USA > Ohio > Memories of the crusade a thrilling account of the great uprising of the women of Ohio in 1873, against the liquor crime > Part 29
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SAVED AT LAST.
Rev. W. I. Fee, D. D., published the follow- ing strange account in one of the Cincinnati papers at the time of its occurrence. "One day," says he, "a lawyer came to my house. Rum had ruined him. He was not intoxicated at
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the time, however. He asked a private interview. He said, 'You see what I am now. I am the son of pious Methodist parents, who now reside in a distant city. Their hearts are well-nigh broken by my prodigality. A few days since, I aban- doned all hope of reform and made up my mind either to drink myself to death or to end my days in a more summary manner. I had almost lost all desire for reformation, when I learned that the bands of praying women were on the streets of this city. Curiosity led me to follow them and listen to their prayers and songs. Oh, how it revived the days of my boyhood, and my subse- quent prodigality. I was filled with remorse. I felt that I was hopelessly lost. And now,' con- tinued he, 'I will relate the strangest incident of my life at the risk of being called a fool.' Pointing to his left ear, 'Five years since,' he went on, 'I entirely lost my hearing in that ear, till yesterday, when I heard the temperance women sing.
"'Previous to this, for years I had only been familiar with the vilest songs. But since yester- day, the songs sung by those women have been sung and played in my deaf ear as if played upon an instrument, or sung by a human voice. No other songs obtrude, only religious songs are sung. This gave me hope.' Looking intently at me, he said, ' Will you believe me? I hear them now ; there it is, -
"Show pity, Lord, O Lord, forgive."
"'Now it changes, -
" Rock of ages cleft for me."
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" 'Sung loud enough for you to hear it. Listen, now it sings, -
" Depth of mercy, can there be Mercy still reserved for me?"
" 'Now do you think there is any hope for me ?'
"I answered, 'Yes, but it will not avail for you to depend on those songs, you must look to Christ.' Looking sorrowfully at me he said, 'Don't take away my only hope.'
" ' He left me. A few days afterwards I was called to see him in one of the hospitals. His father was with him and a dispatch had been sent to his mother to come to the city and see him die. Although almost delirious, he recognized me in a moment, and began to talk about the songs of the women sounding in his ear. He begged me to pray for him, and to ask the praying women to pray for him also. A number of days elapsed before I could again visit the hospital. I went to learn the particulars of his death. Imagine my surprise when I learned that he was rapidly re- covering. I hastened to his room and a smiling, happy face met me. He said, 'I want to leave this evening for my home.' Said he, 'I am saved. The prayers of my dear mother and the praying temperance women have been instru- mental in leading me to Christ.' Said he, 'You thought that my strange experience was the re- sult of mania-a-potu. But believe me when I tell you that these songs are now ringing in that
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ear. I hear nothing else. This moment I hear, -
' Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to thy bosom fly.'"
A GOOD DEED REQUITED AND AN EVIL ONE PUNISHED.
The Crusaders of M --- , during their work, found it necessary to prosecute a case, and went to a law firm to secure the aid of one of the company. They decided to consult the senior partner, he being not only quite a good lawyer, but a man of temperate habits, while the junior partner was quite intemperate, and was not con- sidered as being as well up in his profession as the other. The attorney heard their statements, got all the information from them in regard to the case he could, then turned about and betrayed them, and took the case for the saloon-keeper against them. The other lawyer came forward and offered to carry their case through for them. He sobered up, signed the pledge, and from that day started up-grade in his profession and in the esteem of the people. And it was not long till he was on the Judge's bench, by the will and pleasure of his constituents.
The senior partner, by the same stages, but in inverted scale or down-grade, losing his prac- tice, losing the respect of the community, losing his self-respect, left the place. The last I heard of him he was in one of the frontier min- ing towns in Colorado, keeping a billiard saloon.
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The three following facts were not Crusade stories exactly, but given me during my work, and I give them here because of the important lessons contained in them.
THE FATAL DOMESTIC WINE.
This from Col. B-, the sad-hearted father of the young man, a devoted Christian and earnest temperance worker. His son was a more than ordinarily bright, wide-awake young man, but wayward and disposed to seek his comrades in the haunts of dissipation. An inevita- ble consequence was, he came to love the drink, and was hastening to ruin, when the Good Templars reached out the rescuing hand and gathered him into the Lodge, and kept brotherly watch over him. Then a blessed revival of re- ligion occurred in the town, and young B -. was found at the mourner's bench, and soon pro- fessed faith in Jesus and united with the Church. Everything went well with him for some six months. But one day he and a young friend concluded to take a day of recreation in fishing. The mother of his friend very kindly seconded their project and put up a bountiful lunch.
Then she went to her closet and brought out a bottle of nice, domestic wine-her own make ( she was a prominent member of the church), saying to her son, "You must have one of my bottles of wine, lest you should get wet, or for some reason should need it." "Yes," the son
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answered, "mother, put it in." And so they hastened away for their day of pleasure. When the dinner hour came, the young friends sat down to enjoy the good things they found in the basket. The bottle was brought forth and uncorked, the tempting wine poured out and presented to B- He hesitated, remembered that it had well nigh proved his ruin ; remem- bered his obligation as a Good Templar, as a member of the church, a follower of Christ. But here the temptation came in such innocent guise, - they two alone, they were hungry and tired, the wine was ruby and aromatic; and it was "domestic wine." "My mother made it herself," argued the friend. Oh ! why was there no ministering angel near enough to dash that fatal cup to the earth as he reached forth his hand and carried it to his lips? No one was thus commissioned to interfere while the poor, weak-willed young man made the brief battle with his enemy and was vanquished. Though who shall say that his mother, from the battle- ments of lier home in glory, did not look down with eyes of pity, as she saw her poor boy thus hurled from his rock of safety into the abyss again ? The old, slumbering appetite was aroused as the tiger in the jungle, and must now be appeased. Upon returning to town he hastened to his old haunts and became insanely intoxi- cated. The barriers were swept away and on he went from place to place, calling for drinks, till at one saloon, the keeper seeing his condition,
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and probably fearing the consequences to him- self if he sold more to him when in that condition, refused to let him have any more, and put him out. He went away, but soon returned with a
gun and discharged it at the keeper. It was fortunate for them both that his hand was too unsteady for a deadly shot, but his victim was wounded and he a criminal. He fled from home and remained in hiding for a time, then return- ing in the night, picked up his little effects and became a homeless wanderer, but told his father before leaving that he would make one more fight to save himself, but, said he, "the memory of that act ( of furnishing her wine ) shall haunt that woman through all eternity." He went out into the night and his father saw his face no more.
REMORSE.
T. Demorest, at that time Worthy Chief Templar of Kentucky, gave me the following :
"I stood," said he, "by the bedside of a young man who was writhing in the agonies of that horror of horrors, delirium tremens, His mother also stood by, enduring unutterable anguish at the sight of her son's sufferings. When not in his paroxysms she would beg him to tell her where-how he acquired the appetite for drink. He evaded her questions for quite a time. At length, as she still pressed the ques- tion, he answered : "Mother, if you must know, I learned to love the wine-cup at your own
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table. " The young man to-day fills a drunkard's grave, and the mother, remorse having dethroned her reason, is in a mad-house."
LAMENTATIONS, V. 7.
A gentleman told me this of a young friend of his: "He was a carpenter by trade, and an industrious and good workman. But he would have periods of drinking, and when these came on he would deliberately lay down his tools as if going to meet an engagement, and go onto a regular 'break-down.' I have asked him why he did so, and his answer was, 'I cannot help it.' 'Well, but you can help it before you begin.' ' No,' was his answer, 'I inherited the appetite, and when these periods come I would drink if I died.' On one occasion, under the spell of the fearful craving, he went to the town of U-, drank to intoxication, and went and lay down on the railroad track ; but he probably became somewhat sobered up before a train passed, and for the time the terrible catastrophe was averted. But again the raging thirst seized him, he went to U ----- , drank as before, went again in despair and deliberately laid himself down on the track and in the night three trains passed over him."
" WOMEN HAVE ALL THE RIGHTS THEY WANT."
This bitter cold spell recalls another such, a few winters since, in the midst of which a sad, weary woman rang at my door and claimed my hospitality.
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The snow and the cold held on and my guest found herself for a time storm-bound. During her stay her story came out. She was from Penn- sylvania, was, or had been the mother of three children, and still the wife of a drunkard. Her husband had, by his continual indulgence, made her life for years one long agony. He wasted his earnings on drink, and in time incapacitated himself for earning, so that she was obliged, by her needle, to support herself and her children. But what was worse than this, even, was his furious and abusive temper when under the influence of liquor. What blood-curdling pictures were those she gave of the drunkard's home. Whole nights had he kept her and her children in terror. On one occasion he came home insanely drunk, locked the door, took his axe, sharpened and examined the edge, telling the children he was going to chop their mother up; and she and they knew if anything, however trivial, should go wrong, he would carry out the threat. He laid her on the floor and would go through the motions as if he was going to strike, the wretched victims of this horrid pastime not daring to resist or protest, the wife keeping a cheerful smile, saying, "Why, John, I know you are only in fun," while she could hear her heart beat ; and this, through long, weary hours of the night, with no deliverance near, till the effect of the liquor at length overpowered him and he sank into a beastly stupor. Such a system of terrorizing threw the elder daughter
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into St. Vitus' dance, and it was not long till, just as she was merging into young womanhood, so sweet and beautiful to the yearning mother's heart, death claimed her as another added to the long list of victims to the curse. Such a life became unbearable, and she found herself obliged to seek a home elsewhere.
But her children ! The great Keystone State had decreed that the father is the lawful and rightful custodian of the children. Should she quietly yield her children to the hands of such a father ? She set herself to devise some means of rescue. She had a brother in Kansas to whom she would take the little daughter, but how to get possession of her was a serious problem. She bethought her of a relative in this State to whom she appealed for help, and he wrote to the child to make him a visit. Then the mother followed and picked up her child on the way, and from town to town she made her way, she lecturing on temperance and the little girl reciting pieces to meet their expenses, till at last she reached her brother and placed her stolen property in his hands. Now she was working her way back to try to steal the other piece of her own flesh and blood. But while she bemoaned the poor little fellow's lot, saying she knew these bitter days and nights he was thinly clad, and must be suffering with cold and hunger, as the tramping father led him from place to place, she also realized that she was now a criminal, and if caught would be punished
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as such a crime deserved. I never heard whether she succeeded in her second criminal attempt to steal, or whether she was caught and justly punished in accordance with the righteous and equitable laws of the great State of Pennsylvania.
"HOME IS WOMAN'S SPHERE."
Coming home from my work one day during the Crusade, I found a lady with a little girl at my house. She at once told me her story, so com- mon, so old, as to have ceased to excite atten- tion. When she told me her name I remembered her, though she was not aware that I knew her. Her family was one of the oldest and most respectable in the county. It seemed so few years since I had seen her, a bright, happy young lady, standing before a large audience delivering her graduating address. I had not seen her since. Here she was, scarcely the shadow of her bright, young self. Nothing in her appearance to recall the proud-spirited, gay young girl, but instead, a broken, emaciated woman, broken mentally as well as physically, old before she had reached her noontide.
As her story ran, she had married with fair prospects of a happy future; no indication of the terrible habit even then fastened upon her husband. Her father, a man of wealth, gave her a nice farm, and there they started on life's journey together. But as the years went on the old, old story of the drunkard's wife became hers ; and, as she thought, in exaggerated degree.
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She had, finally, through his abuse, became afraid for her life, -had gathered a few articles of clothing, and taking her child by the hand, through the assistance of a friend she secretly stole away, reached the railroad and fled, leaving the husband-now the terror of her life-in peaceable possession of her home. But whither should she turn her steps? She had heard of Mother Stewart as the friend of the drunkard's wife, and she had come to her in hope of refuge and safety. She would do anything, would go out to domestic service if only she could find shelter for herself and child. Reason was so nearly dethroned, and the fear that the husband would come and rob her of her child-the only possession she had-that if the bell rang, or she heard a step on the veranda, she would clutch the child and hasten to a place of hiding.
It may satisfy the reader's curiosity as to what became of her, to say that after all this, she was induced to "try him once more," but soon found herself obliged to seek a legal separation.
' WOMEN DON'T WANT TO VOTE."
About this time last year I had taken my seat in the car for home, after having held a series of meetings in a town in the eastern part of the State, when a little, pale-faced, sad-eyed woman came in and sat down by me. She had not been at my meetings, but knew me all the same, and proceeded at once to unburden her heart to me. Yes, she was a drunkard's wife, and the
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same old story, -how many hundred times have I heard it? Will it never end ?- of neglect, poverty, abuse, the night-long vigils, lest her life-which he threatened repeatedly, and for which purpose he kept his razor under his pillow-should be taken. Hiding all in her own heart, even from her own parents, she bore it for eight terrible years, till health and endur- ance failed, then she took her two little children and once more found refuge and protection under the parental roof.
She closed this recital with the sentence: "Oh, if women could only vote, how soon would the liquor dens be closed and all this suffering ended."
Oh, friends of humanity, how long ? And how many more shall go to fill up the long list ?
NEED OF HIGHER LICENSE.
When in my old home, McArthur, in my Crusade work, I was making some calls with one of my former pupils, and as we came near an old, dilapidated building, she remarked : "There is one in here you will like to see," and led the way into the house.
What a picture of squalor and want was that which met my sight! A couple of children in dirty rags, with matted hair and unwashed face and hands ;- two or three others had made the effort to hide by crawling under the bed. On the bed-if that spread of soiled and ragged bedding might claim so dignified a title-lay a
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wan, sad, prematurely aged woman. Could it be possible ? Yes, it was Mary C -. When I knew her, among the brightest, prettiest, and most tidy of her associates; active and indus- trious. What! what had wrought this unac- countable transformation ?
She had married a young man, apparently correct in his habits, with a good trade and application to business. The outlook for the future was full of bright promise ; but the occa- sional dram was indulged; then, in time, the frequent; then, of course, neglect of business, reverses, poverty, confirmed drunkenness, and abuse of wife and family. I do not know the stages through which the wife and mother came to the pitiable condition in which I found her. She had been high spirited and ambitious, but it seemed that with the crushing mortification her spirits and health had given way, and there she lay, a bed-ridden invalid. The pinching poverty, the neglected, squalid condition of her children, nothing had power to arouse her. The neigh- bors-after a sort-attended to the needs of the family, but there had been times when their wants were not supplied till she and children were nearly famished, and so broken had that wretched mother become that she would beg her neighbors to keep the children away till she could appease her own hunger.
The husband ? He had simply left his family to their fate, and was finding a lodging and food with a disreputable woman. I was shown the
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deep cut in the door-cheek where a hatchet, aimed at his wife in one of his drunken rages, had struck, barely missing her head. Perhaps a high license might have met this case.
" MOTHER STEWART, LET THE SONG GO ON."
I was, during the Blue Ribbon movement, working in one of the Western States. Upon reaching one town a gentleman and lady met me, and, as they drove me to their home, they told me of a gentleman in which they felt a deep interest. He was a lawyer, a man of high literary attain- ments and of polished manners, and had, during the war, represented the government at an im- portant post abroad as consul.
There, in the social life with which he was sur- rounded, he had acquired a love for the glass. This had been a great source of sorrow to his many friends. He was a gentleman of so many superior qualities, they could not bear to see him fall before his insidious enemy. The Good Templars had thrown theirarms around him and set him on his feet, and he had recovered his manhood, his self-respect and the respect of others. But now he had fallen again, and was continually under the influence of liquor. It was such a great grief to his family, especially to his eldest daughter, a beautiful and accomplished young lady, whose grief over the fall of the father she idolized was undermining her health. I said I wanted to see that gentleman. "Very well," said my friend, "I will try to arrange it, but I will
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have to try to get hold of him very early in the morning, before he goes out." In the morning he hastened down into the city, but too late, his friend had gone. However, he found him in the afternoon in his office, sleeping off the effects of his morning drams. Brother P- came to our afternoon meeting to say he had found him, and would stay by him till he awoke. After our meeting, Sister P -- and I went to the office. Our friend had just awakened, and when told that Mother Stewart had called, he met me at the door and greeted me with the grace and suavity of the polished gentleman. That he was making a desperate effort to hide the indications of his infirmity, I could see. We had a long and, to me, very interesting conversation. I presented the pledge and asked him to sign it in the name of Jesus. "Oh, " he said, "I do not believe in Jesus, I believe in God." For a time I felt my props, my foundation were swept from beneath me. What had I to offer this soul that was in such peril, if he rejected the only refuge I had for him.
But he signed my pledge and promised to come to my meeting that night. And he came. I had a very sweet singer helping, and as was our custom in that work, I called some reformed men to the platform to give their experience. I invited my new friend, and the people, I could see, were very eager to hear him, but he was not yet quite sure of his self-control. He declined to speak, but added, "I have a speech here," placing his hand on his breast, "to deliver some-
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time, but not to-night." My singer, by my request, sang two stanzas of the "Ninety and Nine," and I was about to proceed with the exercises, when my friend said, "Mother Stewart, let the song go on." Ah! yes, though he thought he did not believe in Jesus, he did want to hear of the ten- der Shepherd who went out onto the mountain, bleak and wild, to bring back the wanderer to the fold.
"DIDN'T MOTHER STEWART GET 'EM ?"
My esteemed Brother, Rev. W. D. Milburn, the very efficient and successful gospel and tem- perance revivalist, has been in the habit, after opening up his work, of sending to me to come and help him, and I always made it a point to answer the call if not otherwise engaged, for I felt sure there was work to be done. On one such occasion I hastened to him and found he was having crowded houses and much interest, with a blessed atmosphere which seemed to say, "The clouds are big with mercy;" but for some unaccountable reason the showers did not descend.
We held several meetings, but could obtain no signers to the pledge, though there were many who needed to sign. At length the impression came to me that the fault must be in the Church. Accordingly, at the close of our addresses that evening, I told the audience I was going to make a request, a thing I rarely did of my audiences, but I felt impressed to ask the members of the
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Church if they would oblige me by rising to their feet. Of course they very cheerfully complied. I thanked them and asked all who had signed the pledge to please be seated. Very few took their seats, and the trap was so unexpectedly sprung that the delinquents had no chance of retreat. I went right on, saying that was all right, now would those standing just come forward at once ; friends would please open the passage. There seemed to be nothing else left for them, and they started forward. I then, with exclamations of thanksgiving, exhorted everybody to come, now the ice was broken. And they did throng for- ward; the Church had got out of the way. Sis- ter C-'s little, white-headed, wiry son, Guy, though so young, seemed to be taking it all in. As the Church members came forward, he sprang up and dodged around to where his mother sat in the chair, and crawling under the seat came up by her side and whispered, "Didn't Mother Stewart get 'em?"
THE LITTLE MARTYR AND HER MONUMENT.
In telling of my visit to the Washington County Children's Home, I intimated that I hoped to give, further on, an account of the origin of this model institution. This I have in part from the benevolent founder, Miss Catharine Fay ( now Mrs. Ewing, a classmate and dear friend of the long ago, when students in the Marietta Seminary), and partly from a very deeply interesting account from the pen of the
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Rev. J. H. Jenkins. Mr. J. says, "To find the beginning we must go back at least to the year IS53. On the then far-off frontier of Arkansas a New England mother lay dying. Deserted by a drunken husband, she had stood alone amid the storms of that winter, fighting against starva- tion and for the protection of her five children. She sank at last, exhausted. Her eyes had closed in death,it seemed, when the sobs and cries of the desolate children recalled the mother to consciousness. Clutching the physician's hand, she said, with a voice husky and weak, 'Oh, doctor ! will you not see that they find homes ?' He promised. Her eyes closed wearily. She was dead. Homes for all but the youngest were soon found. Taking this little girl, then two years old, on his horse, the kind-hearted physician crossed the border, and committed her to the keeping of a young woman connected with the mission among the Indians. The child was delicate and must have been rather remark- able for pensive beauty. Speaking of this occur- rence afterwards, the young missionary said: 'As I took that dear, motherless child in my arms, I felt such a love as I have never since felt- a love, I believe, implanted by God for future good. ' "Can I not keep her?" was my eager question. Days were spent in planning ; nights in prayers and tears. But it was of no avail. I was but a poor teacher, and many hundred miles from home.' A home for the child was at length found and the time for parting came. Then it
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