Fifteen Years with the Outcast Part 10

Three or four are on their feet at once, some thanking G.o.d that, even though they are behind prison bars, he has washed away their sins in the precious blood of Jesus, and declaring their intention of leading clean lives, lives that will honor the Lord; adding that they are asking him to give them honest jobs in respectable quarters, so that they need never again be obliged to return to their former environments of vice and degradation. And so on, until time for testimony is up.

"How many desire an interest in our prayers, that you may lead lives that will fit you for heaven instead of sending you down to an awful h.e.l.l? Please raise your hands. One, two, three, six, ten; nearly all who have not testified. G.o.d bless you! Let us pray."

Brother Edstrom so earnestly pet.i.tions the loving Father for mercy and pardon for these poor souls that some of them weep audibly. Again we all join in singing; the benediction is p.r.o.nounced; then those conducting the meeting repair quickly to the men's quarters in an adjacent but separate enclosure. There a similar service is held, after which the majority hurry away to the various houses of worship for the eleven o'clock services.

When not otherwise engaged, I find it pleasurable as well as profitable to linger, but on this occasion I shall not remain. As we walk along, I will keep my word concerning some of the inquired-about inmates.

The dignified, white-haired woman spends the greater part of her time in that prison-house.

She is addicted to the morphine habit, and, in consequence, she resorts to any means to procure the drug. It has made a petty thief of her, thus causing her frequent arrest and incarceration for three or six months.

She was the wife of a prominent professional man, and, so far as this world's goods are concerned, she enjoyed everything that a loving husband was able to lavish on her. At the time of, and following, the birth of her third child, the attending physician, in order to a.s.suage her excruciating pain, administered morphine. She continued to resort to it, and _soon she was its slave_. Everything known to human skill was done to cure her of the habit, but without much effect. She began to inject the drug into her flesh with a hypodermic needle and also to mix it with cocaine. Thus she soon became a mortification to her husband, relatives, and friends, and erelong they felt that she had forfeited all claims to their consideration. They forsook her, absolutely refused to recognize her. In process of time the husband procured a divorce and sole guardianship of the children.

Soon she disappeared from her home neighborhood and for the future was lost sight of by all except police judges, and officers, prison companions, and habitue of morphine dens. Every home missionary I know of in San Francisco had made some attempt or sacrifice for the redemption of this unfortunate woman, but apparently with little, if any, effect. One day she told me that _I was wasting my time, for she loved her drug better than her G.o.d_. I wondered if she really meant it.

You ask if this is an exceptional case? Not by any manner of means. I am able to relate many others, all different in detail, but all alike in the main, the family physician being primarily responsible.

My heart goes out tenderly for the younger inmates of the prison, most of whom are there for a first offense, and who are now in great danger of contracting bad habits, such as cigarette-smoking, from older offenders. "What!" you exclaim, "do they permit women and girls to smoke?" I'm sorry to tell you it is only too true. Furthermore, the weed is procured from those in authority over them. And from that habit and others acquired during incarceration, deeper demoralization results, so that many come forth worse than they ever were before their imprisonment. Nevertheless, realizing the limitless value of even one soul, the home missionary keeps, ever keeps in view Gal. 6:9--"And let us not be weary in well doing; for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not."

With but very few exceptions the prisoners of both s.e.xes admit that liquor or drugs, or both have cursed their lives, made every type of criminal out of them, forfeited them their liberty, some for life, aye, even life itself. I have dealt with some of the ones condemned to die.

I learn this from their own lips.

When, oh! when will that awful octopus, that curse of the world be destroyed? When, oh! when will our lawmakers and our officers eliminate forever the accursed poisons that ruin men and women both physically and morally?

What chance do G.o.d's consecrated workers have, with this band of demons confronting them on every hand, dragging souls down to h.e.l.l every hour of the day, yea, every minute?

'How long, O Lord, how long?' Psa. 94:3.

CHAPTER XIV.

LUCY--A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE.

Following the services one Sunday morning, several of the inmates waited on me in a body. "Mother Roberts," the spokesman began, "there's a dying girl in one of the cells in the smaller dormitory. She's spitting blood something dreadful, and she's so bad. Bad and all as some of us are, we're scared the way she goes on. Her language is just awful! She never comes out to the services, yet she's been here for months. Says she has no use for 'them hypocrites,' and 'don't want none of 'em near her.' Says she'll curse 'em if they do come. Say, Mother Roberts, couldn't you make some excuse to get into her cell? We haven't the heart to see her deliberately go to h.e.l.l."

For a few minutes silence reigned, whilst I thought and inwardly prayed. Then I felt it to be of the Lord to carry out an impression to walk quietly into her cell as though by mistake, trusting the Divine Director for results....

Propped up in one corner of her bunk, wrapped in grey blankets, reclined a hollow-eyed, ghastly-looking girl, gasping for breath. Some blood was trickling from the corners of her mouth. She glared at me, tried to speak, but failed. Quickly I took out my handkerchief, dipped it into the granite ewer close by, and wiped her poor face and mouth; then she whispered, "Again." Repeatedly this was done, the Spirit of G.o.d all this time impressing me not to utter one word aloud, yet giving me a wonderful, most blessed realization of his presence and power.

After I had made her as comfortable as surroundings would admit, she presently slept. Then I quietly tip-toed out; exacted a promise from her companions not to reveal my ident.i.ty, which promise they faithfully kept, though under difficulties; had a conference with Mrs. Kincaid, the matron; then went away.

I returned the following morning and for four more consecutive days.

Still the dear Lord did not permit me to speak. On Friday afternoon as I was about to leave her (by the way, she had observed almost stolid silence so far), she called me to come back.

"What is it, dear?" I asked.

"Say, do you mind telling me who you are?"

"Why? Why do you wish to know?"

After a prolonged silence I once more was about to depart, but she called again:

"I'll have to say it."

"Say what, Lucy?"

"Say this: _you act like a Christian_."

Oh! praise G.o.d, praise G.o.d! the ice was broken, and my pent-up soul gave vent to a copious flow of refreshing tears, as I bowed in grat.i.tude at that prison bunk, beside that wandering sick girl, and poured out my heart in earnest prayer for the dear Father to guide her into all truth, and to make me ever-wise in my administrations to the needs of herself and others. Then, kissing her on the brow, I left her.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SHEET MUSIC

WAS IT YOU?

Words and Music by Mrs. FLORENCE ROBERTS.

Some one spoke to me of Je--sus, Said he'd come to call on me, Some one told me how he suf-fered, Said, "For you and me he died."

Some one gave the in--vi--ta--tion, And we bowed in humble prayer; Lov--ing Sav-ior, how I thank thee Some one came to me that day-Oh, I know that man-y oth--ers Would be glad if "some one" came.

Said no mat-ter how I'd fall--en, He from sin would set me free.

"Does, oh, does he love so dear--ly? Tell me more of him," I cried.

Soon I felt my sins for-giv--en; Thro' his grace I'll meet you there, Some one rep-re-sent-ing Je--sus, And I turned thee not a--way.

Bring-ing lov--ing in--vi--ta--tion From their lives of sin and shame.

Some one told me how he loved me, And was knocking at my door; Some one told me he is com-ing Soon to take his loved ones home,-- There in mansions bright with glo-ry. Oh,'tis won-der-ful to me Bless, oh, bless that loving some one, Sent by Je-sus Christ our Lord; In--to lives of peace and glo--ry, Thro' the blood of Christ the Lamb:

He had oft-en stood there plead-ing, Had been man-y times be-fore.

Told me he was there to par--don, If I now to him would come.

That the vil-est he is seek-ing From their sins to set them free!

Help me, now that I am blood-washed, Wit-ness to thy precious word.

Send me pray-ing, bless-ed Je--sus, With that song, "Just as I am."

Was it you? Was it you? Was it you?]

On the following Sunday I returned and found her eager to see me, also much improved in health. After our greeting she told me that she had been trying to discover who I was, but that no one would inform her.

"Ain't they the limit?" was her smiling expression.

"You'll tell me, won't you? Say, who was that singing out in the big dormitory a while ago?"

"Every one was singing, Lucy."

"Oh, yes, I know, but I mean some one sometimes alone and playing something that sounds like a guitar-mandolin like we have at home?"