Incidents in My Prison Work.
LETTER FROM THE PRISONERS AT CHESTER, ILL.
Southern Illinois Penitentiary,
Menard, Ill., Nov. 27, 1902.
Dear Mother:
We are writing you from within these dark grim walls. Although we
are condemned as the outcasts of society and separated from
friends and loved ones and continually laboring under great
mental strain and worry, still there is no pain or sorrow great
enough to destroy our happiness in our thoughts of you. Your love
and thoughtfulness for us and our spiritual welfare is a
priceless jewel that all the wealth of the world cannot buy nor
sorrow rob us of. No, never. Although the world has condemned and
despised us, but we know that there is one--if only one--that
loves even the outcasts.
Several of your boys have gone from here since you were among us.
Some have crossed to the beyond; others to blessed freedom. Still
a greater number are left here with fondest recollections of all
you have done for us, which is one of the greatest among our
causes for thanksgiving. It is hardly necessary to say, Remember
us. We all remain your sons until death.
YOUR BOYS OF CHESTER, ILLINOIS.
An extract from a report of the Chaplain of the Southern Illinois
Penitentiary will be of interest:
Chester, Ill.
To the Honorable Board of Commissioners,
Chester, Ill.
Gentlemen:
I take pleasure in making a report of my first year's work as
Chaplain.
The regular chapel services have been held every Sunday at 9:40
a. m. The chapel has been well filled at all regular services and
crowded on special occasions. The attendance at religious
services is voluntary, but most prisoners consider it a privilege
to attend.
The words of encouragement I have received from prisoners in
conversation and by letter make me feel that good is being
accomplished. More than one hundred men have given me their names
as Christians or seekers of religion.
I attend all calls made by the prisoners during the week and
visit one cell house each Sunday evening.
My visits are so planned that I see each prisoner in his cell at
least twice a month and give him a chance to make his requests
known.
The men have been urged to study the Bible and have been
furnished tracts and other helps in Bible study. I have been
astonished in making my rounds to find so many men reading the
Bible. One hundred and fifty new Bibles have been purchased
during the year. Six hundred Sunday-school quarterlies have been
furnished the prisoners each quarter during the year and they
have been urged to keep in touch with the outside world by
studying these lessons. The Sunday-school lesson is read every
Sunday as a scripture lesson and comments are made upon it.
The sick in the hospital and the shut-in prisoners in the cell
houses are visited daily and are supplied with books and papers.
Some of them read a book each day.
The Murphy Temperance Pledge has been furnished and more than
five hundred prisoners have signed the pledge. If the saloons
could be closed out poor-houses, jails and prisons would soon be
almost empty.
Respectfully submitted,
W. N. RUTLEDGE, Chaplain.
SUICIDE OF A PRISONER.
While on my way to the State Prison at Chester, Illinois, in the year
1888 (if I remember rightly) I was especially impressed by the sad
appearance of a fellow-passenger, a mother, accompanied by three
children. I was sure that she was in deep trouble. I said to my
helper, "Mary, that woman is going to the Penitentiary." She said,
"How do you know?" I answered. "I feel sure of it and I will convince
you that I am right."
Having entered into conversation with the woman, I assisted her as I
found opportunity in caring for her children. When I asked her where
she was going, she said, "I am going to Chester." I said, "I, too, am
going to Chester and will gladly assist you in getting off with the
children."
At the station we parted, but the next morning, which was the Sabbath,
as I passed through the guard-room of the State Prison I saw this
woman talking to her husband, who was a prisoner. She sat beside him
and he was holding one of the children and she had another in her
arms. The third was playing near by. All were too young to know of the
sorrow that had come to their home, or the shame that had fallen upon
them. They were with papa and mamma and felt safe and happy. Alas! how
little they knew how soon they were to be left fatherless!
I passed on and was busy during the entire day for I had the liberty
of the prison and the privilege of working among the prisoners. So
busy was I that for the time being I had lost sight of that poor wife
and mother, but only the next morning the Chaplain called for me and
said, "Sister Wheaton, I have oh, such a sad task before me this
morning! I wish you would do it for me." I said, "Chaplain, I will
try. I am willing to do anything that I can to help you." And then he
said, "Do you remember the man and woman you saw yesterday in the
guard-room talking?" I said, "Yes; I remember them well; I met the
woman on the train on my way here." He replied, "Well, that man was so
heart-broken at the thought of parting with his wife and children that
he asked her to promise him that if he should die in the prison she
would have him brought home for burial. She promised him she would do
so and last night that poor man committed suicide in his cell and now
someone must go and tell that woman of her husband's death." I said,
"Chaplain, that is a hard thing to do, but I will try." He said, "I
wish you would,--being a woman you can comfort her better than I
could." Well, I went along the hall until I came to the door of the
room she occupied, for, she too, as well as myself, was a guest of the
kind warden's wife. I opened the door softly and looked in. In memory
I can see her yet as she sat with one child in her lap while the other
two little ones were playing around her knee. She was softly singing
some old country tune. As I looked my heart failed me. I turned away
in sorrow and returned to the Chaplain and said, "Chaplain, I cannot
do it. I cannot break that poor woman's heart. I just can't tell her,"
and he said, "Then I will have to do it. Someone must tell her," and
so he broke the message as best he could. Never will I forget the
anguish of that poor woman's heart as she wept out her grief and
suffering! I tried to comfort her as best I could. I took the same
train with her as she started for home with her husband's body in the
baggage coach ahead. As best I could I ministered to her and those
poor helpless children as long as our journey carried us over the same
road and when I changed cars I tried to utter some words of comfort,
but oh, friends, what could I say, what could I do? Only the sympathy
of the loving Savior could reach her case and I left her, never to
meet her again on this side, but oh, may we not hope that in some way
God found a way to have mercy upon that poor, misjudged man and that
those loved ones may meet again where no mistakes will be made by
judge or jury? For many believed that poor man to be innocent of the
crime with which he was charged. If I remember rightly a barn had been
burned and he had been accused of setting it on fire and had been
convicted through purely circumstantial evidence. Brokenhearted over
his disgrace and the thought of again being separated from wife and
children, the poor man made a rope of the bed-clothing in his cell and
used it to take his own life.
"I HAVE NO FRIENDS."
On the 4th of July, 1903, I was in the Ohio Penitentiary at Columbus.
Officers and chaplain were kind, as usual. After holding services in
the hospital, I held service with the men under death sentence; then
went to the prison-yard where all the others were having a holiday.
There the Chaplain assisted Sister Taylor and myself to hold services
in the open air. Many seemed glad to get the message of love in song
and prayer and preaching and many came to shake hands with us, while
singing the closing hymn.
One poor old man, a foreigner, handed me a little package about as
large as a walnut. The paper was soiled from contact with his hand
that warm day. The poor man in tears said, "Good-bye," and I forgot
all about the little package till on the train that night going east,
where I found it in my pocket and found inside a silk handkerchief and
a 25 cent silver piece. On the paper was written his name and number
and these words, "I have no friends." I wept over that small token of
love as I do not often weep over a gift. I have that little
handkerchief safe. It seems sacred to me. How I felt repaid for my
hard day's toil.
That night while I was holding services on the train the conductor
said, "Mother, I don't see how you stand so much hardship;" I said,
"Conductor, I had even forgotten that I had had neither dinner or
supper today."
I think I know something of what Jesus meant when He said to His
disciples after ministering to a needy soul, "I have meat to eat that
ye know not of."
Chaplain Starr in one of the following letters refers to the open air
service on July 4th; also to some of the men under death sentence with
whom I had labored. The Indian woman to whose death and burial he
refers is the same one who is mentioned in the letters of W. H. M. in
another place.
Columbus, Ohio, July 11, 1903.
Mrs. Elizabeth R. Wheaton.
My Dear Sister: Your letter received this morning was a very
pleasant surprise. We have now an additional man in the Annex.
There are three men sentenced to electrocution in September and
October. What change may come we do not know. I gave them your
letter; they will read it over by themselves, and the tracts
also. They still say that your visit with them on the Fourth of
July did them much good. I have also delivered your letter to D.,
and with it a letter from myself, giving him encouragement and
offering to render him any friendly assistance. The old Indian
woman, Elsie J., whom I think you have several times seen in the
female prison, died on the 9th, and we gave her a Christian
burial yesterday. She was converted and baptized some time ago. I
am glad that you are preserved and sustained in your great work
as prison evangelist. If D., and N., and W. write to you I will
forward the letters to your address. With kind wishes and
regards, I am,
Your brother,
D. J. STARR, Chaplain, O. P.
Your talk in the yard on the Fourth of July did good.
* * * * *
Columbus, Ohio, Sept. 26, 1903.
Dear Sister: Your recent postal came duly to hand. I received
your letter in July from the South and wrote you a reply, but
have kept it until the present time, not knowing where to mail it
so it would reach you. I will now send it in this letter, so that
you will see that I have not forgotten you and answered your
letter at the time. You inquire concerning the men in the Annex;
we have now six men in the Annex. One of them has been granted a
new trial and some others are expecting to get new trials. They
do not take any great interest in religion, but yet they read the
Bible some and talk about it. I will tell them of your interest
in them and assure them that they are not forgotten in your
prayers.
Sincerely yours,
D. J. STARR, Chaplain, O. P.
* * * * *
Ohio Penitentiary, Feb. 22, 1904.
Mrs. Elizabeth R. Wheaton.
Dear Sister: I have just received your letter from Washington, D.
C., inquiring about the men in our prison death cell.
There are ten there now and two have been taken out for new
trials. If these are sent back we shall have twelve. The largest
number, until this list, ever in the Annex was nine.
Murders, as well as other crimes of violence to person and
property, are on the increase and society is trying to protect
its life--without much security, so far.
Perhaps three of the men are Scripturally penitent, three others
interested and four indifferent to religion--so far as we can
see. The men have Bibles, religious song books and papers,
library books and religious letters from relatives. They are not
allowed to correspond without especially good reasons for permits
to do so. I hold a little meeting and Bible study with those who
care for it almost daily at 2 p. m., at which time you might help
us with your prayers.
Sentiment is not salvation. The trouble, both in the prison and
out of it, is, men will not seek after God. Yes, I am busy and
ought to be busy about my Master's business, and so are you.
With best wishes, I am,
Respectfully yours,
D. J. STARR, Chaplain.
WAY OPENED IN ANSWER TO PRAYER.
I had for many years prayed for an opportunity to preach in one of the
largest state prisons. Again and again I had been refused by both the
warden and chaplain. But at last through a new governor of the state I
was permitted to enter this prison for religious services.
Calling at the office of the governor and asking permission to go to
the prison and assist in the services, he said, "Certainly, we shall
be glad to have you. There will be no difficulty, as we have new
officers. You can preach in the prison." Before I had left the
Governor's private office the warden of the prison being present spoke
and said, "Certainly, they would be very glad to have you take part
with them." I asked if I should not see the chaplain, but the warden
said he would be all right, and be pleased. But I insisted that it was
only courtesy to see the chaplain. And asking the governor to please
write a note to him, he did so and remarked that the state carriage
was waiting at the door and I should be driven to the chaplain's
house.
Arriving at his home I was met by his little daughter who carried my
card to her father and he soon came into the room asking what I
wanted. "I should like, if you please, to take part with you in the
services at the prison chapel tomorrow (Sunday) as I have been some
years in prison work," I replied. "No indeed," he answered, "I cannot
allow a woman to speak in my meetings. I will never permit any woman
to take my pulpit." I made no reply, but that the state carriage was
waiting for me and I must go, but said to him, "Here is a letter from
the governor. Will you kindly look at it before I leave?" He took the
message and noting its contents he changed color and seemed confused;
saying, "I never did allow a woman to speak in my meetings. But seeing
the governor's request and your years of experience, I will allow you
to come in the morning and conduct the women's meetings." The
governor's letter read as follows:
Executive Department, Oct. 24, 1891.
Dr. O. W. G.,
Chaplain of Penitentiary.
Dear Sir:
The bearer, Mrs. E. R. Wheaton, is a prison evangelist of
national reputation and experience, who brings letters of strong
recommendation from wardens of the prisons she has visited, and I
commend her to your kind consideration. She has expressed a
willingness, if not a desire, to participate in your services
tomorrow afternoon in the chapel and I trust you will afford her
every facility for so doing.
Respectfully,
DAVID R. FRANCES.
A WOMAN CONVERTED AND HEALED.
I went praying for an outpouring of the Holy Spirit. While I was
speaking I was impressed to step down the aisle and lay my hand upon
the head of a vicious looking colored woman. I afterward learned that
she was a life time prisoner and a very dangerous woman. Instantly the
power of God fell upon her and she was wonderfully converted then and
there, and to the best of my knowledge is still true to God. The other
women seeing this, their leader in sin (for so she was) so changed,
were subdued and convicted of their sins. The meeting closed with
victory for God. The chaplain was convinced and said, "You have won
the worst woman in the prison. You have the hearts of all the
prisoners now, for her influence is great. You come and preach to the
men this afternoon. I am convinced." Years have come and gone.
Governors, wardens and chaplains have been changed; but God does not
change, and the doors of that prison are still open to me, and God
always blesses every service.
Some years later upon visiting this prison again we found this poor
colored woman much afflicted and walking on crutches. The sister with
me and I prayed for her, and she was instantly healed, throwing her
crutches aside at once. The matron then gave her the key to go down
and unlock the outside door for us, having so much confidence in her.
She received a pardon from the governor later.
Another woman in the same prison was also prayed for and was instantly
healed by the Lord, of a large tumor, and ran and praised God for what
He had done for her.
A CHANGE WROUGHT.
For some years another prison was closed to me. Why, I never knew. I
prayed that the doors of that prison might be opened to me. When the
Lord sent me back there I found such a change as I had never before
witnessed in the same length of time. There was a good Christian
chaplain, one of the best of wardens, and good deputies. Every
prisoner was in an improved state of mind and morals, and all in
harmony and glad to obey the rules of the prison. I was treated with
courtesy and kindness, and was given all the time in the services, and
was entertained. When I left I was conveyed to the depot with ladies
as escorts, and a "trusty" as driver. Such are the wonderful workings
of God through faith and prayer. The meetings in this state prison
were owned and blessed of the Lord. The Holy Spirit led and all seemed
to enjoy and appreciate them. The chaplain said, "How much good was
accomplished!" All were united in harmony and God was glorified.
A CHAPLAIN IN MY AUDIENCE.
At another time, arriving at a certain city where there was a state's
prison, I met in the depot a young lady wearing a Salvation Army
bonnet. She was crying at not being met by friends as she had
expected, and I asked her to go with me. She gladly did so and I
proceeded to the prison to ask permission to hold services for the
prisoners on the next day which would be the Sabbath. Obtaining the
consent of the chaplain I waited till the time for the service on
Sabbath morning and returned. The guard refusing to admit me, I sent
for the chaplain. When he came he also refused me, saying he could not
permit me to hold the service, as he thought I belonged to the
Salvation Army. A friend suggested that I should go to the Governor at
his residence, saying that he was a kind man. I did so, and was very
kindly received. Having listened to my request he said, "Yes, you may
have your meeting in the prison,"--he having heard of my work before.
He wrote a card for me to carry with me, and I took it and returned to
the prison. The preacher and the Sisters of Charity had all gone to
the women's department. The men were out in the large yard. I called,
"Boys, come on, we are going to have a meeting." How they hurried pell
mell to the chapel! And such a meeting! The power of God fell. Just
then the chaplain entered, much surprised of course, and I said,
"Chaplain, I am permitted through the kindness of the Governor to hold
this service. Will you please be seated?" Had a most glorious meeting,
closing with results altogether satisfactory to the chaplain.
IMPRESSED TO TARRY.
While holding a meeting in a certain city, I was impressed day after
day to tarry. I did not know why. I wanted to go, but still the Lord
impressed me to wait. One evening a cry was heard, "A man is shot."
Immediately the Spirit impressed me, "That is what I detained you here
for." I rushed out into the night, and inquired where the man had been
carried. They told me to the hotel. I went immediately, got admittance
to his room and found him in a dying condition, with no one that knew
God to pray for him. And there by the bedside of the dying man, some
mother's boy,--dying without God and without hope in the world,--I
tried to point him to the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the
world, hoping that the Lord would give him a chance at the eleventh
hour to seek salvation, and I believe God heard my prayer for this
soul.
ENCOURAGEMENT BY THE WAY.
In the Pacific Garden Mission in Chicago one night, after addressing
the audience and singing the Gospel to the people, I gave an
invitation to all who desired to lead a new life and serve the Lord to
come forward and publicly confess Christ and repent of their sins.
Instantly a fine looking young man rose in the rear of the hall,
hurried to the front and grasped my hand, saying that he saw me three
weeks before in the Deer Lodge, Montana, State Prison. He said that
three days before, he was released and had come to Chicago, and
passing along the street he heard me singing a favorite hymn at the
open air meeting before services in the hall, and was attracted in.
With hand raised, he promised to be a Christian and live for God and
meet me in Heaven. He said he had my Bible that I gave to the matron
of the prison, who, when he was leaving, gave it to him. "Cast thy
bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days." Many
others gave themselves to the Lord that night but this was one of my
prison boys, and I was his mother, in that sense, as my life has been
consecrated to God for that special line of work.
The day following, on my way east, I was compelled to stay over night
at a way station where we were to change cars. As I left the train I
heard, as usual, the call of cab-men but passed on into the waiting
room. Several followed me, but one took me by the hand and addressing
me familiarly said, "Get into my cab, mother, it is all right; I'll
take you where you wish to go." Mother Prindle, who was with me said,
"Do you know Mother Wheaton?" He replied, "I have read about her,"
but the look in his kind eyes told me it was one of my boys from
prison. He was now settled in life, a good man, with a wife and two
children. He escorted us to the jail where I desired to hold services,
then to the home of a minister, and from there to our lodging house.
I bless God, and will through all eternity, that the dear Lord ever
called me to work in the prisons as well as in other lines of
Christian work. There are many all over this land now serving God,
leading good, honest lives, a blessing to their country and an honor
to God's cause, who were found in prisons and slums, discouraged and
having given up all hope of ever being anything but miserable and
wretched. They are now serving the blessed Christ who came to seek and
to save that which was lost, and destroy the works of the devil, not
willing that any should perish, but rather that all should be saved. O
reader, many are the lives we might rescue from the ranks of the enemy
if we were more in earnest and lived in close touch with God, and more
under the power and inspiration of the Holy Spirit.
Once in a meeting I was attending, the minister in charge took another
young preacher by the hand, and said: "I want you to preach for us."
The one addressed came to the front of the platform and said: "Yes, I
will; but first I want to say I was once in an insane prison, an awful
place. No one will ever know all we had to suffer there. I was insane
through drink--no one could help me. I was sin-hardened and
hard-hearted, but this Mother (pointing to myself) came to our
criminal prison and sang and prayed and talked to us, and was kind to
us, and my heart was melted, and I wept--something I could not, would
not do until then. Her kindness won me, and I was saved, truly
sanctified, and I have been preaching the Gospel for four years."
A CASE OF CRUEL NEGLECT.
At the best, life in prison is hard. How much worse when cruelty and
neglect are added to the necessary restrictions that are placed upon
those in confinement. I knew of one young colored man in prison in the
south who was compelled to endure the winter weather without proper
clothing or covering. His one blanket was so short that his feet were
so badly frozen they had to be amputated. Think you that such things
as these do not cry to God for vengeance?
ANOTHER SUICIDE.
Well do I remember a promising young man, who, when I was preaching in
a prison in a southern state, began trembling and ran back into his
cell and called for an officer to bring me to him. I found that he was
quite weak from a bullet wound he had received in a drunken row in a
saloon, he having killed a man in the fight. He was a young man with
bright prospects before him, but bad company and a love for strong
drink had wrought his ruin. He told me of his uncle who was a
minister, a prominent evangelist. I was much surprised that a nephew
of so popular a minister should be in state's prison for such an awful
crime, crushed with shame and remorse. Could it be possible? His
mother was a rich lady.
This young man either because of his wealth and position, or because
of his good conduct in prison, or both, was given privileges and often
sent outside the prison grounds. Often I plead with him to come to
Christ. But one day the old demon of drink had overcome him and having
secretly obtained some liquor, while at a game of cards he shot
himself. Let us throw the mantle of charity over that blighted life,
and leave him in the hands of a just God. Who will be willing to
answer at the bar of God for that soul? "Woe unto him that giveth his
neighbor drink, that puttest thy bottle to him and makest him drunken
also."--Hab. 2:15. "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord."
JUST OUT OF PRISON.
"O the wrongs that we may righten,
O the skies that we may brighten,
O the hearts that we may lighten--
Helping just a little!"
While traveling on the train one day, the brakeman said to me: "There
is an ex-convict in the smoking-car." "All right, I will go in and see
him," I said. I went and took him by the hand as he sat alone in the
rear seat of the car, sad and dejected, with no money, no friends, no
home. His mother had died while he was incarcerated in prison; home
broken up, nowhere to go. How glad I was to take this poor soul upon
my heart, and intercede for him in silent prayer; and then have him
come into the other coach and share my lunch. At parting he promised
me he would live a temperate life, and serve God the best he knew. I
believe the dear Lord had me travel on that train to meet that poor
unfortunate and help and strengthen his faith in Christianity, by
showing him attention outside as well as inside the prison walls. How
often a soul is saved from a downfall by a word in season; a kind
hand-clasp, a "God bless you; cheer up, look up, better days are
coming," etc. When hope is well-nigh gone, and friends have forsaken,
and all has failed; yet we can always tell such that "God never
fails."
DYING IN PRISON.
One day as I was alone in a gloomy prison a poor boy called to me and
said, "Write to my mother, but don't tell her where you found me.
Please don't tell her, for it would kill her. She never could live and
know her boy was in prison." On the dirty floor, lying on a pile of
still dirtier straw I found this poor prison boy dying. I fell on my
knees and poured out my heart to God in his behalf.
"That head had been pillowed on tenderest breast,
That form had been wept o'er, those lips had been pressed,
That soul had been prayed for in tones sweet and mild;
For her sake deal gently with some mother's child."
Do not tell me that it does not pay to labor and pray with these dear
lost ones. For if I can be the means of rescuing but one soul from
eternal punishment, thank God, it pays me.
WILL IT PAY?
Some gentlemen were once looking at a large building erected for
newsboys, that they might be brought under religious and refining
influences. One of the spectators asked a large contributor to the
benevolent institution this question: "Now you are erecting this
building at a cost of many thousands of dollars, and I admire your
motives, but suppose that after all this great expense only one boy
was saved here--would you still think it paid for time, labor and
money expended?" The man answered quickly and earnestly, "Yes, sir; if
it was my boy." The most precious thing in the sight of God is a soul.
For the redemption of every soul on earth was paid the precious blood
of the Lamb of God. Count it not then a light thing in His sight for
one to be saved or lost. For "There is joy in the presence of the
angels of God over one sinner that repenteth--more than over ninety
and nine just persons who need no repentance." Hundreds have been
saved under my observation and instrumentality both inside and outside
of prison walls, and my motto has been, "Throw out the lifeline across
the dark wave."
SAVED AND PREACHING THE GOSPEL.
Upon a warm July day, starting to walk out from Bismarck, N. D., to
what I took to be the state's prison, but which proved to be a large
water reservoir, being overcome by the heat I fell, and crawling to a
shade I lay down with my Bible under my head. After a time I saw some
distance away some persons driving in an open hack and signaled to
them till they saw me and came to me. They drove me to the home of the
warden of the prison where I was kindly received by the warden's wife
and made comfortable. Late that night I held service in the prison
corridors. This was in 1885, and in 1901 I was leading a meeting in a
mission in Portland, Oregon, and asked all who had something special
for which to praise the Lord to speak. A brother arose and said:
"I want to thank the Lord tonight for the privilege of hearing
'Mother' Wheaton preach outside of prison walls. I have heard her
in many a prison. Years ago, one night at 9 o'clock, when all the
prisoners had been locked in their cells, the officers unlocked
the doors to let this sister sing some hymns and hold services in
the corridors. One hymn that especially touched my heart was
'Throw out the life line.' I was an opium fiend, a morphine
fiend, a whisky fiend, and an all around bad man, and was ready
to despair. But God touched my heart and saved me and called me
to the ministry. At this time I was with my other sins a deserter
from the United States army. When my time expired I went and
gave myself up and was sentenced to five years more in prison.
But God had mercy on me and in seven months I was pardoned out.
Since that time I have lived an honest life, and for eight years
have preached the gospel."
This man was married to a Christian woman and has done much to rescue
men from the pit from which he had been taken, and is still preaching.
IN SOLITARY CONFINEMENT.
One Sunday I sang perhaps thirty hymns and preached seven times to
prisoners in solitary confinement, where I dare not see them or clasp
their hands as I do in other prisons. There are hundreds there, and as
I sang in all the prison wards or corridors many different hymns, the
dear souls cheered and responded with their clear voices as best they
could to show their sincere appreciation of my efforts to brighten
their lonely prison life. Each was "some mother's boy." Reader, is
there not a sympathetic chord in your heart for these poor
unfortunates?
CRAPE ON THE DOOR.
I once felt impressed to go to a certain prison and hold services.
Arriving at the place early in the morning, I thought I would go to
the prison first before I would telephone for a cousin who often
helped me in the singing. When I arrived at the prison, the chaplain
said, "Mother Wheaton, the Lord sent you to help me. To-day I have a
funeral service of a prisoner, something we have never had at this
prison." I did not telephone then for my cousin, as the services were
arranged. I worked all day in the prison, holding services with both
men and women prisoners, visited the hospital, and went to the city
jail at 5 p. m. and held services, and then went to my relative's home
and was greatly shocked to find crape hanging on the door. I found my
cousin cold in death. Relatives asked me, "Who told you?" I said, "God
impressed me to come at this time." And I went with them to the grave
of my dear cousin, and kneeling beside the open grave, I promised to
faithfully do God's holy will, and meet the departed one in Heaven.
IN A POLICE STATION.
In 1903, while I was in San Francisco, I was impressed to go to the
police station about nine o'clock one night. I found, on arriving, an
ambulance bringing in prisoners, among them a woman who was arrested
for drunkenness. I talked and prayed with her. Hearing a noise like
one in distress, I walked on through the corridors and I found a young
soldier who was badly wounded in one eye and the head. He was standing
alone in his cell in great pain. The bandage had been torn off, and
the blood was running down his face, though his wounds had evidently
been dressed by a physician before coming there. He was crying from
the pain, and was under the influence of drink. I wiped the blood off
his face, and put the bandage on his eye again. Then I knelt in prayer
with him. I left the city on an early train, and never saw him again,
but I believe God heard and answered my prayer for his salvation.
BURNED IN HIS CELL.
I went into one of our western cities to hold services at the jail. On
the way from the depot I stopped at a store, where a young clerk told
me of a horrible crime that had been committed in the jail. That the
prisoners had been trying to make their escape, and one young prisoner
had revealed the plot to the jailer, and thus saved his life. The
prison wall had been "worked" in a cunning manner, and the prisoners
were about to escape, when this poor boy informed the jailer of what
was being done. The other three prisoners were so enraged that they
threw coal oil over the boy, set fire to his clothing, and he was
burned alive in the cell. I was grieved at hearing this, and felt that
I could see them punished severely. They were in an underground prison
for safe-keeping until the wall could be repaired. The officers were
afraid to let me go in, but I told them I was not afraid, and went
down the stairs ahead of the officers. I saw only one dim candle
burning, and called for a light. A lamp was brought, and I went boldly
into the presence of those criminals. I sat down and thought of the
awfulness of it all. So, as I wept, I sang "Some Mother's Boy," and
they cried like their hearts were breaking. I went over to them, where
they were sitting together on an old bunk, and we cried together. They
were humble and convicted, and it was love that did it all--God's love
which showed them that though their sins were as scarlet, they shall
be white as snow, though red like crimson they shall be as wool. God
heard prayer for them and I trust they were forgiven.
THE INNOCENT IN BONDS.
In a certain state prison the officer called my attention to a man and
said, "That man is innocent of the crime he was sentenced for." "Then
why do you keep him here?" I asked. "Because he serves for his friend,
willingly allowing the guilt to be placed upon himself rather than see
this friend who was really guilty suffer." On leaving the prison I
came upon this man with an officer on the train, and had the pleasure
of talking to the man and hearing his story. I referred him to Psalms
15:1, 2, 4. "Lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle? Who shall dwell
in thy holy hill? He that walketh uprightly and worketh righteousness,
and speaketh the truth in his heart. He that sweareth to his own
hurt, and changeth not." He was being taken to another court for
trial.
CONFESSED HER GUILT.
A woman in a prison was convicted of sin under my preaching, and sent
for me to come to her cell, where she gave me such an account of her
crimes that I was shocked, and yet was powerless to liberate an
innocent man that she said was in ---- state's prison for a crime she
committed. She asked me to go and tell him for her that she was the
guilty one, and try to have him freed, but wanted the matter kept
secret. Now that she was under conviction of her sins, she could not
rest. I went to the state prison she named, found the man, and told
him her story. His agony was pitiful to behold. He said, "O how I
loved my wife and baby. I am an innocent man. How can I live my
sentence out in this way? Nothing to live for." Such bitterness as he
held toward that wicked woman, for her crime and duplicity! I left him
in an agony of grief. And yet there are so many who are serving as
unjustly for others' crimes! This woman had killed the wife thinking
she herself would then get the husband.
UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH.
Going into the presence of two condemned men on our national holiday,
the chaplain remarked, "I wish you could reach these men's hearts. You
have often helped others in this prison who were under death
sentence." I prayed in silence for wisdom, and as I walked into their
presence, I said, "I have come to sing to you and have a little visit
with you, but if you prefer to be alone, I will go away." They said
they would be glad to have me stay. I sang several songs, and before
I had spoken of religion, I was made glad to see tears in their eyes,
and then we knelt in prayer, and I prayed God to pardon their sins and
make them pure in His sight.
I do not believe in capital punishment. Lord hasten the day when the
crime of putting men to death legally shall be done away with. It does
not stop crime. I thank God that one noble warden gave up his
honorable position and salary, rather than take the lives of any more
men. I wish God would raise up men all over our land who in like
manner would be brave enough to refuse to sacrifice human lives
because the law licenses them to do so. When I see wicked men so
anxious to see poor, helpless men executed, I think of that
authoritative utterance, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the
Lord." Jesus said, "He that hateth his brother is a murderer." There
is a day of reckoning coming.
THE RELIGION MOTHER HAD.
Many times prisoners have said to me when speaking to them, "That's
the kind of religion mother had. You remind me of my own dear old
mother;" and many, even statesmen, and the attendants in the capitol,
and in the President's mansion, have said to me with uncovered heads,
and tears in their eyes, "That is the kind of religion mother had. I
wish I was as good as she was." I find the crying need to-day in all
stations of life; from the palace to the dungeon, is real, genuine,
heartfelt, common-sense salvation, not to be cranks and fanatics, not
to be one-sided or half-way professors of religion; but to have the
Holy Ghost in our hearts and lives, and a burning desire to help every
one into the Kingdom of Heaven. Being "all things to all men" that we
might win some wandering souls to Christ.
O the joy of knowing that you are doing just what God wants you to
do--winning souls for His Kingdom, from all walks of life; often in
houses of ill-fame souls are truly saved and reformed. Often in
saloons men and women are impressed by the straightforward message of
love brought them. You say, "No use to try." O thou of little faith,
wherefore did'st thou doubt? I have much encouragement among the
criminal classes, for they are despised and rejected by earthly
friends.
I might give many more instances, but this is probably sufficient. Let
no one think for a moment that these poor unfortunates have no tender
feeling, no remorse because of sin. They see their shame and feel the
separation from home and loved ones. There must be places to confine
criminals and protect the lives and property of other people, but we
must remember that behind all the guilt there are precious souls that
live through all eternity.
Sin is treacherous, the human heart deceitful above all things and
desperately wicked; perhaps under unfavorable conditions the heart of
the most moral man or woman may generate the evil of the human nature
and cause it to show its corruption in crime. All that saves some
people now from the felon's cell, or gambler's hell, is that they hold
the propensity of their corrupt hearts in with bit and bridle. And
thousands tread the earth in freedom, who, if justice could find them
out and fasten their guilt upon them, would be in the prison stripes
and iron cells. So be not so ready to cry "Crucify him!" "Stone her!"
until you can look into your own heart and see that it is pure and
clean.
CAPITAL PUNISHMENT.
Thank God! that I have lived to see the time
When the great truth begins at last to find
An utterance from the deep heart of mankind,
Earnest and clear, that ALL REVENGE IS CRIME!
That man is holier than a creed--that all
Restraint upon him must consult his good,
Hope's sunshine linger on his prison wall,
And Love look in upon his solitude.
The beautiful lesson which our Saviour taught
Through long, dark centuries its way hath wrought
Into the common mind and popular thought;
And words, to which by Galilee's lake shore,
The humble fishers listened with hushed oar,
Have found an echo in the general heart,
And of the public faith become a living part.
* * * * * * *
No more the ghastly sacrifices smoke
Through the green arches of the Druid's oak;
And ye of milder faith, with your high claim
Of prophet-utterance in the Holiest name,
Will ye become the Druids of _our_ time!
Set up your scaffold-altars in our land,
And, consecrators of Law's darkest crime,
Urge to its loathsome work the hangman's hand?
Beware--lest human nature, roused at last,
From its peeled shoulder your encumbrance cast,
And, sick to loathing of your cry for blood,
Rank ye with those who led their victims round
The Celt's red altar and the Indian's mound,
Abhorred of Earth and Heaven--a pagan brotherhood!
--JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF CHAPEL-DINING APARTMENT AND ROW OF CELLS,
CHESTER, ILL.]