Work in Stockades and Prison Camps--Continued.
I once had a novel experience in a prison lumber camp. I was being
entertained at the home of the superintendent of the camp and was to
hold service with the prisoners at twilight. The superintendent came
to the parlor and asked if I was ready for the service. We had not far
to go, but I was unable to walk the distance; so a carriage, drawn by
some of the prisoners, had been brought to the gate for me. I answered
that I was ready, but as I was waiting he again asked if I was ready
and why I was waiting. I replied that I was waiting for the horses. He
answered, "You come on, the horses will be all right." I had learned
to obey the officers, so followed on down through the beautiful yard
of flowers and reluctantly stepped into the carriage. Instantly four
prisoners took hold of the carriage and we were off. The men seemed
glad to assist me and I was so thankful to them. God bless them! I do
not think a queen with all her body-guard could have felt more secure
or have been more appreciated, than I, there surrounded by my dear
prison boys. After the service I was conveyed in the same manner back
to the home of the superintendent.
At another time, desiring to visit a certain prison camp, I found
there was no way to reach it but to ride on a flat car with the men
going from their work. I was glad to go with them and have a chance to
speak a word of kindness and sing some hymns that might cheer them on
the way.
In the pineries of Florida the stockade prisoners are engaged in
taking the sap from the pine trees. The camps are located some miles
apart, and in going from one to another the forests are so dense that
we were compelled to go in a two-wheeled donkey-cart. We encountered
great dangers, there being many poisonous reptiles and alligators in
the lakes and rivers which we had to pass.
ASSISTING A COLORED MINISTER.
I arrived one Sunday morning at a stockade where hundreds of men and
some women were kept. I went to the keeper, or captain, as he was
called, and asked for the privilege of holding a gospel service with
the prisoners under his charge. He not only refused me, but was
abusive, cursing me and ordering me away. Of course I was much
grieved, as I felt the Lord had sent me there to preach the gospel. I
was greatly surprised that an official should use such language to a
lady, and without provocation. Weeping, I asked if I might sing for
the women prisoners. Again, with oaths, he refused me. But Brother
Frank Joseph, a colored preacher who knew me, was there to hold
religious services by permission of the governor, and he came and
invited me to assist him. Of course the captain could say nothing
against it and I went with him. But when he asked me to conduct the
service I could not at the first sing, preach or pray for weeping, but
I told him I would pray God to give them a kinder officer for I knew
the one they had was a cruel man. God used even my weakness and my
tears to touch their hearts and we had a blessed meeting.
After service I had a chance to talk to the women prisoners. We wept
together and oh how thankful they were that there was one woman who
would try to help them and make their burdens lighter. They told me
how terribly they were treated and said they would be beaten if the
captain knew of their telling me of it. How glad I was to carry the
message of Jesus' love to them in their distress. Before I left they
said they wished they had something to give me, and some gave small
tokens of their regards. It was all they had to give and when they
urged me I accepted them as from the Lord, feeling that He would in
some way reward them and bless their offering as He did the widow's
mite.
THROUGH DANGER ALONE.
Desiring to reach another stockade some miles distant I asked the
captain if he could not supply me with conveyance and a guide, but he
refused. I determined, however, to find the other prison and started
on foot alone. The prison women told me that it was very dangerous
because of fierce dogs and cross cattle in the mountains; but feeling
that God wanted me to go I knew no such thing as fail. After walking
some distance I sank down with exhaustion under a big tree and wept
out my heart to God for guidance, protection and success. I arose
feeling strengthened and comforted and soon came to a farm house and
asked a young man who stood in the garden if he could direct me to the
prison camp. "Yes, come in, lady, you look so tired and faint and my
mother will give you something to eat and we will show you the way,"
was the kind reply I received. I stopped and rested a while but would
neither eat nor drink as I had given myself to fasting and prayer that
my way might be opened for services in the camp to which I was going.
After a long walk we found the stockade and knowing the young man who
was with me, the officers gave their consent for me to hold a service.
After I had been singing and talking to the prisoners a while suddenly
my strength failed me. I had only time to say, "Will you sing?" Then
I saw and heard nothing more. I HAD FALLEN PROSTRATE among those
chained prisoners. When I came to myself I heard singing from inside
the walls, such singing as could only come from truly broken-hearted,
repentant souls. I had been carried outside and the poor prison women
were caring for me. A good old colored sister was holding me close to
her and pleading with God to restore me. I heard her say, "She's a
woman like we is--and she's given her life for us." They were doing
all they knew and were crying around me. I said, "Please carry me back
into the prison." When they had done so I asked, "How many of you
prisoners will kneel with me in prayer and give your hearts to God,
take Him as your Savior and start today for heaven? God loves you,
Jesus died for you! And if you will come to Him and confess your sins
He will save you." Every one knelt before God, and many with prayers
and broken sobs cried out their hearts to Him who is not willing that
any should perish, but that all should have eternal life. I expect to
meet many of them in heaven; for He is able to save to the uttermost
all that will come unto God by Him--and able also to keep them from
falling.
The following day, traveling from this prison to another stockade,
sitting near me in the car was an aged gentleman who on seeing my
Bible asked me where I was going. When I had told him, he asked me the
nature of my work and how the prisoners were treated in these places;
also how I was received by the officials of the prisons generally.
Thinking to only entertain a kind old country gentleman, I told him
many things which I probably should not have been so free to mention
had I known who he was. He asked me many questions about the
stockades. I told him that I had never been so cruelly treated as at
a camp on the previous day. "Where," he inquired, "Who did such a
thing?" In answer to his inquiry I told him who it was. Little did I
know that this was God's way of revealing sin.
A MEETING AT DAY DAWN.
Reaching the small station at the foot of the mountain; we had to take
a box car only large enough for six persons. The old gentleman was one
of the passengers also. Going to the house of the captain at the top
of the mountain (such a lonely place), he thought it impossible to
have a meeting with the men, as he said they were so wicked and
unruly, etc., but finally said I might do so at day-break the next
morning. He was very careful, saying, "These men are so wicked and
cruel that never could a woman stand before them." I wept and prayed
most of the night and cried, "Oh God, can you let me fail now?" In
those early years of my labor I traveled much alone but later I
usually had a sister accompany me, or sometimes a sister and her
husband.
Out in the prison yard at break of day I found hundreds of men all
ready to go down into the coal mines. I wondered how to gain their
attention and make them all hear my voice. I asked to have the men
drawn closer together, as they stood in the prison yard. This being
done, I sang a hymn. Oh how I do praise God for the gift of song! I
forgot my weird surroundings and the rough appearance of the men and
their dangerous looks. I saw them as little boys in the old home far
away and then as human souls, hurrying into the presence of God and I
felt that I stood between them and the Judgment. Conceive, if you can,
how this company must have looked to me, bound in companies of perhaps
fifty in a "gang," to a long strong chain to which was fastened a
number of shorter chains; these short chains being fastened to the
men's ankles.
God enabled me to deliver His message and eternity alone will reveal
the results of the seed scattered there that morning. After shaking
hands with the men I was introduced to the old gentleman whom I had
met on the train the day before. To my surprise he proved to be the
President of the Board of Prison Inspectors of the state. I saw him no
more after that time, but a year later I visited the prison of which I
had told him. I saw at the depot a young colored man nicely dressed,
but I knew by his clothes that he was one of the prison boys. He had
come to get the morning paper for the warden. I walked with him to the
prison, and on the way asked him how they all were at the camp. "All
so nicely, thank you," he replied. "Who is your captain now?" I asked.
"Has there been any change since I was here last year?" "O yes, ma'am,
soon after you was here ma'am, just as soon as Massa (meaning the
President of the Board) could find a good man to take de place ob de
ole captun what treated de men so bad and 'bused you so, he sent him
away." "Oh, is that so?" I said. "Yes, an' we's got a good time now to
what we had befo' God sent you heah ma'am. He certainly did send you
heah ma'am dat time." So I had only suffered these indignities that
these abused ones might have better officers and treatment. The new
captain received me very kindly and giving me a seat said my breakfast
would be ready as soon as the prison women could prepare it for me.
Well, surely the Lord had been at work. Such a change all around! We
had a grand meeting and much good was accomplished, the captain
furnished a buggy to take me to the next camp and bring me back to the
depot.
HELPING TO BURY A PRISONER.
After visiting the hospital department of a stockade where I had never
been before, I saw the guards nailing up a long, apparently heavy,
box. I said to them, "What have you in that box?" One replied, "A
man--a dead man." Soon after I heard an officer say to a guard, "Send
five prisoners to go with me to bury that box." I arose from where I
had been praying, and hurried out and asked permission to accompany
the men with the box, but was refused--the officer saying they had no
guard to spare to assist me up the mountain side. "Oh, just please let
me go," I said. "I do not need any one to help me to climb the
mountain. Please, won't you let me go?" He then consented, and I did
not wait for either bonnet or help; but with my shawl over my head I
hurried out after the men bearing the corpse. On we went up the
mountain side, until we came to a very steep place, and the poor weak
prisoners began to tremble under the heavy burden, along in front of
the guard who had his gun in hand. I knew if one should fall, the
guard might suppose he was trying to escape from him, and fire at him
and kill him.
I took up a stick in my left hand to steady myself and placing my
right arm under the end of the box added my strength to that of the
tired men. When we reached the summit of the mountain we found the
grave already dug, but it was much too short for the box. I was almost
exhausted and came near falling. The grave being too short, they were
going to leave the corpse until morning and then return and bury it.
But I said, "Boys, you dig the grave longer and I will sing for you
while you work." I sang an old time hymn, and they lowered the box, by
pounding and jumping upon it and then hurriedly shoveled in the dirt.
Then I said, "Let us pray." And there in that dreary place I prayed
for the poor men who had performed this sad rite and for the guard. I
forgot my surroundings. I thought only of "SOME MOTHER'S BOY," who
perhaps died with a broken heart without a mother's care, now lying in
an unknown grave far away from home. Perhaps she had prayed for him
and God had sent me to pray over the lonely grave. There we left him
where all his mistakes should be forgotten. He may have sought and
found pardon in God. Who can tell? The stars were now shining and the
stillness filled me with awe. The men hurried down the mountain side
to the prison, leaving me behind in the dim starlight. I found my way
to the stockade, but found the door locked and with great difficulty I
made them hear me and was admitted. At about nine o'clock the
prisoners were brought together to have a meeting. The guard
ridiculed. The prisoners wondered at seeing a woman preaching. How I
trembled! Oh, for some one to share my burden! I asked, "Is there one
Christian here among you prisoners?" as I shook hands with them and
some of them pointing out an old colored woman, said, "She's a
Christian." I clasped her hand, hardened by work, and said, "Will you
pray for me, sister?" "Yes," she said, "Yes, I will, honey."
God was there to touch and tender those hearts. They were unused to
meetings of this character, and perhaps had never heard of a woman
preaching. I well knew that unless God undertook for me the meeting
would be a failure. There seemed to be no way to reach these hard
hearts. The men and women stared at me. Suddenly I thought of the
great danger I was in, and the risk I had to run in getting back to
the village that night. I saw the head of a young prison boy droop
over on a man's shoulder, too sleepy to listen longer. Then I heard
and saw no more, but fell unconscious to the floor. The weariness from
the day's labor proved too much for my strength. But God used my
weakness to reach these hearts and when I regained consciousness, men
and women with tears, sobs and prayers, were crying to God for mercy
and forgiveness--pleading for help to be better men and women. I hope
I shall meet many of them in heaven "when the roll is called up
yonder" for they truly seemed to bring forth fruit meet for
repentance.
The following day was spent among the sick and dying in the village. I
had asked the privilege in the morning to go with the train men to the
prison pest house where the sick prisoners were, but was refused by
the train crew, some of them ridiculing me and my work. I had only
kindly asked them the privilege, and then exhorted them to come to
Christ. I then told them I feared the next message would be judgment
from God. God bless the railroad men if some of them do make mistakes!
My heart goes out for them as they are always in much danger. I make
it a rule of my life to always pray for every train on which I travel
with its crew and passengers. And hitherto God has been my help. Bless
His holy name!
WRECK OF A COAL TRAIN.
When I had returned to the boarding house in the evening I lay down to
rest. Many striking things occurred in this place. As I lay resting,
dishes were rattling and children were crying in adjoining rooms, my
room door leading into the open hall was standing open, and in came a
drove of little pigs. I looked up to see what it was, and one had
walked up to the fireplace where was burning a low fire, and stood
warming its nose. But they soon grew tired of indoor life and all
quickly scampered out as they had come in. They had seemed as much at
home there as myself. Amid this confusion I fell asleep. How long I
slept I do not know. I was awakened by heart-rending cries from men
and women. I sprang up and throwing a shawl over my head, I ran out in
the rain to see what I could do to help, for I knew some one was in
great agony. What I saw I shall never forget. The coal train and its
crew that had gone out in the morning had come in. THE ENGINE WAS
DITCHED in a terrible manner and men were crushed in the wreck. Women
were screaming as they ran to see if their loved ones were among the
victims. I met the same men I had warned in the morning carrying on a
board the fireman badly cut and bruised. I said, "Men, I gave you the
warning this morning. You rejected my counsel and I thought judgment
would come, but I little thought it would come so soon." They carried
the wounded man to an old baggage car. People were so excited they did
not know what to do. Here I was to learn a lesson in surgery. I found
an old pail and brought some water. Some bystanders gave me their
handkerchiefs and I proceeded to wash the blood from the poor wounded
head and limb, which was much crushed, and helped the doctor to bind
up the wounds. Soon there came a call for help from the scene of the
disaster. A messenger came running, saying, "Come quick! there is a
man dying whom we found under the engine." It was very dark, but I
hurried along through the mud and rain after the doctor to the scene
of suffering. They had carried him into the nearest hut, and he was
lying upon the floor unconscious. Kneeling beside him I raised his
head upon my hand. Consciousness returned. I cried, "Jesus can save
you even now; He loves you. He will forgive you now, only believe on
Him." He replied, "I do believe He does save me just now." Glory to
God! He is a present help in time of need; a friend that sticketh
closer than a brother. Dear reader, it is better to be saved before
the crash comes. The man was suffering terribly. The women, thinking
they must do something, had poured turpentine into the wounds thinking
it was camphor. We washed the wounds and I assisted the physician in
setting the broken limbs. God wonderfully helped me there to practice
what I preached, and I found what it means to love my neighbor as
myself. These railroad men were my neighbors, and they were suffering
and in a dying condition. One of the poor men cried piteously for his
mother. I traveled on the train on which one of the wounded men was
taken to the city where his mother lived and helped to care for him on
the way. We were delayed at that camp for two days. I will never
forget those days of service and suffering.
THE SUGAR CAMPS.
At one time, I went into the Sugar Refining Stockades in Texas.
Leaving the train, we had to walk a long distance to the first camp.
The superintendent was angry at us for coming, and ordered us to go to
the next camp. He said there were women at the other stockade and that
he would not let us have any meeting, any way, with his men. We asked
him if he would please send a boy to carry our luggage, and he
refused, so we started on alone, to walk a long way. When we arrived
at the second camp we found only one guard and a couple of prisoners
working, and no women within miles. When the guard saw the situation,
he seemed sorry for us, and we were allowed to rest and wait until
the return of the prisoners, who were at work at a distance on
railroad repairs. In the meantime he sent a man to another stockade
some miles away, and the captain's wife there agreed to entertain us,
for which we were thankful. We had a meeting after the men came to
camp, and the guards came to us and said that the women at the camp
mentioned before had sent word that they would not keep us over night.
What _could_ we do? Finally I said, "Can you take us to the depot?"
They answered that they had no conveyance but AN OLD MULE AND A CART.
I said, "That is all right." So they got the mule and cart and helped
us in, and handed us our luggage. Then they sent a colored boy to go
before the mule with a lantern, and another followed after. In this
way we went on until we reached the little country depot, which was
all dark. One of the prisoners, who went with us, lighted the lantern
inside, and we called to the ticket agent, who had retired, asking him
to please check our luggage to San Antonio. This he refused to do, so
I said, "We are Christian women and will give you almost any price, if
your wife will allow us to stay with her until morning." He was angry,
still refusing to get up to check our luggage. He said he was not paid
for night work. We could not have gotten on the car had it not been
for a gentleman, going on the same train, who had his servant help us.
We went to San Antonio before we could get a place to rest and it was
then morning, but God blessed us in holding services in the prison
there that day. I never reported the agent who was so rude to us, as I
was sorry for him, for I was told he was a cripple, and I thought he
needed his work to provide for his family.
IN A GAMBLING SALOON.
From Knoxville, Tenn., I went one night to the coal mine region. I
asked the landlord at the hotel for some one to show me a way to the
stockade some distance, and he sent his chore boy with me. We had a
long walk, and returned after meeting at night. It was late and as we
came down the mountain side I saw a light at a little distance, and I
said, "Where is that light?" He said, "That is the wickedest place;
they kill people there." Without waiting to consider the danger I
might be in, I said, "Wait here for me," and I hastened up the valley
and into the place, which I found to be a gambling saloon. Then,
without waiting, I poured out to them the Gospel message which burned
in my heart, I fell on my knees and prayed to God to save them from
the destruction to which they were going. Then I rushed out into the
darkness again, and found the boy waiting with the lantern and we went
on our way. I was thoroughly alarmed next day when I realized the risk
I had taken in going into such a place, but God has wrought mightily
for me all these years and preserved me from harm. As I write I feel
near home and heaven. Jesus is there. Soon I shall be with Him.
CONDITION OF CONVICTS.
I wish that some who whine so much in church about taking up the cross
could see the inside of those stockades as I saw them--see the
suffering that existed, the sorrowful, heart-broken prisoners with no
ray of hope, no one to care about them; everything poor, scarcely
enough to keep them alive; the poorest of places to sleep; men
fastened to a large post in the middle of the stockade by a heavy
chain, compelled to wear their clothing till it would decay on them,
often so ragged that they could not hide their nakedness, and guarded
by bloodhounds and armed men. It was not proper under other
circumstances for a woman to see men in such conditions, but they had
souls to be saved or lost, and the Lord had commissioned me to go to
these men and tell them that Jesus loved them and wanted to save and
deliver them from the power of the devil who got them into such
places.
UNJUSTLY CONDEMNED.
Judges often sentence men and women to years of hard labor in prison
for the slightest offenses. An old colored man employed in a store
took a box of cigars, but regretting the act, returned them confessing
his wrong, and asked forgiveness. He was arrested and sentenced to
twenty-five years in the stockade; one year for each cigar. Another
colored man was found on the street at night carrying five ears of
corn. He was sentenced to prison for five years. He with others was
working where the earth caved in and killed him. Who will answer in
the day of Judgment for that man's life and death? Yes, and his soul?
Were I to here relate some things I know to be true, awful in the
extreme, they would not be believed. Let us have the laws of God
enforced. Let those who may be anxious to punish wrong and have men
condemned upon circumstantial evidence, look into their own hearts and
lives and see if they have been free from condemnation. I do not want
to condemn judges nor jurymen, for they are not all to blame. A man or
woman should never be condemned until known to be guilty. People are
often prejudiced, and without proper investigation many are condemned
to punishment for crimes of which they are innocent. The cries of such
are come up before the Lord and He will hear and answer prayer. At one
time there were forty stockades in one state and about four thousand
prisoners in one state. Let us help those that are down.
In many stockades I found men and women living together promiscuously
and children being born in the camp. The poor creatures were subjected
to all kinds of abuse and suffering, the women in great need of better
quarters, better food, and care. Ofttimes they were afraid for their
very lives. Many were killed outright; in one place where they were
far out in the coal mines many were brutally whipped and ill-treated.
I went to the Lord in prayer, and then to the state authorities and
the Governor went out with men and opened the graves of many, who had
died in camps. One of the officers was imprisoned for ten years;
another made his escape; others were dealt with more or less severely.
I had been out there myself, getting on the engine to ride out to the
stockade, and requested to see the prisoners after their day's work
was done, and as they came up from the mines they were so ragged that
I was compelled to turn my back as they passed. I got permission to
hold a Gospel meeting. After it was over, I requested the captain to
let one of his men take us to the next house, a distance of a mile or
more from the camp. When we knocked asking permission to stay for the
night, and telling who we were, the woman of the house said, "You had
better go and preach to those prison guards, who are killing off the
poor prisoners." She said she could not stand it to hear such awful
cries as reached her ears even at that distance from the stockade. She
told the guard just what she thought of the brutality shown the
prisoners and convicts. He said he was not to blame. He seemed to be a
kind young man.
In one place I found one old colored man who was condemned to death.
He was filthy and dirty and had nothing to lie on but a heap of straw;
he was hungry and his cell was dark and damp. My heart ached to see
him so shamefully abused. Even condemned men have rights and they
should be respected; it is enough for them to know that they are to
die a horrible death, without having all kinds of abuse heaped upon
them; yet I have seen this in many prisons. How is it that friends are
so often denied the privilege of seeing those that are under death
sentence or those who are sick and dying? Let the truth be told and
let there be some one to investigate these things. I believe that
those who are most against prisoners, are those who are not familiar
with the conditions. Let good discipline be maintained, but let
prisoners never be brutally treated, simply because they are powerless
to help themselves. I find many things going on that are not right,
but I have never made complaint to the governors of the states, unless
compelled to do so, because of cases of extreme cruelty.
NEED OF REFORM.
There is great need of reformation in the management of prisons, and
especially in the prison lease system and management of women
prisoners in the south. Oh, the shocking sights that have greeted me
on almost every hand! There is nothing more heart-rending to me than
the terrible, brutal treatment of helpless humanity. These prisoners
are entirely at the mercy of officers who are oftentimes void of
feeling, coarse and vulgar in the extreme. To get positions and make
money is the aim of many of today. The poor unfortunates shut up in
prisons and asylums are in many cases most shamefully mistreated. They
are supposed to be there for the purpose of reformation or treatment,
but were it not for the grace of God in my soul, I never could endure
the torture and anguish resulting from the sufferings I find among
these poor helpless men and women. I am not supposed to know the
conditions in these places, but twenty years of experience going
inside these walls have opened my eyes and I get behind the scenes.
There is a time of settling up of accounts and there will be a final
reckoning day at the judgment bar of God, for what was done in this
life, and how many will be weighed in the balance and found wanting!
The following paper by Clarissa Olds Keeler was written to Brother S.
B. Shaw and read at the meeting of the National Convocation for Prayer
at St. Louis, Mo., May, 1903, and will serve to convey some idea of
conditions as they have existed in some parts of our land; though we
are glad to say that they are somewhat improved, in many places at
least.
"LET THE SIGHING OF THE PRISONER COME BEFORE THEE."
"Now mine eyes shall be open, and mine ears attent unto the
prayer that is made in this place."--2 Chron. 7:15.
When attending the Christian Workers' Convention in New York in
1887 a man from Tennessee also attending the convention, said to
me, "I wonder the Christian people do not take up the work of
alleviating the sufferings of prisoners in the Southern States."
For years he had been an eye witness to treatment which he
described as "most atrocious," and the condition of the convicts,
especially those hired to contractors to work in coal mines, as
one of "starvation, fear and disgusting filth." Since these words
were spoken to me I have spared no pains to inform myself about
this new and most revolting form of slavery, and I can find no
words more applicable than these: "This is a people robbed and
spoiled; they are all of them snared in holes, and they are hid
in prison houses; they are for a prey, and none delivereth; for a
spoil and none saith, Restore. Who among you will give ear to
this? Who will hearken and hear for the time to come?" (Isaiah
42:22, 23.)
Each one of the twelve convict leasing states has had its own
bloody record which has been written down in God's book.
Influential politicians, United States Senators from both north
and south, members of state legislatures, private citizens,
heartless corporations, have all shared in the money coined out
of the bodies and blood of convicts in our southern states.
But it is not my purpose now to go over the past. Wherever the
convict lease system has been introduced "Its presence has," as a
Georgian once said, "been marked by a trail of blood." The
accounts of this ghastly institution are too revolting to
present.
But I want to call the attention of the Christian people to the
present condition of convicts, most of whom are colored, and many
of whom are guilty of but trifling offences and some of them none
at all.
A man in Buncome County, North Carolina, wrote to the _Asheville
Gazette_, under date of March 15, 1903: "Where are we at and
where is the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals
that they or the Christian world have never heard the cries from
the poor unfortunate prisoners in the buck and the ringing of the
cruel blood stained lash? I have seen white men beaten until
their persons were blue and blood oozing from the lash from the
captain's hands in the Buncome chain-gang. And negroes--there is
no use talking." These prisoners, the writer says, have been
guilty of some misdemeanor and being poor and unable to pay a
fine are "sent to the road prison and there the lash is
administered on the naked back contrary to the spirit of the
constitution in abolishing imprisonment for debt and the lash at
the whipping-post."
Now I would suggest that a society be formed for the prevention
of cruelty to prisoners. While the good people are praying for
the outpouring of the Holy Spirit on other lands may they not
forget that we need a baptism of fire right here in our own land.
Our Saviour's last act of mercy and forgiving love was shown
toward a prisoner and shall we imitate His example, or shall we
not? His last command was: "Go ye into all the world and preach
the gospel to _every creature_." How many inmates of our prisons
have the gospel presented to them? When we all meet at the
judgment, as meet we must, how many will be there from the
mining pits and prison pens who can say truthfully, "No man cared
for my soul!" Neither do we care for the bodies of these
unfortunates; and as proof of this I will give you a few extracts
from papers of recent date.
When the National Conference of Charities and Corrections was
holding its session in Atlanta the first of the present month,
some of the delegates were invited to visit the city prison
stockade where misdemeanor convicts are housed at night. This was
done "just for the amusement of the delegates." Hear what Mr.
Timothy Nicholson of Indiana, a delegate, said about his visit to
this "school of crime." He says: "I found in one room one hundred
and sixty prisoners, white men and women, black men and women and
even children, both black and white, male and female, all mixed
together indiscriminately. I was surprised and shocked to find
such a condition of affairs in a civilized country. It is simply
a shame and disgrace to civilization." The delegates declared the
place "inhuman and degrading." Yet this does not fully represent
the awful pen picture that might be given of this class of
prisoners in the county chain gangs all over the state.
The following extracts are taken from an account given by an
Atlanta correspondent of the _Washington Post_ written under date
of May 5, 1903. "Revelations made to the Ware County grand jury
in regard to the horrors of the Georgia convict camps reached
Governor Terrell today. Hon. E---- M----, one of the leading
members of the Georgia House of Representatives, is involved in
the findings of the grand jury.
"According to the report M---- and his brother operate an
extensive camp in Lowndes County. Witnesses before the grand jury
testified that in the M---- camp the brutalities are such that it
is revolting to describe them. For the slightest offence, it is
alleged, prisoners are stripped and chained and unmercifully
lashed by the whipping bosses. It is also alleged that the M----
brothers go into counties adjoining Lowndes, pay the fines of
misdemeanor convicts, carry such convicts to their Ware County
(convict) camp and there keep them in serviture long after the
term for which the criminals were sentenced have expired.
"The grand jury claims that at least twenty citizens of Ware
County are held as slaves in M----'s camp although their terms
expired over a year ago. There men are kept in stockade about
which armed guards march in order to prevent an escape, and men
thus illegally detained who escaped have been chased by
bloodhounds and recaptured."
Official reports show that this class of convicts are guilty of
but trifling offences and some are vagrants. (For further
particulars see _Atlanta Journal_ May 5 and 11, 1903.)
The penitentiary convicts of Georgia are worked in coal mines and
are subject to the same treatment. An experienced penologist said
recently concerning convicts worked in the mines: "In the rooms
of the mines are perpetrated practices too horrible to mention.
They become the nesting places of a bestiality that in many cases
lead the liberated convict into that crime to punish which the
mob, the rope and the stake are ever ready." (See Atlanta
Constitution, May 14, 1903.)
Under the heading "Convict Camp Horrors," the editor of the
Memphis, Tennessee, _Commercial Appeal_ says in his paper, dated
April 11, 1903, concerning the facts recently brought out by the
legislative investigating committee: "The stories coming from
Brushy Mountain mines, with side lights from the state's convict
system, generally, furnish painful reading to the people of
Tennessee. When human beings who through fault or fortune's
untowardness are condemned to helpless and unresisting servitude
and who are subjected to torments and tortures, floggings and
flaggellations which are merciful only where they terminated in
speedy death, humanity is outraged and a sort of savagery in the
public cries out for speedy vengeance." Continuing the editor
says:
"Convicts have been whipped to death. Convicts have been whipped
into physical helplessness. Convicts have been whipped
sufficiently to keep them in bed for months and injure them
permanently. Torturing them in the prison or in the mine recesses
is a sin against high heaven." These are some of the facts
brought to light by the prison investigating committee.
The average number of prisoners worked in the Brushy Mountain
mines is about seven hundred and fifty. These convicts, which
form but a part of the number of the state's convicts, and who
were so inhumanly treated, earned last year for the state, clear
of all expenses, the sum of one hundred and ninety-five
thousand, seven hundred dollars. (See Nashville American, March
30, 1903.)
Recent developments also show that many innocent men are
kidnapped and worked and treated as convicts; especially is this
done in Alabama. Women and children share the same fate. During
the recent investigation into the enforced slavery of negroes in
Alabama by the United States Secret Service, among the abuses
which were unearthed was the whipping to death of a negro woman.
"This woman accused of being rebellious was laid across a log and
given one hundred lashes. Still showing a rebellious spirit her
hands were tied, and the rope was thrown over the limb of a tree
and pulled up so as to make it barely possible for her feet to
reach the ground. The woman, it is said, died two days later."
(See Washington Times, May 29, 1903.)
The system of peonage slavery has been practiced for years in
Alabama and Georgia. One of the most successful plans practiced
is to bring a negro before a magistrate on a flimsy charge. As
the matter has been arranged beforehand, the negro is convicted,
and having no money to pay his fine, a white man offers to
advance him money provided the negro will make a labor contract
with him for the money and trouble he has taken to keep the negro
out of jail. He is taken away and begins what is usually a long
term of cruel servitude, frequently whipped unmercifully, and
every moment watched by armed guards ready to shoot him down at
any attempt to escape.
Among the evils which have grown out of the prison contract
system, the number of which is legion, is that of turning out men
and women, boys and girls, thoroughly educated in these schools
of crime. They are thrown upon the world homeless and friendless
to poison and destroy those with whom they come in contact. Many
soon find their way back into prison, and some end their lives
upon the gallows.
We sometimes on a Sabbath morning hear the President of the
United States prayed for, but what minister ever prays for the
poor parish behind prison bars?
When the book is opened and we hear the words: "I was sick and in
prison, and ye visited me not," what are we going to answer?
1415 A. St., S. E., Washington, D. C. CLARISSA OLDS KEELER.
For about four years at times Mrs. M. A. Perry, of Washington, D C.,
traveled with me. In answer to my request for a brief report of the
work during that time I received a lengthy letter, from which I
extract the following:
Dear Sister Wheaton:
I praise God for the privilege of adding a few words for your book.
May the blessing of God rest upon it. To the readers I will say: I
first met Mrs. Wheaton in Boston, in February, 1893, in the home of H.
L. Hastings, the well-known publisher, where she was a guest. She had
then spent ten years in prison and other evangelistic work. I had
visited a jail and stationhouses, but never a penitentiary. We first
went to the Boston and Maine Railway office. Sister Wheaton said: "You
pray while I go and ask for a pass to go to the Thomaston, Maine,
prison." In about ten minutes she returned with the desired
transportation. By the kindness of the railroad officials from ocean
to ocean they have helped to forward the work of God. Many earnest
prayers are offered by Mrs. Wheaton for these men. We never boarded a
train without asking our Heavenly Father to bless the train men from
the engineer to the flagman. Many times we have spoken to conductors
who have said, "No one ever talks to railroad men about their souls."
At Thomaston we had to wait until Sunday morning to enter the prison.
If ever the Lord Jesus Christ revealed Himself in a prison chapel He
was in the midst that Sabbath day. While "Mother Wheaton" preached, I
prayed for her and the presence of the Holy Spirit was so manifest
that every man expressed a desire to serve God. The result of that
day's work for the Master will not be known until we meet when Jesus
will reward his servants.
We next went to the jail in Bangor, Maine, and God blessed the work
there in the salvation of souls. Then we went to the prison in
Wethersfield, Connecticut, and from there to the Vermont State Prison
at Windsor. But I cannot tell about them all! But wherever we went I
saw that the prisoners, both men and women, greeted "Mother Wheaton"
with a heartfelt welcome.
We went to the prisons of New York state--to Auburn, Sing Sing, the
Troy jail and on to Buffalo. We visited the penitentiaries in
Philadelphia and Baltimore, and the workhouses of Maryland and the
District of Columbia. We met in these places many precious souls whom
the Lord gave his life to redeem and many of them were Christians. The
blood of Jesus is all powerful to reach any man or woman who will
repent and forsake sin and believe in Him. We have great reason to
praise God for the power of the Holy Spirit to reach the hardest
hearts. But O, there are behind the bars and "in the shadow of the
walls" loving and tender hearts. O, that professors of religion would
wake up to the fact that when Jesus, the King of Glory, shall come He
will say, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my
brethren ye have done it unto me."
May God by his presence and power reveal to the managers of penal
institutions in every land and nation that Jesus Christ is the friend
of sinners in every condition. I believe the dear Lord Himself has put
such love for prisoners in the heart of our sister Wheaton that she is
willing to take a mother's place--no matter when she sees them. In
riding along on the trains sometimes we came to prisoners (leased out
to hard labor) in the most unexpected places. We were soon off the
train to look after these men who were marched from the camp or
stockade.
I must speak of some of the experiences we had in the prisons,
stockades and prison farms of the southern states. We were, in most
cases, courteously received and entertained by the wardens and their
families. God bless the men who have done what they could! But O, how
I have been shocked at things we saw in these places, many of which I
cannot write. I wish I could give some idea of how glad the poor
manacled prisoners were to see their white-haired "mother" come again.
I believe the seed sown shall not be lost.
The women on the farms are required to roll logs, clear land and do
all kinds of drudgery.
We went to the camps, the phosphate mines, saw-mills, coal mines, and
the turpentine camps. Sometimes we rode for miles in wagons. I think
Mother Wheaton never felt that any place was too dangerous or too out
of the way for her to go in order to say a word of comfort and to
encourage hearts. We sometimes rode on the engine up the mountains to
camps where hundreds of prisoners were working. We saw men with iron
rings around their necks and a chain and ball attached, some with
chains around their waists and running down to their ankles with a
ring attached.
I want to speak especially of a visit to one of the state farms where
all the prisoners, with two exceptions, were colored women.
When we arrived at the station there was no vehicle in sight but a
buggy and mule which a little boy was driving. She asked him to take
us to the women's prison, which he kindly did. When we got there
between seventy and eighty women were at dinner, sitting on the ground
under the trees with their little tin pails which held boiled bacon
and cowpeas, with a piece of corn bread in their hands. They had
worked from sunrise. How they welcomed "Mother Wheaton"! Many of them
were in tears as she began to sing. She asked how many of them had
seen her before. Many hands went up and they told where and when they
had seen her in the past. How they shook her hand and said, "O, 'deed
I is glad to see you once more, honey." But soon they had to go back
to the field till dark. After all had their supper we went to the
stockade where they were to sleep, to hold a service. Such singing I
never heard. Then "Mother Wheaton" preached, prayed and sang. If ever
God answered prayer He surely did for those poor women and in place of
that stockade there is now a new prison house with things reasonably
comfortable.
We went to other farms, stockades and prisons. I do thank God for the
privilege of going into these places where "Mother Wheaton" was the
first white woman to visit or to pray and sing. Regardless of danger
in approaching these out-of-the-way places, her love for God and for
those who were despised and downtrodden, carried her through untold
hardships. We were at times in danger of bloodhounds, alligators and
venomous reptiles.
I am sure that through her intercession with governors and wardens and
superintendents "Mother Wheaton's" work has proved a blessing to
thousands of prisoners. I have seen the results of her work in many of
the states. Her preaching and singing have been used of God, but above
all I knew that the hours of prevailing prayer have been a still
greater power for good. In answer to prayer God has opened doors and
done many wonderful things whereof we are glad.
Again we went to the South to visit prisons and stockades where we had
been in former years. Great changes had been made. There was much
improvement in their condition. I hope the time may soon come when
only the law of love and kindness shall prevail.
We held street meetings in many places. One night after holding one of
these open-air services we boarded a train. A man and wife came on the
train. She told us that her husband had attended the street meeting
and was under such conviction for sin that he could not rest. There on
the train, while we knelt in the aisle of the car, he was converted to
God and went on his way rejoicing, while we went to visit a
penitentiary where hundreds of men and women needed the same work of
grace wrought in their hearts.
Often we saw answers to prayer in the healing of prisoners who were
sick. God's Word is true. He says He is no respecter of persons, and
He is able to do more than we can ask or think. May God bless every
soul for whom we have prayed.
Sister Wheaton and myself have spent many long hours at a time
together pleading for the men and women behind the bars. It means much
to be divinely called to this work.
Oh! how many with broken hearts lie in the lonely cells every night!
May God help everyone who reads these pages to remember that there is
one MOTHER of all the prisoners who weeps and prays in sympathy with
them. I wish every mother and wife, or sister, who has a precious one
"in the shadow of the walls," would pray for "Mother Wheaton," that
she may be helped of God in preaching the Word, and that God's
blessing may rest upon her for her kind loving words and the
hand-clasp that reaches so many hearts. Pray that health and strength
may be given her as she comes in and goes out among these erring ones.
I know she has been through deep waters and great sorrows. Her life
has been one of self-sacrifice in behalf of the unfortunate. May God
bless and help her and give her the crown of righteousness that is
laid up for the faithful.
One night after worship at the home of the warden with whom we were
stopping, Sister Wheaton was singing a hymn, when suddenly the warden
asked, "Sister Wheaton, will you come over into the prison-yard and
finish that hymn?" She replied she would gladly do so if he thought it
would do good. So we hastened to the prison-yard, some little distance
away, and quietly entered the enclosure, and she began singing. Her
clear, strong voice awakened the sleeping prisoners. The incident was
so unusual that some of them (as we were told afterward), negroes
especially, awaking suddenly, thought that the Judgment Day had come,
and tumbling out of bed, fell upon their knees and began praying for
God to have mercy upon them and save their souls; so God evidently
used the song to bring conviction to hearts. After the singing we
returned as quietly as we had come, trusting the results with God.
[Illustration: NEW MEXICO PRISON, SANTA FE, N. M.]