Many volumes would be needed to contain the story of all the souls who
found deliverance from sin, sorrow and terror by the message of Kate Lee,
but her memoir would be sadly incomplete without, at least, a few
sketches which illustrate the courage, the faith, and the love with which
she sought and won and held souls who, unless such love, and faith, and
courage had been expended upon them, would have died in their sin.
The following stories are true, but they do not profess to be vivid.
Few of us would care for a passport-photograph of ourselves to be given
to the world as a true likeness, and when giving word-pictures of souls
who are still fighting their way to Heaven 'midst many enemies and
dangers, there is surely need of a kindly 're-touching!' Scars which sin
has made are wisely unnoticed; sins of the past best forgotten; there are
conditions of strange and fierce trial in the lives of some which, if
told, would magnify the triumph of grace, but should, for obvious
reasons, remain unmentioned.
It was a great change for Kate Lee when, after her command of Norland
Castle, she was appointed to Reading, a prosperous county town in
charming surroundings. In its best business part stands a fine Army hall.
It was faultlessly kept, and attended by a most respectable congregation.
After her heavy term in the slums of London, it might reasonably be
expected that she would take things quietly in a provincial corps and
recuperate her spent strength. But Kate Lee could no more settle down to
enjoy a pleasant time amongst pleasant people than could her old General
during his field days.
She by no means despised her 'nice' people, but she hungered for those
without the camp. 'Are there none of our sort in Reading?' she inquired
of the local officers. To be sure there were Silver and Coley Streets;
_they_ were bad enough for anything. Too true. Kate Lee found in
that small area drunkenness, cruelty, misery, hideous sin--a match for
anything in Shepherd's Bush.
She began with the children. Poor, ragged, neglected little souls they
were; not because of want, but because of the sin of their parents. The
Adjutant rented a small hall in Coley Street, and to it invited the
children; they came in swarms. She made music for them with her
concertina and banjo; sang to them; chatted with them; laughed with them;
patted them. One of the first songs she taught them was, 'Let the blessed
sunshine in.'
Straightway they took her to their hearts and called her 'The Sunshine
Lady.' She worked week after week amongst them. As well as telling them
about the Saviour who wanted to make their lives good and happy, she
drilled them, and after a while, announced a surprise to the parent
corps. She would show them what her Coley Street children could do. She
marched them up to the citadel, where they gave a programme of songs,
drills, and recitations. What parents are not pleased when some one
charmingly loves and makes a fuss of their children? Certainly, Silver
and Coley Street parents were gratified.
One little group of youngsters begged the Adjutant to come and see their
grandfather who was dying. She found a dear old Christian, living with
his daughter and son-in-law, the latter a terrible drunkard. The Adjutant
visited the old man until he died, comforted him, and promised by the
help of God, to win his son-in-law. It seemed like attempting the
impossible, but with God on her side nothing was impossible with Kate
Lee.
Shepherd's mother died when he was six weeks old; later his father died a
drunkard. At five years of age wee boy Shepherd was carried home drunk,
for men had stood him on a bench in the tap room and 'filled him up with
beer.' He drank for forty years. During a brief, steady bout, he had
married a decent girl, who, not knowing his character, was carried away
by the smart appearance of a handsome soldier in the glory of red coat
and gleaming buttons. Once married, habit reasserted itself as the years
stole on. Shepherd broke up his home, beat his wife, and terrified his
children. His good wages went to the saloon-keeper's till while his
family starved and went in rags.
He had not been in a place of worship since the day of his marriage
until, in an effort towards decency, in acknowledgment of Adjutant Lee's
kindness, he attended the memorial service of his father-in-law.
Kate Lee threw her net, but never was fish more wary, more determined not
to be caught, than Shepherd. For months she followed him.
'Where's father?' she would ask the children. 'In the "Blue Lion,"' they
would reply, and into the 'Blue Lion' the Adjutant would go and visit him
there. She waylaid him on his way home from work. She took the corps into
the plot of garden in front of his house on Sunday afternoons and held
meetings there.
'She fair terrified me,' says Shepherd, now. He was furious with her and
determined to insult her, but when he met those blue eyes that knew no
fear, brimming with love for his soul, and heard her ringing inquiry,
'And how's Brother Shepherd to-day?' angry words died on his lips, and he
sought refuge in escape.
At last, word went round the Coley district that the 'Sunshine Lady' was
leaving Reading. Shepherd would soon be free from this bothering,
interfering woman. But strangely enough, he did not feel relieved. Upon
his heart had settled a load heavier than lead. He felt unutterably
oppressed and miserable. He _must_ see that Adjutant once more. He
went to her farewell meeting. As she shook his hand, and looked into his
soul to make her last appeal, his heart broke. He had loved sin greedily,
but now it appeared hateful to him. If only he could be free from it!
Down at the penitent-form he cast himself asking God to make him a new
creature. He rose, feeling strangely, wonderfully light and free, sweet
and clean in spirit. He was delivered from all desire to sin. Arriving at
home, for the first time in his life he wanted to kneel at his bedside
and 'say his prayers.'
Kate Lee had won him to God. Now she must leave him. Years later, when
visiting Reading, she met Shepherd, a bandsman in full uniform, beating
the drum in Silver Street. Tears of joy ran down her face at the sight.
Shepherd has proved to his own happiness and to the satisfaction of the
town that 'the blessing of the Lord maketh rich and addeth no sorrow.' By
the grace of God he has never slipped. At the time of his conversion he
had no clothes but those he stood in. When he left Coley Street, all his
furniture went on a push-cart. Recently he moved house, and needed two
vans. He is foreman at his place of employment. His wife sought salvation
two weeks after he was saved, and of his family, five out of the seven
children are Salvationists. His home is a joyous place. He loves to
entertain, to take people home on a Sunday afternoon, and have a happy
time with singing, reading God's Word, and prayer. Then off to the
open-air meeting, where he delights to witness to God's wonder-working
power! Saturday night, when his workmates gather round The Army ring,
and in Coley Street, are his favourite open-air meetings.
Shepherd is a happy man. His healthy face beams with goodwill to men and
gratitude to God. His eyes grow moist, but they still shine, when he
speaks of Kate Lee. 'Aye, bless her heart! I'm going to frame that
picture of her that came out in "The War Cry,"' he exclaims with a deep,
ringing voice. 'I look upon her as my mother--a real mother to my soul
she was.'
In the streets of Reading almost any day, an old man may be seen pushing
a tinker's barrow. The small carriage is gay with yellow, red, and blue
paint and bright with polished brass, and on a conspicuous place appear
the words, 'Where will you spend Eternity?' The barrow-man has a
pleasant, bearded face, and steady-gazing, merry, eyes, with a cheerful
nod and word for every one; he steps in and out of gardens, mending
kettles, sharpening knives, and doing other handy jobs for housewives.
'Mr. Wellman, of The Salvation Army,' an established resident would
inform an inquirer.
Thirteen years ago, Wellman was one of the most wretched men in Reading.
Drink had brought him, with his wife and family, to a common
lodging-house, and there they herded, sometimes as many as twelve men,
women, and children in one room, eating, drinking, sleeping, cursing.
A son of Christian parents, Wellman was a decent youth, but in his early
married life he began to go down-hill and long before Adjutant Lee took
charge of the corps at Reading, had reached the dead level of misery,
degradation, and hopelessness. He had turned his back upon God; he feared
Him, dreaded Him, longed to escape from His presence, but the Heavenly
Father did not forsake him. His mother had died, he was filled with
sorrow and remorse, when one Sunday evening The Army band halted before
the lodging-house. Wellman was in the yard lounging against the wall when
the drum tapped. He walked through the passage and gazed at The Army.
Kate Lee was leading the meeting. She looked at him and smiled. There was
a world of power in that look; interest, kindness, gentleness, sorrow for
sin. Wellman listened with apparent indifference to the meeting, and the
march moved off.
He had heard the Army drum hundreds of times before in Reading, but while
it called to every one to remember God, its message had never reached
him; but the look on that woman's face did. For the first time he
followed the march, and, arriving at the hall, was invited inside. The
place was already full, but a wise-hearted orderly piloted Wellman to a
front seat.
He has no remembrance of the message of the meeting; but he saw himself;
his loathsome condition; his sin to God and man; his failure in life. At
the invitation he went forward to the penitent-form and asked God to take
away his sin; he rose from his knees believing that he was saved.
How wonderful is the work of God! Wellman came into the hall dirty,
unkempt in body and soul. For years he had given no thought to his
appearance, cared nothing for the contempt of respectable people. Now he
fled to the lodging-house, ashamed to be seen.
The next morning the Adjutant called to see him. He had broken up eight
homes, and for years had felt no wish for so troublesome a possession,
but now he longed to get out of that hovel and to have a decent place to
which he could invite this 'angel woman.' The Adjutant smiled upon him,
told him he had only to follow God and things would soon improve. She
fostered the desire to make home again with his family and his own bits
of furniture about him, and helped him to get rooms. During Wellman's
years of sinning, whenever he had seen the word God in print, he had
dropped the paper or book as though it were hot; now he opened his
mother's Bible and found it to be a library of delight; and his spare
time, between work and the meetings, was spent in reading it for sheer
pleasure.
The desire for strong drink had been swept out of him by one touch of the
Holy Spirit, but his love of tobacco was even stronger than of beer. No
one spoke to him about giving up smoking, but from the day of his
conversion he felt ashamed of the habit and only smoked in the house. The
heavenly vision growing stronger he determined to have nothing in his
life about which he had any doubt, and he thus reasoned with himself, 'If
God can cure me of the drink, He can cure me of the pipe.' From that day
he had no desire for tobacco.
Wellman's business increased, and the Adjutant was interested in his
barrow which had taken on a gay appearance in The Army colours. Pointing
to a clear space she remarked, 'Wouldn't a message go well there?'
''Twould, Adjutant; what one would do?' She thought, 'I think, "Where
will you spend Eternity?" would be a good one,' she replied. So Wellman
had the words painted on his barrow.
His quiet eyes smile as he says, 'Her text shall preach in Reading while
ever I can push the barrow. It gives me no end of chances to speak to
people. Some ladies on bicycles stopped me one day and said, "What is the
meaning of those words?" "It means that you're going to die, and are you
ready for what comes after?" I told them. Some have said, "What have you
got that rubbish on there for?" Then I tell them what Salvation has done
for my life. But most people know me now, and look for a little word.'
He is now Sergeant Wellman at the corps, in full Army uniform, and does
useful work as doorkeeper and orderly, always on the watch to welcome
poor souls such as he was. He has had his share of trials since he was
converted. Bronchitis and asthma often keep him a prisoner and make work
slack. 'I don't have to look for troubles, they come trooping along, but
grace keeps them company,' he says joyfully. Then a shade of sadness
steals into his voice as he continues, wistfully, 'What was I doing to
miss all those years? Wretched, terrible years, mind always brooding,
never happy, never at rest!'
It is often more difficult to rescue a sinful married woman than a man. A
man as soon as he is converted goes to work, and during the day remains
under some sort of discipline and restraint; whereas the very privileges
of a married woman's position often become hindrances in the way of her
Salvation. No one can compel her to work, and undesirable neighbours may
visit her and tempt her to sin. Adjutant Lee never relaxed hope or effort
because success was difficult of realization. There are bright stars in
her crown of jewels whom she discovered in the depths; but after a woman
has been restored to her family, the past forgiven and laid aside, her
dear ones are naturally unwilling for the past to be recorded, and in
this book we must content ourselves with a very slight sketch of one who
has passed beyond the touch of pain.
A married woman had worn out the patience of a loving family. So ruinous
to the happiness and well-being was her presence in the home, that when
at last she went away her nearest made no effort to bring her back. The
Adjutant found her in the depths of sin, and determined, by the grace of
God, that she should be saved. This was one of the most difficult cases
she ever undertook. The woman had lost hope and will power, and it took
love that would not let go, and faith that would not accept defeat,
before the desire to rise again stole into the poor heart made captive of
the devil. At last the Adjutant persuaded her to attend the meetings and
there she found deliverance. After a few weeks Kate Lee got in touch with
the husband in a distant town, but his family had suffered too much at
their mother's hands for him readily to consent to his wife's return. Yet
he was not a hard-hearted man, and upon the suggestion of a
reconciliation, if, for six months, his wife proved herself to be indeed
a changed woman, he consented. During that trying probation the Adjutant
mothered this soul, who, with tottering steps, had turned her face
homeward, and she won through.
At the end of the allotted time a letter brought the husband to a
meeting-place. He looked apprehensive, but meeting the wistful eyes of a
well-dressed, comely woman, he saw once again the wife he loved and the
mother his children loved. That day he bore her off to the expectant but
anxious home. With beating hearts, the daughters waited the arrival, but
it was not the abandoned drunkard who had spoilt their home, and
horrified and frightened them, who stood on the doorstep with father. It
was just mother. Home was really home once more. Mother at the head of
the table, mother's hand here, there, upon everything. Then she became
ill. Months of agony followed. The doctor ordered stimulants; these were
refused to the end. Slowly the delivered soul slipped down death's river;
then, as it met the sea of eternity, she looked up. 'All's well!' she
said, and crossed the bar.
It was through the house-to-house canvass of a Salvation Army Assurance
Agent that Adjutant Lee came into contact with the Parrot family at
Brighton. They lived in a poor enough street and house; but thinking
people who live close to the working classes know that pounds a week
which should go into the homes frequently find their way to the
saloon-keeper's till. 'The only saving I want to think about is to get my
husband saved from the drink,' Mrs. Parrot had told the agent, and, like
a wise man, he reported the incident to Kate Lee.
It was Sunday morning. There was a tap at the door; a little child
appeared, took one look at the pure, radiant face there, and disappeared
saying aloud to his mother, 'There's a Salvation Army lady at the door,
mother, and I don't think you ought to send her away.' Kate Lee heard the
words, and uninvited, slipped into the passage. Meeting the mother, she
said gently, 'If I have a welcome from the child, I am sure of one from
you.'
That morning the strings of Mrs. Parrot's harp of hope were reduced to
one. A brave-hearted girl, she had started married life determined to
fill it with music, despite the prophecies that she was a fool to marry
Parrot. But the strings of her harp broke one by one, and this morning
there was no song in her heart; she could see no star in the heavy sky.
She was a fine type of the working woman; had been servant in a good
family, and had had a godly Sunday School teacher who had taught her the
reality of God and the efficacy of prayer. Through all the wretched,
terrible years of her married life, she had prayed and hoped for
deliverance from the earthly hell in which she and her children lived.
The week before Adjutant Lee's visit she had in desperation gone to a
spiritual leader and implored him to try and reform her husband, and had
received the extraordinary reply, 'Well, you must bear with this little
habit. I may tell you I have the same weakness myself.'
Little habit indeed! It had lost Parrot two businesses. Now he pushed a
barrow, hawking anything he had money to buy; generally the proceeds went
in drink, his family starved and lived in terror of him, and his wife,
the soul of respectability, could not keep the family decent.
A year ago, her patience completely worn out, she had told him not to
come home any more. This was the last straw to Parrot's own wretchedness.
He went to a chemist, purchased some oxalic acid, dropped it into a pint
of beer and drank it; stumbling into the street, overcome by pain and
gasping for breath, he fell to the ground. The police picked him up, took
him to the hospital and his life was saved. When he had sufficiently
recovered to go before the magistrate, he was sent to jail for a week;
while in there, he made desperate resolves that he would do better; but
once released, life went on as before.
Mrs. Parrot lifted her eyes to the Adjutant's face. Was God going to help
her after all? The Adjutant invited her to the meetings. She frankly said
her husband had no clothes to wear. 'Where was he?' 'Upstairs in bed.'
The Adjutant asked if she might go up and see him. Mrs. Parrot thought
she had better go and inquire.
A Salvation Army woman wanted to come up to his bedroom and see him lying
drunk in bed! The impudence! He would show her out of this British
workman's home quicker than she had come in. Lunging into his rough
clothes, and staggering down the stairs, with muttering lips and angry
eyes, came Parrot. He found Kate Lee talking with his children. She
looked up at him with a smile and said, 'They told me I was coming to a
drunkard's home, but these don't look like a drunkard's children. The
dears!'
Parrot was struck dumb and stood with a strangely-working face and a
peculiar tearing at his throat staring at this fair, fragile woman. 'I
want you to come to our meeting to-night,' continued the Adjutant. 'Mrs.
Parrot tells me you haven't any good clothes; but I'll have a full suit
ready for you in time, and shall expect you there.' She prayed and was
gone.
This was the first vision of Divine love that Parrot had ever seen. Born
in a beer shop, fighting and quarrelling from childhood, his life had
been a hideous, hopeless failure. Hell he understood--felt; but such
words as God, Heaven, Love, had meant nothing to him at all. Now they
did. Love seemed to shine all over that woman. Angels' wings never looked
lovelier to human eyes than the Army blue of Adjutant Kate's uniform
looked to Parrot.
By-and-by a parcel arrived. It contained shirt, trousers, coat and vest,
socks and boots, collar, tie, and even a handkerchief. Parrot handled
them with wonder. He had never worn such clothes--the Adjutant had begged
them from a gentleman. He put them on, and walked up and down the back
yard. How good it felt to be well dressed--to look respectable.
Meeting time arrived and, piloted by his wondering wife, Parrot went to
the hall. 'Let's go up out of the draught,' diplomatized Mrs. Parrot, and
edged her man as near to the front as possible. Kate Lee gloried in God
that night. She told of His boundless love, His seeking--seeking to find,
and make good and happy, every soul of man. Parrot and his wife knelt at
the penitent-form.
Next morning Parrot felt desperately ill, but the craving for strong
drink had gone. He must face life in earnest and see about providing for
the family. He must have something to sell. Mrs. Parrot remembered a
kind-hearted man who had promised, that if ever her husband tried to do
better, that he would help him. Parrot walked several miles to find this
man, who trusted him with a dollar's worth of fish.
The spiritual life in this new convert was very feeble. Parrot felt
comfortable in his mind, and happy to believe that angels still walked
this earth, and that one had come his way. An ambition had come into his
weak, undisciplined will to make a decent home for his wife and children.
He would have been content to have let things rest there. But Kate Lee
bore down upon him, not only with smiles, but commands. He must fight for
God. He must tell all his townspeople of his conversion. Parrot was
terrified, but there was no escape. When the Adjutant arrived with the
band to carry him off, he slipped out of the back door, but there he was
met by the wisest of recruiting sergeants, a man who understood men and
loved them. Trembling in every limb, Parrot was marched off to The Army
Hall, and sat by the Adjutant on the platform. In an open-air meeting in
his own street, an Army cap was placed on his head. There could be no
turning back. He was literally carried up the Delectable Mountains and
shown higher views of life; and, seeing them, he desired them.
To-day, he is proud of his Salvation Army family, and of his good wife,
who is the neighbours' friend, helping them in trouble, comforting them
in bereavement, praying with them in distress. When The General called
for homes for the destitute Austrian children, the Parrot household was
the first in the corps to open their door. Mrs. Parrot has a prosperous
business, as also have two of their sons, and Parrot is in steady work.
He is grateful for temporal mercies, but no words can express the
gratitude of this man and his wife for the miracle of Salvation, the
deliverance from sin, the love for the things of God, which has come to
their home and their hearts by the grace of God, brought to them by the
love that feared no insult, no violence; the faith that would not be
disappointed, of Kate Lee.