Prisons and Prayer; Or, a Labor of Love

For some years I have been quite intimately associated with friends who have, perhaps, the largest Rescue Home in the world. I am told that they have taken in more girls than any other Home of the kind. Over 1,250 girls have there been confined and never have they lost one of these young mothers by death. But, oh, it is a sad sight to see them, day after day carrying their load of sorrow in their hearts. Often when I am there, as I manifest toward them my love and sympathy, they tell me their story of woe sad as was the cry of Eve when banished from the presence of God. She yielded to Satan's devices because she believed the voice of Satan rather than the voice of God. She became an outcast—and so our sisters are still being deceived by the devil in human form and become outcasts from all that is good. Some of them have been won by a mess of pottage, a mere bauble or a gewgaw. Others have the promise of love—that which every human heart craves. These believe, trust, yield and are ruined and some of them are so young! so ignorant! Then there are some who have been basely betrayed or brutally forced and then left to bear alone their shame and disgrace—for, alas! the "traffic in girls" is not an imaginary thing, but an awful reality.

O that the good people of our fair land would awaken and see that justice is done in behalf of the helpless and innocent! Prevention is better than cure. Let us guard the children and put down every influence that would tend to demoralize either our boys or girls! But in the meantime, let us do all within our power to lift up the fallen and win back those who have gone astray and share the burden and sorrow of those who suffer through no fault of their own.

Those who have been daring in sin often make the most gifted, consecrated and valiant workers for God and souls when truly and fully saved. I bless the Lord for the privilege of seeking and finding some of these "diamonds in the rough." I have known many Christian workers who had once been criminals or fallen, but who had been rescued by some one who had a knowledge of human nature and a heart filled with the love of God who told them of the love of Christ and His wonderful power to save. O when we all meet in the great Hereafter what a time of rejoicing there will be among the rescuers and the rescued.

DRUNKEN WOMEN AND MEN

I find hundreds of men and women, many young women, in drunkenness and crime, and the most open daring sins. In one of the largest drinking dens in the world I asked the proprietor if I might sing a hymn, and he gave his consent. I was obliged to go down stairs and through many rooms and hallways and then up a dark stairway to the platform where the orchestra was playing. When they ceased I sang a hymn which touched their hearts and they cheered the singing. I offered a prayer and they all seemed to appreciate it. There were hundreds of men only, drinking, miners and others. Then I went where there were both men and women drinking, and sang and prayed with them. At near midnight, while I was engaged in prayer, one of the poor, unfortunate girls clasped my hand and put a piece of silver in it, and stood holding my hand till I rose. She cried and spoke of her desire to be good. She was reminded of her old home and her mother. The proprietor then told me I must leave, as he found he would lose her from his den. He said he was once a Christian himself, and on coming west, saw the money to be made in that kind of business, and fell, and went deep in sin, leading others down with himself.

ASSAULTED IN A DIVE

While in San Pedro, California, I went, one night, into a saloon to invite the men to a gospel meeting at the mission on the same block, and the keeper sprang up from his gambling table, where he was engaged with several others in a game of some kind, and rushing towards me, violently grabbed me by the arms, and then with both hands clutching me, rushed me to the door, using vile and insulting epithets to me as he went. At the door a lady said, "This is a public house; you dare not throw people out who have done you no harm." He finally released his Satanic grasp upon me. I had only spoken a few kindly words to two young men standing at the bar in the act of raising their glasses to their lips. I had just said, "Don't drink it, boys, please don't," when the assault was made. As the saloonist rushed at me, I said, "Don't touch me, please; I will go out." But he seemed fiendishly happy in injuring and insulting a helpless old woman, who only wished to do them all good, and see them saved in Heaven at last. The only excuse he ever made was that he thought I was Carrie Nation. Commenting on this occurrence, a Los Angeles paper contained the following item:

San Pedro, March 29.—"Mother" Wheaton, a well known prison evangelist, was roughly assaulted by John Wilkins, a Front street saloonkeeper, shortly after seven o'clock last evening. Mrs. Wheaton was preaching to a large gathering in front of Wilkins' joint, and hearing loud cursing within, the aged reformer entered, intending to invite the blasphemers to Peniel Mission, where services are held every evening. She had scarcely passed inside the doors of the dive, when Wilkins rushed forward, seized her and thrust her backward. At the same time he applied vile epithets to her, shouting angrily: "Get out of here, woman, and be quick about it!"

So badly was Mrs. Wheaton injured that she was unable to return to the mission without assistance. She is confined to her bed and is suffering severe pains from the shock.

Wilkins explained today that he mistook Mrs. Wheaton for Carrie Nation, whom the former resembles. No arrests have been made.

In a city where I had been preaching the Gospel, a messenger came stating that a young girl had cut her throat. It was an extremely hot day and I had to walk a long distance across the city. Arriving at the house they told me that no one was allowed to go in. But I went right in and everybody stood back. Kneeling down by the poor girl I took her hand already growing cold in death. Poor child! Like thousands of others, she had been disappointed in life. The one who had plighted his troth had broken her heart, and rather than bear her shame she preferred death. Then and there I had the privilege of pointing this beautiful girl to Christ who said, "Neither do I condemn thee. Go and sin no more," and He who never turns anyone away heard and answered prayer.

One day I held a meeting in the Crittenden Home for Fallen Girls, in Washington. They all seemed so glad to hear me. (There were thirty girls.) They were deeply moved. After the meeting closed I took each by the hand and exhorted them to live pure and holy lives. And with tears in their eyes they promised to try and serve the Lord. One dear little girl in a short dress (fourteen years old), clung to me crying, and said Jesus had saved her just then, in the meeting, and she would be a good girl and live for Heaven. I clasped her to my heart and thought what Jesus said about him who offends "one of these little ones." Some heartless wretch had ruined the girl and left her to die alone. "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord."

A GIRL SAVED

Trying to rescue a girl in a low dive in New York city in 1890, as I entered the den the keeper, a large, strong man, sprang up and struck me a blow. The girl caught his arm and cried out, "Don't strike her, she is a lady." But he thrust me out, and I said to her, "Fly for your life—out at the back door." I ran around the saloon and caught her away from an angry mob and with the help of the sisters with me, almost carried her six blocks to the Crittenden Home, and there she was reformed and converted.

A GIRL REJECTED AT RESCUE HOME

In Ft. Worth, Texas, I once found in the jail a poor girl who was a very desperate character. She had been at the Rescue Home several times, and she was so very wicked that they refused to have her there again. They said it was of no use trying to reclaim her. I well remember the night that the Lord sent me to the jail to hold a meeting. The service was held after dark, as the prisoners were compelled to work during the day. I was intensely grieved and very much burdened over the case of this poor girl. So intelligent, yet so sinful! In my grief, I fell upon the floor weeping over her lost condition.

A sister who was with me, and on her way then to India, prayed for me as well as for the poor prisoners, and the lost girl. The meeting closed, and the next day we left the city, the sister going west, while I started north.

After we left Ft. Worth, my heart was still sad and greatly pained for the poor lost girl I had seen in the jail and I wrote to the superintendent of the Rescue Home and pleaded with her to try her just once more—not only for my sake, but for the sake of Jesus. She did so, and the result was that the girl was saved and began a life of virtue and usefulness.

A year or so later, I was again at Ft. Worth, and was holding services in the Girls' Rescue Home. As they assembled for the meeting I shook hands with each of them. I said of one of the girls to the matron, "This girl looks like a good Christian—who is she?" The girl herself replied, "Don't you know me, mother?" I said, "No." Then she answered, "I am the girl you rescued from the prison;" and the matron said that she was the best girl in the home. I went back after another year, and she was the matron's assistant. Still later the superintendent told me that she was a deaconess in New York, and was doing a great work. This same lady told me how she had shortly before come across my letter in which I begged her mother-in-law, who was the former superintendent, to help the girl and give her just one more chance! Oh, how wonderfully God had answered my prayers and the yearning of my heart that night when the burden of her soul rested so heavily upon me!

ROBBED BY HER OWN BROTHER

A lovely girl was once drugged by her deceiver and left to bear her shame alone. She was led to a rescue home where she was cared for. Sometime after the birth of her child, which she dearly loved, her father died, and left her $1,000. She was induced by her brother to come to the city where he was living, and give him the money, which he and his wife used recklessly. They then moved, leaving the poor girl sitting on the steps without money enough even to buy milk for her babe. The poor girl was almost distracted with grief. I found her a temporary home with Christian people and a little later secured transportation for her to a rescue home in another city where she could be kindly provided for.

In that hour of despair, when I found her, she was almost ready to yield to the enemy of her soul, through temptation of the same wretch who had first effected her ruin. She could go hungry herself, she said, but she could not see her babe suffer for want of food.

Sisters, let us try by all possible means to befriend our own sex and help all who are thrown in our way, heavenward.

NEGLECTED BY THE CHURCHES

I once went to a city where there are many churches and professors of religion, and yet there in the Home for Fallen Girls, where I held services I found the inmates neglected. I then went to the poorhouse where over a hundred poor and crippled destitute people were so glad to hear me sing hymns while they partook of their dinner. They seemed to wonder who and what I was, yet, how glad they were when they understood it was for the love of their souls Jesus had sent me to tell them of His great love. Thank God for the privilege of going to these places. God always finds a way when there seems to be no way.

So I must say in concluding that of all those who have my sympathy and my help, my prayers and my tears, prisoners, and all, the poor, abandoned, forsaken girl, who has no one to share her sorrow and her shame claims and receives my deepest sympathy and assistance. There is no one on whom Jesus had more compassion and yet the croakers are often the ones to send her to worse shame by their neglect and cruelty. Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn thee, go and sin no more."

"She is more to be pitied than censured,She is more to be loved than despised,She is only a poor girl who has venturedOn life's rugged path ill-advised.Don't scorn her with words fierce and bitter,Don't laugh at her shame and downfall;Just pause for a moment, considerThat a man was the cause of it all."

VISIT TO A HOSPITAL

One Sunday, years ago, I visited a hospital in a certain city and found it in a most terrible condition. There were many sick, both men and women, and how glad they were to see me! The public were not permitted inside the grounds, but the superintendent being absent I was admitted. The patients were suffering with hunger, and were in a most filthy condition.

I found both colored men and women in the same room and all covered with body lice. One old colored woman was almost eaten alive with vermin, and starving. They would not give her even a drink of water. I gave her water and she drank a quart and begged for more. I asked her if she would like to have me bring her something to eat. She said, "Oh, yes, Honey." I said, "What can you eat?" She said, "A crust of bread—I's so hungry, been hungry so long."

My heart was sick at the sights and sounds of suffering and anguish. I told the Lord about it. All night I cried and prayed. I got up early, got a large, fat chicken, made soup, got provisions and a couple to help me carry the things, and went to that miserable place. I got access to the building with my food and all got a share. I never will forget the looks on the faces of those starving sufferers, and the tears coursing down their wan, pale cheeks, as I and dear Mary, my helper, fed them. One poor old white brother said he was ashamed to have us near him.

I took along clothing for the poor old colored woman, and had to take the scissors and cut the garment off from her, and put it in the stove. I found the mattress decaying under her.

I told the superintendent's wife I would be a witness against her in the day of judgment for treating the patients so cruelly. She said she did not have help. I said the state, county or city would send help, that that was no excuse for their starving and cruelly treating those sick helpless invalids. The old woman and the men told me they were compelled to live there in that one room altogether. It was terrible!

One man said he had killed vermin until he was so tired and weak he could do no more. They said that seldom ever any one left that death hole alive. The bodies were sold for dissection.

I went early the next morning to the judge's office to relate my experience and ask him if something could not be done to relieve the suffering of the patients that I found there in such a filthy condition and in such need of care and food and water. I told him I did not see the superintendent, Mr. V. Just at that moment a dudish young fellow in the room arose and said, "So you did not see V. when you went there yesterday; you see him now, don't you?" He was very angry and said I got inside by his absence, and that he would do so and so. The judge said angrily, "Woman, you talk too much." I said, "I have not begun to talk yet." The two men hissed and told me to leave the office. I had taken the precaution to take with me the sister who was traveling with me at that time, also the young man who had helped us to carry the clothes and provisions to the hospital the day before. They could have corroborated my testimony but the judge was evidently in league with the superintendent of the hospital and would not listen.

I went to a church in the place to a Woman's Missionary meeting and got permission to speak to the ladies in public about the awful conditions I found in their so-called hospital. They were surprised and greatly incensed, and told their husbands, and so there was awakened an interest that resulted in further investigation. Facts were found as I had stated, only, if anything, worse.

The outcome of these things being brought to light was that the old shanties which served as a so-called hospital were replaced by good buildings and kind caretakers took the place of the cruel superintendent—who died some months later after a long illness.

ANOTHER VISIT TO A HOSPITAL

The following is a description of a visit to another hospital, as published in a paper at Chattanooga, Tenn. This was also early in my work.

A BAT CAVE

A SANITARIUM FOR CATS AND HOTEL FOR DOGS—CALLED BY COURTESY THE CITY HOSPITAL OF CHATTANOOGA

Mrs. E. R. Wheaton, the eloquent female evangelist, who has been in the city for the past week carrying on a series of prayer meetings in the jails and houses of ill fame, came into the Commercial office yesterday afternoon and gave a full and detailed report of the neglected condition of the city hospital. She says:

"As I approached the building I could not convince myself that I was really in sight of a hospital, for it reminded me more of a stable than anything else I could conceive of. I approached the gate and met a colored female mute who raised her hand in a deprecating manner as if to warn me of some unseen danger that I was about to come in contact with. I motioned the negro girl to lead the way and followed her into a dreary looking house that I had been told was really the only hospital of which Chattanooga could boast. Just as I opened the door six big hounds sprang from the different beds within the building and would have torn me to pieces had not I hastily slammed the door and shut them in. I applied to a poor cripple man who had the appearance of a half-fed mendicant where to find the keeper and I was informed that he was asleep, but if I would wait he (the cripple) would go and wake him up, and in a few moments he returned accompanied by a healthy looking man who seemed to care little whether I went in or remained out of doors in the rain.

"As I followed the keeper into the room six well fed hounds and one emaciated looking man occupied the beds that were in the rooms.

"I have wandered from one end of the land to the other, I have visited prison cells, opium joints, houses of ill-fame, almshouses, reformatories and every dreary den from New York to San Francisco, from Florida to Montreal, but with all the sights with which I have been confronted I have never seen a more cheerless abode and one so utterly void of comfort and cleanliness as the one occupied by the poor, hungry invalid that shared the beds of the well fed dogs.

"The sick man said he was suffering for the want of food and had been shamefully neglected since he was placed in charge of the manager of this cheerless institution. Two inmates have died within the past week and two are left to suffer.

"The other inmate was a colored man who evidently has little more of life's suffering to endure in this world.

"In this room six cats occupied seats of prominence, two purring on one bed and three others romping from place to place over the apartment, while the sixth was helping himself to the sick man's dinner.

"The buildings are without warmth in the winter and have no means of ventilation for summer. The confined air is contaminated with the odor that rises from unemptied and neglected vessels that are allowed to stand neglected from day to day. The keeper seems to be utterly indifferent with regard to the ease or comfort of the sick and it is very evident that while the city pays for food to support the sick and suffering, the countless and useless dogs and cats eat a large portion of the food which should be used exclusively for the unfortunate inmates."

Mrs. Wheaton has done much commendable work not only in Chattanooga but from one end of the land to the other. She has consecrated her time, wealth and character to the uplifting of fallen people, and by her devotion to Christianity and her liberality has won thousands of friends throughout the country.—Chattanooga Paper.

WORDS OF CHEER FROM OTHER RESCUE WORKERS

The first of the following letters I carried with me on my second visit to Europe, mentioned elsewhere:

FLORENCE CRITTENTON HOME,21 and 23 Bleecker Street, New York

J. F. Shirey, 67 Farrington Road, East Coast, England.

Dear Brother: This will introduce to you Mrs. Elizabeth Wheaton, a prison evangelist. She is alone and unprotected in London. Please make the way for her as best you can where she can speak for God to the poor prisoners. She lives by faith and trusts Him for all.

God bless you.

Mother Prindle.
New York, October 16, 1903.

My first acquaintance with Mrs. Elizabeth Wheaton was made in the Florence Crittenton Midnight Mission, New York City, in 1890. She impressed me then and has ever since as one whom God has called and endowed with special gifts for a grand and noble work. Her one strong hold is faith in God. When under the power of the Spirit she verily treads upon serpents and scorpions and all the powers of darkness seem to flee before her. As a singing evangelist for prison work, I do not know her equal. Her preaching is in the demonstration of the Spirit and with power. She gives the Lord's message with holy boldness, fraught with tender love to the sinner, and blessed are the results.

The midnight call given on train, when it was my privilege to be with her, was an hour never to be forgotten. Many will rise up and call her blessed in that great day who but for her favored and wonderful ministry would have gone into outer darkness. God bless her and her book.

Mother Prindle.

The following taken from "Beulah Home Record," Chicago, Ill., March 1, 1902, is explanatory in itself. Also the letter that follows:

We have had with us for a time, as our honored guest, Mother Wheaton, the Railroad Prison Evangelist. Like Jesus, the friend of poor sinners, she goes up and down the land in state prisons and homes where mothers' girls are sheltered, down into the coal mines, into the great lumber camps, and on crowded railroad trains, while speeding along, she preaches the everlasting gospel of our Lord and Savior, and gives out tracts. Thus she goes as God's flaming minister, sowing beside all waters, singing and praying poor sin-sick, tempest-tossed souls into the kingdom of God. Do you ask what is the secret of her success? It may be found in the Psalms, 126:6—"She goeth forth weeping," she has a burning love for souls. So you and I, dear reader, if we are to succeed in winning souls, our hearts must be full of love for them. We give Mother Wheaton a warm welcome to this great and wicked city of Chicago and a hearty welcome always to Beulah Home.

Berachah Home for Erring Girls,
2719 Lawton Ave., St. Louis, Mo.

We feel in Berachah Home that we shall not forget Mother Wheaton. She came into the "Home" and our lives just as God was leading us out in rescue work, and as she stood among us in our first "open meeting," we felt, "Here is a strong, brave soldier of the cross." We found hope and encouragement as she spoke to us of His service, and the Spirit witnessed "This is of God," as she sang one of her songs as only Mother Wheaton can sing them. We did not see her again until in the Baltimore Convocation of Prayer, January, 1904, when God again used her to bring Mrs. Chapman and me to God's full thought for us there. She with others laid hands on us, with prayer, setting us apart for the "work whereunto we were called." May God bless her ministry to others, as He has to us in Berachah Home.

Mrs. J. P. Duncan, Mgr.Mrs. B. G. Chapman, Treas.THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER"To the home of his father returning,The prodigal, weary and worn,Is greeted with joy and thanksgiving,As when on his first natal morn;A 'robe' and a 'ring' are his portion,The servants as suppliants bow;He is clad in fine linen and purple,In return for the penitent vow."But ah! for the Prodigal Daughter,Who has wandered away from her home;Her feet must still press the dark valleyAnd through the wilderness roam;Alone on the bleak, barren mountains—The mountains so dreary and cold—No hand is outstretched in fond pityTo welcome her back to the fold."But thanks to the Shepherd, whose mercyStill follows His sheep, tho' they stray;The weakest, and e'en the forsakenHe bears in His bosom away;And in the bright mansions of gloryWhich the blood of His sacrifice won,There is room for the Prodigal Daughter,As well as the Prodigal Son!"We've a Home for Prodigal Daughters,Our Saviour says gather them in;Will you help rescue these dear ones—Who have fallen in paths of sin?Your girl may be one of the "fallen,"And you long to see her return;Oh, there's room for the Prodigal Daughter,As well as the Prodigal Son.—Horace.