Continuing this soldier says, 'She seemed to put the work of two lives into one. Such a brisk walk she had! People pulled themselves to attention and things began to move faster whenever she came on the scene. "This is quite a feminine little bit"—I never saw her look into a shop window! She had not time for even the innnocent interests of most good women.

'She lived in the spirit of the command, "Be pitiful, be courteous." The graciousness of her spirit always reminded me of Christ. She did not seem to understand the meaning of sarcasm.

'Her health was very frail. Whilst stationed here, she was often fighting bronchitis, but she never spoke of herself. Never even said she was tired. There was not a trace of self-pity or self-love about her.'

From many sources one hears of this continual fight with and triumph over physical weakness. A woman hall-keeper tells, 'One evening I caught her creeping like an old woman, through the dimly lighted hall, bent almost double with bronchitis. "Oh, Adjutant," I cried, "you're ill. You should go home to bed." When she knew I had seen her, she steadied herself to take breath, smiled sternly, then waved me off, and presently walked briskly into her converts' meeting.' A lieutenant tells, 'Sometimes in the morning she looked so ill and old, and I would beg of her to let me take her breakfast to bed. But she would laugh and say, "What's the good of giving way to feelings? I'll be all right when I warm up to work." Though ever a spartan to herself she was always tender in her treatment of others.'

The following extracts from an article by the late Mrs. Colonel Ewens appeared in 'The Officer' under the title of 'My Ideal Field Officer.' It indicates the high esteem in which Adjutant Lee's Divisional Commanders held her:—

For some years now, a woman Officer who is still in the field, has been the living embodiment of my 'Ideal Field Officer.'

I was conducting a Junior meeting at her corps when the bandmaster stepped into a side room for his instrument. I prepared to accompany him to the open-air meeting and casually remarked that the officers had gone on. 'You may trust our captain; I have never known her late,' was the rejoinder.

Continuing he said:—

I have been in The Army for twenty years, but have never had such an eye-opener in all my experience. I tell you if ever I have felt ashamed of myself and my performances, it has been since this officer came. She's the right woman in the right place, there's no doubt about it. She can 'sit on' a fellow without crushing the life out of him. The whole band is changed. She's just got our chaps, the thirty of them; and she's as true and straight as a die. The beauty of her life and example beats all we have ever had. Makes you feel you must be good whether you will or not.' This was intensely interesting to me, coming as it did so spontaneously from a man not at all in the habit of praising his Officers. After our conversation, I began to study the character and work of that unobtrusive woman.

I consider her success mainly attributable to her strict adherence to the godly principles which rule her life, and to the careful cultivation of certain useful qualifications which are within the reach of all. Three words sum them up, consecration, concentration, conservation. Every power of her being, every treasure of her heart, every hour of her time is at the service of God and humanity. My 'Ideal F.O.' is a God-possessed woman absorbed with a passion for soul-saving which nothing can quench.

She has so schooled herself that she now possesses the ability to focus every power of mind, body, and soul on the object of the moment, whether it is saving a drunkard, clearing a debt, settling a dispute, or leading a meeting.

There is complete abandonment but very little wreckage in her work. She conserves her energies in fitness, her soul in tenderness, her people in love, and the interests of The Army in loyalty. Consequently, her work wears well.

The feature which impressed me most in my F.O. was her faith, her indomitable faith in God, faith for the very worst, faith in the midst of darkness, tireless, persistent, fruitful, wondrous in its effect upon others. She literally accepts no defeat. Her convictions are strong, her brain fertile, and when failure appears imminent, her tactics are changed and seeming defeat turned into victory.

The shepherd spirit is characteristic of her. Watching and caring for souls seems part of her being. Hence visitation is a joy to her. The bright cheeriness of her manner, and her loving compassionate heart, ensure a welcome everywhere; and whilst she weeps over the wanderer, and spares no pains to win him back, she is inexorable where wrong is concerned. Sin must be confessed and forsaken. Wrong-doing must be righted, reparation must be made.

More time and prayer are spent by this particular officer on personal dealing than on any other aspect of her work. No wrong thing is ever winked at, be it in the wealthiest or the poorest; in the heart, the habit, or the home. The fierce light of the Judgment is brought to bear so powerfully upon evil that the wrongdoer must either give in to God or give up his profession.

Her soldiers and people regard their Officer with deep respect and affection. She is as accessible to the youngest child as to the eldest soldier, yet is over familiar with none.

For her platform she studies much, often alas! far into the night, when she has sent her lieutenants to rest. She is not what is termed a brilliant speaker, but her matter is arresting, convincing, converting.

To her lieutenants she is a charming companion, a wise leader. In her home she is a model of cleanliness and good management.

The business side of a woman's work is often, I have heard, the weak point; but as a Commanding Officer my Ideal possesses a large capacity for business and relish for it, to which, as a lieutenant, she was a stranger. She shoulders financial burdens with a loyal courage, and carries them through successfully. Her writing table is the index to her brain, and bears the stamp of order upon it.

You cannot surprise her with an outstanding liability. She has her hand on everything in a corps in a remarkably short time. The yearly expenditure is calculated, the ordinary resources discovered, special efforts estimated, the deficit boldly faced; then prayer, faith, and extraordinary effort are brought to bear upon meeting it. She runs all her financial efforts on the budget principle.

On corps organization and oversight, she is equally systematic and comprehensive. You will find the individuality of my Ideal wherever you touch the corps; converts, backsliders, seniors, juniors, young people, home league, boys' band, swimming club, corps cadet, company guards, 'War Crys,' songsters. In fact, there is no activity in the corps over which she does not exert a personal influence and directorship, though far from desiring to do everything herself.

Her lieutenants share her confidence, and work to the full. She never acts without the co-operation of her locals, where it is at all possible to secure it. She values their judgment, and fully appreciates their toil.

She has a duty ready for the youngest soldier and convert, and an encouraging word of approval for all.

Alert to avail herself of every possible means to improve her corps, amenable to reason, correct in her judgment, strong in discipline, humble as a child.

In the estimation of her two Generals, Kate Lee won a chief place. It was an honour that she held dearer than any badge, that once when chosen to represent the Field Officers to The Founder, the aged white-haired Leader stooped and kissed her as a daughter before her comrades.

Writes General Bramwell Booth:—

It was as a Corps Officer that she shone, excelled, and won her great victories. She showed us afresh, if we only have eyes to see, how great that position may be.

Christ took hold of her whole being and transformed her. He was united in His Spirit with her strong, loving, dutiful soul. The meekness of Jesus was found in her, side by side with a Divine passion for the lost.

She was at first one of the most unlikely people to take the place she ultimately took. Timid, retiring, having little confidence in herself, and quite unconscious of possessing any special gifts, she rose up, and did more actual work than is sometimes done by half a dozen of her sister-officers put together. The lost and the ruined and the broken-hearted, the vicious and desperate, and those who are ready to go down to the pit were her special delight. From town to town she went, consorting with them, hunting them up, weeping over them, praying for them, stretching out her hands to them; yes, and sometimes literally pulling them out of the fire.

It is extraordinary how officers of this type are remembered in different towns by different aspects of their work and character. In one town it is one thing, in another town it is another. It was so with Kate Lee. In one place she is spoken of as the great befriender of the broken and outcast. In another as 'the one who helped us when we were starving.' In another as one of the few decent people who were ever seen during the midnight hours in the dark places. In another as making the open-air marches radiate light and music and Salvation. In another as being like a spiritual dredger, dragging the very gutters for lost souls.

And yet in all she would never speak of what she had done if she could help it. She was one of those who could say with Paul, 'I laboured more abundantly than they all; yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me.'



VI

SPECIAL EFFORTS



Certain enterprising business firms find it worth while to pay large salaries to servants whose sole duty it is to think out fresh ideas, the working of which will bring success to their house. Kate Lee's mind was consecrated to get out of it every idea possible for the success of her campaigns. She had no leisure to devote exclusively to planning, but morn, noon, and night, while about her other work, walking here, pedalling her bicycle there, her eyes were wide open and her mind alert as she devised methods by which she might attract the ungodly to listen to her message, which, if obeyed by all, would turn this earth into a Paradise.

Nothing vexed her more than for the Lord's people to be content to make shift with poor tools and conditions in His service, while the devil's agents aim at getting the best to be had. Her patience was sorely tried when Salvationists thought their well-equipped hall too good for drunkards' raids, and none the less when soldiers considered any poor shop good enough for the Army hall.

When she took charge of Hythe, the corps fought its battles in a miserable little barn known as 'The Tar-Tub,' located in a back lane. How could she hope to get crowds of people into that place? She simply would not suffer the indignity. There was land to be had, money in the place, and sympathy. A proper hall there must be! She secured the ground, and the season being summer, she hired a large tent and erected it on the vacant spot. Then she organized a campaign with features to attract not only the townspeople but summer visitors. Night after night the tent was crowded. Meanwhile, she stirred the town in raising funds for the erection of the hall, and before long the necessary proportion of money was in hand. The tent was replaced by building materials and Hythe turned out for the block-laying, an event which by this time had become of public interest.

Farewell orders came before the citadel was opened, but Kate Lee was always ready to cheerfully drop a work she had set going and take up the next thing.

At Ashford she was ashamed of the miscellaneous collection of band instruments. A special effort enabled her to leave there a band with a set of plated instruments. At Sunderland, hard by the hall, a tavern boasted a brilliant front light. The devil should not lure men to destruction with a brighter light than that by which she showed the way to Heaven! Soon, therefore, a competing light blazed before the citadel. The entrance to 'Norland Castle, The Army's hall at Shepherd's Bush, London, was a miserable affair. Two sets of narrow steps led to two doors. It was a considerable scheme to clear the whole front, erect a flight of solid concrete steps and replace the brick wall by an iron railing, but she saw it through.

At this corps she installed a new lighting apparatus, at that laid linoleum in the aisles, at another curtains to reduce the size of the hall for week-night meetings. Always some improvement. She loved to build a new penitent-form, which ran the whole width of the platform—with suitable carpet in front of it from end to end—and above it, in gold letters, some such message as, 'At the Cross there's room.' She greatly rejoiced on the night that one such mercy-seat was thrown open, for a great sinner bedewed it with tears as he confessed his sins to God, and rose up, a new creature, to fight a good fight in that corps. But what was the good of a decent hall, clean, well lighted and warm, if the people remained outside? Get the people she must, and having got them once, she would make them want to come again. Go where you will, at the mention of her 'special efforts' there is a visible stirring amongst her erstwhile soldiers. It is amusing to watch different types of people as they prepare to describe her demonstrations. A villager shakes his head, looks solemn, clears his throat, and begins, 'Never seed the like of her and her ways!' The eyes of keen business men contract and smile; then they remark, half apologetically for their enthusiasm, 'Really, they were wonderful affairs. The Adjutant was quite a marvel in the conception of a big thing and the ability to carry it out.' As for the general rank and file, they bubble and burst with joyful acclamation at the recollection of red letter days in Salvation festivity.

The Adjutant turned to account every holy day and holiday. She laid herself out to make Christmas a joy-day for the lonely and poor. At Norland Castle, for instance, she provided dinner for some two hundred old people of the district. The afternoon was devoted to a children's party, the old people being allowed to remain as delighted spectators of the children's games and fun. For the night meeting the platform was decorated, the lights lowered, and a living representation showed the shepherds feeding their flocks at Bethlehem, and the angel choir proclaiming 'Peace on earth and goodwill to men.' By song, music, recitation, and appeal, the Adjutant made the Christmas message ring clear, and she closed the day pointing souls made tender by human loving- kindness, to the Prince of Peace.

Harvest Festival was, perhaps, her chief demonstration of the year. She used this occasion to impress The Army upon the whole town. The largest hall available was taken—such as at Coventry, the Drill Hall holding five thousand people. A long report from the local paper describes the appearance of this building converted into a rural scene. There was a farmhouse large enough for habitation, a windmill in motion, and a realistic farmyard containing sheep, pigs, rabbits, ducks, and fowls. A sower sowed the seed; there was standing corn. This was reaped, and the grain thrashed, ground, and baked on the spot. All manner of farm implements were on view, and great collections of fruit, vegetables, and flowers.

Spectacular processions considerably helped these demonstrations. One night, the corps turned out representing a great harvest home with a wagon of hay, and the soldiers attired as farm labourers, carrying forks, rakes, and sickles, Chinese lanterns on sticks, and transparent signs. Another night the Adjutant had as many as seven lorries carrying representations of different phases of Army work.

Wherever these harvest festivals were held, the town was stirred; and thousands of people attended the meetings. They were convinced of the possibility of joy in religion, and also, they were brought face to face with eternal truths. They saw the way of Salvation in object lesson; the Bread of Life contrasted with the husks of the world; listened to an interpretation of the Parable of the Sower; were reminded that 'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap'; in the story of Ruth recognized the wisdom of choosing Christ rather than the world, and also the beauty of unselfish service. Many were brought to consider the work of the reaper, Death, and to seek Salvation.

Such a demonstration entailed, as might be expected, an enormous amount of work, but the Adjutant's skill in enlisting co-workers and enthusing them with her own desire, succeeded in making them toil till midnight with delight. A master carpenter recalls, 'Before the festival she had me there, working every night for a week'; a master baker, that he carted flour and utensils to the hall, where his staff, in full bake-house regalia, made bread and baked it on the spot.

The Adjutant delighted to bring The Army's missionary work before the people. At several corps she converted her hall into an Indian village, the soldiers into Oriental villagers and invited missionary officers to explain our work amongst the peoples of the East. One of her city treasurers recalls the cleverness by which she engineered her plans, and got all that was needed for such a demonstration.

'Passing the shop of a taxidermist, the Adjutant noticed a fine stuffed tiger in the window. Turning into the shop, she asked to see the owner, and told him what was in her mind. Could he advise her? He was interested, very. He had several Indian jungle animals, which he would gladly lend. And he knew people who had fine Indian sceneries; he would speak to them and to others who had Indian costumes.

'The plan materialized surprisingly. She had the village, with the inevitable well; the women, with their water-pots, and the children playing about. The jungle adjoining was eerie with wild animals. There were tea-gardens with palms, an exhibition of Indian wares, and the soldiers of the corps moved about as Indian villagers.

'It was a most extraordinary affair. The campaign was well announced, and for three days the hall was packed. The missionary officers spoke, and our work in the East became a wonderful thing not only in the eyes of our own people, young and old, but of the outsiders as well. Fresh people heard the message of Salvation, and the heavy corps debt was cleared.'

For Bank Holidays the Adjutant provided counter attractions for her lively young people and converts, that they might feel no temptation towards the pleasures of the world, arranging a pleasant corps gathering in the afternoon and a tea at night.

Sharing the old General's belief that it is right to consecrate the gifts of sinners to the service of Christ's Kingdom, she roped in strange helpers. Perhaps the most extraordinary thing she did in this way was connected with the erection of a band rotunda for a Bank Holiday 'go.' Inspired with the idea that barrels would serve the purpose, she hied her to the brewery and interviewed the manager. A few days later, there was the unusual sight of a brewer's dray drawing into the yard of the Salvation Army citadel and discharging a load of hogsheads. These were rolled into position, covered with red cloth, and on them, the bandsmen— many of them delivered from the curse of the beer—mounted and played music for the deliverance of others. But Kate Lee never bowed to the world in order to receive its favours. The brewer knew full well that this gentle woman was an avowed enemy of his trade; but she was not his enemy, for she cared for his soul as for those of all sinners.

Adjutant Lee never allowed efforts that might be called secular to interfere with the spiritual work of her corps. To her they were as spiritual as any other effort. We are told of her calling her chief local officers together on one occasion to discuss some special corps liability. 'She told us of her intention to run an Indian Exhibition, laid the plans before us, and then prayed. That census meeting was turned into one of the most powerful prayer meetings I can remember. The lieutenant told me afterwards that the Adjutant had spent the previous night in prayer about this effort.'

At another corps she borrowed several firemen's helmets to be used in the Sunday's meetings, presumably to draw attention to sin as a fire, a destroyer. She impressed upon the brothers who were to wear the helmets, that unless the effort were made earnestly, it would be a farce. The men so entered into her spirit that they remained at the hall after the afternoon meeting in fasting and prayer, so that the message might go forth at night with power.

At Coventry she was faced with an unusual difficulty. The hall was altogether too small to receive the crowds that swept down with the band from the Sunday night open-air service. For people to wish to attend an Army meeting and to be turned away was unthinkable to Kate Lee. She must secure a larger hall. But how? In Coventry every theatre and picture- palace was in full swing Sundays as well as week-days. The only hall available for the winter months was the Public Baths, and this was required for many purposes.

'The committee can't let you have it,' she was told. 'Well, God can, and I will pray,' she replied. The treasurer remembers how she spent the time in prayer while the committee met to discuss The Army's request. To the surprise of many, the Baths were leased to The Army for Sunday evenings during the winter. The experiment proved a success as far as reaching the people went, but the expenses were heavy. All but two days of the last three months had expired, and the Adjutant had not got the money in hand to meet the rent bill. She had often lifted her heart to God about the matter, but as the days for settling the account drew near, she gave herself up to definite prayer. The lieutenant tells us that while actually on her knees, praying, a letter containing a note for ten pounds (fifty dollars) was pushed through the letter-box.

At many a corps the Adjutant conducted midnight raids for drunkards with great success. Amongst her papers was found the description, which she had prepared at The General's request, of one of these raids, but wished it to be published anonymously.

'I am afraid it is a mistake to have a midnight raid here,' nervously suggested a soldier of a popular corps of ——, a sunny seaside resort, that was patronized by a good class of visitor, and a 'better class' congregation attended The Army hall.

The Adjutant believed in the doctrine of her beloved Founder, and had said to her soldiers, 'We must go for souls, and go for the worst;' but the idea of filling the beautiful hall with drunken scallywags horrified not a few of the respectable Salvationists. Nevertheless, the need was pleaded, the interest of the band enlisted; a notorious character, saved from a life of sin, was coming from another corps to give his story; a startling bill inviting all to come, drunk or sober; a livener provided free, was well distributed by a band of scouts who had caught the spirit of the effort. Drunkards were visited and invited to the meeting. The band was ready to start, and the Captain prayed God's help as they went out to seek the lost.

Even in that fashionable resort were to be found haunts of sin and misery. Slumdom was stirred that midnight as the cheery music peeled forth; the boozer laid down his glass and rushed to the door of the saloon to see what could be happening at such an hour. As he rolled out on to the sidewalk, he found his arms entwined in that of one of the scouts who followed the march and mingled with the crowd. The soldiers forgot their fear, their souls stirred in the glory of a desperate attack upon sin, and even the bandsmen as they played their instruments, were observed arming sundry drunks along to the hall. What a motley crew was gathered in! One to thrill the heart of every true Salvationist; just the people that The Army exists to save. Five or six hundred men and women drawn from the saloon, brought under the influence of the Gospel, even for one hour, is an achievement not to be despised.

What could one do with such a crowd in all stages of intoxication? some might query. Picture the scene. A livener, a cup of coffee and cake, is supplied. Music and song peal forth to drown drunken brawls. Presently there is a lull, the men are becoming sobered and are called to attention. A sister sings sweetly of mother and God. The name of an ex- drunkard is mentioned, and the crowd cheers as he stands forth to testify. He tells how drink cursed his life, and how God has changed him. A hush steals over the meeting as the Adjutant rises with God's Word in hand, and calls for reverence if only for seven minutes! A great giant of a man, standing up, waves his heavy first and declares, 'I'll fling out the first man that speaks; listen to the Captain!' How they listened! Now there is a move, a man is pushing his way through his mates; he throws himself at the penitent-form and crys, 'O God, make me like Bill!' He had looked upon his old mate; listened to his testimony, and realized the wonderful change, a living miracle! He did not understand; the meaning of conversion was as foreign to him as to a heathen, but he wanted that something to happen to him that had happened to his mate Bill.

Not all of those twelve or fifteen drunkards who knelt at the penitent- form were really converted. Some found Christ. They were changed on the spot; they knelt down dazed with drink, and got up sober, praising God. The others merely took a step in the right direction. Some one has said that we are born with our backs to God, and our faces towards sin. Coming to the penitent-form, to some of those men, meant a turning of the back on the old life of sin and drink. They were too dazed with drink to understand more than, a longing after something better; but that longing was cherished; the man was followed to his home, watched over when the old craving came upon him, and taught how to seek and find God.

In a little room at the hall, a crowd of converts met week by week. The A B C of Salvation was explained to them; again and again the weak and ignorant were taught to pray and seek until the light of God dawned upon the darkened mind.

'How we loved our Muvver's meetings,' exclaimed an ex-criminal to a listener, who smiled at the new kind of Mother's meetings. He valued the words of his spiritual mother, and this converts' meeting was to him the meeting of the week.

Eagerly the soldiers looked forward to the next midnight raid. How rewarded they felt as they looked upon some of the converts won during the first raid, donned in cap or bonnet, leading their mates to God.

'Adjutant Lee must have worked you very hard,' I remarked to the old keeper of the Congress Hall, Brighton. 'The hall must have been very dirty after a drunkards' raid, and when it did not finish till one o'clock, how did you get ready for Sunday's meetings?' The sweet spirited old man smiled and replied, 'The hall did get dirty, and it did take some time to sweep up the sawdust and make things fresh for knee-drill, but I just went on till it was finished. Yes, I got tired. But no, I never grudged the work, thank God. I was glad to help the Adjutant, bless her! in my little way. To keep the hall in order, and to go on the door humouring the rowdy ones, not keeping anyone out, that was my work for the Adjutant, and I rejoiced to do it. And she was very thoughtful. When, after big demonstrations, the hall wanted extra cleaning, she would organize a scrubbing brigade of about twenty brothers and sisters, who would bring their own buckets and brushes, and she led them herself.'

Not content with directing extraordinary campaigns, there were special personal efforts which Kate Lee made to get in touch with the people. One of these was Saturday night visitation of the saloons. After the meeting —with her lieutenant or, at corps where there were suitable helpers, having sent the lieutenant home to get to bed early in preparation for the heavy strain of Sunday—until closing hours, she sought the souls of the drunkards.

A white-haired veteran soldier, himself a liberated drink-slave, tells of the Adjutant's saloon visitation:—

I knew the run of these places from sad experience, and asked her, the first time we set out, 'Where shall we go, Adjutant: to the respectable, or the rough?' 'The rough,' she replied. She would sing to the men, then kneel on those dirty floors and pray for the poor drunkards, and she would put in a word too, for the owner and his wife, asking the Lord to help them to find a better job. She could get in almost anywhere the first time round; after that she generally had to keep to the bar. The owners recognized in her a power against the trade. Sometimes men would be rude to her, but she smiled on as though she had not heard a rough remark.

We would go from place to place till half-past twelve. When the houses were emptying the men were quarrelsome, and we encountered many a fight. She had no fear at all; would go right into a fight and stop it. After that midnight work, she would be at knee-drill next morning and often passed me a little note giving the name and address of some drunkard she had got in conversation with and wanted me to follow up.

The old man's eyes smiled, and he looked far away with an expression of wonder and reverence which I have noticed in many a faithful armour- bearer of Kate Lee, as they recalled her fight.

Colonel Stanley Ewens, at one time Kate Lee's Divisional Commander, felt that this Saturday night work was too taxing for her frail body, and suggested that she entrust it to others. The Colonel says:—

I found that I had touched a vital spot. The Adjutant replied, 'You must please allow me to continue this work; some of my best trophies have been won for God as a result of my Saturday night visitations. It gives me an opportunity of getting to know the very worst sinners and following them up in their homes.' This was better understood when the following incident was told me concerning a convert in this very town. A desperate character was met by the Adjutant every Saturday night in the same bar. She offered 'The War Cry' as a means to get into conversation with him, and finding out where he lived, asked permission to visit him. One morning at 5:30, whilst washing himself in preparation for his work, he heard some one knocking at the door. It was the Adjutant and her lieutenant who had called to see him and his wife. 'Come in, sisters,' the man said as he opened the door. It was a wretched home. The officers sat on boxes. The drunkard's wife asked in a friendly way if they would have a cup of tea, and replying in the affirmative, were served with strong tea, in galley-pots. It was only a short visit, but it left its mark for eternity. This man and his wife were induced to attend the meetings and led to the Saviour.

One means to attract crowds to her halls, which she had used with success at many corps, was to dress in rags, and march at the head of the band. Amongst her people this recollection is spoken of with a kind of awe.

'To think that that lovely, pure woman should soil her face, pull her hair about, put on dirty torn clothes, broken boots, and make herself appear a sister of shame!

She asked me to keep her company; and, really, I did not like to walk down the street with her,' says a sister local officer of one corps.

Arriving at the hall the Adjutant would lead the meeting, still in her ignominious garb, and preach about sin; how it blighted and defiled the lives of millions of men and women; how it made life here wretched, and would land the soul in hell hereafter; then she would tell of the remedy, the glorious Salvation of Jesus.

An officer writes that she was a little girl of eleven when the Adjutant dressed in rags at her corps. The effect upon her mind was to make her hate sin with such a horror, that right then and there she determined to give her life to seek sinners.

But some of the Adjutant's soldiers could not see past the shame of their beautiful officer, thus making a spectacle of herself. 'It made me cry to look at her,' said one sergeant-major.

'It fair upset me; I told her never to do that again; I could not abear to see it,' confessed another.

The Adjutant carried out her part with apparently unconscious calm, and it never occurred to these worthies that their officer thus made herself of 'no reputation' at great personal cost.

The Brighton Congress Hall holds three thousand people. How to break in upon that city, catch the eye of the crowds, and fill her great building, caused the Adjutant much concern. She tried many means with only partial success.

'I feel I should dress in rags again, and I simply cannot do it,' she confided to her lieutenant. For several days she seemed absorbed and oppressed; then she betook herself to the little attic and shut herself away with God. On the evening of the second day she came down calm and triumphant, and the announcement was made that on the following Sunday she would dress in rags.

Sunday evening arrived and as she passed down the street to the open-air stand, people stared and gave her a wide berth. But the crowds were captured, and a full penitent-form was the result; no one but her lieutenant had any idea of the abnegation her service had cost.

Did Kate Lee never wish to escape from this endless strain upon body and soul? This constant spinning from out of her own heart and mind a web of love in which to capture wandering souls? I cannot find one person to whom she ever gave such an indication. She cast her burden upon the Lord; she drew her strength from hidden streams; she gloried in having a life to offer to the Holy War. We are indebted to Ensign Cutts, her last lieutenant, for a glimpse of Kate when the doctor ordered her off the battlefield to an operating theatre:—

A telegram announced her immediate return to her corps to say farewell. I met her at the station; such a pained, disappointed face greeted me, "O Leff, I feel this is the end of my Field days," she exclaimed.

'But she threw off her sorrow, took farewell of her people, like the leader she was, and together we went to London. That night she spent in prayer, and in the morning she was calm and her face bright. "I have really got the victory," she told me. "His will be done. If He allows me to return to the fight, that will be glorious. If not, His will is best."



VII

THE MOTHERING HEART



One of the joys of Kate Lee's later years was to have with her, from time to time, her little namesake niece. Sometimes in the midst of a great campaign the hunger of heart to have a child in the house overcame her, and she would prevail upon her brother and his wife to allow Katie to come to her. The fair, timid child had much of her own appearance and disposition, and the Adjutant yearned to train her to take her place in the War. Here and there we get glimpses of her mothering love for the little one. A comrade officer tells that once boarding a boat travelling north, she found Adjutant Lee and her little niece were passengers by the same boat; but Kate, having arrived late, had no berth. All berths had been taken but one, which meant that the child had a bed, but her aunt had not. Immediately the officer placed her berth at the Adjutant's disposal, saying she preferred to sleep on deck. Kate was distressed, she would not accept favours for herself, but for the sake of the timid little one to whom a sea journey was a new experience, she was grateful for her comrade's thoughtfulness.

'I am sure,' says her comrade,' that I slept better than she did. She came up at midnight to see if I were comfortable, and at dawn I was awakened by a gentle face bending over me and the words, "Have you taken no hurt by sleeping here? I am so distressed to have taken your bed." The Adjutant's appreciation of any service rendered her was so sincere that it more than compensated for any inconvenience incurred in serving her. We were only a few hours on the boat, but the Adjutant's gracious spirit and pure, refined face made many of the passengers inquire, "Who is that beautiful woman?"'

A little maid, whom the Adjutant engaged to help her in the house at one corps, tells how she trained her to care for little Katie. She was intensely anxious concerning the little one's health, and careful that the maid should speak gently and correctly, that she might be safely imitated.

For the sake of the lost, Kate Lee voluntarily laid aside her own hopes of marriage and motherhood. Detached and in a sense lofty in her walk amongst her comrades, still there were those who had coveted her as a continual comrade in the war, and had made their plea. Once she almost yielded, but pity for the unsaved prevailed over the most human inclinations of a woman's heart. She was not sure that she would be as free to seek and win souls if she married. Her lover waited in hope for years, but Kate Lee became increasingly certain that it was God's will for her to remain as she was. This matter once settled, she felt in a very sacred way,

Chosen for His holy pleasure, Sealed to be His special treasure.

It was indeed a rash individual who trespassed upon the privacy of that consecration, and dared to rally the Adjutant on the subject of marriage. Upon such a one she turned eyes in which there was neither anger nor amusement, but which regarded the trespasser in silence until he felt like a clumsy boy, who, unaware, had stumbled into the presence of a queen. Then, to relieve his embarrassment, in perfect sweetness the Adjutant changed the subject.

The fountain of love and tenderness that might have blessed husband and children, was not sealed, else it had turned bitter. It flowed without restraint and increased as it flowed, until it became a river, carrying life and refreshment to thousands.

'Aye, she was more to me than my own mother.' said a North-Country woman, who, in the rush of industrial life, had missed a certain tender touch until she met Adjutant Lee.

'Never nobody mothered me like her,' declared a grey-headed man saved from great depths, whose tottering steps she taught to walk the way to Heaven steadily.

It is the lower type of mother-love that limits itself in affection and care for her own offspring alone; true mother-love takes to its heart all young and weak and wayward creatures. In this Kate Lee showed the true spirit of motherhood. Her own converts she nursed tenderly and guarded with unremitting care; but none the less the converts, the weak souls, and the young people she found at any corps upon taking charge.

A prominent local officer tells with gratitude how she helped him in the days of his spiritual infancy. His conversation illustrates, incidentally, the wonderful influence of the Holy Spirit upon the human heart, independent of any human agency except prayer.

William Bailey, unutterably wretched in mind, dark and sinful in soul, stood on the curb of a London street, and longed for some power that would change him and make him decent and happy. At the same moment The Army march swept past and the thought stole into his mind, 'If a man joins The Salvation Army, he becomes clean in mind, and talk, and action.' He went to his bachelor rooms, knelt down, and prayed to be made like a Salvationist. He felt changed on the spot. The craving for strong drink and desire to gamble or swear was clean swept out of him.

The following night he went to The Army Hall. Adjutant Lee was being welcomed as commanding officer. During the prayer meeting she went down amongst the congregation and spoke to this man. 'Are you saved, my friend?' she asked. 'I believe I am, but I want to join The Army,' he replied. He was totally ignorant regarding religion, and this gentle woman adopted this newborn soul, and from that night nursed him to spiritual manhood.

Bailey was a reservist—and a few weeks after his conversion his pay was due. Pay-day had always meant a spree, and Bailey was afraid. 'What shall I do, Adjutant?' he asked. 'Go to the office in an Army cap and jersey,' she replied. Obediently he went to headquarters on Saturday and brought home these articles of uniform. He put them on, and many a strong man will understand the cold shivers that Bailey felt when he got into the street. He wanted to go to the "open-air" by back ways, but that would not please the Adjutant. Manfully he started down the main street, and presently came face to face with an old service comrade, hilariously the worse for drink. The sight of Bill Bailey in the uniform of another Army was too much for the merry 'drunk.' He made straight for his old mate, embraced him, exchanged hats, and arm in arm they marched to the open-air meeting. Taking in the situation at a glance, the Adjutant beamingly greeted the queer couple. 'Here's my friend, Bill Bailey. He will give his testimony in his new jersey,' she announced; and Bailey was committed to his first open-air witness for Christ. On Monday, with his uniform as his safeguard, he drew his pay, and not one of his mates suggested a drink.

The Adjutant next suggested that Bailey did not wear proper uniform. Tan boots and light trousers didn't really go with the red shirt. Of course not. Bailey would be a real soldier; he ordered a regulation Army suit. The convert went steadily forward. He married an Army sister, and has a happy home. He has filled the position of young people's worker, bandsman, assistant sergeant-major, and is now assistant treasurer.

'It's through her I am what I am. Ignorant, rough man I was, with the merest flicker of spiritual life; but she cared for my soul, and was so patiently loving that she led me to know God.' Bailey was afflicted with a stammer when he was converted. Of this, he says, 'She talked to me so calm and quiet. "Go slow, now," she'd say, "Count." She would insist upon my giving my testimony, and if she saw I was going to be fairly stuck, she'd shout. "Glory! Hallelujah!" and beam on me with that lovely smile of hers; and by that time I'd got my next word.'

The first baby words were not sweeter to mother ears than the first testimony of Adjutant Lee's converts to her. One drunkard, so great a terror to his town that even the magistrate confessed that he used to cross the street rather than meet him, had been wonderfully delivered from sin. When called upon to give his first testimony, he said, 'I fank God He's kept me this day wifout drink. I fank God He's kept me this day wifout smoking. I fank God He's kept me this day wifout swearing overmuch.' Marvellous change! The Adjutant beamed upon him, rejoiced over him, and the following night had further cause for gladness, when he declared, 'I fank God He's kept me from swearing altogever.'

A woman soldier's face quivers with emotion yet smiles as she tells:—

I was rather a problem when Adjutant Lee came to our corps. Mother died when I was fourteen, and I was left to bring up four brothers. You may be sure I had to hold my own with them, and I became obstinate and had a flippant manner which covered many a better feeling. I was a great trial to the lieutenant, who had no patience with my nonsense, but the Adjutant was never cross with me. One night, after a meeting, she took my arm and led me off for a walk. We walked miles. She talked to me about my flippant ways and sharp tongue. Said I did things that were not worthy of me; told me that I should be my real self, and not put on foolish airs. I stood that, though feeling bad; but then she cried, and said I would break her heart if I did not change.

Here was the mother-touch the starved, warped spirit was needing. After that, the graces of gentleness and sweetness began to appear.

There was nothing that concerned her people's well-being that Kate Lee regarded as outside of her province. A certain sergeant-major, who had reached middle life and was still single, was reported to have become engaged to be married, and not to a Salvationist. This man was a wonderful trophy of grace. One of a family of fourteen, all drinking people, after he was converted it was six years before he was able to go to his home in his uniform. Often to escape the godless ways and contentions indoors, he had gone into the stable where he could pray in peace, and slept with his horses. But things were not so difficult now, and all the town respected the Army sergeant-major. The Adjutant knew that many a soul who has climbed with safety a rough up-hill path has slipped on a smooth dead level, and that many a man has fallen from grace through choosing a wrong wife. Somewhat anxiously she interviewed her local officer. 'You needn't be afeared for me, Adjutant. I prayed and waited until the right person came my way,' declared the sergeant-major.

Then the Adjutant sought the bride-elect. Gentle probing discovered a true Christian, and after a heart-to-heart talk, the Adjutant left her with an enlarged vision of her responsibility regarding the soul of the husband-to-be. Mrs. Sergeant-Major of to-day, a wise little woman, with a heart of gold, tells how she summed everything up and felt it to be her duty, as now it is her joy, to share to the fullest extent her husband's work.

Over young people of strong impulses and unformed judgments Kate Lee exerted a remarkable influence. A bandmaster tells of her patience and tact with his obstinate ways in days long gone by. She felt there was good under the headstrong nature, and never met his 'pig-headedness' with harsh dealing, but taxed herself to make a reasoned appeal to the best that was in him. It was the mother hand upon the lad, and its influence is with the man to-day.

At one corps a gang of factory lads endeavoured to annoy the officers by hammering at the quarters' door and running away. The Adjutant sought them out, and one by one they were converted. They became energetic soldiers. At Brighton corps there were at that time about fifty young women in the Young People's Legion. They were an undisciplined, rather unlovely lot. In her work for them, the Adjutant had the co-operation of a godly comrade who was entirely of her leader's spirit. Her home became an unofficial receiving and training home for these girls when they fell on difficult ways. 'Could you possibly manage to do with her, poor child? No mother, no encouragement nor help! How can we expect her to do well till we get her fairly on her feet?' the Adjutant would plead. And the good woman would open her home again and again.

Many a girl, having received such help is saved to-day, doing well in a situation, or happily married. Should one be having an unhappy time at home, the Adjutant visited her people. Sometimes she discovered hardness of heart and cruelty wrecking the young life; sometimes fault on both sides. Then she acted as mediator and healer of the breach. She taught the girls to make and mend their clothes; when ill, she got them to a hospital. Always she made them feel she loved them and believed for them to be good. Her work amongst these girls would not have been unworthy of a sole responsibility, but it was one of her least noticed efforts at that corps.

Says a soldier saved from terrible sin:—

She was just like a mother. I would go and ask her advice when I had done anything wrong. She never scolded me, but would look serious and say, 'Well, you know you ought not to have done that.' And somehow, in a minute, I could see what I ought to have done, and would promise to try to do better. How could you help getting on when all the while she was smiling on you, giving you some work to do, and believing you to be good.

Her mothering love for souls sharpened her really wonderful faculty for remembering faces. Years after she had left a corps, if she met a comrade or friend, her face would light with recognition, and she would greet the person by name. The pleasure this afforded is mentioned all over the country.

Motherlike, she could not bear to feel that at night the door was shut upon any wandering child, and her sergeant-majors tell, 'No poor fellow who came to the penitent-form went without a bed. She kept bed tickets for emergencies. She might give away a good number to people who did not deserve help, but she would rather do that than fail one who did.'

'It's because of all she taught me, and the nice way she taught me, that I have been able to take such good places,' says a little maid, with quivering lips and shining eyes.

One motherless girl followed her from corps to corps for years, taking a situation in the town where she was stationed so that she might catch her smile now and again, and hear a few words of mother love. Married women's eyes fill with tears as they recall her tenderness in sorrow and her wisdom in difficulties. How she took a poor little widow, distracted by sudden bereavement, and nursed and soothed her. How 'she stayed up all night with me when my sister died.' How 'she buried my mother and was so kind I can never forget her.' How 'she helped me to nurse sonny, when no one else dared come near.'

Women old enough to be her mother felt the pleasure of childhood when the Adjutant, revisiting an old corps and finding them doing the same faithful work as during her term, would beam upon them and remark,' Still at it, you dears!'

'She got me the job I've been in this fourteen years,' says an ex- drunkard. 'I had worked my way along after I was saved; then I heard of a goob job becoming vacant, and I asked her if she would mind saying a word for me. She was up and away before breakfast next morning, interviewed the manager, and got me the job. Like a mother she said, with her nice smile, "Now, don't you let me down!" And I haven't.'

Kate Lee oozed motherliness-that love that is capable, wise, patient, tender-the love that never fails!

One of the sweetest fruits in her spiritual children is that after she had left them they continued to perform the services she loved. One man, saved from nameless sins, slow to speech, and clouded in intellect, would spend his money on Testaments, and 'War Crys,' and walk miles to visit gipsy camps to read and pray with these wanderers, and other isolated people. He knew that 'mother,' as this middle-aged man always called the Adjutant, would be pleased.

When Kate Lee received farewell orders from a corps, she suffered as a mother does in leaving her family. Her eyes hungered as they rested upon the men and women whom, with great travail of spirit, she had brought into the Kingdom of Grace. She had striven to teach them the ways of life, but they were not strong, and temptations were many. Laying hold of godly comrades of the corps, she would plead with them to continue to care for these children in the Lord, after she had left them.

And her heart often wandered back. She knew that no voice sounded to them just as hers did. There were, perhaps, thirty or forty trophies of grace, who now and again received a letter of encouragement in her swift, legible handwriting. Just a few words fresh as the dew, bright as the sunshine, with her voice ringing in them, pointing these souls, uplifted from the depths, to God, and holding them up to the standards she had raised.

When, during the war, the men of England were scattered over the world's battlefields, no mother suffered more anxiety for her sons than did Kate Lee for her sons in the Gospel. Separated, as many of them were, from Army meetings and helpful influences, and surrounded by sin and temptation, her letters came like angel messages. No one knows how many she kept in touch with, but from unlikely sources up and down the country, one hears, 'she was the only one who wrote to me.'

For the 'Twice Born Men' she felt a special solicitude. To the 'Criminal' at the front in France, she wrote every week, sending him 'The War Cry,' and occasionally a parcel. An early one contained an Army jersey. 'Wear it, Joe, and always live up to it,' she had written. He wore it till it dropped to pieces, and then cut out the crest and brought it home. One can understand how her thoughtful love helped that trophy of grace, when, coming half-frozen out of the trenches, he refused the hot tea he craved for, because it contained rum.

For the 'Copper Basher,' away at the Dardanelles, separated from every Salvation Army comrade, she prayed especially. She wrote him regularly. Once, motherlike, she inquired if there were anything he would like her to send him. Tommy is a contented soul; the only thing he could think of was a luminous watch. Kate Lee managed to send him one, and as in the darkness of night the shining figures spoke to Tommy, so Kate Lee's faith and love made the Saviour's face to shine for him in the darkest hour. She rejoiced exceedingly that not only did Tommy refuse to sin, but that he let his light shine before his buddies. In the evenings when they would be drinking, swearing, and singing wild songs, Tommy would bring out his Bible to read his portion before 'turning in.' Sometimes, small men jeered at the man, who, before conversion, they might well have feared; another time they would say, 'Old Tommy'll read to us to-night.' He would read aloud and pray, then 'turning in' would say, 'Good-night, chaps. Now Tommy'll go to sleep.' And he was left in peace.

The Memorial Service of Kate Lee was being conducted at one of the great corps the Adjutant had commanded, and one of her trophies was called upon to give his testimony. The man stood upon the platform, from whence he had heard his spiritual mother invite him to Jesus. It all came back, his sinfulness and misery; her winsomeness; her wonderful faith; her patience; her rejoicing through all the years since his conversion. He could not speak. The man stood and wept; his tears the greatest tribute he could pay to the woman who had mothered his soul to God.

When days are no more, and the things of this life are judged, one thinks to see a radiant spirit before the Throne of God, surrounded by a band of Blood-washed ones, and to hear Kate Lee say, with joy, to her Lord, 'The children whom Thou gavest me.'

In nothing did her motherliness show itself more beautifully than in the patient love that refused to abandon the most hopeless objects of her efforts, even though they shamed her and caused her sore distress. The love of many a parent for a prodigal child is quenched when son or daughter brings shame upon the family. But Kate Lee's love was deeper and stronger than shame. One comrade tells of her, that finding one of her converts backslidden, and drinking in a public-house, she sat beside him while he drank of the cup of his destruction, then took him home.

A lieutenant speaks of a criminal whose soul Kate Lee wrestled for; after giving good promise, he broke into sin again and got into jail. She went to meet him at the gates upon his discharge, and brought him home to breakfast. He gave her his prison loaf; and she kept that loaf of bread— that slight evidence of gratitude—for quite a long time.

But—for our encouragement be it recorded—she did not always succeed in delivering the prey from the terrible. One notorious sinner, the terror of a certain city, she tried hard to win, but without success. Meeting him one day in the principal street, she took him into a restaurant and ordered dinner for two. The landlord called her aside, and inquired anxiously if she knew the character of her companion. 'Oh, yes,' she replied; 'one of my friends whom I am hoping to help.' Another time she met this man in the street, mad drunk. A sister-soldier was with her; Kate took the man's arms, piloted him to the sister's home; had a great pot of tea prepared, and made him drink cup after cup in quick succession. He wanted to fight, to smash the furniture; but she soothed him, and saved him from the lock-up. This man steadied considerably, but would not entirely renounce his sin. He still drinks; but when he meets Kate Lee's old friends, he speaks about that 'heavenly woman,' and declares he'll meet her in Heaven.

Only one instance can I discover when the Adjutant gave expression to the least discouragement concerning weak, wobbling converts. This was when she remarked to a beloved comrade who helped her to wrestle for the most hopeless, 'Shall we ever get to an end of it? Oh, that the Lord would take them Home!'



VIII

A BREAK TO CANADA



Army Officers verily believe in the aphorism that change of work is as good as a rest. When heavy campaigning at one corps had over-wearied Adjutant Lee, and it was suggested that she might conduct a party of emigrants to Canada, she hailed the opportunity with the joy of a child. To cross the ocean; to see something of the great Dominion; passing over thousands of miles of prairie, mountain, and river, and coming in touch with the throbbing cities of that great country, and all the while to be about her Master's business, was pure delight in prospect.

Captain Winifred Leal, who was at that time engaged in the Emigration Department, and had to do with the party which was committed to Adjutant Lee's charge, furnishes some reminiscences of the impression which she made upon herself, and also upon the officers of the boat upon which the party sailed. She writes:—

At that time these parties were crossing the Atlantic weekly, and sometimes three times a week. In advance of each sailing, full particulars were mailed to The Salvation Army officers who were responsible for meeting the boat at the port of landing, and also to The Salvation Army officers at the various centres throughout the Dominion, at which individual settlers were to arrive for distribution in outlying districts. Thus, no responsibility with regard to placing the newcomers upon arrival rested with the conductor, whose work it was to be spiritual adviser and friend to each member and unifier of the party as a whole, during the voyage. Whilst crossing the bridge that spans the distance between the known and unknown, hearts are tender. The mind, too, takes stock of the failures, mistakes, and successes of the past; fresh resolutions are made. It is a time propitious for the re-birth of souls. The Angel Adjutant said she felt it to be so.

Her party was an interesting one: wives and children joining husbands and fathers, who had set sail, with The Army's help, some months previously; single women and widows going to domestic service; parents whose married children in the Dominion offered them a home with them; and not the least interesting, a party of Scotch boys, aged from fourteen to seventeen. (These boys were orphans. In Edinburgh and Glasgow they had started to earn their living in the streets. Under The Army's wing they were now to be placed on Canadian farms.)

It fell to me to introduce Adjutant Lee to the members of her party, and her sympathy went out to each one of them. The Adjutant was undoubtedly nervous of her powers, when embarking upon an enterprise so new as this, and she asked if I could not accompany the sailing from Glasgow to Liverpool. A period of about twenty-four hours, as near as I can remember, was involved in the interval of embarking at Glasgow and setting sail from Liverpool. This was arranged, and three vivid impressions of this remarkable woman, whom I had not met previously, remain with me.

The first sitting of third-class passengers were seated around the table in the dining-room for their substantial meal, special tables having been allocated to the hundred or more members of the party under Salvation Army guidance. Adjutant Lee, who was standing by the tables, managed in a natural manner, and without any preliminary fuss to get the entire party on to their feet, singing,

We thank Thee, Lord, for this our food, But more because of Jesus' blood; Let manna to our souls be given, The Bread of Life sent down from Heaven.

Few, if any, of the party were Salvationists, but the singing was hearty, stewards and stewardesses looking on approvingly.

During the evening the Adjutant appeared in her bonnet, with her concertina, on the third-class upper deck. She began to play an appealing Salvation Army song. Several hundred passengers gathered round and settled into a singsong. Before long this drifted most naturally—or rather, was ably piloted—into a pulsing meeting with the accompaniment of testimony, a solo from a young man, and an earnest, direct appeal to seek Salvation from the leader of ceremonies, who now seemed not so much completely at home as entirely oblivious of herself. Her eyes travelled searchingly from face to face, and all listened eagerly.

Third and second-class accommodation being fully booked up, the steamship company found it most convenient to give the Adjutant a berth in the first class. When the bugle sounded at seven o'clock for dinner, we were in the midst of an argument. The Adjutant declared that she must go to dinner in her bonnet; she must at once show who and what she was. I replied that if she so chose, she could have breakfast, lunch, and tea, in her bonnet, but that it would be much better to appear at dinner inconspicuously bareheaded. My argument prevailed, though she declared she would be much more comfortable in the beloved bonnet. At the close of dinner the passengers at our table presented the Adjutant with their choice buttonholes, so that she was able at once to take a bouquet of roses and carnations to her third-class passengers. I left the ship next morning at Liverpool, feeling that it would have been interesting to have accompanied the Adjutant throughout the journey.

About a year later I happened to cross on the Hesperian in charge of a party. Many Salvation Army conductors had crossed and re-crossed in that vessel since the journey of Adjutant Lee, but from the ship's officials, chief stewards and stewardesses, one name was mentioned persistently to me. There were many inquiries as to when Adjutant Lee was likely to cross again.

The effect of her influence upon the party actually under her care must have been very blessed. I was not privileged to see anything further of that. But amongst those who dwelt in the deep on that ship, it was apparent that her coming had left a streak of Salvation love and light.

Landing at Quebec, the Adjutant proceeded to Winnipeg with her party. A private tourist car was provided, and the train journey occupied four days and nights, and carried the party through wonderful scenery.

Delivering her charges, her work completed, the Adjutant gave herself up to a week or two of pure enjoyment. She was entertained at The Army Lodge for young women immigrants in Winnipeg, and from this base, visited all The Army institutions in the city. She was specially interested in the juvenile court attached to the detention home for young offenders, a government institution officered by The Salvation Army.

The splendid Grace Maternity Hospital was another centre of Army work which delighted the English visitor. Over the border into the United States went Kate Lee, and in Chicago saw The Army at work in the self- same way as elsewhere.

A Sunday evening visit to the prison court cells was a memorable experience. Standing where she and her companions could command several cells, they were able to speak to the prisoners who awaited trial next day. Some of the listeners were white, others coloured. Several of them in the private conversations which followed, expressed a desire for Salvation. One woman, whose curse had been drink, knelt with tears, and sought deliverance, as the Adjutant pointed her to God.

Back in Canada, the Adjutant plunged into a programme of meetings and the visitation of Army institutions and the prisons. Her fame as a specialist in dealing with criminals gave her an entrance and a welcome to Canadian jails. She visited the Dovercourt Prison, and conducted a meeting with two hundred long-sentence prisoners. She told of men she had known to be delivered from desperate sin, when in penitence they cried to God; and at the conclusion twenty men raised their hands as an evidence of their desire, then and there to seek Salvation. The Governor of the short- sentence prisoners sent the Adjutant an invitation, and she held two meetings at the prison with the women and with the men the day she was leaving the city. Kate Lee was struck with the Canadian prison system, and the evident aim of the whole treatment to uplift those under detention, and give them a chance of better things. She longed that the free opportunity for Army officers to help the prisoners might be extended to her own country.

A visit to Niagara was included in 'the time of her life,' as she described her overseas trip to her sister. Niagara, that mighty manifestation of natural force with its limitless possibilities in the service of man, when captured and controlled, impressed her deeply, for in her jottings book are found some vigorous notes on the harnessing of Niagara. Still, it was on the souls saved in the prisons that she dwelt as her special delight.



IX

IN THE HOMES OF THE PEOPLE



Kate Lee's local officers speak of her in relation to that particular section of the corps to which they were attached during her stay amongst them, and laugh as they recall how hard she worked them. The treasurers and secretaries tell of her cleverness in financial affairs. The sergeant-majors chuckle and still marvel over her capacity for work and getting others to work; the bandsmen are enthusiastic over her ability to manage them; the ward sergeants of her working of the ward system; the recruiting sergeants over her care for the converts; the publication sergeants over her interest in the papers and magazines; the young people's workers remember with gratitude her love for the coming Army.

But there is one work which all local officers and also the soldiers unite in recalling with wonder and warm appreciation—her visitation. To get amongst the people in their homes, to share in their joys and sorrows, to understand something of their sins! This, Kate Lee believed was the key to their souls. Like the Apostles she visited 'from house to house.'

To make this possible, with the many other claims of her commands, her life was subjected to stern discipline and governed by method. She rose at seven, breakfasted at eight; an hour was devoted to prayer and study, an hour to business, and by ten o'clock, she and her lieutenant left the house to visit. It would have been a mutual pleasure for the officers to have gone together, but as one lieuteant tells us, 'The Adjutant said, "We must sacrifice our feelings, dear, in order to cover more ground."' So both went separate ways, the lieutenant returning to the quarters at twelve o'clock to have dinner ready by one. After dinner, they set out again, visiting until six o'clock, and even then, visiting was not entirely ruled out. Whenever a call came or a need arose, Kate Lee responded and when wrestling for a soul she took no account of time.

Lieut.-Colonel Thomas says:—

Some years ago I visited Adjutant Lee's corps to conduct a campaign. We had just finished the Saturday night's meeting when a little woman pushing a perambulator with two children in it, ran into the hall, asking for the Adjutant. Her husband was at home in delirium tremens, threatening terrible things. The Adjutant went back with her, soothed the poor madman, got him to bed, and sat with him until the early morning. Soon afterwards that man was soundly converted, and is to-day an Army bandsman, while the elder child who was wheeled in the perambulator, is a corps cadet.

Stories abound of her early morning visits to pray with converts before they faced the world. To catch the factory hands at Reading she would be at their home by six o'clock. To earlier workers she has called as early as half-past five.

A ship-owner in Sunderland had read of the Angel Adjutant, and afterwards attended her meetings. He was not impressed by her conversational powers nor her platform gifts, and often questioned in his mind where the secret of her influence upon desperate characters could be. One Monday morning, he had cause to go to his office early, and tells how he met Adjutant Lee in the street. 'Out so early, and on a Monday morning, Adjutant?' he remarked pleasantly. 'I would have thought you needed rest after your heavy Sunday.' The Adjutant smiled, and hesitated. The gentleman continued, 'May I ask why are you out so early?' She replied, 'Well, last night we had two remarkable cases seeking Salvation, and when ungodly men are broken up and come to the penitent-form, that is only the commencement of the work. I have been down to these men's homes to pray with them and see them safely into the works.' Says this friend, 'Then I understood the secret of her power. It was the same love that took Christ to the Cross to save sinners, working in this woman to the same end. I no longer wondered at her success.'

Brigadier Southall, of Canada, relates an incident connected with a Sunday's meetings, which he conducted at one of the Adjutant's corps, which illustrates her midnight visitation.

Having heard something of her work, I looked forward to the day with anticipation. We had good crowds, and there were a few seekers at night, but no thrilling incident occurred during the day. However, after Sunday night's meeting a young man who had come to the penitent- form, hesitated about leaving the hall. When Adjutant Lee spoke to him, he told her he was afraid to go to his home, from which he had been absent some time. He confessed to having robbed his parents on two previous occasions, and his father had told him never to come back again. The Adjutant determined to accompany him home. Arriving there she knocked, and in reply a voice from an upstairs window inquired her business. She explained that she had come upon an important matter, to which the reply came that as the family had retired, would she not indicate her business without bringing them downstairs? She replied that she must speak with them quietly. She kept the young fellow out of sight when the door was opened a few inches.

By tactful moves, Kate Lee got into the hall, and told of the son's confession and his desire to live a new life. This produced a storm of protest. They could not trust him any more. The Adjutant pressed upon the mother the precious quality of forgiveness, and the necessity of exercising it if we would desire the love of God extended to us. She gained her way. At about two o'clock in the morning, the whole family professed to accept the mercy of God, and the erring boy was received again into the home.

One of the Adjutant's special visitations was to the police station on Saturday night. Her friends the police were glad to see her, and willingly allowed her to interview the detained prisoners, with whom she prayed and left a copy of 'The War Cry,' for Sunday's reading. At least one soul was led to God by this means.

'When she got her sleep, I do not know,' says a faithful armour-bearer at one corps.

From her various corps come stories of her sick visiting. Here, a child at the gates of death; there a bedridden old man, whose room she tidied and breakfast she prepared. Again, a drunken woman, whose body she nursed to health, while she brought her soul to the Great Physician. An outside friend tells that once entering a barber's shop he found the topic of conversation to be The Salvation Army, which was coming in for a drubbing. 'Wait a minute,' broke in a rough workman; 'You don't say a word against The Salvation Army while I'm about. This Adjutant Lee is a dear soul. We were in an awful hole at our place. Missis and the youngsters all ill at the same time, and this Adjutant heard about us; didn't know a thing of us except we were in need, and she came in and nursed them all well.'

For her soldiers who were in health, spiritually and physically, the Adjutant had little time to spare; none for tea-drinking and social calls. She expected her soldiers to practise self-denial as she did. One soldier, feeling rather deprived on this account said, 'Must I go on the booze to get a little of your attention?' Searching her face carefully, the Adjutant replied, 'You are all right, my dear; you must spare me for those who need me.'

She expected to be guided to souls who needed help, and was, as the following incident shows.

Two local officers moved, with their family, from a distant corps to London where they had undertaken heavy business responsibilities. The wife was tired and anxious, and felt that now they had slipped out of a corps where they had seemed indispensable, it would be better for them to remain undiscovered. She had, in fact, decided to withdraw from the fight. When visiting, the Adjutant stumbled upon them, muddled and tired, as they sat amongst their packing cases. Her radiant face and gracious spirit soon drew out of the little woman the confession she had meant to hide. 'When I came in,' says the husband, 'there was the Adjutant sitting on one of the boxes chatting so happily, she had mother feeling she was needed as much as ever, and simply must be in the fight. She came just at the right moment, and we have never looked back again; that is more than ten years ago.'

The Adjutant, in order to get about quickly, used a bicycle. One of her local officers says, 'She almost lived on her wheel, and when she heard of the motor attachment she wrote and asked me to inquire about one for her so that she might go faster.'

A comrade tells that when Kate Lee was stationed in the country, she went one day to see her, unexpectedly. 'I met her carrying a large basket, and on inquiry found that it contained the proverbial loaves and fishes, which she was taking to one of her converts who was out of work. She made sure that the family had their dinner, then started the husband off to sell the fish.'

Amongst the sinners in those terrible places, where respectable people and officers of the law are unsafe, the Adjutant's figure and face were most familiar. When after her death, Kate Lee's photo appeared in 'The War Cry,' the call came from many of these haunts, 'Get me that Angel's picture, we want it down here.' She won some of her gems in those quarters. From one locality she persuaded three women to go to one of our Homes and none returned to their evil ways.

Her visitation was often discouraging. A lieutenant tells that the Adjutant spent much time and effort upon a man and his wife who were very wicked and in wretched circumstances. They lived in apartments. The Adjutant visited them persistently, but they seemed to become more and more hardened in sin, and she did not have the joy of seeing them converted. She grieved much and was tempted to wonder whether the time spent had been wasted. One day she was asked to visit a man in the room next to that occupied by this couple. He told the Adjutant that he had looked forward to her visits next door, and always placed his ear near to the wall so as to hear her pray. Through her prayers he had sought and found salvation.

Dr. Carse, of Sunderland, says:—

I met Kate Lee in all kinds of houses, and at all hours of the day and of the night, and she was always on the one mission—seeking souls. One morning, at half-past two, I was coming out of one of the worst slums in Sunderland, and met the Adjutant and her lieutenant. They were radiant. The Adjutant had gone to settle a family brawl; had reconciled husband and wife, got them converted, and broken their whisky bottles in the gutter. I met her also in the houses of the rich, and they would have kept her there, but she never stayed after she had finished her Master's business.

But Kate did not attempt to encompass the fruitful work of visitation merely with her lieutenant's assistance; she organized a band of visitors at her corps, generally godly, married women, who were timid of public service. They met at the hall one or two afternoons each week, and went two and two to certain districts. The Adjutant and her lieutenant initiated these comrades into the way of getting into the homes of the people. At an appointed hour they returned to the hall and reported any special case of sickness or sorrow to the officers, who followed it up. This method was a great feeder to the corps meetings, and provided an outlet for the awakened spiritual energies of some Salvationists who hitherto had been soldiers in name only.

She hungered for souls, she sought them everywhere. One morning, scanning the daily paper to see if there were some call for help in its pages, she noticed the case of a man awaiting trial for a serious offence. She remarked to her lieutenant, 'I must try to help that man.' Straightway she prayed, then wrote the governor of the jail asking permission to visit the prisoner. This was granted, but the Adjutant was not allowed to see him alone. She was conducted to a triple cage; a warder occupied one compartment; the prisoner another; Kate Lee the third. As she gazed at the man through the bars, to introduce herself to him, and so to establish friendly contact and to reach his soul, seemed impossible. She spoke to him for a considerable time and prayed, but the face before her was like a sphinx, and he did not answer a word. Kate Lee came away from the prison with a sad heart, feeling that she had accomplished nothing.

At the trial, the man was convicted and sentenced to fifteen years' imprisonment. The Adjutant continued to pray for the convict, and at last, to her great joy, she received a letter from him. The prisoner told her that on returning to his cell, he had thought over all she had said to him; not only had conviction of sin come to his soul, but hope. He had asked God to forgive the past and to give him a new heart. God had answered his prayer. Good conduct shortened the criminal's sentence, and Kate Lee saw him discharged, placed him in the care of The Army, and after a term at the Land Colony at Hadleigh, in Essex, he was restored to his friends. Until the end of her life, this man corresponded with the Adjutant, whom he always addressed as 'Dear Mother.'

If staying for a night at a house, the Adjutant endeavoured to leave some blessing behind her, and the Spirit of God, resting upon quite commonplace words and actions, made them beautiful and blessed to the receivers. One woman writes, 'She billeted with me when my husband and son were soldiering. It was such a cheer to have her presence in the home. She wrote in a book for me her name, and "Be true to the Flag." I treasure this very much.'

In another and different kind of home where she was the guest for a night, the daughter of the house, a bright, talented girl, given up to worldliness, accompanied the Adjutant to her room to make sure that all her needs were supplied. They fell into conversation about spiritual matters and talked on till the small morning hours, then knelt in prayer, and the girl gave herself to God. 'She used to call to see us, but try as we would we could never persuade her to rest for even one hour in our home,' writes a girl from another home of comfort.

With her voice trembling with love and emotion, a woman soldier told me the following incident:—

When the Adjutant was stationed here, I was living away from home at service, but coming back for a holiday, I found my father ill, and stayed to nurse him. One evening I had a feeling I should bring the Adjutant to him. He was a man who went to no place of worship and made no profession of religion. I went to the officers' quarters, and the lieutenant said that the Adjutant had gone out of town for a meeting; she did not know what time she would return. The feeling that I must get her that night grew on me, and I walked about the streets until I saw her coming home. It was nearly midnight, and I caught sight of her face in the light of a street lamp. She looked like a ghost, so tired and white, and I shouldn't have had the heart to ask her to start out again, but for the strong feeling that had come to me. 'Certainly I will come,' she said brightly. Well, she came and talked to father, told him the way of Salvation, prayed with him, and he prayed, and she left him at peace with God, and happy. An hour after she had gone, he became unconscious and never regained his senses. He died that morning. Just caught his soul in the nick of time, she did. That's the big thing about Adjutant Lee that stands out for mother and me, but I couldn't begin to tell you all the little things she did. Aye, but she bothered about us, she did. I never knew the like.

The year that Kate Lee was born, the artist Dietrich gave to the world a picture, which, if not destined to become one of the immortals of religious art, has about it an irresistible charm for the ordinary eye. The Saviour stands with outstretched arms saying, 'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden.' About Him are gathered people representing almost every condition of need and woe. The charm lies not so much in the central figure as in the adoring love of the sorrowing and the sick for the One who loves them; little children cuddle about His robe in utter contentment; a weary mother with babe at her breast, has brought her sick daughter; husband has carried a crippled wife; a woman 'that was lost' bends at the Saviour's feet in an agony of repentance; an aged, blind man is led by his daughter; a maniac, whose tortured soul looks out of haggard eyes, frames a prayer with clasped hands.

When in a remote city, I first saw a print of this picture, a line from James Russell Lowell—'His Throne is with the outcast and the weak'— seemed its best title. But as I look at it to-day, all the sorrowful, needy people who have spoken to me of Kate Lee, seem to gather around that picture and I seem to hear the words, 'Aye, but He bothered about us,' and there comes to my heart a realization of the triumph of Jesus in this servant of His, who grew to be so like her Master. Surely the world is heart-sick for such souls great in compassion, self-forgetful, and triumphant in faith as was Kate Lee.



X

'THE ANGEL ADJUTANT'



Kate Lee had been a Salvation Army Field Officer for fifteen years, when suddenly she became famous. In gathering material for the writing of 'Twice Born Men,' Harold Begbie had been no less impressed by the sweetness and wisdom of the woman who had won from sin to righteousness several of the notable characters with whom the book deals, than he was with the miracle of their conversion. Throughout the book we catch glimpses of Kate Lee-her loveliness of character, her guileless wisdom, and her strength of purpose-as Mr. Begbie saw her. Vividly describing Shepherd's Bush, the locality in which the Norland Castle corps operates, Mr. Begbie pictures the incessant, roaring traffic of the main roads, the ceaseless procession of humanity on the pavements, the exhibition of wealth and extravagance in the shops-almost frightening to those who know of the terrible destitution which exists only a stone's throw distant— the crowded street markets of the poor, the shabby residential streets, and continues:—

One turns out of the respectable streets where the children are playing cricket, cherry-bobs, hopscotch, hoops, and cards, and suddenly finds himself in streets miserable and evil beyond description.

These are streets of once decent two-storied villas, now lodging- houses. The very atmosphere is different. One is conscious first of dejection, then of some hideous and abysmal degradation. It is not only the people who make this impression on one's mind, but the houses themselves. Dear God, the very houses seem accursed! The bricks are crusted, and in a dull fashion shiny with grime; the doors, window-frames, and railings are dark with dirt only disturbed by fresh accretions; the flights of steps leading up to the front doors, under their foul porches, are worn, broken, and greasy; the doors and windows in the reeking basements have been smashed up in nearly every case for firewood. Here and there a rod is missing from the iron railings—it has been twisted out and used as a weapon.

In these streets on a summer evening you find the flight of steps occupied by the lodgers, and the pavements and road-ways swarming with their children. The men are thieves, begging-letter writers, pickpockets, bookmakers' touts, totters (rag and bone men), and trouncers (men paid by costermongers to shout their wares), and bullies. The women add to their common degradation—which may be imagined—the art of the pickpocket, the beggar, the shoplifter, and the bully....

If you could see these bareheaded women, with their hanging hair, their ferocious eyes, their brutal mouths; if you could see them there, half dressed, and that in a draggle-tailed slovenliness incomparably horrible; and if you could hear their appalling language loading their hoarse voices, and from their phrases receive into your mind some impression of their modes of thought, you would say that human nature in the earliest and most barbarous of its evolutionary changes had never, could never, have been like this.

Concerning the men, one thing only need be said.... There was cunning in their faces, there was every expression of ... underhand craft, but they looked and lowered their eyes.... They seemed to me 'consciously wrong, inferior, and unhappy.'

But more than by anything concerning the men and women of this neighbourhood, one is impressed by the swarm of dreggy children playing their poor little pavement games in the shadow of these lodging-houses. Some—can it be believed?—are decently clothed and look as if they are sometimes washed.... The mass of these children, above five or six years of age, are terribly neglected. I have never seen children more dirty, more foully clothed, more dejected looking.... I saw many children with sores and boils; I saw some children whose eyes looked out at me from a face that was nothing but a scab.