young woman and is now living a
thoroughly honorable life.
These instances are cited, not with the idea of proving that injustice
has been done, but merely to show that to look with horror and
wholesale condemnation at this great prison family is unfair and that
one may find much good metal worthy of redemption, even from the
standpoint of those who despair of the man who has sinned and fallen.
In contrast to some quoted comes the story of a young man who was
welcomed to the same Home in Illinois after a term in Joliet. He
sat rather silent at the dinner table where the newcomers had
gathered around the white cloth covered with its pretty table ware
and substantial fare. His companions thought he was dispirited and
afterwards finding him alone in a corner of one of the parlors, one
of the older inmates of the Home asked him what was the matter. "Had
he had bad news?" "Oh no," he answered, "it is not that. It is this
Home. Just think of the contrast! When I fell and was sent to prison I
thought I had forever made myself an outcast. For years I have sat in
a cell, dressed in the stripes; I have drunk my coffee and water from
a tin cup and eaten my food from a tin plate. When I sat down at that
table to-night, I was reminded of home and of the past and I seemed to
see the possibility of some day regaining what I had lost." He was not
a poor stray of the city streets but the son of a Christian home. His
father was an Episcopal clergyman and his environment had been one of
comfort and refinement until he had yielded to evil and started on a
downward course.
One of those whose return to rectitude I watched with deep interest had
been a professor of mathematics. Another came from a family with whom I
came in touch through correspondence, and found them honorable members
of one of the courts of Europe, and many represent homes in this
country very far removed from the ignorance and neglect of the slums.
It should also be remembered that there is in many of our prisons a
large foreign element of the illiterate, ignorant and helpless who have
drifted to our country and easily joined the ranks of the lawless if
indeed they have not belonged to them in their own native land. Some of
these however are in prison more through ignorance than criminal intent.
When we come to inquire into the cause of imprisonment, we are
constantly impressed with one fact, which cannot be denied, that the
curse of drunkenness has proved directly or indirectly the ruin of
between eighty and ninety per cent. of all those in prison. Many a blow
has been struck, many a deed committed, many a robbery perpetrated by
those so under the influence of this evil spirit that when they have
come to their senses in the prison cell they have asked, "Where am I,
what have I done?" and have literally had no memory of the deed that
brought them there. It would not of course be in accordance with common
sense or justice to say that they were therefore not guilty. They are
guilty; they do deserve punishment but have we not the right to believe
that, if delivered from this evil habit, they might be found to be
trustworthy and true-hearted men?
My experience gained by close contact with the men in our prisons
during the last seven years has convinced me that but a small
percentage of the eighty-four thousand now within the walls should be
called criminals at heart. In this statement I have been endorsed by
wardens who have had a far longer and more intimate experience and
who can speak from the standpoint of those whose duty it is to watch
very closely the actions, character and tendencies of the men under
their charge. This has to do with the manner of men in prison, the
birth, position, etc., of those who form the prison population, but
what of the hearts beneath the surface? No one could go into prison
with hope of success who did not possess faith in the redemptibility
of every soul, however far from the light it may have wandered. There
is naturally, much to discourage. Many of the men are utterly hopeless
about themselves; some are hard and bitter; others skeptical, liking
to boast, as do crowds on the outside, of their indifference and
carelessness. Yet for those who will be patient; who will look deeper,
there are pearls beneath the turbulent waters; gold in the darkest
corners of the mine and diamonds glittering amid the clay.
I believe that in every human heart however hardened or hopeless the
exterior, there is some tender spot if one know rightly how to touch
it; some chord of sweetness that can be made to vibrate to the very
harmony of heaven amid all the jangling discords of life; some little
spark that by the breath of inspiration may be fanned into a flame and
kindle the purifying fire. Amid these whom many would give up as beyond
reach and unworthy of effort, I have found generosity, unselfishness,
sympathy, patience and cheerfulness that would often teach people in
happier circumstances a striking lesson. How greatly this adds to the
hopefulness and courage of those who have gone forth into this field
can readily be conceived. Many, many instances could I cite but I will
quote one case of kindness which came under my personal observation.
A young man was serving a twenty years' term in Sing Sing. The long
sentence was nearing its close. Only a year more stood between him and
liberty. The old mother over seventy years of age, who had stood by
her boy all through these dreary years was very sick and reduced to
direst poverty. Her husband had died and after years of hard toil she
had reached the point where sickness and weakness made money earning
impossible, and eviction was imminent. In this hour of distress she
appealed to her boy for help. He was able to make a little money by
over-time work. It was very little, only a cent and a half a day or
five dollars in a whole year. He found on referring to the Warden that
he had already sent all that he possessed to his mother. The thought of
her need and possible death from want drove him nearly to distraction
and yet he felt himself utterly powerless to help her. In the same
prison was another man also serving twenty years. He was an old timer,
had served several terms before and this one was a sentence he would
probably never have received had it not been for his past record.
When he learned of his fellow-prisoner's anxiety, he took all his
own earnings, twenty dollars which represented the hard toil of four
years and sent them gladly to the old mother though it meant depriving
himself of all the extra little comforts he might have purchased.
Though for later chapters I reserve the after lives of my "boys" I must
give the sequel of this story. Both men came home to us. They became
earnest Christians and have good positions to-day where they have
proved themselves absolutely worthy of our confidence. They are earning
good wages, have won the confidence of their employers and the old
mother has been well provided for.
II
"REMEMBER ME"
As a little child I spent many a happy season in the home of my dear
aunt Miss Charlesworth, the authoress of "Ministering Children." The
pretty tree-shaded garden of Nutfield Cottage was bordered on one side
by the quiet village churchyard and a little private gate opened on
the path that led through it to the garden of Nutfield Court, where
our special playmates lived. By daylight one could run blithely enough
between the old quaint head-stones, many of them moss-covered, while
other mounds were bright with masses of blossom, when the breeze was
playing in the trees, the lark was sending forth its carol of praise
from the blue sky above or the quaint old ivy-covered tower of the
church might send forth its glad peal of chimes. There was so much of
life and beauty that children could run back and forth over the grassy
path with no thought of the death that lay still and solemn beneath the
smiling flowers and whispering grasses. But it was a different thing
entirely, if one walked back after nightfall, with senses alert for
every sound and heart beating fast with unknown terrors. The rustle
of a bird in the ivy; the creaking of a dead branch; the flitting
of a bat's dark wing or the play of moonbeam and shadow were things
that made the churchyard a place to be avoided for now the memory
was vivid that this was the village of the dead. In those childish
days death held for me a great horror. The thought connected with it,
that which made me feel most desolate, was the fact that when one was
dead, laid away deep in the earth and left alone in some dark place
beneath the tree shadows; to be covered in by the snow, or swept over
by howling winds or dismal rains, the world would still go on the same
as ever. For others, bright home lights would gleam, laughter and fun,
companionship and love, life with all it means would still exist, while
the dead would lie forgotten and alone.
I have thought of these things and seen once more the vivid picture and
felt the thrill of those childish fears as I have entered into sympathy
with "the boys" in prison. Prison to many is a living death. They
feel that they have dropped out of life. The rendering of the judge's
sentence was the "dust to dust" of their burial service; the rhythm
of the wheels that bore them away to prison sang the requiem of their
despair and desolation, and when the heavy iron door clanged to behind
them, it was like the falling of the sod upon their grave. Henceforth
they were not of the world. In it they were dead and forgotten and
this bitterness was harder to bear when they remembered that outside
amid the old scenes, the busy, happy rush of life would go on just as
blithely despite their sorrow. For others the home light still gleamed;
the sunshine, the joy, the love of life which was still dear to them
was continuing in all its fullness but beyond their reach. Forgotten!
There is more bitterness and tragedy in that one word than volumes
could describe. It holds a record of broken hearts and embittered
souls that blots the star of hope out of many a sky. "What a man sows
he must reap. They deserved it for they have sinned, they have broken
the law and it is only maudlin sentiment to pity and sympathize with
them," is a sentiment I have often heard expressed. From the purely
worldly point of view this may be so, among those who feel in no sense
their brother's keeper, and believe that the one who has fallen has put
himself forever without the pale of human sympathy. The whole question
can be solved by merely quoting the old saying, "They have made their
own bed, they must lie upon it." To Christians, however, this is
impossible. No, I will say more. To any who have an interest in their
fellow-men and a loyal love for their country, the grave responsibility
towards this vast prison population must loom up as a potential fact.
Yet it has been a very much forgotten subject.
"Remember me!" From the long ago past this cry rings out to-day. How
vividly we can call up the scene before us, when lips white and parched
with death and anguish first spoke them in the labored breath that was
hurrying a guilt-laden soul into the dark unknown hereafter. We hear
also the answer spoken in like mortal agony by the martyred One at his
side. With what light it must have come into his darkness as peace in
the storm and very life to that dying one, "This day shalt thou be with
me in Paradise." The Christ was perfectly aware of the past. There
is no intimation in the story that the man was suffering wrongfully
but the answer was not, "You've no one to blame but yourself;" "once
a thief always a thief." The deed that had brought him to death, the
sin that had ruined his life was forgiven, the soul that cried for
help, that believed in the power of the dying Christ beside him was
recognized by the world's Saviour. He was called and welcomed to go
into the mystery of eternal life side by side with his Lord. That
same cry goes up to-day from every cell in our dear Christian land,
from those who represent to-day that outcast of Calvary, "Remember
me!" To whom should it appeal more strongly than to the followers and
representatives of that same Christ, who would have His glad message
of hope sent clearly and convincingly, echoing and re-echoing into
every dark and lonely cell where it is so sorely needed. Has this
been done? Do the Christian people and philanthropists of our land
feel their responsibility to these men? Compare this corner of God's
vineyard with many others and let us ask ourselves whether it has
had its share of prominence in pulpit and press as a plea to efforts
of Christian charity. I fear not, and yet in the scene of the last
judgment as well as the one already quoted, we are reminded that this
is one of the Christ's requirements of those, who would follow in His
footsteps.
In response to those words, "Go ye into all the world," this country
has spent its millions on foreign missions and sent forth thousands of
consecrated men and women in willing exile. The Christ gathered little
children into His arms and blessed them, and the Church following
the divine example can show to-day its splendid Sunday-school work,
children's hospitals, orphanages, nurseries, kindergartens and many
other loving, saving missions to the little ones. He healed the
sick, and His followers have poured out their wealth in these days
to give hospitals to the poor, but He is also "in prison" and have
we in like manner visited Him there? I write thus and I ask these
questions because I have seen the great need so vividly that I have
been impelled to come back from the prison world to testify that the
criminal problem is what it is to-day because it has been neglected. If
the responsibility for those in prison was realized by the Christian
world as clearly as it has realized the need of the heathen, the whole
situation would in ten or twenty years be revolutionized. It has been
an overlooked and in a great measure an untilled field. Repeatedly was
I told when I contemplated making it my life mission, that my efforts
would be useless, nothing lasting could be accomplished, and that
these men were beyond hope, but it has always seemed to me that such
an argument merely furnished a greater reason for determined effort.
I would not have any misconstrue my statement and report me as saying
that this work was wholly neglected until our work began. I speak
in the wide sense and am comparing this field with other fields of
Christian activity and in what I say, I believe all who have worked in
prisons will agree with me. There have been of course some workers,
loving, loyal souls who have toiled away unknown and unrecognized so
far as the world is concerned, but they are the few whose devotion only
emphasizes the fact that this field has been abandoned by the forces
that should long since have conquered it. England in years gone by had
her Elizabeth Fry and John Howard. They did a lasting work, but should
not their example have been followed by tens of thousands in that land?
Her jails are still full of prisoners and one of her oldest wardens
has declared with emphasis, after an experience of thirty-five years,
that he has known only two cases of reformation in all that period. In
this country I could name other devoted workers. I would not slight
the consecrated toil of Chaplain Barnes who for twenty-eight years has
striven with the devotion of a saint for the welfare of "the boys"
in Massachusetts, or of Mrs. Courtland De Peyster Field who has for
twenty years led a Bible class in Sing Sing. There have been earnest
workers of the Society of Friends who have done valuable service in
Pennsylvania, and in Iowa there are Sunday-school teachers who have
had a record of over twenty years of teaching in the prison. But the
call has been unheeded by the many who are equally responsible with
the few who have heard and responded. From every pulpit, in every
Sunday-school, through the pages of the religious press, the need of
the heathen is constantly kept before the people and so impressed that
the youngest child knows all about it. What do the children in our
Sunday-schools or the congregations gathered in our churches know of
the need behind prison walls? Where has any large offering ever been
taken for this cause? Who has ever thought of leaving a generous legacy
for the redemption of these men? I do not for a moment grudge what has
been given to missions. I merely want to bring to remembrance these
others who have been overlooked, this occasion for help at our very
door, a need which may be unlovely and have nothing about it of the
glamour of romance which distance lends to a cause, but which all the
same concerns human souls divinely loved and groping in great darkness.
Those who have entered it can report that here is a glorious
opportunity. This field is indeed white to the harvest and there is no
reason why mighty results should not be gathered where people have been
inclined to look only for disappointment and failure.
In seeking for the cause of all this general indifference, I can
only conclude that the fact that these men have been wrong-doers and
are suffering in consequence, has robbed them of sympathy. If I were
pleading for the abolition of prisons, the lightening of punishment or
were making sentimental excuses for transgressors, I could understand
that the appeal might awaken no interest, for it would appear to be a
contradiction to justice. What we do advocate is the saving of these
derelicts, that while in prison and on their discharge, help be given
them in a practical way so as to prevent their relapse into crime.
From the purely worldly standpoint he who has sinned is unworthy
of help and therefore is not an object of pity or sympathy. From
the Christian side of the question he is more to be pitied and the
more earnestly to be sought after. Did not the Good Shepherd say He
would leave the ninety and nine to seek for the one straying sheep?
Surely his need of mercy is far greater with the guilt of sin on his
conscience, its haunting memory robbing him of confidence in himself or
faith in efforts at reformation.
How much the attitude of the world towards the prisoner and its
prevalent opinion have effected the men can hardly be imagined by an
outsider. Hope, encouragement and confidence mean everything to any
man in life's struggle. Take only as an illustration, the attitude of
the doctor at the sick bed. He knows that his cheering words to the
patient mean almost as much as his remedies, and were he to be forever
reminding the sufferer of each unfavorable symptom and shaking his head
disconsolately over the prognosis with an admission that it was little
or no use to try and save him, the result would be a depression on the
part of the patient which might even in many cases prove fatal. In
just this way have the morally weak and sick been too often robbed of
the hope and courage that might have meant ambition and effort in the
right and saving direction.
A learned writer some years since published in one of our scientific
papers a treatise concerning criminals, in which he proved from his
own mental conclusions that they could not be reformed. I did not
read the paper but I saw it mentioned in reviews and deplored the
fact that science should be prostituted to so demoralizing a use. On
the following Christmas day I planned to spend my time visiting the
cells in Sing Sing and talking individually to as many of the men as
possible, for that is a day full of home memories and the realization
of loneliness is even more keen and bitter than usual. To my surprise
I was met at cell after cell with the question, "Have you read, Little
Mother, what Professor ---- said about us?" and in some instances by
educated and skeptical men, it was used as an argument against the
duty of trying to do better. If those who toll the bell of doom for
these poor souls in bondage, fully realized how the damning tones
echo and reecho in disheartening vibration from prison to prison,
from cell to cell, they might understand that it is almost criminal
to break the bruised reed and quench the smoking flax. What should we
think of the physician who should calmly and cold-bloodedly put out
the spark of life in a patient where though his theories contradicted
the likelihood of recovery, some other doctor might save life in the
eleventh hour?
That there is a terrible influence in heredity, no one can deny. The
drunkard or impure liver leaves the taint of evil appetite to be
struggled against by the children to whom he gave life, but to use
this as an argument against the possibility of reforming certain men
is a contradiction of the teachings of Christ. His message of hope is
to every man; His offer of strength and power to the most needy and
unfortunate as well as to those in whom one would naturally look for
godly aspirations. We have seen enough in our work to understand that
many of those who have had the worst environment to contend with, and
have been handicapped by miserable parentage have yet been able to
accept and respond to the highest teaching, and have made a thorough
success of earnest Christian living. I was visiting Sing Sing on one
occasion when I had planned for a long list of interviews. As was my
custom I presented the list to the Warden, who was deeply in sympathy
with our work, and we went over it together that he might give me
information that would prove useful in meeting the wants of different
men. Coming to one name upon the list, he paused and asked me if I knew
the man. I told him that I knew him merely as one who had written me
a few lines requesting an interview. "Well," he said, "I will tell you
his reputation. We look upon him as the worst and most treacherous
man in this prison. He is an habitual criminal, has probably been a
criminal all his life, has had several terms in prison and has been
constantly punished for insubordination. Three times he has stabbed
officers and fellow-prisoners, he has been in plots to escape and twice
attempted to burn down the prisons he was in. He has been a morphine or
opium fiend, and now he is being kept in 'solitary' because he cannot
be trusted with the other men." I shall never forget my interview with
this man. It was towards evening of a very busy day for I had between
sixty and seventy private interviews between the opening and closing
of the prison day. I was sitting in the chapel close to one of the
barred windows that looked over the Hudson. The sun was setting and
the river gleamed like burnished gold while great shafts of glory were
flung upwards from the hills tinting the clouds with crimson and amber.
Looking back from the brilliant scene without I glanced down upon my
papers scattered upon the little table at which I was seated. There I
saw also the streaks of yellow light but between each sunbeam lay the
heavy shadow of a bar. I sat there thinking how like the lives of our
"boys" was that contrast. In every life there was that heavy shadow
blotting, discouraging, darkening the whole present and future, and
then turning from the sad side, I thanked God that there was a sunlight
that could force its way even into the darkest gloom of prison life,
the sunshine of God's own love and mercy, His pardon and His presence.
I suppose I had allowed myself to dream a little for I was startled
when I heard a shuffling footstep near me. I had not noticed that the
officer who stood outside the door had ushered in my next visitor.
Looking up I saw a man who might have been taken as a very type of
the hopeless habitual criminal. His walk, his attitude, the furtive,
distrustful look in his eyes, the nervous twitching of hand and lip and
muscles told of one who had been hunted and caged. As he stood there
with his dark eyes fixed searchingly on my face I saw how completely he
had become a nervous wreck and how he had lost his faith not only in
himself but in mankind. I rose to say a few words of welcome, drew up
his chair near the table and yet he said never a word. I noticed how
the hand that he had laid on the table to steady it shook and how the
poor face so white with prison pallor quivered with nervousness. I told
him again how glad I was to see him and that he had done quite right
in sending for me but it was not until some moments later that he
broke the silence and then with the abrupt question, "Do you know who I
am?" I was going to give him his name as I knew it, but before I could
speak he leaned forward and in the bitterest accents said, "I will tell
you. I am the worst and most treacherous man in this prison." Then
followed in short, concise words, the story of the efforts to escape,
the insubordination, the attempts at incendiary outrage. Pointing to
the chains that hung upon the pillar in the chapel, he said, "I have
been chained up there. I have been put in the dark cells. I have been
punished over and over again but it has not any of it done me any good.
Would you like to know what the magistrate who last sentenced me said
about me? He said after passing sentence, 'Take him away and lock him
up like a brute beast for that is all he is.'" Then with indescribable
pathos he turned and said, "Do you think there is any hope for me?" I
was at once upon ground where I could speak without hesitation, and I
told him simply that if he was through with an evil life, if he was
tired of wrong-doing and was thoroughly determined to do right there
was a love that could forgive him and a power that could help and keep
him in the future. When at last we knelt together, there in the glory
of the setting sun, I prayed that the dear Lord, who could bring
light into our darkness, might dispel the thick clouds that had shut
in this soul from hope, and bring to him the revelation that would
change his life. There were tears in the dark eyes as we parted, and
taking my hand in his he said, "I _will_ try, Little Mother." He did
try, and more than that he triumphed. At first it was a stern battle
of an awakened will and conscience fighting against desperate odds.
The feeling that a friend was watching and waiting anxiously for good
reports proved undoubtedly an incentive. Just about this time I was
taken dangerously ill and had to go to the hospital. The news was
received with the deepest concern within the prison walls and many men
who had never prayed in their lives were found on their knees night
after night asking God to spare my life. A letter from this "boy"
reached my secretary in which he said, "I am trying very hard to be
good these days because it says that the prayers of the righteous
avail much and I do want my prayers to help in making the Little
Mother well." It was not the highest motive for being good but it was
the best that had thus far ever inspired this life and it proved the
stepping-stone to better things. It was not long before he sought and
found Christ as his Saviour and became an earnest Christian. When he
left the prison I do not believe there was an officer who thought it
would be possible for him ever to make an honest living. That was over
five years ago. He is to-day a prosperous and happy man. He has become
by hard work and faithfulness assistant-superintendent in a large
industry in which he is employed. He has a comfortably furnished and
happy home, and is so changed in face and personal appearance that I do
not believe any of his old companions could recognize him. Some three
years ago a detective, who had several times arrested him, talked with
him sometime without for a moment suspecting it was the same man. So
truly when the heart is transformed do the face and manner reflect the
change. I quote from his last letter to me written after our seventh
anniversary gathering:
"My dear Little Mother: I write to let you know I enjoyed the seventh
anniversary celebration very much. How soon a man forgets the years of
misery in the days of happiness. My wife was quite disappointed when
I told her of the mistake I had made in leaving her in New York. How
pleased she would have been to have met you on such a great occasion.
The 'boys' and their families all seemed so happy and indeed it was a
sight worth seeing. I have a deep feeling in my heart for Hope Hall
'boys' and have often taken one into my home for a few days while he
was out of work. Some day I am going to own my own home and realize
what has been my day-dream. Do you remember that it was your confidence
in telling the public that you would give them 'flesh and blood facts'
that made me resolve to be one of the 'facts.' Well, I have fought
the fight and I have had a hard, even cruelly bitter struggle for the
first two years. How much sweeter is the victory! I would not have
it different. God has been very good to us and we can see His hand
in the working of our prosperity. When I think of those two years,
the struggles and trials, the hungry days and sleepless nights, it
only gives me and mine more zest in the enjoyment of the God-given
prosperity we have now. 'All things work together for good.' You know
I had to learn a trade since I left prison and that it was B---- G----
(one of our 'boys' who had been a notorious burglar but has made a
success of an honest life) who taught me the fundamental principles of
this trade, at which I am now earning a living that only good mechanics
can enjoy. Indeed no man can prosper unless he hustles and pushes
himself ahead, for business people these days are carrying no dead wood
on their pay rolls. Thank you for the very happy day, etc."
In this case there was certainly nothing in the past to bring in a
hopeful aspect. His environment had been of the worst, so had been his
parentage and rearing. From childhood his feet had been trained to
tread in the wrong path and, as he once said to my dear co-worker, Mrs.
E. A. McAlpin, he did not believe in heaven or hell, God or the devil.