bitter tears have been shed and painful heartaches endured. Some men
have proved unworthy, some have proved weak, but they have been the
exceptions to the rule. Many thought we would have a majority that
would prove unworthy, and but a small minority to remain faithful,
but even had it been so, should we have a right to say that the work
was not worth while? We have however to record that the many have
proved worthy and faithful, and only the few have failed us. It is
always a lamented fact that it is just the few who do go wrong, who
arrive at public notice, while the multitude who do well are never
heard of through the public press, but are hidden away in the quiet,
commonplace, workaday world of those who tread the straight path of
honesty. I can unhesitatingly say that the results have already shown
such a return in homes made happy, lives redeemed and wrong-doers
changed into good law-abiding citizens that we, who have made the
largest investment, feel a thousandfold repaid. In my journeys
hither and thither all over the country, I am constantly seeing the
far-reaching results of the work, which, coming at unexpected times and
unlooked for places, are all the more welcome.
I had boarded a "sleeper" at one of our large terminal depots, and was
bestowing my baggage beneath the berth in an already-darkened car. A
man in the uniform of the road hurried by me, swinging his lantern.
After he had passed me, I looked up, and the light must have fallen on
my face, for he stopped with an exclamation, and looking quickly to
right and left to see if his words might be overheard, he turned to me,
and stretching out his hand, said, "Little Mother, I can't miss the
chance of speaking to you. You don't know me, but you will be glad to
hear that I am doing well, and have been living right ever since I left
the place where I met you last. I have been making a good record now
for nearly two years, and all is well."
I had changed cars in a western city on a somewhat gloomy day, and
while I was rechecking my baggage, a freight train pulled into the
depot. One of the crew sprang down, making his way to me with a smiling
face and an outstretched hand. "Why I thought it was you, Little
Mother," he said as he held my hand in his, blackened and hardened with
toil. "I am so glad to see you again, for I have only good news to
tell. I went straight home to my people when I left Joliet, and they
can testify to the change in me, and now I am leading a happy, steady
life, and have proved that it is possible to do so, despite the past. I
have worked nearly two years on this road now, and best of all, I am
keeping my promise to God and proving faithful to what I learned as a
League member."
Arriving at one of the big Chicago stations I stood undecided on the
crowded sidewalk as to which direction I should take. A voice hailed me
and I looked up to see a cabman waving his whip enthusiastically at me.
Thinking that after the manner of his tribe, he was seeking a fare, I
paid no attention. Leaving his cab, he hastened to me to greet me with
outstretched hand and smiling face. "Yes," said the officer at my side,
"he is one of your boys paroled from Joliet, and lately he has received
his full discharge."
I had been speaking in a crowded audience in one of the large churches
in the far west. At the close of my address quite a number of friends
came forward to speak to me. A gentleman grasped my hand and as I
looked into the handsome, intelligent face, I had a faint recollection
of having met him before, or was it only a resemblance to some one I
had known? As he greeted me, I caught the gleam of the little silver
pin worn by members of the Defenders' League, an organization of the
friends of the Volunteers. I said most cordially how glad I always was
to meet our Defenders, but his hand did not loosen its grasp, and he
was searching my face for a more personal recognition. "So you don't
know me," he said at last. "No," I said, "I must confess I do not.
Where have I met you before?" "It was in Charlestown, Little Mother,"
came the answer with that thrill of loving gratitude that has so often
warmed my heart in the voices of many of my "boys." Could it be? Yes,
truly it was a young man who had gone from our League in that Eastern
prison years before, and here he was, a prosperous successful business
man. "I have brought my mother with me," he said and my hand was laid
in that of a sweet-faced gentlewoman, in whose eyes a wealth of love
and pride shone through the moisture of tears. That was not all, for
he then told me he had been recently married and brought forward a
beautiful young girl whom he presented to me with the pride of a true
affection. She made the last of the happy trio who lived in the pretty
little home in the outskirts of that city, where flowers and birds and
almost perpetual sunshine make the shadows of prison bars seem very far
away. Those prison days to him are now but the nightmare of the dead
years which, through God's grace, will come again no more.
At that same gathering I had started to leave the platform when I found
my way barred by a little family group who had waited for me at the
steps,--father, mother and three little tots. In a few brief words he
told me he was one of my San Quentin "boys," home now over a year
and that all was well with him. Then he left the little wife to tell
the rest of it which she did most fervently, describing the earnest
hard-working life her husband was leading, and their now happy home,
while the tears that could not be kept back, told their own tale of how
much it all meant to her and the three little children they had brought
with them to see me.
Sometimes it is a motorman who smiles me a greeting as I board his car,
or a waiter in a restaurant who drops a word or two that have nothing
to do with the bill of fare. Once a cook in white cap and apron ran out
to greet me regardless of the crowd of passers-by. Wherever it may be,
there are always the glad smiles and the few earnest words that send me
on way saying, "It is all well worth while."
Some gentlemen in an office were discussing the possibility of the
reformation of prisoners, and questions were exchanged concerning
the stamp of men reached at Hope Hall and their sincerity. After the
conversation had been carried on for some little time one of the
gentlemen said, "Well, I am one of Mrs. Booth's 'boys.'"
A contractor came to seek men from our Home, whom he said he was
willing to employ. After he had talked about the character of work
and the style of man needed, it was found that he had himself some
time ago, graduated from Hope Hall, and now that he was successful and
prosperous, he returned to give the helping hand to others.
As I travel in my lecture trips all over the country, sometimes
speaking for four or five weeks every night in a different city, I
am brought constantly into touch with new audiences, and in almost
every audience, I find some one of my "boys" who, seeing my lecture
announced, has come there to greet me with the news of his well-doing.
It is all these pleasant surprises by the way that are helping to prove
to us how far-reaching and successful the work has already become.
I have written much of our "boys" but what of our "girls"? That
question has been asked me many a time, and in the first years of our
work I had nothing to report, as our efforts were confined to the men
in state prison. They of course present the greatest need. This is
evident for two reasons; first, they vastly outnumber the women, and
secondly, there are no places for them to turn to on their discharge,
while throughout the country there are many rescue homes for women,
where girls from state prison can be received. Our work is not in
operation in the reformatories, lesser penitentiaries or jails where
women are mostly confined. We have kept exclusively to state prison,
because the field is so large that time and strength and limited means
compel us to draw the line somewhere, and we naturally have chosen the
field where the need is the greatest. In many of the prisons we visit
there are no women, and where they are incarcerated, there are very
few. In New York state for instance, the number is about fifty women
to thirty-five hundred men; in New Jersey about twenty women to eight
hundred men; in California fifteen women to eighteen hundred men, and
so on. Where there are women, we have started our League among them
and recently we have had several come home, some being paroled to us
while others have turned to us for help when they have received their
discharge. Of course, they could not be received at Hope Hall, which
is a men's institution, but we have either sent them to the Volunteer
Rescue Home or found positions for them at once.
One woman came to us with a sweet little child in her arms, a
prison-born baby who had never before seen the outside world. It was
a sad story of a hard-working woman yielding to temptation, at a time
when woman through physical weakness should hardly be blamed for her
actions. The little child that came to share her sorrow was born in
jail before her trial, and together they were sent to state prison,
when the babe was two weeks old, on a five years' sentence. They were
forgotten and abandoned by the father and husband. After two years she
was paroled to us, but in that first return to the world with the babe
in her arms she was overwhelmed by bewilderment and despair. She had
no home. Her husband had deserted her. One little child had died of
grief when she was sent to prison, and two others were in institutions.
The first week she almost wished herself back in prison, for she felt
her bereaved condition so acutely. We found her a good position in a
Christian family, where she has proved a most faithful hard worker. The
little one boards with good people near enough for the mother to see
her constantly. This woman is receiving excellent wages, and saving
her money carefully, and she hopes some day to make a little home for
herself.
Another "girl" was a sweet-faced Jewish maiden. The prison authorities
hesitated about her parole because she had been very hard to manage in
prison, and had been constantly punished. This was probably due to a
highly-strung temperament, fighting against the confining high walls
and prison regulations. She came direct to us and then went to work in
a Jewish family. Every month she reported to us and her bright face
and the good news she brought always told a story of faithful effort
to do right. After she had received her final discharge papers, she
was married and now has a happy and comfortable little home, with a
kind husband well able to support her, as he is a good workman. She
runs into my little office constantly with all the news of her life,
and advises with me upon every question of importance. Her only sorrow
since she came home has been the loss of her first baby, a grief
which to her with her intensely affectionate nature, proved an almost
unbearable bereavement.
The next woman sent home had served eight years. She was a respectable
body who during an unhappy wifehood had suffered much with a drunken
husband, and on whom prison life had told severely. "Oh," she said
when we first talked together, "do get me a place with people who will
trust me. I will work hard and be faithful, only I do want a chance to
prove I am in earnest." I sent her to work for friends of mine whom I
knew to be earnest Christians, where I felt sure she would receive the
kind words and sympathy she needed more than the dollars that would
be paid her for her services. They have sent me the best kind of news
concerning her. She has proved herself most trustworthy, willing and
helpful. In her turn she cannot speak too warmly of her employers and
their kindness, and is perfectly contented and happy in her new life.
The next woman was a colored girl. She had served her sentence and it
was not her first either, for she had seen the inside of one of our
big western prisons before coming east. Born of respectable Christian
parents in a southern state, she had been led astray in the city of
Chicago, had gone very far down the wrong road and lived for some ten
years an evil life. They did not think at the prison that she would
come to me, but she did. By a delay of trains she reached the city at
4 A. M. and walked up and down the streets until our office opened. "I
tell you, Mrs. Booth," she said, "I'd not have come to you if I did
not really want to be good. I know where I could get money and where I
could find friends, but I am through with the old life. I do not want
to live like that any more. Get me a place. I am not afraid of work and
I will prove to you I am in earnest." She is in her place now, happy
and hard working and those who employ her, though they know the past,
never remind her of it nor have they been given any cause to think of
it themselves.
Our last girl to come home was a mere child when first imprisoned. The
crime was a terrible one, it is true, but is a woman quite responsible
in the first hours of shame-shadowed motherhood? When I heard of the
long imprisonment, I asked the question, "And what of the man?" Oh!
the hand of the law that caught the weak, unhappy woman, was powerless
to touch him, and she alone bore the weight of shame and punishment.
It was just a week before her discharge that she held my hand tight in
hers in the prison office and pleaded, "Little Mother, may I come to
you? I am worrying so about a place, and don't know what is best to do
in the future. I can work and I shall be so grateful for the chance if
you will trust me that you shall have no cause to be sorry you did so!"
Such an innocent face was hers, such a willing little worker the matron
said she had proved herself to be, and there were at home earnest,
respectable loved ones, longing to hear good news of her, so there
was indeed every cause to give her the chance she asked. We talk of
"by chance" when we might better say "by God's guidance." It was thus
unexpectedly that two days before our "girl's" discharge, I met a
friend who spoke of going away that week to a beautiful mountain home.
"Have you all the servants you need?" I asked. "All but one," she
answered. "I have that one for you," I said, and in a few brief words I
told her the pitiful story that was to be a secret, known only to the
employer. So our "girl" went straight to the very best place she could
have found, with a lady who is herself an earnest Christian worker.
Cheering words, busy occupation and beautiful surroundings will chase
away the memory of cruel wrong and dreary imprisonment. Here is a
letter from the one who employed her.
"My dear Mrs. Booth:--I should have written you before in regard to
your girl, but have been so busy since coming here that I have not
found time. I want to tell you I am delighted with her and she will
prove a most valuable girl. She is capable, willing and so cheerful
with it all. She works in such an intelligent manner that it is truly
remarkable. She plods right along and does not have to be followed up
after she is started at something. She certainly has had good training
in the 'big hotel' she talks about having worked in."
Here is the girl's side of the story.
"My dear Friend:--I received your kind letter last night and I hasten
to reply. I like my place very much. It is a delightful place! I wrote
to Mrs. ---- last week. She was so kind to me while I was in her care
that I feel it is a small thing for me to write her once in a while.
Mrs. Booth, I do wish you could come to this beautiful spot and rest
here, for I know what your labors are for us. I brought my Day Book
with me and read it and pray often for God's guidance and blessing.
Hoping you are well but not tired, I remain obediently yours," etc.
So as we again turn back to prison to seek yet others still within
those gloomy walls, our hearts whisper, "Yes, it does pay, it is all
worth while." And why should this work be any other than a great and
lasting success? Have we not the right to talk confidently about it,
and to glory in it, when we know and acknowledge the source of power,
and the cause of the far-reaching influence? The wire used to carry
the current from the dynamo has nothing to boast of, the pipes that
bring the water from the hills to the city, need not feel diffident
in the praise of the water supply or its life-giving results! So we
who are privileged to be God's messengers, who can sometimes prove the
connecting link between the human and divine, can glory in the blessed
results without a thought of self-intruding, for the work is not human
but Divine.
The one dark cloud on the otherwise bright horizon is that which has
across it written those burning words "financial responsibility." They
flash out ominously every time we long to do yet more along the line
of practical help for our "boys" and "girls," or for their dear loved
ones in poverty-stricken homes. Some day we trust some man of wealth
will take this special need upon his heart and so endow this enterprise
that our hands and hearts may be free for the work itself. Perhaps the
help that will lift the burden may come from the many, as they learn
how much their little share in the responsibility would count in the
lightening of our care; or dying, some one may leave behind him for
those in prison, a gift that will lay up a mighty treasure in the fair
country to which he has passed. I cannot tell whence this help will
come, but for it we pray earnestly and without ceasing for the need
is desperate, and the burden is all too heavy for those who carry it
on. Tremendous, too, is the responsibility for the lives and souls
represented by the work.
It may be well to state that "The Volunteers of America" is a properly
organized American movement being incorporated under the membership act
of New York. We have our duly elected and appointed treasurer and our
accounts are audited by a chartered accountant. We publish a yearly
balance sheet and, in addition, any responsible person who cares to
do so, can go through our books and satisfy himself as to the careful
system of bookkeeping. Every gift is receipted for, and monies are most
carefully expended. Mr. William J. Schieffelin of 5 E. 66th Street, New
York, will receive monies donated to the special prison fund.
The prison work forms but one branch of the movement under the
leadership of my dear husband Ballington Booth. It is working along
home-mission lines in many cities throughout the country, achieving
among the artisan classes, as well as the very poor, the most
commendable result. The local Volunteers in many cities can of course
help our prison branch by welcoming and cheering the men who would
naturally turn to them as friends and comrades on the regaining of
their liberty.
Looking out over the great field, notwithstanding the difficulties that
still confront us, there is one word that shines out supreme, "Hope!"
At first it was flashed to us from above because of our faith in the
Divine, now it flashes up from below, as we catch the gleam of the
grain of gold in the many human souls still in the shadow. So we can
go forward with hearts strong to endure, brave to suffer and warm to
sympathize, for we know beyond a doubt or fear, that in the last great
day of reckoning, we shall find that the toil has paid in that coin
which is current in the world beyond.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
What appeared to be clear typographical errors were corrected; any
other mistakes or inconsistencies were retained.
All quotation marks have been retained as they appear in the original
publication.
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
The Table of Contents erroneously indicated that Chapter XII starts on
page 255, this was corrected.
End of Project Gutenberg's After Prison - What?, by Maud Ballington Booth