CALLIE AND I VISIT THE JAIL, MORPHINE DENS, AND THE MISSION--THE
OUTCOME.
Some time elapsed before we took that trip together. I have much to
relate regarding the occurrences during the interval, but first let me
write about our San Francisco trip.
Shortly before Christmas occasion required my presence in San
Francisco. I notified Gallic, and one morning bright and early we
reached that city. We immediately repaired to Branch No. 3.
(Before I give an account of our experiences, please allow me to relate
an incident that occurred on the train. In a seat almost parallel with
the one we occupied sat two women, one of whom was richly dressed. She
repeatedly looked my way. Her face seemed familiar. Presently I
ventured to accost her with that fact. She smilingly replied: "Of
course it is. I'm ---- ----. You came to my house in Santa Cruz dressed
in a Salvation Army bonnet. If it hadn't have been for that, you would
never have got in. One of my girls left because of what you said and did
that day. I'll be glad to have you call. I always want to help save a girl
if I can. Perhaps you can persuade her sister." Hallelujah! "It came to
pass" less than a month later.)
The gate-keeper passed us into the grounds, and soon I was being warmly
greeted by Mrs. Kincaid. Presently I inquired if she recognized my
companion. She smilingly shook her head.
"You've met her many times, Mrs. Kincaid," I said.
She guessed any but the right person. Finally she said slowly:
"It might be Callie----; but she was nothing but a bag of bones; as
forlorn-looking a specimen of humanity as I ever looked upon, whereas
this woman is fine-looking, robust, and has a splendid expression.
Surely it can't be Callie!"
"But it is Callie. Look!" And Callie proved her identity by pulling up
her sleeve--convincing evidence beyond a doubt. Never did I see matron
more delighted. Presently, following some rapid questions and answers,
she said, "How would you like to surprise your former companions,
Callie?"
"Just what I was hoping for, Mrs. Kincaid," Callie answered.
"Very well; I'll have all of them called into the large dormitory. You
wait here a few minutes."
There was an enthusiastic welcome for me, but no one recognized my
companion--_no, not one_. She stood beside me, speechless and
trembling. Finally I said:
"Speak to them, dear."
"I can't," she whispered, and the tears were in her eyes.
"Girls, I've brought some one with me today whom you all know and know
well, but I see you do not recognize her." (A long silence.)
"Who is she?" some one asked. (Another long silence.)
"Show them who you are, Callie."
"Callie? Callie ----? Surely not, Mother Roberts. She was," etc., etc.
But she was showing them; choking down her sobs of joy, or rather,
trying to, as she rolled up her sleeves to convince them. Even so, they
found it very difficult to believe, very, very difficult.
I gladly retired to a remote part of the dormitory, a grateful observer
temporarily forgotten, whilst Callie was being questioned and
overhauled by about seventy delighted women and girls. They went into
raptures of joy, they shouted, they wept, they hugged and kissed her,
until she was obliged to say, "Sit down. I want to talk to you. Do,
please."
Intense silence reigned whilst she related the wonderful story of her
conversion and sanctification. There was not a dry eye present. Then
she gave an invitation. Without one exception all responded and then
knelt. She prayed--oh! how she prayed! and some of the women wet the
boards with their tears whilst they, too, called upon Callie's Savior
for pardon and mercy. How I wish we might have stayed there the
remainder of the day! but we could not, for my time was limited.
Feelingly and reluctantly we said our "farewells," promising to come at
some future time if God so willed.
Before we left, they all lovingly inquired for Lucy, sending her many
kind messages of love and remembrance.
When we returned to Mrs. Kincaid's quarters, she inquired if I should
like to see a photo of Callie as she formerly looked?
"Indeed, I would," I replied.
Well, to this day I do not wonder at their failure to recognize her.
_In that picture she looked like a dirty, emaciated, old vagabond._
This is the best I can do in the way of description, dear reader. I
wish I had a copy of her "Before and After" to put in this book. You
would be sure to say, "Mother Roberts did not exaggerate one iota." If
any of you know Mrs. Kincaid, go to her and ask her whether she won't
please show it to you....
We were soon on the street-car, and then downtown, where I quickly
transacted my business, after which I was once more at Callie's
disposal.
I followed her to a place on the south of Market Street, to a building
which resembled a deserted, tumble-down stable or blacksmith's shop
plastered with old hand-bills and posters. There were some dirty old
window-frames in the second story, but I do not believe there was one
whole pane of glass left.
"This is the place, Mother Roberts," said Callie.
"Surely no human beings dwell in such a terrible place as this,
Callie," I replied.
"You come with me and see for yourself," she rejoined. "Don't you
remember what I told you? I said I would take you to a place you didn't
dream existed. This is the one."
Sure enough. _And this was once her home!_ She opened a disreputable
door, and we climbed a dirty and fearfully rickety stairway; next we
groped our way along a dark passage. "Mind, there's a broken board!
Look out you don't break your ankle," said Callie. She spoke none too
soon. I narrowly escaped an accident. Now we turned a corner and got a
little better light, this disclosing another old partly-broken-down
stairway with nearly all the balustrade gone. Up these we climbed,
hugging, as we did so, the filthy wall, for safety. On reaching the top
she rapped gently an a cracked door, but received no answer. She rapped
louder. Still no answer. Presently some one called from somewhere
below. Then she rapped still louder. This time a man's voice inquired,
"Who's there?" There was the sound of shuffling footsteps, and then the
door opened, disclosing two women, one young, one old, and three men,
all young, but all old-looking, cadaverous, starved, ragged, filthy,
and indescribably loathsome. Furthermore, the odor issuing through that
open doorway was almost intolerable.
Callie knew all, with the exception of the young girl, and called each
by name; but, as usual, they did not recognize her, and, in the same
manner as heretofore described, had to be convinced, whilst she again
rehearsed her wonderful experience. Presently she said: "I'm going to
hunt up some of the others, and I'm going to ask this lady to sing for
you while I am gone. She's brought her autoharp with her."
[Illustration: SHEET MUSIC
THE SONGS MY MOTHER SANG.
Words and Music by Mrs. FLORENCE ROBERTS.
DUET Or SOLO.
1. One day I found a precious book
Containing many a gem
Of song my mother used to sing
It takes me back again
Across the vista of the years,
When, by her loving voice,
Melodious invitation came
To make the Lord my choice.
2. She sang about the previous blood
Christ shed on Calvary;
And how, to save our souls from hell,
He died in agony. "Come, sinners, to the gospel feast"
Methinks I hear her still
Singing, as silently she prayed
"Lord, break that stubborn will."
3. This blessed soldier of the cross
To her reward has gone;
But oh, the tender memories
She left in sacred song.
And, tho' I wandered far from God,
And wasted many years,
The songs my mother used to sing
Will oft-times bring the tears.]
Up to this time I had not uttered a word. The scene had practically
rendered me temporarily speechless; but now I took a few steps into the
room, whilst one of the men found an old soap box and turned it upside
down for me to sit on. At a glance I saw vermin crawling in the cracks
of the filthy floor. Oh! it was awful! Soon, however, I lost sight of
my loathsome surroundings, for in answer to silent prayer the dear Lord
was giving me a message in song. Never was there closer attention than
while they listened to the song which you will find between these pages,
entitled "The Songs My Mother Sang." Then I knelt and prayed, and prayed.
"On that dirty floor?" you ask. Yes, dear reader; I quite forgot the dirt
and the vermin. I only saw souls going to hell if they didn't get help
from God. (Afterwards I observed that neither vermin nor dirt clung to
me.)
When once more conscious of my surroundings, I discovered how dirty
their faces were, for now there were clean channels on many cheeks.
Their tears! One girl and two men agreed to forsake sin, and I was
happy in the thought of conveying her to San Jose on our return next
day, whilst Callie planned for the men. We did what we could for the
time being and then went out into the fresh air. I asked Callie how
many lived under that roof. To my amazement, she said, "All told, about
forty just at present."
Her next mission was to the various places from which she had pilfered,
and they were many. One was a harness-shop. She addressed the old man
thus:
"How d'you do, sir? Do you remember me?"
"No, mam, I don't. Who are you?"
"I'm a woman who once stole a dog collar from you while your back was
turned. I've come to pay for it. I'm converted now, but I used to be a
'dope' fiend."
"You were? You don't look like it."
"No, because God, for Jesus Christ's sake, forgave all my sins, cured
me of all my bad habits, and has set me on the solid Rock, and I'm on
my road to heaven. When you knew me I was on my road to hell."
"But I never knew you."
"Yes, you did. I'm Callie ----."
"What! You don't say so! Well, well! wonders will never cease. It's
enough to make a man believe there is a personal God, I declare it is!"
Callie availed herself of this opportunity, and when we left there, the
harness-maker had promised to serve her wonderful Savior and he kept
his word.
Next we visited the rescue home, where we were received with open arms
by dear Sister Kauffman. After having a precious time with her family
and partaking of her hospitality, we went down-town again. There we
spent a glorious evening at a street-meeting. Callie testified.
Afterward we went to the Emmanuel Gospel Mission, where she gave a
message from that most precious parable, "The Prodigal Son." When the
invitation was given, the altar filled with seekers, most of whom went
from there with victory in their souls.
We were the guests of the mission superintendent and family over night.
Callie was my room-mate. Then it was that I saw what the hypodermic
needle had done for her. _There was no place_ (_save down her spine_)
_that was not marked_, and no wonder, she had been a morphine slave for
twenty-seven years--its abject slave.
The next morning, as soon as we could politely leave our kind host and
family, we returned to that 'dope' den, Callie to prepare the two
young men, I to take charge of the girl, and all of us to return on an
early train to San Jose. Alas! my girl weakened, and nothing would
induce her to part with her drug; but the men went with Callie to an
adjacent barber-shop for baths, hair-cutting, and shaving. During these
operations Callie and I quickly went to the Salvation Army's secondhand
shop, where Callie procured the men complete outfits of respectable
clothing. What a transformation when we beheld them again! Then we took
them to breakfast; but they ate sparingly, and were not satisfied until
they had taken some of their favorite drug.
Two and a half hours later Callie and I were it home once more, and our
young men were in the safe keeping of two sanctified brothers. Although
these brethren were severely tried and tested time and again, they so
held on to God for these precious souls that they are now saved and
sanctified and on their road to heaven.
Gallic kept her situation for some time longer and then went forth to
preach the glorious gospel. The last time I heard of her, she was being
wonderfully blest in preaching in southern California. May God forever
guide this precious woman and keep her true until Jesus calls, "Well
done, thou good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy
Lord."