“Sister Minkley what if it was my Thomas Jefferson that was murdered accordin’ to law? What if it was my boy that was layin’ out there under the snow?”
Sister Minkley had her white linen handkerchief up to her eyes, and she didn’t say a word; but she give several sithes, awful deep; she has got a mother’s heart under her breast bone; she has had between twelve and thirteen childern of her own, and they was on her mind. She couldn’t speak a word, but she sithed powerful, and frequent. But though I was as agitated as agitated could be, and though there wasn’t a dry eye in my head, I began to feel dretful eloquent in mind; my soul soared up awfully, and I kep’ on:
Says I, “Sister Minkley, how can we mother’s live if we don’t put our shoulder blades to the wheel?” says I, “we must put ’em there whether or no; we are movin’ the wheel one way, or the other anyway. In this, as in every other reform, public sentiment has got to work with the law, stand behind the law and push it ahead of it, or else it wont never roll onward to victory.” Says I, “It is a wheel that is loose jinted, the spokes are sot loose on the hub; it is slippery, and easy to run backwards; it is always easier to push anything down hill than up, and there is far more pushers in that direction. And one of the solemnest things I ever see, sister Minkley, is this thought—that you and I, and everybody else is a pushin’ it one way or the other every day of our lives; we can’t shirk out of it, we are either for it or ag’inst it. A man or a woman can’t git away from castin’ their influence one way or the other no more than they can git away from their shadder on a desert, with the sun bilein’ down on ’em, and no shade trees in sight. There haint no trees tall enough to hide us from the blazin’ sun of God’s truth; this cause is before us, and we must work with God or ag’inst him.”
“Amen!” says sister Minkley out from under her white linen handkerchief, and she sithed hard.
“How can we help workin’, sister Minkley? How can we fold our hands up, and rest on our feather beds? If a deadly serpent had broke loose from some circus, and was a wreathin’ and twistin’ his way through Jonesville, swallerin’ down a man or a woman every few days, would men stand with their hands in their pockets, or a leanin’ up ag’inst barn-doors a whittlin’; arguin’ feebly from year to year, whether it was best to try to catch the serpent and cut its head off, or whether it was best after all to let him go free? After they had seen some of their best friends swallered down by it, wouldn’t they make an effort to capture it? Wouldn’t they chase it into any hole they could get it into? Wouldn’t they turn the first key on it they could git holt of? And if it broke loose from that, wouldn’t they try another key, and another, till they got one that would holt him?
“Do you s’pose they would rent out that serpent at so much a year to crunch and swaller folks accordin’ to law? And would it be any easier for the folks that was crunched and swallered, and for the survivin’ friends of the same, if they was killed by act of Congress? What would such a law be thought of sister Minkley? and that is nothin’ to the wickedness of the laws as they be. For what is one middlin’ sized serpent in a circus, that couldn’t eat more’n one man a week with any relish, to this of intemperance that swallers down a hundred thousand every year, and is as big as that Great Midgard serpent I have heerd Thomas J. read about, whose folds encompass the earth.”
Sister Minkley sithed so loud that it sounded some like a groan, and I kep’ on in a dretful eloquent way:
“We have got to take these things to home sister Minkley, in order to realize ’em. Yours and mine, are as far apart as the poles when we are talkin’ about such things. As a general rule we can bear other folks’es trials and sufferin’s with resignation. When it is your brother, and husband, that is goin’ the downward road, we can endure it with considerable calmness; but when it is a part of my own heart, my Willie, or my Charley that is goin’ down to ruin, we feel as if men and angels must help rescue him. When it is mine, when it is mother’s boy that is lyin’ murdered by this trade of death—when the cold snow has drifted down over the shinin’ curls that are every one wove into her heart strings, and the colder drifts of disgrace and shame are heaped over his memory—how does the poison look to her that has killed her darling? How does the law that sanctions the murder seem to her? Then it is that yours and mine draw near to each other. It is the divine fellowship of suffering our Lord speaks of, that brings other hearts near to ours, makes us willin’ to toil for others, live for them, die for them if need be. It was this, that sent forth that wonderful Woman’s Crusade, made tender timid women into heroes willin’ to oppose their weakness to banded strength. It was this that made victory possible to them.
“When a king was chosen in the old time to lead the people of the Lord to victory, he was consecrated by the touch of a royal hand. And it was these women, weak and tender, touched with the divine royalty of sorrow, that God chose to confound the mighty.
“And other great souled women, who loved the praise of God better than the praise of the world, joined ’em; they swept over the land, the most wonderful army that was ever seen. Conquerin’ minds and hearts, instead of bodies, with tears and prayers for weapons. Hindered not by ridicule, helped by angels, enduring as seeing Him who is invisible, conquerin’ in His name. What was the Crusade to the Holy Land that I have heerd Thomas J. read about, to this? That was to protect the sepulchre where the body of our Lord was once laid, but this was to defend the living Christ, the God in man.”