with the man who comes Home. Every man is on honor. The farm and
household duties, the care of the beautiful grounds give enough
exercise to occupy the time though there is no particular task. Each
one is interested in his Home. After the day is over there is the
large library, music, games, etc. As the days go by, the man broken
down by long imprisonment improves in body and mind. The living in
God's sunshine helps body and soul. The terrible nervousness gives
place to confidence, the prison pallor goes gradually, the good that
has been sown brings forth fruit, the door is shut upon the past--tided
over at the critical point--our comrade, ruddy in health and strong
in spirit, is placed in a position. His past is known to one man--his
employer. How different from all past attempts! No one can throw him
down so long as he does well. The one who hires him will defend him and
the Little Mother is his friend, and his comrades cheer him on.
"The story I've told is the same one three thousand made-over men can
tell to-day. The V. P. L. has long since left the realms of theory for
the stronghold of facts. The finest sermon preached in a man's life,
the touchstone of our League is this, 'If a man is right, he will do
right.'"
I must not forget the life-men in prison. If it were only for them,
it would be well worth while to have our League established, that on
their horizon otherwise so dark and gloomy, might be seen some breaking
of the dawn that shall bring to them a brighter, sweeter life, when
the full penalty has been paid and they pass into a world where the
sweetest and fullest of liberty shall be theirs.
One of these life-men writes as follows:--"Dear Little Mother:--Nobody
knows better than I do myself what the League has done for me and the
men here. I have been in prison over twenty years, and know what I am
talking about. Without it prison would be much like what it was before.
I hope that with all the disappointments you are bound to meet with,
you will continue to believe that there are hundreds of men in our
great prisons who are in earnest. Most respectfully yours, No. 19595."
The following is written by one of our graduates who was for some years
a member of the V. P. L. He did not himself need the shelter of Hope
Hall, but he knew well what the Home was to those who were homeless. He
is now a successful business man, has a happy home of his own and is a
leader in the church to which he belongs, being the superintendent of
the Sunday-school and much interested in all the active work of that
little community.
"Dear Little Mother:--Word has reached me that you are completing a
book telling the glorious story of the Volunteer Prison League and
I am led to write you this expression of my joy that there is thus
to be given to the world, something of the truth which you so well
know of the real heart of the prisoner-man. Not only this, but after
the passage of more than three years since I left prison, I want to
bear this renewed testimony to you of the penetrating, permeating and
abiding power of our loved League, to give and to hold hope and faith
in the souls of disheartened, sinful, but contrite men.
"No good which has come to me in these prospering days of freedom, and
no gladness which still unlived years may have in store for me, can
ever dim in my grateful heart, the memory of what this League has done
for me, and what I have seen it do for others in leading us out of
despondency, imbuing us with courage, giving us strength to stand erect
and in guiding us back to Christ and to God.
"Only those who have been face to face with the conditions of prison
life, who know its revolting influences, who have daily breathed its
debasing atmosphere, who have felt its contaminating touch, to whom
has come the ever deepening sense of social degradation and of the
repellent stigma placed indelibly upon them by their prison term can
realize what the League means. They whose quickened consciences have
scourged them unto the wish and the will to retrieve the sinful past,
only to be hurled back into deeper disheartenment and desperation
by the popular prejudice which questions their ability and almost
denies them the rights to restoration, can fully appreciate the moral
uplifting and incentive which this League gives. No words can express
the tortures of the first awful days in prison. The isolation, the
remorse, the heart-hardening power of stern discipline which regulates
diet and toil, waking and sleeping and which sharply limits free-will
and free-act; the dread consciousness that you are henceforth to be
classed among social outcasts and forever mistrusted and distrusted are
all part of an unspeakable whole. The association with the multitude
of like conditioned men whose lengthened terms of confinement, and
whose repeated convictions perhaps have given them a fixed sense of
indifference to what happens to themselves and what they bring to pass
upon others, and from whose forbidding experience you learn the awful
truth of the fate which confronts you as a convicted man, and from
which they insist there is no sure escape, however sincere and earnest
the purpose and the striving, soon makes most prisoners hopeless, and
many of them heartless. Is it any wonder?
"Such was the atmosphere and such the invariable impression and effect
of prison life when I was justly condemned and confined. I found
men all about me longing for a fair new chance to live aright, but
impregnated with the doctrine that there was now no hope for them to
do so. There were men of all types and all classes of social condition.
Men serving their first term and others serving their second, third--or
fourth--who in the confidence and candor of our mutual misery and
degradation often told me (for we do communicate readily in prison, you
know) that their supreme desire was for a return to decent citizenship,
that they wanted to be 'straight' but that there was no chance for them
to be so for _no one would trust them_.
"I was amazed to find among the most 'hardened' of my fellow-prisoners
this controlling soul-thirst for confidence, for faith, and for trust.
There was practically no rebellion against physical features of
imprisonment and of prison discipline, there was no protest against the
severity of the material pains and penalties of our punishment, but we
yearned mightily for unselfish brotherly love and treasured to a degree
unknown to those to whom it has never been denied, such fractions
thereof as we received from each other. What was needed and all that
was needed to give us the true impetus, the sufficient incentive, the
conquering power to adjust ourselves anew and to set our lives in the
right way for future freedom, was some agency which by stimulating
unselfish love among ourselves and showing us that we were likewise
loved by Christly men and women outside the prison walls, should
inspire us to then and there have faith in God, to then and there have
faith in our fellow-men and to then and there live loyally to the truth
and the law.
"This agency came to us in the organization of this League in our
prisons. Adherence to its principles quickened us to newness of life,
gave us confidence in ourselves and others and taught us definitely
and unequivocally that it is that which is wrought within a man, and
not that which is wrought upon a man, that makes a man, and determines
what he is, irrespective of where he is. When he had learned that truth
we were all right. From that hour the fact of our conviction lost its
sovereign sway, our imprisonment was seen to be a new beginning and not
the final ending of our social careers and the future glowed brightly
for us with hopes sure to be realized if only we remained steadfast.
"And we are remaining steadfast, Little Mother, hundreds of us, and by
God's grace we will hold true to the end, and it is because this League
has so thoroughly imbedded its truths in our hearts and is thereby
daily shaping our lives, that so many of us are conquering in prison
and out of prison and that we so revere you and love it.
"The crowning factor in the work of the League beyond prison walls,
and the one feature which fulfills its promise of continuing love and
health until each discharged man is so conditioned that he needs such
help no longer, is Hope Hall. I did not have occasion to go there
except as a guest on Anniversary Day, but I tell you what I know of its
value to those who have no place else to go except the street, the den
and the dive.
"The average man in stripes, when he is freed of the law, has no spot
he can feel or know as his home. There is no available resting-place
where he can abide with cordial welcome and with provision made for
his every need during the weeks or months when he is regathering his
physical and mental powers, more or less shattered by his years in
confinement and sorrow, and until he finds the steady employment that
will give him the means of self-support.
"To such men this haven afforded by Hope Hall is a veritable salvation
for body and soul. Scores have shown me how their repeated convictions
were brought about by the fact that they were homeless and friendless,
except for evil associates, and in dire need after their former
imprisonment and they cursed conditions that made them convicts again
and again.
"I have seen these same men, awakened to the truth that Hope Hall was
theirs and for them and them alone, shed tears of appreciation as they
spoke of their finding shelter when they were again free and thus
avoiding the possibility of a return to evil ways. I have seen some of
these men, who later graduated from this home into useful lives, wholly
redeemed by its final service to them, without which the previous work
in their souls would have been wasted.
"There is no power quite so strong upon the human heart as that which
centres about one's home and it is because these otherwise homeless
men have come to look upon it and to call our Hope Hall their home and
who love it accordingly, that they there find the calm, the comforting
and the safety they require to make them wholly sound in body and soul
and they can afterwards go into other homes they themselves establish
strong to endure and overcome.
"God bless you and our League and make you both the means and the power
unto salvation of thousands more of the men among whom I am now forever
numbered, until the whole world shall recognize the regnant truth that
men in stripes are also the loved children of God, and are both subdued
and energized by the same Divine power which moves upon the souls of
other men and with like results."
The next opinion is from a talented and educated man, who has
thoughtfully and dispassionately written of what he has seen during the
past six years as an inmate of the prison where our League started.
"In making an estimate of the influence and value of the Volunteer
Prison League in prison, based upon favorable opportunities for
observation, I should say that its appeal at first was in its promise
of material aid, and its spiritual influences came after. When Mrs.
Booth came to Sing Sing, the men were unprepared for the ringing
message that she brought them and for her promises of substantial aid.
At first, they didn't believe it. It was too good to be true, and she
might have prayed and preached to them till Doomsday, without securing
anything more than passing attention, had she not coupled her plea for
spiritual reform with an offer of help of the most practical kind.
Their interest was aroused and when these offers took real form and
man after man went to Hope Hall, got help and employment, she gained
admission to their hearts and confidence and the field was ready for
the spiritual effort which has, I believe, been successfully made.
"These results are not altogether based upon gratitude, nor are they
merely emotional, but in many cases they are real and permanent. There
are scores of prisoners in Sing Sing who are making sincere efforts to
lead pure, Christian lives and who are supported in their aspirations
by the work of the League. These men are the most hopeful subjects of
permanent reform, but there are also many others who are moved by the
influences of the League, attracted by the decencies and respectability
that it offers and by its material support, who are also genuinely in
earnest and furnish many cases of the restoration of hitherto hopeless
men returning to society as useful members. The spiritual influence
is not so active with them, but they acknowledge that such influences
do exist and their attitude is respectful to them, whereas before
the establishment of the League they were contemptuous and scornful.
This is hopeful material to work upon, and from it Mrs. Booth will
undoubtedly gather a large number of complete converts.
"It is a fact that in the past the men were not only apathetic and
indifferent to religious teachings, but they entertained a positive
aversion to them. That is largely changed. It is still true with a
considerable number, but even with them the truculence has passed
away and the attitude of the whole community is at least respectful
and with a majority, appreciative of the League's work. I saw both
conditions during my six years' imprisonment and the change is marked
in a hundred ways. When the League button was first worn by a few men,
they were the subjects of open scorn by their fellow-prisoners. Now the
button is worn by a large majority of the prisoners with pride, and no
one of those who do not wear it ever thinks of making a slurring or
adverse comment upon them. At first, it was frequently said, in that
free spirit of criticism that prevails among prisoners, 'Oh, yes, Mrs.
Booth is in it for what it will bring, like the rest.' Now it would be
dangerous for a man to make such a remark openly. He would be called to
prompt account for his insulting speech. In fact, such things are not
said any more.
"The members of the League, on joining, make a promise to abstain from
obscene language and profanity. The effect of this principle in the
constitution of the League is perhaps more apparent than any other.
Oaths are less frequently heard and vile speech is far less common. It
has become bad form to swear, and clean conversation is supplanting the
ribald talk that prevailed among the men before the League's influence
manifested itself.
"The verdict of the prisoners upon the work of the League is unanimous
that it is the only real and practical scheme of help that has
ever been extended to them. There is no varying opinion about its
effectiveness. They recognize its value. It has opened the way for
hundreds of wretched men who turned from the contemplation of their
future with despair, but who now regard it with hope. The stories that
come back from Hope Hall, and from the many men who have secured
employment and who are leading clean and useful lives, have passed from
lip to lip, and every one gives new encouragement and supports new
resolutions of reform.
"Mrs. Booth's and Mrs. McAlpin's friendship has had another influence
upon the prisons, an indirect one it is true, but one of great
significance for the prisoner. It is useless to deny that the
discipline of prisons has been marked at times by cruelty and tyranny.
Such conditions are responding to a progressive spirit, and a factor
in that movement is the fact that these victims of the old abuses
are no longer friendless. They are able to make a complaint, and
they understand that their welfare will be guarded by those capable
of protecting it. The work on these lines is subjective but potent.
Similarly, the discipline has been helped by the organization. The
officials recognize that fact. Men are more biddable, officers, less
arrogant. The prisoner and keeper have become more considerate of each
other. There has been a vast change and improvement in every way. The
prisoner, having found a real incentive, is seeking to lift himself
up, and as he shows himself worthy of aid by those entrusted with the
control of his actions, they are encouraged to help him. How far these
good influences may extend, I am unable to say. It may be that they
will even reach a solution of the problems presented by crime, but if
they do not go so far, they are working with the cordial, grateful,
earnest coöperation of the prisoners themselves, without which all
efforts would be vain."
IX
LIFE STORIES
How strong and vivid an impression some pictures can make upon the
mind, photographed there in colors so striking or so appealing to the
soul, that all through life they come back to memory again and again as
clear and sharp in every detail as the day we first gazed upon them!
Perhaps it was the wondrous work of some master hand that stood out
for us as the one picture in a gallery of treasures. It may have been
a face that gazed at us from the shadowy corner of an old cathedral
through which the very thought and soul of the painter met our own,
and left with us the meaning that he strove to teach through form and
color. That which lives the longest may perchance be a crude picture
that hung on the nursery wall, weaving itself into our childish life,
and wearing for us a different aspect when we were good or naughty. The
firelight played mysteriously about it as we dozed off to sleep, and
then perhaps it took life and mingled with our childish dreams. If we
are lovers of nature, the brightest, most living pictures in memory's
gallery may have come to us amid the whisper of leaves and the play of
sunbeams. Some little glade where the shadows wavered on ferns and
moss, or the tiny streamlet whose pearly waters caught the sunbeams and
glittered like gems amid the lace work of the leaves. The photograph
was taken by the eye and brain long years ago, but we have seen the
picture again and again. When the earth has been hard and cold in the
icy grip of winter, as we have travelled over the thirsty desert, or
when counting the weary hours in the dark room where fever held us, it
has come back so clearly that we have almost heard the laughter of the
water and the rustle of the leaves. I wish instead of trying to paint
with words, I could use the pencil and brush of a master hand to show a
picture that made just such an impression on my mind, and that, if seen
by others, would bring to them without words the thought, the truth of
which no argument could gainsay.
It was a brilliant May morning, such a day as sets the birds singing
and drapes the apple-trees with masses of pink and white. The sky was
a vivid blue and great piles of cotton-wool cloud floated leisurely
across the distance as if to show up the tender reds and greens of
the foliage. The glory of the day without made the contrast greater
as I stepped within the walls of one of our oldest and gloomiest
state prisons. As the great iron door shut behind me, gone were the
sunshine, the breezes, the gladness and song of the spring, for sorrow
and sighs seemed to lurk in the dark corners. A few minutes later, I
found myself on the chapel platform, looking down on an audience garbed
in the dreary striped uniform that was in itself enough to add gloom to
the sombreness of prison walls and high barred windows. The room was so
built that not much of the brightness of out-of-doors penetrated it and
the contrast between the country through which I had passed, and this
sunless place was very striking. As the opening exercises proceeded,
I studied my audience. An audience means much to the speaker, and
especially is this true of one in State Prison. There were some whom I
had known for several years and the smile of recognition meant much to
them; others had come since my last visit, and I needed to know them
that I might learn to reach their hearts with the message. Of these
newcomers, some were mere boys whose heads were bowed in shame; others
showed a bitter and defiant front and appeared to be flinging out a
challenge to any who might dare approach the portal of their imprisoned
soul.
It was while engaged in this study of faces that I saw the picture of
which I would speak. In the roof of the chapel was a small sky-light,
and through it the sun sent down one bright clear shaft of yellow
glory. It shone on one man, making his face and figure stand out
distinctly amid the gloom that surrounded him. Looking at the face, I
saw at once that his was the type the criminologists would pick out as
a hardened offender. There was the stern jaw, the deep-set dark eyes,
on his face the lines that rough life had given and the prison pallor
that told of long years within the walls, made all the more noticeable
by the mass of black hair that fell low on his brow. There was much of
past suffering to be read in that face, but now utterly forgetful of
his surroundings, he had thrown his head back and was looking straight
up into the glory of the sunshine. The mouth that might have been stern
and cynical was smiling, and as I looked the dark eyes were softened
with a mist of tears, and then as they overflowed, the sunlight shone
and glistened upon them as they coursed their way down his face. These
were the words he was singing, and the whole expression of that face
told that they came not from the lips alone, but from a heart that knew
that of which it sang:
"My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine,
For Thee all the follies of sin I resign,
My gracious Redeemer, my Saviour art Thou,
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, 'tis now."
Could I have caught the spirit of the picture and shown that face in
the sunlight with the soul's door thrown open, with the convict garb
amid the setting of gloomy shadows, and had I had the power to make it
live on canvas I would have hung it where the passing world could read
its story. No need to write beneath it! Could they have seen it as I
saw it, they would have turned away to say, "So there _is_ hope for
the convict." Hope! Yes, indeed! That is what I am reading day by day
in the life experiences of our "boys" in prison. That is the message
that is being sent back in louder, more certain tones from the lives of
thousands who have stood the test of liberty. In a work like ours, the
happy, hopeful side is what gives us courage to face the hard, stern
difficulties that cannot be slighted or forgotten, but must from their
very urgency be faced and combated. It is the flesh and blood facts,
not the theories, that will prove to the world the redeemability of
those who have gone far astray, and it is this very evidence that I
wish to bring forward.
One hot summer day in 1896, shortly after the opening of our work in
prison, and before Hope Hall was in existence, a caller came to my
office who bore in face and manner the most unmistakable brand of
State Prison. My secretary was the first to greet him, but she almost
immediately came to my private office, and in her hands she carried
a sand bag, a revolver and a handful of cartridges. "He has come to
give you these," she said, and so I called him in at once to tell me
his story. He was a tall, stoop-shouldered fellow, whose whole figure
spoke of dejection and a broken spirit. His face had the distrustful,
hunted look that speaks of years of experience with every man's hand
against one. After I had welcomed him and tried to make him feel how
truly glad I was that he had turned to us in his extremity, I drew him
on to talk of himself. The feverishness of the hand, that had clasped
mine, the unnatural brightness of the sunken eyes, and the pain with
which his face was drawn made his tale all the more pathetic. When
our work was opened in Sing Sing, he had refused to leave his cell
to attend the service. He was an old-time prisoner, having been in
prison several times and he had reached the point where his heart
was hardened against everything. He had absolutely given up faith in
religion. Though he had never heard us speak, he received something
of the message from the other men. Sitting alone in his cell during
the last few weeks of his incarceration, he thought seriously over the
utter failure of his life. He was thoroughly tired of prison, there was
no doubt of that, but could there be any other life for him? Something
that I had said concerning my faith and hope for the "old-timer" came
as an encouragement in this hour of decision, and he finally determined
to have done with the crooked life and to give honest living one good,
fair trial.