Book: Thirty Years In Hell

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"He remarked that I would realize from his name that he was an Irish
Catholic, and stated that he had gone through the Catholic schools
and was a 'brother' in the cloisters, and stated that this was his
strong point in never being caught in his daring undertakings.

"He stated that when they received their $25,000 ransom from Cudahy
that it was divided at the cottage where the crime was committed. He
stated that it cost him quite a sum of money to stay with friends a
few days in Omaha, but that he soon disguised himself as an inmate of
the Jesuit College, a school for Catholic boys.

"He stated that he traveled on a 'permit' as Father O'Connor to
Kansas City, and stated that from there he went to St. Louis,
disguised as a Catholic priest, and that the conductors on the train
spoke to him as 'How do you do, Father?'

"When I arrived in St. Louis I went to St. Anthony's Church, where
you can obtain most anything from that saint. I rang the bell for
confession. I confessed all kinds of things. I confessed to murder,
robbery, kidnapping, and the Father Confessor was impressed with me
because I was a 'big fish' in my line, and because I had done no harm
to the millionaire's boy. I told the inmates of St. Anthony's Church
that I wanted to make confession and do penance the remainder of my
life.

"A brother came with the scissors and I received the 'tonsure' for
the third time, which left only a circle of hair around my head, and
no Pinkerton detective, or even Bertillion himself could have
identified me.

"In a short time I left this St. Anthony Church in a 'Catholic
Habit,' which disguised me as a Catholic official, and I went to
Omaha and passed myself off as 'Brother Clement from St. Louis.'

"When I reached Omaha I had no trouble in passing myself off as
'Brother Clement.'

"After I had remained there awhile I excused myself and in my
priestly robes I walked to the banks of the Missouri River and raised
my buried treasure, as I had left a part of the money that I received
from Cudahy buried near the river, and I took the train to St. Louis,
and from there to New York, and from New York I took a German steamer
to Southampton.

"I stayed in London two weeks and read in the papers all about Pat
Crow. London was not the place for a man like me, as I had been there
before, and they knew me; so I sailed for the diamond fields of South
Africa, where I am now free, by the system of 'asylums' (which are
Catholic monasteries) of the Catholic Church. Pat Crow wound up his
story by telling me that if I ever needed to try this plan that I
could do it, and stated that the Catholic Church was the refuge of
criminals."

Now, bear in mind, the reason that the Catholic Church is such a
refuge for criminals is because no police or detective is ever
allowed to cross over the door-sills into these places of Catholic
refuge, where the worst chapters of crime never will be told, and
where these criminals flee to avoid the punishment of their crimes.

This is the first time in the history of the world that this awful
history in regard to Pat Crow and Catholicism was ever given to the
reading public.

Catholicism teaches, and acts accordingly, that if a confessor
forgives the sins of these criminals that God has taken away all
guilt from their heinous crimes and that the civil laws have no right
to punish these criminals after a Catholic priest has forgiven their
sins, and on this damnable dogma, Catholicism bases her right for the
existence of these "asylums."

I want to give the reader a little history in regard to the
assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Wilkes Booth, a Roman Catholic, was
the assassin of President Lincoln. The Roman Catholic Church, under
the mask of Democracy, was always believed to be responsible for
this diabolical assassination. In fact, it is believed, and the
belief is well founded, that through the "inquisition" in the City of
Rome that a plot was laid to destroy the republican form of
government of the United States, and the assassination of Abraham
Lincoln was the first step, and the plotting on this side of the
water was done in Catholic houses, adorned with crucifixes, religious
saints, religious statues, religious relics, and rosaries, scapulars,
holy water pots, and medals of Catholicism innumerable.

It was in the house of Mrs. Surratt, located in the very heart of
Washington, D.C., that the officers of this government proceeded
after the assassination of President Lincoln, and bear in mind that
Mrs. Surratt was a Roman Catholic, and the occupants of this house
were arrested. The ones who were arrested were; Mrs. Surratt, a Roman
Catholic; her daughter, Anna, a Roman Catholic; Mrs. Fitzpatrick, a
Roman Catholic, and Miss Hollahan, a Roman Catholic. Before the
officers had left this house a light knock was heard at the door and
a young man appeared in disguise, as he was dressed as a common
laborer and carried a pick upon his shoulder; his hands were white
and soft and he was also arrested, and his name was Powell, another
Roman Catholic.

John Wilkes Booth, the assassin, was a Roman Catholic, consequently
the belief is undoubtedly well founded that not only the scheme to
assassinate Abraham Lincoln was laid in the City of Rome by Roman
Catholics, but was carried into execution by the same set in this
country.

Booth, after the assassination, fled to Surrattsville to the hotel of
Mrs. Surratt, and there a Roman Catholic woman had concealed a
carbine. Mr. Surratt, at Washington, had warned the folks at the
hotel that the weapon would be called for the night of Abraham
Lincoln's assassination, which is _prima facie_ evidence of the plot
to assassinate Lincoln. After the assassination Booth fled, but on
the eastern shores of the Potomac he was concealed in a Roman
Catholic Church for nearly a week. As we relate this history, which
is true, the evidence becomes more damaging against Roman
Catholicism.

The finale of this national tragedy was that Herald, Powell and Mrs.
Surratt were hung, and Dr. Mudd and O'Laughlin were committed to
life-long imprisonment, and all of these were Roman Catholics.

The question now arises, How did John H. Surratt escape from the same
fate of Herald, Powell and Mrs. Surratt? _I will tell you!_ John H.
Surratt escaped by the assistance of Catholic officials and went to
Canada, and was concealed in a "Trappist cloister" near Montreal, and
remained there until 1865, when, as a Priest, he went to Liverpool.

In the spring of 1866, Mr. Wm. H. Seward was informed by a Mr. King,
at Rome, Italy, that John H. Surratt had enlisted in the Papal
Guards, under the name of John Watson. He was arrested at Teroli, in
Italy, but escaped by plunging down a ravine twenty-three feet deep.

He was wounded by the fall and crawled off to a monastery and
remained there until he was healed and then resumed his flight.
After his wounds healed, he went to Egypt, as he was not satisfied
with Italy, and was there captured by our minister, Mr. Hale, and
sent to America.

I could go on and on, giving you history of lesser importance that
this, which occurs week in and week out, month in and month out, and
year in and year out, and which is strictly connected with the
Catholic Church, but what I have given you are truths, and
indisputable truths, which should be evidence enough of the awfulness
of monasteries of this and other countries, and a class of men who
will commit such dastardly deeds in the monasteries would not
hesitate to slaughter innocent virtue in the nunneries of this
country.

I could give you history in regard to the nunneries that would make
the cheek of virtue blush with shame, but to give you this history I
would have to use language that I do not desire to use, as I want to
keep the minds and morals of the girls of this country as pure as
possible; but from this chapter, Protestant fathers and mothers must
know what Roman Catholicism consists of, and Catholic fathers and
mothers who are not everlastingly blinded by the false light of this
damnable creed should rally from their lethargetic walks of
debauchery and snatch their children from the Romish mire of
degradation and place them upon the Protestant highways, which lead
to the beauties of individual and collective greatness.

[Illustration:
CHRIST POPE
The Christ of Protestantism compared to the God of Catholicism.
TAKE YOUR CHOICE.]




Chapter IX.

Un-Married Cussedness of the Roman Priest-Craft.


In the Book of Books, we find that the Lord of Hosts declares that,
"It is not good for man to dwell alone," and our Heavenly Father also
teaches us that "Every man should have one wife."

Now, the Good Lord was either right or wrong when He made this
declaration, and who is there that would declare that the Lord was
mistaken in His injunction? Not one! Therefore, we must acknowledge
that either the Lord our God made a declaration that was nonsensical
and unreasonable, or else the Roman Priestcraft is living a life
which is diagonally contrary to the commands and demands of God
Almighty, for when the Roman Church declares that her Priests shall
not wed, they at once set up a rule for their teachers which is in
violation, to not only the laws of God, but laws of man, as the
silent whisperings of man's nature demands a helpmate. The heathen
nations of the earth who are not acquainted with the sanctity of the
marriage vow, have a longing for the companionship of the opposite
sex, and this longing cannot be termed anything but "a godly love,"
as this feeling was placed in the bosom of humanity by a divine
being, and whenever this desire is thwarted, you have disturbed the
most blissful inspiration of the human family; but the Roman Catholic
Church would have us believe that a few of the human family have been
ordained by God to live recluses, or, as we may term it, "unmarried
hermits."

Catholicism, with all her damnable dogmas and creeds, cannot change
that God-given impulse that was planted in the bosom of man, when
Adam was created in the Garden of Eden, and the more Roman
Catholicism endeavors to eradicate that feeling, the greater her sins
become, for it is a most damnable sin to try to force man to
eradicate from his bosom this everlasting and godly craving for the
love of the opposite sex, and as long as "man is born of woman," just
so long that inspiration will live in the bosom of mankind, and just
so long as Roman Catholicism endeavors to force humanity to purge
itself of this blessed longing, just so long the mark of deception,
depravity and ungodliness will be left upon the brow of this Romish
demon.

This chapter is one that must be written in a delicate manner, which
prohibits me from becoming emphatic and explicit, for should I allow
myself to write exactly what I have seen, and the truths that exist
in regard to Romish hellishness, and the deeds of the unmarried
cussedness of Catholicism, I would have to resort to language that
would be unchaste, but I have in mind a story that was told some time
ago, by a young lady, who had spent a number of years in a convent,
which I will relate word for word as she gave it, and which will be
only the history over and over again of thousands--yea, tens of
thousands of girls who have had the same experience as this poor
mortal, only perhaps had new agonies added to their lives.

The history of this girl's life in a convent is more than pathetic,
from the fact that her father on his deathbed requested that she be
placed in a convent by her mother, which was done, and her
sufferings, the reader will see, were not a fault of hers, but the
fault of her parents, who had been raised to believe in the
diabolical teachings of Roman Catholicism, but who did not know that
these teachings were only echoes of the dark ages of paganism,
therefore you will see that this poor girl's history is laden with a
sadness for which she is not to blame, and the fault can only be laid
at the fountain head, as her parents were sincere in their belief,
and did not, of course, realize that they were helping to ruin their
darling girl's future.

I will now relate her history, as near as possible, the way she gave
it, which will be symbolic of the history of thousands of other
girls, and which is absolutely true. Her story follows:

"When one becomes an inmate of a convent, they become a prisoner, as
every act is scrutinized by the mother superior, and you have no
privilege any more than if you were a convict and placed behind the
bars for some heinous crime. With this exception, however, you are
allowed to receive letters from a priest without having the letter
opened and read before it reaches you, as there is always some mark
to distinguish a letter received from a priest, but all letters that
you write and all letters that you receive, unless they bear the mark
indicating that they have been sent by a priest, are carefully read,
and if the contents of either the letter you write, or the one that
has been written to you does not meet with the arbitrary opinion of
the "mother superior," they are destroyed, and you never have the
opportunity of sending the one that you have written, or to receive
the one that has been written to you, unless they can pass the
inspection of the "mother superior," who is nothing more nor less
than an agent of the Pope of Rome, as she receives her instructions
from the priestcraft, and they receive their instructions from the
Pope of Rome."

When an inmate of a convent receives a letter from a priest it is
handed her without being opened, as the "mother superior" is
instructed not to open such letters, and is told that all such
letters, of course, relate to the spiritual welfare of the nun.

In these letters the priest will tell the nun what day he will call
to give her a _general confession_. As soon as such a letter is
received the nun informs the "mother superior" that on a certain day
Priest So-and-So will visit her, and, of course, this "mother
superior" gives the permission, and on the day that the priest is to
arrive, this nun is excused from all duties for that day, and when
the priest arrives he is shown into what is called the _Retreat
Parlor_; and no matter how long he remains there, no one will disturb
him. He is supposed to be _talking_ with his penitent on the welfare
of her soul. Ah, could any one look through the door, they would find
this priest with his arms about the form of this fair penitent, or
perhaps in a far more compromising position!

Right here the reader may ask if these nuns are willing to submit to
the embraces of these priests?

I will allow this girl to answer this question in her own language,
and her answer is this:

"I answer that in fifteen out of twenty cases--No! But she is there
helpless; the priest has seen her somewhere in the garb of a nun and
has taken a fancy to her, and whether she be willing or not, he
compels her to allow him to satisfy his hellish passion!"

This girl continues by exclaiming: "Oh God! Great God! When I think
of this system--this system born of the devil and nurtured by
hell--and realize that under the cloak of religion it is stealing
away our liberty, entering into our homes, ruining our womanhood and
girlhood, and painting childish purity with the brush of immorality,
and defiling everything with which it comes in contact, I then become
a mad woman, and I become as a venomous serpent, wanting revenge for
what has been done to me, and it seems as if I cannot remain quiet,
but, closing my eyes and ears to everything, as I have no redress, I
am compelled to warn thousands who may come after me, of their fate,
should they take up convent life, which is a hell upon earth and a
blotch as black as the shadows of hell to any land."

The same lady who related the above, and a great deal more which I
cannot tell in this chapter, gave an account of the sufferings of
another nun, who was in the same convent with her, and I now learn
that the same story that I will now relate has been told to others.

Reader, you must bear in mind that convents have many tortures
outside of the torturing conscience on account of having the virtue
of their inmates destroyed. The teachings of Catholicism lead people
to practice self-infliction upon their person in order to appease a
living God, as they seem to worship a living God the same as the
pagans would worship a God of stone, or a ferocious God in the form
of some carnivorous beast, and in order to atone for their sins,
these inmates of the nunneries are taught that they must bear
self-infliction; in fact, Catholicism teaches her followers that in
order that any of them shall receive absolute pardon, that they must
resort to heathenish practices.

As stated above, the same lady whom we speak of in the first part of
this chapter, relates her experience with a sister nun, who endured
self-torture, believing that it was an outward demonstration of
godliness. Her story follows:

"I call to mind a case of cruelty under the guise of devotion that
happened in our convent. A consecrated penitent, Sister Madeline, had
been for some time a victim of consumption. She was a beautiful girl,
and her exquisitely sweet voice could be heard in church every
Sunday, taking part in the high mass. Poor Sister Madeline! How many
humiliations she received! How often she was censured for leaving her
work unfinished when she was not able to do it, and how I have pitied
her as she tried to eat the bread and dripping we had for supper.
Failing in the attempt, I would notice the tears gather in her eyes.
Oh, how often I longed to be able to obtain some little delicacy for
her! but dared not ask for it. Her gentle, patient, suffering face
will never fade from my memory.

"One Sunday evening she and I were walking in the garden after
benediction. She felt more than usually weak, and, therefore, I could
offer her my arm to lean upon.

"'Dear Sister Magdalene Adelaide,' she said, 'I think our blessed
Lord is soon going to come for me.'

"I tried to cheer her by telling her that it might be His will to
restore her again to health and strength.

"'No, dear Sister,' she replied; 'and oh, I do not want to stay. I
long to see my Master's face. At night, when I lay awake in pain, I
long, oh, so much, that I might go!'

"'Sister Madeline,' I said, 'you have been happy here, have you not?
You love your present life?'

"We had seated ourselves by this time in a little grotto made up in
honor of 'Our Lady of Lourdes.' She buried her face in her hands, and
I saw the tears trickling between her fingers.

"My own eyes filled with tears; I know not why.

"At last, raising up her head, she said: 'I have tried my best to be
contented; but oh! Sister Adelaide, it has been a bitter struggle. It
is wrong in me to give way thus; but I cannot help it. May Our Lady
pity me! I want you to promise, dear Sister, that you will say a
rosary for me every day for a year after I am dead, and one communion
every month.'

"'I will gladly do this for you, Sister Madeline,' I answered. 'Tell
me,' I continued, 'is there any particular day you prefer?'

"'Yes,' she replied, 'I would like your Friday communion. Promise me
that on the anniversary of the feast of St. Mary Magdalene, my patron
saint, you will offer your communion for me.'

"I promised her this and she seemed more satisfied.

"'I know,' she said, 'that I shall have a long purgatory.' She
shuddered as she spoke. 'And oh! I do hope the dear sisters will
remember me in their prayers and communions.'

"'Dear Sister Madeline,' I said at last, 'purgatory is better than
hell and our Blessed Lady will intercede for you.'

"'Yes, dear Sister Magdalene Adelaide,' she said, 'you are right; but
oh!' she continued, 'I cannot help the shudder that passes through me
as I think of the suffering I shall be in for years, especially after
the mortifications I have practiced here, the discipline I have
applied to myself, the days I have abstained from food, the prayers I
have offered, the tears I have shed; and now, as death approaches,
there is no other prospect before me than a long term of purgatorial
punishment. Besides, the punishment will be all the greater since I
have given away to an unnatural thought.'

"'And what, may I ask, do you call an unnatural thought?'

"'Sister Magdalene Adelaide, come close to me.'

"I rose from my chair and knelt down beside her.

"'Dear sister, I have endeavored to bear my cross,' she commenced,
speaking with difficulty; 'But oh! sister, I dread the end; I have so
much to expiate; and oh!' she continued, her voice now choked with
sobs, 'if only I could have my mother near me; if only I could hear
her voice once more; it is so long since I have seen her. I have
asked for any letter that may have come, but they tell me none has
arrived, and oh! I don't think mother has quite forgotten me.'

"I durst not trust myself to speak; my heart was too full. At last I
said, 'Dear sister, do not grieve thus; our Blessed Lady will
intercede for you. Remember, in coming here your purpose, even as
mine, was to make reparation for sin. You and I have both suffered.
Be brave now, dear, and now that the end is near do not take away
from God's glory by fearing for the future.'

"'I know it is wrong to grieve so much, Sister Magdalene Adelaide,
but oh, I am so weak! Will you read a meditation for me?'

"I took up the book and did as she requested. Soon she fell into a
sleep which lasted about one hour, and again I commenced saying my
rosary beads. Presently I heard her murmur, and, listening, I heard
her whisper, 'My feet! oh, my feet!' I arose from my chair and
removed the sheet with the intention of rubbing her limbs; as I did
so her feet were disclosed. A thrill of horror passed through my
being as I looked at them, for they were all cut, festered and
bruised; a fearful suspicion took possession of me, and, stooping
down, I picked up her infirmary shoes. On examination I discovered in
them pieces of broken glass; a thrill akin to horror ran through my
whole frame. I held the shoes in my hands and looked at the pale,
suffering face of Adeline as she lay there on her bed, and this
evening the whole scene rises before me--the little infirmary with
its clean, white floor, a few cheap prints of the stations of the
cross hanging on the otherwise bare walls, the two or three small
iron bedsteads, then the white wooden altar upon which was spread a
white linen cloth embroidered with red; the two statues, one of 'Our
Lady of Dolours' and the second of St. Joseph, the patron of happy
deaths. In the center of the altar was a vase with a few cheap paper
flowers.

"Yes, it comes to me most vividly. There she lay, the sin of her
past life being that she, too, had been deceived at the altars of
Rome--a victim of priestly solicitation in the confessional. Even as
she lay there in the last stages of consumption, traces of what had
at one time been a beautiful face were clearly discernible. What had
she not suffered for years! Who could tell the many weary hours of
heart anguish she had passed through? And yet she was young--hardly
twenty-five years old. She had given up all that was near and dear,
and, for the years she had lived in the convent, she had tried to
appease God's justice for her early sin by mortifying and chastising
herself in a way that can only find a parallel in the doctrines of
Buddha. Oh, Madeline! poor, wounded, betrayed one! Who can wonder, as
you lay there with the fever of consumption running and coursing
through your veins, that, in spite of all the teachings and practices
of self-denial in the convent life in which you had lived so many
years, yet, when the hour of death drew nigh and your soul was
hovering on the borders of the unknown eternity, your thoughts once
more went back to the old home-scenes, and you longed, as only a
child can, for the sight of a mother's face, the sound of a mother's
voice, the cool, soothing touch of a mother's hand passing over your
brow? They tried to crush down the natural love that God placed in
your heart for your mother, but they could not. The use of the
discipline caused the blood to flow and gave you physical suffering;
fasting and long prayers made you weak, and thus incapable of
exercising will-power; and, when no other eye but God's was upon you,
when struggling with the desire to leave forever the hateful prison
walls of the convent, the bitter tears forced their way. Then,
kneeling before the statue of the 'Mother of Sorrows,' you pleaded
with her to help and intercede for you. What comfort did you get?
What hope? What consolation? _None!_ You might make good confessions
and communions, practice all the self-denials required of one in your
vocation, and the only thing that the church could give you, the only
gleam of _hope_ she could offer, was that, through your works of
supererogation, your purgatory would be lessened; and now, wasted
through suffering and consumption, dreading the punishment of
purgatory, endeavoring in your dying state to do something to lessen
its pangs, you have walked with glass in your shoes and your poor
feet give evidence of the agony you endured. And this is
Christianity!

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