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On Sunday, September 21, came the fourth an­niversary of the organization of Zion Seven­ties. In preparation for it the General Overseer had commanded all members everywhere, unless kept away by a reason they could conscien­tiously give unto God, to assemble in Shiloh Taber­nacle at Zion City for portentous services, at which Elijah the Restorer would have an epoch-making message from God.

Zion City Band and Zion White-Robed Choir led a solemn procession under the trees of Shiloh Park and into the Tabernacle. The General Overseer read pas­sages from both Old and New Testaments which foretold the coming of Elijah, to be followed by "The Great and Dreadful Day of the Lord," and described the Times of the End.

"There is nothing in the Bible," he said, "giving any direction to God's people for the restoration of all things. There is only the promise that Elijah shall come and restore all things.

"God, in sending that prophet, must send him with the authority to write and speak and command, and be himself an authority upon whom He puts the broad seal of His approval.

"I now disband, on this their fourth anniversary, Zion Seventies. In their place I organize you who are



willing to meet my requirements in Zion Restoration Host. I do this; as Elijah the Restorer, by direct in­spiration of the Holy Spirit.

"Do you believe that?"

The great audience shouted "YES."

"Are you willing to obey orders?"


"And be sent where you are told to go?"


"No matter what it involves?"


Then came an intermission. The General Overseer retired to his private room. Patiently, awed, the con­gregation of thousands waited. When their leader re­turned to the platform he held a paper in his hand. His fingers and the white front of his bishop's robe were stained with ink.

"You have pledged your obedience," he said, with great solemnity. "Stand now and, carefully search­ing your own hearts, repeat after me this Vow of Zion Restoration Host:

"I vow in the name of God, my Father, and of Jesus Christ, His Son and my Saviour, and of the Holy Ghost, who proceeds from the Father and the Son, that I will be a faithful member of Zion Restoration Host, organized at Shiloh Tabernacle, in the City of Zion, on Lord's Day, September twenty-first, nine­teen hundred and two, and I declare that I recognize John Alexander Dowie, General Overseer of the Christian Catholic Church in Zion, of which I am a member, in his threefold prophetic office, as the



Messenger of the Covenant, the Prophet foretold by Moses, and Elijah the Restorer.

"I promise, to the fullest extent of all my powers, to obey all rightful orders issued by him directly or by his properly appointed officers, and to proceed to any part of the world, wherever he shall direct, as a member of Zion Restoration Host, and that all fam­ily ties and obligations and all relations to all hu­man government shall be held subordinate to this Vow, this Declaration, and this Promise.

"This I make in the presence of God and of all the visible and invisible witnesses."

Herbert and nearly three thousand other American citizens stood quietly and repeated those words after the man on the platform.






Herbert was shocked when a Chicago build­ing supply company refused to deliver more cement until it had received a remittance on account. He was still more distressed Saturday when the general paymaster notified him that, here­after, he was to pay his force one quarter in scrip. This scrip, in the form of coupon books, was to be good at all Zion's institutions and industries, could be used to pay tithes, and would be accepted at face value for deposit in Zion City Bank. Deacon Gaines told Herbert the coupons had been issued as a tem­porary expedient, partly to conserve cash balances and partly to discourage buying in Waukegan and Chicago.

"All right," grumbled Herbert, "but you'd better retire or redeem 'em mighty quick or they'll swamp you. Fiat money is like opium-it stops the pain at first, but you have to keep taking more and more, and the first thing you know you're a sad ruin with no salvage."

A few days later there was a prolonged conference around the General Overseer's big mahogany table. Deacon Gaines, general financial manager; Deacon Halsey, manager of Zion City Bank, and Deacon Horace Howard, chief accountant of Zion's Institu­tions and Industries, were the only Zion men present




besides the General Overseer. The others were pres­idents, managers, credit men, and attorneys for Zion's creditors. The whole party was entertained at lunch­eon at Shiloh House.

There was no leak as to what the conference was about or what were its results until "Leaves of Heal­ing" appeared on Saturday morning. That something important had happened, everybody in Zion City knew. It was the talk of the town.

The "Leaves" was awaited eagerly. It had been whispered about that it would tell everything. At about eleven o'clock carrier boys began their deliv­eries. Wherever a copy appeared, work was dropped and impatient fingers flipped the pages until the Gen­eral Overseer's editorials were found. There it was:

Zion had been temporarily short of cash, owing to the unexpected expansion of her wonderful busi­ness enterprises and a world-wide financial stringency.

"I do not believe for a moment," wrote the Gen­eral Overseer, "that Zion is in any real danger.

"This week representatives of some of the largest and strongest firms in Chicago and other cities met in Zion City.

"We freely opened our books and records to them. After a thorough examination by expert accountants, they issued a statement, signed by fourteen of these great corporations, saying that John Alexander Dowie, after paying all obligations in full, would have assets, conservatively estimated, of MORE THAN TWENTY-THREE MILLION DOLLARS!"

A reprint of this statement, with its distinguished signatures followed.


In a Special Letter, the General Overseer solemnly commanded every member of the Christian Catholic Church in Zion Throughout the World to sell securi­ties, real estate, or business and send the proceeds to him for investment in Zion stocks or for Dr. Dowie's personal note, with interest at 6 per cent.

During the weeks that followed, money came pouring in, Dr. Dowie signed some $300,000 worth of notes, and the work went forward.


Months went by. Herbert heard nothing more about Dr. Dowie's promised reply to Dr. Stanbridge's attack in the "Century Magazine." He had begun to wonder about it when, in January, 1903, he read in "Leaves of Healing" that the General Overseer, at the head of three thousand members of Zion Resto­ration Host, would go to New York and hold meet­ings in Madison Square Garden for two weeks in the coming October. During those meetings he would reply to Dr. Stanbridge.

Reporters flocked to Zion City. All the Chicago papers sent men, and Western correspondents from New York, Philadelphia, Washington, and other East­ern newspapers came with them.

Herbert found himself bedecked with a new title, Zion's Press Representative. John Harrow should have had the job, being a graduate from various city rooms, but he was too busy with his own presses.

From the time this announcement appeared all Zion began to prepare.

Zion Printing and Publishing House, for which a building had been put up a few hundred feet east of


the railroad station, began the printing of a million colored cards of Holman Hunt's "Christ Knocking at the Door." The reverse bore an invitation to the meetings in Madison Square Garden, in a reproduc­tion of Dr. Dowie's handwriting. These were for dis­tribution in New York by Zion Restoration Host.

Zion Guard became a regiment and Captain Erd­man was commissioned colonel by the General Over­seer.

All summer long members of Zion Restoration Host throughout the world were being urged to reg­ister for the New York Visitation and begin payment on their tickets. So great was the advertising value of this migration that Dr. Dowie was able to wheedle and bully out of railroad companies a round trip fare of fifteen dollars for each person. This was little enough, but still registration did not satisfy him. He issued another of his proclamations:

"Let all who have taken the Restoration Vow re­member that, as Elijah the Restorer, we have given the command to every member of the Host to pro­ceed with us to New York; and that, unless there is sufficient cause, such as will justify them before the Judgment Seat of God, they dare not disobey this command.

"The time has come for us to say in the most em­phatic manner that, unless there is a satisfactory reason forthcoming for their not going, we shall not continue the names upon the Roll of the Host of those who have the power to go and will not.

"Woe to them' that are at ease in Zion!

"Shall it be said on the Day of Judgment that some




home in New York which might have been visited by a member of the Host who reads these lines re­mained unvisited, and the opportunity of blessing per­haps was lost on earth forever?

"Will that question, 0 Ye Zion Restorationists who are quibbling about your ‘duty' now, be a pleasant one for you as you lie down to die and think of your broken Vow, and the perishing to whom you might have been blessed? Face all these questions now!"

It was a shock to many to learn what they had taken upon themselves when they repeated after their leader the oath of Zion Restoration Host. Most of the laggards proved to be as good as their word, however, and the ranks of the three thousand were quickly filled.

Everybody in Zion City was spending money. They were going to New York to stay for two weeks, and they must have suitable clothing and equipment.

Thousands of dollars were going into cards, leaf­lets, tracts, and programs; new uniforms for band and orchestra, new robes for the choir, flags, ban­ners, musical instruments, sheet music, music stands, Fred Jeffords's kitchen and dining-room equipment, uniforms for Zion Guard, and a thousand other items. Salaries and office expenses in New York, railroad fares of executives who seemed to find it necessary to visit that city frequently, forty-five thousand dollars for tickets for Zion Restoration Host, and, finally, sums which each member drew for personal expenses drained the city of cash. Meanwhile, building had proceeded at a hot pace and every home in Zion City required food and fuel.




Deacon Gaines found himself facing the huge rental of Madison Square Garden and the expenses of the General Overseer, his family and big staff, without funds to meet them. He was in great distress-strictly in private, of course. He met all visitors to his office with his usual genial smile and jolly manner. To the General Overseer he told his troubles.

“’O ye of little faith,' “chided the great man.”Has not God always provided the money for Zion's needs? 'The silver and the gold are His.' I have prayed very earnestly over this, Deacon, and God has answered me as He did Moses, 'Wherefore criest thou unto me? Speak unto the people that they go forward.' And I shall obey Him."

In the next issue of "Leaves of Healing" there ap­peared in the editorials another stern demand that all Zion people everywhere immediately put their all in Zion.





With the precision and neatness of a crack brigade in an imperial army, Zion Res­toration Host was mobilized next morn­ing and departed for New York on eight Pullman trains, each over a different route.

All eight trains arrived in New York on the morn­ing of the second day, Friday, and every one was or­dered to go at once to Madison Square Garden. The General Overseer and his family and personal staff were driven to their hotel, near Central Park.

At eleven o'clock Dr. Dowie came to the Garden, where he was to meet his official staff. Seeing a crowd at the main entrance in Madison Avenue, he called to his coachman, Otto Berger, to drive to the side door.

It had been arranged that he should arrive at the main entrance, and Deacon George W. Frankbaugh, major in Zion Guard, had fifty men there to protect their leader. The side door was held by one lone guard.

It was a beautiful, warm day and Dr. Dowie had ordered the top of his carriage opened and thrown back. Crowds along the streets booed and cheered. Near the Garden hundreds had run after his carriage to see him alight. When the carriage stopped he was gripped in a milling mob. He saw quickly that he could not sit there and he could not drive away.



Somehow, he must get himself, his wife, and son through that wall of humanity into the Garden. Colo­nel Erdman came down from the box, Gladstone joined him at the vehicle's step, and together they half dragged, half pushed Dr. and Mrs. Dowie through the crowd and inside. There the Prophet burst out upon poor Colonel Erdman.

"Where was your Guard?" he roared. "You have nothing to do, nothing to think about, no responsi­bility but to protect me-and you drag me out of my carriage under the feet of a mob of larrikins! I might have been killed-and it is no thanks to you I was not. Any Masonic hireling in that rabble could have slipped a knife between my shoulder blades."

By this time Major Frankbaugh, hearing the noise, came running up.

"General Overseer," he began, pale and agitated, "you were to come-"

"Is this the way you obey orders, Major?" the angry man shouted, stamping. "You have been here for hours, you knew to the minute when I would arrive-­and not a guard at the door. I was nearly trampled to death. It was not your obedience to clear and positive orders that saved me from being mur­dered."

Overseer Ernest L. Goodheart, general ecclesiasti­cal secretary of the Church, now came up.

"Whenever you are ready, General Overseer, I will show you the way to the staff meeting."

"Where have you been? Must I wait for hours here in a dirty corridor while you loiter about neglecting your duties?"




"I'm sorry, General Overseer, we expected you at the--"

"Stop your chatter! It was your business to meet me at eleven o'clock-and you failed."

They went to the meeting.

"Overseer," barked the great man, his face purple, his eyes glaring, "why have you not got a stenog­rapher here?"

"Miss Wassing is here, General Overseer, to take down the proceedings."

"Let her move up here, then. You know better than to place her back there."

And so that meeting went. Nothing was right, no one said the right thing, one after another was, fig­uratively, yanked up out of his chair and thrashed.

Overseer Goodheart and Miss Wassing wept; Colonel Erdman and Major Frankbaugh were white and rigid with misery; Deacon Gaines's chin was on his breast, his arms folded tightly and his fists clenched; Deacon Fred Jeffords kept his smile, but it was greenish and ghastly; John Harrow looked like an early Christian martyr with faggots piled around him; Nancy's dark eyes were snapping dangerously, her saucy chin was high, and her right foot was beat­ing a light but menacing rhythm.

The staff was dismissed with a bitter admonition to ask God for forgiveness and attend to its duties. As they slunk out, a well-dressed young woman came in and went at once to the General Overseer.

"Doctor Dowie," she said, smiling, "I'm Lola Fey, of 'The Evening World,' and I'm so glad to see you. A man who can take New York by storm! Some




of the world's greatest have tried it and failed. We are all lost in admiration for your genius. Now won't you please tell me how you came to plan this great movement to our city?"

Herbert had approached because, often, reporters were turned over to him. He was amazed to see the man who a moment before had been in a savage fury beam on Miss Fey with his brightest smile and answer her questions with almost affectionate willingness. As the interview ended, the General Overseer threw an arm around his shoulders and said, "And now, Miss Fey, I want you to meet one of my handsomest young men, Deacon Renbrush. He will be in charge of the press tables at my meetings. I want you to see, Her­bert, that Miss Fey has a good location whenever she wishes it. Deacon Renbrush is also my personal repre­sentative to the press. He will have offices in the Park A venue Hotel and will be glad to give you any special information, consistent with his instructions, you may desire."

Other reporters had gathered around by this time. Dr. Dowie smiled upon them all, made a few jokes at their expense, answered their many questions cleverly, and introduced Herbert to each. It was an impromptu love feast and every one seemed de­lighted. But it was the last. Miss Fey's story in "The Evening World" was friendly. But the others either ridiculed or denounced him by their manner of re­porting.

It was Miss Fey who delighted the General Over­seer with her description of him as "a little man with the head of a philosopher, the beard of a prophet, the


shoulders of a piano mover, the paunch of an alder­man, and the legs of a jockey."

Herbert had taken a room for himself and a suite of offices at the Park Avenue Hotel. These offices he shared with John Harrow, who with a large staff was to prepare for "Leaves of Healing" complete reports of all the meetings.

Deacon Jesse Stoneham had charge of the branch land office at the Garden, and was equipped to sell lots to hundreds or thousands of new converts ex­pected from the Visitation.

At his office Herbert had the assistance of Nancy Harrow and young Jack Burroney, a former news­paper man. A large parlor or reception-room was provided for meetings with reporters; a smaller room had been equipped with desks for Herbert, for Nancy and for Jack Burroney. John Harrow and his numerous staff worked together in a big corner parlor adjoining. The afternoon of Friday was spent arranging these details. Before they were complete there was a knock at the door and in a moment Her­bert found himself facing a group of the shrewdest, most alert, and most incisive men he had ever met­-reporters for the New York morning papers. They were Lindsay Denison of "The Sun," Billy Inglis of "The World," "Deacon" Terry of "The American," Gask of "The Tribune," Sullivan of "The Journal," and others. They were friendly, but to answer their questions truthfully and keep within his instructions was a harder test than a cross-examination at the hands of Abe Hummel.







Madison Square Garden was crowded to the roof on that October Sunday afternoon when John Alexander Dowie preached his first sermon in New York. Outside, in Madison Avenue, Twenty-sixth Street, Twenty-seventh Street and even across the corner in Madison Square were many thousands more.

Zion City Band, in a gallery behind the platform, played while the crowd was being seated. Deaconess Martha Carpenter, at the organ, and Zion Orchestra struck up the challenging measure of "Ten Thousand Times Ten Thousand." Soon, from far away in the rear of the Garden, came children's voices. The solemn spectacle of Zion's White-Robed Choir and Zion robed officers in procession, with the General Overseer bringing up the rear, was enacted for a New York audience of twelve to fifteen thousand. As the choir began to fill its gallery behind the platform, fifty band instruments joined in the music. Thus the volume grew until a climax was reached which stirred even that sophisticated crowd. This little man with the big white beard was a good showman. New York gave him credit for it and prepared to be con­vinced.

The hymn, with three thousand zealots of Zion Restoration Host rounding out choir, band, and



orchestra, and drawing more and more of the audience into the singing, began to awaken enthusiasm. This middle western preacher might be all right at that.

The “Halleluiah Chorus" from "The Messiah" lifted most of the crowd up in their seats. There was something in it more stirring than near-perfection of technique, quality of voices, and volume of sound. "Lord of Lords and King of Kings-He shall reign forever and ever" meant something to these singers and players. They felt it with burning zeal.

That great audience was now almost ready for a master's hand, to sway as he would. One more un­erring touch of his uncanny magic and he could have his way with them.

A great stillness held the multitude breathless. Then, far and faint at first, the tones of Martha Carpenter's organ. Slowly, a slender girl came to the edge of the platform. A pure blonde, with great violet-blue eyes, robed in black cassock and white surplice, she was a picture of that virginal loveliness which the race began to worship ages before vestals guarded the sacred flame in Rome. No one in all that great throng was too cynical to feel a reverence that had been bequeathed by a thousand generations.

Clear, sweet, appealing came her voice in the old hymn:


Knocking! Knocking! Who is there?

Waiting, waiting, oh, how fair!

'Tis a Pilgrim, strange and kingly,

Never such was seen before,

  Ah, my soul, for such a wonder,

Wilt thou not undo the door?




A song to remind them of Holman Hunt's picture --every person there had seen it, for each had in his hands a card upon which it was printed.

The voice ceased, the organ rumbled and died away. The audience strained forward, relaxed.

John Alexander Dowie's hour had struck.

He had reached the crisis of his career.

All that had gone before seemed to have led him up to this high place.

Here he stood with the eyes of all the world upon him, all its ears awaiting his message. At the long press table in front of his platform sat the ablest ob­servers and writers of the world's press. Flanking them were famous preachers, educators, novelists, and dramatists ·hired as special writers for the occasion. In an hour or two telegraph and cable would begin carrying his words and their effect to all the ends of the earth. To-morrow millions, now waiting, would read and be drawn or repelled.

Yes, it was John Alexander Dowie's zero hour!

He arose, strode out across the broad platform. By a miracle of personality his five feet four looked taller than six. He began to speak. That queer, rasping, carrying voice rang out into the stillness. With it, and with it almost alone, he had made himself, built Zion, produced this setting for his greatest triumph.

Now it rolled into that vast cavern of opportunity -and was lost!

No mistake about that. He saw it-he knew it.

Almost imperceptible but tell-tale movements showed him that his audience, which had been one



pair of eyes, one hearing soul, had begun to dis­integrate.

Frantically he tried for more power, more volume. In vain! The voice which had filled the Chicago Auditorium, the Chicago Coliseum, Shiloh Taber­nacle, and had even reached outdoor audiences larger than this, had been as free from effort as the bellow of a bull, the roar of a lion.

Now he was trying hard-and his voice was killed!

He struggled to make himself heard. His own people sat enraptured. For them whatever he did was right.

In the far galleries people began to walk out. Others in the rear of the Garden joined them.

“Sit down!" roared the baffled preacher, racing across the platform, bristling like an angry bantam. “Let no one move! You will find the doors closed. Guards! Permit no one to go out."

Some one laughed. More people laughed. Thou­sands laughed. Hundreds, laughing, joined the exodus.

The General Overseer raged at them.

"'The laughter of fools is like the crackling of thorns under a pot,' " he screamed. “He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh; He shall have them in derision.' Guards, I command you to hold the doors. Let no one leave."

Departing throngs, laughing, swept the Guards away. Thousands were crowding toward the doors.

“God will reckon with you who turn your backs upon Him now. You will weep, not laugh. You will cry aloud in your torment."

Only the shuffling of many feet answered.