JOE'S STORY.
In giving you Joe's story, I realize that I am taking considerable
liberty, having not asked his permission, but I am confident of his
willingness because of the lesson of warning to other boys--and they
are so many--whose early lives correspond to his. I am one of Joe's
interested friends. I have frequently visited him in the prison
adjacent to Folsom, near Sacramento, Cal., and have learned from Warden
Reilly that he is a model prisoner. I am hoping, and praying that, if
it be the will of God, he will soon be out on parole.
Whilst he was detained in the Santa Cruz jail awaiting a rehearing of
his case, it was frequently my privilege to visit that place through
the week and, with my little autoharp for accompaniment, to sing for
the prisoners. One afternoon, whilst I was sitting by the bars in front
of Joe's cell, and just following that blessed song, "Tell Mother I'll
Be There," he broke into agonizing sobs and tears, and for a long while
could not control himself as he lay prostrate face downward on the cold
stone floor. I waited and prayed, my very soul in agony for his, as I
began to appreciate and realize his awful situation. Stretching forth
my hands through those iron bars, I reverently placed them on his head,
and with all my heart implored our Lord for comfort, mercy, and pardon
for the soul of this stricken young man, who that morning had learned
that the sentence already pronounced at a former trial had been
confirmed and that it was immediately to go into effect. There was no
escaping his fate now.
I was permitted, by the kind-hearted sheriff, to spend hours with Joe
on that occasion. When his grief had somewhat spent itself, this is
what he said:
"O Mother Roberts, Mother Roberts! if I only could recall the past! If
I only could!
"I started in wrong from the time I can remember. Lots of naughty
little things I would do even when I was quite a small shaver. _Some
things I did the folks would think smart and cute. They would laugh and
brag of me to the neighbors, right in my heating, too, and that's where
they made a mistake; for, young as I was, it only made me bolder, also
saucy._
"Some of the youngsters in our neighborhood were awful. I do believe
they were born bad; anyhow, I knew they swore, and so did some of their
parents. They gave them many a cuffing, but they didn't care, only
swore worse than ever. My folks used to forbid me to go near them, and
when any of them came into our yard, used to say, You go right home; I
don't want you here. Joe can't play with you.' But Joe did, and that's
the reason Joe has to suffer now." ...
[Illustration: "NINETY-NINE YEARS, MOTHER ROBERTS!" POOR JOE]
"Poor boy! don't tell it, if it distresses you so badly," I said; but
he continued.
"The time came when I was old enough to go to school. These same kids
went to the same one I did, and do you think I could shake 'em? No,
mam; they stuck to me like leeches. They were now harder than ever to
get rid of. In fact, I couldn't, but managed never to let my folks see
me with them if I could help it, and they knew they dare not come near
our house. It didn't take me very long to learn to swear like them,
when in their company. I thought it sounded big and smart, although
deep down in my heart I knew it was wrong. One day one of them got hold
of a deck of soiled playing cards, and the oldest kid undertook to
teach the rest of us how to play casino. It didn't take long to learn.
I used to often get home late from school now, and when asked what kept
me, always told a lie. I hated to do that at first, but it soon got to
be easy. The folks so loved me, had such confidence in their 'smart
little Joe,' that they never suspected, because I learned my lessons
quickly; besides, always had a pretty good report from school.
"We used to play sometimes in a vacant lot. There was a saloon near by,
and sometimes the man would treat to soda-water, sometimes we paid for
it, and by the time I was thirteen I had learned to love beer and
whiskey, also to smoke cigarettes, which we would make from the tobacco
we kids stole from our fathers' and other people's pockets when their
backs were turned, though sometimes we'd buy it.
"It began to be hard work to get up in time for breakfast and school of
a morning, and I'll tell you why. When the folks thought, after I'd
said 'Good night' that I'd gone to bed, I'd lock my door, then pretty
soon, in my stocking feet, holding my shoes in my hand, I would drop
quietly out of my window into the garden, and as quick as I could, by
previous arrangement, would join the others in a game of cards for the
smokes or the drinks. Father more than once said, 'Joe, I've heard
you're keeping bad boys' company. I hope it isn't true. If I have your
word for it that it isn't, I'll believe you, because _I've never yet
caught you in a lie_.' I confess I used to feel awfully ashamed and
guilty as I'd say, 'Whoever told you that told you a lie. You know
where I am at nine o'clock, sir.' And he'd say, 'That's so, my boy.
They must have mistaken somebody else for you.' But I knew better.
"When I was about sixteen, I went to work driving a bakery wagon, so
that I didn't see quite so much of my former pals, but delivering bread
took me into places where no honest or moral man or boy ought to even
dare to set his foot, let alone one like me; so I fell still further.
"For all that, a pure, good girl fell in love with me, and I with her.
I hated to deceive her, but made up my mind that I would cut it all out
when we were married, if she'd promise to be my wife; and so we became
engaged. But--I didn't cut it out. More than once she said, 'O Joe,
you've been drinking! I smell it.' I'd laugh, and make some kind of an
excuse, and she'd forgive me every time. Say, Mother Roberts, I hated
myself from head to foot for lying as I did to that pure, sweet girl."
"Go on, Joe, I'm listening."
"One night I joined the boys in a game of cards in a saloon on Sequel
Avenue. It appears that Mr. L----, the proprietor, who, by the way, was
a veteran G. A. R. man, had received quite a sum of money that day--his
back pension. _As God is my judge, I did not know this when I went in
there that evening._ We had a round of drinks after the first game, and
after the second, another round; then I said 'Good night' and went
home.
"Father and I slept in the same room, and I hadn't been in bed very
long when a knock came on our door.
"'Who's there?' asked father.
"'Me, Constable ----, where's Joe? I want him.'
"'Joe's out, Constable. What do you want him for?' asked father.
"'No, I'm not out, Father. Here I am,' I said, at the same time jumping
out of bed. 'What's up?'
"'Joe, my boy, I'm sorry for you, but you're my prisoner. Dress as
quick as you can and come with me. Mr. L---- was murdered tonight. He
isn't dead yet, but he's dying. You were in his saloon a while ago,
drinking and playing cards, and you are one of the three accused of the
crime of murdering him for the sake of robbing him.'
"The shock was so awful that I couldn't speak, and oh! poor old father!
He shook me, saying, 'Speak, Joe. Tell the constable it's not so.'
"Constable, my boy doesn't drink anything to speak of, and I don't
suppose he knows one card from another; do you, Joe?'
"Nobody answered this, and pretty soon we were in the presence of the
dying man. Oh! Mother Roberts, it was like a horrible nightmare. I was
dazed with the shock and the fright of it all. I could hardly get my
voice when some one asked me where I had spent the evening, and at what
time I had left that saloon. He must have been murdered right after I
left. They tried to rouse him to see if he'd recognize me. He claimed
to, but I'm sure he didn't; for he couldn't see and didn't know what he
was talking about."
"What of your two companions, Joe?" I asked.
"One of them was there, in charge of the sheriff; I don't know where
the other one was. From that night up to this we have been here in
prison, though we haven't met. He's in a cell on another floor. He's
sentenced to San Quentin for life.
"Father mortgaged our pretty home [he afterwards lost it, the mortgage
being foreclosed] and has done everything under the sun he knows of to
clear me, so have my lawyers; but they've failed! Mother Roberts,
they've failed! and I'm to be sent to the penitentiary for ninety-nine
years. Think of it, ninety-nine years! That means that unless the real
murderer turns up, some day I'll die and be buried in a dishonored
grave--and _all through starting out wrong to begin with, then keeping
it up_."
My heart felt torn all to pieces for this poor unfortunate lad. How I
should have liked to sit beside those bars all night in order to
comfort him! but as that could not be, I presently, after commending
him to an ever-merciful God and Savior, whom he could not, as yet,
accept or understand, took my departure, as sad and burdened a soul as
ever walked the earth. As the tears coursed down my cheeks, I resolved
to try to help him, and, moreover, by repeating his story, to warn
mothers and fathers to guard their little ones closely every hour of
their young lives. Also, I purposed not to spare myself in addressing
them, whether individually or _en masse_, but to confess my own
carelessness and shortsightedness, when, as a young mother, I was much
of the time heedless with regard to my little spoilt son, for _whose
soul and body God was some day going to hold me responsible_. Had it
not been for God's tender mercy and love in pardoning and directing my
future life, in answering my earnest prayers for his tender watch-care
over me and mine, who knows but that my only and well-beloved son might
have shared a similar fate? If he had, I alone would have been to
blame.
Many and many a time I have been used of God in trying to comfort
stricken mothers who were visiting their children now behind bars. "O
God!" they have cried, "what did I ever do that my child should get
into such trouble as this?" Poor mothers! You were guilty as was I, but
you haven't recognized that fact. Yes, you were; and now you begin to
realize it when well-nigh too late. But it isn't yet. Just kneel down
and throw yourself on the mercies of a merciful, loving God. Confess to
him. Plead with him to forgive you. Ask him to direct every hour, every
moment, of your future. Surrender your children to him; tell him you've
made a blunder of their lives as well as of your own; then wait on him.
Listen to what he says: "Come _now_, and let us reason together,...
Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow, though
they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. If ye be willing and
obedient, ye shall eat the good of the land; but if ye refuse and
rebel, ye shall be devoured with the sword: for the mouth of the Lord
hath spoken it." Isa. 1:18-20. "They that wait upon the Lord, shall
renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they
shall run and not be weary; they shall walk, and not faint." Isa.
40:31. I have proved, daily am proving, all this, to my constant peace
and satisfaction. So may you, dear reader, _if you will_. God bless you
and yours.
[Illustration: VIEW OF YARD AND PRISONERS' QUARTERS, REPRESA, NEAR
FOLSOM]
Not long ago I visited Warden and Mrs. Reilly at Folsom and had a long
interview with Joe. He told me that his poor old father was dead and
that he was now alone in the world. I asked him if he wanted to apply
for parole. "No, Mother Roberts," he answered; "parole is for guilty
prisoners. I want a pardon." "But, Joe," I replied, "if you are
paroled, in two years afterward you can apply for and receive your
pardon." ... I did not prevail, but I am hoping that before finishing
this book I shall receive good news concerning Joe. If so, I will
surely tell you.