Occult London
Occult LondonINTRODUCTION.CHAPTER I.CHAPTER II.CHAPTER III.CHAPTER IV.CHAPTER V.CHAPTER VI.CHAPTER VII.CHAPTER VIII.CHAPTER IX.CHAPTER X.CHAPTER XI.CHAPTER XII.CHAPTER XIII.CHAPTER XIV.CHAPTER XV.CHAPTER XVI.CHAPTER XVII.CHAPTER XVIII.CHAPTER XIX.CHAPTER XX.CHAPTER XXI.CHAPTER XXII.CHAPTER XXIII.CHAPTER XXIV.CHAPTER XXV.CHAPTER XXVI.CHAPTER XXVII.CHAPTER XXVIII.CHAPTER XXIX.CHAPTER XXX.CHAPTER XXXI.CHAPTER XXXII.CHAPTER XXXIII.CHAPTER XXXIV.CHAPTER XXXV.CHAPTER XXXVI.CHAPTER XXXVII.CHAPTER XXXVIII.CHAPTER XXXIX.CHAPTER XL.CHAPTER XLI.CHAPTER XLII.CHAPTER XLIII.CHAPTER XLIV.CHAPTER XLV.CHAPTER XLVI.NotesCopyright
Occult London
Charles Maurice Davies
INTRODUCTION.
It is perhaps scarcely necessary to say that I use the
term Occult, as applied to the larger portion of this volume, in
its technical sense to signify my owninitiationinto some of the more occult
phases of metropolitan existence. It is only to the Spiritualistic,
or concluding portion of my work, that the word applies in its
ordinary signification.
CHAPTER I.
LONDON ARABS.Of all the protean forms of misery that meet us in the bosom
of that "stony-hearted stepmother, London," there is none that
appeals so directly to our sympathies as the spectacle of a
destitute child. In the case of the grown man or woman, sorrow and
suffering are often traceable to the faults, or at best to the
misfortunes of the sufferers themselves; but in the case of the
child they are mostly, if not always, vicarious. The fault, or
desertion, or death of the natural protectors, turns loose upon the
desert of our streets those nomade hordes of Bedouins, male and
female, whose presence is being made especially palpable just now,
and whose reclamation is a perplexing, yet still a hopeful problem.
In the case of the adult Arab, there is a life's work to undo, and
the facing of that fact it is which makes some of our bravest
workers drop their hands in despair. With these young Arabs, on the
contrary, it is only the wrong bias of a few early years to
correct, leaving carte blanche for any amount of hope in youth,
maturity, and old age. Being desirous of forming, for my own
edification, some notion of the amount of the evil existing, and
the efforts made to counteract it, I planned a pilgrimage into this
Arabia Infelix—this Petræa of the London flagstones; and purpose
setting down here, in brief, a few of my experiences, for the
information of stay-at-home travellers, and still more for the sake
of pointing out to such as may be disposed to aid in the work of
rescuing these little Arabs the proper channels for their
beneficence. Selecting, then, the Seven Dials and Bethnal Green as
the foci of my observation in West and East London respectively, I
set out for the former one bleak March night, and by way of
breaking ground, applied to the first police-constable I met on
that undesirable beat for information as to my course. After one or
two failures, I met with an officer literally "active and
intelligent," who convoyed me through several of that network of
streets surrounding the Seven Dials, leaving me to my own devices
when he had given me the general bearings of the district it would
be desirable to visit.My first raid was on the Ragged School and Soup Kitchen
in Charles Street, Drury Lane, an evil-looking and unfragrant
locality; but the institution in question stands so close to the
main thoroughfare that the most fastidious may visit it with ease.
Here I found some twenty Arabs assembled for evening school. They
were of all ages, from seven to fifteen, and their clothing was in
an inverse ratio to their dirt—very little of the former, and a
great deal of the latter. They moved about with their bare feet in
the most feline way, like the veritable Bedouin himself. There they
were, however, over greasy slates and grimy copy-books, in process
of civilization. The master informed me that his special
difficulties arose from the attractions of the theatre and the
occasional intrusion of wild Arabs, who came only to kick up a row.
At eight o'clock the boys were to be regaled with a brass band
practice, so, finding from one of the assembled Arabs that there
was a second institution of the kind in King Street, Long Acre, I
passed on thereto. Here I was fortunate enough to find the
presiding genius in the person of a young man engaged in business
during the day, and devoting his extra time to the work of
civilizing the barbarians of this district. Sunday and week-day
services, night schools, day schools, Bands of Hope, temperance
meetings, and last, not least, the soup kitchen, were the means at
work here. Not a single officer is paid. The task is undertaken
"all for love, and nothing for reward," and it has thriven so far
that my presence interrupted a debate between the gentleman
above-mentioned and one of his coadjutors on the subject of taking
larger premises. The expenses were met by the weekly offerings, and
I was surprised to see by a notice posted in the room where the
Sunday services are held, that the sum total for the past week was
only 19s.4d.So there must be considerable
sacrifice of something more than time to carry on this admirable
work. Under the guidance of the second gentleman mentioned above, I
proceeded to the St. George's and St. Giles's Refuge in Great Queen
Street, where boys are admitted on their own application, the only
qualification being destitution. Here they are housed, clothed,
boarded, and taught such trades as they may be fitted for, and not
lost sight of until they are provided with situations. A hundred
and fifty-four was the number of this truly miraculous draught from
the great ocean of London streets, whom I saw all comfortably
bedded in one spacious dormitory. Downstairs were the implements
and products of the day's work, dozens of miniature cobblers'
appliances, machines for sawing and chopping firewood, &c.,
whilst, in a spacious refectory on the first floor, I was informed,
the resident Arabs extended on a Friday their accustomed
hospitality to other tribes, to such an extent, that the party
numbered about 500. Besides the 154 who were fortunate enough to
secure beds, there were twenty new arrivals, who had to be
quartered on the floor for the night; but at all events they had a
roof above them, and were out of the cruel east wind that made
Arabia Petræa that evening an undesirable resting-place indeed.
Lights were put out, and doors closed, when I left, as this is not
a night refuge; but notices are posted, I am informed, in the
various casual wards and temporary refuges, directing boys to this.
There is a kindred institution for girls in Broad Street. Such was
my first experience of the western portion of Arabia
Infelix.The following Sunday I visited the Mission Hall
belonging to Bloomsbury Chapel, in Moor Street, Soho, under the
management of Mr. M'Cree, and the nature of the work is much the
same as that pursued at King Street. The eleven o'clock service was
on this particular day devoted to children, who were assembled in
large numbers, singing their cheerful hymns, and listening to a
brief, practical, and taking address. These children, however, were
of a class above the Arab type, being generally well dressed. I
passed on thence to what was then Mr. Brock's chapel, where I found
my veritable Arabs, whom I had seen in bed the previous evening,
arrayed in a decent suit of "sober livery," and perched up in a
high gallery to gather what they could comprehend of Mr. Brock's
discourse—not very much, I should guess; for that gentleman's long
Latinized words would certainly fire a long way over their heads,
high as was their position. I found the whole contingent of
children provided for at the refuge was 400, including those on
board the training shipChichesterand the farm at Bisley, near Woking, Surrey. This is
certainly the most complete way of dealing with the Arabs par
excellence, as it contemplates the case of utter destitution and
homelessness. It need scarcely be said, however, that such a work
must enlarge its boundaries very much, in order to make any
appreciable impression on the vast amount of such destitution.
Here, nevertheless, is the germ, and it is already fructifying most
successfully. The other institutions, dealing with larger masses of
children, aim at civilizing them at home, and so making each home a
centre of influence.Passing back again to the King Street Mission Hall, I
found assembled there the band of fifty missionaries, male and
female, who visit every Sunday afternoon the kitchens of the
various lodging-houses around the Seven Dials. Six hundred kitchens
are thus visited every week. After roll-call, and a brief address,
we sallied forth, I myself accompanying Mr. Hatton—the young man to
whom the establishment of the Mission is due—and another of his
missionaries. I had heard much of the St. Giles's Kitchens, but
failed to realize any idea of the human beings swarming by dozens
and scores in those subterranean regions. Had it not been for the
fact that nearly every man was smoking, the atmosphere would have
been unbearable. In most of the kitchens they were beguiling the
ennui of Sunday afternoon with cards; but the game was invariably
suspended on our arrival. Some few removed their hats—for all wore
them—and a smaller number still joined in a verse or two of a hymn,
and listened to a portion of Scripture and a few words of
exhortation. One or two seemed interested, others smiled
sardonically; the majority kept a dogged silence. Some read their
papers and refused the tracts and publications offered them. These,
I found, were the Catholics. I was assured there were many men
there who themselves, or whose friends, had occupied high
positions. I was much struck with the language of one crop-headed
young fellow of seventeen or eighteen, who, seeing me grope my way,
said, "They're not very lavish with the gas here, sir, are they?"
It may appear that this "experience" has little bearing on the Arab
boys; but really some of the inmates of these kitchenswerebut boys. Those we visited were in
the purlieus of the old "Rookery," and for these dens, I was
informed, the men paid fourpence a night! Surely a little money
invested in decent dwellings for such people would be well and even
remuneratively spent. The kitchens, my informant—who has spent many
years among them—added, are generally the turning point between
honesty and crime. The discharged soldier or mechanic out of work
is there herded with the professional thief or burglar, and learns
his trade and gets to like his life.The succeeding evening I devoted first of all to the
Girls' Refuge, 19, Broad Street, St. Giles's. Here were sixty-two
girls of the same class as the boys in Great Queen Street, who
remain until provided with places as domestic servants. A similar
number were in the Home at Ealing. The Institution itself is the
picture of neatness and order. I dropped in quite unexpectedly; and
any visitor who may be induced to follow my example, will not fail
to be struck with the happy, "homely" look of everything, the
clean, cheerful appearance of the female Arabs, and the courtesy
and kindness of the matron. These girls are considered to belong to
St. Giles's parish, as the boys to Bloomsbury Chapel. So far the
good work has been done by the Dissenters and Evangelical party in
the Established Church. The sphere of the High Church—as I was
reminded by the Superintendent Sergeant—is the Newport Market
Refuge and Industrial Schools. Here, besides the male and female
refuges, is a Home for Destitute Boys, who are housed and taught on
the same plan as at St. Giles's. Their domicile is even more cosy
than the other, and might almost tempt a boy to act the part of an
"amateur Arab." I can only say the game that was going on,
previously to bed, in the large covered play room, with bare feet
and in shirt sleeves, was enough to provoke the envy of any member
of a Dr. Blimber's "Establishment." The Institution had just had a
windfall in the shape of one of those agreeable 1000l.cheques that have been flying about
lately, or their resources would have been cramped; but the
managers are wisely sensible that such windfalls do not come every
day, and so forbear enlarging their borders as they could
wish.Strangely enough, the Roman Catholics, who usually outdo us
in their work among the poor, seemed a little behindhand in this
special department of settling the Arabs. They have schools largely
attended in Tudor Place, Tottenham Court Road, White Lion Street,
Seven Dials, &c., but, as far as I could ascertain, nothing
local in the shape of a Refuge. To propagate the faith may be all
very well, and will be only the natural impulse of a man sincere in
his own belief; but we must not forget that these Arabs have bodies
as well as souls, and that those bodies have been so shamefully
debased and neglected as to drag the higher energies down with
them; and it is a great question whether it is not absolutely
necessary to begin on the very lowest plane first, and so to work
towards the higher. Through the body and the mind we may at last
reach the highest sphere of all.Without for one moment wishing to write down the
"religious" element, it is, I repeat, a grave question whether the
premature introduction of that element does not sometimes act as a
deterrent, and frustrate the good that might otherwise be done.
Still there is the great fact, goodisbeing done. It would be idle to carp at any means when the
end is so thoroughly good. I could not help, as I passed from
squalid kitchen to kitchen that Sunday afternoon, feeling Lear's
words ring through my mind:—O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp,
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,
And show the heavens more just.And now "Eastward ho!" for "experiences" in Bethnal
Green.
CHAPTER II.
EAST LONDON ARABS.Notwithstanding my previous experiences among the Western
tribes of Bedouins whose locale is the Desert of the Seven Dials, I
must confess to considerable strangeness when first I penetrated
the wilderness of Bethnal Green. Not only was it utterly terra
incognita to me, but, with their manifold features in common, the
want and squalor of the East have traits distinct from those of the
West. I had but the name of one Bethnal Green parish and of one
lady—Miss Macpherson—and with these slender data I proceeded to my
work, the results of which I again chronicle seriatim.Passing from the Moorgate Street Station I made for the
Eastern Counties Terminus at Shoreditch, and soon after passing it
struck off to my right in the Bethnal Green Road. Here, amid a
pervading atmosphere of bird-fanciers and vendors of live pets in
general, I found a Mission Hall, belonging to I know not what
denomination, and, aided by a vigorous policeman, kicked—in the
absence of knocker or bell—at all the doors, without result. Nobody
was there. I went on to the Bethnal Green parish which had been
named to me as the resort of nomade tribes, and found the incumbent
absent in the country for a week or so, and the Scripture-reader
afraid, in his absence, to give much information. He ventured,
however, to show me the industrial school, where some forty
children were employed in making match-boxes for Messrs. Bryant and
May. However, as I was told that the incumbent in question objected
very decidedly to refuges and ragged schools, and thought it much
better for the poor to strain a point and send their little ones to
school, I felt that was hardly the regimen to suit my Arabian
friends, who were evidently teeming in that locality. I was even
returning home with the view of getting further geographical
particulars of this Eastern Arabia Petræa, when, as a last
resource, I was directed to a refuge in Commercial Street. I rang
here, and found myself in the presence of the veritable Miss
Macpherson herself, with whom I passed two pleasant and instructive
hours.At starting, Miss Macpherson rather objected to being made
the subject of an article—first of all, for the very comprehensible
reason that such publicity would draw down upon her a host of
visitors; and when I suggested that visitors probably meant funds,
she added a second, and not quite so comprehensible an
objection—that these funds themselves might alloy the element of
Faith in which the work had been so far carried on. She had
thoroughly imbibed the spirit of Müller, whose Home at Bristol was
professedly the outcome of Faith and Prayer alone. However, on my
promise to publish only such particulars—name, locality, &c.—as
she might approve, this lady gave me the details of her truly
wonderful work. The building in which I found her had been erected
to serve as large warehouses, and here 110 of the most veritable
Arabs were housed, fed, taught, and converted into Christians, when
so convertible. Should they prove impressionable, Miss Macpherson
then contemplates their emigration to Canada. Many had already been
sent out; and her idea was to extend her operations in this
respect: not, be it observed, to cast hundreds of the scum of the
East End of London upon Canada—a proceeding to which the Canadians
would very naturally object—but to form a Home on that side to be
fed from the Homes on this, and so to remove from the old scenes of
vice and temptation those who had been previously trained in the
refuges here. She has it in contemplation to take a large hotel in
Canada, and convert it into an institution of this kind; and I
fancy it was the possibility that publicity might aid this larger
scheme which eventually induced the good lady to let the world so
far know what she is doing. At all events, she gave me carte
blanche to publish the results of my observations.In selecting and dealing with the inmates of her refuges,
Miss Macpherson avails herself of the science of phrenology, in
which she believes, and she advances good reason for so doing. I
presume my phrenological development must have been satisfactory,
since she not only laid aside her objection to publicity, but even
allowed me to carry off with me her MS. "casebooks," from which I
cull one or two of several hundred:—"1. T. S., aged ten (March 5, 1869).—An orphan. Mother died
in St. George's Workhouse. Father killed by coming in contact with
a diseased sheep, being a slaughterman. A seller of boxes in the
street. Slept last in a bed before Christmas. Slept in hay-carts,
under a tarpaulin. Says the prayers his mother 'teached
him.'""2. J. H., aged twelve (March 5).—No home but the
streets. Father killed by an engine-strap, being an engineer.
Mother died of a broken heart. Went into —— Workhouse; but ran away
through ill-treatment last December. Slept in ruins near Eastern
Counties Railway.Can't rememberwhen he last lay in a bed.""3. A. R., aged eleven (March 5).—Mother and father left him
and two brothers in an empty room in H—— Street. Policeman, hearing
them crying, broke open the door and took them to the workhouse.
His two brothers died. Was moved from workhouse by grandmother, and
she, unable to support him, turned him out on the streets. Slept in
railway ruins; lived by begging. July 24, sent to Home No. 1 as a
reward for good conduct."Besides thus rescuing hundreds of homeless ones, Miss
Macpherson has in many instances been the means of restoring
runaway children of respectable parents. Here is an
instance:—"Feb. 25th.—S. W. T., aged fourteen, brought into Refuge by
one of the night teachers, who noticed him in a lodging-house
respectably dressed. Had walked up to London from N——, in company
with two sailors (disreputable men, whom the lodging-house keeper
declined to take in). Had been reading sensational books. Wrote to
address at N——. Father telegraphed to keep him. Uncle came for him
with fresh clothes and took him home. He had begun to pawn his
clothes for his night's lodging. His father had been for a
fortnight in communication with the police."The constables in the neighbourhood all know Miss
Macpherson's Refuge, and her readiness to take boys in at any time;
so that many little vagrants are brought thither by them and
reclaimed, instead of being locked up and sent to prison, to go
from bad to worse. Besides this receptacle for boys, Miss
Macpherson has also a Home at Hackney, where girls of the same
class are housed. The plan she adopts is to get a friend to be
responsible for one child. The cost she reckons at 6l.10s.per annum for those under ten years, and 10l.for those above.But this excellent lady's good works are by no means
catalogued yet. Besides the children being fed and taught in these
Homes, the parents and children are constantly gathered for sewing
classes, tea meetings, &c. at the Refuge. Above 400 children
are thus influenced; and Miss Macpherson, with her coadjutors,
systematically visits the wretched dens and lodging-houses into
which no well-dressed person, unless favourably known like her for
her work among the children, would dare to set foot. I was also
present when a hearty meal of excellent soup and a large lump of
bread were given to between three and four hundred men, chiefly
dock labourers out of employ. It was a touching sight to notice the
stolid apathy depicted on most of the countenances, which looked
unpleasantly like despair. One of the men assured me that for every
package that had to be unladen from the docks there were ten pair
of hands ready to do the work, where only one could be employed.
Many of the men, he assured me, went for two, sometimes three, days
without food; and with the large majority of those assembled the
meal they were then taking would represent the whole of their
subsistence for the twenty-four-hours. After supper a hymn was
sung, and a few words spoken to them by Miss Macpherson on the
allegory of the Birds and Flowers in the Sermon on the Mount; and
so they sallied forth into the darkness of Arabia Petræa. I mounted
to the little boys' bedroom, where the tiniest Arabs of all were
enjoying the luxury of a game, with bare feet, before retiring.
Miss Macpherson dragged a mattress off one of the beds and threw it
down in the centre for them to tumble head-over-tail; and, as she
truly said, it was difficult to recognise in those merry shouts and
happy faces any remains of the veriest reprobates of the London
streets.Let us hear Miss Macpherson herself speak. In a
published pamphlet, "Our Perishing Little Ones," she says: "As to
the present state of the mission, we simply say 'Come and see.' It
is impossible by words to give an idea of the mass of 120,000
precious souls who live on this one square mile.... My longing is
to send forth, so soon as the ice breaks, 500 of our poor street
boys, waifs and strays that have been gathered in, to the
warm-hearted Canadian farmers. In the meantime, who will help us to
make outfits, and collect 5l.for each little Arab, that there be no hindrance to the
complement being made up when the spring time is come?... Ladies
who are householders can aid us much in endeavours to educate these
homeless wanderers to habits of industry by sending orders for
their firewood—4s.per hundred
bundles, sent free eight miles from the City." And, again, in Miss
Macpherson's book called "The Little Matchmakers," she says: "In
this work of faith and labour of love among the very lowest in our
beloved country, let us press on, looking for great things.
Preventing sin and crime is a much greater work than curing it.
There are still many things on my heart requiring more pennies. As
they come, we will go forward."Miss Macpherson's motto is, "The Word first in all
things; afterwards bread for this body." There are some of us who
would be inclined to reverse this process—to feed the body and
educate the mind—not altogether neglecting spiritual culture, even
at the earliest stage, but leaving anything like definite religious
schooling until the poor mind and body were, so to say,
acclimatized. It is, of course, much easier to sit still and
theorize and criticise than to do what these excellent people have
done and are doing to diminish this gigantic evil. "By their fruits
ye shall know them" is a criterion based on authority that we are
none of us inclined to dispute. Miss Macpherson boasts—and a very
proper subject for boasting it is—that she belongs to noism. It is significant, however, that
the Refuge bears, or bore, the name of the "Revival" Refuge, and
the paper which contained the earliest accounts of its working was
called theRevivalist, though
now baptized with the broader title of theChristian. Amid such real work it
would be a pity to have the semblance of unreality, and I dreaded
to think of the possibility of its existing, when little grimy
hands were held out by boys volunteering to say a text for my
behoof. By far the most favourite one was "Jesus wept;" next came
"God is love"—each most appropriate; but the sharp boy, a few years
older, won approval by a longer and more doctrinal quotation,
whilst several of these held out hands again when asked whether, in
the course of the day, they had felt the efficacy of the text given
on the previous evening, "Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth;
keep Thou the door of my lips." Such an experience would be a sign
of advanced spirituality in an adult. Is it ungenerous to ask
whether its manifestation in an Arab child must not be an
anticipation of what might be the normal result of a few years'
training? May not this kind offorcingexplain the cases I saw quoted in the books—of one boy who
"felt like a fish out of water, and left the same day of his own
accord;" another who "climbed out of a three-floor window and
escaped?"However, here is the good work being done. Let us not carp at
the details, but help it on, unless we can do better ourselves. One
thing has been preeminently forced in upon me during this brief
examination of our London Arabs—namely, that individuals work
better than communities amongst these people. The work done by the
great establishments, whether of England, Rome, or Protestant
Dissent, is insignificant compared with that carried out by persons
labouring like Mr. Hutton in Seven Dials and Miss Macpherson in
Whitechapel, untrammelled by any particular system. The want, and
sorrow, and suffering are individual, and need individual care,
just as the Master of old worked Himself, and sent His scripless
missionaries singly forth to labour for Him, as—on however
incommensurate a scale—they are still labouring, East and West,
amongst our London Arabs.
CHAPTER III.
LONDON ARABS IN CANADA.
In the previous chapter an account was given of the Arabs
inhabiting that wonderful "square mile" in East London, which has
since grown to be so familiar in men's mouths. The labours of Miss
Macpherson towards reclaiming these waifs and strays in her "Refuge
and Home of Industry, Commercial Street, Spitalfields," were
described at some length, and allusion was at the same time made to
the views which that lady entertained with regard to the
exportation of those Arabs to Canada after they should have
undergone a previous probationary training in the "Home." A short
time afterwards it was my pleasing duty to witness the departure of
one hundred of these young boys from the St. Pancras Station, en
route for Canada; and it now strikes me that some account of the
voyage out, in the shape of excerpts from the letters of the
devoted ladies who themselves accompanied our Arabs across the
Atlantic, may prove interesting; while, at the same time, a
calculation of their probable success in their new life and homes
may not improbably stimulate those who cannot give their time, to
give at least their countenance, and it may be, their material aid,
to a scheme which recommends itself to all our sympathies—the
permanent reclamation of the little homeless wanderers of our
London streets.
The strange old rambling "Home" in Commercial Street, built
originally for warehouses, then used as a cholera hospital, and now
the Arab Refuge, presented a strange appearance during the week
before the departure of the chosen hundred. On the ground-floor
were the packages of the young passengers; on the first floor the
"new clothes, shirts, and stockings, sent by kind lady friends from
all parts of the kingdom, trousers and waistcoats made by the
widows, and the boots and pilot jackets made by the boys
themselves." The dormitory was the great store-closet for all the
boys' bags filled with things needful on board ship; and on the top
floor, we can well imagine, the last day was a peculiarly
melancholy one. The work attendant upon the boys' last meal at the
Refuge was over, and there, in the long narrow kitchen, stood the
cook wiping away her tears with her apron, and the six little
waiting maids around them, with the novel feeling of having nothing
to do—there, where so much cutting, buttering, and washing-up had
been the order of the day. When the summons came to start, the
police had great difficulty in clearing a way for the boys to the
vans through the surging mass of East London poverty. Some of the
little match-box makers ran all the three miles from Commercial
Street to St. Pancras Station to see the very last of their
boy-friends.
Derby was the stopping-place on the journey to
Liverpool, and the attention of passengers and guards was arrested
by this strange company gathering on the platform at midnight and
singing two of the favourite Refuge hymns. Liverpool was reached at
4 a.m., and the boys filed off in fours, with their canvas bags
over their shoulders, to the river side, where their wondering eyes
beheld thePeruvian, which was to
bear them to their new homes.
At this point, Miss Macpherson's sister—who is carrying on
the work of the Refuge during that lady's absence—wrote as
follows:—"Could our Christian friends have seen the joy that beamed
in the faces of those hundred lads from whom we have just
parted—could they know the misery, the awful precipice of crime and
sin from which they have been snatched—we are sure their hearts
would be drawn out in love for those little ones. If still
supported," she continues, "I hope to send out another party of
fifty boys and fifty girls while my sister remains in Canada, and
shall be happy to forward the name and history of a boy or girl to
any kind friend wishing to provide for a special case. In the broad
fields of that new country where the farmers are only too glad to
adopt healthy young boys or girls into their families, hundreds of
our perishing little ones may find a happy home."
On Thursday, the 12th of May,
thePeruviandropped down the
river; and, as the last batch of friends left her when she passed
out into the Channel, these one hundred boys, with Miss Macpherson,
leaned over the bulwarks, singing the hymn, "Yes, we part, but not
for ever."
From Derry Miss Macpherson wrote under date May 13th:—"With
the exception of two, all are on deck now, as bright as larks; they
have carried up poor Jack Frost and Franks the runner. It is most
touching to see them wrap them up in their rugs. Michael Flinn, the
Shoreditch shoeblack, was up all night, caring for the sick boys.
Poor Mike! He and I have exchanged nods at the Eastern Counties
Railway corner these five years. It is a great joy to give him such
a chance for life."
The voyage out was prosperous enough, though there were
some contrary winds, and a good deal of sea-sickness among the
lads. The captain seems to have been quite won by the self-denying
kindness of the ladies, and he lightened their hands by giving
occupation to the boys. Then came out the result of training at the
Refuge. Those who had been some time there showed themselves
amenable to discipline; but the late arrivals were more fractious,
and difficult to manage. These were the lads "upon whom," as Miss
Macpherson says, "the street life had left sore marks." Even when
only nearing the American coast, this indomitable lady's spirit is
planning a second expedition. "As far as I dare make plans, I
should like to return, starting from Montreal July 16th, reaching
the Home July 27th; and then return with another lot the second
week in August. This second lot must be lads who are now under
influence, and who have been not less than six months in a refuge."
The finale to this second letter, written from Canada, adds: "The
boys,to a man, behaved
splendidly. The agent's heart is won. All have improved by the
voyage, and many are brown hearty-looking chaps fit for any
toil."
In theMontreal
Herald, of May 27th, there is an account of these
boys after their arrival, which says:—"Miss Macpherson is evidently
a lady whose capacity for organization and command is of the very
highest order; for boys, in most hands, are not too easily managed,
but in hers they were as obedient as a company of soldiers....
These boys will speedily be placed in positions, where they will
grow up respectable and respected members of society, with access
to the highest positions in the country freely open to them.... We
hope that Miss Macpherson will place all her boys advantageously,
and will bring us many more. She is a benefactor to the Empire in
both hemispheres."
The importance of this testimony can scarcely be overrated,
since many persons hold themselves aloof from a work of this nature
through a feeling that it is not fair to draft our Arab population
on a colony. It will be seen, however, that it is not proposed to
export these boys until they shall have been brought well under
influence, and so have got rid of what Miss Macpherson so
graphically terms the "sore marks of their street life."
Apropos of this subject, it may not be irrelevant to quote a
communication which has been received from Sir John Young, the
Governor-General of Canada, dated Ottawa, May 3rd, 1870:—"For
emigrants able and willing to work, Canada offers at present a very
good prospect. The demand for agricultural labourers in Ontario
during the present year is estimated at from 30,000 to 40,000; and
an industrious man may expect to make about one dollar a day
throughout the year, if he is willing to turn his hand to clearing
land, threshing, &c., during the winter. But it is of no use
for emigrants to come here unless they make up their minds to take
whatever employment offers itself most readily, without making
difficulties because it is not that to which they have been
accustomed, or which they prefer."
I visited the Refuge and Home of Industry a few nights
afterwards, and, though Miss Macpherson was absent, found all in
working order. Sixty-three boys were then its occupants. The
superintendent was anxiously looking forward to be able to carry
out the plan of despatching fifty boys and fifty girls during the
ensuing summer. The sum required for an East End case is
5l.; for a special case,
10l.The following are specimens
of about sixty cases of boys whom she would like to send out,
knowing that in Canada they could readily obtain
places:—
P. E., aged seventeen.—Mother died of fever, leaving seven
children; father a dock labourer, but cannot get full
employment.
L. J., aged thirteen.—Mother dead; does not know where her
father is; has been getting her living by singing songs in the
lodging-houses; is much improved by her stay in the Home, and will
make a tidy little maid. This is just one of the many who might
thus be rescued from a life of sin and misery.
Returning home through the squalid streets that night, where
squatters were vending old shoes and boots that seemed scarcely
worth picking out of the kennel, and garments that appeared beneath
the notice of the rag merchant, I saw the little Bedouins still in
full force, just as though no effort had been made for their
reclamation and housing. As they crowded the doorsteps, huddled in
the gutters, or vended boxes of lights and solicited the honour of
shining "your boots, sir," I could not help picturing them crossing
the sea, under kindly auspices, to the "better land" beyond, and
anon, in the broad Canadian fields or busy Canadian towns, growing
into respectable farmers and citizens; and straightway each little
grimed, wan face seemed to bear a new interest for me, and to look
wistfully up into mine with a sort of rightful demand on my
charity, saying to me, and through me to my many readers, "Come and
help us!"
After the foregoing was written, a further letter
arrived from Miss Macpherson. All the boys were well placed. The
agent at Quebec wished to take the whole hundred in a lump, but
only eleven were conceded to him. At Montreal, too, all would have
been taken, but twenty-one only were left. All found excellent
situations, many as house servants at
10l.and
15l.a year. Eight were in like
manner left at Belleville, half way between Montreal and Toronto.
Sixty were taken on to Toronto; and here we are told "the platform
was crowded with farmers anxious to engage them all at once. It was
difficult to get them to the office." A gentleman arrived from
Hamilton, saying that sixty applications had been sent in for boys,
directly it was known that Miss Macpherson was coming out. So there
is no need of anticipating anything like repugnance on the part of
the Canadians to the reception of our superfluous
Arabs.
CHAPTER IV.
WAIFS AND STRAYS.Among the various qualifications for the festivities of
Christmastide and New Year, there is one which is, perhaps, not so
generally recognised as it might be. Some of us are welcomed to the
bright fireside or the groaning table on the score of our social
and conversational qualities. At many and many a cheery board,
poverty is the only stipulation that is made. I mean not now that
the guests shall occupy the unenviable position of "poor
relations," but, in the large-hearted charity that so widely
prevails at that festive season, the need of a dinner is being
generally accepted as a title to that staple requirement of
existence. Neither of these, however, is the distinction required
in order to entitle those who bear it to the hospitality of Mr.
Edward Wright, better known under the abbreviated title of "Ned,"
and without the prefatory "Mr." That one social quality, without
which a seat at Ned Wright's festive board cannot be compassed, is
Felony. A little rakish-looking green ticket was circulated a few
days previously among the members of Mr. Wright's former
fraternity, bidding them to a "Great Supper" in St. John's Chapel,
Penrose Street (late West Street), Walworth, got up under the
auspices of the South-East London Mission. The invitation ran as
follows:—"This ticket is only available for a male person who has been
convicted at least once for felony, and is not transferable. We
purpose providing a good supper of bread and soup, after which an
address will be given. At the close of the meeting a parcel of
provisions will be given to each man. Supper will be provided in
the lower part of the chapel. Boys not admitted this time.—Your
friend, for Christ's sake,"Ned Wright."Why juvenile felons should be excluded "this time," and
whether the fact of having been convicted more than once would
confer any additional privileges, did not appear at first sight. So
it was, however; adult felonious Walworth was bidden to the supper,
and to the supper it came. Among the attractions held out to
spectators of the proceedings was the announcement that a
magistrate was to take part in them—a fact that possibly was not
made generally known among the guests, in whose regard it is very
questionable whether the presence of the dreaded "beak" might not
have proved the reverse of a "draw." However, they came, possibly
in happy ignorance of the potentate who was awaiting them, and than
whom there is one only creation of civilized life considered by the
London cadger his more natural enemy, that is the
policeman.Six o'clock was the hour appointed for the repast, and
there was no need for the wanderer in Walworth Road to inquire
which was Penrose Street. Little groups of shambling fellows hulked
about the corner waiting for some one to lead the way to the
unaccustomed chapel. Group after group, however, melted away into
the dingy building where Ned was ready to welcome them. With him I
found, not one magistrate, but two; one the expected magnate from
the country, the other a well-known occupant of the London bench,
with whom, I fancy, many of the guests could boast a previous
acquaintance of a character the reverse of desirable. Penrose
Street Chapel had been formerly occupied by the Unitarians, but was
then taken permanently by Ned Wright at a rental of between
60l.and 70l.per annum, and formed the third of
his "centres," the others being under a railway arch in the New
Kent Road, and the Mission Hall, Deptford. As row by row filled
with squalid occupants, I could but scan from my vantage-ground in
the gallery the various physiognomies. I am bound to say the
typical gaol-bird was but feebly represented. The visitors looked
like hard-working men—a little pinched and hungry, perhaps, and in
many cases obviously dejected and ashamed of the qualification
which gave them their seat. One or two, mostly of the younger, came
in with a swagger and a rough joke; but Ned and his guests knew one
another, and he quickly removed the lively young gentleman to a
quiet corner out of harm's way. A fringe of spectators, mostly
female, occupied the front seat in the gallery when proceedings
commenced, which they did with a hymn, composed by Ned Wright
himself. The ladies' voices proved very useful in this respect; but
most of the men took the printed copies of the hymns, which were
handed round, and looked as if they could read them, not a few
proving they could by singing full-voiced. After the hymn, Wright
announced that he had ordered eighty gallons of soup—some facetious
gentleman suggesting, "That's about a gallon apiece"—and he hoped
all would get enough. Probably about 100 guests had by this time
assembled, and each was provided with a white basin, which was
filled by Ned and his assistants, with soup from a washing jug. A
paper bag containing half a quartern loaf was also given to each,
and the contents rapidly disappeared. As the fragrant steam mounted
provokingly from the soup-basins up to the gallery, Mr. Wright took
occasion to mention that at the last supper Mr. Clark, of the New
Cut, furnished the soup gratuitously—a fact which he thought
deserved to be placed on record.In the intervals of the banquet, the host informed me that he
had already witnessed forty genuine "conversions" as the results of
these gatherings. He had, as usual, to contend with certain
obtrusive gentlemen who "assumed the virtue" of felony, "though
they had it not," and were summarily dismissed with the assurance
that he "didn't want no tramps." One mysterious young man came in
and sat down on a front row, but did not remain two minutes before
a thought seemed to strike him, and he beat a hasty retreat.
Whether he was possessed with the idea I had to combat on a
previous occasion of the same kind, that I was a policeman, I
cannot tell, but he never reappeared. I hope I was not the innocent
cause of his losing his supper. The only "felonious" trait I
observed was a furtive glance every now and then cast around, and
especially up to the gallery. Beyond this there really was little
to distinguish the gathering from a meeting of artisans a little
bit "down on their luck," or out on strike, or under some cloud of
that sort.As supper progressed, the number of spectators in the gallery
increased; and, with all due deference to Ned Wright's good
intentions, it may be open to question whether this presence of
spectators in the gallery is wise. It gives a sort of spurious dash
and bravado to the calling of a felon to be supping in public, and
have ladies looking on, just like the "swells" at a public dinner.
I am sure some of the younger men felt this, and swaggered through
their supper accordingly. There certainly was not a symptom of
shame on the face of a single guest, or any evidences of dejection,
when once the pea-soup had done its work. Some of the very lively
gentlemen in the front row even devoted themselves to making
critical remarks on the occupants of the gallery. As a rule, and
considering the antecedents of the men, the assembly was an orderly
one; and would, I think, have been more so, but for the presence of
the fair sex in the upper regions, many of whom, it is but justice
to say, were enjoying the small talk of certain oily-haired young
missionaries, and quite unconscious of being the objects of
admiring glances from below.Supper took exactly an hour, and then came another hymn, Ned
Wright telling his guests that the tune was somewhat difficult, but
that the gallery would sing it for them first, and then they would
be able to do it for themselves. Decidedly, Mr. Wright is getting
"æsthetic." This hymn was, in fact, monopolized by the gallery, the
men listening and evidently occupied in digesting their supper. One
would rather have heard something in which they could join.
However, it was a lively march-tune, and they evidently liked it,
and kept time to it with their feet, after the custom of the gods
on Boxing Night. At this point Ned and five others mounted the
little railed platform, Bible in hand, and the host read what he
termed "a portion out of the Good Old Book," choosing appropriately
Luke xv., which tells of the joy among angels over one sinner that
repenteth, and the exquisite allegory of the Prodigal Son, which
Ned read with a good deal of genuine pathos. It reminded him, he
said, of old times. He himself was one of the first prisoners at
Wandsworth when "old Brixton" was shut up. He had "done" three
calendar months, and when he came out he saw an old grey-headed
man, with a bundle. "That," said Ned, "was my godly old father, and
the bundle was new clothes in place of my old rags."The country magistrate then came forward, and drew an
ironical contrast between the "respectable" people in the gallery
and the "thieves" down below. "God says we have all 'robbed Him.'
All are equal in God's sight. But some of us are pardoned thieves."
At this point the discourse became theological, and fired over the
heads of the people down below. They listened much as they listen
to a magisterial remark from the bench; but it was not their own
language, such as Ned speaks. It was the "beak," not the old "pal."
It was not their vernacular. It did for the gallery—interested the
ladies and the missionaries vastly, but not the thieves. It was
wonderful that they bore it as well as they did. The magisterial
dignity evidently overawed them; but they soon got used to it, and
yawned or sat listlessly. Some leant their heads on the rail in
front and slept. The latest arrivals left earliest. They had come
to supper, not to sermon.Another of Ned Wright's hymns was then sung—Mr. Wright's muse
having been apparently prolific in the past year, no less than six
hymns on the list being written by himself during those twelve
months. It is much to be hoped that these poetical and æsthetical
proclivities will not deaden his practical energies. This hymn was
pitched distressingly high, and above the powers of all but the
"gallery" and a very few indeed of the guests; but most of them put
in a final "Glory, Hallelujah," at the end of each stanza. Mr.
Wright's tunes are bright and cheerful in the extreme, without
being vulgar or offensively secular.The host himself then spoke a few words on the moral of the
Sermon on the Mount: "Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His
righteousness." He claimed many of those before him as old pals who
had "drunk out of the same pot and shuffled the same pack of
cards," and contrasted his present state with theirs. Then they
listened, open-mouthed and eager-eyed, though they had been sitting
two full hours. He pictured the life of Christ, and His love for
poor men. "Christ died for you," he said, "as well as for the 'big
people.' Who is that on the cross beside the Son of God?" he asked
in an eloquent apostrophe. "It is a thief. Come to Christ, and say,
'I've no character. I'm branded as a felon. I'm hunted about the
streets of London. He will accept you.'" He drew a vivid picture of
the number of friends he had when he rowed for Dogget's Coat and
Badge. He met with an accident midway; "and when I got to the Swan
at Chelsea," he said, "I had no friends left. I was a losing man.
Christ will never treat you like that. He has never let me want in
the nine years since I have been converted." After a prayer the
assembly broke up, only those being requested to remain who
required advice. The prayer was characteristic, being interspersed
with groans from the gallery; and then a paper bag, containing
bread and cakes, was given to each, Ned observing, "There, the
devil don't give you that. He gives you toke and skilly." Being
desired to go quietly, one gentleman expressed a hope that there
was no policeman; another adding, "We don't want to get lagged."
Ned had to reassure them on my score once more, and then nearly all
disappeared—some ingenious guests managing to get two and three
bags by going out and coming in again, until some one in the
gallery meanly peached!Only some half-dozen out of the hundred remained, and Ned
Wright kneeling at one of the benches prayed fervently, and entered
into conversation with them one by one. Two or three others dropped
in, and there was much praying and groaning, but evidently much
sincerity. And so with at least some new impressions for good, some
cheering hopeful words to take them on in the New Year, those few
waifs and strays passed out into the darkness, to retain, let it be
hoped, some at least of the better influences which were brought to
bear upon them in that brighter epoch in their darkened lives when
Ned Wright's invitation gathered them to the Thieves'
Supper.
CHAPTER V.
A LUNATIC BALL.One half of the world believes the other half to be mad; and
who shall decide which moiety is right, the reputed lunatics or the
supposed sane, since neither party can be unprejudiced in the
matter? At present the minority believe that it is a mere matter of
numbers, and that if intellect carried the day, and right were not
overborne by might, the position of parties would be exactly
reversed. The dilemma forced itself strongly on my consciousness
for a solution when I attended the annual ball at Hanwell Lunatic
Asylum. The prevailing opinion inside the walls was that the
majority of madmen lay outside, and that the most hopelessly insane
people in all the world were the officers immediately concerned in
the management of the establishment itself.It was a damp, muggy January evening when I journeyed to this
suburban retreat. It rained dismally, and the wind nearly blew the
porter out of his lodge as he obeyed our summons at the Dantesque
portal of the institution, in passing behind which so many had
literally abandoned hope. I tried to fancy how it would feel if one
were really being consigned to that receptacle by interested
relatives, as we read in three-volume novels; but it was no use. I
was one of a merry company on that occasion. The officials of
Hanwell Asylum had been a little shy of being handed down to fame;
so I adopted the ruse of getting into Herr Gustav Küster's corps of
fiddlers for the occasion. However, I must in fairness add that the
committee during the evening withdrew the taboo they had formerly
placed on my writing. I was free to immortalize them; and my
fiddling was thenceforth a work of supererogation.High jinks commenced at the early hour of six; and long
before that time we had deposited our instruments in the Bazaar, as
the ball-room is somewhat incongruously called, and were threading
the Dædalean mazes of the wards. Life in the wards struck me as
being very like living in a passage; but when that preliminary
objection was got over, the long corridors looked comfortable
enough. They were painted in bright warm colours, and a
correspondingly genial temperature was secured by hot-water pipes
running the entire length. Comfortable rooms opened out from the
wards at frequent intervals, and there was every form of amusement
to beguile the otherwise irksome leisure of those temporary
recluses. Most of my hermits were smoking—I mean on the male
side—many were reading; one had a fiddle, and I scraped
acquaintance immediately with him; whilst another was seated at the
door of his snug little bedroom, getting up cadenzas on the flute.
He was an old trombone-player in one of the household regiments, an
inmate of Hanwell for thirty years, and a fellow-bandsman with
myself for the evening. He looked, I thought, quite as sane as
myself, and played magnificently; but I was informed by the
possibly prejudiced officials that he had his occasional
weaknesses. A second member of Herr Küster's band whom I found in
durance was a clarionet-player, formerly in the band of the Second
Life Guards; and this poor fellow, who was an excellent musician
too, felt his position acutely. He apologized sotto voce for
sitting down with me in corduroys, as well as for being an
"imbecile." He did not seem to question the justice of the verdict
against him, and had not become acclimatized to the atmosphere like
the old trombone-player.
