Prisons and Prayer; Or, a Labor of Love

Each camp has its officers, guards, etc., among whom is the whipping boss. And God pity the man or woman who falls into his cruel hands. There is a board of prison inspectors, the president of which travels from place to place looking after the interests of all. The conditions of the stockades are much improved since I first went among them years ago. I have gone to the governors of different states and pleaded for the betterment of conditions in the prisons. Especially have I asked that the women might have better treatment and not be whipped so brutally for slight offenses or violation of the rules which the lessee is allowed to make. Upon one occasion I wrote the governor of a certain state as follows:

Washington, D. C., May 10, 18—.

To His Excellency the Governer of –.

Dear Brother: I write in behalf of the prisoners in your state prison at B. M. I find them greatly in need of food and clothing. The sick prisoners are suffering with hunger. I held services there one week ago today, and went into the kitchen myself to see what there was for sixteen sick men and those who are supposed to wait on them, and I found only one half gallon of milk a day for all, one chicken, very poor bread, no vegetables, no fruits, and no seasoning but salt. Who is to blame for this? I find you feed those prisoners (miners and farmers) on seven cents a day.

It is an outrage, a sin, a curse on this nation, the suffering you men, you governors or officers, at least allow to exist in prison walls. You permit those men in B. M. prison to be whipped for not furnishing daily from three to five small car loads of coal each, and feed them on food not sufficient to give them strength to perform that amount of labor. God help you, my friend! As you are the first officer of the state you should see that this inhuman treatment is stopped.

Forty men were whipped in one day on two occasions, and on an average there are from six to eight every day. These men are not murmuring, I gave them no chance to tell me of this. But the officers and their wives told me. I saw with my own eyes. The water in those mountains is very impure and many of the men have died from mere neglect. Many more will die soon unless something is done for their relief. Governor, for God's sake, please look after the temporal interests of your prisoners. I would have come to you face to face and talked these things over if possible. Recently I have been to see governors of several of the different states. They are not aware of the treatment of convicts in their own states, but I have seen it all these years of my pilgrimage. The awful suffering I see is just breaking my heart. Poor lost men and women! Who is responsible for the sin and crime and suffering? Largely the saloon. Men and women are born in sin and conceived in iniquity; shut in for years and years for some little crime, and subjected to the hardest labor, serving out sentence in prison under whip and lash. It is inhuman and unjust. What will God Almighty require of you and me in the day of judgment, For surely we must meet it and answer for our stewardship here on earth. May God help me to deal faithfully and do my duty by all classes—to those in authority as well as those in bondage. Now, understand me, I have no personal grievances to bring to you. It is simply mismanagement and the desire to run these prisons on as cheap a scale as possible, to save money for the State and hold position; and something must be done soon.

I told the men to be obedient and faithfully discharge their duty as prisoners. In all my work in every state and territory, Europe, Mexico and Canada, I have never had any trouble; and can go again to all these prisons where I have held services. What object have I? None, but the good of the souls and bodies of those in bonds. They are my children, given me by the Lord, and I feel as much compassion for them as you would for your child. All the officers and people were kind to me and treated me with the utmost respect. All I desire is that you obey God and cause this starving and brutal treatment to cease. Please say nothing of this letter but investigate for yourself and see if these things are not so. Two meals a day (and very little then) for a sick man is not enough.

Yours for humanity,Mrs. E. R. Wheaton, Prison Evangelist.

The following is an extract from the letter I received in reply to the above, from the general manager of the prison mines referred to:

——, –., – 22, 18—.

Mrs. Elizabeth R. Wheaton.

Dear Madam: Your letter of recent date addressed to Gov. – was referred to me. I regret exceedingly that you did not call at my office on the occasion of your visit. While there is a great deal of truth in your letter there is much that indicates that you were innocently misled by statements of convicts. I know that you must be a good woman, that your heart is in your work, and from your wide experience, amply capable of advising and instructing one like me. In undertaking the task of uniting to bring our prison systems in this state to a humane basis, we have done more than you can understand. Had you been familiar with the conditions during the past thirty years under the lease system you would realize that much has been accomplished even in the short time we have been at work. I realize that more is yet to be done. But "Rome was not built in a day." The public has got to be educated as well as individuals in immediate charge. I hope therefore you will be patient, and will be only too glad to see and confer with you should you again visit us here. In the meantime I beseech your earnest sympathy and prayers for proper guidance in our work, for I assure you that it is one that requires such moral support as only such as you can fully understand and appreciate. With great respect, I am,

Yours, etc., –.

PLEA FOR WOMEN CONVICTS

In some instances women are made to do the farm work, work in brick yards, and to do other kinds of hard work. At one place in the south the women cultivated a thousand acres of cotton, doing other farming and caring for the stockade, horses, mules, cows and hogs and having only men to guard them. They were not allowed a woman matron to care for them when they were sick or dying. I found them in rags and tatters and looking almost like wild beasts. I went to the governor of that state and pleaded with him for my own sex. I begged him to protect the poor women from such cruel treatment and brutal punishment. I asked him to have them taken in from the farm, where they were clearing up the land and compelled to carry logs, to the state prison at the Capitol which was nearly empty, and given proper work and humane treatment.

Once upon my knees before a governor I begged him to take the women from the stockades to the prison walls at the capital, and place them under the care of a good matron and give them such work as women should do. Also that they be properly clothed and fed and taught morals and religion. I said, "For the sake of young men which you now employ to control and guard these women, won't you do this?" (I had found several young babes, born in this place.) He promised that he would see that this was done.

But a year later I found these women still in the fields laboring and suffering as before. I again went to the governor. He was now so changed I hardly knew him. I said to him, "Well, governor, I see the affairs of state wear heavily upon you. You look ten years older than you did a year ago when I was here. Why did you not fulfill your promise to me about transferring those women from the stockades to the prison here at the capital? I promised that I would not make public the condition in which I found them if you would look after them. You promised to have them treated better, but it is just the same now." He was surprised at my knowledge of affairs and my firmness and tried to excuse himself, and said that he had brought some of them away to the prison.

Upon one occasion in later years, in a place I had visited for some years, I found that an old colored woman had been tied to a log and severely whipped on the bare flesh. The other women could not bear to see her so cruelly treated, and silently cried unto God to take the cruel captain who had ordered her so punished out of the way. He did so; for when I arrived there in a few days he was struck with death and soon died. God did not allow him to compel the whipping of any more women.

I think that upon only one occasion was I ever treated other than kindly and with respect by any governor. In this case I insisted that the women prisoners, especially, should be more humanely treated. The governor refused to take any action regarding the cruelties practiced but said, "Go to the Principal Keeper." I replied, "I have just come from the Principal Keeper and he sent me to you, Governor. These captains are not permitted to strike one blow without a license from you. It is by your permission that they whip and punish them." He was evidently annoyed to think that I so well understood the condition of the prisons and their management. It was now election time and he was running for office for another term, and he dismissed me without further ado. Many like him are saying: "Am I my brother's keeper?" Yes, you and I dear reader, and those in authority will surely have to answer in the great day of reckoning, if we neglect to alleviate the sufferings of our fellowmen, when it is in our power to do so. There are many kind men in office who really desire better conditions of affairs, but are only servants of those who are higher in authority. Truly the penalty for crime must be paid, but give all a chance to reform and do right before God and man. Can we not let poor fallen human beings see that we do care for them? And that there is hope in Christ for them if they will repent and confess their sin to Him? Did He not come "to seek and to save that which was lost?"

BLOOD HOUNDS

I never will forget my feelings when first the howls of the bloodhounds sounded in my ears. I was in a stockade and there was a noise such as I never heard before. I was on my knees praying and the wife of the captain came in saying, "There has been an escape and the guards and dogs are after the convict." I just lifted my heart to the Lord in prayer for the poor unfortunate, hunted man. I never stopped to think whether white or black; old or young; innocent or guilty; my one cry was for the life and safety of my boy.

Mothers you know how you would feel were it your boy. Well, I got initiated in that part of prison management that day. I have one thought above all others and that is to do God's will and obey Him and help all in anyway I can into a good life here and a home in Heaven at last; poor heart-sick, home-sick and sin-sick souls. The very thought of the convict being helpless should appeal to our sympathy and God, the Judge of all the universe, is going to call us to give an account for our stewardship. Men and women must be governed but not by brute force. We may overpower them, but do we conquer them? Have we won them to a better life and to good citizenship?

COAL MINES

The prison stockades vary in number. Sometimes there may be thirty or forty in one state, sometimes probably not half that many. It depends upon the number of prisoners in the penitentiary and into how many sections they are divided. When I was at Coal City, Ga., a number of years ago, it was one of the most weird and desolate-looking places in which I had ever found a stockade located. There were three stockades on the summit of the mountain, and one at its base. At the last place the men were mining coal. When I first went there they used a small car that would hold eight passengers. Then this was abandoned and we were obliged to ride on the engine, as they carried only coal cars for shipping the coal that was mined by the prisoners. I was often in great danger of my clothes taking fire as the fire blazed out of the engine when the men were shoveling in the coal. The railroad zig-zagged up the mountain, and once, a sister and myself were obliged to ride on the coal-box, as the engine was packed with men and one woman before we had arrived from the other train. I had to kneel down and hold onto the side of the coal box with both hands, and as the engine twisted and turned, I was in danger of falling, and it was hundreds of feet down to the foot of the precipices in places where our train crept along. All the way up the mountain I prayed God to protect us. The train was run by prisoners, yet I always felt safe with them.

A TOUCHING INCIDENT

"Lady, is you a preacher? Coz, if you is, I want you to come over to my house 'long wid me and make a prayer, coz my mother is dead, and my father is in prison over the stockade wall, and they are goin' to bury my mother, and there ain't nobody to make a prayer, 'cept a colored woman who was kind to my mother and loved her coz she was good. We children ain't got nobody to care for us."

It was just as I was leaving the railroad station near the Pratt Mine prison stockade in Alabama that I was accosted as above. The speaker was a small white boy with hands and face so black with coal dust that one could hardly tell that he was white. The sadness of that child's voice touched my heart, and I said, "Yes, surely I will be glad to go with you, my child."

Through the mountain forest the little boy had come in search of some one to make a prayer over the dead mother who, while she was living, had taught her children about Jesus. I found the cabin by his guiding me along the mountain path through the underbrush. Such a sight as met my eyes! A body covered with a ragged sheet, lying on a board held up by a couple of rickety stools. Nothing was in the hut to make it look like home. Two old crones sat by the stump fire in the large fireplace, making free use of snuff and tobacco. It was a dirty little one-roomed cabin. The funeral was to be at once, but the man who was making the rough box which was to serve as a coffin was so slow that we finally waited for the funeral till the next day.

I went to the prison camp and found the husband and father of the little boy, and obtained permission of the officials for him to attend the funeral of his wife, providing that I should be responsible for his return. Well, God understood it all and helped me there in that wild country; for that was when the prison stockades were not what they are today. Conditions are much changed since I first went with a gospel message to those lonely prisoners and sin-bound souls.

MY FIRST MEETING IN A PRISON CAMP

That night I held my first service in a prison camp. The captain was loth to allow me the privilege, but the Lord touched his heart and he said that I might try. I had come a long distance on the train and had taken little to eat for several days for those were days of much fasting and prayer. The call of God was upon me. I must preach the Gospel to these men. So now, I had but one thing to do, to wait alone upon the Lord. I knelt before God in the little old wooden hut used as an office, and cried to the Lord, "O Lord, help me! O Lord, help me! Show me how to hold a meeting here!" Just after dark a guard came and said, "We are ready for the meeting to begin. Come on." Imagine how I felt when there alone before hundreds of men in rags and tatters, with hands and faces so black and grimy with coal dust (this being in a prison mining camp) that I could scarcely tell the white men from the colored! The building was low and dirty, the men were seated on rude benches, the guards standing with their guns in hand and many great strong bloodhounds by their sides. The room was dimly lighted by three smoky old lanterns hanging on the walls. I had conducted prayer meetings in the church, led in temperance meetings, and labored with church people in the cities, and had been a Sabbath school teacher for years; but I had never before faced a congregation such as I now saw before me. I knelt in silent prayer before stepping upon the rough old box upon which I was to stand while I spoke. I arose and sang an old-time hymn, and again knelt and offered prayer. I told God all about why I was there. I sang another hymn, but could go no farther. All eyes were fixed upon me, and I asked, "Is there one Christian here? If so please raise your hand." I stood trembling and thought, "Must I stand all alone here with no one to pray for me, or encourage me in my labor for the Master?" At last one old colored man timidly raised his hand, followed by another, and then another. How I thank God even now for this—after all these years of toil as a prison worker. Then, I was soon lost in the theme of Jesus and His love. I seemed to see those rough prison miners as dear children once more in the old home at mother's knee at night-fall listening to her "Now I lay me down to sleep." As I closed, seeing that the Lord had spoken to many hearts by His Holy Spirit, I asked who would kneel with me in prayer and begin a new life. I think every prisoner bowed there before God with the heavy prisoners' chains clanking as only such can do. The sound is inexpressibly sad to me even now after so many years of labor in prisons and the rattling of the great keys in the hand of the guard and the sound of the heavy iron doors as they open and close, receiving "some mother's boy," are still as affecting to me as in those early days of my prison work.

Many of these men on that night in humility and meekness sought and confessed Christ as their Savior. I know not how many who knelt with me there, I shall meet in heaven; but I know that God has said His Word shall not return unto Him void. "He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him."

At the close of the service an officer informed me that his wife had prepared to entertain me. I gladly accepted of the kind offer and went to their humble home, greatly enjoying their hospitality, for I was much exhausted and very weary with the long journey, the anxiety and the labor of the day. These remained my faithful friends while I knew them. I thank God for those who open their homes to the children of the Lord.

The next morning the lady said, "I will let my little girl go with you to the funeral and to show you the way through the mountains to visit the sick." So I went again to the miserable home of the poor little ones who were left worse than orphans. How my heart was filled with sorrow, seeing the lonely helpless children, two boys and a beautiful little girl, with mother dead, and father in prison! I wondered what their future might be. A few mountaineers' wives had assembled, but there were not enough men present to lift the box that contained the corpse into the old coal wagon. After the short, sad services, with my assistance as a pall bearer the crude coffin was lifted into the wagon, and I helped to steady it as we traveled over the rough mountain road to the cemetery. I had double duty caring for this and making sure that the husband and father did not attempt to escape; for you know liberty is sweet. The Lord of hosts must have kept him true to his promise, and I must say that I can always trust the poor prisoners not to betray the confidence I place in them. At the grave I sang the old hymn. "I would not live always" and we laid the faithful wife and mother away to rest until the trumpet shall call the dead to rise.

What was the cause of the sad plight of this family? Sin. The saloon! There had been a saloon fight, and some one was killed. Some one did the deed. Oh, God! What a reckoning there will be in the end for those who vote to license the saloon, as well as they who dispense the rum, God will open the books and all shall be judged out of the things that are written therein. "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord of hosts." This faithful wife and mother had spent all her living in an attempt to secure the liberty of her husband. But failing in this, she had come with her children to live in that dreary place, hoping to be able to lead him to a better life, finally dying in want, and of a broken heart. After the funeral I pleaded with the little girl to go with me. But she true to her trust, true to her dead mother's loyalty, said, "Never will I leave my poor father with no one to care for him. Mother never would, I never will. I will go to see him and tell him of Jesus."

Wearied with toil and the journeying from place to place to visit the sick to whom the little girl from the camp had guided me, I returned in the evening with her to her home and then to the camp. Thinking to lie down and take some rest, and kneeling to pray, I was impressed that I must visit the other stockade some two or three miles away. I knew it was the voice of God and said, "Yes." The lady strongly pleading that I must not go, that it was dangerous, said I could not go alone, that I would lose my way, etc. The husband also said one's life was in danger, that several men were found dead in those mountains and no one knew who killed them, etc., and pleaded with me not to go. But I said, "If God sends me, He will see that I am not harmed. He will not forsake me." Soon I started on my way, and presently met the two little boys whose mother had just been buried. I asked if one of them would not show me the way to the other camp, and the older one kindly did so. With my little guide we hurried down that rough mountain side, we being compelled to carry stones to build a bridge across a stream of water, and finally came within sight of the camp. Upon insisting that God had sent me, and that I had held services in the other camp, the captain (overseer) invited me into his home. I had not expected such kindness, but thanking the Lord I accepted it as from Him. They kindly brought us food, but I would not eat, and gave it all to the little boy who was so hungry, and praying for him he started homeward. Here also we had a wonderful meeting. Men with broken hearts wept with longing for a mother's sympathy and a Savior's love. Some came to Christ and were saved, and I believe that I shall meet some of them in the great home gathering bye and bye in heaven.

Early the following morning, I was told that the engine which was to take me on my way was ready to start with its train of coal cars for the station some ten miles distant; but that I would have time to visit the hospital department where many were lying sick. I hurried through the prison yard, filled with hogs and bloodhounds, to the hospital, where I sang a song and prayed. I was turning to go when a guard came running and said, "The whole train is waiting for you, hurry up." As I was hurrying out a door opened and a woman called, "Do come and see my son, he is dying. Do come and pray for him." I ran in saying, "The train may go; I dare not refuse the request." I grasped the dying boy's hand firmly and said, "Take hold on God as I take hold of your hand. He will not forsake you. He will save you; look and live." I offered a short prayer and ran down to the engine, which still waited. There was something seeming so dismal in its sound in those lonely regions. I had to ride on the engine, as there was nothing but coal flats on this train. I was helped on and we were off. The sun was just rising over the mountain and the heavy fog was beginning to rise, and oh, such a blessing I received as we sped along the winding way! I shall never forget the gloomy sight I left behind me there. The poor prison-bound men marching out to the mines with their lanterns on their caps and with their picks and shovels. They never seemed so dear to me, and I began to see more clearly than ever that God had a special work for me to do. I saw the value of a soul bought with the precious blood of Christ. I saw, too, the need of fully consecrated Christian workers. As we wound around the mountain side I knew I had been obedient to my God, and His Spirit bore witness with my spirit that He accepted my weak efforts.

DIFFICULTIES OVERCOME

I was not always kindly received as mentioned in some instances. We are not carried to heaven upon flowery beds of ease. I have many times been refused the privilege even of singing a hymn in a prison. My singing has often been blessed as a means of touching hearts, and through it souls have been converted and are still true to God. I went to visit another prison mining camp or stockade, in a very lonely region where few people lived. I arrived upon a dark, gloomy night; there was no depot and not a house near. There I was alone, yet not alone, for God was with me. A young mulatto man who proved to be an ex-convict, had come to the train with a lantern, and I asked him to kindly show me the way to the home of the captain of the camp. I found the officer had gone in search of a prisoner who had made his escape, and his wife refused to take any one in in her husband's absence. She said I should go to another officer some distance away. Ascending the steps to the large house my heart sank within me, for I felt that I should be turned away again in the night. The officer himself came to the door to answer my call. Telling him my mission, I asked to stay with them till morning. His wife would not consent to entertain me, and I answered, "Where shall I go? I am alone, and a Christian woman sent of God to help people in prison to a better life." He replied, "There's a boarding house a mile away down the mountain," and the door was shut. I asked my guide, "Is there not one Christian here in these mountains?" He said, "Only one, a poor old colored man, that's been in prison, and he lives up the mountain with his daughter, a young woman." Crying as I went along holding to the brush with one hand, we finally reached the hut at the top of the mountain. I told the young woman my story and asked if I might stay with her for the night. She answered, "No, my father is away and I cannot take in a stranger without his consent." "Then I must stay out on the mountain alone all night." She seemed sorry for me, and said I should wait till her father came. I had not to wait long till he came, and kindly consented for me to stay. I was weary and hungry from my long journey. I saw the old colored man open the basket he had brought home with him. It contained some cold food given him where he was employed. He asked me to share his lunch, but I refused, as I believed he needed all he had.