The Use and Need of the Life of Carry A. Nation
gambling and drinking, had spent thirty thousand dollars of the church's
money and he was sent adrift. The name of this priest was John Kelly
and on our hotel register the name of this priest was written "John Kelly."
CHAPTER VI.
WHY MY NAME IS NOT ON A CHURCH BOOK, AND WHY THE MINISTERS WITHDREW
FROM ME.--CLOSING THE DIVES OF MEDICINE LODGE.--CORA BENNETT,
AND WHY SHE KILLED BILLY MORRIS IN A DIVE IN KIOWA.--HER
RESURRECTION.--RAIDING A JOINT DRUGSTORE.
I soon saw that I was not popular with the church at Medicine
Lodge. I testified to having received the "baptism of the Holy Ghost," and
the minister, Mr. Nicholson, took occasion to say that I was not sound
in the faith. This church at this time had a board of deacons and elders,
who I knew to be unworthy, some of them addicted to intoxicating drinks
and other flagrant sins. There was one man whose sincerity I never questioned,
Mr. Smith, who had a good report from those in and out of the
church.
Mr. Nicholson, the preacher, used to go to a drugstore kept by a noted
jointist and infidel. He would sit with him in front of his drugstore. I
would rebuke him for "sitting in the seat of the scornful and in the way of
sinners."
Whenever I went visiting, I went where I felt I could do some
good for Jesus, and at Thanksgiving and Christmas I invited the poor,
crippled and blind, to a feast at my house as Jesus said to never invite
those who were able to make a feast.
There was a Mrs. Tucker, who was quite young and married to an
old man. She worked hard, washing, to care for her five children. I
would take her to church and it was not long before she joined. There
was rejoicing in Heaven, but none in the church at Medicine Lodge.
For two years she attended church, and not an officer or member ever
called to see her. I would visit her, and often take her clothes for
her children, also read the Bible, and prayed with her. I did not wish
her to notice the lack of all Christian fellowship, but she saw the
cool way in which she was treated and she stopped going to church. A
false report of treachery was told to this minister by her unfeeling, jealous
husband, and without going to see this poor woman, it was decided to take
her name from the church book.
One Lord's Day morning, before Mr. Nicholson commenced his sermon,
he said: "It is the painful duty of the church to withdraw fellowship from
Sister Tucker, who had been living in open adultery." I was sitting in
front, and I rose to my feet.
Mr. Nicholson said: "You sit down, the elders will attend to this."
I said: "No, the elders will not, but I will. What you have said is
not true about this woman. She has been a member of the church for two
years, and neither you nor the elders or any member of this church but
myself have been in her home. I do for that woman what I would want
some one to do for me, under the same circumstances. These elders never
reclaim the erring or pray with the dying, but this poor little lamb has
come in for shelter, and they are pulling the fleece off of her."
All this time Mr. Nicholson was telling me in angry tones to "sit
down". He then called on the elders to take me out, came down from the
pulpit, took me by the arm intending to put me out himself, but he could
not move me. I turned to the audience, told them what the preacher said
could not be proven. The Normal was in session and there were many
strangers present. I sat down as calmly as if nothing had happened out of
the usual, and waited until the close.
Mr. Nicholson came to me after service and said: "We will settle
your case."
I said: "Do your worst and do your best."
That afternoon the elders met in the church, and withdrew from me
because I was a "stumbling block," and a "disturber of the peace." This
was a grief to me, for my beloved father, mother, brothers and sisters
belonged to this society of Christians, and I had, since I was a child ten
years of age. I wept much over this, but I went to church as usual, not
so much to the Christian church, but the Baptist, where they were very
kind to me.
Bro. Wesley Cain had charge of that church and this man and his
wife were a tower of strength to me. What this man and wife did for the
people of Medicine Lodge will receive approbation on "That Day," at the
resurrection of the just.
Mrs. Cain was local president of the W. C. T. U. and she was at her
post; was self-sacrificing, and had such a sympathizing heart. The poor
never applied to Bro. Cain and his noble wife in vain. I have much to
thank them for.
I was Jail Evangelist at this time for the W. C. T. U. and I learned
that almost everyone who was in jail was directly or indirectly there from
the influence of intoxicating drinks. I began to ask why should we have
the result of the saloon, when Kansas was a prohibition state, and the
constitution made it a crime to manufacture, barter, sell or give away
intoxicating drinks? When I went to Medicine Lodge there were seven dives
where drinks were sold. I will give some reasons why they were removed.
I began to harass these dive-keepers, although they were not as much to
blame as the city officials who allowed them to run. Mart Strong was a
noted joint-keeper. He and his son, Frank, were both bad drinking characters,
and would sell it every chance they got. Mart had a dive and I
was in several times to talk to him, and he would try to flatter me and
turn things into a joke. When he saw I did not listen to such talk,
treated me very rude. One Saturday I saw quite a number of men
into his place, and I went in also. Saloons in Kansas generally have a
front room to enter as a precaution, then a back room where the bar is.
I didn't get farther than the front, for Mart came hastily, taking me by the
shoulders and said: "Get out of here, you crazy woman." I was singing
this song:
Who hath sorrow? Who hath Woe?
They who dare not answer no;
They whose feet to sin incline,
While they tarry at the wine.
CHORUS:
They who tarry at the wine cup
They who tarry at the wine cup.
They who tarry at the wine cup.
Who hath babblings, who hath strife?
He who leads a drunkard's life;
He whose loved ones weep and pine,
While he tarries at the wine.
Who hath wounds without a cause?
He who breaks God's holy laws;
He who scorns the Lord divine,
While he tarries at the wine.
Who hath redness at the eyes?
Who brings poverty and sighs?
Unto homes almost divine,
While he tarries at the wine?
Touch not, taste not, handle not:
Drink will make the dark, dark blot,
Like an adder it will sting,
And at last to ruin bring,
They who tarry at the drink."
I continued to sing this, with tears running down my face. When I
finished the song there was a great crowd; some of the men had tears in
their eyes as well. James Gano, the constable, was standing near the door
and said: "I wish I could take you off the streets." I said: "Yes, you
want to take me, a woman, whose heart is breaking to see the ruin of these
men, the desolate homes and broken laws, and you a constable, oath-bound
to close his man's unlawful business."
The treatment I got at the hands of this Mart Strong was told to the
mayor and councilmen, and there was great indignation. The councilmen
went to Mart's place that night. The door was locked and a number of
gamblers were in there. The mayor forced the door open and told Mart
Strong never to open business in the town again. He left next day; and
this closed up one of the worst places in the town. Then there was Henry
Durst, another jointist of long standing who was a German and had
accumulated quite a lot of property by this dishonest business. He was a
prominent Catholic. A Mrs. Elliott, a good Christian woman, came to my
home crying bitterly and between sobs told me, that for six weeks her husband
had been drinking at Durst's bar, until he was crazy. She had been
washing to feed her three children and for some days had nothing in the
house but cornbread and molasses. She said that her husband had come
in, wild with drink and run his family out and kicked over the table and
she said: "I came to you to ask you what to do."
I did not speak a word, for I was too full of conflicting feelings; but I
put on my bonnet and Sister Elliott asked me what I was going to do. I
told her that I did not know, but for her to come with me. We walked
down to Henry Durst's place, a distance of half a mile. I fell down on my
knees before the screen and began to call on God. There were five men
in there drinking. I was indifferent to those passing the street. It was a
strange sight to see women on their knees on the most prominent part
of the street. I told God about this man selling liquor to this woman's
husband, and told Him she had been washing to get bread, and asked God
to close up this den and drive this man out. Mrs. Elliott also prayed. We
then told this man that God would hear and that hell was his portion if
he did not change. In a short time he closed his bar, left his family
there, and went to another state. His property was sold gradually and he
never returned, except to move his family away, and I heard afterwards
he was reduced to poverty.
Another jointist was named Hank O'Bryan. In passing his place one
night from prayer-meeting, I smelled the horrid drink and went in. A
man by the name of Grogan was there, half drunk, and I said: "You have
a dive here." Mr. Grogan replied: "No, Mother Nation, you are wrong,
and I can prove it."
"Let me see what you have in the back room," I asked. "All right,
Mother," he said, and took me through several windings, until I came to a
very small room with a table covered with beer bottles, that had been
recently emptied, and in one corner sat a man, Mr. Smith, a man from
Sharon, who the W. C. T. U. had been talking of handling for selling
liquor in that town. Mr. Grogan introduced me to him, and he, Mr.
Smith, looked terrified and astonished. I took up one of the bottles
and asked what it had contained. His reply: "Hop Tea." I asked:
"What name is that on the label?" It was "Anheuser-Busch," but I could
get neither of them to pronounce it. I turned up one of the bottles and
put it to my lips and told them that it was beer, and that I could take an
oath that it was. Grogan threw up his hands saying: "Now, Mother
Nation, if you get me into trouble I will do something desperate." I
had visited this man Grogan in jail about a year before this, where
he was put for getting drunk and fighting. I said: "I do not wish
to get either of you in trouble, but want to get you out." I had my Bible
with me and I opened it to several passages where drink was condemned,
and told them where it would lead. I told them I would not speak of this
to anyone. When I said I would not "tell on them" the look of gladness
on their faces was pitiful to see.
I said, I am going to pray God to have mercy on you. Kneel down,
like two obedient little children--they knelt--some may smile at this,
but I was deeply affected and felt a compassion and tenderness toward
these poor men, whom the devil was leading captive at his will. That
prayer I offered, was heard.
In one week from that time this man Grogan came to my house; one
Sunday morning, and fell down at my feet crying and wringing his hands,
saying: "Oh! Mrs. Nation I am going to hell, but it is not your fault and
I came to ask you to pray for me." He was in great agony of soul.
He had been drinking until he was almost crazy. He left in about half
an hour, saying he "was going to hell," but I told him, no; to have faith
in God and He would save him.
This was the last I saw of him, but I heard afterwards that he had
a small store in Wichita and was living in the rear of it with his family.