WE PLAN FOR A HOME FOR RELEASED PRISON GIRLS.
Hours had slipped away. We had both been silent, but I wondered whether
Lucy, like myself, was not sleeping, but simply resting quietly for
fear of disturbing me. One-thirty, then two o'clock. I whispered:
"Are you asleep, Lucy?"
"No, Mother dear," she answered; "I haven't slept a wink for thinking
of the goodness of God and wishing lots of other unfortunates had such
good luck as me tonight."
"I also, Lucy; furthermore, I'm pondering how to proceed to procure
them a home with nice large grounds in which they can work and take
pleasure, but I haven't any means. All I now own is my bicycle. I left
it for sale in Woodland. Perhaps God will soon find a purchaser; if so,
I will take it as a sign that he wants me to travel from place to place
in their behalf. Give me your hand, Lucy." She clasped mine under the
covers whilst I prayed in a low tone, "Father, art thou impressing us
to seek a home for the girls, a home removed from city temptations and
environments? If so, I pray thee, seal the impression with thy Word. In
Jesus' name I ask this"; and Lucy fervently echoed my Amen. Next I
lighted the lamp on the little stand by our bed side, on which lay a
writing tablet, a pencil, and my Bible. Reverently opening the latter,
we found ourselves looking down upon Genesis, twelfth chapter, first
and ninth verses. Thus did our Father seal the impression of the Holy
Spirit with his Word. "We will prepare for a long trip, Lucy," I said,
"and when we start we will journey toward the South."
Without further notification, I received by mail, within the following
fortnight, a cheque for twenty dollars (purchase price of wheel). This
amount procured us some necessaries, paid a few small bills and our
fares to Redwood City, leaving us with the sum total of sixty cents.
Before proceeding on this undertaking, we occupied every hour of the
day, with but few exceptions, in active preparation; our evenings and
Sundays we spent in church or prison, or among the outcasts. I am
indebted to Lucy for admission into many heretofore forbidden places,
where she would be invariably welcomed with such a greeting as this:
"Well, hello, Kid! glad to see you. When did you get out? How's all the
rest of them?"
"This is my dear Mother Roberts," she would say. "Please welcome her
for my sake. I want to tell you I'm not one of you any longer. I've
found my Savior. Don't I look different? Don't I look happy?"
"You bet yer life y' do, Kid. Say, we don't mind being preached to if
you'll do the preaching. Go on girlie, pitch in, we-uns would like to
hear from the likes of you, cause we know you," etc.
The precious girl! How she enthused all of us as she told the wonderful
story and implored them to seek the Savior! Always we finished with
prayer. Even bar-tenders, saloon-keepers, and women overseers over the
girls in the various dives were touched by Lucy's brief messages from
God. The time was all too short on these occasions. As we said our
final farewells (July 1, 1903), it was impossible to count the number
of those who said: "Y've done me good, Lucy, Y've done me good. Yes, I
mean to heed what y've said. I know it's right. Stick to it, girlie,
stick to it." And not a few said they had sold their last drink or had
drunk their last drop.
I wish you could appreciate how wonderful all this is to me now (Sept.
5, 1911) whilst recalling and writing it, here in my quiet, pretty room
in the Gospel Trumpet Company's home for their consecrated workers. It
seems as though but a few days, instead of years, have elapsed since
that marvelously profitable time.
In the interval between her coming to me and our departure we visited,
as frequently as possible, the prison, the place of her incarceration.
once taking a modest treat, purchased by a little of Lucy's
pocket-money. I can not describe the appreciation of each prisoner as
they received, at her hands, a small package of something toothsome
done up in a pretty paper napkin, with an appropriate text inscribed
thereon. This distribution was followed by a special meeting, for the
most part conducted by my dear Lucy.
After the tearful farewells had been said, we went into Captain and
Mrs. Kincaid's quarters, where the latter furnished us with the names
of some for whom she desired our special interest in the event of our
coming in touch with them. They were all ex-prisoners, some of whom we
will hereafter mention.
As though to give us a specially bright send-off, the sun arose in
glorious splendor on that second day of July. Following a very light
early breakfast, Lucy and I, accompanied to the depot by some Christian
friends, one of whom was the late Brother Mosby, soon boarded the train
at Twenty-fourth and Valencia Streets, and in a short time arrived at
Redwood City.
"What are we going to do next?" inquired Lucy. "You don't know any one
here, do you, Mother?"
"No, dear. I'm going to ask the depot-agent if he can tell me who is
the most consecrated Christian in this town."
Imagine, if you can, his astonishment.
"Say that over again, madam," he said.
I repeated my inquiry, whilst he scratched his head and pondered over
this simple but no doubt perplexing question, and also glanced at us as
much as to say, "I wonder if you are altogether right in your minds?"
Leaving in his keeping our two telescope baskets, containing all our
earthly belongings, we soon reached the residence of the Congregational
minister, only to discover that he, with his family, had left that very
morning for his summer vacation. His neighbors directed us to the
Methodist minister, an old gentleman, who received us very cordially,
said many encouraging words on learning of the nature of our errand,
and wished us God's blessing as we took our departure to the next
place, at that moment unknown.
I now decided to make our errand known to the editors of the local
papers. We found two, in close proximity to each other. They received
us kindly, inspected the letters of endorsement with which I had
provided myself before leaving San Francisco, and took notes.
Noon-time found my faith not sufficient to invest our capital or even a
portion of it for the food we now so much needed. Moreover, it was
extremely warm, and we were clad in heavy garments, suitable to the
colder climate from which we had come. I made the same inquiry of the
editor of the _Gazette_ as I had made of the depot-agent, and I shall
never forget the editor's surprised smile as he replied: "Really, Mrs.
Roberts, I'm the last one of whom to inquire, as I make no profession
whatsoever of religion. There is a lady living on the edge of town,
formerly of the Salvation Army; she might do."
It was a long walk, or rather seemed so. We soon discovered that this
lady was in no position to entertain us over night, and as it was long
past noon, she must have taken it for granted that we had dined. Before
leaving I requested a season of prayer. Her aged mother preceded her, I
followed, then Lucy, who drew tears from our eyes by her fervent
petition for guidance. After we had made our adieus and had walked a
few yards, the daughter called and ran after us, to inform us that she
had just thought of the landlady of the Tremont Hotel (Mrs. Ayers).
"Her dining-room is closed for the season. She is a very kind-hearted
woman. I have no doubt of her inviting you to remain under her roof
when she learns your errand," said this newly-found friend. I thanked
her most sincerely, and we proceeded once more to town.
I again called upon the _Gazette_ editor, for I had it in mind to hold
a street-meeting that evening and make public announcement of our
errand. He promised the presence of himself and of others in the event
of my doing so.
"Mother dear," inquired poor, tired, hungry, over-heated Lucy, "I
wonder if God really wants us to hunt a home for the girls, after all?
I can't stand much more."
"Neither can I, dear child," I replied, "but we'll ask him. Give me
your hand." (We were walking toward the hotel.)
"Father," I prayed, "hast thou sent us on this errand? If so, please
seal it with money before the day ends. I ask in Jesus' name." And Lucy
sighed, "Amen."
May God forever bless dear Mrs. Ayers, who cordially welcomed us,
giving us one of her best rooms and expressing her regret for inability
to supply meals; God abundantly bless her and her dear ones.
We shut ourselves in, knelt together at the bedside, and wept--wept
tears of gratitude, hope, and joy. Still weeping, both of us, in broken
language, thanked the One who never makes any mistakes for guiding us
aright and raising up friends in our trying hour, and closed our
prayers by imploring his pardon for our having not better stood his
testings and by promising with his aid to be braver in the future.
I now invested a quarter to have our baggage immediately brought from
the depot, then refreshed ourselves, and soon I crossed the street,
returning presently with a nice fresh loaf of bread and a dime's worth
of bologna. On these and water, we humbly, gratefully dined. I have
partaken of many costly, delicious viands, but never in all my
experience have I enjoyed a meal as I did that simple one. Hallelujah!
The sun was gradually disappearing when Lucy and I crossed the street
and stood on the corner in front of Mr. Behren's bank. We had carried
one of the hotel chairs over with us, for I have never yet learned to
play on my autoharp while standing. I now sat at a convenient angle in
the street. Lucy composed one of my audience on the sidewalk. At first
I felt somewhat timid and very nervous, but not for long. While the
crowd was gathering, I sang the song,
I know my heavenly Father knows
The storms that would my way oppose
But he can drive the clouds away
And turn my darkness into day.
The people gathered so fast that before I had finished the second verse
I was well surrounded.
[Illustration: THE REDWOOD CITY STREET MEETING]
There was a fair sprinkling of women, also carriages. Before singing
another song, I took advantage of the situation to tell my audience why
I was in Redwood City and on that street corner. If God ever gave me
liberty of speech this was the occasion. After I had finished my
address, which was not very long, one of my audience, named Lewis as I
soon learned, stepped forward, took off his hat, and spoke as follows:
"Ladies and Gentlemen: I for one am convinced of this stranger's
earnestness and the needs of such a home as she desires to get. Let's
give her a collection. We're going to squander lots of Fourth of July
money day after tomorrow. Here's my quarter, whose next?"
The money kept dropping, dropping, dropping into that hat, nickels,
dimes, quarters until the sound made me nearly shout for joy. It was
all I could do to contain myself.
Then some one in a carriage sent a request for me to sing again. I
gladly responded, after which my audience bowed with uncovered heads
whilst I thanked the loving heavenly Father and pronounced the
benediction. Thus gloriously ended my first street meeting conducted
without other human aid.
We were the happy possessors of $13.20 toward the fund for the promised
home, and no mortals on earth retired that night more grateful and
happy than dear Lucy and her "Mother" Roberts. To God be all the glory
and praise forever.