MY FIRST CALL TO THE PRISON WORK.
After I had been in the Sacramento home about a month, the matron
became sufficiently recovered to go into the country in order to
recuperate. In the meanwhile the dear Lord had laid it upon the hearts
of two consecrated workers to assist me, so that I was now occasionally
free for some outside work. Taking advantage of this, a lady who had
been a constant attendant at the jail services for many years, urged me
to come on the following Sunday afternoon with my little autoharp.
This, by the way, was an every-day friend in our family, for most of
our girls could sing, and we were soon learning many beautiful hymns,
with either my modest instrument or the parlor organ for an
accompaniment. When something would go wrong, the matter would be laid
before the Lord in prayer, and singing was the next thing in order. How
you would have appreciated and enjoyed hearing our family joining in
with all their hearts--
I must tell Jesus all of my trials,
I can not bear these burdens alone;
In my distress he kindly will help me,
He ever loves and cares for his own.
They would repeat it over and over until sweet peace filled their souls
once more.
But to return to the invitation to the county jail. I begged to be
excused on the ground of sensitiveness. I felt that I could not bear to
look upon any more distress than I was a daily witness to outside of
prison walls. To see human beings caged up like so many wild animals I
thought would be more than I could bear; therefore I unhesitatingly
said so. She continued her pleadings, adding, "O Sister Roberts, you
will never know how much good you could accomplish or how much precious
seed might be sown if you would only come with that little autoharp of
yours." But I was unyielding. She left me with sorrow on her
countenance.
This refusal was followed by deep condemnation--condemnation which
lasted a whole week. When, at last, I promised the Lord I would take up
this cross and go if once more invited, the burden lifted.
About two o'clock the next Sunday afternoon I found myself, with a band
of about twenty workers, behind iron bars, looking into the faces of
nearly two hundred men and boys and a few women. Oh! but the tears
flowed from my eyes, especially for the boys, many of whom were so
young, as I wondered what would be the outcome of their present
association and environment. It seemed awful! awful! I sang song after
song; then I was invited to speak. My heart was too full for many
words, but when the invitation was given to seek our Savior, many hands
went up for special prayer. The meeting soon closed. Then as those
terrible but necessary iron doors again unlocked and the prisoners
filed past us one by one to their lonely, cheerless quarters, I made up
my mind to come whenever I could, and, whenever permitted, to do and
say what I could to help he "whosoever wills," also to use my influence
in certain quarters for the betterment of the children prisoners, not
one of whom but doubtless had been cheated out of his birthright by
untutored, ofttimes wilfully ignorant parents or guardians.
Let me call your attention to one of the women prisoners, whose
peculiarly repulsive countenance was so remarkable that when we came
away from the jail I interrogated one of the workers concerning her. To
my amazement, I was informed that the woman (Nell) was regarded as a
hopeless case, and also that she had enjoyed musical educational
advantages, her people having sent her to Paris to complete certain
accomplishments. There, in that wicked capital, she became very gay,
soon acquired the absinth habit, and rapidly descended in the social
scale, and now she was scarcely ever out of prison. It was very
difficult to realize that this poor soul, who now was never known to
use any but vile language and oaths, was once a beautiful young woman,
a linguist, pianist, singer, also otherwise accomplished person. Though
all efforts (there had been many) in her behalf had proved futile, I
determined to make an attempt to save her. Accordingly I paid a special
visit to the women's quarters. So far as she was concerned, it was all
to no purpose; but oh! praise the dear Lord! I found others who would
heed, and I had a blessed time of Bible reading, song, and prayer with
them.
One of these was a young girl, Anita, who had been arrested at the
request of her mother--yes, her own mother. "Why, what kind of
unnatural mother could she have been?" you ask. Not different from many
others with whom I have been brought in contact. The daughter implored
me to call on her mother and beg her not to consent to her being sent
to the reform school, the girl solemnly promising good behavior in the
future. How she clung to me as I tried to picture the merciful, loving
Savior. We knelt in prayer in her lonely, dismal cell, where she
followed me in a petition for God to save her soul and show her the
way. Anita appeared to be about seventeen years old; but her mother
with whom a few hours later I had an interview, and a most distressing
one, I assure you, told me that the girl was but fourteen, that she had
been so petted and spoilt from her babyhood up (parents and others,
please take note of this) as to be absolutely unmanageable, that she
was out at all hours of the night, in all sorts of places, with all
sorts of company.
The mother appeared to regard herself as a very much wronged, greatly
abused parent, and when I gently but firmly endeavored to place the
blame where it belonged, she all but ordered me out of her house. Her
conduct led me to the conclusion that her daughter would be better off
in the place to which she was about to be sent than under the
jurisdiction of such a parent.
Sad at heart, I returned to poor expectant Anita, remaining some time
to comfort her as best I knew how and promising to write to her and,
God willing, to visit her in her new home. The first promise was soon
fulfilled, and about one year later I had the pleasure of personally
hearing her expressions of gratitude. The discipline had been most
beneficial, and, besides, she was learning to be a good cook and
housekeeper--something that could never have happened in her mother's
home. A few years later, while I was holding a meeting in one of the
local churches, many came forward at the close to greet me. Among them
was a fine-looking young woman with a pretty baby in her arms. "Don't
you remember me, Mother Roberts?" she said. "I'm Anita." Soon she was
telling me of her marriage to a young farmer about eighteen months
previously. The next morning she came in her buggy to take me to enjoy
a few hours in her cozy home.