Prisons and Prayer; Or, a Labor of Love

by Elizabeth Ryder Wheaton

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.