be accused of wandering from my point, but I wanted to tell them of
a voice that has been a blessed cheer and inspiration to my heart,
reminding me in hours of difficulty and discouragement of the great
Source of all strength and power. Had a critic paused in faithless
speculation by the side of the little Sacramento in its rocky cradle
days up there in the wilderness, he might have interrupted its silvery
song with a jarring note of discouragement. "Foolish little stream,"
the critic might have said, "what are you singing about so joyously?
Do you tell of the thirsty you are going to cool, of the wilderness
that shall blossom at your touch, of the great valleys you are going
to fertilize? Are you dreaming of ships you would carry, of the long
miles you would travel, of the great ocean upon whose breast you
would cast yourself? How absurd and unlikely are these day dreams!
Look at yourself! See how tiny and insignificant you are, so narrow
that a child could leap over you, so shallow that I can see the very
pebbles in your bed. It is a foolish fancy, impossible of realization.
You had better stop singing, you will only dry up and be absorbed by
the ferns and moss of the forest; that will be the easiest, happiest
end for you." If the stream had thought it worth while to respond, I
know the answer that would have rung out clear and sweet, for this is
the message it sang to my heart, "Yes, of myself I may be small and
insignificant. The distance and obstacles may be far and formidable.
I may of myself be too weak to face them, but look behind me, at the
snows of Shasta; think of the springs and water courses that gush from
her eternal rocks and remember that my help comes from the hills and
when thus helped, I too can become mighty."
In the early days of the work, it seemed an overwhelming undertaking
to meet the great sad problem that faced us within the walls of State
Prison. There was indeed a great desert representing thirst and need,
wreck and ruin. Many tried to discourage us by painting in vivid
colors, the difficulties of the undertaking, and I grant they cannot
be very easily exaggerated, for where vice and sin, human weakness
and life's misfortunes have swept over mankind, the problem is one
of the most overwhelming that can be faced. The work was spoken of
as an experiment and a very doubtful one at that, and if it had been
some new plan for the reforming of criminals, some mere exertion of
human influence or the hobby and scheme of an organization that was to
be tried, one might well have been faint-hearted. We, however, have
felt from the first and now feel more intensely than ever that this
undertaking has not been our work, but God's work. We can truly say
we are not attempting it in our own strength but we "lift up our eyes
unto the hills, from whence cometh our help," and to every doubter and
critic we answer, "God does not experiment." His work succeeds; His
building stands; His touch transforms. Were it not for this, what heart
should we have in dealing with those who have made trial of other help
and strength and found it to fail them?
Many of the men to whom we go are defiled with the leprosy of sin. They
have tried self-purification, and effort after effort has failed them.
What could we say to them unless we believed that the Voice that said
of old, "Be thou clean," could say it as truly to-day? We deal with
some who are truly blind as to things spiritual, and no human hands
could open these sightless eyes, no human voice could unstop the ears
of the spiritually deaf. There we must deal with souls and consciences
dead to right, unconscious of the responsibilities and possibilities of
life, and we know that only the Divine Hand that raised the dead can
quicken them again. We have realized and acknowledged this from the
first, so our work is not to be a moral education or a recommendation
tending to the turning over of a new leaf, but we have sought ever to
point the souls in darkness to the true light and those wrestling with
their own sin and weakness to the wondrous power of God.
Too often are we met when pleading with men to rise up and make a brave
effort to do right, with the discouraging answer, "I have tried and
failed," and each effort that proved fruitless has robbed them of the
courage to try again. While we do not for a moment discount the vital
importance of personal effort, of good resolves, of will exerted in
the right direction, we try most clearly to show the need of seeking
God's help, showing that when the man would start out on the road, it
is of the utmost importance to _start right_. Feeling as we do, we have
naturally been filled with hope and courage for our work. We do not
have to look for difficulties, we need not be overwhelmed by our own
weakness or inefficiency; nothing is too hard for God. No obstacle can
stand before Him. So from the first we have been full of faith and joy
in battle and have not been disappointed for victory after victory has
come to add inspiration to our efforts.
We believe that the great Father-heart feels intense pity and divine
compassion for the one who has strayed and fallen. Surely no child of
God can doubt this. It has seemed to us that the time has come when
that passage of Scripture is being fulfilled, "For He hath looked down
from the height of His sanctuary; from heaven did the Lord behold the
earth, to hear the groaning of the prisoner, to loose those that are
appointed to death." One can but be a believer in the miracles of old
when faced with the miracles of to-day, where the fetters that have
bound some souls have been snapped, and men have been delivered from
the power of opium, of strong drink and other vices after they had been
given up as utterly beyond redemption. During these years of work in
prison, onlookers have acknowledged to me over and over again, that
they have been forced to recognize some superhuman power when they have
seen lives transformed. From watching at first with indifference or
skeptical criticism, they have come at last to look upon the work with
absolute faith, even though personally they have had no knowledge of
the wonderful power at work.
Let me give you in his own words the abbreviated sketch of the life of
one of God's miracles:
"Everything looked fair for me as life lay all in front; money,
education, social standing were mine. Loving parents and sweet
surroundings beautified life, but alas they counted for nothing in one
sense. Before I was twenty-one I flung all that was good to the winds,
took my life into my own hands and decided to do as I pleased; I did
so. Why, if there was any reason, it is immaterial now. Surely there
should not have been. I left all who could help me and when twenty-two
years of age found myself in a strange country, with all the tastes and
ideas of one who had been gently raised, but without means to gratify
them. To work I was not able, to beg I could not, so from being a lamb
I gradually became a wolf. I realized that in order to succeed I must
learn to keep cool, I must face life desperately. As I lived in the far
West mostly, I had to acquire skill in the use of weapons and I was
also an expert horseman. There was no other career open to me but the
army. To my nature and character, there was no other safe place except
prison. I did well while in the service, but the dissatisfaction in
my heart drove me often to excesses that gained a hold over me that
constantly threw me down. Yielding to evil and despising myself for it,
had the effect of hardening and embittering me; though I committed many
lawless deeds, I generally managed to protect myself from consequences,
never being caught for the worst things, and though I have known the
inside of several prisons in the long years of my wanderings I have
only served nine years, which, compared to what I might have had, seems
small punishment. Once I escaped while in double irons and had it not
been for that escape I might have died in the miserable suffering I was
then enduring. I had to make a hundred miles on foot through desert
country without food or water, and the third day I faced death having
only just strength enough to reach the desired goal. I went through a
term in one of the hardest prisons of this country years ago, when men
suffered there indescribably and it was there that I took to opium,
because I found it makes men forget and by its use you can still the
anguish of remorse. A few years after that I served as Chief of Police
in one of the districts of Alaska, then under martial law and the hard
school through which I had passed gave me the stern recklessness of
life necessary for such a post. The opium which I still used I took
scientifically and was able to keep my own counsel in all things.
The first five years of the drug were comfortable, the second five it
lost its happy effect. I had commenced to use the hypodermic needle
and morphine, because of the quicker action of this method. During
this period I was a soldier of fortune in South America, Mexico and
Central America. I was a hospital steward in the Army, Sergeant Major
in a regiment, First Sergeant of a Company and I was able to hold my
own and fulfill my duties and yet I was becoming scarred from head to
foot with the use of the hypodermic needle. After this I was reckless
and careless as to my own life and I never knew, when the sun rose,
whether I would live to see it set. I became wholly indifferent as to
the consequences of my life, careless and reckless as to my actions.
Then came an imprisonment, out of which I came back into the world a
wreck. I made a desperate effort and managed to rehabilitate myself and
once more held a good position in life, but unable to break from the
bondage of the evil habit that behind everything held me in thralldom,
I was once more dragged down and was led to commit deed after deed that
I otherwise should have scorned. I have used as many as sixty grains of
morphine and thirty grains of cocaine, during these miserable days of
slavery.
Then came my last two years of imprisonment. I was looked upon as a
hard and desperate man in the prison, one who could not be reached or
influenced in any way. One day I was sent for to the front office of
the prison. The messenger said, 'A lady wants to see you.' 'Not me,' I
replied, 'no one wants to see me; it is a mistake.' But it was not. To
my surprise I found Mrs. McAlpin had sent for me. 'Twas almost a shock
for I had no visitors and it was long since I had talked to a lady.
Then came a never-to-be-forgotten meeting in the chapel, when the words
spoken thrilled in my heart; I felt for once that I was compelled to
stop and think. I had made many plans of what my future was to be, but
they were plans of evil design. I had decided that my apprenticeship
was served, that I ought to be able to do a master's work so I had
determined never to stand for an arrest again. But I deliberately
planned a coup that if successful would place me beyond the necessity
for such things and if a failure, I had determined never to be taken
alive. Then the Little Mother came and spoilt all my plans; as I heard
her talk, I felt she was putting me out of business; she was putting
me in the wrong. Shortly after this I was removed to a new cell and on
a shelf in the corner I came upon a piece of paper; it was a partly
torn piece of the _Volunteers' Gazette_ smeared with whitewash. It had
evidently been pasted on a cell wall once, but had become detached and
had been thrown up upon the shelf and there had been overlooked. It was
difficult to decipher, but with care I made out these words that I have
never forgotten. They were in an old message from the pen of our Leader
to her 'boys.' 'If I can afford to face difficulties and yet go on with
a faith that wavers not, you can also. So let us look up and hope,
taking a firm hold of the strong arm of God and looking for courage to
the stars of eternal promise that shine on above the clouds and mists
of earth.'
"Do not think all the good things came at once. They did not. It took
a long time to build up the edifice on the site of the old ruins.
Alone I certainly should have failed and the last end would have been
overwhelmingly worse than the first, but God's help is almighty and the
'I trust you' of His messenger meant everything."
Facing a stern struggle on his discharge this man proved strong enough
to withstand. The old vices were abandoned. He took the sharp turn to
the right that goes up the steep mountain side to the purer, clearer
altitudes where we can walk in the light and enjoy the sunshine of
God's approving smile. With wonder was the news received in prison,
month after month, year after year that he was standing firm. To-day
he is a worker at my side, a strength and comfort to many another
soul and a messenger of blessing in the many poor and sad homes that
he visits. A little while since he returned to the prison where he had
paced so often back and forth, back and forth through the weary hours
of struggle in the narrow little cell. As he talked to the men who had
known him, as he gave his thrilling message before the officers who had
doubted the possibility of his reformation, he appeared to them as one
who had gone into a new country and returned with tidings, not so much
of the giants that dwelt there as of the milk and honey and fruits of
peace and happiness which awaited those who in their turn would venture
over the dividing line.
On one of my visits to Trenton, the warden told me of a man whose
change of life was so remarkable that it had become the talk of the
prison. He had been the most treacherous and dangerous of the prison
population. Every officer agreed that he could never be trusted and
for insubordination and violence they had never known his equal. After
his conversion he was so quiet, amenable to discipline, cheerful and
helpful in his attitude to others and at all times consistent in living
up to his profession that his life made the most profound impression.
In speaking of him to me the warden said that it was nothing short of
a miracle, and that the work was well worth while if only for that one
case.
As I shall give many other life stories in their place, I will touch
only on one more phase of the blessed influence that the new life
brings to those in prison. It enables them to face the weary, dreary
monotony of their life with happy cheerful contentedness, despite the
difficulties and gloom that surround them.
There are many life-men in prison and many more with very long terms
whom one might expect to find gloomy and morose, embittered in heart
and utterly miserable. Among them I know innumerable cases of those
who have become cheerful, patient and humbly grateful for every good
gift of God, where we might see only cause for complaint. Many a
Christian on the outside would have his faith strengthened by coming
into contact with these men, and their bright experiences would make
the world realize that the essence of Christianity is its triumph over
circumstances. It can literally make the darkness light and put the
song of freedom in the heart of the caged bird.
Here is a letter I received from a man whose causes for complaint might
have been considered very justifiable. In the past he had been several
times in prison and was known to the police as an "ex-convict." On
his last discharge he came to us and we were witness of his manly
struggles to do right. It was before the days of our Hope Hall, and we
could not help him so much as we longed to. He passed through a period
of testing difficulties; he not only suffered from hunger but at times
went to the point of starvation before he was able to find work, and
endured it willingly rather than return to an evil but easy way of
making a living. He would not accept charity, and never once asked for
help except that help which we could give him by advice and sympathy,
and hid from us the need and suffering through which he was passing.
At last he found work and was doing well when he was arrested and
"railroaded" to prison for an offense he did not commit.
I speak advisedly, for I was well acquainted with the case and have
since heard from the man who did the deed. After his reimprisonment
with a sentence of ten years, he found Christ as his Saviour. He wrote
me constantly and the letter quoted below reached me after he had
passed through a period of great suffering and weakness in the prison
hospital.
"My dear Little Mother:--I am most happy to be able to write you a
cheering letter. I am afraid my letters the past two or three months
have been rather 'blue' reading to you, but now, thank God, I am
feeling very well and want to chase that sorrowful expression from your
face which I suspect has been there of late on receiving my letters.
I want to write you a cheering letter, first because I am cheerful,
hopeful and happy myself and then because I know it will cheer and
comfort you to hear that I am fighting the battle bravely, and that
the victory we all look forward to so intensely is mine. I have indeed
experienced the new life, and God has been my guide and refuge for two
years now and I tell you, Little Mother, I would not exchange it for
my old sinful life for the world. My past bad name and misdeeds sent
me to this place for ten years, but I have gained by it something I
never realized or had before, the love of our dear Saviour. I cannot
help but think of the bright happy future in store for me. Although the
state holds my body, my spirit is free, thank God, and though clouds
do gather at times in this dreary place I have One to go to who is all
sunshine and always understands and comforts me. Now Little Mother, I
am feeling very well. Good Dr. Ransom, God bless him, has been like a
father to me, you will never know how much he has done for me. He asked
me the other day when I had heard from you. I told him and he said I
must never forget you. Little Mother, I guess you know whether I could
or not. God bless you. I wish you every success on your western trip.
Pray for me," etc.
I give the letter just in the natural outspoken way in which it was
written. Shortly afterwards the Doctor wrote me that his patient
was undoubtedly suffering from the first inroads of tuberculosis. I
immediately set to work on the case, though, as a rule, I do not help
men to regain their liberty. They know that is not my mission. Here
however was one whom I believed innocent, who had served two years and
who in all likelihood could not live out the other eight, a man whom I
believed thoroughly safe to trust at large.
President Roosevelt, then governor, gave me his pardon the following
New Year, and when the "boy" received my wire with the news the joy
was too much for him, and he fainted away in the prison hospital.
We welcomed him home, put him under excellent medical treatment and
afterwards kept him for a spring and summer on the farm at Hope Hall.
The disease was checked, he was perfectly restored to health, and went
out into the world to work. He is still leading an upright life not far
from New York and keeps in touch with us.
Could I give space to the hundreds of happy letters that tell of the
change from gloom to brightness, from soul-bondage to freedom and
new strength, it would be clearly seen that, though the men deeply
appreciate their Home and friends and are intensely grateful for all
that may be done to help them, they fully realize the power behind
the work. It is this power that has given them new hope and from
it they have drawn their deepest consolation and surest certainty
for the unknown future. Often in life the human friendship is the
stepping-stone to the Divine. The moonlight makes us realize that the
sun still shines.
Sometime since the Chaplain of Auburn, a devoted shepherd to that big
flock wrote me as follows: "When you were so very sick three years ago
the men here were very much alarmed and anxious for your recovery.
Among them was an old-timer who had spent over twenty years solid in
prison out of forty-nine years of life, the longest time of liberty
between his incarcerations being seven months. When he heard that fears
were entertained that you might not recover, he felt impelled to pray
for you. In relating the story he said, 'I dropped on my knees to pray
for her and as I did so I was overwhelmed with the thought that God
would not hear such a sinner as I was. I began to pray for God to have
mercy upon me and in my pleading forgot where I was and everything but
the fact that I was a sinner and Jesus Christ my Saviour.' His sympathy
for you was the means of leading him to Christ." The sequel of this
story made another record of successful right-doing on the outside as
well as in prison.
Divine truth is not only whispered to our hearts from the leaves of
the forest, sung to us by the mountain brook and flashed into our mind
by the glint of the sunbeam, but sometimes it looks out at us from the
wonders of science. A nerve has been severed by accident or during an
operation and has remained for months or years perhaps useless and
atrophied. Yet operative skill can resurrect the buried nerve ends and
unite them again restoring perfectly the lost function. To this end
especially when there has been much loss of substance it is necessary
to interpose an aseptic absorbable body such as catgut or decalcified
bone tube to serve as a temporary scaffolding for the products of
tissue proliferation. Sutured to this connecting substance the nerve
reunites using it as a bridge over or through which the union can be
affected. When this end is accomplished the bridge or scaffolding is no
longer needed and disappears through absorption. This it seems to me is
the relative position of the soul-seeker to the unsaved. The poor soul
has wandered far from God, is lost, buried beneath numberless hindering
obstacles. To a great extent the functions of soul and conscience are
destroyed, the power to serve God, to feel aright, to be pure and
good, and honest are gone; even feelings and aspirations for things
Divine in many cases seem wanting, but we believe that all this can be
reawakened if only the soul is brought near to God. A helpless human
atom reunited to the Divine compassionate power above. The human friend
and messenger or the organization that has the privilege of stretching
out the helping hand to those thus needy can serve as the bridge or
connection, the link useful in the right place but worse than useless
if unaided by the loving miracle-working power from above.
As I turn the pages of our little Day Book a verse smiles out at me,
the truth of which I know, and the sweet realization of which hundreds
of happy hearts in prison to-day attest with earnest acclamation,
"Their voice was heard and their prayer came up to His holy dwelling
place even into Heaven."
V
LETTERS FROM THE "BOYS"
In such a work as that within prison walls the results can only be
fully understood by those who have the opportunity closely to watch
the lives of the men and who can keep in touch with them through
their after experience. Results cannot be statistically summed up and
proclaimed to the world. They are too intangible and far-reaching to
be fairly represented by figures. It is difficult to exhibit to the
public the direct issues of this toil behind the scenes. Reporters have
often asked to accompany me to prison and have earnestly requested
permission to visit our Hope Halls for the purpose of describing the
work. They have assured me that by allowing this, we could arouse
much public interest. We have declined. Our movement does not live by
sensational advertisement, and even wisely written reports would harm
us with those whom we seek to save. The men in prison are intensely
sensitive and through their bitter past experience very apt to be
suspicious of the motives of those who go to them. Among the men who
do not know us personally there might be the idea that the work was
done with a desire for advertising or lauding the Volunteers and to
all the men it would give the unpleasant impression that they were
still to be regarded in a different light from the denizens of the free
world. These men naturally do not want to be exploited or ticketed by
publicity. The very spirit of our work would be spoiled and its object
defeated by such an error, and the self-respecting men would shun a
place where their home life was not held sacred.