A STORY WITH TWO SIDES

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Sep 10, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 44.

A STORY WITH TWO SIDES.

A WOMAN stood at the bar of justice and by her side two stalwart policemen. Her name was called, and she answered. Then the judge asked the clerk to read the charge against her.

"Disorderly conduct on the street and disturbing the peace," read the clerk.

"Who are the witnesses against the woman?" asked the judge; and the two policemen stepped forward to be sworn.

"Now, tell the story," said the judge; and one of them began.

"I arrested the woman in front of a saloon on Broadway on Saturday night. She had raised a great disturbance, was fighting and brawling with the men in the saloon, and the saloon keeper put her out. She used the foulest language, and with an awful threat struck at the keeper with all her force. I then arrested her and took her to the detention house and locked her up."

"The next witness will take the stand," said the judge; and the other policeman stepped up.

"I saw the arrest, and know it to be just as stated. I saw the woman fighting as the saloon keeper put her out on the street. I heard the vile language she used in the presence of the crowd that gathered in the street."

"Call the saloon keeper. What do you know of this case?"

"I know dis voman vas makin' disturbance by my saloon. She comes und she makes trobles and she fights mit me, and I puts her the door oud. I know her all along. She vas pad vomans."

Turning to the trembling woman, the judge said:—

"This is a pretty clear case, madam; have you anything to say in your defense?"

"Yes, judge," she answered in a strangely calm though trembling voice.

"I am not guilty of the charge, and these men standing before you have perjured their souls to prevent me from telling the truth. It was they, and not I, who violated the law. I was in the saloon last Saturday night, but I'll tell you how it happened.

"My husband did not come home from work that evening, and I feared he had gone to the saloon. I knew he must have drawn his week's wages, and we needed it all so badly. I put the little ones to bed, and then waited all alone through the weary hours until after the city clock struck twelve. Then, I thought, the saloons will be closed, and he will be put out on the streets. Probably he will not be able to get home, and the police will arrest him and lock him up. I must go and find him and bring him home. I wrapped a shawl around me and started out, leaving the little ones asleep in bed, and, judge, I have not seen them since."

Here the tears came to her eyes and she almost broke down, but, restraining herself, she went on:—

"I went to the saloon where I thought most likely he would be. It was about twenty minutes after twelve, but the saloon, that man's saloon"—pointing to the saloon keeper, who seemed to want to crouch out of her sight—"was still open, and my husband and these two policemen"—pointing to those who had so lately sworn against her—"were standing at the bar with their lips still wet with drink, and the flecks of foam not yet settled in the empty glasses before them. I stepped up to my husband and asked him to go home with me, but the men laughed at him, and the saloon keeper ordered me out. I said, 'No, I want my husband to go with me.' Then I tried to tell him how badly we needed the money he was spending, and again the keeper cursed me and ordered me to leave. Then I confess I could stand no more, and I said, 'You ought to be prosecuted for violating the midnight closing law.'

"At this the saloon keeper and policemen rushed upon me and put me out into the street, and one of the policemen, grasping my arm like a vise, hissed in my ear, 'I'll get you a thirty days' sentence in the workhouse, and then see what you think about suing people.' He called a patrol wagon, pushed me in, and drove to the house of detention, and, judge, you know the rest. All day yesterday I was locked up, my children at home alone, with no fire, no food, no mother."

It was well the story was finished, for a great sob choked her utterance, and she could say no more.

"Dismissed," said the judge in a husky voice, and the guilty woman who had so disturbed the peace passed out of the court room.

But what of the saloon keeper who violated the law by keeping open after twelve o'clock at night? And what of the policemen who violated their obligation by drinking while on duty, and who threatened an honest woman with a sentence in the workhouse if she dared to tell the truth? Oh, nothing at all! They were too guilty to be prosecuted.

The facts of this story will be found on record in Judge Ermston's court.—Cincinnati Living Issue.