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MY FIRST STREET MEETING
My first street meeting was in Washington, D. C., near the old postoffice. I had spent the day in the jail, alms-house and hospitals. I was then a stranger in the city. Some one asked me to go to a hall where there was a little mission. We did so, and found they had gone to the open air meeting. When we arrived the meeting was in progress, one after another stepping out to testify or sing. No opportunity was offered me to take any part in the meeting, as no woman was allowed to testify. I looked to God in silent prayer to open some way for me to speak to the people. At the close of their service I spoke, saying, "The Lord has sent me with a message for you dear people, and now the friends have closed their meeting and we will not detain them, as they doubtless have other engagements." I began to sing and God filled my soul with glory. The needs of those poor hungry souls rose before me, as I sang and prayed, and the message of love came welling up in my soul. I spoke to them of righteousness, the coming Judgment and eternity. I had held meetings in many of the principal cities of America, some in Europe and other countries. But that night God anointed me for street preaching and for work in slums, dives and saloons.
Closing the meeting, I thought of being alone on the street at night with scarcely any money and not knowing my way back to my lodging place. I said, "Oh, Lord, you know all about it." Walking along I came to the mission and stepping in I took a seat near the door. While I sat praying, a brother rose and told the circumstances of the street meeting I had held, and that one of the worst men in the city had been converted through its instrumentality. The man had told the brother that God had saved him and he was going home to write eight letters to his people, some of them in this and some in the old country, to tell them what great things God had done for him. God knew I was there and sent the message to encourage me. After the service in the hall had closed a young lady who proved to be the daughter of the landlady where I had been staying, came to me and walked to her home with me. I could not have found my way alone, not having their number, but God cared for me.
Some extracts are given from reports of the work which were published at different points during the first few years of my labors:
CONVERTED TO CHRIST
THE CASE OF THE UNFORTUNATE WOMAN—CARD FROM MR. M
Editor Hawk-Eye: Last evening at about seven o'clock Mrs. Wheaton, the prison evangelist, and another lady of the evangelists and myself held a meeting on the levee. Mrs. Wheaton, who spoke on the future consequence of sin with unusual earnestness, had the effect of breaking down Mrs. A. into tears. Mrs. Wheaton went up to her and spoke to her. In a few moments the unfortunate woman broke into ecstasies of joy and commenced to leap around in a circle. For ten minutes she kept up praising God and leaping, when suddenly she leaped through the great crowd around, some now being horrified, who, like many poor, unfortunate people, never saw a sudden conversion. She ran up Jefferson street, where she was arrested and locked up.
Had the woman been rich or popular she would have been kindly treated, but being one of the unfortunate women of our city she was locked up in an unclean, old filthy cell, with a bunk for a bed. The police were informed that the woman was converted and a lady offered to take her home last night. But they kept her in that terrible cell with inmates in adjoining cells using obscene language. It is a sin and disgrace for the city fathers to continue to have women locked up with men in the same line of cells with such a horrifying stench and wooden bunks. The city police are guilty of an outrageous act in confining the woman in such a cell, when they ought to have given her better quarters, as they had the opportunity. This morning she was brought out before the police court; the woman still testified that she had salvation before that court and crowd of people. But good came out of it all as she witnessed a grand confession to the police court and people who never heard the gospel. She was, by the consent of Captain S., taken to Mrs. H.'s and is doing well and is converted. Last evening's Gazette stated that the woman went crazy by attending the street meetings and would be examined before the board of commissioners of insanity, which is every word of it untrue. The woman is sane and was not before any board.
A. H. Mertz, in Burlington Hawk-Eye, Jan. 19, 1887.
A WONDERFUL CONVERSION
In San Francisco a drunken girl came to my meeting on the street so desperate and dangerous that even the police at times seemed afraid of her. She seemed to be a veritable Magdalene. I was impressed with the words, "Down in the human heart, crushed by the tempter, feelings lie buried that grace can restore." How could it be done? I dealt faithfully with her and went away, returning to the city ten months later. She came again to my meetings, once very drunk as she usually was. I talked to her about her need of salvation and she was finally convicted. She waited at the close of the meeting to speak with me, but at first would not yield to God. Finally she sobered up and was wonderfully converted. I took her to my room and cared for her, and as she was a desperate character, and liable to do injury both to life and property, the Rescue Home at San Francisco refused to take her, so I took all the risks myself and took her to Helena, Montana, and left her at the Rescue Home at that place.
The following is an account of work in Seattle soon after this as reported by a paper of that city:
THE PRISON EVANGELIST
MRS. ELIZABETH R. WHEATON CARRYING FORWARD HER MISSION IN SEATTLE
About three o'clock yesterday afternoon two women, one quite elderly and the other about 25 years of age, whose dress and demeanor bespoke them to be missionaries, walked into the sheriff's office and asked Jailer Leckie if they might hold a short religious service in the county jail. The urbane jailor replied that he thought "a little prayin' wouldn't do them coves any harm," but they were eating and couldn't be interrupted for ten or fifteen minutes.
"Then we'll wait," said Mrs. Wheaton, laying her black shawl aside and taking a seat, in which she was followed by her sister evangelist.
"Perhaps you would like to know who we are," said the elder of the two women to a reporter who happened to be present. "Here is my card," and she handed over a small piece of pasteboard on which was printed with a rubber stamp, "Elizabeth R. Wheaton, Prison Evangelist. Jesus is Coming Soon; Prepare to Meet Thy God."
"That will tell who I am," continued the evangelist.... "Criminals and fallen women are the ones I try to reach. I would rather try to save a murderer or fallen woman than your smooth, respectable hypocrites, every time. Mary and I have just come through from san Francisco." * * *
At this moment Jailer Leckie announced that the prisoners were through eating, and the two women went below to pray with them. The younger woman held back, saying that she was afraid some of her old associates might be there, but she was urged on by her protector and a few minutes later the words of "Nearer My God to Thee," from two female voices, came floating through the prison bars. The prisoners gave them respectful hearing, and one or two seemed to be affected by the earnest words of counsel that fell from the lips of the evangelist. Later in the evening they held street services for the benefit of the workingmen near the Armory and relief tents.
BECAME A PREACHER
One of the worst women I ever knew was converted in the spring of 1885 on the streets of Kansas City, Mo., where I was holding meetings. She came to the meeting to abuse and ridicule me. She heard my voice, she said, two blocks away, and became convicted. She came to where I was standing on a box preaching. I asked if there was any one there who would seek God and live a Christian life. I said if there was one such, let them come and kneel with me by the box and I would pray for them. She knelt there and cried mightily to God for mercy. But she went away unsaved and prayed and wept day and night. She could neither eat nor sleep. She saw herself a lost sinner. Her father had been a minister of the Gospel, but had died when she was very young. She had drifted to this wicked city in search of work, and you may know the rest. For it is but the story of many a poor orphan girl in her struggle for bread. She fell as thousands fall with none to pity or care. She was driven from one sin to another, until at last disgraced and filled with shame, she had tried twelve times to take her own life. Thus I found her a miserable woman. She came again to the meeting, this time alone, and was gloriously saved, and is still saved so far as I know. She became a successful preacher of righteousness, for she knew how to reach such as she had been. She became a terror to evil doers, brave in danger, and hopeful before discouraging obstacles. She has since told me she has saved many young girls' lives and characters by taking them in and giving them food and shelter when every other door except brothels and saloons was closed against them. Bless God for the homes open to shelter and protect the unfortunate girls.
THE BLIND ENCOURAGED
One day while traveling in Montana, I went into a smoking car to hold a little Gospel meeting, singing and distributing tracts, when I found a blind lady there who seemed to be alone and neglected. I spoke to her kindly about her soul and invited her to go with me into the other car. I said, "I am always glad to do anything I can to help a blind person. My grandmother was blind several years before her death." She accepted it all gratefully and seemed very sorry to part from me when we changed cars. I exhorted her to a life of Christian service and to meet me in Heaven.
I never expected to meet her again, but some two years later I was holding an open air meeting in California and a lady said, "Would you allow me to testify?" and I said, "Certainly, if you are a Christian. Would be glad to have you." When she began to speak she said: "This lady don't know me, but I know her. We met once. Although I have never seen her, as I am deprived of sight, yet I know her. I met with her on the train one day," and she related the foregoing facts, stating that my kindness had won her heart and she had never forgotten my advice, and was now living a Christian life.
FORBIDDEN TO PREACH ON THE STREET
One night when I attempted to hold a street meeting in F–, California—where I had been holding services for a few nights—the marshal said he had forbidden me to preach and sing on the streets. A gentleman looked up the law books and returned saying that it was not contrary to the laws of that city at that time to hold a gospel meeting on the street and that I could proceed, but the marshal came and forbade me, very unkindly and impolitely. At this crisis a gentleman came up and said that a saloon keeper down the street requested me to come and hold a meeting in front of his place. I said: "A gentleman has requested that we come and hold a meeting in front of his business place. We will go there, please," but the marshal in a very ungentlemanly way said I was not to hold a meeting on the street any place in that city.
I said we would go to a hall which had been opened for gospel services. It was several blocks away and only a few of the immense crowd would walk that distance. When I reached the place I sat down behind the door and cried and thought, what shall I do? I was sure the Lord wanted me to hold a meeting on the street. The blind lady mentioned in the previous incident was in the congregation and began to sing, "He is able to deliver thee," and I soon had the victory. The same sister had attempted to sing on the street, as this was her only means of supporting her old mother and sickly husband, and the marshal came along and without any warning pushed her off the street. A couple of strange gentlemen came and kindly led her to a place of safety. I heard soon after this that this man became suddenly insane and it took two men to hold him and take him to the jail and from there to the insane asylum.
THOUGHT THEY SAW A GHOST
Once, in a city, another lady and myself were walking along a very lonesome street late at night. When passing a large dark building she remarked that it was a very dangerous gambling den. My heart burned within me. I was seized with an impulse to go in that place of iniquity and warn those men of their souls' danger. No sooner thought than done! I was soon in the room which proved to be vacant, but I could see light through the cracks of a closed door leading into the next room. I passed quietly across the room and opened the door and stood confronting a number of rough looking men who were seated at a long gambling table. Without a word I crossed the room with noiseless footsteps and dropping my Bible on the table and falling on my knees before them began to cry to God in their behalf. The men seemed to take an unexpected view of the situation, and rising simultaneously to their feet, they rushed wildly from the room upsetting their chairs in their haste, and I was left alone. The next day the report went out that a ghost had been seen there the night before, and some of the men vowed they would never touch a pack of cards again as long as they lived—that money could not hire them to do it. Truly "The wicked flee when no man pursueth."
HURT BY A SALOONKEEPER
While I was at Springfield, Ill., I was led one Sabbath to go to the park to hold a gospel meeting, taking two sisters with me. We had a good meeting, and returning to the city I asked the street car conductor if there was another park where I could hold services. He directed me to a place in another suburb. We went there, and in a grove I saw some tables and men and women sitting at them, drinking. I began to sing a hymn, thinking we were in a public park, when a man rushed out of a house toward me, saying, "You shan't sing here." I said, "Please let me finish this verse." He replied, "No, I won't allow any one to sing here." I knelt in prayer. He did not say I should not pray. The sisters were looking at him, and said he hurried toward me in great anger. The sisters prayed to God to spare me. The man jerked me and pushed me over, when some of the men at the tables called out to him, "Let go of that woman. You don't know who she is. We know her." The men in the meantime running to us, laid hold on the saloonkeeper and took him away. I was very much hurt. I could not walk alone. The park proved to be a beer garden. We went to the nearest house and asked permission to rest till I should gain strength to return to the city. The people where we stopped were very indignant, and said the man had no license to sell liquor on Sunday, and was violating the city ordinance. There were no arrests. The whisky men must have their own way in this land of American liberty. They can ruin lives, break up homes, blight the prospects of the best people on earth and fill the prisons, almshouses, criminal insane asylums, brothels, graves of paupers, and doom souls by the multitude, and who cares? Who votes to put down the saloons? Who tries to save mothers' girls as well as mothers' boys, husbands and wives? Even the parents are overtaken by the demon of strong drink and sink into the most depraved conditions in order to satisfy their craving for alcohol. O, the awfulness of it all! Sisters, brothers, are you and I clear? Are we doing our best to stop this horrible traffic in whisky and girls, for one of these places can scarcely exist without the other. How many girls and boys are sacrificed yearly to fill the saloonkeepers' coffers and fill up hell? Think of these things.
WARNED TO LEAVE THE CITY
Upon entering a town in Mississippi I inquired of a woman if she could direct me to a hotel, and she told me her sister and her husband kept one and I would be made comfortable with them.
We went to the hotel and left our luggage and went at once to hold an open air meeting. The singing attracted a considerable crowd, and at the close of the service many came to shake hands with me and thank me for the meeting, among whom were a number of colored people, who thanked the Lord in their characteristic way and asked me to preach again which I agreed to do that night.
As we turned our steps toward our hotel, we noticed a colored man walking a short distance ahead of us who, when we were out of hearing of the crowd, turned and said to us: "You women don't intend to hold another meeting on the street to-night?" and I said, "Certainly, I shall obey God." He said, "You have shaken hands with the colored people and the white people are angry, and they will mob you. I came along here for the purpose of warning you. If they saw me talking with you my life would be in danger." I told him I was not afraid, thanked him and told him I would do as the Lord led.
On reaching our hotel the landlord asked if I intended to hold another meeting on the street that night, and I told him I did. He said that the townspeople had forbidden me to hold another service and that I would have to leave his hotel at once, because I had shaken hands with the colored people. We told him we had made the appointment and we should keep our word. He went to his wife and told her to go and tell those women to leave the house and take the train, as we had associated with the colored people and the white people would not allow us to remain in town. She replied that we had paid our money and our money was as good as anybody's, and that we were respectable, honest women and she was going to treat us as such.
When we went down the street we heard a noise as of a mob, and we went praying the Lord to show us what to do, and He showed us our life was in danger and to step one side into the colored people's church where God's presence was revealed in mighty power and souls were convicted and converted.
In the morning two colored women called upon me, saying they had come to warn me and assist me to the train. One of them said that two nights before she had a terrible dream about a woman coming to preach on the streets and was so impressed that she sent her husband four miles to see if there was anything in it. This was the man that warned us that night. When he went home and told her what he had seen and heard, she dreamed again and the Lord told her to come and help us out of town, as the people would take my life. They carried our luggage and showed us to the train and got us safely on board, and with a "God bless you, Honey, we's prayin' for you," they were gone, and we went on our way with thankful hearts for our Lord's protecting care.
IN JAIL
I have several times been arrested for holding services in the open air, but have been taken to prison but twice—once in Glasgow, Scotland, as related elsewhere, and once in Belleville, Illinois.
In 1889, Sister Anna Kinne wrote me from Belleville that they were holding meetings at that place, but had seen but little stir, that it seemed to be a hard field, and that she believed the Lord wanted me to come and help them in the meetings. I was, at the time, in Mississippi, but after praying over the matter I felt that I should go to Belleville in answer to her request.
The first Sabbath after reaching there I tried to hold services in the open air, but was stopped by policemen. I tried again with the same results. Then I went to the mayor, but was refused permission to hold any such meetings. When I asked him if he would take the responsibility on the day of judgment, he said, "Yes." I then went to the jail and held services, and the sheriff kindly inquired about my work and showed considerable interest, and took down some notes. I then asked him for permission to hold meetings on the court house steps. This was readily granted, and I took Sister Kinne with me. The marshal of the town had bitterly opposed my work, and while we were singing he very rudely and unceremoniously came and took me by the arm and dragged me down from the steps.
I told him that the sheriff had given me permission to hold services, but he was very angry and refused to let me go on.
I said to those who had gathered, "We will have no open air meeting, but come to Buchanan Hall to-night, and we will have a meeting there."
I think it was the following night that I was impressed just before the opening of our services, to sing a hymn, standing in the mission door. I spoke to Sister Kinne of this and she said, "God bless you, Sister Wheaton, I will pray for you."
I went quietly down to the door and was standing there singing an old-time hymn, when out of the darkness there came two policemen. Without saying a word they took hold of me and dragged me along the street. I had no bonnet on, and my shawl was dragging along in the mud. I said, "Please let me get my shawl, and will you please let me ask one of the ladies at the mission to go with me?" But they refused and seemed glad to think that I was being disgraced. As I met two or three Christian people, one of them spoke kindly to me and I replied that I was suffering for Jesus' sake. "You seem to be well acquainted with the men," one of the policemen said. "No," I said, "only with a few Christians."
When we arrived at police headquarters they gave in the report that I was on the street holding a meeting and was having a row, etc., which was, of course, utterly false.
I was, of course, surprised at the treatment I was receiving. I opened my Bible, which I still held, and began reading in silence. The officer said, "Are you making all of this ado and trouble?" I replied, "I was standing in our mission door singing." He said, "Will you give bail for your good behavior?" I said, "I have no money for bail." Then he asked me if I had no friends. I told him I was a stranger in the city. "Then," he said, "I will have to send you to jail, or what will you do?" I said I did not know. He then told another policeman to take me to the jail across the square, and only a few blocks away. This policeman said to some boys who were standing outside, "You boys stay here, we do not want a mob." But the marshal said, "Go along boys. She wants notoriety—give it to her." And so I went to the jail with a mob crying after me.
Arriving at the jail the kind jailor was shocked to see me in the officer's charge, and said, "You are not a prisoner?" I said, "Yes, I was singing in our mission door, but they arrested me." His wife came in and kindly said, "Come into the parlor, and I will make ready for you the spare bedroom." I was, of course, surprised and deeply touched. "No, indeed," I said, "I am a prisoner. Take me into the cell with the other women." Her little daughter came in and knelt down by my side and kissed my hand, saying how very sorry she was for me. It was on a Christmas eve, and the child was going to the Christmas tree.
Soon the sheriff came in in a hurry and said, "You are a free woman!" He, finding I had been arrested, had notified friends who had given bail and secured my release. Not understanding the sheriff, I said, "No, I am here in disgrace, and I want you to put me in the woman's cell." But he insisted that I was free. Then I said, "They have put me here in disgrace, and I want some one to come and take me to our mission, as it is dark." They then sent for someone to come for me, and such a shout as went up when I again entered the mission hall. One good old Christian friend said, "I told you that if she was a woman of God, and I knew she was, she would return to the hall before the meeting was over."
It seems that a reporter who was at the police station at the time of my arrest and heard the abuse of the officers had hurried to the sheriff's office, and he, as I have said, had secured my release.
We give here a verbatim copy of the paper signed by friends, the original of which I still have in my possession. Somehow the case was dismissed, and I was never brought to trial:
