Our respects were paid to St. Peter's Cathedral, which has become famous for the Pan-American Mass held every Thanksgiving Day, and which has been attended by several of our late Presidents.
Near the city, we visited a new monastery which was inhabited by French Monks. The most interesting part of this place was that portion under the main building where the basement ordinarily would have been. There was a long, narrow zig-zag tunnel, or passage, about six feet wide and probably seven or eight feet high. We were escorted through about one hundred feet of this tunnel and then the accompanying Monk told us that the remainder of it had not been finished, so we returned. Along the sides of this tunnel were niches, in which were placed statues, which were visible only by the aid of small burning tapers. In fact, most of the tunnel was so dark that we were unable to find our way without the aid of a light carried by the Monk. It was a crude, "spooky-looking" place, and both Sister Rita and myself gave a sigh of relief when we were once again in the light of day and on top of God's green foot-stool.
We were informed by the priest that these tunnels were to commemorate the Catacombs of Rome at the time of the early Christians.
We went to Baltimore, then crossed the Chesapeake Bay to Norfolk, Virginia, where we visited the Jamestown Exposition. The wonderful exhibits at this exposition, the historic and other interesting places visited while there, were a revelation of the achievements and advancements of this great country, and the acquisition of much historical enlightenment. We knew we were acquiring much knowledge forbidden by the Pope of Rome, but we were greatly pleased to think that we were defeating this self-styled ruler of heaven, earth and hell.
From Norfolk we went to New Orleans. For miles the streets of this large city were lined with little, antiquated, unkept homes, many of which seemed to be falling in ruin. The question came to my mind, "Why do these people not advance?" The answer was very apparent when we saw the strangle-hold the Roman Church had on them, and how they had built immense churches, monasteries and convents for the glorification and fat-living of the ecclesiastical gods. We visited the Jesuit church, which was a structure magnificent and beautiful to behold—with its altars and ornamentations of bronze. At that time this church was considered one of the most costly in America.
During our stay in New Orleans, we stopped at the convent of the Dominican Sisters. In conversing with some of these sisters, we learned how they recruited their ranks. Some of the most trust-worthy sisters would be sent to Ireland to talk the poor Irish girls into coming to this country and living good, pure, holy lives as sisters. We were also told that as a rule, these girls died very young, and generally of consumption. We saw some of them, and they surely looked like caged birds, sorry and discontented, home-sick and care-worn. Previous to this, feelers had been placed before the sisters in my community to see what sisters were willing to go to Europe to get recruits for the Sisters of Charity of Providence, and when I saw these girls, once, no doubt, rosy cheeked and beautiful, but now pale and care-worn from the unnatural, caged life they were living, I made a vow that I would never be the means of enticing any foreigners to leave their homes to become slaves for the Roman Hierarchy.
When we were in Burlington, Vermont, a sister-member of the same order I belonged to, asked me to visit a relative sister of hers in the Ursuline Convent in New Orleans. On the twelfth day of September, 1907, we visited this convent—a monstrous prison-looking institution, about five hundred feet long. Within the entrance there was a hall along the outer wall and on the other side of the hall there were a number of small rooms, or "stalls," about eight by ten feet in size. These stalls were separated from the hall by iron bars, about one-half inch in diameter, running from the floor to the ceiling, about two inches apart. I asked to see the sister by name, and when she came we had to talk to her from the other side of these bars. She extended her hand through the bars to shake hands, and we kissed her the best we could with that barrier between us. This was a cloistered order, and yet there was a parochial school within the enclosure. The children's parents and other visitors were only permitted to see the children or sisters as we had seen this sister. About five feet from the floor, in the center of the grating of each of these stalls, was a little door about fifteen inches square, with a padlock on the inside. We were told these were used for articles brought there that were too large to pass between the bars.
We visited some of the large plantations for which the South is famous, seeing the cotton plants in all their different stages, from the flowering to the picking of the cotton.
Returning to the Pacific Coast we came by the southern route, through Texas, Arizona and California. We stopped a few hours in Los Angeles, and about ten days at San Francisco and Oakland. From Oakland we visited Stanford University, which was still very much demolished from the earthquake nearly eighteen months before.
We arrived home—at St. Vincent's Hospital, Portland—on September thirtieth, after an absence of nearly four months, and I wish to impress upon you that in all our travels we did not receive one cent from our order—and they never once offered us any money to pay any of our expenses or showed us any sisterly solicitude.