met us and did not feel that he had any claim, so he faced his problem
alone and sought to find work for himself. Though a tall, large-boned
man, he was far from strong, for long terms in prison had told upon him
and the seeds of that wretched "prison consumption" that used to be so
prevalent in Sing Sing, had already found fertile soil in his lungs.
The first weeks represented weary hours of tramping back and forth
through the city asking for work, only to meet the same disappointment
everywhere. At last he found a job on Long Island at the work of
putting up telegraph poles. Wet weather came and he caught a violent
cold. The heavy work by day, with the fever and pain at night, told on
him in time and his courage failed. He saw that he could not work on at
that job much longer and if he broke down, what then? Well! he supposed
he must do something for a living, and there was one line of work at
which he knew he was an expert, so he turned back the good leaf and
gave up the struggle. He came to the city and purchased the implements
of an evil trade. The sand bag he made to be used in highway robbery
and the other weapon was to take his own life if he should be detected
in the crime. He was a desperate man, desperate with that desperation
that comes only to those who have tried to do right and found it a
failure. The whole outlook is infinitely darker for the defeated man
than for the one who is carelessly drifting. At nightfall, he went out
to watch for his prey, but unknown to him the angel of the Lord was
with him and he surely heard that voice behind him say, "This is the
way, walk ye in it," when he tried to turn to "the left hand or the
right." God's restraining influence he did not recognize, for he knew
and cared nothing for God. He told me that an unaccountable something
stopped him every time, and then some words that I had spoken in
prison, though he had only received them at second hand, rang in his
ears. I do not know what they were, but it was one of those instances
where the bread cast upon the waters comes back after many days to
bear its unexpected fruit, like the grains of rice that whirl in the
waters of the Nile and some day find a lodgment, and rear above the
muddy stream the harvest of future blessing. So the dreary long night
through, that fight between good and evil raged, and all the time the
weary feet tramped the city streets. When morning came, afraid of
himself, despairing and desperate, he turned to us and asked me to take
the weapons that only meant to him temptation. Hope Hall was not opened
then, but we were looking for a house and I told him of our plans,
assuring him of a hearty welcome when there should be a place for him
to come to. It was wonderful how cheering words and human sympathy
seemed to encourage him. Once more he began to hope for himself, and
a firmer, more determined expression chased away that of miserable
despair. After we received from him the promise that he would still
try and do right at any cost, we advised him to return to the work on
Long Island, telling him we would send for him at the earliest possible
moment. He took a copy of the little Day Book which he was to read with
us morning and evening as a reminder of his promise, and each day he
wrote just a line to say how things went with him. That somebody cared,
seemed to make all the difference in the world to this struggling soul.
He had refused to take any money from us as he had some of his earnings
left, and he was far too independent to wish to secure that kind of
aid. His letters showed a spirit of bravery despite difficulties, and
the greatest gratitude for the little we had been able to do for him.
Just as soon as Hope Hall was rented and the officer put in charge,
we telegraphed for this "boy," and he became the first inmate. He
turned to with a will at floor scrubbing, window cleaning and painting,
taking the liveliest interest in preparing the home for those who
would soon be free to claim it. As new "boys" came, he was ever ready
with a loving word of welcome. In a few weeks, he found Christ as his
Saviour and then the greatest change took place in the whole man. The
crushed, hunted, distrustful look vanished, the hopeless stoop left
his shoulders and with head held high, he had now courage to look the
world in the face, while the eyes were bright with joy that had before
expressed such pathetic despair. He took so much interest in the Home
that he was made Sergeant, and remained in that position until he left
us to take a place in open air work as a brakeman on the cable cars.
He worked faithfully and honorably at this occupation until his last
illness, which was sudden and short. He died in the home of Christian
friends whom he had met while at Hope Hall, and who gave him the loving
sympathy which he so needed in that last hour. His own mother had
refused to see him or own him, since his return from prison. She did
not even come to his deathbed, for when her heart at last relented, it
was too late; she could only sob over the coffin of the boy who had so
longed to see her and had been denied. "Is it true that ---- ---- went to
your place and became honest?" asked an officer of me in Sing Sing, and
when I told him the story of this changed life, he said, "Well, I would
never have thought it possible. He was a criminal through and through
and we certainly expected to see him back here to die."
I entered my office one morning to find a very worn and travel-stained
wanderer awaiting me. He was a tall, raw-boned man, with a face that
perhaps the criminologists would have liked to classify. The stern line
of jaw denoted fighting propensities; his eyes had the furtive, hunted
look of one accustomed to being suspected and across brow and cheek was
an ugly scar. A more dejected, hard looking fellow could not well have
been imagined and the worn-out shoes and dust covered clothing were
fully explained when he told me his story.
He had been a crook ever since he had been old enough to gain his
living and having had no home influence, but that which was evil, and
no teaching to lead him to the right path, the wrong one was very
faithfully followed to his own ruin. He had had several imprisonments
and when the League was started in Charlestown, he was in the last
year of his term. He did not make any religious profession, nor did
he connect himself with our organization, but he did gather a vague
inspiration for a better future. He determined that he would go out to
try and find honest work. This he sought to do before appealing to us,
having the mistaken idea that he had no claim upon us, because he had
not joined our League. He had never done honest work in his life, and
little did he realize how hard it would be to find it. But those first
days of unsuccessful effort opened his eyes to the difficult road he
must tread. With no trade, no character, no references, no friends,
and with the criminal past stamped on face and manner, how was he
ever to get the much needed first chance, and yet he did want to try
and be honest. His appearance was certainly against him, and when his
money was gone, the outlook was most discouraging. Just at this point
the policeman acted the part of fate and "ran him in," not because he
had committed any crime, but to prevent him from doing so. He looked
suspicious as he walked about seeking for work, and so naturally was
thought to be on mischief bent.
That night when the door of a cell clanged behind him and he looked
around on the narrow, confining walls, a deep realization of his
failure swept over him. "Prison, prison, is it always and forever to be
prison?" he groaned and throwing himself on his knees, for the first
time in his life he prayed. It was the desperate prayer of a man who
had come to the end of his own resources. He simply swore to God that
if He would help him out of this difficulty, he would give Him his
life and start right afterwards. How many have made like vows in the
dark, to forget them straightway when the sunshine is given unto them
again! The next day in court when he feared at least some months of
imprisonment because of his past record, some one unknown to him said a
good word in his behalf, and he was discharged. He left the court room
with but one thought and that was to make straight for Hope Hall. He
had no money and knew no one who could help him, but he felt that he
had but the one hope left. The man who has lived by his wits is not of
the beggar class; the thief and the criminal can show stern resolution
and suffer much privation in the new life, but they will not beg. This
man walked from Boston to New York, and when I had heard the story very
simply told in his own rough way, he turned and said with a pleading
pathos which no words could convey, "Now Little Mother, will you give
me a chance? Is there any hope for me?" There was no insincerity or
treachery in those dark eyes as he asked the question, but a beseeching
anxiety as if on the answer hung life or death. Very gladly did we bid
him welcome and he became a very happy and intensely appreciative
member of the Hope Hall family.
Never shall I forget his face as he said a few farewell words to his
comrades the night before his graduation from the Home. He was still
the angular, awkward fellow; there were still the stern jaw and the
disfiguring scar, but despite them, the face was wonderfully changed
and as he spoke with the deepest feeling of the new life that had
come to him, his countenance was so lit up with joy and peace that it
appeared transfigured. It was hard work he undertook, but he was a
proud man each morning, as he arose at four o'clock and started out
to gain an honest living with the certainty in his heart that he was
making a success of it. When the first pay day came, he called at my
office, coming in straight from work in toil-stained clothing, and
with his hands bearing the marks of toil which mean so much to us. I
was occupied at the time and my secretary demurred at disturbing me,
but he insisted he wanted only a moment. As I rose to greet him, he
clasped my fingers in his two strong hands and with tears filling his
eyes he said, "Little Mother, I just came to thank you. I can't tell
you what the Home has meant to me but I want my comrades to know I am
really grateful." And then he drew from his pocket a little roll of
bills and pressing it into my hand he said, "That is the first honest
money I ever earned. I want you to use it for the 'boys' who are now
where I was once." As I smoothed out the fifteen crumpled dollar bills,
their value to me was far beyond that inscribed upon them, for they
would have refuted the prognostications of those who told me of the
ingratitude which I should meet and the worthlessness of the treasure
for which I was seeking in the dark mines of state prison.
Within our prison walls there are naturally many men of foreign birth,
some of them very ignorant of our language, coming from the illiterate
classes even in their own land. In some cases they have drifted into
trouble, some from ignorance more than intentional criminality, while
many are of the helpless, shiftless classes who do well enough when
sternly governed but are very poor masters of their own life and
destiny. Herded together in the great slum sections of our large
cities, their surroundings on the outside prove a very hotbed of evil.
Friendless and unable to make themselves understood, many of them have
a very poor showing in the court-room and after their term expires,
go out into an unwelcoming world with no chance of escaping recurring
troubles in the future.
On one of my early visits to Clinton, the third prison in New York,
I was spending a long day in interviews. I believe there were over
seventy names on the list who had specially asked to see me. The warden
had very kindly placed his private office at my disposal, and he
himself introduced each newcomer, then leaving us alone that the man
might confide in me what he wished concerning his needs or those of his
loved ones. Hour after hour passed quickly and towards the end of the
day the warden introduced a very forlorn-looking man by a name which
was almost unpronounceable. It was his own name undoubtedly. No man
could have happened on such an alias. As I stepped forward to greet my
visitor, the warden passed out behind him but I caught a merry twinkle
in his eye that made me guess something was amusing him. My secretary
afterwards reported that when he reached the next room, he told her the
joke. He had introduced to me a Greek, whose English was as mysterious
as his own language and my interview was likely to be somewhat
one-sided. I certainly found it so. That my new friend was very forlorn
and unhappy was plain, that he needed sympathy and comfort was evident,
but the only words I could understand despite his most conscientious
and voluble efforts were these, "Me poor man, me no friends." Between
other remarks delivered with sighs and entreaties, those words always
remained the tenor of his thought. I assured him with word and gesture
I would gladly be his friend, but beyond that I could convey little
comfort, so I just sat and smiled on him, and fortunately a smile is
the same in all languages. When our interview came to an end and he
departed to his cell, I was inclined to believe it had been fruitless
and that I had given him no possible help.
On my next visit some months later, lo and behold! my Greek's name
appeared once more on the list. This time he impressed me again with
the sad news of his friendless condition but added, for he knew a
little more English, that he wanted to be good and managed to convey
to me the information that he was praying for God's help. That time we
prayed together to the One who understands the language of the heart
whatever words the tongue may utter, and after a few more smiles and
a number of efforts at coherent conversation, we parted. At my next
interview I saw a very marked change in my friend. His face had lost
its forlornness and he pointed very proudly to the little V. P. L.
button he wore on his striped suit. He assured me with many gestures he
was praying to God for help to be good and then he turned, perhaps by
habit, to the remark "Me no friends, me poor man," adding somewhat to
my dismay he was soon coming home. Mentally I said, "And what shall
we do when you come," but though I foresaw difficulties, I also felt
that it was to just such that Hope Hall could perhaps prove a veritable
haven of refuge. I assured him again that we were his friends and I
told him to come straight to me on his discharge.
Some months passed, our Greek learned still more of our language and
to him the long, looked-for day of liberty was very slow in coming,
while to us in our busy life of work, it was a surprise when one day we
entered our office to find him sitting there dressed in his new suit
and beaming with smiles. As I had had all the interviews with him in
prison and I foresaw this one would be somewhat lengthy, I turned him
over to my secretary after a few words of greeting and commenced my
morning mail opening. Sometime after she came in to report, and I saw
that her eyes were full of tears. The story certainly had its pathetic
side, though parts of it made our hearts beat quick with indignation.
He had been discharged from prison two days before, and had received
ninety-seven dollars which represented his earnings for over-time
(then allowed in this state) and the money he had deposited with the
warden on entering the prison. Realizing his deficiency in speech, he
had provided himself with plenty of matter to prove his connection
with the Volunteers. In one pocket was his Day Book more treasured
than comprehended; in another the latest _Volunteer Gazette_ and in
yet another his certificate of membership in the League, which made
a very formidable roll. Besides these possessions he proudly wore on
his new suit the little white button with its blue star and motto.
Arriving at the Grand Central Depot which was but fifteen minutes'
walk from my office in an absolutely straight line, he was faced by
the strange, bewildering rush of the great city, and realized in an
overwhelming manner his foreignness to all around him. He could not
ask his way of any member of that jostling crowd, and was not sure
enough of his powers of expression to venture on any hurried inquiry.
He therefore sought out a police officer, imagining that that official
was there to protect and advise bewildered strangers. Then he commenced
his explanations. Unrolling his V. P. L. certificate which had upon
it among other things a letter from my pen and a small photograph he
explained, pointing to the picture, "Me want go Mrs. Booth. Me belong
Mrs. Booth." The word, "Volunteers" upon the certificate was large
enough to be clearly read and my picture had been more frequently than
I had wished in the daily papers for over twelve years, but neither of
these things seemed to enlighten the officer of the law, for he only
shook his head and then, to get rid of the man, directed him to quite
another part of the city. Each time he realized himself astray he would
repeat his request to some officer and point to my picture, but none
seemed ever to have heard of me, or was it that it seemed sport to play
with this poor simple soul with the queer broken speech and prison-made
clothing? Any way when I heard the story I felt tempted to send my
picture to be placed in company with those of my "boys" in the Rogues'
Gallery, that it might be studied by the officers of the law so that
they might know where to direct those who so sorely needed my help and
protection.
When night at last closed in on the city, he found himself in a
down-town section where a policeman impressed upon him that it would
be too late to find me, and directed him to a low saloon above which
he might lodge for the night. Naturally, when he entered, he was
recognized at once as a simple foreigner and moreover as one newly from
prison. It is known that men from prison have some little money with
them, so he was at once offered drinks. Though he was in many things
ignorant he had gained one or two firm ideas as a League member and to
these he would adhere stubbornly. He promptly refused to drink saying
with a finger on the little white badge, "Me no drink. Me belong Mrs.
Booth!" Had he been able to express himself clearly, and had his poor
ignorant mind fully grasped the teachings of our League, the higher
motive and loyalty to the Great Captain of our salvation would have
been his strength, but what he was has to be remembered and to him
a human friend, meant hope and escape from despair and forlornness.
Finding that he would not drink at the bar they escorted him to the
room he was to share with three other men. They were drinking and
card playing, and there again he was offered drink and a cigar. He
reiterated the positive declaration which formed his few words of
explanation, "Me no drink! me no smoke. Me belong Mrs. Booth!" and I
fancy the denizens of the saloon were better informed than the police
as to what lay behind the words. Well for him he resisted that drink,
for had he taken it there was little chance of his waking to find his
money safe. Realizing the danger of robbery, he sat up all night that
he might not fall asleep. In the morning he had gained a little worldly
wisdom and, as he asked, slipped a silver piece in the policeman's
hands and lo! in a few minutes he was at our office door, for that
officer knew just where to find us. When we talked with him later
before sending him to Hope Hall, he handed all his money over to me to
bank and as he counted it out the bills were all ones, ones, ones,
whether fives, tens or twenties, and I had to explain their value.
Before sending a man to the Home, we generally inquire what his
occupation has been, if he has had any in the fields of labor, and also
what he did in prison, so as to be able to suggest the best department
of work for him at the Home, and to know what kind of place to secure
for him on graduation. When this question was put to our Greek, it
seemed to mystify him. We tried to make it as clear as possible and
at last as we repeated slowly, "What did you do in prison?" a light
of full comprehension broke over his face. "Oh! me wheel shoes," he
answered. I thought he meant "heeled" shoes but at that suggestion he
shook his head most decidedly. It was my turn to be mystified, for
I had never heard of "wheeling shoes" as a part of the shoemaking
industry. Further careful inquiry revealed the fact that his labor had
been the wheeling of the barrow, in which shoes were taken from the
workshop to the storehouse, probably the only duty for which they found
him well adapted. At Hope Hall we set him to weeding the garden and a
very happy inmate of the Home was our poor friendless Greek. When he
graduated, it was to start in business for himself at a bootblack stand
which we purchased for him with the money he had laid by. He has made
a success of his work and has for years occupied a very good corner
in the heart of the business portion of New York City. An ever-ready
smile greets the officer whom he knew in the Home when he chances to
pass that way, and he enjoys the cleaning of shoes much more than the
"wheeling" industry.
It is not hard to picture what the end of this story would have been,
had there been no V. P. L. and no Hope Hall. Coming a stranger to
New York, he might easily have been robbed that first night. When
men are robbed, especially ignorant foreigners, who do not know
how to appeal to the law, they generally resent it and show their
resentment by fighting. Men who are found fighting are arrested. On
his arrest he would have been detected as a newly returned prisoner,
and the witnesses against him could easily have proved his violent and
murderous attack. He would have been sent off again to prison with an
extra long term because his offense, committed so soon after release,
would have proved to some minds that he was an incorrigible criminal.
Once more in a prison cell with heart growing bitter and mind enraged,
he would have murmured, "Me poor man, me no friends."
X
WIVES AND MOTHERS
I had been presenting the cause of our "boys" in prison at a
drawing-room gathering in a company of the wealthy and fortunate,
whose lives were very remote from need, suffering and hunger. I passed
over the main branch of our work, to one that has grown out of it, and
told of the dark, sad shadow that has fallen on many homes, bringing
untold suffering to the helpless and innocent. After the meeting was
over, a lady made her way to my side and clasping my hand she said very
fervently, "I do thank you specially for one thought you have given me
this evening. I have seen the outside of state prisons and have always
regarded them as places full of evil-doers who justly deserve what they
are suffering, and there with me the whole question has ended. I never
for one moment realized that these men had wives and mothers and little
children. Of course, if I had stopped to think, I would have seen that
side of it, but I never gave the question a thought." I believe there
are very many who, if they confessed the truth, would have to admit
the same thing. This perhaps saddest side of the question hidden away
in aching hearts and shadowed homes does not flaunt itself in the
press, does not beg on our streets nor appeal to us through Christian
publications as do the needs that can be classified. Yet the need is
there and it is very real and urgent. If there are eighty-four thousand
men to-day in our prisons, think what a vast number of sorrowing hearts
must be bearing their suffering and shame in the outside world!
I think my work has become doubly dear and sacred to me since I
have realized that I could go to these "boys" as a messenger and
representative of their mothers. Very grateful have I been for the name
"Little Mother" which they have given me, for I feel that I go not to
impress my own personality upon them, but to revive in them the sacred
memories of the past and if possible, to help in bringing the answer
to the many mothers' prayers that for so long have seemed fruitless of
result.
I once received a letter from one of the men in which he said, "Little
Mother, as you talked to us on Sunday in the chapel it was not your
voice I heard, but it seemed to me my mother spoke again from the long
ago, and it was not your face I saw, but her face that came up before
me as I had seen it in the days of my childhood:" This thought has
meant a great deal to me and having come to feel how true this is of my
ministry to many of the prisoners, I have found I could take to them a
double message, first from their God and then from some loved one, the
very mention of whom aroused all their better nature and awakened purer
thoughts within their minds.