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" ""'""O" »' at least som^rT.^^ "^P ''^ "=P "• Slocfciagers otm7 " '^^K-'adation and helnl " ** '"=■"■. kindled in my hea„ v^» ■ ^^'"^ <"> '="e£ ^or^l'l"' """"'"S ">= ;'»«, of active servicL ^„ rT "'^■' '" ">ake'.i/»eh f '" "^^ 'hankful that I hav» il ^ration of men nr' ^"""8 forty only heavenly honi ^ ^^ miseries of this n, "^ "Pon me, to do •hesewretch^t^rturr^^'^"- 'ote Ss^^f" '"."'^^ - , oommonplace Ihinl as f ^f' "" ""^"J' materiaj bfesll ""'''"'''es of ■"^y other temp^r^^°f; ''"™=-'' "omeand ™ ^'k ' "'"« ^"'='' P"vedGodl,W^h.^°*"- And thus manv ,1 P^''"' »* so "•^helifetharo^ras^^IrlTthr f ^^^^^^ZZ^-' "■«!>< be, if Z nr^"";"'"" •"' P-cnliar cha^r '°°"'- ' •'»™ would iind el„„& "O"" oome home to wraL" f^""'''^''«s "^ both for twf .. ° 'P"« '" 'he Fathe^', h "'»''™'5' Father, he . ' f ■ ™«'™*hoasands,na)- • ftlEPACB * I can lay tens of thousands, who have literally proved this to be true, having, with little or no temporal assistance, come out of the darkest depths of destitution, vice and crime, to be happy and honest citizens and true sons and servants of God. And yet all the way through my career I have keenly felt the remedial measures usually enunciated in Chr'stian programs and ordinarily employed by Christian philanthropy to be lamentably inadequate for any effectual dealing with the despairing miseries of these outcast classes. The rescued are appallingly few — a ghastly minority compared with the multitudes who struggle and sink in the open-mouthed abyss. Alike, therefore, my humanity and my Christianity, if I may speak of them in any way as separate one from the other, have cried out for some more comprehensive method of reaching and saving the perishing crowds. No doubt it is good for men to climb unaided out of the whirlpool on to the rock of deliverance in the very presence of the temptations which have hitherto mastered them, and to maintain a footing there with the same billows of temptation washing over them. But, alas I with many this seems to be literally impossible. That decisiveness of character, that moral nerve which takes hold of the rope thrown for the rescue and keeps its hold amidst all the resistances that have to be encountered, is wanting. It is gone. The general wreck has shattered and disorganized the whole man, Alas, what multitudes there are around us everywhere, many known to my readers personally, and any number who may be known to them by a very short walk from their own dwellings, who are in this very plight ! Their vicious habits and destitute circumstances make it certain that, without some kind of extraordinary help, they must hunger and sin, '; and sin and hunger, until, having multiplied their kind, and filled up the measure of their miseries, the gaunt fingers of death will close upon them and terminate their wretchedness. And all this will happen this very winter in the midst of the unparalleled wealth, and civilization, and philan- thropy of this professedly most Christian land. Now I propose to go straight for these sinking classes, and in doing so, shall continue to aim at the heart. I still prophesy the uttermost disappointment unless that citadel is reached. In proposing to add one more to the methods I have already put into operation to this end, do not let it be supposed that I am the less dependent upon the old plans, or that I seek anything short of the old conquest. If we help the man it is in order that we may change him. The builder who should elaborate his design and erect his house and risk his reputation without burning his bricks would be pronounced a failure and a fool. Perfection of architectural beauty, unlimited expenditure of capital, unfailing watchful- ness of his laborers, would avail him nothing if the bricks wera mer»ly unkilned clay. Let him kindle a fire. And so here I see the folly at Krmincr to aocomplish anyth9fiflp«M"i."''.- \<-l^ ■,'»4'»'-',-.- -w^- 10 IN DARKEST ENGLAND Take a thick Scottish copse diipping with rain; imagine this to be a mere undergrowth nourished under the im- penetrable shade of ancient trees ranging from lOO to 180 feet high; briars and thorns abundant; lazy creeks meandering through the depths of tlic jungle, and some- times a deep affluent of a great river. Imagine this for- est and jungle in all stages of decay and growth, rain pattering on you every day of the year; an impure atmosphere with its dread consequences, fever and dys- entery; gloom throughout the day, and darkness almost palpable throughout tl;e night; and then if you can imagine such a forest extending the entire distance from Plymouth to Peterhead, you will have a fair idea of some of the inconveniences endured by us in the Congo forest. The denizens of this region are filled with a convic- tion that the forest is endless — interminable. In vain did Mr. Stanley and his companions endeavor to convince them that outside the dreary wood were to be found sun- light, pasturage, and peacefu meadows. They replied in a manner that seemed to imply that we must be strange creatures to suppose that it would be possible for any world to exist save their illimitable forest. "No," they replied, shaking their heads com- passionately, and pitying our absurd questions, "all like this," and they moved their hands sweepingly to illus- trate that the world was all alike, nothing but trees, trees, and trees — great trees rising as high as an arrow shot to the sky, lifting their crowns, intertwining their branches, pressing and crowding one against the other, until neither the sunbeam nor shaft of light can penetrate it. "We entered the forest," says Mr. Stanley, "with con- fidence; forty pioneers in front with axes and bill-hooks to clear a path through the obstructions, praying that God and good fortune would lead us." But before the conviction of the forest dwellers that the forest was without end, hope faded out of the hearts of the natives of Stanley's company. The men became sodden with despair; preaching was useless to move their brooding sullenness, their morbid gloom. ■,'...■•:.''•'■'■.■• j-\- AND THE WAY OUT U , The little religion they knew was nothing more that legendary lore, and in their memories there dimly floated a story of a land which grew darker and darker as one traveled towards the end of the earth and drew nearer to the place where a great serpent lay supine and coiled round the whole world. Ah! then the ancients must have referred to this, where the light is so ghastly, and the woods arc endless, and are so still and solemn and gray; to this oppressive loneliness, amid so much life, which is so chilling to tlie poor distressed heart; and the horror grew darker with their fancies; the cold of early morning, the comfortless gray of, dawn, the dead white mist, the ever-dripping tears of the dew, the deluging rains, the appalling thunder bursts and the echoes, and the wonderful play of the dazzling lightning. And when the night comes with its thick palpable darkness, and they lie huddled in their damp little huts, and they hear the tempest overhead, and the howling of the wild winds, the grinding and groaning of the storm-tossed trees, and the dread sounds, of the falling giants, and the shock of the trembling earth which sends their hearts with fitful leaps to their throats, and the roaring a^d a rush- ing as of a mad overwhelming sea — oh, then the horror is intensified ! When the march has begun once again, and the files are slowly moving through the woods, they renew their morbid brqodings, and ask themselves: How long is this to last? Is the joy of life to end thus? Must we jog on day after day in this cheerless gloom and this joyless duskiness, until we stagger and fall and rot among the toads? Then they disappear into the woods by twos, and threes, and sixes; and after the caravan has passed they return by the trail, some to reach Yambuya and upset the young officers with their tales of woe and war; some to fall sobbing under a spear- thrust; some to wander and stray in the dark mazes of the woods, hopelessly lost, and some to be carved for the cannibal feast. And those who remain, compelled to it by fears of greater danger, mechanically march on, a prey of dread and weakness. That is the forest. But what of its denizens? They an comparatively few; ooljf some hundreds of tkou- 12 IN DARKEST ENGLAND inH sands, living in small tribes from ten to thirty miles apart, scattered over an area on which ten thousand million trees put out the sun from a region four times as wide as Great Britain. Of these pygmies there are two kinds: one a very degraded specimen with ferret-like eyes> close-set nose, more nearly approaching the bab- oon than was supposed to be possible, but very human; the other very handsome, with frank, open, innocent feat- ures, very prepossessing. They are quick and intelli- gent, capable of deep affection and gratitude, showing remarknble industry and patience. A pygmy boy of eighteen worked with consuming zeal; time with him was too precious to waste in talk. His mind seemed ever concentrated on work. Mr. Stanley said: "When I once stopped him to ask him his name, his face seemed to say, 'Please don't stop me. I must fin- ish my task.' "All alike, the baboon variety and the handsome inno- cents, are cannibals. They are possessed with a perfect mania for meat. We were obliged to bury our dead in the river, lest the bodies should be exhumed and eaten, even when they had died from small-pox." Upon the pygmies and all the dwellers of the forest has descended a devastating visitation in the shape of the ivory raiders of civilization. The race that wrote the Arabian Nights, built Bagdad and Granada, and invented Algebra, sends forth men with the hunger for gold in their hearts, and Enfield muskets in their hands, to plunder and to slay. They exploit the domestic affections of the forest dwellers in order to strip them of all they possess in the world. That has been going on for years. It is going on to-day It has come to be regarded as the natural and normal law of existence. Of the religion of thetse hunted pygmies Mr. Stanley tells us iothing, per- haps because there is nothing to tell. But an oarlitr 'ft i.1 ■ Sh .' ■',* .1 ■ AND THE WAY OUT li: 'i--^v: :m^ '■K>. ' ■. to 1 ■ - • traveler, Dr. Kraff, says that one of these tribes, by name Doko, had some notion of a Supreme Being, to whom, under the name of Yer, they sometimes addressed prayers in moments of sadness or terror. In these prayers they say: "Oh Yer, if Thou dost really exist, why dost Thou let us be slaves? We ask not for food or clothing, for we live on snakes, ants, and mice. Thou hast made us; wherefore dost Thou let us be trodden down?" It is a terrible picture, and one that has engraved itself deep on the heart of civilization. But while brooding over the awful presentation of life as it exists in the vast African forest, it seemed to me only too vivid a picture of many parts of our own land. As there is a darkest Africa, is there not air; a darkest England? Civiliza- tion, which can breed its own barbarians, does it not also breed its own pygmies? May we not find a parallel at our own doors, and discover within a stone's throw of our cathedrals and palaces similar horrors to those which Stanley has found existing in the great Equatorial forest? The more the mind dwells upon the subject, the closer the analogy appears. The ivory raiders who brutally traffic in the unfortunate denizens of the forest glades, what are they but the publicans who flourish on the weakness of our poor? The two tribes of savages,fthe human baboon and the handsome dwarf, who willfiiot speak lest it impede him in his task, may be accepted as the two varieties who are continually present with us — the vicious, lazy lout, and the toiling slave. They, too, have lost all faith of life being other than it is and has been. As in Africa it is all trees, trees, trees, with no other world conceivable, so is it here — ii is all vice and poverty and crime. To many the world is all slum, with the Workhouse as an intermediate purgatory before the grave. And just as Mr. Stanley's Zanzibaris lost faUh, and could only be induced to plod on in brooding sullen- I '■m ■-&)! "t : 'J-: «? .3t;-»«J?-;i-»i5 « 14 IN DARKEST ENGLAND i !^ I; V il ness of dull despair, so the most of our social reformers, no matter how cheerily they may have started off, with forty pioneers swinging blithely their axes as they force their way into the wood, soon become depressed and d»3spairing. Who can battle '^ainst the ten thousand million trees? Who can hope to make headway against the innumerable adverse conditions which doom the dweller in Darkest England to eternal and immutable misery? What wonder is it that many of the warmest hearts and enthusiastic workers feel disposed to repeat the lament of the old English chronicler, who, speaking of the evil days which fell upon our forefathers in the reign of Stephen, said, "It seemed to them as if God and His Saints were dead." An analogy is as good as a suggestion; it becomes weari- some when it is pressed too far. But before leaving it, think for a moment how close the parallel is, and how strange it is that so much interest should be excited by a narrative of human squalor and human heroism in a distant continent, while greater squalor and heroism not less magnificent may be observed at our very doors. The Equatorial Forest traversed by Stanley resembles that Darkest England of which I have to speak, alike in its vast extent — both stretch, in Stanley's phrase, "as far as from Plymouth to Peterhead; " its monotonous dark- ness, its malaria and its gloom, its dwarfish de-human- ized Inhabitants, the slaver^ to which they are sub- jected, their privations and their misery. That which sickens the stoutest heart, and causes many o : cur brav- est and best to fold their hands in despair, is the ap- parent impossibility of doing more than merely to peck at the outside of the endless tangle of monotonous un- dergrowth; to let ligh into it, to make a road clear through it, that shall r t be immediately choked up by the OQze of the morass and the luxuriant parasitical '0 ■ ■/' '5i»V^;i; AND THE WAY OUT 15 i^vrrsi; grov/th of the forest — who dare hope for that? At pres- ent, alas, it would seem as though no one dares even to hope! It is the great Slough of Despond of our time. And what a slough it is no man can gauge who has not waded therein, as some of us have done, up to the very neck for long years. Talk about Dante's Hell, and all the horrors and cruelties of the torture-chamber of the lost! The man who walks with open eyes and with bleeding heart through the shambles of our civilization needs no such fantastic images of the poet to teach him horror. Often and often, when I have seen the young and the poor and the helpless go down before my eyes into the morass, trampled underfoot by beasts of prey in human shape that haunt these regions, it seemed as if God were no longer in His world, but that in His stead reigned a fiend, merciless as Hell, ruthless as the grave. Hard it is, no doubt, to read in Stanley's pages of the slave- traders coldly arranging for the surprise of a village, the capture of the inhabitants, the massacre of those who resist, and the violation of all the women; but the stony streets of London, if they could but speak, would tell of tragedies as awful, of ruin as complete, of ravishments as horrible, as if we were in Central Africa; only the ghastly devasvation is covered, corpse-like, with the arti- ficialities and hypocrisies of modern civilization. The lot of a negress in the Equatorial Forest is not, perhaps, a very happy one, but is it so very much worse than that of many a pretty orphan girl in our Christian capital? We talk about the brutalities of the dark ages, and we profess to shudder as we read in books of the shameful exaction of the rights of feudal superior. And yet here, beneath our very eyes, in our theatres, in our restaurants, and in many o'hei ^^laces, unspeakable though it be but to name it, the same hideous abuse flourishes unchecked. A young penniless girl, if she be pretty, is '* i ■I t !1 i- n I •11 ■ i ' 10 IN DARKEST ENGLAND |,i i often hunted from pillar to post by her employers, con- fronted always by the alternative — Starve or Sin. And when once the poor girl has consented to buy the right to earn her living by the sacrifice of her virtue, then she is treated as a slave and an outcast by the very men who have ruined her. Her word becomes unbelievable, her life an ignominy, and she is swept downward, ever downward, into the bottomless perdition of prostitution. But there, even in the lowest depths, excommunicated by Humanity and outcast from God, she is far nearer the pitving heart of the One true Saviour than all the men w. .orced her down, aye, and than all the Pharisees and Scribes who stand silentiy by while these fiendish wrongs are perpetrated before their very eyes. The blood boils with impotent rage at the sight of these enormities, callously inflicted, and silently borne by these miserable victims. Nor is it only women who are the victims, although their fate is the most tragic. Those firms which reduce sweating to a fine art, who sys- tematically and deliberately defraud the workman of his pay, who grind the faces of the poor, and who rob the widow and the orphan, and who for a pretense make great professions of public spirit and philanthropy, these men nowadays are sent to Parliament to make laws for the people. The old prophets sent them to Hell — but we have changed all that. They send their victims to Hell, and are rewarded by all that wealth can do to make their lives comfortable. Read the House of Lords' Report on the Sweating System, and ask if any African slave system, making due allowance for the su- perior civilization, and therefore sensitiveness, of the victims, reveals more misery. Darkest England, like Darkest Africa, reeks with ma- laria. The ioul and fetid breath of our slums is almost as poisonous as that of the African swamp. F^ver is 'm$ .t- I f*- •:* h AND THE WAY OUT 17 '■''.''M''-y -f. y-i'l V ,;*:. '?-■■ almost as chronic there as on the Equator. Every year thousands of children are killed off by what is called de- fects of our sanitary system. They are in reality starved and poisoned, and all that can be said is that, in many cases, it is better for them that they were taken away from the trouble to come. Just as in Darkest Africa it is only a part of the evil and misery that comes from the superior race who invade the forest to enslave and massacre its miserable inhab- itants, so with us, much of the misery of those whose lot we are considering arises from the?r own habits. Drunkenness and all manner of uncleanness, moral and physical, abound. Have you ever watched by the bed- side of a man in delirium tremens? Multiply the suffer- ings o( that one drunkard by the hundred thousand, and you have some idea of what scenes are being witnessed in all our great cities at this moment. As in Africa streams intersect the forest in everj direction, so the gin- shop stands at every corner, with its River of the Water of Death flowing seventeen hours out of the twenty-four for the destruction of the people. A population sodden with drink, steeped in vice, eaten up by every social and physical malady, these are the denizens of Darkest Eng- land amidst whom my life has been spent, and to whose rescue I would now summon all that is best in the man- hood and womanhood of our land. But this book is no mere lamentation of despair. For Darkest England, as for Darkest Africa, there is a light beyond. I think I see my way out, a way by which these wretched ones may escape from the gloom of their miserable existence into a higher and happier life. Long wandering in the Forest of the Shadow of Death at our doors, has familiarized me with its horrors; bfit while the realization is a vigorous spur to action, it has never been so oppressive as to extinguish hope. Mr. Stanley f ■-■>!. ft -t - ,g? li •« ;■'? fl8 IN DARKEST ENGLANl m ' } 1! -if. mL-c f ! ]\ I- IS Ait ^j^oi''- ; ■ if " ' " " I' l ''h i nc cr succumbed to the terrors which oppressed his fol- lowers. He haJ lived in a larger life, and knew that the forest, though long, was not interminable. Every step forward brought him nearer his destined goal, nearer to the light of the sun, the clear sky, and ;.he rolling uplands of the grazing land. Therefo/e he did not despair. The Equatorial Forest was, after all, a mere corner of one quarter of the world. In the knowledge; of the light outside, in the confidence begotten by past experience of successful endeavor, he pressed forward; and when the i6o days' struggle was over, he and his men came out into a pleasant place where the land smiled with peace and plenty, and their hardships and hunger were forgot- ten in the joy of a great deliverance. So I venture to believe it will be with us. But the end is not yet. We are still in the depths of the depress- ing gloom. It is in no spirit of light-heartedness that this book is sent forth into the world as it was written some ten years ago. If this were the first time that this wail of hopeless misery had sounded on our ears, the matter would have been less serious. It is because we have heard it so often that the case is so desperate. The exceeding bitter cry of the disinherited has become to be as familiar in the ears of men as the dull roar of the streets or as the moaning of the wind through the trees. And so it rises unceasing, year in and year out, and we are too busy or too idle, too indifferent or too selfish, to spare it a thought. Only now and then, on rare occasions, when some clear voice is heard giving more articulate utter- ance to the miseries of the miserable men, do we pause in the regular routine of our daily duties, and shudder as we realize for one brief moment what life means to the inmates of the Slums. Bu| one of the grimmest social problems of our time should be sternly faced, not ^ -I M m 'mm ■i'-\ Atm 1HE WAY OUT I,' with a view to the generation of profitless emotion, but with a view to its solution. Is it not time? There is, it is true, an audacity in the mere suggestion that the problem is not insoluble that is enough to take away the breath. But can nothing be done? If, after full and exhaustive consideration, we come to the deliberate conclusion that nothing can be done, and that it is the inevitable and inexorable destiny of thousands of Englishmen to be brutalized into worse than beasts by the condition of their environment, so be it. But if, on the contrary, we are unable to believe that this "awful slough," which engulfs the manhood and womanhood of generation after generation, is inca- pable of removal; and if the heart and intellect of man- kind alike revolt against the fatalism '^^f despair, then, indeed, it is time, and high time, that the question were faced in no mere dilettante spirit, but with a resolute determination to make an end of the crying scandal of our age. What a satire it is upon our Christianity and our civ- ilization, that the existence of these colonies of heathens . and savages in the heart of our capital should attract so little attention! It is no better than a ghastly mockery — theologians might use a stronger word — to call by the name of One who came to seek and to save that which was lost those Churches which, in the midst of lost multitudes, either sleep in apathy or display a fitful in- terest in a chasuble. Why all this apparatus of tem- ples and meeting-houses to save men from perdition in a world which is to come, while never a helping hand is stretched out to save them from the inferno of their present life? Is it not time that, forgetting for a mo- ment their wranglings about the infinitely little or infin- itely obscure, they should concentrate all their energies on a united effort to break this terrible perpetuity of per- % J Hi m Y'-'^''-^;MM^^^ i id z^' :ii ^m i* SM''' .n I '.'** II M IN DARKEST EMdLANB ditiooi and to rescue some at least of those for whom they prof ess to believe their Founder came to die? Before venturing to define the remedy, I begin by describing the malady. But even when presenting the dreary picture of our social ills, and describing the diffi- culties which confront us, I speak not in despondency, but in hope. "1 know in whom I have believed." I know, therefore do I speak. "Darker England" is but a fractional part of "Greater England." There is wealth enough abundantly to minister to its social regeneration so far as wealth can, if there be but heart enough to set about the work in earnest. And I hope and believe that the heart will not be lacking when once the problem is manfully faced, and the method of its solution plainly pointed ouL r ■;>.";:-;.;t-? t I u fi: m \ ' t Ik . » ► I;'" iV< '%.•.■,, i-^ >:";v:: '^^S^ CHAPTER II THE SUBMERGED TENTH si ' In setting forth the difficulties which have to be grap- pled with, I shall endeavor in all things to understate rather than overstate my case. I do this for two reasons: first, any exaggeration would create a reaction; and sec- ondly, as my object is to demonstrate the practicability of solving the problem, I do not wish to magnify its dimensions. In this and in subsequent chapters I hope to convince those who read them that there is no over- straining in the representation of the facts, and nothing Utopian in the presentation of remedies. I appeal neither to hysterical emotionalists nor headlong enthusi- asts; but having tried to approach the examination of this question in a spirit of scientific investigation, I put forth my proposals with the view of securing the support and cooperation of the sober, serious, practical men and women who constitute the saving strength and moral backbone of the country. I fully admit that there is much that is Licking in the diagnosis of the disease, and, no doubt, in this first draft of the prescription there is much room for improvement, which will come when we have the light of fuller experience. But with all its drawbacks and defects, I do not hesitate to submit my proposals to the impartial judgment of all who are in- terested in the solution of the social question as an im- mediate and practical mode of dealing with this, the greatest problem of our time. LV V ^i•■ -.L' i I !; t «i 'M. !-^ ■Sa'T; IN DARKEST ENGLAND The first duty of an investigator in approaching the study of any question is to eliminate all that is foreign to the inquiry, and to concentrate his attention upon the subject to be dealt with. Here I may remark that I make no attempt in this book to deal with Society as a whole. I leave to others the formiy^ion of ajpbitious programmes for the reconstruction ot*t)ur entire social system; not because I may not desire 5ij(4g reconstruc- tion, but because the consideration of any plans which are more or less visionary and incapable of realiza- tion for many years would stand in the way of the con- sideration of this Scheme for dealing with the most urgently pressing aspect of the question, which I hope may be put into operation at once. In taking this course I am aware that I cut myself off from a wide and attractive field; but as a practical man, dealing with sternly prosaic facts, I must confine my attention to that particular section of the problem which clamors most pressingly for a solution. Only one thing I may say in passing. There is nothing in my scheme which will bring it into collision either with Socialists of the State or Socialists of the Municipality, with In- dividualists or Nationalists, or any of the various schools of thought in the great field of social economics — except- ing only those anti-Christian economists who hold that it is an offense against the doctrine of the survival of the fittest to try to save the weakest from going to the wall, and who believe that when once a man is down the su- preme duty of a self-regarding Society is to jump upon him. Such economists will naturally be disappointed with tkis book. I venture to believe that all others will ind nothing in it to olf^nd their favorite theories, but perhaps something of helpful suggestion which they may utilize hereafter. ** What, then, is Darkest England? For whom do we «' T?1-,!.N ■• -f AND XHE WAY OUT f. claim that "urgency" which gives their case priority over that of all other sections of their countrymen and coun- trywomen? I claim it for the Lost, for the Outcast, for the Dis- inherited of the World. These, it may be said, are but phrases. Who are the Lost? I reply, not in a religious, but in a social sense, the lost are those who have gone under, who have lost their foothold in Society; those to whom the prayer to our Heavenly Father, "Give us day by day our daily bread," is cither unfulfilled, or only fulfilled by the Devil's agency: by the earnings of vice, the proceeds of crime, or the contribution enforced by the threat of the law. But I will be more precise. The denizens in Darkest England, for whom I appeal, are (i) those who, having no capital or income of their own, would in a month be dead from sheer starvation were they exclusively dependent upon the money earned by their own work; and (2) those who by their utmost exertions are unable to attain the regulation allowance cf food which the law prescribes as indispensable even fcr the worst criminals in our jails. I sorrowfully admit that it would be Utopian in our present social arrangements to dream of attaining for every honest Englishman a jail standard of all ♦^be nec- essaries of life. Sometime, perhaps, we may venture to hope that every honest worker on English soil will always be as warmly clad, as healthily housed, and as reg- ularly fed as our criminal convicts — but that is not yet. Neither is it possible to hope for many years to come that huinn beings gWQorally will b« as well cared for as horses. Mr. Carlyle loiig ago remarked that the four- footed worker has already got all that this two-handed one is clamoring for: "There are not many horses i^ '%,^iif-'}. TN DARKEST ENGI.A^m I ' - 1 ' * i ■1 \\ I < :1 England, able and willing to work, which have not due food and lodging and go ahout slcck-coated, satisfied in heart." You say it is impossible; but, said Carlyle, "The human brain, looking at these sleek English horses, refuses to believe in such impossibility for English men." Nevertheless, forty years have passed since Carlyle said that, and we seem to be no neare^ the attainment of the four-footed standard for the two-handed worker. "Per- haps it might be nearer realization," growls the cynic, "if we could only produce men according to demand, as we do horses, and promptly send them to the slaughter- house when past their prime; " which of course is not to be thought of. What then is the standard toward which we may venture to aim with some prospect of realization in our time? It is a very humble one, but if realized it would solve the worst problems of modern Society. It is the standard of the London Cab Horse. When in the streets oi London a Cab Horse, weary of careless or stupid, trips and falls and lies stretched out in the midst of the traffic, there is no question of debating how he came to stumble before we try to get him on his legs again. The Cab Horse is a very real illustration of poor broken-down humanity; he usually falls down because of overwork and under- feeding. If you put him on his feet without altering his conditions, it would only be to give him another dos of agony; but first of all you'll have to pick him up again. It may have been through overwork or under- feeding, or it may have b^en all his own fault that he has broken his knees and smashed the shafts, but tiiat does not matter. If not for his own sake, then merely in order to prevent an obstruction of the traffic, all attention is concentrated upon the question of how we are to get him on his legs again. The load is takea off, the 'M M ^^;il .,^5 ■'^m pi!./; .,i ■■ AN© THE WAY ©UT ■fii .V, harness is unbuckled, or, if need be, cut, and everything is done to help him up. Thrn he is put in the shafts again and once more restored to his regular round ol work. That is the first point. The second is that every Cab Horse in London has three things: a shelter for the night, food for its stomach, and work allotted to it by i which it can earn its corn. These arc the two points of the Cab Horse's Charter. When he is down he is helped up, and while he lives he has food, shelter, and work. That, although a humble standard, is at present absolutely unattainable by mill- ions — literally by millions — of our fellow men and women in this country. Can the Cab Horse Charter be gained for human beings? I answer, yes. The Cab Horse standard can be attained on the Cab Horse terms. If you get your fallen fellow on his feet again. Docility and Discipline will enable you to reach the Cab Horse ideal, otherwise it will remain unattainable. But docility sel- dom fails where discipline is intelligently maintained. Intelligence is more frequently lacking to direct, than obedience to follow direction. At any rate it is not for those who possess the intelligence to despair of obedi- ence, until they have done their part. Some, no doubt, like the bucking horse that will never be broken in, will always refuse to submit to any guidance but their own lawless will. They will rehiain either the Ishmaels or the Sloths of Society. But man is naturally neither an Ishmael nor a Sloth. The first question, then, which confronts us is, what are the dimensions of the Evil? How many of our fel- low-men d veil in this Darkest England? How can we take the census of those who have fallen below the Cab Horse standard to which it is our aim to elevate the most wretched of our countrymen? .: f! The moment you attempt to answer this question, you I .'W<, •-''•">:<^.; ''^ 90K.000 Estimate for rest of Total. London. 34.000 51,000 «,0CX3 33,000 200,000 3(X)|000 148,000 322,000 »58,oix> 387,000 t- 663,000 993,000 >,• : :^ '-■'^ ":-^ :'iVi ■ Sf- It may be admitted that East London affords an excep tionally bad district from which to generalize for the rest of the country. Wages are higher in London than elsewhere, but so is rent, and the number of the home- less and starving is greater in the human warren at the East End. There are 31 millions of people in Great Britain, exclusive of Ireland. If destitution existed everywhere in East London proportions, there would be 31 times as many homeless and starving people as there are in the district round Bethnal Green. ' But let us suppose that the East London rate is double the average for the rest of the country. That would bring out the following figures; • ' :'!^ i: tl (1! 188 '■•'■•.X-'' T . ■ IN DARKEST ENGt.AND 'f'^' . - ■'■- '^ "'' ''■'' Houseless: East London. United Kingdom. Loafeis, Casuals, and some Criminals ii,ooo 165,500 STARtriNU: Casual earnings or chronic want 100,000 1,550.000 Total Houseless and Starving iii.ooo i,/.5,5oo In Workhouses, Asylums, etc 17,000 190,000 128,000 1,905,500 Of those rfeturnfed as homeless and starving, 870,000 were in receipt of outdoor relief. To these must be added the inmates of our prisons. In 1889, 174,779 persons were received in the prisons, but the average number in prison at any one time did not exceed 60,000. The figures, as given in the Prison Re- turns, are as follows: ^ , In Convict P. i ,ons ii 660 ',': In Local Pris ms 20,883 In Reformatories 1,270 In Industrial Schools 2ii4i3 Criminal Lunatics 910 ;; 56,136 Add to this the number of indoor paupers and lunatics (excluding criminals), 78,966, and we have an army of nearly two millions belor.ging to the submerged classes. To this there must be added, at the very least, another million, representing those dependent upon the criminal, lunatic, and other classes, not enumerated here, and the more or less helpless of the class irnmediately above the houseless and starving. This brings my total to three millions, or, to put it roughly, to one-tenth of the population. According to Lord Brabazon and Mr. Samuel Smith, "between two and three millions of our population are always pauperized and degraded." Mr. Chamberlain says there is a "population equal to that of the metropolis"— that is, ' etween four and five mill- ions — "which has remained constantly in a state of abject destitution and misery." Mr. Giffen is more moderate. The submerged class, according to him, comprises one in five of manual laborers, six in one hundred of the population. Mr. Giffen does not add the third million :m ; ' -m ■.vi';;S akd the way otrt I^D which is living on the border line. Between Mr. Cham- berlain's four millions and a half and Mr. Giffen's 1,800,000, I am content to take thr^e millions as repre- senting the total strength of the destitute army. ''■' Darkest England, then, may be said to have a popula- tion about equal to thEti of Scotland. Three million tnen, women, and children, a vast despairing multitude in a condition nominally free, but really enslaved — these it is whom we have to save. It is a large order. England emancipated her negroes sixty years ago, at a cost of ;;^4o,ooo,ooo, and has never ceased boasting about it since. But at our own doors, from "Plymouth to Peterhead," stretches this waste Continent of humanity — three million human beings who are enslaved — some of them to taskmasters as merciless as any West Indian overseer, all of them to destitution and despair. Is anything to be done with them? Can anything be done for them? Or is this million-headed mass to be regarded as offering a problem as insoluble as that of the London sewage, which, feculent and fester- ing, swings heavily up and down the basin of the Thames with the ebb and flow of the tide? This Submerged Tenth — is it, then, beyond the reach of the nine-tenths in the midst of whom they live, and around whose homes they rot and die? No doubt, in every large mass of human beings there will be some incurably diseased in morals and in body, some for whom nothing can be done, some of whom even the optimist must de- spair, and for whom he can prescribe nothing but the beneficently stern restraints of an asylum or a jail. But is not one in ten a proportion scandalously high? The Israelites of old set apart one tribe in twelve to min- ister to the Lord in the service of the Temple; but must we doom one in ten of 'God's Englishmen" to the serv»ae oC the great Twin Devils — Destitution and Despair? I ■% M 1. ».. V ■r.wr ■ I ; I I,! }l Wi I ■ i ■■■.: CHAPTER III THE HOMELESS Darkest England may be described as consisting broadly of three circles, one within the other. The outer and widest circle is inhabited by the starving and the home- less, but honest. Poor; the second by those who live by Vice; and the third and innermost regign at the center is peopled by those who exist by Crime. The whole of the three circles is sodden with Drink. Darkest England has many more public houses than the Forest of the Aru- wimi has rivers, of which Mr. Stanley sometimes had to cross three in half an hour. The borders of this great lost land are not sharply defined. They are continually expanding or contracting. Whenever there is a period of depression in trade, they stretch; when prosperity returns, they contract. So far as individuals are con- cerned, there are none among the hundreds of thousands who live upon the outskirts of the dark forest who can truly say that they or their children are secure from being hopelessly entangle^ in its labyrinth. The death of the bread-winner, a long illness, a failure in the City, or any one o^ a thousand other causes which might be named, will bring within the first circle those who at present imagine themselves free from all danger of actual want. The death-rate in Darkest England is high. Death is the great jail-deliverer of the captives. But the dead are hardly in the grave before their places are taken by others. Some escape, but the majority, their ••/*& 4 AND THE WAY OUT 31 IJ' health sapped by their surroundings, become weaker and weaker, until at last they fall oy the way, perishing without hope at the very dcors of the palatial mansions which, may be, some of them helped to build. Some seven -'ears ago a great outcry was made ccm- cerning the Housing of the Poor. Much was said, and rightly said — it could not be said too strongly — concern' ing the disease-breeding, manhood-destroying character of the tenements in which the poor herd in our large cities. But there is a depth below that of the dweller in the slums. It is that of the dweller in the streets, who has not even a lair in the slums which he can call his own. The houseless Out-of-Work is in one respect at least like Him of whom it was said, "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay His head." The existence of these unfortunates was somewhat rudely forced upon the attention of Society in 1887, when Trafalgar Square became the camping ground of the Homeless Outcasts of London. Our Shelters have done something, but not enough tv; p*-ovide for the outcasts, who this night and every night are walking about the streets, not knowing where they can find a spot on which to rest their weary frames. Here is the return of one of my Officers who was told off this summer to report upon the actual condition of the Homeless who have no roof to shelter them in all London: There are still a large number of Londoners and a con- siderable percentage of wanderers from the country in search of work, who find themselves at nightfall desti- tute. These now betake themselves to the seats under the plane trees on the Embankment. Formerly they en- deavored to occupy all the seats, but the lynx-eyed Met- ropolitan Police declined to allow any such proceedings, lad the dossers, knowing the invariable kindness of the :-*^^ M i ■'V va.-»»«..-j^"-jw !'*■>':'■'>«.'.:-*.■'" IN DARKEST ENGLAND •J ,^t-.\ 1^ 1* I ''I'iii:! City Felice, made tracks for that portion of ilie Embank- ment which, lying east of the Temple, comes under the control of the Civic Fathers. Here, between the Tem- ple and Blackfriars, I found the poor wretches by the score; almost every seat contained its full complement of six — some men, some women — all reclining in various postures and nearly all fast asleep. Just as Big Ben strikes two, the moon, flashing across the Thames and lighting up the stone work of the Embankment, brings into relief a pitiable spectacle. Here on the stone abut- ments, which afford a slight protection from the biting wind, are scores of men lying side by side, huddled together for warmth, and, of course, without any other covering than their ordinary clothing, which is scanty enough at the best. Some have laid down a few pieces of waste paper, by way of taking the chill off the stones, but the majority are too tired even for that, and the nightly toilet of most consists of first removing the hat, swathing the head in whatever old rag may being doing duty as a handkerchief, and then replacing the hat. The intelligent-looking elderly man, who was just fixing himself up on a seat, informed me that he frequently made that his night's abode. "You see," quoth he, ""there's nowhere else so comfortable. I was here last night, and Monday and Tuesday as well; that's four nights this week. I had no money for lodgings, couldn't earn any, try as I might. I've had one bit of bread to- day, nothing else whatever, and I've earned nothing to- day or j'-esterday; I had threepence the day before. Gets my living by carrying parcels or minding horses, or odd jobs of that sort. You see, I haven't got my health, that's where it is. I used to work for the London Gen- eral Omnibus Company and after that for the Road Car Company, but I had to go to the infirmary with bronchitis, and couldn't get work after that. What's the good of a man what's got bronchitis and just left the infirmary? Who'll engage him, I'd like to know? Besides, it makes me short of breath at times, and I can't do^ much. I'm a widower; wife died long ago. I have one boy abroad, a sailor, but he's only lately started and can't help me. Yes! it's very fair out here of 'r .ft f.'*''! .'V- 't ^>, ', % * •til 4 1 ^'1 u n.^ ^ .4 *# s^" •'jf f ^ fe/ > f'- 5( 1 I f w 4. A'i. t ■¥ > AND THE WAY OUT 88 r ^1 ^ii h> r.v r'i> nights, seats rather hard, but a bit of waste paper makes it a lot softer. We have women sleep here often, and children, too. They're very well conducted, and there's seldom many rows here, you see, because everybody's tired out. We're too sleepy to make a rov/." Another party, a tall, dull, helpless-looking individ- ual, had walked up from the country; would prefer not to mention the place. He had hoped to have obtained a hospital letter at the Mansion House so as to obtain a truss for a bad rupture, but failing, had tried various other places, also in vain, winding up, minus money or food, on the Embankment. In addition to these sleepers, a considerable number walk about the streets up till the early hours of the morn- ing to hunt up. some job which will bring a copper into the empty exchequer, and save them from actual starva- tion. I had some conversation with one such, a stal- wart youth lately discharged from the militia, and un- able to get work. "You see," said he, pitifully, "I don't know my way about like most of the London fellows; I'm so green, and don't know how to pick up jobs like they do. I've been walking the streets almost day and night these two wed and can't get work. I've got the strength, though I shan't have it long at this rate. I only want a job. This is the third night running that I've walked the streets all night; the only money I get is by mind- ing blacking-boys' boxes while they go into Lockhart's for their dinner. I got a penny yesterday at it, and twopence for carrying a parcel, and to-day I've had a penny. Bought a ha'porth of bread and a ha'penny mug of tea." Poor lad! probably he would soon get into thieves* company, and sink into the depths, for there is no othet means of living for many like him; it is starve or steal, even for the young. There are gangs of lad thieves in the low Whitechapel lodging-houses, varying in age from thirteen to fifteen, who live by thieving eatables and other easily obtained goods from shop fronts. In addition to the Embankment, al fresco lodgings are found in the seats outside Spitalfields Church, and many homeless wanderers have their own little nooks and cor- ■■■' 'r\' '' -X • ' , , ■'■.'■ ':. • \ ft! I ^m . \ % : ■im: m HM f.jj !%■«■,■• t M IN DARKEST ENGLAND f I I I '.'I i !■ i li S ' I! ners of resort in many sheltered yards, vans, etc., all over London. Two poor women I observed making their home in a shop door-way in Liverpool Street. Thus they manage in the summer; what it's like in winter-time is terrible to think of. In many cases it means the pau- per's grave, as in the case of a young woman who was wont to sleep in a van in Bedfordbury. Some men who were aware of her practice surprised her by dashing a bucket of water on her. The blow to her weak system caused illness, and the inevitable sequel — a coroner's jury came to the conclusion that the water only hastened her death, which was due, in plain English, to starva- tion. The following are some statements taken down by the same Officer from twelve men whom he found sleeping on the Embankment on the nights of June 13th and 14th, 1890: No. I. "I've slept here two nights; I'm a confec- tioner by trade; I come from Dartford. I got turned off because I'm getting elderly. They can get young men cheaper, and I have the rheumatism so bad. I've earned nothing these two days; I thought I could get a job at Woolwich, so I walked there, but could get noth- ing. I found a bit of bread in the road wrapped up in a bit of newspaper; that did me for yesterday. I had a bit of bread and butter to-day. I'm fifty-four years old. When it's wet we stand about all night under the arches." No. 2. "Been sleeping out three weeks all but one night; do odd jobs, mind horses, and that sort of thing. Earned nothing to-day, or shouldn't be here. Have had a pen'orth of bread to-day; that's all. Yesterday had some pieces given to me at a cook-shop. Two days last week had nothing at all from morning till night. By trade I'm a feather-bed dresser, but it's gone out of fashion, and besides that, I've a cataract in one eye, and have lost the sight of it completely. I'm a widower, have one child, a soldier, at Dover. My last regular work was eight months ago, but the firm broke. Been doing odd jobs since." No. 3. "I'm a tailor; have slept here four nights running. Can't get work. Been out of a job thretf a-iif^' \( xii. "JStlk^-^jid'ii mxHnAvii^ nil Hftr AND THE WAY OUT 85 ':-'^- •;'« -■•V' weeks. If I can muster cash I sleep at a lodging-house in Vere Street, Clare Market. It was very wet last night. I left these seats and went to Covent Garden Market and slept under cover. There were about thirty of us. The police moved us on, but we went back as soon as they had gone. I've had a pen'orth of bread and pen'orth of soup during the last two days — often goes without altogether. There are women sleep out here. They are decent people, mostly charwomen and such like who can't get work." No. 4. Elderly man;, trembles visibly with excite- ment at mention of work; produces a card carefully wrapped in old newspaper, to the effect that Mr. J. R. is a member of the Trade Protection League. He is a waterside laborer; last job at that was a fortnight since. Has earned nothing for five days. Had a bit of bread this morning, but not a scrap since. Had a cup of tea and two slices of bread yesterday, and the same the day before; the deputy at a lodging-house gave it to him. He is fifty years old, and is still damp from sleeping out in the wet last night. No. 5. Sawyer by trade, machinery cut him out. Had a job, haymaking near Uxbridge. Had been on same job lately for a month; got 2s, 6d. a day. (Prob- ably spent it in drink, seems a very doubtful worker.) Has been odd jobbing a long time; earned 2d. to-day, bought a pen'orth of tea and ditto of sugar (produces same from pocket), but can't get any place to make the tea; was hoping to get to a lodging-house where he could borrow a teapot, but had no money. Earned nothing yesterday, slept at a casual ward; very poor place, get insufficient food, considering the labor. Six ounces of bread and a pint of skilly for breakfast, one ounce of cheese and six or seven ounces of bread for dinner (bread cut by guess). Tea same as breakfast, no supper. For this you have to break 10 cwt. of stones, or pick 4 lbs. of oakum. No. 6. Had slept out four nights running. Was a dis- tiller by trade; been out four months; unwilling to enter into details of leaving, but it was his own fault. (Very likely; a heavy, thick, stubborn, and sens^le99- 1;: t * :Y1 n 1 '■^ ■'# If '. it -;*> ^^ «i :,>■)? 'ilr * -1. 4 ^^- t ■ w 'ili^HltiSMI 86 IN JiAKKEST ENGLAND ," V U 'i t- ■f-K ■"'"4^ looking fellow, six feet high, thick neck, strong limbs, evidently destitute of ability.) Does odd jobs; earned 3d. for minding a liorse, bought a cup of coffee and pen'orthof bread and butter. Has no money now. Slept under Waterloo Bridge last night. No. 7. Good-natured looking man; one who would suffer and say nothing; clothes shining with age, grease, and dirt; they hang on his joints as on pegs; awful rags! I saw him endeavoring to walk. He lifted his feet very slowly and put them down carefully in evident pain. His legs are bad; been in infirmary several times with them. His uncle and grandfather were clergymen; both dead now. He was once in a good position in a money office, and afterwards in V e London and County Bank for nine years. Then he went with an auctioneer who broke, and he was left ill, old, and without any trade. "A clerk's place," says he, "is never worth hav- ing, because there are so many of them, and once out you can only get another place with difficulty. I have a brother-in-law on the Stock Exchange, but he won't own me. Look at my clothes! Is it likely?" No. 8. Slept here four nights running. Is a builder's laborer by trade— that is, a handy man. Had a settled job for a few weeks, which expired three weeks since. Has earned nothing for nine days. Then helped wash down a shop front and got 2s. 6d. for it. Does anything he can get. Is 46 years old. Earns about 2d. or 5d. a day at horse-minding. A cup of tea and a bit of bread yesterday, and same to-day, is all he has had. No. 9. A'plumber's laborer. (All these men who are somebody's "laborers" are poor samples of humanity, evidently lacking in grit, and destitute of ability to do any work which would mean decent wages. Judging from appearances, they will do nothing well. They are a kind of automaton, with the machinery rusty; slow, dull, and incapable. The man of ordinary intelligence leaves them in the rear. They could doubtless earn more even at odd jobs, but lack the energy. Of course, this means little food, exposure to weather, and in- creased incapability day by day. "From him that hath not," etc.) Out of work through slackness, does odd w, '■•..V( '■4' m ^• •^tk AND THE WAY OUT n jobs; slept here three nights running. Is a dock laborer when he nin get work. Has 6d. an hour; works so many hours, according as he is wanted. Gets 2s., 3s., or 4s. 6d. a day. Has to work very hard for it. Casual ward life is also very hard, he says, for those who are not used to it, and there is not enough to eat. Has had to-day a pen'orth of bread, for minding a cab. Yesterday he spent 3^d. on a breakfast, and that lasted him all day. Age 25. No. 10. Been out of work a month. Carman by trade. Arm withered, and cannot do work properly. Has slept here all the week; got an awful cold through the wet. Lives at odd jobs (they all do). Got sixpence yesterday for minding a cab and carrying a couple of parcels. Earned nothing to-day, but had one good meal; a lady gave it him. Has been walking about all day looking for work, and is tired out. No. II. Youth, aged 16. Sad case; Londoner. Works at odd jobs and matches selling. Has taken 3d. . ^iy — /. e.f net profit i^d. Has five boxes still. Has slept here every night for a month. Before that slept in Cov- ent Garden Market or on door-steps. Been sleeping out six months, since he left Feltham Industrial School. Was sent there for playing truant. Has had one bit of bread to-day; yesterday had only some gooseberries and cherries — /. e., bad ones that had been thrown away. Mother is alive. She "chucked him out" when he re- turned home on leaving Feltham because he couldn't find her money for drink. No. 12. Old man, age 67. Seems to take rather a humorous view of the position. Kind of Mark Tapley. Says he can't say he does like it, but then he musf like it! Ha, ha! Is a slater by trade. Been out of work some time; younger men naturally get the work. Gets a bit of bricklaying sometimes; can turn his hand to any- thing. Goes miles and gets nothing. Earned one and twopence this week at holding horses. Finds it hard, certainly. Used to care once, and get down-hearted, but that's no good; don't trouble now. Had a bit of bread and butter and cup of coffee to-day. Health is awful bad; not half the size he was; exposure and want of food is the i':i m ,S-' 1 I, ■ il as r IN DARKEST ENGLAND cause; got wet last night, and is very stiff in conie* quence. Has been walking about since it was light, that is 3 A. M. Was so cold and wet and weak, scarcely knew what to do. Walked to Hyde Park, and f,ot a little sleep there on a dry seat as soon as the park opened. These are fairly typical cases of the men who are now wandering homeless through the streets. That is the way in which the nomads of civilization are constantly being recruited from above. Such are the stories gathered at random one Midsum- mer night this year under the shade of the plane trees of the Embankment. A month later, when one of my staff took the census of the sleepers out of doors along the line of the Thames from Blackfriars to Westmin- ster, he found three hundred and sixty-eight persons sleeping in the open air. Of these, two hundred and seventy were on the Embankment proper, and ninety- eight in and about Covent Garden Market, while the recesses of Waterloo and Blackfriars Bridges were lull of human misery. This, be it remembered, was not during a season of bad trade. The revival of business has been attested on all hands, notably by the barometer of strong drink. England is prosperous enough to drink rum in quantities which appall the Chancellor of the Exchequer, but she is not prosperous enough to provide other shelter than the midnight sky for thesepoor outcasts.: a the Embankment. To very many even of those who live in London it may be news that there are so many hundreds who sleep out of doors every night. There are comparatively few people stirring after midnight, and when we are snugly tucked into our own beds we are apt to forget the multi- tude outside in the rain and the storm who are shivering the long hours through on the hard stone seats in the open or under the arches of the railway. These home- I i- ' ■'^HSfTr^mH^ AND THE WAY OUT i" ^k:^^ I-,' ^Jy. less, hungry people are, however, there, but being broken- spirited folk for the most part, they seldom make their voices audible in the cars of their neighbors. Now and again, however, a harsh cry from the depths is heard for a moment, jarring rudely upon the ear, and then all is still. The inarticulate classes speak as seldom as Balaam' s ass. But they sometimes find a voice. Here for. instance is one such case which impressed me much. It was reported in one of the Liverpool papers some time back. The speaker was haranguing a small knot of twenty or thirty men. "My lads," he commenced., with one hand in the breast of his ragged vest and the other, as usual, plucking nervously at his beard, "this kind o' work can't last for- ever." (Deep and earnest exclamations, "It can'tl It sha'n'tl") "Well, boys," continued the speaker, "some- body' 11 have to find a road out o' this. What we want is work, not work' us bounty, though the parish has been busy enough amongst us lately, God knows! What we want is honest work. (Hear, hear.) Now, what I pro- pose is that each of you gets fifty mates to join you;' that'll make about 1,200 starving chaps — " "And then?" asked several very gaunt and hungry-looking men excit- edly. "Why, then," continued the leader. "Why, then,** interrupted a ftidaverous-looking man from the farther and darkest end of the cellar, "of course we'll make a London job of it, eh?" "No, no," hastily interposed my friend, and holding up his hands deprecatingly, "we'll go peaceably about it, chaps; we'll go in a body to the Town Hall, and show our poverty, and ask for work. We'll take the women and children with us too." ("Too ragged! Too starved! They can't walk it!") "The women's rags is no disgrace, the staggerin' children' 11 show what we come to. Let's go a thousand strong, and ask for work and bread! " r;... -..'v. -.]■,,- V-' "v",: ■ ■#'■ •"i::;^ L-rfet-?--.-""*"**'^ , . y..ttxiss^:m 40 IN DARKEST ENQIAND 'il Three years ago, in l.oiulon. there were some siuh pro- C«ssii>ns: Chinch paiailes to the Ahbey and St, l^aurs, bivouacs in Trafalgar Square, etc. Ihit La/.arus showed his rags aial his sores too lonspicnoiusly for tlu* conven- ience of Dives, anil was sunu\uirily dealt with in the name of law anil order. Hut as wc have Lorvl Mayor's Days, when all the well-feil furcLul City V'athers go in State Coaches through the town, \vl»y shotdil we not have a LaxAVUS Day. inwluch the starving Ihit of-\Vorks, and the sweated, haU-starved "In Woiks" ol Londv>n should crawl in their tattered raggnlness, with their gaunt, hungry faces, and enuuiated wives ami diildren. a Pro- cession of Despair through the main thorougldares. past the massive houses auil princely palaces of luxurious Loudon? For these n\e!i are gradually, hut surely, heittg sucked down '"nto the ijuicksand of nuulein lite. Vhcy stretch out tlu ir grimy hauvls to us in vain appeal, not for char- ity, but for work. Work, work! it is always work that they ask. The Divine curse is to them the nu^st Messed of benedic- tions. "In the sweat o{ th.y brow tluui shalt eat thy bread; "hut alas for these forlorn st>!\sof .Xdauj. they fail to find the bread, to eat, for Society has no work for them to do. They have not even leave to swt\U.* As well as discussing how these poor wanderers slundvl in the second Adan\ *'all be nutde alive," ought we not to put forth some effort to effect their restoration to their share xw the heritage of labor which is theirs by right of descent from the Arst Adam? M i .^0 '1 hv Si 4 CHAPTER IV THK OUT-Or-WORKS m^^^ .■ \' I,.* » There is h:\rdly any more pathetic figure than that of the stronj;, aMe worker crying plaintively in tlie midst of our palaces anil churches, not for charity, hut for woik, asking only to be allowed the privilege of perpetual haul labor, that thereby ho may earn wherc^wilth to till his en»j>ty belly nwd silence the cry of his cluUlren for food. Crying for it and not getting it, seeking lor laK^r as lost treasure and finding it not. ui\til at last, all spirit and vigor worn out in the weary ijuest, the once willing worker becomes a broken-down drudge, sodden with wretchedness and despairing of all help in this world or in that which is to come. Our organixation of industry certainly haves n»uch to be desired. A problem which even slave ownets have solved ought not to be abandoned as insoh Me by the Qiristian civilisation of the Nine- teenth Century. \ have already given a few life stories taken dcwn from the lips of those who were found homeless on the Kmbankn\ent which suggest somewhat of the hardships and the misery of the fruitless search for work. But what a volu.ne of ilull, sipialiil horror — a horror of great darkness gradmilly obscuring all the ligV.t of day from the hfeof the siitferer- might be written from the simple, prosaic experiences of the ragged fellows whom you meet everyday in the street. Those men, whose Ul>or is their only capital, are allowed, nay compelled, to waste day after 41 4Hh .{ I 42 IN DARKP:ST ENGLAND day by the want of any means ol vimployment, and then when they have seen days and weeks roll by during which their capital has been wasted by pounds and pounds, they are lectured for not saving the pence. When a rich man cannot employ his capital he puts it out at interest, but the bank for the labor capital of the poor man has yet to be invented. Yet it might be worth while inventing one. A man's labor is not only his capital, but his life. When it passes it returns never more. To utilize it, to prevent its wasteful squandering, to enable the poor man to bank it up for use hereafter, this surely is one of the most urgent tasks before civilization. Of all heart-breaking toil the hunt for work is surely the worst. Yet at any moment let a workman lose his present situation, and he is compelled to begin anew the dreary round of fruitless calls. Here is the story of one among thousands of the nomads, taken down from his own lips, of one who was driven by sheer hunger into crime: A bright Spring morning found me landed from a western colony. Fourteen years had passed since I em- barked from the same spot. They were fourteen years, as far as results were concerned, of non-success, and here I was again in my own land, a stranger, with a new career to carve for myself and the battle of life to fight over again. My first thought was work. Never before had I felt more eager for a down-right good chance to win my way by honest toil; but where was I to find work? With firm determination I started in search. One day passed with- out success, and another, and another, but the thought cheered me, "Better luck to-morrow." It has been said, "Hope springs eternal in the human breast. " In my case it was to be severely tested. Days soon ran into weeks, and still I was on the trail patiently and hopefully. Courtesy and politeness so often met me in my inquiries for employment that I often wished they would kick me out, and so v::ry the monotony of the sickly veneer pf -■-•'■, -a. •^ ■ ■ ■ '*'l A At: % ,'•,1 ' '4tfc'ft *•>?. ^''. m AND THE WAY OUT ^^ consideration that so thinl)' overlaid the indifference and the absolute unconcern they had to my needs. A few cut up rough and said, "No; v/e don' t want you. " "Please don't trouble us again (this after the second visit). We have no vacancy; and if we had, we have plenty of people on hand to fill it." Who can express the feeiing that comes over one when the fact begins to dawn that the search for work is a failure? All my hopes and prospects seemed to have turned out false. Helplessness, I had often heard of it, had often talked about it, thought I knew all about it. Yes! in others, but now I be*^'an to understand it for myself. Gradually my personal appearance faded. My once faultless linen became unkempt and unclean. Down further and further went the heels of my shoes, and I drifted into that distressing condition, "shabby gentility." If the odds were against me before, how much more so now, seeing that I was too shabby even to command attention, much less a reply to my inquiry for work. Hunger now began to do its work, and I drifted to the dock gates, but what chance had I among the hungry giants there? And so down the stream I drifted until "Grim Want" brought me to the last shilling, the last lodging, and the last meal. What shall I do? Where shall I go? I tried to think. Must I starve? Surely there must be some door still open for honest, willing en- deavor, but where? What can I do? "Drink," said the Tempter; but to drink to drunkenness needs cash, and oblivion by liquor demands an equivalent in the cur- rency. Starve or steal. "You must do one or the other," sa'd the Tempter. But I recoiled from being a Thief. "Why be so particular?" says the Tempter again. "You are down now, who will trouble about you? Why trouble about yourself? The choice is between starving and stealing." And I struggled until hunger stole my judg- ment, and then I became a Thief. v No one can pretend that it was an idle fear of death by starvation which drove this poor fellow to steal. Deaths from actual hunger are more common than is I ^i •*., \'\ H 44 IN DARKEST ENGLAND , generally supposed. Last year, a man, whose name was never known, was walking through St. James's Park, when three of our Shelter men saw him suddenly stumble and fall. They thought he was drunk, but found he had yfainted. They carried him to the bridge and gave him to the police. They took him to St. George's Hospital, where he died. It appeared that he had, according to his own tale, walked up from Liverpool, and had been without food for five days. The doctor, however, said he had gone longer than that. The jury returned a ver- dict of "Death from Starvation." Without food for five days or longer! Who that has experienced the sinking sensation that is felt when even a single meal has been sacrificed may form some idea of what kind of slow torture killed that man! In 1888 the average daily number of unemployed in London was estimated by the Mansion House Committee at 20,000. This vast reservoir of unemployed labor is the bane of all efforts to raise the scale of living, to improve the condition of labor. Men hungering to death for lack of opportunity to earn a crust are the materials from v/hich "blacklegs" are made, by whose aid the laborer is constantly defeated in his attempts to improve his con- dition. This is the problem that underlies all questions of Trades Unionism, and all Schemes for the Improvement of the Condition of the Industrial Army. To rear any stable edifice that will not perish when the first storm rises and the first hurricane blows, it must be built not upon sand, but upon a rock. And the worst of all exist- ing Schemes for social betterment by organization of the skilled workers and the like is that they are founded, not upon "rock," nor even upon "sand," but upon the bottomless bog of the stratum of the Workless. It is here where we must begin. The regimentation of indds- ■m AND THE WAY OUT 45 ^ • :i ,<*; ■"VS trial workers who have got regular work is not so very difficult. That can be done, and is being done, by them- selves. The problem that we have to face is the regi- mentation, the organization, of those who have not got work, or who have only irregular work, and who from sheer pressure of absolute starvation are driven irresist- ibly into cut throat competition with their better employed* brothers and sisters. Skin for skin, all that a man hath, will he give for his life; much more, then, will those who experimentally know not God give all that they might hope hereafter to have — in this world or in the world to come. . « There is no gainsaying the immensity of the prob- lem. It is appalling enough to make us despair. But those who do not put their trust in man alone, but in One who is Almighty, have no right to despair. To de- spair is to lose faith ; to despair is to forget God. With- out God we can do nothing in this frightful chaos of human misery. But with God we can do all things, and in the faith that He has made in His image all the children of men, we face even this hideous wreckage of humanity with a cheerful confidence that if we are but faithful to our own high calling He will not fail to open up a way of deliverance. I have nothing to say against those who are endeavor- ing to open up a way of escape without any conscious- ness of God's help. For them I feel only sympathy and compassion. In so far as they are endeavoring to give bread to the hungry, clothing to the naked, and above all, work to the workless, they are to that extent endeavoring to do the will of our Father which is in Heaven, and woe be unto all those who say them nayl But to be orphaned of all sense of the Fatherhood of God is surely not a secret source of strength. It is in most cases — it would be in my own — the secret of paralysis. ■ .'V '^:i 1 A i i ■ ■l- h- f- ^ '^i 40 IN DARKEST ENGLAND ■ 'i? ■' 1. . , .1 ! ' 1.- i' IH " ■ 4 i M if ^ll If I did not feel my Father's hand in the darkness, and hear His voice in the silence of the night watches bid- ding me put my hand to this thing, I would shrink back dismayed; but as it is I dare not. How many are there who have made similar attempts and have failed, and we have heard of them no more! Yet none of them proposed to deal with more than the mere fringe of the evil which, God helping me, I will try to face in all its immensity. Most Schemes that are put forward for the Improvement of the Circumstances of the People are either avowedly or actually limited to those whose condition least needs amelioration. The Uto- ' plans, the economists, and most of the philanthropists propound remedies, which, if adopted tD-morrow, would only affect the aristocracy of the miserable. It is the thrifty, the industrious, the sober, the thoughtful who can take advantage of these plans. But the thrifty, the industrious, the sober, and the thoughtful are already very well able for the most part to take care of them- selves. No one will ever make even a visible dint on the morass of Squalor who does not deal with the im- provident, the lazy, the vicious, and the criminal. The Scheme of Social Salvation is not worth dircus ion which is not as wide as the Scheme of Eternal Salvation set forth in the Gospel. The Glad Tidings must be to every creature, not merely to an elect few who are to be saved while the mass of their fellows are predestined to a temporal damnation. We have had this doctrine of an inhuman cast-iron pseudo-political economy too long enthroned amongst us. It is now time to fling down the false idol, and proclaim a Temporal Salvation as full, free, and universal, and with no other limitations than the "Whosoever will" of the Gospel. To attempt to save the Lost, we must accept no lim- itations to hum^a brotherhood. If the Scheme which I .}m fi'^ m. ■,Vj, '■".W :;^' % J.s >,:K?;>; Ol^l'-fj-vi AND THE WA\ OWT 47 W^: MM-'' tr' set forth in these and the following pages is not appli- cable to the Thief, the Harlot, the Drunkard, and the Sluggard, it may as well be dismissed without cere- mony. As Christ came to call not the saints but sin- ners to repentance, so the New Message of Temporal Salvation, of salvation from pinching poverty, from rags and misery, must be offered to all. They may reject it, of course. But we who call ourselves by the name of Christ are not worthy to profess to be His disciples un- til we have set an open door before the least and worst of these who are now apparently imprisoned for life in a horrible dungeon of misery and despair. The respon- sibility for its rejection must be theirs, not ours. We all know the prayer, "Give me neither poverty nor riches, feed me with food convenient for me;" and for every child of man on this planet, thank God, the prayer of Agur, the son of Jakeh, may be fulfilled. At present how far it is from being realized may be seen by anyone who will take the trouble to go down to the docks and see the struggle for work. Here is a sketch of what was found there this Summer: London Docks, 7.25 a. m. The three pairs of huge wooden doors are closed. Leaning against them, and standing about, there are perhaps a couple of hundred men. The public house opposite is full, doing a heavy trade. All along the road are groups of men, nnd from each direction a steady stream increases the crowd at the gate. 7.30. Doors open; there is a general rush to the in- terior. Everybody marches about a hundred yards along to the iron barrier — a temporary chain affair, guarded by the dock police. Those men who have previously (/. e., night before) been engaged, show their ticket and pass through — about six hundred. The rest — some five hun- dred — stand behind ihe barrier, patrently waiting the chance of a job, but /ess than twenty oi these get engaged. They are taken on by a foreman who appears next the f; :/U 48 tN DARKEST ENGLAND i !'• ''••> barrier and proceeds to pick his men. No sooner is the foreman seen than there is a wild rush to the spot and a sharp, mad fight to "catch his eye." The nszn picked out pass the barrier, and the excitement dies awav until another lot of men is wanted. They wait until eight o'clock strikes, which is the sig- nal to withdraw. The barrier is taken down, and all those hundreds of men wearily disperse to "find a job." Five hundred applicants; twenty acceptancies! No wonder one tired-out looking individual ejaculates, "Oh dear. Oh dear! Whatever shall I do?" A few hang about until mid-day on the slender chance of getting taken on then for half a day. Ask the men and they will tell you something like the following story, which gives the simple experiences of a dock laborer: R. P. said: "I was in regular work at the South West India Docks before the strike. We got 5d. an hour. Start work 8 a. m. summer and 9 a. m. winter. Often there would be five hundred go, and only twenty get taken on (that is, besides those engaged the night pre- vious). The foreman stood in his box, and called out the men he wanted. He would know quite five hundred by name. It was a regular fight to get work. I have known nine hundred '0 betaken on, but there's always hundreds turned away. You see they get to know when ships come in, and when they're consequently likely to be wanted, and turn up then in greater numbers. I would earn 30s. a week sometimes, and then perhaps nothing for a fortnight. That's what makes it so hard. You get nothing to eat for a week scarcely, and then when you get taken on, you are so weak that you can't do it properly. I've stood in the crowd at the gate and had to go away without work, hundreds of times Still I should go at it again if I could. I got tired of the little work, and went away into the country to get work on a farm, but couldn't get it, so I'm without the los. that it costs to join the Dockers' Union. I'm going to the country again in a day or two to try again. Expect to get 3s. a day perhaps. Shall come back to the docks again. There is a chance of get- ting regular dock work, and that is, to lounge about the tl m '..•?f :!?V' f-%' ■^ 1 i!,1 1 ■«! ( .T<^ 'O;. /, ''*i 1 "K ^7 / M •ji -iW ^ .i'W iv-f ^.\ AND THE WAY OUT # pubs, where the foremen go, and treat them. Thca they will very likely take you on next day." R. P. was a non-Unionist. Henry F. is a Unionist. His history is much the same: "I worked at St. Katherine's Docks five months ago. You have to get to the gates at 6 o'clock for the first call. There's generally about 400 waiting. They will take on one to two hundred. Then at 7 o'clock there's a second call. Another 400 will have gathered by then, and another hundred or so will be taken on. Also there will probably be calls at nine and one o'clock. About the same number turn up, but there's no work for many hundreds of them. I was a Union man. That means los. a week sick pay, or 8s. a week for slight accidents; also some other advantages. The docks won't take men on now unless they are Unionists. The point is that there's too many men. I would often be out of work a fortnight to three weeks at a time. Once earned j(^^ in a week, working day and night, but then had a fortnight out directly after. Especially when there don't happen to be any ships in for a few days, which means, of course, nothing to unload — that's the time; there's >lentyof men almost starving then. They have no trade to go to, or can get no work at it, and they swoop down to the docks for work, when they had much better stay away." But it is not only at the dock-gates that you come upon these unfortunates who spend their lives in the vain hunt for work. Hete is the story of another man whose case has only too many purallclst C. is a fine built man, standing nearly six feet. He has been in the Royal Artillery for eight years and held very good situations whilst in it. It seems that he was thrifty and consequently steady. He bought his discharge, and being an excellent cook opened a refreshment house, but at the end of five months he was compelled to close his shop on account of slackness in trade, which was brought about by tne closing of a large factory in the locality. After having worked in Scotland and Newcastle-on-Tyne - 1 ■A Ei^r-^ M' is I 1^ 10 IN DARKEST ENGLAND f^ 1 I P, m for a few years, and through ill health having to give up his situation, he came to London with the hope that he might get something to do in his native town. He has had no regular employment for the past eight months. His wife and family are in a state of destitution, and he remarked, "We only had i lb. of bread between us yes- terday." He is six weeks in arrears of rent, and is afraid that he will be ejected. The furniture which is in his home is not worth 3s., and the clothes of each member of his family are in a tattered state and hardly fit for the rag bag. He assured us he had tried everywhere to get em- ployment and would be willing to take anything. His characters are very good indeed. Now, it may seem a preposterous dream that any ar- rangement can be devised by which it may be possible, under all circumstances, to provide food, clothes, and shelter for all these Out-of-Works without any loss of self-respect; but I am convinced that it can be done, providing only that they are willing to Work, and, God helping me, if the means are forthcoming, I mean to try to do it; how, and where, and when, I will explain in subsequent chapters. All that I need say here is, that so long as a man or woman is willing to submit to the discipline indispensa- ble in every campaip^n against any formidable foe, there appears to me nothing impossible about this ideal ; and the great element of hope before us is that the majority are, beyond all gainsaying, eager for work. Most of them now do more exhausting work in seeking for employment than the regular toilers do in their workshops, and do it, too, under the darkness of hope deferred which maketh the heart sick. ,» . ' :t.\ gri '.1. I •v- CHAPTER V ON THE VERGE OF THE ABYSS There is, unfortunately, no need for me to attempt to set out, however imperfectly, any statement of the evil case of the sufferers whom we wish to help. For years past the Press has been filled with echoes of the "Bitter Cry of Outcast London," with pictures of "Horrible Glas- gow," and the like. We have had several volumes de- scribing "How the ^oor Live," and I may therefore as- sume that all my readers are more or less cognizant of the main outlines of "Darkest England." My slum officers are living in the midst of it; their reports are before me, and one day I may publish some more detailed ac- count of the actual facts of the social condition of the Sunken Millions. But not now. All that must be taken as read. I only glance at the subject in order to bring into clear relief the salient points of our new enterprise. I have spoken A the houseless poor. Each of these represents a point in the scale of human suffering below that of those who have still contrived to keep a shelter over their heads. A home is a home, be it ever so low; and the desperate tenacity with which the poor will cling to the last wretched semblance of one is very touching. There are vile dens, fever-haunted and stench- ful crowded courts, where the return of summer is dreaded because it means the unloosing of myriads of vermin wkich rmder night unbearable, which, nevertheless, are fegarde«l at this moment as havens of rest by their hard- 51 ,1- '\,.t,^ '^^'^w*^'' I , (I m ' IN DARKEST ENGLAND working occupants. They can scarcely be said to be furnished. A chair, a mattress, and a few miserable sticks constitute all the furniture of the single room in which they have to sleep, and breed, and die; but they cling to it as a drowning man to a half -submerged raft. Every week they contrive by pinching and scheming to raise the rent, for with them it is pay or go; and they struggle .to meet the collector as the sailor nerves him- self to avoid being sucked under by the foaming wave. If at any time work fails or sickness comes they are lia- ble to drop helplessly into the ranks of the homeless. It is bad for a single man to have to confront the struggle for life in the streets and Casual Wards. But how much more terrible must it be for the married man with his wife and children to be turned out into the streets. So long as the family has a lair into which it can creep at night, he keeps his footing; but when he loses that soli- tary footnold, then arrives the time, if there be such a thing as Christian compassion, for the helping hand to be held out to save him from the vortex that sucks him downward — aye, downward to the hopeless under-strata of crime and despair. The heart knoweth its own bitterness, and the stranger intermeddleth not therewith." But now and then out of the depths there sounds a bitter wail as of some strong swimmer in his agony as he is drawn under by the cur- rent. A short time ago a respectable man, a chemist in Holloway, fifty years of age, driven hard to the wall, tried to end it all by cutting his throat. His wife also cut her throat, and at the same time they gave strychnine to their only child. The effort failed, and they were placed on trial for attempted murder. In the Court a letter was read which the poor wretch had written be- fore atte»ptiag kis life: My Dearest George: Twelve mentbs have I now '4 M ■J ■V AND THE WAY OUT > •', V passed of a most miserable and struggling existence, and I really cannot stand it any more. I am completely worn out, and relations who could assist me won't do any more, for such was uncle's last intimation. Never mind; he can't take his money and comfort with him, and in all probability will find himself in the same boat as my- self. He never inquires whether I am starving or not; jQl — a mere flea-bite to him — would have put us straight, and with his security and good interest might have obtained me a good situation long ago. I can face pov- erty and degradation no longer, and vvould sooner die than go to the workhouse, whatever may be the awful consequences of the steps we have taken. We have, God forgive us, taken our darling Arty with us out of pure love and affection, so that the darling should never be cuffed about, or reminded or taunted with his heart- broken parents' crime. My poor wife has done her best at needle-work, washing, house-minding, etc., in fact, anything and everything that would bring in a shilling; but it would only keep us in semi-starvation. I have now done six weel ' traveling from morning till niglf't, and not received one farthing for it. If that is rot enough to drive you mad — wickedly mad — I don't know what is. No bright prospect anywhere; no ray of hope. May God Almighty forgive us for this heinous sin, and have mercy on our sinful souls, is the prayer of your miserable, broken-hearted, but loving brother, Arthur. We have now done everything that we can possibly think of to avert this wicked proceeding, but can discover no ray of hope. Fervent prayer has availed us nothing; our lot is cast, and we must abide by it. It must be God's will or He would have ordained it differently. Dearest George, I am exceedingly Gorry to leave you all, but I am mad — thoroughly mad. You, dear, must try and forget us, and, if possible, forgive us; for I do not consider it our own fault we have not succeeded. If you could get ^^3 for our bed it will pay our rent, and our scanty furniture may fetch enough to bury us in a cheap way. Don't grieve over us or follow us, for we shall not be worthy of such respect. Our clergyman has never called on us or given us the least consolatioin, though I :iilled on him a month ago. He is paid to *.^. I 1 ii IM ■^ ■^ H IN DARKEST ENGLAND '( : ; I if •I preach, and there he considers his responsibility ends, the rich excepted. W« have only yourself and a very few others who care one pin what becomes of us; but you must try and forgive us, is the last fervent prayer of your devotedly fond and affectionate but broken-hearted and persecuted brother. (Signed) R. A. O . That is an authentic human document — a tianccript from the life of one among tiiousands who go down inar- ticulnle into tiie depths. They die and make no sign, or, worse still, they continue to exist, carrying about with them, year after year, the bitter ashes of a life from which the furnace of misfortune has burned away all joy, and hope, and strength. Who is there who has not been confronted by many despairing ones, who come, as Rich- ard O went to the clergyman, crying for help, and how seldom have we been able to give it them? It is unjust, no doubt, for them to blame the clergy and the comfortable well-to-do — for what can they do but preach and offer good advice? To assist all the Richard O s by direct financial advance would drag even Rothschild into the gutter. And what eLe can be done? Yet some- thing else must be done if Christianity is not to be a mockery to perishing men. Here is another case, a very common case, which illus- trr^^es how the Army of Despair is recruited: Mr. T — , Margaret Place, Gascoign Place, Bethnal Gr^icn, is a bootmaker by trade. Is a good hand, and has earned tliree shillings and sixpence to four shillings and sixpence a day. He was taken ill last Christmas, and went to the London Hospital; was there three months. A week afler he had gone Mrs. T — had rheu- matic fever, and was taken to Bethnal Green Infirmary, where she remained about three months. Directly after they had been taken ill, their furniture was seized for the three weeks' rent v/hich was owing. C jusequently, on becoiT»;ug convalescent, ihey were homeless. They cam* out about the same time. He went out to a lodg* ■T^V - .r> / '^ \' •■^f AND TIIE WAY OUT ing-house for a night or two, until she came out. He then had twopence, and she had sixpence, which a nurse had given her. They went to a lodging-house together, but the suciety there was dreadful. Next day he had a day's work, and got two shillings and sixpence, and on the strength of this they took a furnished room at ten- pence per day (payable nightly). His v;ork lasted a few weeks, when he was again taken ill, lost his job, and spent all their money. Pawned a shirt and apron for a shilling; spent that, too. At last pawned their tools for three shillings, which got them a few days' food and lodging. He is now mintis tools and cannot work at his own job, and does anything he can. Spent their last twopence on a pen'orth each of tea and sugar. In two days they had a slice of bread and butter each; that's all. They are both very weak through want of food. "Let things alone," the laws of supply and demand, and all the rest of the excuses by which those who stand on firm ground salve their consciences when they leave their brother to sink, how do they look when we apply them to the actual lossof life at sea? Does "Let things alone" man the lifeboat? Will the incxoraole laws of political economy save the shipwrecked sailor from the boiling surf? They < '^ten enough are responsible for his disaster. CofVm ships are a direct result of the wretched policy of non-interference with the legitimate operations of commerce; but no desire to make it pay created the National Lifeboat Institution ; no law of supply and de- mand actuates the volunteers who risk their lives to bring the shipwrecked to shore. What WG have to do is to apply the same principle to society. We 'vant a Social Lifeboat Institution, a Social Lifeboat Brigade, to snatch from the abyss those who, if left to themselves, will perish as miserably as the crew of a ship that founders io iaid-«ceAii. The J3«ment that we take in hand this work r7« shall ■I i^ N ' f ^■W- M IN DARKEST ENGLAND f be compelled to turn our attention seriously to the question whether prevention is not better than cure. It is easier and cheaper, and in every way better, to pre- vent the loss of hon?e than to have to re-create that home. It is better to keep a man out of the mire than to let him fall in first and then risk the chance of plucking him uot. Any Scheme, therefore, that attempts to deal with the reclamation of the lost must tend to develop into an endless variety of ameliorative measures, of some of which I shall have somewhat to say hereafter. I only mention the subject here in order that no one may say I am blind to the necessity of going further and adopt- ing wider plans of operation than those which I put for- ward in this book. The renovation of our Social System is a work so vast that no one of us, nor all of us put to- gether, can define all the measures that will have to be taken before we attain even the Cab-Horse Ideal of exist- ence for our children and children's children. All that we can do is to attack, in a serious, practical spirit, the worst and most pressing evils, knowing that if we do our duty we obey the voice of God. He is the Captain of our Salvation. If we but follow where He leads we shall not want for marching orders, nor need we imagine that He will narrow the field of operations. I am laboring under no delusions as to the possibility Ci inaugurating the Milleilnium by any social specific. In the struggle of life the weakest will go to the wall, and there are so many weak. The fittest in tooth and claw will survive. All that we can do is to soften the lot of the unfit and make their suffering less horrible than it is at present. No amount of assistance will give a jelly-fish a backbone. No outside propping will make some men stand erect. All material help from without is useful only in so far as it develops moral strength .within. And some men $eem t9 have lost even the very ■w I I ■^wm- AND THE WAY OUT 97 I-,*.' '*■• '4- faculty of self-help. There is an immense lack of com- mon sense aiid of vital energy on the part of multitudes. It is against Stupidity in every shape and form that "ve have to wage our eternal battle. But how can we wonder at the want of sense on the part of those who have had no advantages, when we see such plentiful absence of that commodity on the part of those who have had all the advantages? How can we marvel if, after leaving generation after generation to grow up uneducated and underfed, there should be developed a heredity of incapacity, and that thousands of dull-witted people should be born into the world, disinherited before their birth of their share in the average intelligence of mankind? Besides those who are thus hereditarily wanting in the qualities necessary to enable them to hold their own, there are the weak, the disabled, the aged, and the un- skilled; worse than all, there is the want of character. Those who have the best of reputation, if they lose their foothold on the ladder, find it difficult enough to regain their place. What, then, can men and women who have no character do? When a master has the choice of a hundred honest me i, is it reasonable to expect that he will select a poor fellow with tarnished reputa- tion? All this is true, and it is one of the things that makes the problem almost insoluble. And insoluble it is, I am absolutely convinced, unless it is possible to bring new moral life into the soul of these people. This should be the first object of every social reformer, whose work will only last if it is built on the solid foundation of a new birth to cry, "You must be born again." To get a man soundly saved it is not enough to put on him a pair of new br««ch«s, t« give him regular work, or even to give him a University education. These things 4 58 IN DARKEST ENGLAND ■f are all outside a man, and if the inside remains un- changed you have wasted your labor. You must in some way or other graft upon the man's nature a new nature which has in it the element of the divine. All that I propose in this book is governed by that principle. The difference between the method which seeks to re- generate the man by ameliorating his circumstances and that which ameliorates his circumstances in order to get at the regeneration of his heart, is the difference be- tween the method of the gardener who grafts a Ribstone Pippin on a crab-apple tree and one who merely ties apples with string upon the branches of the crab. To change the nature of the individual, to get at the heart, to save his soul, is the only real, lasting method of doing him any good. In many modern schemes of social re- generation it is forgotten that "it takes a soul to move a body, e'en to a cleaner sty; " and at the risk of being misunderstood and misrepresented, I must assert in the most unqualified way that it is primarily and mainly for the sake of saving the soul that I seek the salvation of the body. But what is the use of preaching the Gospel to men whose whole attention is concentrated upon a mad, des- perate struggle to keep themselves alive? You might as well give a tract to a shipwrecked sailor who is battling with the surf which has drowned his comrades and threatens to drown him. He will not listen to you. Nay, he cannot hear you any more than a man whose head is under water can listen to a sermon. The first thing to do is to get him at least a footing on firm ground, and to give him room to live. Then you may have a chance. At present you have none. And you will have all the better opportunity to find a way f his heart, if he cemes t« know that it was you who pulled h'm out of the horrible pit and the miry clay in which he was sinking to perditir ' ■^ M :^' "•.■>• m ■M % ■■■V-. %. kJ'i- '*:*;'/ ■ .*> 4 i. - ■ 'r : CHAPTER VI THE VICIOUS n^ ^ There are many vices and seven deadly sins. But of late years many of the seven have contrived to pass themselves off as virtues. Avarice, for instance, and Pride, when re-baptized thrift and self-respect, have be- come the guardian angels of Christian civilization; and as for Envy, it is the corner-stone upon which much of our competitive system is founded. There are still two vices which are fortunate, or unfortunate, enough to re- main undisguised, not even concealing from themselves the fact that they are vices and not virtues. One is drunkenness; the other fornication. The viciousness of these vices is so little disguised, even from those who habitually practice them, that there will be a protest against merely describing one of them by the right Bj..)- lical name. Why not say prostitution? For this rea- son: prostitution is a word applied to only one half of the vice, and that the most pitiable. Fornication hits both sinners alike. Prostitution applies only to the woman. When, however, we cease to regard this vice from the point of view of morality and religion, and look at it solely as a factor in the social problem, the word pros- titution is less objectionable. For the social burden of this vice is borne almost entirely by women. The male sinner does not, by the mere fact of his sin, find himself in a worse position in obtaining employment, in finding 69^ J! \i m 60 IN DALKEST ENGLAND {; r ■i. ■' a home, or even in securing a wife. His wrong-doing only hits him in his purse, or, perhaps, in his health. His incontinence, excepting so far as it relates to the wom- an whose degradation it necessitates, does not add to the number of those for whom society has to provide. It is an immense addition to the infamy of this vice in man that its consequences have to be borne almost ex- clusively by women. The difficulty of dealing with drunkards and harlots is almost insurmountable. Were it not that I utterly re- pudiate as a fundamental denial of the essential princi- ple of the Christian religion the popular pseudo-scien- tific doctrine that any man or woman is past saving by the grace of God and the power of the Holy Spirit, I would sometimes be disposed to despair when contem- plating these victims of the Devil. The doctrine of Heredity and the suggestion of Irresponsibility come per- ilously near re-establishing, on scientific bases, the awful dogma of Reprobation which has cast so terrible a shadow over the Christian Church- For thousands upon thousands of these poor wretches are, as Bishop South truly said, "not so much born into this world as damned into it." The bastard [of a harlot, born in a brothel, suckled on gin, and familiar from earliest infancy with all the bestialities of debauch, violated before she is twelve, and driven out into the streets by her mother a year or two later, what chance is there for such a girl in this world — I say nothing about the next? Yet such a case is not exceptional. There are many such, differing in detail, but in essentials the same. And with boys it is almost as bad. There are thousands who were begotten when both parents were besotted with drink, whose mothers saturated themselves with alcohol every day of their pregnancy, who may be said to have sucked in a taste for strong drink with their mother' s milk, and who f ■ '"If .1 fil '-"^^W^ AjmiHtWAYOUt 'X,-:-. n Si' were surrounded from childhood with opportunities and incitements to drink. How can we marvel that the constitution thus disposed to intemperance finds the stimulus of drink indippensable? Even if they make a stand against it, the increasing pressure of exhaustion and of scanty food drives them back to the cup. Of these poor wretches, born slaves of the bottle, predes- tine<^ to drunkenness from their mother's womb, there are — who can say how many? Yet they are all men; all with what the Russian peasants call "a spark of God" in them, which can never be wholly obscured and destroyed while life exists, and if any social scheme is to be com- prehensive and practical it must deal with these men. It must provide for the drunkard and the harlot es it provides for the improvident and the out-of-work. But who is sufficient for these things? I will take the question of the drunkard, for the drink difficulty lies at the root of everything. Nine-tenths of our poverty, squalor, vice, and crime spring from this poisonous tap-root. Many of our social evils, which overshadow the land like so many upas trees, would dwindle away and die if they were not constantly watered with strong drink. There is universal agreement on that poiat; in fact, the agreement as to the evils of in- tern peravce is almost as universal as the conviction that pol'ticiais will do nothing practical to interfere with them. In .'reland, Mr. Justice Fitzgerald says that intemperance leads to nineteen-twentieths of the crime in that coun- try, but no one proposes a Coercion Act to deal with that evil. In England, the judges all say the same thing. Of course it is a mistake to assume that a murder, for instance, would never be committed by sober men, be- cause murderers in most cases prime themselves for their deadly work by a glass of Dutch courage. But the facil- ity of securing a reinforcement of passion undoubtedly . Vi 1: i IN DAKKEST ENGLAND \i Mr »:•' S!f/. ■W «::«; ^as.: tends to render always daiigerous, and sometimes irre- sisti|:>le, the temptation to violate the laws of God and man. Mere lectures against the evil habits are, howevei. of no avail. We have to recognize that the gin-palace, like many other evils, although a poisonous, is still a natural outgrowth of our social conditions. The tap- room in many cases is the poor man's only parlor. fA&ny a man takes to beer, not from the love of beer, but from a natural craving for the light, warmth, company, and comfort which is thrown in along with the beer, and which he cannot get excepting by buying beer. Reform- ers will never get rid of the drink-shop until they can outbid it in the subsidiary attractions which it ofiers to its customers. Then, again, let us never forget that the temptation to drink is strongest when want is sharpest and misery the most acute. A well-fed man is not driven to drink by the craving that torments the hungry; and the comfortable do not crave for the boon of foit,etfulness. Gin is the only Lethe of the miser- able. The foul and poisoned air of the dens in which thousands live predisposes to a longing for stimulant. Fresh air, with its oxygen and its ozone, being lacking, a man supplies the want with spirit. After a time the longing for drink becomes a mania. Life seems as in- supportable without alcohol as without food. It is a disease often inherited, always developed by indulgence, but as clearly a disease as ophthalmia or stone. All this should predispose us to charity and svTnpa- thy. While recognizing that the primary responsibility must always rest upon the individual, we may fairly in- sist that society, which, by its habits, its customs, and Us laws, has greased the slope down which these poor creatures slide to perdition, shall seriously take in hand heir salvation. ,^. i '■*;■ .;i^! ■ 'Mi „,* '"'"^'^j^wwiiippp' •m is./ m 'i;^. .■|; AND THE WAY OUT How many are there who are more or less under the dominion of strong drink? Statistics abound, but they seldom tell us what we want to know. We know how many public-houses there are in the land, and how many arrests for drunkenness the police make in a year; but beyond that we know little. Everyone knows that for one man who is arrested for drunkenness there are at least ten — and often twenty — who go home intoxicated. In London, for instance, there are 14,000 drink-shops, and every year 20,000 persons ar^e arrested for drunken- ness. But who can for a moment believe that there arc only 20,000, more or less, habitual drunkards in London? By habitual drunkard I do not mean one who is always drunk, but one who is so much under the dominion of the evil habit that he cannot be depended upon not to get drunk whenever the opportunity offers. In the United Kingdom there are 190,000 public- houses, and every year there are 200,000 arrests for drunkenness. Of course, several of these arrests ref^r to the same person, who is locked up again and again. Were this not so, if we allowed six drunkards to each house as an average, or five habitual drunkards for one arrested for drunkenness, we should arrive at a total of a million adults who are more or less prisoners of the publican — as a matter of fact, Isaac Hoyle gives i in 12 of the adult population. This may be an excessive estimate, but, if we take a quarter of a million, we shall not be accned of exaggeration. Of these some are in the last stages of con~rmed dipsomania; others are but over the verg.; but the procession tends ever downwards. The loss whicn the maintenance of this huge standing army of a half of a million of men who are more or less always besotted, men whose intemperance impairs their working power, consumes their earnings, and renders their homes wretched, has long been a familiar theme oi l-t M'i 64 IN DARKEST ENGLAND I' i 1, :•« If ^1 ^9i ...4. . • ;i'i' the platform. But what can be done for them? Total abstinence is no doubt admirable, but how are you to get them to be totally abstinent? When a man is drown- ing in mid-ocean the one thing that is needful, no doubt, is that he should plant his feet firmly on terra firma. But how is he to get there? It is just what he cannot do. And so it is with the drunkards. If they are to be rescued there must be something more done for them than at present is attempted, unless, of course, we de- cide definitely to allow the iron laws of nature to work themselves out in their destruction. In that case it might be more merciful to facilitate the slow work- ings of natural law. There is no need of establishing a lethal chamber for drunkards like that into which the lost dogs of London are driven, to die in peaceful sleep under the influence of carbonic oxide. The State would only need to go a little further than it goes at present in the way of supplying poison to the community. If, in addition to planting a flaming gin-palace at each corner, free to all who enter, it were to supply free gin to all who have attained a certain recognized standard of inebriety, delirium tremens would soon reduce our drunken population to manageable proportions. I can imagine a cynical millionaire of the scientific philan- thropic school making a clearance of all the drunkards in a district by the simple expedient of an unlimited allowance of alcohol. But that for us is out of the question. The problem of what to do with our quarter of a million drunkards remains to be solved, and few more difficult questions confront the social reformer. The question of the harlots is, however, quite as in- soluble by the ordinary methods. For these unfortu- nates no one who looks below the surface can fail to have the deepest sympathy. Some there are, no doubt, perhaps many, who — whether from inherited passion or . T^ . •r } • «(:• i « r' AND THE WAY ©UT ^b;.:.. ^• w from cv!l education — have deliberately embarked upon a life of vice, but with the majority it is not so. Even those who deliberately and of free choice adopt the pro- fession of a prostitute, do so under the stress of tempta- tions which few moralists seem to realize. Terrible as the fact is, there is no doubt it is a fact that there is no industrial career in which for a short time a beauti- ful girl can make as much money with as little trouble as the profession of a courtt san. The case recently tried at the Lewes assizes, in which the wife of an officer in the army admitted that while livmg as a kept mistress she had received as much as ;^4,ooo a year, was no doubt very exceptional. Even the most successful advent' uresses seldom make the income of a Cabinet Minister. But take women in professions and in businesses all round, and the number of young women who haye received ^^500 in one year for the sale of their person is larger than the number of women of all ages who make a similar sum by honest industry. It is only the very few who draw these gilded prizes, and they only do it for a very short time. But it is the few prizes in every profession which allure the multitude, who think little of the many blanks. And speaking broadly, vice offers to every good-looking girl during the first bloom of her youth and beauty more money than she can earn by labor in any field of industry open to her sex. The penalty exacted afterwards is disease, degradation, and death, but these things at first are hidden from her sight. The profession of a prostitute is the only career in which the maximum income is paid to the newest apprentice. It is the one calling in which at the begin- ning the only exertion is that of self-indulgnce; all the prizes are at the commencement. It is the ever new em- bodiment of the old fable of the sale of the soul to the Devil. The tempter offers wealth, comfort, excitement, 1 1^ i y^ I i in (' M 60 IN DARKEST ENGLAND N i I ;. k i V^ but in return the victim must sell her soul, nor does the other party forget to exact his due to the uttermost far- thing. Human nature, however, is short-sighted. Giddy girls, chafing against the restraints of uncongenial indus- try, see the glittering bait continually before them. They are told that if they will but "do as others do," they will make more in a night, if they are lucky, than they can make in a week at their sewing; and who can wonder that in many cases the irrevocable step is taken before they realize that it is irrevocable, and that they have bartered away the future of their lives for the pal- try chance of a year's ill-gotten gains? Of the severity of the punishment there can be no question. IT the premium is high at the beginning, the penalty is terrible at the close. And this penalty is exacted equally from those who have deliberately said, "Evil, be thou my God," and from those who have been decoyed, snared, trapped into the life which is a living death. When you see a girl on the street you can never say without inquiry whether she is one of the most-to- be condemned or the most -to-be pitied of her sex. Many of them find themselves where they art because of a too trusting disposition, confidence born of innocence being often the unsuspecting ally of the procuress and seducer. Others are as much the innocent victims of crime as if they had been stabbed or maimed by the dagger of the assassin. The records of our Rescue Homes abound with life stories, some of which we have been able to verify to the letter, which prove on'y too conclusively the existence of numbers of innocent victims whose entry upon this dismal life can in no way be attributed to any act of their own will. Many are orphans or the chil- dren of depraved mothers, whose one idea of a daughter is to make money out of her prostitution. Here are a few cases on our register; ,;v ';^- -f ■■f- H '■At .% m ;-*»■ ■ttf*'^ ♦> ■ IBP ff^f ^^■* AND THE WAY OUT vr ■*s E. C, aged i8, a soldier's child, born on the sea. Her father died, and her mother, a thoroughly depraved woman, assisted to secure her daugliter's prostitution. P. S., aged 20, illegitimate child. Went to consult a doctor one time about some ailment. The doctor abused his position and took advantage of his patient, and when she complained, gave her ^4 as compensation. When that was spent, having lost her character, she came on the town. We looked the doctor up, and he fled. E. A., aged 17, was left an orphan very early in life, ar.d adopted by her godfather, who himself was the means of her ruin at the age of 10. A girl in her teens lived with her mother in the "Dust- hole," the lowest part of Woolwich. This woman forced her out upon the streets, and profited by her prostitu- tion up to the very night of her confinement. The mother had all the time been the receiver of the gains, E., neither father nor mother, was taken care of by a grandmother till, at an early age, accounted old enough. Married a soldier; but shortly before the birth of her first child, found that her deceiver had a wife and family in a distant part of the country, and she was soon left friendless and alone. She sought an asylum in the Workhouse for a few weeks, after which she vainly tried to get honest employment. Failing in that, and being on the very verge of starvation, she entered a lodging- house in Westminster and "did as other girls. " Here our lieutenant found and persuaded her to leave and enter one of our Homes, where she soon gave abundant proof of her conversion by a thoroughly changed life. She is now a faithful and trusted servant in a clergyman's family. A girl was some time ago discharged from a city hos- pital after an illness. She was homeless and friendless, an orphan, and obliged to work for her living. Walk- ing down the street and wondering what she should do next, she met a girl, who came up to her in a most friendly fashion and speedily won her confidence. "Discharged ill, and nowhere to go, are you?" said her new friend. Well, come home to my mother's; she will lodge you, and we'll go to work together when you are quite strong.' ,, , , ^ A. V' I i % !f IN l>ARKrST KMUAKO '»\ r; to ihr \otv KmvosI \MK\l »»l \\\H»l\VHi» ;uvl «ishc'!r«l m»Io a blxMlu I . \\u'\c w;»<. t\o n\>»th«r ni \\\r » .»,m\ Shr wrt!« t»H> lrt{<" «o s;»\«^ \\r\, (k\\\\ lutviu^ hrtit Mrs ihrtitutri ionr»l I'rtMU l>rr kI»'. t»r»\'rttuo lu»prlrss, rtiul slrtul on !o livr ll»r life o( hor (alfi.^ (ni»««L Thoiv u« «o ncMsl (or tur t«> ^o into (hr (Irt^iU i»f iho oi tlwMi \i((vn«s «(«u) lunut; iUvnx to titrn tiiuMu, ttM\tnvo ti» i>\on*MMc* flu' u'hut;uu«' ot tl\o xounj; ^il without |>;»iru«*. to iM\u'r tluii toils. \N liul Ua\\\\ (.nU to :tr\-iMU|>l isli. A little ioM o NtUiirtts ill rHr«{tn^, i\\\\\ A gill >vl\i> h.is luvn guilty «<( Motlnll^ I itt impnulotuo nt\^ls '?orsoU «n \*uti ;ist |i»i litr. The vriy innovovur o( a f'lil wWn Aii,Au\M hri. A \voiu.ui of thr WtxUI, ouio oi\tv;»ppt\l. wouUl \\A\v till luM wits iihout hrr tv>c\nu';»to h«Msrl( tnM>< ihr \M>sitioi\ ii\ wlm h shr li>iuul h«*rs«^lt. A p«Mfo\tly vntuinis ^iil tsi oltcM\ so ov«>u oiur ^ith sh;rau* awA horror th;\( tluMi sornts nothing tit lifn xitMth strui;^lu}^ lv>r. Shr {Uicpts hrr lioom wit lu»ut lur- ther stnim;Uv a\u\ trt^uls tho Kn\g a\\k\ torturing ptith wav of "the strts:»ls" to thi* j^irtvo. "Jiulf;c not. tliAl Yt* W not jiuI(;«mI," is a saying thtU appltrs nu>sl ;»ppropria!rly of all to those uuli»rtut\atrs, MAi^y of thciu NVvniUi have estwpeil then evil tatr luu! ihey Ihvu less nuuvent. They tue where they tuo l»e- c'Ausc they loveil tvH> utteily to cjiKulate oonsequenies, anil truste\l t»H> absolutely to dare to suspect evil. Aiul others are there l^ecause of the false eihuutiun whuh Cv>nfouny n\o ( iipiIkmI ItciiiMth llit^ inill'>tonr of mo« itti rx* t otMiiniiiii (liion llnr l)'l nit' ipiotr lioin a ii<|i(>ii nwulr lo iiir liy tlin liruil of out IvrNi no lloiurn ti*i lo llir uiliial lift- of llirad tiiifortunaIrN: Thr fo||oNviiif{ IiiiiiiImmI lunrrj tun t.ikrn ioj tfuy to me* lloni oitl l\'i->t( iir lu>;o*llli)llii|| , , , , |l(>*'(>lill|r ill«>*ii(itt . ,, 3 100 Out (tf (lu'Nn ^itU (wriily ihrrr huvr hccit in |)ri»on. riii^ Kills Niiffrr NO Miii'i:, that (hr NhoilncMN of th'ir iuisrii«l)lr lift* is tlu^ »uly leMlmiiinK ffutmr. Whttlur w«^ look n( (hr wir(« luMJnrNH of (hr liff ilsrll, (Juir prr prdiiil inli>xi« aion; (hr t riirl (KNitiuciil (o vvlio h tiny ii|f) sul>|tM tt-d l>\ (lirii (iisk iiiastrts aii«l iiiisti<'s>.< :t oi ImllirH, thr lu>p«*lfssnrHM, HiiflriitiK, iiikI (li-spair indm (*(] l»y ihfif (in MiiiHtuiu ''s aiitl suiKMiiKliii^*.; thr ili-|>tlis of iiiitit^ry, ilcisrudatioii, iiMii poviMty (o who h (iiry cvt-iidtaily smu!. t)r tluii (MMtmcnt in su knc-.s, tluir f» oMHilrsH- nrtis aii'l lonrliiu'ss in dtatli, it nni.st hr adtiiittiit that a 'aiort? di inal lot Nrldotu falls (o (hr (ate of a huntaii Jit'inK- I ^'" t^tkr racli of thrsr in tuin. IIi.Ai.nf. Thi'i I ifr indiU'.rH insanity, rhriiniat isni, roll* sumption, Mild mII forniH of syphilis. {{hrtiinatiHUi and g«)Ut air thr 'iiiiiuoiirHt id thrscrvihi Sonir wrir ipii ti? cri|'plr»l l»y hoth youiiK though thry wrre, ('onMinip tinn sows its srrds hrouundgirls in I'iiiadilly -:>*"* 70 IN DARKEST ENGLAND . i' ■I 5 . 1 at midnight who are continually prostrit'^H by hemor- rhage, yet who have no other way of life l o struggle on in this awful manner between wliiles. Drink. — This is an inevitable part of i business. All confess that they could never lead their miserable lives if it were not for its influence. A girl who was educated at college and who had a home in which was every comfort, but who when ruined had fallen even to the depth of Woolwich "Dusthole, " exclaimed to us in- dignantly, "Do you think I could ever, ever do this if it weren't for the drink? I always have to l)e in drink if] want to sin." No girl has ever come into our Homes /^rom strcft-lifc but has i)een more or less a prey to irink. Cruei- Trratmknt. — The devotion of these women to heir bullies is as remarkable as the brutality of their jullies is abominable. Probably the primary cause of the fall of numberless girls of the lower class is their great aspiration to the dignity of wifeliood; they are never "somebody" until they are married, and will link themselves to any creature no matter how debased, in the hope of being ultimately married by him. This consideration, in addition ^^^ their helpless condition when once character has gone, makes them suffer crutd ties which they would never otherwise endure from the men with whom large numbers of them live. One case in illustration of this is that of a girl who was once a respectable servant, the daughter of a police sergeant. She was ruined, and shame led her to leave home. At lenj^th siie drifted to Woolwich, where she came across a man who persuaded her to live with him, and for a considci.ible length of time she kept him, al- though his conduct to her was brutal in the extreme. The girl living in the next room to her has frequently he\ird him knock her head against the wall, and pound it when he was out of temper, through her gains of pros- titution being less than usual. He lavished upon her every sort of cruelty and abuse, and at length she grew so wretched and was reduced to so dreadful a plight that she ceased to attract. At this he became furious and pawned all her clothing but one thin garment of rags. The week before her first confinement he kkifecd her '■'4 >* AND THE WAY OUT » r n black and blue from neck to knees, and she was carried to the police station in a pool of blood, but she was so loyal to the wretch that she refused to appear against him. She was going to drown herself in desperation, when our Rescue Officers spoke to her, wrapped their own shawl around her shivering shoulders, took her home with them and cared for her. The baby was born dead — a tiny, shapeless mass. This statu of things is all too common. Hoi'Ki.KssNF.ss — SuKRouNDiNcs. — The State of hopeless- ness and despair in which these girls live continually, 'Makes them reckless of consequences, and large numbers ci mmit suicide who are never heard of. A West End policeman assured us that the number of prostitute suicides was terribly in advance of anything guessed at by the public. Dkpths to which Thf.v Sink. — There is scarcely a lower class of girls to be found than the girls of "Woolwich Dusthoit ' — where one of our Hescue Slum Homes is es- tablished. The women living and following their dread- ful business in this neighborhood are so degraded that even abandoned men will refuse to accompany them home. Soldiers are forbidden to enter the place, or to go down the street, on pain of twenty-live days' imprison- ment; pickets are stationed at either end to prevent this. The streets are much cleaner than many of the rooms wo have seen. One p lie-house there is shut up three or four times in a day, som :timv'is, for fear of losing the license through the terrible brawls which take place within. .. policeman never goes down this street alone at night — one having died not long ago from injuries received there — but our two lasses go unharmed and loved at all hours, spending every other night always upon the streets. The girls sink to the "Dusthole ' after coming down several grades. There is but one on record who came therewith beautiful clothes, and this poor girl, when last seen by the offn'-rs, was a pauper in the workhouse in- firmary IB a wretched condition. The Lowest class of ail is the girls who stand at the ■-a '.•r t 71 IN DARKEST ENGLAND M ;l i ■; { ■ i f if pier-head — these sell themselves literally for a bare crust of bread, and sleep in the streets. Filth and vermin abound to an extent to which no one who has not seen it can have any idea. The "Dusthole" is only one, alas, of many similar dis- tricts m this highly civilized land. Sickness — Frikndlkssness — Death. — In hospitals it is a known fact that these girls arc not treated at all like other cases; they inspire disgust, and are most fre- quently discharged before being really cured. Scorned by their relations, and ashamed to make their case known even to those who would help them, unable longer to struggle out on the streets to earn the bread of shame, there are girls lying in many a dark hole in this big city positively rotting away, and main- tained by their old companions on the streets. Many are totally friendless, utterly cast out and left to perish by relatives and friends. One of this class came to us, sickened and died, and we buried her, being her only followers to the grave. It is a sad story, but one that must not be forgotten, for these women constitute a large standing army whoso numbers no one can calculate. All estimates that I have seem purely imaginary. The ordinary figure given for London is from 60,000 to 80,00a This may be true if it is meant to include all habitually unchaste women. It is a monstrous exaggeration if it is meant to apply to those who make their living solely and habitually by prostitution. These figures, however, only confuse. We shall have to deal with hundreds every month, whatever estimate we take. How utterly unprepared society is for any such systematic reformation may be seen from the fact that even now at our Homes we are unable to take in all the girls who apply. They cannot escape, even if they would, for want of funds whereby to provide them a wa^r of release. ^i^ m 't :.*^?t ■■'■■A %. ^:: 't- ■ «•, CHAPTER VII THE CRIMINALS One very important section of the denizen<5 of Darkest * England are the criminals and the semi-criminals. They are more or less predatory, and are at present shepherded by the police and punished by the jailer. Their num« bers cannot be ascertained with very great precision, but the following figures are taken from the prison returns of 1889: The criminal classes of Great Britain, in round fig. ures, sum up a total of no less than 90,000 persons, made up as follows: Convict prisons contain 1 1 ,Afio persona. Local " " ao;88j Reformatories for children convicted of crime 1,270 " Industrial schools for vaKrant and refractory children. . . 11,413 " Criminal lunatics under restraint 910 " Known thieves at lar^e H>7A7 " Known receivers of stolen goods i,iai " Suspected person. 17.043 " Total 89,006 The above does not include the great army of known prostitutes, nor the keepers and owners of brothels and disorderly houses, as to whose numbers Government is rigidly silent. These figures are, however, misleading. They only represent the criminals actually in jail on a given day. The average jail population in England and Wales, excluding the convict establishments, was, in 1889, 15,119; but the total number actually sentenced and im- prisoned in local prisons was, 53,000, of whom 25,000 only came on first-term sentences; 76,300 of them ha(| A . :.' - .,.■,.„ I ■ :'•«#■ r • r * > • 74 IN UAi ":ST ENGLAND 'f been convicted at least lo times. But even if we sup« pose that the criminal class numbers no more than 90,000, of whon. only 35,000 persons are at large, it is still a large enough section of humanity to compel at- tention ; 90,000 criminals represents a wreckage whose cost to the community is very imperfectly estimated when we add up the cost of the prisons, even if we add to them the whole cost of the police. The police have so many other duties besides the shepherding of crim- inals, that it is unfair to saddle the latter with the whole of the cost of the constabulary. The cost of prosecution and maintenance of criminals and the expense of the police involves an annual outlay of ^4,437,000. This, however, is small compared with the tax and toll which this predatory horde inflicts upon the community on which it is quartered. To the loss caused by the actual picking and stealing must be added that of the unpro- ductive labor of nearly 65,000 adults. Dependent upon these criminal adults must be at least twice as many women and children; so that it is probably an under- estimate to say that this list of criminals and semi- criminals represents a population of at least 200,000, who all live more or less at the expense of society. Every year, in the Metropolitan district alone, 66,100 persons are arrested, of whom 444 are arrested for trying to commit suicide — life having become too unbearable a burden. This immense population is partially, no doubt, bred to prison, the same as other people are bred to the army and to the bar. The hereditary criminal is by no means confined to India, although it is only in that country that they have the engaging simplicity to de scribe themselves frankly in the census returns. But it is recruited constantly from the outside. In many cases this is due to sheer starvation. Fathers of the Church have 4aid down the law that a man who is in peril of "1 w AND THE WAY OUT '^•'^^^Sl^f'*^, n 4»' - death from nunger is entitled to take bread wherever he can find it to keep body and soul together. That propo- sition is not embodied in our jurisprudence. Absolute dc:jpair drives many a man into the ranks of the criminal class, who would never have fallen into the category of criminal convicts if adequate provision had been made for the rescue of those drifting to doom. When once he has fallen, circumstances seem to combine to keep him there. As wounded and sickly stags are gored to death by their fellows, so the unfortunate who bears the prison brand is hunted from pillar to post, until he de- spairs of ever regaining his position, and oscillates between one prison and another for the rest of his days. I gave in a preceding page an account of how a man, after trying in vain to get work, fell before the tempta- tion to steal in order to escape starvation. Here is the sequel of that man's story. After he had stolen he ran away, and thus describes his experiences: "To fly was easy. To get away from the scene re- quired very little ingenuity, but the getting away from one suffering brought another. A straight look from a stranger, a quick step behind me, sent a chill through every nerve. The cravings of hunger had been satisfied, but it was the cravings of conscience that were clamor- ous now. It was easy to get away from the earthly con- sequences of sin, but from the fact — never. And yet it was the compulsion of circumstances that made me a criminal. 1l was neither from inward viciousness or choice, and how bitterly did I cast reproach on society for allowing such an alternative to offer itself — 'toSteal or Starve;' but there was another alternative that here offered itself — either give myself up, or go on with the life of crime. 1 chose the former. I had traveled over loo miles to get away from the scene of my theft, and I now find myself outside the station-house at a place where I had put in my boyhood days." "How irany times when a lad, with wondering eyes, and a hear^ stirred with childhood's pure sympathy, I ti" 1 1 r, 1 1 , X ^1 /:i >»( ■i [1 .»--• ^ < f" € 76 IN DARKEST ENGLAND \ } J had watched the poor waifs from time to time led within its doors. It was my turn now. I entered the charge- room, and with business-like pi ci. on disclosed my errand, viz: that I wished to surrender myself for having committed a felony. My story was doubted. Question followed question, and confirmation must be waited. 'Why had I surrendered?' 'I was a rum 'un.' 'Cracked.* 'More fool than rogue.' 'He will be sorry when he mounts the wheel.' These and such like remarks were handed round concerning me. An hour passed by. An inspector enters, and announces the receipt of a tele- gram: 'It is all right. You can put him down,* And turning to me, he said, 'They will send for you on Mon- day;* and then I passed into the inner ward, and a cell. The door closed with a harsh, grating clang, and I was left to face the most clamorous accuser of all — my own interior self. "Monday morning the door opened, and a complacent detective stood before me. Who can tell the feeling as the handcuffs closed round my wrists, and we started for town. As again the charge was entered, and the passing of another night in the cell, then the morning of M', are being gorged with undigested and indigestible masses of labor, and, as the result, the children sulf«^r grievously. Thf town-bred child is at a thousand disadvantages compaied with his cousin in the country. But every year there are more town-bred children and fewer cousins in the country. To rear healthy children you want first A home; secondly, milk; thirdly, fresh air; and fourthly, exercise under the green trees and blue sky. All these things every country labor* r's child possesses, or used ■^A: ^^i.-. vl ../£♦.■ II rt +-V Ir Wi i- 1^ 10 IN DARKIST ENGLA!^D to possess; for the shadow of the City life lies now upon the fields, and even in the remotest rural district the laborer who tends the cows is often denied the milk which his children need. The regular demand of the great towns forestalls the claims of the laboring kind. Tea and slops and beer take the place of milk, and the bone and sinew of the next generation are sapped from the cradle. But the country child, if iiO has nothing but skim milk, and only a little of that, has at least plenty of exercise in the fresh air. He has healthy human re- lations with his neighbors. He is looked after, and in some sort of fashion brought into contact with the life of the hall, the vicarage, and the farm. He lives a natural life amid the birds and trees and growing crops and the animals of the fields. He is not a mere human ant, crawling on the granite pavement of a great urban ants' nest, with an unnaturally developed nervous system and a sickly constitution. But, it will be said, the child of to-day has the ines- timable advantage of Education. No; he has not. Ed- ucated the children are not. They are pressed through "standards," which exact a certain acquaintance with A B C and pothooks and figures; but educated they are not in the sense of the development of their latent capacities so as to make then' cppable for the discharge of their duties in life. The new generation can read, no doubt; otherwise, where would be the sale of "Sixteen-String Jack," "Dick Turpin," and the like? But take the girls. Who can pretend that the girls whom our schools are now turning out are half as well educated for the work of life ris their grandmothers were at the same age? How many of all these mothers of the future know how to bake a loaf or wash their clothes? Except minding the baby— a task that cannot be evaded — what domestic I m M a-: m 41 t IP" ^^*^^ AND THE WAY OUT n ''f: .1 I m training have they received to qualify thoni for being ia the future the mothers of babies thcinscives? '• And even the schooling, such as it is, at what an ex- pense is it often imparted! The rakings of the human cesspool are brought into the school -room and mixed up with your children. Your little ones, who never heard a tou! word and who are not only innocent, but ignorant, of all the horrors of vice and sin, sit for hours side by side with little ones whose parents are habitually drunk, and play with others whose ideas of merriment are gained from the familiar spectacle of the nightly de- bauch by which their mothers earn the family bread. It is good, no doubt, to learn the ABC, but it is not so good that in acquiring these indispensable rudiments, your children should also acquire the vocabulary of the harlot and the corner boy. I speak only of what I know, and of that which has been brought home to me as a matter of repeated complaint by my Officers, when I say that the obscenity of the talk of many of the children of some of our public schools could hardly be outdone even in Sodom and Gomorrah. Childish innocence is very beautiful ; but the bloom is soon destroyed, and it is a cruel awakening for a mother to discover that her tenderly nurtured boy, or her carefully guarded daughter, has been initiated by a companion into the mysteries of abomination that are concealed in the phrase — a house ox ill-fame. The home is largely desi/oyed where the mother fol- lows the father into the factory, and where the hours of labor are so long that they have no time to see their children. The omnibus drivers of London, for instance, what time have they for discharging the daily duties of parentage to their little ones? How can a man who is on his omnibus from fourteen to sixteen hours a day have time to be a father to his children in any sense of the word? He has hardly a chance to see them except t i r J, . IN DARKEST ENGLAND H '■sv; when they are asleep. Even a Sabbath, that blessed in- stitution which is one of the sheet anchors of hiunan ex- istence, is encroached upon. Many of tiie new industries which have been started or developed since I was a boy ignore man's need of one day's rest in seven. The rail- way, the post-ofiice, the tramway all compel some of their employes to be content with less than tlie divinely appointed minimum of leisure. In the country darkness restores the laboring father to his litt'.e ones. In the town gas and the electric light enables the: employer to rob the children of the whole of t^^eir father's waking hours, and in some cashes he takes the mother's also. Under some of the contlitions of modern industry, chil- dren are not so much born into a home as th«?y are spawned into the world like fish, with the results which we see. The decline of natural affection follows inevitably from the substitution of the lish relationship for that of the human. A father who never damlles his child on his knee cannot have a very keen sense of the responsibili- ties of paternity. In the rush and pressure of our com- petitive City life, thousands of men have not time to be fathers. Sires, yes; fathers, no. It will take a good deal of schoolmaster to make up for that change. If this be the case, even witii the children constajitly em- ployed, it can be imagined what kinil of a home life is pos- sessed by the children of the tramp, the odd jobber, the tliief, anM''u.j£f.mm»f'->M'jJI^- 1'- AND THK WAY OITT <|p Think of the multitudes of children born in our work- Iviuses, children of whom it may be said ' they are cgn- ceived in sin and sliapen in iniquity, " and, as a punish- ment of the sins of the parents, branded from birth an bastards, worse than fatherless, homeless, and friendless, "damned into an evil worhl," in which even those who have all the advantages of a good parentage and a care- ful training find it hard entnigh to make their way. Sometime^, it is true, the jiassionat*' love of the dtrserted mother for the chibl which has been the visible symbol and Uie terrible result of her umloini^ stands between the little one and all its enemies, lint think how often the mother regards the advent of her child with loathing and horror; how the discovery that she is about to be- come a mother affects her like a nightmare; and how nothing but the dread of the hangman's rope keeps her from strangling the babe on the very hour of its birth. What chances has such a chi Id? And there are many such. In a certain country that I v/ill not name there exists a scientifically arranged system of infanticide cloaked under the garb of philanthropy, (iigantic foundling establishnuiuts exist in its principal cities, where every comfoit and scientific improvement is provitled for the deserted children, with the result that one-half of tlmm die. The mothers are spared the crime. The State assumes the rt'Sponsibii ity. We do something like that here, but our foundling asylums are the Street, the Workhouse, and the Grave. When an English Judge tells us, as Mr. Justice Wills did the other day, that there were any numljer of parents who would kill their children for a lew poundH* insurance money, we can form tome idea of the horrors of the existence into which many of the children of this highly favored land are ushered at their birth. The cvercrowded homes of the poor compels the chil- V 84 IN DARKEST ENGLAND I dren to witness everything. Sexiuil norality often comes to have no meaning to them. Incest is so familiar as hardly to call for remark. The bitter poverty of the poor compels them to leave their children half fed. There are few more grotesque pictures in the history ci civilization than that of the compulsory attendance of children at school, faint with hunger because they had no breakfast, and not sure whether they would ever secure a dry crust for dinner when their morning's (piantum of education had been duly imparted. Children thus hun- gered, thus housed, and thus left to grow up as best they can without being fathered or mothered, are not, educate them as you will, e.\actly the most promising ma- terial for the making of the future citizens and rulers of the Empire. What, then, is the ground for hope that if we leave things alone the new generation will be better than their elders? To me it seems that the truth is rather the other way. The lawlessness of our lads, the increa«*i«' license of our girls, the general shiftlessness from the home- making point of view of the product oi our factories and schools, are far from reassuring. Our young people have never learned to obey. The fighting gangs of half grown lads in Lisson Grove, and the scuttlers of Manchester, are ugly symptoms of a social condition that will not grow better by being left alone. It is the home that has been destroyed, and with the home the home like virtues. It is the dis-homed multi- tude, nomadic, hungry, that is rearing an undisciplined population, cursed from birth with hereditary weakness of body and hereditary faults of cliaracter. It is idle to hope to mend matters by taking the children and bun- dling them up in barracks. A child brought up in an in- stitution is too often only half-human, having nevor known a mother's jve and a father's care. To men and AND THE WAY OUT ' « M'onien who are without homes, children must be more or less of an incumbrance. Their advent is regarded with impatience, and often it is averted by crime. The unwelcome little stranger is badly cared for, badly fed and allowed every chance to die. Nothing is worth doing to increase his chances of living that does not Reconstitute the Hon.e. But between us and that ideal how vast is th(i gulf 1 It will have to l^ bridged, how- ever, if anything practical is to be done. •A; 'i'« »'..n CHAPTER IX IS THERK NO HELP? '■■if It may be said by those who have followed me to this point, that while it is quite true that there are many who are out of work, and not less true that there are many who sleep on the Embankment and elsewhere, the law has provided a remedy, or if not a remedy, at least a method, of dealing with those sufferers which is suffi- cient. The Secretary of the Charity Organization Society assured one of my Oflicers, who went to inquire for his opinion on the subject, "that no further machinery wis necessary. All that was needed in this direction they already had in workinj^ order, and to create any further machinery would do more harm than good. " Now, what 13 the existing machinery bj which Society, whether through the organization of the State or by in- dividual endeavor, attempts to deal with the submerged residuum? I had '.ntended at one time to have devoted considerable space to the description of the existing agencies, topcther with certain observations which have been forcibly impressed upon my mind as to their fail- ure and its cause. The necessity, however, of subordi- nating everything to the supreme purpose of this book, which is to endeavor to show how light can be let into the heart of Darkest England, compels me to pass rapidly ov«r this department of the subject, merely glanci^t^ as I go nt the well-meaning, 'hut more or less abortive attempts to cope with this great and appalling evt! m AND THE WAY OUT 87 ■,'•'> -a m The first place mast naturally be given to the admin- istration of the Poor Law. Legally the State accepts the responsibility o' providing food and slielter for every man, woman, or child who is utterly Jestitute. This responsibility it, however, practically shirks by the im- position of conditions on the claimants of relief that are hateful and repulsive, if not impossible. As to the method of Poor Law administration in dealing with in- mates of workhouses or in the distribution ot outdoor relief, I say nothing. Both of these raise great questions which lie outside my immediate purpose. All that I need to do is to indicate the limitations — it may be the necessary limitations — under which the Poor Law oper- ates. No Englishman can come upon the rates so long as he has anything whatever left to call his own. When long-continued destitution has been carried on to the bitter end, when piece by piece every article of domestic furniture has been sold or pawned, when all efforts to procure employment have failed, and when you have nothing left except the clothes in which you stand, then you can present yourself before the relieving ofticer and secure your lodging in the workhouse, ihe administration of which varies infinitely according to the disposition of the Board of Guardians under whose control it happens to be. If, however, you have not sunk to such despair as to be willing to barter your liberty for the sake of food, clothing, and shelter in the Workhouse, but are only temporarily out of employnjent, seeking work, then you go to the Casual Ward. There you are taken in, and provided for on the principle of making it asdisagreieable • as posBible for yourself, in order to deter you from again accepting the hospitality of the rates — and of course in defense of this a good deal can said by the Political Economist. But what seems utterly indefensible ih the H:. 88 IN DARKEST ENGLAND ¥o^'iC'- ■ it careful precautions which are taken to render it impos- sible for the unemployed Casual to resume promptly after his night's rest the search for work. Under the existing regulations, if you are compelled to seek refuge on Monday night in the Casual Ward, you are bound to remain there ai least till Wednesday morning. The theory of the system is this, that individuals casually poor and out of work, being destitute and with- out shelter, may upon application receive shelter for the night, supper, and a breakfast, and in niturn for this, shall perform a task of work, not necessarily in repay- ment for the relief received, but simply as a test of their willingness to work for their living. The work given is the same as that given to felons in jail— oakum-picking and stone-breaking. The work, too, is excessive in proportion to what is received. Four pounds of oakum is a great task to an expert and an old hand. To a novice it can only be ac- complished with the greatest difhdulty, if indeed it can be done at all. It is even in excess of the amount de- manded from a criminal in jail. The stone-breaking test is monstrous. Half a ton of stone from any man in return for partially supplying the cravings of hunger is an outrage which, if we read of as having occurred in Russia or Siberia, would find Exeter Hall crowded with an indignant audieur.e, and Hyde Park filled with strong oratory. But because this system exists at our own doors, very little notice is taken of it. These tasks are expected from all comers, starved, ill clad, half fed creatures from the streets, foot-sore and worn out. and yet unless it is done, the alternative is the magi.strate and the jail. The old system was bad enough, which demanded the picking of on« pound of oaknin. A« 30on as this task was accomplished, which yMimrAlly k*pt ^them till the middle of next day, it was thus rendered '>^. ■■'WPB' AND THE WAY OUT 89 impossible for them to seek work, and they were forced to spend another night in the ward. The Local Govern- ment Board, however, stepped in, and the Casual was ordered to be detained for the whole day and the second night, the amount of labor required froiu him being increased four-fold. Under the present system, therefore, the penalty for seeking shelter from the streets is a whole day and two nights, with an almost impossible task, which failing to do, the victim is liable to be dragged before a magis- trate and committed to jail as a rogue and vagabond, while In the Casual Ward their treatment is practically that of a criminal. They sleep in a cell with an apart- ment at the back, in which the work is done, receiving at night half a pound of gruel and eight ounces of bread, and next morning the same for breakfast, with half a pound of oakum and stones to occupy himself for a day. The beds are mostly of the plank type, ilu; coverings scant, the cou\fort mi. Be it remembered that this is the treatment jneted out to those who are supposed to be Casual poor, in temporary difficulty, walking from place to place seeking some employment. The treatment of the women is as follows: Each Casual has to stay in the Casual Wards two nights and one day, during which time they have to pick a lbs. of oakum or go to the wash-tub and work out the time there. While at the wash-tub they are allowed to wash their own clothes, but not otherwise. If seen more than once in the same Casilal Ward, they are detained three days by order of the inspector, each time seen, or if sleeping twice in the same month, the master of the ward has power to detain them three days. There arc four inspectors who visit different Casual Wards, and if the Casual is mmm by aay of the inspectors (who in turn visit all the Casual Wards) at any ef the wards they Il III 90 IN DARKEST BN(iLAND -Vfti^ *! w have previously visited, they are detained three days in each one. The inspector, who is a male person, visits the wards at all unexpected hours, even visiting while the females are in bed. The beds are in some wards eomposed of straw and two rugs, in others cocoanut fibre and two rugs. The Casuals rise at 5.4^ a. m. and go to bed at 7 p. m. If they do not finish picking their oakum before 7 P. m., they stay up till they do. If a Casual does not come to the ward before 12.30, mid- night, th<:y keep them one day eoctra. The way in which this operates, however, can be best understood by the following statf^ments, mruie by those who have been in Casual Wards, and who can, therefore, speak from experience as to how the system affects the individual: J. C. knows Casual Wards pretty well. Has been in St. Giles, Whitechapel, St. George's, Paddington, Marylebone, Mile End. They vary a little in detail, f»ut as u rub! the doors open at 6; you walk in; they tell you what the wotk is, and that if you fail to do it, you will be liable to impristinment. Then you bathe. Some places the water is dirty. Three persons as a rule wash m one water. At Whitechapel (been there three times) It has always hetm dirty; also at St. George's. I had no bath at Mile ITtMl } they were short of water. If you complain they take no notice. You thr'U lie your clothes in a bninlln, and they give you n nlglftshirt A> roost plH«f« they atrvj! HUpj'er to the men, wiio liuve to go to bed tin'l eat it there. Soriiu beds are in cells; some in large rounii. You get up at 6 a m. and do ttm tagk. The amount of stone-breaKing is too much; and the oakum-picking is aUo heavy. The food dj//Bri». A| Si. Gibs, the gruel left ov«f MJglit fn \1nl\9n up fol breakfvhi, and is consequendy soitf ^ Him \n»ni\ Ik piiff^^ full (I holes, and don't weigh (Iih t¥'fmi»t\tm utnniini, Dinner is only 8 ounces of bread and 1 f^ of|nr«f of checbf^, and if that's short, how can rtMy(M»dy do thejl w«rk.' They will give you water t« dnoli If ^mii ring thcrril bell for it— that is, thry «viil tell fhii In WMJt. and bring il in aU/ut half an ItifUt, Thei» ^ •5^ •"> ♦■.., . U IN DAKKEST ENGLAflD !l S^^-: r"::,fe 1^.'^ our fellow-creatures, but the most charitable are those who most deplore the utter failure which has, up till now, attended all their efforts to do more than tempo- rarily alleviate pain, or effect an occasional impi .vement in the condition of individuals. There are many institutions, very excellent in their way, without which it is difficult to see how society could get on at all, but when they have done their best there still remains this great and appalling mass of human misery on our hands, a perfect quagmire of Human Sludge. They may ladle out individuals here and there, but to drain the whole bog is an effort which seems to be beyond the imagination of most of those who spend their lives in philanthropic work. It is no doubt better than nothing to take the individual and feed him from day to day, to bandage up his wounds and heal his diseases; but you may go on doing that forever, if you do not do more than that; and the worst of it is that all authorities agree that if you only do that you will probably increase the evil with which you are attempting to deal, and that you had much better let the whole thing alone. There is at present no attempt at Concerted x\ction. Each one deals with the case immediately before him, and the result is whai might be expected; there is a great expenditure, but the gains are, alas! very small. The fact; however, that so much is subscribed for the temporary relief and the mere alleviation of distress jus- tifies my confidence that if a Practical Scheme of dealing with this misery in a permanent, comprehensive fashion be discovered, there will be no lack of the sinews of war. It ij well, no doubt, sometimes to administer an anaesthetic, but the Cure of the Patient is worth ever so much more, and the latter is the object which we must constantly set before us in app'-oaching this problem. The third method by which society professes to at- fi ; '.1 •v' ;>v^ ^j. ♦iti-'- v«*.:i AND THE WAY OVT Of tempt the reclamation of the lost is by the rough, rude surgery of the Jail. Upon this a whole treatise might be written, but when it was finished it would be nothing more than a demonstration that our Prison syste.n has practically missed aiming at that which should be the first essential of every system of punishment. It is not Reformatory, it is not worked as if it were intended to be Reformatory. It is punitive, and only punitive. The whole administration needs to be reformed from top to bottom in accordance with this fundamental princi- ple, viz, that while every prisoner should be subjected to that measure of punishment which shall mark a due sense of his crime both to himself and society, the main object should be to rouse in his mind the desire to lead an honest life; and to effect that change in his disposi- tion and character which will send him forth to put that desire into practice. At present, every Prison is more or less a Training School for Crime, an introduction to the society of criminals, the petrifaction of any linger-, ing human feeling, and a very Bastile of Despair. The prison brand is stamped upon those who go in, and that so deeply, that it seems as if it clung to them for life. To enter Prison once means, in many cases, an almost certain return there at an early date. All this has to be changed, and will be, when once the work of Prison Re- form is taken in hand by men who understand the sub- ject, who believe in the reformation of human nature in every form which its depravity can -issume, and who are in full S3'mpathy with the class for whose benefit they labor; and when those charged directly with the care of criminal? seek to work out their regeneration in the same spirit. The question of Prison Reform is all the more impor- tant because it is only by the agency of the Jail that Society attempts to deal with its 'hopeless cases. If a •f^ I y'^ m :'it .1 ^iV-ivii '.-.tlXM^Tll:-..'' pp m M IN DARKEST ENGLAND 'JSV'-; ?'i"i- '- W7- '.W: woman, driven mad with shame, flings herself into the river, and is fished out alive, we clap her into Prison on a charge of attempted suicide. If a man, despairing of work and gaunt with hunger, helps himself to food, it is to the same reformatory agency that he is forthwith sub- jected. The rough and ready surgery with which we deal with our social patients recalls the simple method of the early physicians. The tradition still lingers among old people of doctors who prescribed bleeding for every ailment, and of keepers of asylums whose one idea of ministering to a mind diseased was to put the body into a strait waistcoat. Modern science laughs to scorn these simple "remedies" of an unscientific age, and declares that they were, in most cases, the most efficacious means of aggravating the disease they professed to cure. But in social maladies we are still in the age of the blood-let- ter and the strait waistcoat. The Jail is our specific for Despair. When all else fails, Society will always undertake to feed, clothe, warm, and house a man, if only he will commit a crime. It will do it also in such a fashion as to render it no temporary help, but a per- manent necessity. Society says to the individual: "To qualify for free board and lodging you must commit a crime. But if you do you must pay the price. You must allow me to ruin your character, and doom you for the rest of your life to destitution, modified by tho occasional successes of criminality. You shall become the Child of the State, on condition that we doom you to a temporal perdition, out of v.hich you will never be permitted to escape, and in which you will al .ays b^ a charge upon our resources and a constant source of anxiety and in- convenience to the authorities. I will feed you, cer- Uinly, but in return you must permit me to damn you." Hii'svS*;: ■i.- '■' AND THE WAY OUT t^VV 07 That surely ought not to be the last word of Civilized Society. "Certainly not," say others. "Emigration is the true specific. The waste lands of the world are crying aloud for the application of surplus labor. Emigration is the panacea." Now I have no objection to emigration. Only a criminal lunatic could seriously object to the transference of hungry Jack from an overcrowded shanty — where he cannot even obtain enough bad potatoes to dull the ache behind his waistcoat, and is tempted to let his child die for the sake of the insurance money — to a land flow- ing with milk and honey, where he can eat meat three times a day, and where a man's children are his wealth. But you might as well lay a new-born child naked in the middle of a new-sown field in March, and expect it to live and thrive, as expect emigration to produce sue- ce' :;ful results on the lines which some lay down. The child, no doubt, has within it latent capacities which, when years and training have done their work, will en- able him to reap a harvest from a fertile soil, and the new-sown field will be covered with golden grain in August. But these facts will ndt enable the infant to still its hunger with the clods of the earth in the cold Spring-time. It is just like that with emigration. It is simply criminal to take a multitude of untrained men and women and land them penniless and helpless on the fringe of some new continent. The result of such pro- ceedings we see in the American cities; in the degrada- tion of their slums, and in the hopeless demoralization of thousands who, in their own country, were living de- cent, industrious lives. A few months since, in Paramatta, in New South Wales, a young man who had emigrated with a vague hope of mending his fortunes, found himself homeless, friend- less, and penniless. He was a clerk. They wanted no I-.. -,.i'..i - ^ »■. ' • * . •. .. ■••■ 'L - '■-.'■J -'y + ' : . • " ■ .' .. i' t. .;* I Si y. i,"^ ;, ',-f •.v« ,■- '•{■,. •' .•*!.• I .-r^ " t Sfe^ .A.y'..-v^ i -^^^i; ■^ 'tv.- '■ #y'. ■i"-'-,'" ■ ■ '^ f-: ' ! ..!:&' ; ^W'^'i!:. I ^0: i V ¥«■.', i ?fn ■ ; 's^::' ' ! '*>;i;; ^.^•J !v 4.i- (■; ^ ,;^*^-. i.; :s^:p:,:,: y ;■ ,4-v*;."\ ?! r ^ M- ,.»»'. - ?•. . -'.-■ ■ '' V'.'-",, ^" ■■i't'^ • p'i * -^v f: 1 'V • '. " '. v5c '•. ■:0i-' 5 :;\ji-' ■ ^ ;*N'-, ■; ; ■ i ii-"'\t' ■' I ■■ i '0i^^''' ^ : . ; p^p'i f ' ^^^'-i ! M: ■■■. ■ ';*//':'■•';:..■••,'/';»*' TN DARKEST ENGLAND mors clerks in Paramatta. Trade was dull, employment was scarce, even for trained hands. He went about from day to day seeking work and finding none. At last he came to the end of all his resources. He went all day without food; at night he slept as best he could. Morn- ing came, and he was h'^peless. All next Jay passed without a meal. Night came. He could not sleep. He wandered about restlessly. At last, about midnight, an idea seized him. Grasping a brick, he deliberately walked up to a jeweler's window, and smashed a hoU through the glass. He made no attempt to steal any- thing. He merely smashed the pane and then sat down on the pavement beneath the window, waiting for the arrival of the policeman. He waited some hours; but at last the constable arrived. He gave himself up, and was marched off to the lock-up. "I shall at least have some- thing to eat now," was the reflection. He was right. He was sentenced to one year's imprisonment, and he is in jail at this hour. This very morning he received his rations, and at this very moment he is lodged and clothed and cared for at the cost of the rates and taxes. He has become the child of the State, and, therefore, one of the socially damned. Thus emigration ilself, in- stead of being an invariable specific, sometimes brings us back again to the jail door. Emigration, by all means. But whom are you to em- igrate? These girls who do not know how to bake? These lads who never handled a spade? And where are you to emigrate them? Are you going to make the Col- onies the dumping-ground of your human refuse? On that the colonists will have something decisive to say, where there are colonists; and where there are not, how are you to feed, clothe, and employ your emigrants in the uninhabited wilderness? Immigration, no doubt, is the making of a colony, just as bread is the staff of life. 't^^ n:.-'^ fe-: ' o ' AND THE WAY OUT |» But if you were to cram a stomach with wheat by a force-pump you would bring on such a fit of indigestion that unless your victim threw up the indigestible mass of unground, uncooked, unmastickted grain he would never want another meal. So it is with new colonies and the surplus labor of other countries. Emigration is in itself not a panacea. Is Education? In one .lense it may be, for Education, the developing in a man of all his latent capacities for improvement, may cure anything and everything. But the Education of which men speak when they use the term, is mere schooling. No one but a fool would say a word against school-teaching. By all means let us have our children educated. But when we have passed them through the Board School Mill we have enough experience to see that they do not emerge the renovated and regenerated beings whose advent was expected by those who passed the Education Act. The "scuttlers" who knife inoffen- sive persons in Lancashire, the fighting gangs of the West of London, belong to the generation that has en- joyed the advantage of Compulsory Education. Educa- tion, book-learning, and schooling will not solve the diffi- culty. It helps, no doubt. But in some ways it af,'gra- vates it. The common school to which the children of thieves and harlots and drunkards are driven, to sit side by side with our little ones, is often by no means a temple of all the virtues. It is sometimes a university of all the vices. The bad iiifect the good, and your boy and girl come back reeking with the contamination of bad associates, and familiar with the coarsest obscenity of the slum. Another great evil is the extent to which our Education tends to overstock the labor market with material for quill-drivers and shopmen, and gives our youth a distaste for sturdy labor. Many of the most hopeless cases in our Shelters are men of considerable '.'•s.: |i ■I 1 If ^i 1 Iv 100 IN DARKEST ENGLAND ..'ft-;; •Ijnv ■■>-v. If' ft; •^^^ education. Our schools help to enable a starving man to tell his story in moie grammatical language than that which liis father could have employed, but they do not feed him, or teach him where to go to get fed. So far from doing this they increase the tendency to drift into those channels where food is least secure, because em- ployment is most uncertain, and the market most over- stocked. "Trj/^ Trades Unionism," say some, and their advice is being widely followed. There are many and great advan- tages in Trades Unionism, The fable of the bundle of sticks is good for all time. The more the working-peo- ple can be banded together in voluntary organizations created and administered by themselves for the pro- tection of their own interests, the better — at any rate for this world — and not only for their own interests, but for those of every other section of the community. But can we rely upon this agency as a means of solving the problems which confront us? Trades Unionism has had the field to itself for a generation. It is twenty years since it was set free from all the legal disabilities under which it labored. But it has not covered the land. It has not organized all skilled labor. Unskilled labor is almost untouched. At the Congress at Liverpool only one and a half million workmen were represen^ted. Women are almost entirely outside the pale. Trade Unions not only represent a fraction of the laboring classes, but they are, by their constitution, unable to deal with those who do not belong to their body. "What ground can there be, then, for hoping that Trades Union- ism will by itself solve the difficulty? The most ex- perienced Trades Unionists will be the first to admit that any scheme which could deal adequately with the Out- pf -Works and others who hang onto their skirts and form the recruiting ground of blacklegs and embarrass tbe|i) ■'K-U/ ;0i;ii?i5k- ^•,Ufjk:;'^:^i- l'^;-j,-Qi;>:*^i;r'-»ii>>',i'ii.s;fc AND THE WAY OUl^ 101 « I in every way, would be, of all others, that which would be most beneficial to Trades Unionism. The same may be said about Co-operation. Personally, I am a strong believer in Co-operation, but it must be Co-operation based on the spirit of benevolence. I don't see how any pacific readjustment of the social and economic relations between classes id this country can be effected except by the gradual substitution of co-operative associations for the present wages system. As you will see "in sub- sequent chapters, so far from there being anything in my proposals that would militate in any way against the ultimate adoption of the co-operative soluiioii of the question, I look to Co-operation as one of the chief elements of hope in the future. But we have not to deal with the ultimate future, but with the immediate present, and for the evils with which we are dealing the existing co-operative organizations do not and cannot give us much help. Another — I do not like to call it specific, it is only a name, a mere mockery of a specific — so let me call it an- other suggestion made when discussing this evil, is Thrift. Thrift is a great virtue, no doubt. But how is Thrift to benefit those who have nothing? What is the use of the gospel of Thrift to a man who had nothing to eat yesterday, and has not threepence to-day to pay for his lodging to-night? To live on nothing a day is difficult enough, but to save on it would beat the clev- erest political economist that ever lived. I admit with- out hesitation that any Scheme which weakened the in- centive to Thrift would do harm. But it is a mistake to imagine that social damnation is an incentive to Thrift. It operates least where its force ought to be most felt. There is no fear that any Scheme that we can de- vise will appreciably diminish the deterrent influences man to save. But it is idle wasting ■!.V "i •I wh jpose *■■!: in IN DARKEST ENGLAND :|.f. m 'i i' •£■.', I" •• time upon a pica that is only brought forward as an ex- cuse for inaction. Thrift is a great virtue, the inculca- tion of which must be constantly kept in view by all those who are attempting to educate and save the people. It is not in any sense a specific for the salvation of the lapsed and the lost. Even among the most wretched of the very poor, a man must have an object and a hope liefore he will save a halfpenny. "Let us eat and drink, for to- morrow we perish," sums up the philosophy of those who have no hope. In the thriftiness of the French peasant we see that the temptation of eating and drink- ing is capable of being resolutely subordinated to the superior claims of the accumulation of a dowry for the daughter or for the acquisition of a little more land lor the son. Of the schemes of those who propose to bring in a new heaven and a new eartli by a more scientific distribution of the pieces of gold and silver in the trouser pockets of mankind, I need not say anything here. They may be good, or they may not. I say nothing against any short cut to the Millennium that is compatible with the Ten Commandments. I intensely sympathize with the aspirations that lie behind all these Socialist dreams. But whether it is Henry George's Single Tax on Land Values, or Edward Bellamy's Nationalism, or the more elaborate schemes of the Collectivists, my at- titude towards them all is the same. What these good people want to do, I also want to do. But I am a prac- tical man, dealing with the actualities of to-day. I have no preconceived theories, and I flatter myself I am singularly free from prejudices. I am ready to sit at the feet of any who will show me any good. I keep my mind open on all these subjects, and am quite prepared to hail with open arms any Utopia that is offered me. But it must be within range of my finger-tips. It is of no *t^#^.^\iiyL ' 'V 'J^ i.ti^-.«''4..i :'.^».;*.'. . ■"'■■|»r( it^ffiS^fe&yB^^- V -'■ I AND THE WAY OUT 108 use to me if it is in the clouds. Checks on the Bank of Futurity I accept gladly enough as a free gift, but I can hardly be expected to take them as if they were current coin, or to try to cash them at the Bank of England. It may be that nothing will be put permanently right until everything has been turned upside down. There are certainly so many things that need transforming, be- ginning with the heart of each individual man and woman, that I do not quarrel with any Visionary when, in his intense longing for the amelioration of the con- dition of mankind, he lays down his theories as to the necessity for radical change, however impracti- cable they may appear to me. But this is the question: Here at our Shelter last night were a thousand hungry, wojrkless people. 1 want to know what to do with them? Here is John Jones, a stout, stalwart laborer, in rags, who has not had one square meal for a month, who has been hunting for work that wi.U enable him to keep body and soul together, and hunting in vain. There he is in his hungry raggedness, asking for work that he may live, and not die of t.heer starvation in the midst of the wealthiest city in the world. What is to be done with John Jones? The individualist tells me that the free play of the Natural Laws governing the struggle for existence will result in the Survival of the Fittest, and that in the course of a few ages, more or less, a much nobler type will be evolved. But meanwhile what is to become of John Jones? The Socialist tells me that the great Social Revolution is looming large on the horizon. In the good time coming, when wealth will be re-distribated and private property abolished, all stomachs will be filled, and there will be no more John Joneses impa- tiently clamoring for opportunity to work that they may not die. It may be so, but in the meantime here is,Joka • ii^JfU'^ji^' ■ i ■It \l' w^ :^., %' ^i. »•*•> IM IN DARKEST ENGLAND Jones growing more impatient than ever because hungrier, who wonders if lie is to wait for a dinner until the So- cial Revolution has arrived. What are we to do with John Jones? That is the fiucstion. And to the solution of that question none of the Utopians give me much help. For practical purposes these dreamers fall under the condemnation they lavish so freely upon the conven- tional religious people who relieve thcmst;Ives of all anx- iety for the welfare of the poor by saying that in the next world all will be put right. This religious cant, which rids itself of all the importunity of suffering humanity by drawing unnegotiable bills payable on the other side of the grave, is not more iinpracticable than the Social- istic clap- trap which postpones all redress of human suffering until after the general overtrrn. Both take ref- uge in the Future to escape a solution tf the problems of the Present, and it matters little to the sufferers whether the Future is on this side of the grave or the other. Both are, for them, equally out of reach. When the s?ty falls we shall catch larks. No doubt. But in the meantime? It is the meantime — that is the only time in which we have to work. It is in the meantime that the people must be fed, that their life's work must be done or left undone forever. Nothing that I have to propose in this book, or that I propose to do by my Scheme, will in the least prevent the coming of any of the Utopias. I leave the limitless infinite of the Future to the Utopians. They may build there as they please. As for me, it is indispensable that whatever I do is founded on existing fact, and provides a present help for the actual need. There is only one class of men who have cause to op- pose the proposals which I am about to set forth. That is those, if such there be, who are determined to bring ^^Qi^t by any and every means a bloody and violent over- "4 •Ml '^i llPI , ,.;ii'->..'.,,'is:v;:s!;.ti I ANIX-THE WAY OUT 'r Mi »k\ turn of all existing institutions. They will oppose the Scheme, and they will act logically in so doing. For the only hjpe of those who are the artificers of Rev- olution is the mass of seething _ia i,. I " : ^■ II i :■;! ft ,■:- .... ■ ■ .*.! . ^ - 'J^'^'r-* '■■'>■ #' PART II.-DELIV£RANCE m K^- CHAPTER I A STUPENDOUS UNDERTAKING Such, then, is a brief and hurried survey of Darkest Kngland; and those who have been in the depths of the enchanted forest in which wander the tribes of the despairing Lost will be the first to admit that I have in no way exaggerated its horrors, while most will assert that I have under-estimated the number of its denizens. I have, indeed, very scrupulously striven to keep my estimates of the extent of the evil within the lines of sobriety. Nothing in such an enterprise as that on which I am entering could worse befall me than to come under the reproach of sensationalism or exaggeration. Most of the evidence upon which I have relied is taken direct from the official statistics supplied by the Gov- ernment Returns; and as to the rest, I can only say that If my figures are compared with those of any other writer upon this subject, it will be found that my esti- mates are the lowest. I am not prepared to defend the exact accuracy of my calculations, excepting so far as they constitute the minimum. To those who believe that the numbers of the wretched ar« far in excess of my fig- ures, I have nothing to say, excepting this, that if thr evil is so much greater than I have described, then let your efforts be proportioned to your estimate, not tQ m .1 ;1 l'--&. i ?^. X . AND THE WAY OUT 107 mine. The great point with each of us is, not how many of the wretclied exist to-da; . but how few shall there exist in the years that are to cc^ie. The dark and dismal jungle of pauperism, vice, and despair is the inheritance to which we have succeeded from the gencations and centuries past, during which wars, incurrections, and internal troubles left our fore- fathers small leisure to attend to the well-being of the sunken tenth. Novv' that we have happened upon more fortunate times, let us recognize that we are our broth- er's keepers, and set to work, regardless of party distinc- tions and religious differences, to make this world of ours a little bit more like home lor those whom we call our brethren. The problem, it must be admitted, is by no means a simple one; nor can anyone accuse me in the foregoing pages of having minimized the diflficulties which hered- ity, habit, and surroundings place in the way of its solution, but unless v/e are prepared to fold our arms in selfish ease and say that nothing can be done, and thereby doom those lost millions to remediless perdition in this world, to say nothing of the next, the jiroblem must be solved in some way. But in what way? That is the question. It may tend, perhaps, to the crystalliza- tion of opinion on this subject if I lay down, with such precision as I can command, what must be the essential elements of any scheme likely to command success. Section I.— THE ESSENTIALS TO SUCCESS T/ir first essential that must bt borne in mind as go7>erning every scheme that may be put forward is that it must change the man when it is his character and conduct which constitute the reasons for hts failure in the battle of life. No change in circumstances, no revolution in social conditions, can possibly transform the nature of man. Some of the S.I . ■■'I .' . 'i : V. i i. It H 11 i lod IN DARKEST ENGLAND i ^ ■t •ft worst men and women in the world, whose names are chronicled by history with a shudder of horror, were those who had all the advantages that wealth, education, and station could confer or ambition could attain. The supreme test of any scheme for benefiting humanity lies in the answer tc the question, What does it make of the individual? Does it quicken his conscience, does it soften his heart, does it enlighten his mind; does it, in short, make more of a true man of him? because only by such influences can he be enabled to lead a hu- man life. Among the denizens '^f Darkest England there are many who have found their way thither by defects of character which would under the most favorable cir- cumstances relegate them to the same position. Hence, unless you can change their character your labor will be lost. You may clothe the drunkard, fill his purse with gold, establish him in a well-furnished home, and in three, or six, or twelve months he will once more be on the Embankment, haunted by viclirium tremens, dirty, squalid, and ragged. Hence, in all cases where a man's own character and defects constitute the reasons for his fall, that character must be changed and that conduct altered if any permanent beneficial results are to be at- tained. If he is a drunkard, he must be made sober; if idle, he must be made industrious; if criminal, he must be made honest; if impure, he must be nade clean; and if he be so deep down in vice, and has been there so long that he has lost all heart, and hope, and power to help himself, and absolutely refuses to move, he must be inspired with hope and have created within him the ambition to rise; otherwise he will never get out of the horrible pit. Secondly: TAe remedy, to be effectUi /, must change the circumstances of the individual when they are the cause of his wretched condition, and lie beyond his control. Among those , •■ ,*'i ■m ; ;.-;•;; ■„.; ,;. 'i-ii^t- "'*■*;,* •**' -^y. tt. W C*•^•- f'-- v''!'*' AND THfi WAY OUT 100 who have arrived at their present evil plight through faults of self indulgence or some defect in their moral character, how many are there who would have been very differently placed to-day had their surroundings been othetwise? Charles Kingsley puts this very abruptly where he makes the Poacher's widow say, when address* jng the Bad Squire, who drew back — "Our daughters, with base-born babies, Have wandered away in their shame. If your misses had slept, Squire , where they did, Your misses might do the same." Placed in the same or similar circumstances, how many of us would have turned out better than this poor, lapsed, sunken multitude? Many of this crowd have never had a chance of doing better; they have been born in a poisoned atmosphere, educated in circumstances which have rendered modesty an impossibility, and have been thrown into life in conditions which make vice a second nature. Hence, to provide an effective remedy for the evils which we are deploring, these circumstances must be altered, and unless my Scheme effects such a change, it will be of no use. There are multitudes, myriads, of men and women, who are floundering in the horrible quagmire beneath the burden of a load too heavy for them to bear; every plunge :hey take forward lands them deeper; some have cea-^ed even to struggle, and lie prone in the filthy bog, slowly suffocating, with their manhood and womanhood all but perished. It is no use standing on the firm bank of the quaking morass and anathematizing these poor wretches; if you are to do them any good, you must give them another chance to get on their feet, you must give them firm foothold upon which they can once more stand upright, and you musi uuild stepping- stones across the bog to enable them safely to reach the other side. Favorable circumstances will not change a n- i\ I ) 1f »:,■ U-ir- 110 IN DARKEST ENGLAI^ I'.. 51 ' ik I'i •f S'E :f,-;.:,- . P .•pi.5"V £: I i^;''- •f . - * ^r. J, ' t'-- f ! : i; ■ J. ^; t man's heart or transform his nature, but unpropitiousi circumstances may render it absolutely impossible for him to escape, no matter how he may desire to extricate himself. The first step with these helpless, sunken creatures is to create the desire to escape, and then pro- vide the means for doing so. In other words, give the man another chance. Thirdly : Any remedy worthy of consideration must be on a scale commensurate with the evil with which it proposes to deal. It is no use trying to bail out the ocean with a pint pot. This: "^ is one whose victims are counted by, the million. The army of the Lost in our raidst exceeds the numbers of that multitudinous host which Xerxes led from Asia to attempt the conquest of Greece. Pass in parade those who make up the submerged tenth, count the paupers indoor and outdoor, the homeless, the starving, the criminals, the lunatics, the drunkards, and the harlots — and yet do not give way to despair! Even to attempt to save a tithe of this host requires that we should put much more force and fire into our work than has hitherto been exhibited by anyone. There must be no more phil- anthropic tinkering, as if this vast sea of human misery were contained in the limits of a garden pond. Fourthly: Not only must the Scheme be large enough^ but it must be permanent. That is to say, it must not be merely a spasmodic effort coping with the misery of to- day; it must be established on a durable footing, so as to go on dealing with the misery of to-morrow and the day after, so long as there is misery left in the world with which to grapple. Fifthly: But while it must be permanent ^ it must also be immediately practicable. Any Scheme, to oe of use, must be capable of being brought into instant operation with beneficial results. V '■m =# ANt) THE WAY OUT 111 nil ^m' I Sixthly: 7%% 'M. mimm ?»■--■.< ^'.y -r- r . ■-■ me *'J#!'!^' 114 IN DARKEST ENGLAKD Section II. -MY SCHEME What, then, is my Scheme? It is a very simple one, although in its ramifications and extensions it embraces the whole world. In this book I profess to do no more than to merely outline, as plainly and as simply as i can, the fundamental features of my proposals. I propose to devote the bulk of this volume to setting forth what can practically be done with one of the most pressing parts of the problem, namely, that relating to those who are out of work, and who, as the result, are more or less des- titute. I have many ideas of what might be done with those who are at present cared for in some measure by the State, buc I will leave these ideas for the present. It is not urgent that I should explain how our Poor Law system could be reformed, or what I should like to see done for the Lunatics in Asylums, or the Criminals in Jails. The persons who are provided for by the State we will, therefore, for the moment, leave out of count. The indoor paupers, the convicts, the inmates of the lunatic asylums are cared for, in a fashion, already. But, over and above all these, there exist some hundreds of thousands who are not quartered on the State, but who are living on the verge of despair, and who at any moment, under circumstances of misfortune, might be compelled to demand relief or support in one shape or another. I will confine myself, therefore, for the present to those who have no helper. It is possible, I think probable, if the proposals which I am now putting forward are carried out suc- cessfully in relation to the lost, homeless, and help- less of the population, that many of those who are at the present moment in somewhat better cir- cumstances will demand that they also shall be allowed to partake in the benefits of the Scheme. But upon this M: * 1/ .Vii^:^:' #;:, m »',.• !»: r: ■ t ■■ AND THE WAY OUT 115 also I remain silent. I merely remark that we have, in the recognitioiT of the importance of discipline and organization, what maybe called regimented co-operation, a principle that will be found valuable for solving many social problems other than that of destitution. Of these plans, which are at present being brooded over with a view to their realization when the time is propitious and the opportunity occurs, I shall have something to say. What is the outward and v sible form of the Problem of the Unemployed. Alas! we are all too familiar with it for any lengthy description to be necessary. The so- cial problem presents itself before us whenever a hungry, dirty, and ragged man stands at our door asking if we can give him a crust or a job. That is the social question. What are you to do with that man? He has no money in his pocket, all that he can pawn he has pawned long ago, his stomach is as empty as his purse, and the whole of the clothes upon his back, even if sold on the best terms, would not fetch a shilling. There he stands, your brother, with sixpennyworth of rags to cover his naked- ness from his fellow-men and not sixpennyworth of victuals within his reach. He asks for work, which he will set to even on his empty stomach and in his ragged uniform, if so be that you will give him something for it, but his hands are idle, for no one employs him. What are you to do with that man? That is the great note of interrogation that confronts Society to-day. Not only in overcrowded England, but in newer countries beyond the sea, where Society has not yet provided a means by which the men can be put upon the land and the land be made to feed the men. To deal with this man is the Problem of the Unemployed. To deal with him effectively you must deal with him immediately, you must provide him in some way or other at once with food, and shelter, and warmth. Next you must find him something to do, something that \.) '■ > , 1 * '^l : '" ^''-J i.ii ' ■ "' .;■ A /■', ■ ;/. ••il ; ' ' -. '"-•_ fu '-> ■'- •IS ■U J s m • - "• ' >-H'r ' 1 {it ■■ -■■*■■■■ ■ 1 ^& ' ■ f "k^ f •n: 'i .■■'.* -. M A ■Hi- f. a: \.:^ J ,-1.,.. M Wi}^. W-- hi. '■•K/i ■ r*' •*;i*,- 1-' .'>(«" m IN DARKEST ENGLAND will test the reality of his desire to work. This test must be more or less temporary, and should 'be of such a na- ture as to prepare him for making a permanent liveli- hood. Then, having trained him, you must provide him wherewithal to start life afresh. Ail these things I pro- pose to uo. My Scheme divides itself into three sec- tions, each of which is indispensable for the success of the wh( In this three-fold organization lies the open secret of the solution of the Social Problem. The Scheme I have to offer consists in the formation of these people into self-helping and self-sustaining com- munities, each being a kind ot co-operative society, or patriarchal family, governed and disciplined on the prin- ciples which have already proved so effective in the Sal- vation Army. These communities we will call, for want of a better term^ Colonies. There will be — (i) The City Colony. (2) The Farm Colony. (3) The Over-Sea Colony. ■' M .'-ti":'.-' . i t-'^ 1^"^- THE CITY COLONY By the City Colony is meant the establishment, in the /ery centre of the ocean of misery of which we have been speaking, of a number of Institutions to act as Harbors of Refuge for all and any who have been shipwrecked in life, character, or circumstances. These Harbors will gather up the poor, destitute creatures, supply their im- mediate pressing necessities, furnish temporary employ- ment, inspire them with hope for the future, and com- mence at once a course of regeneration by moral and re- ligious influences. From these Institutions, which are hereafter described, numbers would, after a short tim«, b« floated off to per- manent employmant, or sent home to friends happy to '..-4 1 & AND THE WAY OUT 117 I receive them on hearing of their reformation. All who remain on our hands would, by varied means, be tested as to their sincerity, industry, and honesty, and as soon as satisfaction was created, be passed on to the Colony of the second class. THK FARM COLONY This would consist of a settlement of the Colonists on an estate in the provinces, in the culture of which they would find employment and obtain support. As the race from the Country to the City has been the cause of much of the distress we have to battle with, we propose to find a substantial part of our remedy by transferring those same people back to the country — that is, back again to "the Garden! " Here the process of reformation of character would be carried forward by the same industrial, moral, and relig- ious methods as have already been commenced in the City, especially including those forms of labor and that knowledge of agriculture which, chould the Colonist not obtain employment in this country, will qualify him for pursuing his fortunes under more favorable cii^um- stances in some other land. From the Farm, as from the City, there can be no question that large numbers, resuscitated in health and character, would be restored to friends up and down the country. Some would find employment in their own callings, others would settle in cottages on a small piece of land that we should provide, or on Co-oper- ative Farms which we intend to promote; while the great bulk, after trial and training, would be passed on to the Foreign Settlement, which would constitute our third class — namely. The Over-Sea Colony. THE OVER-SKA COL«NV All who have given attention to the subject are ''"'%' :* v^ ^ \: n >■' w^-i II \ , ( inM w ^: 118 IN DARKEST ENGLAND agreed that in our Colonies in South Africa, Canada, Western Australia, and elsewhere, there are millions of acres of useful land to be obtained almost for the asking, capable of supporting our surplus population in health and comfort, were it a thousand times greater than it is. We propose to secure a tract of land in one of these countries, prepare it for settlement, establish in it au- thority, govern it by ctiui table laws, assist it in times of necessity, settling it gradually with a prepared people, and so secure a home for these destitute multitudes. The Scheme, in its entirety, may aptly be compared to A Great Machine, foundationcd in the lowest slums and purlieus of our great towns and cities, drawing up into its embrace the depraved and destitute of all classes; re- ceiving thieves, harlots, paupers, drunkards, prodigals, all alike, on the simple conditions of their being will- ing to work and to conform to discipline. Drawing up these poor outcasts, reforming them, and creating in them habits of industry, honesty, and truth; teaching them methods by which alike the bread that perishes and that which endures to Everlasting Life can be won; for- warding them from the City to the Country, and there continuing the process of regeneration, and then pouring them forth on to the virgin soils that await their coming in other lands, keeping hold of them with a strong gov- ernment, and yet making them free men and women; and so laying the foundations, perchance, of another Empire to s fill to vast proportions in later times. Why not? k '?aV IV' t- 'IW ■ ♦ t I . • J I CHAPTER II ^;l TO THE rescue! — THE CITV COLONY The first section of my Scheme is the establishment of a Receiving House for the Destitute in every great cen- tre of population. We start, let us remember, from the individual, the ragged, hungry, penniless man who con- fronts us with despairing demands for food, shelter, and work. Now, I have had some two or three years* experi- ence in dealing with this class. I believe, at the pres- ent moment, the Salvation Army supplies more food and shelter to the destitute than any other organization in London, and it is the experience and encouragement which I have gained in the working of these Food and Shelter Depots which has largely encouraged me to pro- pound this sciicme. Section I.- FOOD AND SHELTER FOR EVERY MAN ;..•>■ As I rode through Canada and the United States some three years ago, I was greatly impressed with the super- abundance of food which I saw at every turn. Oh, how I longed that the poor, starving people, and the hungry children cf the East of London and of other cen- tres of our destitute populations, should come into the midst of this abundance; but as it appeared imposs.'ble for me to take them to it, I secretly resolved that I would endeavor to bring some of it to them. I 93Xi thankful U9 - . . --^^'r ■ ' k i^^ M >' M i^'l m IN DARKEST ENGLAND .'A'** , to say that I have already been able to do so on a small Bcale, and hope to accomplish it ere long on a much vaster one. With this viev/ the first Cheap Food Depot was opened in the East of London two and a half years ago. This has been followed by others, and we have now three establishments; others are being arranged for. Since the commencement in 1888, we havs supplied over three and a half million meals. Some idea can be formed of the extent to which these Food and Shelter Depots have already struck their roots into the strata of Society which it is proposed to bene- fit, by the following figures, which give the quantities of food sold during the year at our Food Depots: FOOD SOLD IN DEPOTS AND SHELTERS DURING 1889. Article. Soup Bread Tea Coffee Cocoa SuKar Potatoes 146 Weight. 192^ tons... 2M " ... aS cwt 6 tons *3 Measure. 116,400 gallons 106,964 4-lb. loaves. 46,980 rallons 13.949 " 29,229 " Flour Piaflour Oatmeal , Rice Beans Onions and Parsnips lam Marmalade , Meat Milk.. 18 a8J4 " 12 " la " 18 " 9 " Remarks. 300 bags a,8oo " 180 sacks 288 " 36 " 120 " 240 " 240 " 2,880 jars. 1,920 " 14,300 quarts This includes returns from three Food Depots and five Shelters. I propose to multiply their number, to develop their usefulness, and to make them the threshold of the whole Scheme. Those who have already visited our Dep6ts will understand exactly what this means. The majority, however, of the readers of these pages have not done so, and for them it is necessary to explain what they are. At each of our Depdts, which can be seen by anybody that care« to take the trouble to visit th«m, there are two departments, onp dej»ling with food, the other with M v'.;S u f;. AND THE WAY OUT m m If- '•tv 5' !-i shelter. Of these both arc worked together and minister to the same individuals. Many come for food who do not come for shelter, although most of those who come for shelter also come for food, which is sold on terms to cover, as nearly as possible, the cost price and work- ing expenses of the establishment. In this our Food Depots differ from the ordinary soup-kitchen^. There is no gratuitous distribution of victuals. The following is our Price List: WHAT IS SOLD AT THE FOOD DEPOTS. FOR A CHILD. Soup per basin Ji " with Bread ^ Coffee or Cocoa per cup " " with Bread and jam d. ■ii- FOR AUULTS. d. Soup Per Basin J4 " With Bread i Potatoes }i Cabbage J^ Haricot Beans }i Bokled Jam Pudding % " Plum " each I Rice '• . % Baked Plum " .*.'.".*".'."'.'.'.■.'.".■.'.'.'.". % Baked Jam Roll H Meat, adding and Potatoes 3 Corned Beet " a " Mutton " 3 Coffee per cup, ^d.; per mug i Cocoa " %d. " I Tea " V^d. " i Bread and Butte, Jam, or Marmalade per slice ^ Soup in own Jugs, id. per Quart Ready at 10 A. m. ; j A certain discretionary power is vested in the Officers in charge of the Depot, and they can in very urgent cases give relief, but the rule is for the food to be paid for, and the financial results show that working expenses are just about covered. These Cheap Food Depots, I have no doubt, have been and are of great service to numbers of hungry, starving men, women, and children, at the prices just named, which must be within the reach of all, except the abso- lutely penniless; but it is the Shelter that I regard as the most useful feature in this part of our undertaking, for if anything is to be done to get hold of those who use the Depot, some more favorable opportunity must be afforded than is offered by the mere coming into the food store to get, perhaps, only a basin of soup. This 1, f 4; M '>< ' -I ' ■ ^'f 1'' '1 : |.i ^ U i '11 f f ^ 1% t Mi Ha I Sir' A-: 123 IN DARKEST ENGLAND part of the Scheme I propose to extend very considerably. Suppose that you are a casual in the streets of London, homeless, friendless, weary with looking for work all day and finding none. Night comes on. Where are you to go? You have perhaps only a few coppers, or it may be, few shillings, left of the rapidly dwindling store of your little capital. You shrink from sleeping in the open air; you equally shrink from going to the fourpenny Doss-house, where, in the midst cf strange and ribald company, you may be robbed of the remnant of the money still in your possession. While at a loss as to what to do, someone who sees you suggests that you should go to our Shelter. You cannot, of course, go to the Casual Ward of the Workhouse as long as you have any money in your possession. You come along to one of our Shelters. On entering you pay fourpence, and are free of the establishment for the night. You can come in early or late. The company begins to assemble about five o'clock in the afternoon. In the women's Shelter ycu find that many come much earlier and sit sewing, reading, or chatting in the sparely furnished but well- warmed room from the early hours of the afternoon until bedtime. You come in, and you get a large pot of coffee, tea, or cocoa and a hunk of bread. You can go into the wash- house, where you can have a wash with plenty of warm water and soap and towels free. Then, after having washed and eaten, you can make yourself comfortable. You can write letters to your friends, if you have any friends to write to, or you can read, or you can sit quietly and do nothing. A eight o'clock the Shelter is tolerably full, and then begins what we consider to be the indis- pensable feature of the whole concern. Two or three hundred men in the men's Shelter, or as many women in the women's Shelter, are collected together, most of .*■ # m ■■■':B -.mi m- ;,*'Jfei;sfe»..a44v t t . '■%-'■ 4;'.' P ''.. I ''■>'-?i: -y AitoTHEWAYOUt m them strange to each other, in a large room. They are all wretchedly poor — what are you to do with them? This is what we do with them: We hold a rousing Salvation meeting. The officer in charge of the Depot, assisted by detachments from the Training Homes, conducts a jovial free-and-easy social evening. The girls have their banjos and their tambourines, and for a couple of hours you have as lively a meeting as you will find in London. There is prayer, short and to the point; there are addresses, some delivered by the leaders of the meeting, but the most of them the testimonies of those who have been saved at previous meetings, and who, rising in their seats, tell their companions their experiences. Strange expe- riences they often are of those who have been down in the very bottomless depths of sin and vice and misery, but who have found at lasi firm footing on which to stand, and who are, as they say in all sinceritj', "as happy as the day is long." There is a joviality and a genuine good foiling at some of these meetings which is refreshing to the soul. There are all sorts and con- ditions of men: Casuals, jail birds, Out-of-Works, who have come there for the first time, and who find men who last week or last month were even as they them- selves are now — still poor, but rejoicing in a sense of brotherhood and a consciousness of their being no longer outcasts and forlorn in this wide world. There are men who have at last seen revive before them a hope of escap- ing from that dreadful vortex into which their sins and misfortunes had drawn them, and being restored to those comforts that they had feared so long were gone forever; nay, of rising to live a true and Godly life. These tell their mates how this has come about, and urge all who hear them to try for themselves and see whether it is not a good and happy thing to be soundly saved. In the in- / f V 'A I n -I ■ 'I ■ * f r"- v'.'^i.jj m IN DARKEST ENGLAND >.v :h ■ ii ■■■» . 11 % ' ii ..j;n-. ^ ,.>3RK )j ^-r!<•^ Hi tervals of testimony — and these testimonies, as everyone will bear me witness who has ever attended any of our meetings, are not long, sanctimcnious lackadaisical speeches, but simple confessions of individual experience — there are bursts of hearty melody. The conductor of the meeting will start up a verse or two of a hymn illus- trative of the experiences mentioned by the last speaker, or one of the girls from the Training Home will sing a solo, accompanying herself on her instrument, while all join in a rattling and rollicking chorus. , There is no compulsion upon anyone of our dossers to take part in this meeting; they do not nee;^ to come in until it is over; but as a simple matter of fact, they do come in. Any night between eight and ten o'clock you will find these people sitting there, listening to the exhortations and taking part in the singing, many of them, no doubt, unsympathetic enough, but nevertheless preferring to be present with the music and the warmth, mildly stirred, if only by curiosity, as the various tes- timonies are delivered. Sometimes these testimonies are enough to rouse the most cynical of observers. We had at one of our Shel- ters the captain of an ocean steamer, who had sunk to the depths of destitution through strong drink. He came in there one night utterly desperate, and was taken in hand by our people — and with us taking in hand is no mere phrase, for at the close of our meenigs our officers go from seat to seat, and if they see anyone who shows signs of being affected by the speeches or the singing, at once sit down beside him and begin to labor with him for the salvation of his soul. By this means they are able to get hold of the men and to know exactly where the difficulty lies, what the trouble is, and if they do nothing else, at least succeed in convincing them i '-.-< 'M , .■■'3 a --^i ■ :: .y.'s ;; I J. i i r 11 ^i in the Shelters. We have provided accommodation now for several thousand of the most helplessly broken- down men in London, criminals many of them, mendi- cants, tramps, those who are among the filth and offscour- ing of all things; but such is the influence that is estab- lished by the meeting and the moral ascendancy of our officers themselves, that we have never had a fight on the premises, and very seldom do we ever hear an oath or an obscene word. Sometimes there has been trouble outside the Shelter, when men insisted upon coming in drunk or were otherwise violent; but once let them come to the Shelter, and get into the swing of the concern, and we have no trouble with them. In the morning they get up and have their breakfast, and, after a short serv- ice, go off their various ways. We find that v/e can do this — that is to say, we can provide coffee and bread for breakfast and for supper, and a shake-down on the floor in the packing-boxes I have described in a warm dormitory for fourpence a head. I propose to develop these Shelters, so as to afford every man a locker, in which he could store any little valuables that he may possess. I would also allow him the use of a boiler in the wash-house with a hot drying oven, so that he could wash his shirt over-night and have it returned to him dry in the morning. Only those who have had practice experience of the difficulty of seeking for work in London can appreciate the advantages of the opportunity to get your shirt washed in this way — if you have one. In Trafalgar Square, in 1887, there were few things that scandalized the public more than the spectacle of the poor people camped in the Square, washing their shirts in the early morning at the fount- ay[ns. If you talk to any men who have been on the road for a lengthened period they will tell you that noth- ing hurts their self-respect more or stands more fatally ;■(;'. '■ » 9. ■1^ lii „M iitwiio^. P:, ft. ■>: f !>►-■■- AND THE vVAY PUT w in the way of their getting a job than the impossibility of getting their little things done up and clean. In our poor man's "Home" everyone could at least keep himself clean and have a clean shirt to his back, in a plain way, no doubt; but still not less effective than if he were to be put up at one of the West End hotels, and would be able to secure anyway the necessa- ries of life while being passed on to something far bet- ter. This is the first step. SOME SHELTER TROPHIES Of the practical results which have followed our meth- ods of dealing with the outcasts who take shelter with us, we have many striking examples. Here are a few, each of them a transcript of a life experience relating to men who are now active, industrious members of the community upon which, but for the agency of these De- pots, they would have been preying to this day: A. S. — Boin in Glasgow, 1825; saved at Clerkenwell, May 19, 1889. Poor parents; raised in a Glasgow Slum. Was thrown on the streets at seven years of age, be- came the compnni 1 and associate of thieves, and drifted into crime. The iol lowing are his terms of imprison- ment: 14 days, 30 days, 30 days, 60 days, 60 days (three times in succession), 4 months, 6 months (twice), 9 months, 18 months, 2 years, 6 years, 7 years (twice), 14 years; 40 years 3 months and 6 days in the aggregate. Was flogged for violent conduct in jail 8 times, W. M. ("Buff").— Born in Deptford, 1864. Saved at Clerkenwell, March 3^, 1889. His father was an old Navy man, and earned a decent living as manager. Was sober, respectable, and trustworthy. Mother was a dis- reputable drunken slattern, a curse and disgrace to hus- band and family. The home was broken up, and little Buff was given over to the evil influences of his de- praved mother. His 7th birthday present from his admir- ing parent was a "quarten o' gin." He got some educa- tion at the One Tun Alley Ragged School, but when 9 years old was caught apple-stealing, and sent to V < t v?;' *'.-■ I i -. T» m tN DAlOtEST ENGLAND III I *. " j'Xi''. 'i W^y'^> i ?^^^-v .1 •* v» . i , - u " ; the Industrial School at Ilford for 7 years. Discharged at the end of his term, he drifted to the streets, the casual wards, and Metropolitan jails, every one of whose , interiors he is familiar with. He became a ringleader of a gang that infested London; a thorough mendicant and ne'er-do-well; a pest to society. Naturally he is a born leader, and one of those spirits that command a fol- lowing; consequently, when he got Salvation, the major part of his following came after him to the Shelter, and eventually to God. His character since conversion has been altogether satisfactory, and he is now an Orderly at Whitechapel, and to all appearances a "true lad." C. W. ("Frisco"). — Born in San Francisco, 1862; saved April 24, 1889. Taken away from home at the age of 8 years, and made his way to Texas. Here he took up life amongst the Ranches as a Cowboy, and varied it with occasional trips to sea, developing into a typical brass aad rowdy. He had 2 years for mutiny at sea, 4 years for mule-stealing, 5 years for cattle-stealing, and has altogether been in jail for 13 years and II months. He came over to. England, got mixed up with thieves and casuals here, anddid sevt^ral short terms of imprisonment. He was met on his release at Millbank by an old chum (Buff) and the Shelter Captain; came to Shelter, got saved, and has stood firm. H. A. — Born at Deptford, 1850. Saved at Clerken- well, January 12th, i88g. Lost mother in early life, step- mother difficulty supervening, and a propensity to misap- propriation of small things developed into thieving, He followed the sea, became a hard drinker, a foul- mouthed blasphemer, and a blatant spouter of infidelity. He drifted about for years, ashore and afloat, and eventu- ally reached the Shelter stranded. Here besought God, and has done well. This summer he had charge of a gang of haymakers sent into the country, and stogd the ordeal satisfactorily. He seems honest in his profession, and strives patiently to follow after God. He is at the workshops. H. S. — Born at A — , in Scotland. Like most Scotch lads, although parents were in poor circumstances, he managed to get a good education. Early in life he took to newspaper work, and ricked up the details of the If itU ■■-I ,.::%l 1 M iJi;- 3t'i'^''- ••;(Vi, AND TMfi WAY OUT 110 W: I Mv m Kr, , journalistic profession in several prominent papers in N. B. Eventually he got a position on a provincial news- paper, and having put in a course at Glasgow University, graduated B. A. there. After this he was on the staff of a Welsh paper. He married a decent girl, and had several little ones, but giving way to drink, lost posi- tion, wife, family, and friends. At times he would struggle up and recover himself, and appears generally to have been able to secure a position, but again and again his besetment overcame him, and each time he would drift lower and lower. For a time he was engaged in secretarial work on a prominent London Charity, but fell repeatedly, and at length was dismissed. He came to us an utter outcast, was sent to Shelter and Workshop, got saved, and is now in a good situation. He gives every promise, and those best able to judge seem very sanguine that at lajt a real good work has been accom- plished in htm. *" ' ^ F. D. — Was born in London, and brought up to the iron trade. Held several good situations, losing one after another, from drink and irregularity. On one occasion, with ;!^20 in his pockot, he started for Manchester, got drunk there, was locked up and fined five shillings, and fifteen shillings costs; this he paid, and as he was leav- ing the Court, a gentleman stopped him, saying that he knew his father, and inviting him to his house; how- ever, with ;^io in his pocket, he was too independent, and he declined; but the gentleman gave him his address, and left him. A few days squandered his cash, and clothes soon followed, all disappearing for drink, and then without a coin he presented himself at the address given to him, at ten o'clock at night. It turned out to be his uncle, who gave him j£2 to go back to London, but this too disappeared for liquor. He tramped back to London utterly destitute. Several nights were passed on the Embankment, and on one occasion a gentleman gave him a ticket for the Shelter; this, however, he sold for 2d. and had a pint of beer, and stopped out all night. But it set him thinking, and he determined next day to raise 4d. and see what a Shelter was like. He came to Whitechapel, became a reguhir customer, eight months ago got saved, and is now doing well. 9 . f ::--., .:'^ ^ ■:.;../:■•'.■■•...,,: ' ■■' -■-'^ ■•*"^ . ■yn>-;. :--■-, ■:^:^.... ;;£^ i;i 4^/ U ^f m I Ido IN DARKEST ENGLAND ««•' IS '•i^ *l 1 , ■'H: * ; i' /•:-:; ( 1 ' *" l; ' ,f I 'i I r I'f.l-, ( '■iC' » it- F. H. — Was born at Birmingham, 1858. Saved at Whitechapel, March 26th, 1890. Father died in his in- fancy, mother marrying again. The stepfather was a drunken navvy, and used to knock the mother about, and the lad was left to the streets. At I2 years of age he left home, and tramped to Liverpool, begging his way, and sleeping on the roadsides. In Liverpool he lived about the Docks for some days, sleeping where he could. Police found him and returned him to Birhiingham ; his reception being an unmerciful thrashing from the drunken stepfather. He got several jobs as errand-boy; remarkable for hi<= secret pilferings, and two years later left with fifty shillings stolen money, and reached Mid- dh^brough by road. Got work in a nail factory, staid nine months, tlien stole nine shillings from felluvv-lodger, and again took the road. He reached Birmingham, and linding a warrant out for him, joined the Navy. He was in the lmpre}:;nabU training-ship three years, be- haved himself, only getting "one dozen," and was trans- ferred, with character marked "good," to the Iron Duke in the China seas; soon got drinking, and was locked up and imprisoned for riotous conduct in almost every port in the stations. He broke ship, and deserted several times, and was a thorough specimen of a bad British tar. He saw jail in Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama, Shanghai, Canton, and other places. In five years returned home, and, after furlough, joined the Belle Isle in the Irish station. Whisky here again got hold of him, and excess ruined his constitution. On his leave he had married, and on his discharge joined his wife in Birmingham. For some time he worked as sweeper in the market, but two years ago deserted his wife and family, and came to London, settled down to a loafer's life, lived on the streets with Casual Wards for his home. Eventually came to Whitechapel Shelter, and got saved. He is now a trustworthy, reliable lad; has become reconciled lo wife, who came to London to see him, and he bids fair to be a useful man. ' J. W. S.I — Born in Plymouth. His parents are respect- able people. He is clever at his business, and has held good situations. Two years ago he came to London, fell jntQ , evil coursesi and took to drink. Lost situatioii ■"^ *, ;' ^ ,.*>;^^„' :S.; -■ .»• ^:^iiiijSl»^i8i;Jii| 4 i 'y' ^i;^ ■ '.!S"U'' ■ AND THE WAY OUT 181 after situation, and kept on drinking; lost everything, ifind came to the streets. He found out ^Vf?stminster Shelter, and eventually got saved; his parents were com- municated with, and help and clothes forthcoming; with Salvation came hope and energy; he got a situation at Lcwisham (yd. per hour) at his trade. Four months standing, and is a promising Soldier, as well as a respect- able mechanic. J. T. — Boru in Ireland; well educated (commercially); clerk and accountant. Early in life joined the Queen's Army, and by good conduct worked his way up. Was orderly-room clerk and paymaster's assistant in his regi- ment. He led a steady life whilst in the service, and at the expiration of his term passed into the Reserve with a "very good" character. He was a long time unem- ployed, and this appears to have reduced him to despair, and so to drink. He sank to the lowest ebb, and came to Westminster in a deplorable condition: coatless, hat- less, shirtless, dirty altogether, a fearful specimen of what a man of good parentage can be brought to. After being at Shelter some time, he got saved, was passed to Workshops, and gave great satisfaction. At present he is doing clerical work and gives satisfaction as a work- man — a good influence in the place. J. S. — Born in London, of decent parentage. From a child he exhibited thieving propensities; soon got into the hands of the police, and was in and out of jail continu- ally. He led the life of a confirmed tramp, and roved all over the United Kingdom. He has been in penal servitude three times, and his last term was for seven years, with police supervision. After his release he married a respectable girl and tried to reform, but cir- cumstances were against him; character he had none, a jail career only to recommend him, and so he and his wife eventually drifted to destitution. They came to the Shelter, and asked advice; they were received, and he madd application to the sitting Magistrate at Clerk- enwell as to a situation, and what he ought to do. The Magistrate helped him, and thanked the Salvation Army for its efforts in behalf of him and such as he, and asked us to look after the applicant. A little work was given him, and after a time a good situation procured* ii ' -)f! 'iti •»*?!5W- 132 IN DARKEST ENGLAND m 1 u I. ) I i- I I #1' "* To-day they have a good time; he is steadily employed, and both are serving God, holding the respect and confi-^ dence of neighbors, etc. E. G. — Came to England in the service of a family of position, and afterwards was butler and upper servant in several houses of the nobility. Mis health broke down, and for a long time he was altogether unfit for work. He had saved a considerable sum of money, but the cost of doctors and the necessaries of a sick man soon played havoc with his little store, and he became reduced to penury and absolute want. For some time he was in the Workhouse, and, being discharged, he was advised to go to the Shelter. He was low in health as well as m circumstances, and broken in spirit, almost despair- ing. He was lovingly advised to cast his care upon God, and eventually he was converted. After some time work was obtained as porter in a City warehouse. Assi- duity and faithfulness in a year raised him to the posi- tion of traveler. To-day he prospers in body and soul, retaining the respect and confidence of all associated with him. We might multiply these records, but those given show the kind of results attained. There's no reason to think that influences which have been blessed of God to the salvation of these poor fellows will not be equally efficacious if applied on a wider scale and over a vaster area. The thing to be noted in all these cases is that it was not the mere feeding which ef- fected the result; it was the combination of th feeding with the personal labor for the individual soul. Still, if we had not fed them, we should never have come near enough to gain any hold upon their hearts. If we had merely fed them, they would have gone away next day to resume, with increased energy, the predatory and vagrant life which they had been leading. But when our Feed- ing and Shelter Depots brought them to close quarters, our officers were literally able to put their arms round their necks and plead with them as brethren who had gone 'if a9 '' ft AND THE WAY OUT 181 astray. We told them that their sins and sorrows had not shut them out from the love of the Everlasting Father, who hau! sent us to them to help them with all the powe^ of our strong organization, of the Divine authority of which we never feel so sure as when it is going forth to seek and to save the lost. Section II.- WORK FOR THE OUT-OF-WORKS— THE FACTORY :f . ■ •v: .^•.;:' '..'', '§kr .;:* ' -■ ■ '.HP'/ . The foregoing, it will be said, is all very well for your outcast when he has got fourpence in his pocket, but what if he has not got his fourpence? What if you are confronted with a crowd of hungry, desperate wretches, without even a penny in their pouch, demanding food and shelter? This objection is natural enough, and has been duly considered from the first. I propose to establish in connection with every Food and Shelter Depot a Workshop or Labor Yard, in which any person who comes destitute and starving will be sup- plied with sufficient work to enable him to earn the fourpence needed for his bed and board. This is a funda- mental feature of the Scheme, and one which I think will commend it to all those who are anxious to benefit the poor by enabling them to help themselves without the demoralizing intervention of charitable relief. Let us take our stand for a moment at the door of one of our Shelters. There comes along a grimy, ragged, foot- sore tramp, his feet bursting out from the sides of his shoes, his clothes all rags, with filthy shirt and tow- seled hair. He has been, he tells you, on the tramp for the last three weeks, seeking work and finding none, slept last night on the Embankment, and wants to know if you can give him a bite and a sup, and shelter for the night. Has he any money? Not hej he probably .;ji'.:^i;ujyi^._V^.. iyfev^4-; f 134 IN DARKEST ENGLAND liV W !i ti 1' , f I ] ^ '.'i ^ IJs- spent the last penny he begged or earned in a pipe of tobacco, with which to dull the cravings of his hungry stomach. What are you to do with this man? Remember this is no fancy sketch — it is a typical case. There are hundreds and thousands of such appli- cants. Anyone who is at all familiar with life in Lon- don and our other large towns, will recognize that gaunt figure standing there asking for bread and shelter, or for ,vork by which he cai* obtain both. What can we do with him? liefore him Society stands paralyzed, (]uiet- 'ng its conscience every now and then by an occasional oole of bread and soup, varied with the semi-criminal treatment of the Casual Ward, until the manhood is crushed out of the man, and you have in your hands a reckless, despairing, spirit-broken creature, with not even an aspiration to rise above his miserable circumstances, covered with vermin and filth, sinking ever lower and lower, until at h'st he is hurried out of sight in the rough shell which carries him to a pauper's grave. I propose to take that man, put a strong arm round him, and extricate him from the mire in which he is all but suffocated. As a first step we will say to him, "Yon are hungry, here is food; you are homeless, here is a shelter f r your head; but remember you must work for your rations. This is not charity; it is work for the workless, help for those who cannot help themselves. There is the labor-shed, go and earn your fourpence, and then come in out of the cold and the wet into the warm shelter; here is your mug of coffee and your great chunk of bread, and after you have finished these there is a meeting ^oing on in full swing, with its joyfm music and hearty human intercourse. There are those who pray for you and with you, and will make you feel yourself a brother among men. There is your shake-down on the floor, where you will have your warm, quiet bed, uadis- \ it V 4 ''^ 'r}%^#V'- AND THE WAY OUT m V \ I B i'*^'"'" 1^; ,11./ <:'':ii p turbed by the ribaldry and curses with which you have been familiar too long. There is the wash-house, where you can have a thorough wash-up at last, after all these days of UMwashedness. There is plenty of soap and warm water and clean towels; there, too, you can wash your shirt and have it dried while you sleep. In the morning when you get up there will be breakfast for you, , and your shirt will be dry and clean. Then, when you are washed and rested, and are no longer faint with hunger, you can go and seek a jol), or go back to the Labor Shop until something better turn up." But where and how? Now let me introduce you to our Labor Yard. Here is no pretense of charity beyond the charity which gives a man remunerative labor. It is not our business to pay men wages. What we propose is to enable those, niali.^ or female, who are destitute, to earn their rations and do enough work to pay for their lodging until they are able to go out into the world and earn wages for themselves. There is no compulsion upon anyone to resort to our shelter, but if a penniless man wants food, he must, as a rule, do work suflicient to pay for what he has of that and of other accommodation. I saj' as a rule, because, of course, our Oflicers will be allowed to make exceptions in extreme cases; but tl.e rule will be first work, then eat. And that amount of work will be exacted rigorously. It is that which distinguishes this Scheme from mere charitable relief. I do not wish to have any hand in establishing a new centre of demoralization. I do not want my customers to be pauperized by being treated to anything which they do not earn. To develop self-respect in the man, to make him feel that at last he has got his foot planted on the first rung of the ladder which leads up- wards, is vitally important, and this cannot be done un- ;% w^ ii :v 'I 4 il t ' ise IN DARKEST ENGLAND less the bargain between him and me is strictly carried out. So much coflee, so much bread, so m-uch shelter, so much warmth and light from me, but so much labor in return from him. What labor? it is asked. For answer to this question I would like to take you down to our Industrial Work- shops in Whitechapel. There you will see the Scheme in experimental operation. What we are doing there we propose to do everywhere up to the extent of the neces- sity, and there is no reason why we should fail elsewhere if we can succeed there. Our Industrial Factory at Whitechapel was established this Spring. We opened it on a very small scale. It has developed until we have nearly ninety men at work. Some of these are skilled workmen who are engaged in carpentry. The particular job they have now in h:ind is the making of benches for the Salvation Army. Others are engaged in mat-making, some are cobblerfi, others painters, and so forth. This trial effort has, so far, an- swered admirably. No one who is taken on comes for a permanency. So long as he is willing to work for his rations he is supplied with materials and provided with skilled superintendents. The hours of work are eight per day. Here are the rules and regulations under which the work is carried on at present: It % ■-•-.it- u THE SALVATION ARMY SOCIAL REFORM WING Temporary Headquarters, 36, Upper Thames Street, London, E. C. CITY INDUSTRIAL WORKSHOPS Objr-CTS. — These workshops are open for the relief of the unemployed and destitute, the object being to make it unnecessary for the homeless or workless to be com- pelled to go to the Workhouse or Casual Ward, food and sl^Qlter being provided for (hem ip exchange for worl( :' 'l.t : ■■*. '■0 '■(■-.. ii t^> -lb; ■ V;-.- 'If'. "+;■■•' tv,;-- :*?."' '"»■ W: AND THE WAY OUT m done by them, until they can procure work for them- selves, or it can be found for them elsewhere. Plan of Operation. — All those applying for assistance will be placed in what is termed the nrst class. They must be willing to do any kind of work allotted to them. While they remain in the first class, they shall be en- titled to three meals a day and shelter for the night, and will be expected in return to cheerfully perform the work allotted to them. Promotions will be made from this first class to the second class ol all those considered eligible by the La- bor Directors. They will, in addition to the food ard shelter above mentioned, receive sums of money up to 5s. at the end of the week, for the purpose of assisting them to provide themselves with tools, to get work out- side. Regulations. — -No smoking, drinking, bad language, or conduct calculated to demoralize will be permitted on the factory premises. No one under the influence of drink will be admitted. Any one refusing to work, or guilty of bad conduct, will be required to lea e the prem- . ises. Hours of Work. — 7 a. m. to 8.30 a. m. ; 9 a. m. to i p. M,; 2 p. M. to 5.30 M. Doors will be closed 5 min- utes after 7, 9, and 2 p. m. Food Checks will be given to all as they pas-^ out at each meal-time. Meals and Shelter provided at 272, Whitechapel Road. Our practical experience shows that we can provide work by which a man can earn his rations. We shall be careful not to sell the goods so manufactured at less than the market prices. In firewood, for instance, we have endeavored to be rather above the average than be- low it. As stated elsewhere, we are firmly opposed to injuring one class of workmen while helping another. Attempts on somewhat similar lines to those now be- ing described have hitherto excited the liveliest feelings of jealousy on the part of the Trade Unions and represent- atives of labQlTt They rightly consider it iiafair thz^t u 4i I '^\ ■■ :;> * H: 5'5 I !■? 188 IN DARKEST ENGLAND (. ■-; f 1. ;1 labor partly paid for out of the Rates and Taxes, or Dy Charitable Contributions, should be put upon the marl^t at less than market value, and so compete unjustly with the production of those who have in the first instance to furnish an important quota of the funds by which these Criminal or Pauper workers are supported. No such jealousy can justly exist in relation to our Scheme, see- ing that we are endeavoring to raise the standard of labor and are pledged to a war to the ueath against sweating in every shape and form. But, it will be asked, how do these Out-of-Works con- duct themselves when you get them into the Factory? Upon this point I have a very satisfactory report to render. Many, no doubt, are below par, underfed, and suffering from ill health, or the consequence of their in- temperance. Many also are old men, who have been crowded out of the labor market by the younger gen- eration. But, without making too many allowances on these grounds, 1 may fairly say that these men have shown themselves not only anxious and willing, but able to work. Our Factory Superintendent reports: Of loss of time there has practically been none since the opening, June 29th. Each man during his stay, with hardly an exception, has presented himself punctually at opening time and worked more or less assiduously the whole of the labor hours. The morals of the men have been good; in not more than three instances has there been an overt act of disobedience, insubordination, or mischief. The men, as a whole, are uniformly civil, willing, and satisfied; they are all fairly industrious; some, and that not a few, are assiduous and energetic. The Foremen have had no serious complaints to make or delinquencies to report. On the 15th of August I had a return made of the names and trades and mode of employment of the men ^\ work. Of Uie forty in the shops at that moment, eight J :?«, ■im ^^M^ ^''y:yy^:V\ 'Ihi ' AND THE WAY OUT 180 '1 '(•-■/;' s-^--. were carpenters, twelve laborers, two tailors, two sail- 01 s, three clerks, two engineers, while among the rest was a shoemaker, two grocers, a cooper, a sailmaker, a musician, a painter, and a stonemason. Nineteen of these were employed in sawing, cutting, and tying up firewood, six were making mats, seven making sacks, and the rest were employed in various odd jobs. Among them was a Russian carpenter who could not speak a word of English. The whole place is a hive of industry which fills the hearts of those who go to see it with hope that something is about to be done to solve the difficulty of the unem- ployed. Although our Factories will be permanent institutions, they will not be anything more than temporary resting- places to those who avail themselves of their advantages. They are harbors of refuge into which the storm-tosbcd workman may run and re-fit, so that he may again push out to the ordinary sea of labor and earn his living. The establishment of these Industrial Factories seems to be one of the most obvious duties of those who would effectually deal with the Social Problem. They are as indispensable a link in the chain of deliverance as the Shelters, but they are only a link, and not a stopping- place. And we do not propose that they should be re- garded as anything but stepping-stones to better things. These Shops will also be of service for men and women temporarily unemployed who have families, and who possess some sort of a home. In numerous instances, if by any means these unfortunates could find bread and rent for a few weeks, they would tide over their difficul- ties, and an untold amount of misery would be averted. In such cases Work woaiu be supplied at their own homes where preferred, especially for the women and children, and such remuneration would be aimed at as would sup- ply the immediate necessities of the hour. To thosQ :m '^■si mm^ m. 140 IN DARKEST ENGLAND ■ i ^*! I « 1 ^. who nave rent to pay and families to support, something beyond rations would be indispensable. The Labor Shops will enable us to work out our Anti- Sweating experiments. For instance, we propose at once to commence manufacturing match-boxes, for which we shall aim at giving nearly treble the amount at present paid to the poor starving creatures engaged in this work. In all these workshops our success will depend upon the extent to which we are able to establish and maintain in the minds of the Workers sound moral sentiments and to cultivate a spirit of hopefulness and aspiration. We shall continually seek to impress upon them the fact that while we desire to feed the hungry, and clothe the naked, and provide shelter for the shelterless, we are still more anxious to bring about that regeneration of heart and life which is essential to their future happi- ness and well-being. But no compulsion will for a moment be allowed with respect to religion. The man who professes to love and serve God will be helped because of such profession, and the man who does not will be helped in the hope that he will, sooner or later, in gratitude to God, do the same; but there will be no melancholy misery-making for any. There is no sanctimonious long face in the Army. We talk freely about Salvation, because it is to us the very light and joy of our existence. We are happy, and we wish others to share our joy. We know by our own ex- perience that liff^ is a very different thing when we have found the peace of God, and are working together with Him for the salvation of the world, instead of toiling for the realization of worldly ambition or the amassing of oarthly gain. :-4 'K' :^;i ■ '■tM ■-•¥■ ^# .'■'■iMS ;* ■W- (( AND THE WAY OUT 141 r .- - ■k ' tfc,: Section III.— THE REGIMENTATION OF THE UNEMPLOYED When we have g6t the homeless, penniless tramp washed, and housed, and fed at the Shelter, and have se- cured him the means of earning his fourpence by chop- ping firewood, or making mats, or cobbling the shoes of his fellow-laborers at the Factory, we have next to seri- ously address ourselves to the problem of how to help him to get back into the regular ranks of industry. The Chelter and the Factory are but stepping-stones, which have i.iiis advantage, they give us time to look round and to see what there is in a man and what we can make of him. The first and most obvious thing to do is to ascertain whether there is any demand in the regular market for the labor which is thus thrown upon our hands. In order to ascertain this, I have already established a Labor Bureau, the operations of which I shall at once largely extend, at which employers can register their needs, and workmen can register their names and the kind of work they can do. At present there is no labor exchange in existence in this country. The columns of the daily newspaper are the only substitute for this much-needed register. It is one of the many painful consequences arising from the overgrowth oi cities. In a village, where everybody knows everybody else, this necessity does not exist. If a farmer wants a couple of extra men for mowing or some more women for binding at harvest-time, he runs over in his mind the names of every available person in the parish. Even in a small town there is little difficulty in knowing who wants employment. But in the cities this knowledge is not available; hence we constantly hear of persons who would be very glad to employ labor for odd jobs in an occasional stress of work, 1' 4 142 IN DARKEST ENGLAND * % y "5 u while at the same time hundreds of persons are starving for want of work at another end of the town. To meet this evil, the laws of Supply and 'Demand have created the Sweating Middlemen, who farm out the unfortunates and charge so heavy a commission for their share that the poor wretches who do th^ work receive hardly enough to keep body and soul together. I propose to change all this by establishing registers which will enable us to lay our hands at a moment's notice upon all the unem- ployed men in a district in any particular trade. In this way we should become the universal intermediary be- tween those who have no employment and those who want workmen. In this we do not propose to supersede or interfere with the regular Trade Unions. Where Unions exist we should place ourselves in every case in communication with their officials. But the most helpless mass of mis- ery is to be found among the unorganized laborers who have no Union, and who are, therefore, the natural prey of the middleman. Take, for instance, one of the most wretched classes of the community, the poor fellows who perambulate the streets rs Sandwich Men. These are farmed out by certain firms. If you wish to send fifty or a hundred men through London carrying boards an- nouncing the excellence of your goods, you go to an ad- vertising firm, who will undertake to supply you with as many sandwich men as you want for two shillings or half a crown a day. The men are forthcoming, your goods are advertised, you pay your money, but how much of that goes to the men? About one shilling, or one shilling and threepence; the rest goes to the middle- man. I propose to supersede this middleman by forming a Co-operative Association of Sandwich Men. At every Slielter there would be a Sandwich Brigade ready in any ©umbers when wanted. The cost of registration and or- '. f: "flf-'^' -■■(;:''lt 1,. ,■>'■-. ■ ,:H- . ..-.41 ■ .■.■.•■;:V M M :"r^M . .yj^.:/f . ''JYr' V •',:'' m ^Alt ■ AND THE WAY OUT la ganization, which the men would gladly pay, need not certainly amount to mere than a penny in the shilling. All that is needed is to establish a trustworthy and dis- interested centre round which the unemployed can group themselves, and which will form the nucleus of a great Co-operative Self-helping Association. The advantages of such a Bureau are obvious. But in this, also, I do not speak from theory. I have behind me the experi- ence of seven months of labor both in England and Aus- tralia. In London we have a registration office in Up- per Thames Street, where the unemployed come every morning in droves to register their names and to see whether they can obtain situation*!. In Australia, I see, it was stated in the House of Assembly that our Officers had been instrumental in finding situations for no less than one hundred and thirty-two "Out-of-Woiks" in a few days. Here, in London, we have succeeded in obtaining employment for a great number, although, of course, it is beyond our power to help all those who apply. We have sent haymaker^; down to the country, and there is every reason to believe that when our organization is better known, and in more extended operation, we shall have a great labor exchange between town and country, so that when there is scarcity in one place and conges- tion in another, there will be information immediately sent, so thnt the surplus labor can be drafted into those districts where labor is wanted. For instance, in the harvest seasons, with changeable weather, it is quite a common occuiicnce for the crops to be seriously dam- aged for want of laborers, while at the same time there will be thousands wandering about in the big towns and cities seeking work, but finding no one to hire them. Extend this system all over the world, and make it not only applicable to the transfer of workers between the towns and the provinces, but between Country and . i.->,- * . •J 1.'. *l *//■ m' '■rfi^:' ' "J •,■:'. ■.* 1-5 144 •■■■ ■■♦• '',i' ; ' ''••■' ■ ;' .("■ IN DARKEST feNGLANt) ' •» 1 Country, and it is impossible to ( Kaggerate the enormous advantages which would result. The officer in charge of our experimental Labor Bureau sends me the following notes as to what has already been done through the agency of the Upper Thames Street office; SALVATION ARMY SOCIAL REFORM WING LABOR BUREAU Bureau opened June i8th, 1890. The following are particulars of transactions up to September 26th, 1890: Applications for Eiuployuieut— Men 2462 " " <• Women 208 Applications from Employers for Men 128 '• " " " Women 59 -—I Sent to Work— Men 301 '♦ '• Women 68 _369 Pormanent Situations 146 Temporary Employment, viz: — Boardmen, Cleaners, etc. 223 Sent to Workshop in Hanbury Street 165 Section IV.— THE HOUSEHOLD SALVAGE BRIGADE It is obvious that the moment you begin to find work for the unemployed labor of the community, no matter what you do b}' way of the registration and bringing to- gether of those who want work and those who want workers, there will still remain a vast residuum of un- employed, and it will be the duty of those who under- take to deal with the question to devise means for secur- ing them employment. Many things are possible when there is a directing in- telligence at headquarters and discipline in the rank and file, which would be utterly impossible when everyone is let to go where he pleases, when ten men are running for one man's job, and when no one can be depended upon ■•■ •' V, %-.;■ '.f- ■ A. 'ii'' AND THE WAY OUT 14^ to be in the way at the time he is wanted. When my Scheme is carried out, there will be in every populous centre a Captain of Industry, an Officer specially charged with the regimentation of unorganized labor, who would be continually on the alert, thinking how best to utilize the waste human material in his district. It is contrary to all previous experience to suppose that the addition of so much trained intelligence will not operate bene- ficially in securing the disposal of a commodity which is at present a drug in the market. Robertson, of Brighton, used frequently to remark that every truth was built up of two apparent contradictory propositions. In the same way I may say that the solu- tion of every social difficulty is to be found in the dis- covery of two corresponding difficulties. It is like the puzzle maps of children. When you are putting one to- gether, you suddenly come upon some awkward piece that will not fit in anywhere, but you do not in disgust and despair break your piece into fragments or throw it away. On the contrary, you keep it by you, knowing that before long you wiL discover a number of other pieces which it will be impossible to fit in until you fix your unmanageable, unshapel piece in the centre. Now, in the work of piecing together the fragments which lie scattered round the base of our social system, we must not despair because we have in the unorganized, un- trained laborers that which seems hopelessly out of fit with everything round. There must be something cor- responding to it which is equally useless until he can be brought to bear upon it. In other words, having got one difficulty in the case of the Out-of-Works, we must cast about to find another difficulty to pair off against it, and then out of two difficulties will arise the solution of the problem. We shall not have far to seek before we discover in !• '■ — ' '^ ■:i*« i 1 Al A 140 IN r>ARKESt ENGLAND 1 'i s ' "' , f f *• y< "> 4? •U-. 't. •;> every town and in every country the corresponding ele- mtnt to our unemployed laborer. We have waste labor on the one hand; we have waste commodities on tlie other. About waste land I shall speak in the next chap- ter; I am concerned now solely with waste commoiiities. Herein we have a means of immediately enjploying a large number of men under conditions which will enable us to permanently provide for many of those whose hard lot we are now considering. I propose to establish in every large town what I may call "A Household Salvage Brigade," a civil force of organized collectors, who will patrol the whole town as regularly as the policeman, who will have their appointed beats, and each of whom will be entrusted with tlu; task of collecting the waste of the houses in their circuit. In small towns ai.d villages this is already done, and it will be noticed that most of the suggestions which I have put forth in this book are based ujmn the central principle, which is that of restoring to the over-grown, and, therefore, uninformed masses of population in our towns, the same intelligence and co-operation as to the mutual wants of each and all, that prevails in your small town or village. The latter is the manageable unit, because its dimensions and its needs have not outgrown the range of the individual intelligence and ability of those who dwell therein. Our troubles in large towns arise chiefly from the fact that the massing of popula- tion has caused the physical bulk of Society to outgrow its intelligence. It is as if a human being had suddenly developed fresh limbs which were not connected by any nervous system with the gray matter of his brain. Such a thing is impossible in the human being, but, unfortu- nately, it is only too possible in human society. In the human body no member can suffer without an instan- taneous telegram being dispatched, as it were, to the seat '*^S ? ■: ■»* AND THE WAY OUT U7 }■: ^ *":, ft of intelligence; the foot or the fir.ger cries out when it suffers, and the whole body suffers with it. So, in a small community, everyone, rich and poor, is more or less cognizant of the sufferings of the community. In a large town where people have ceased to be neighborly, there is only a congested mnss of population settled down on a certain small area without any human ties connect- . ing them together. Here it is perfectly possible, and it frequently happens, that men actually die of starvation within a few doors of those who, if they had been informed of the actual condition of the sufferer that lay within earshot of their comfortable drawing-rooms, would have been eager to minister the needed relief. What we have to do, therefore, is to grow a new nervous system for the body politic, to create a swift, almost automatic, means of communication ctween the community as a whole and the meanest of its members, so as to restore to the city what the village possesses. I do not say that the plan which I have suggested is the only plan, or the best plan conceivable. All that I claim for it is that it is the only plan which I can con- ceive as practicable at the present moment, and that, as a matter of fact, it holds the field alone, for no one, so far as I have been able to discover, even proposes to reconstitute the connection between what I have called the gray matter of the brain of the municipal community and all the individual units which make up the body politic. Carrying out the same idea, 1 come to the problem of the waste commodities of the towns, and we will take ihis as an earnest of the working out of the general principle. In the villages there is very little waste. The sewage is applied directly to the land, and so be comes a source of wealth instead of being emptied into great subterranean reservoirs, to generate poisonous *•',*>,-.■ , ■WVN '•^iw.'(:,.'f5»vj 11 148 IN DARKEST ENGLAND i! > t -i" vti ■*?#•? gases, which, by a most ingenious arrangement, are then poured forth into the very heart of our dwellings, as is the case in the great cities. A^either is there any waste of broken victuals. The villager has his pig or his poultr- m if he hns not a pig his neighbor has one, and the collection of broken victuals is conducted as regu larly as the delivery of the post. And as it is with broken victuals, so it is with rags, and bones, and old iron, and all the debris of a household. When I was a boy one of the most familiar figures in the streets of a country town was the man, who, with his small hand-barrow or donkey-cart, made a regular patrol through all the streets once a week, collecting rags, bones, and all other waste materials, buying the same from the juveniles who collected them, in specie, not of Her Majesty's current coin, but of common sweet- meats, known as "claggum" or "taffy." When the tooting of his familiar horn was hearu the children ,vould bring out tlicir stores, and trade as best they could with the itinerant merchant, with the result that the closets which in our towns to-day have become chc receptacles of all kinds of disused lumber were kept then swe; t and garnished. Now, what 1 want to know is, why can we not establish on a scale commensu- rate with our extended needs the rag-and-bone industry in all our great towns? That there is sufficient to pay for the collection is, I think, indisputable. If it paid in a small North-country tov/n or Midland village, why would it not pay much better in an area where the houses stand more closely together, and where luxurious liv- ing and thriftless habits have so increased that there must be proportionately far more breakage, more waste, and therefore more collectible matter, than in the rural districts? In looking over the waste of London it has occurred to me that in Xh^dibris of our households there > .<••; . ». - ■X 1 1 AND THE WAY OUT 149 * * •"♦ h l-r is sufficient food, if utilized, to feed many of the starv- ing poor, and to employ some thousands of th(«m in its collection, and, in addition, largely to assist the general scheme. What I propose would be to go to work on something like the following plan: London would be divided into districts, beginning with that pL-tion of it most likely to furnish the larg- est supplies of what would be worth collection. Two men, or a man and a boy, would be told off for this pur- pose to this district. Households w uld be requested to allow a receptacle to be placed in some convenient spot in which the serv- ants could deposit the waste food, and a sack of some description would also be supplied for the paper, rags, etc. ^«* The whole would be collected, say once or twice a week, or more frequently, according to the season and circumstances, and transferred to depots as central as possible to the different districts. At present much of this waste is thrown into the dust- bin, there to fester and breed disease. Then there are old newspapers, ragged books, old bottles, tins, canisters, etc. We all know what a number of articles there are which are not quite bad enough to be thrown into the dust-1'.eap, and yet are no good to us. We put them on one side, hop- ing that something may turn up, and as that something very seldom does turn up, there they remain. Crippled musical instruments, for instance, old toys, broken-down perambulators, old clothes, all the things in short, for which we have no more need, and for which there is no* market within our reach, but which it we feel would be a sin and a shame to destroy. When I get my Household Salvage Brigade properly organized, begin'^ing, as I said, in some district where we should be likely to meet with mosi material, our ^. I ^i t' '.Tfp^irif- - iw IN DARKEST ENGLAND 1^ A. '^?>- '^' 4Ay. *¥ i* uniform«d collectors would call every other day or twice a week with their hand barrow or pon^ cart. As these men would be under strict discipline, and numbered, the householder would have a security against any abuse of which such regular callers might otherwise be the occasion. At present the rag and bone man who drives the more or less precarious livelihood by intermittent visits, is looked upon askance by prudent housewives. They fear in many cases he takes the refuse in order to have the opportunity of finding somethingwhich may be worth while "picking up, " and should he be impudent or negligent there is no authority to whom they can appeal. Under our Brigade, eacli district \. ouldhave its numbered officer who would himself be subordinate to a superior ofR|j;er, to whom any complaints could be made, and whose duty it would be to see that the officers under his command punct- ually performed their rounds and discharged their duties without offense. Here let me disclaim any intention of interfering with the Little Sisters of the Poor, or any other persons, who collect the broken victuals of hotels and other es- tablishments for charitable purposes. My object is not to poach on my neighbor's domains, nor shall I ever be a party to any contentious quarrels for the control of this or that source of supply. All that is already util- ized I regard as outside my sphere. The unoccupied wilderness of waste is a wide enough area for the oper- ations of our Brigade. But it will be found in practice which is only one of the many expenditures involvedf will serve to illustrate the extent of the operations which the Household Salvage Brigade will necessitate. The '■*«*• --i-Ji^' 'M. •"•I •V |< . ..- .'tl ■■IS "A ■■"-t.-' *''*5P'-'.1"'*>,»<'»'"*'»'" AkD THE WAY •trf IM ^^. fenterprise is therefore beyond the reach of any but a great and powerful organization, commanding capital and able to secure loyalty, discipline, and willing service. : \ 1 m 1.".. r \ ♦ ;■;:' f .3 ■>•',>•»'.•*;■■■■>''»•. V. { > • -» CHAPTER III TO THE country! — THE FARM COLONY I r ij, ; y. I leave on one side for a moment various features of the operations which will be indispensable but subsidiary to the City Colony, such as the Rescue Homes for Lost iWomen, the Retreats for Inebriates, the Homes for Dis- jcharged Prisoners, the Enquiry Office for the Discovery of Lost Friends and Relatives, and the Advice Bureau, which will, in time, become an institution that will be linvaluable as a poor man's Tribune. All these and other suggestions for saving the lost and helping the poor, although they form essential elements of the City Colony, will be better dealt with after I have explained the relation which the Farm Colony will occupy to the [City Colony, and set forth the way in which the former [wiil act as a feeder to the Colony Over Sea. { I have already described how I propose to deal, in the first cage, with the mass of surplus labor which iwill infallibly accumulate on our hands as soon as the Shelters are more extensively established and in good Iworking order. But I fully recognize that when all has been done that can be done in the direction of disposing bf the unhired men and women of the town, there will still remain many whom you can neither employ in the Household Salvage Brigade, nor for whom employers, be they registered never so carefully, can be found. What, jthen, must be done with them? The answer to that 1^ \ » 1 ?«'.' AND THE WAV OUT 1S0 ^/"V tv fi;' '-1.. rpil-} y/"'- question seems to me obvious. They must go upon the land! The land is the source of all food; only by the applica- tion of labor can the land be made fully productive. There is any amount of waste land in the world, not far away in distant Continents, next door to the Nortli Pole, but here at our very doors. Have you ever calculated, for instance, the square miles of unused land which fringe tlui sides of all our railroads? No doubt some embankments are of material that would bafHe the culti- vating skill of a Chinese or the careful husbandry of a Swiss mountaineer; but these are exceptions. When other people talk of reclaiminpj Salisbury Plain, or of cultivating the bare moorlands (*f the bleak North, I think of the hundreds of square miles of land that lie in long ribbons on the side of each of our railways, upon which, without any cost for cnrtage, innumerable tons of City manure could be shot down, and the cops of which couIg be carried at once to the nearest market without any but the initial cost of heaping into convenient trucks. These railway embankments constitute a vast estate, capable of growing fruit enough to supply all the jam that Crosse and Blackwell ever boiled. In almost every county in England are vacant farms, and, in still greater numbers, farms but a quarter cultivated, which only need the application of an industrious population work- ing with due incentive to produce twice, thrice, and four times as much as they yield to-day. I am aware that there are few subjects upon which there are such fierce controversies as the possibilities of making a livelihood out of small holdings, but Irish cottiers do it, and in regions infinitely worse adapted for the purpose than our Essex corn lands, and possess- ing none of the advantages which civilization and co- operation place at the command of an intelligently i : 1 .A ■•'■J liir 'i- 100 IN DARKEST ENGLAND >^ I Mi*. directed body of husbandmen. Talk about the land not being worth cultivating! Go to the Swiss Valleys and examine for yourself the miserable patches of land, hewed »iit as it were from the heart of the granite mountains, where the cottager grows his crops and makes a liveli- hood. No doubt he has his Alp, where his cows pasture in summer-time, and his other occupations which enable him to supplement the scanty yield of his farm garden among the crags; but if it pays the Swiss mountaineer in the midst of the eternal snows, far removed from any market, to cultivate such miserable soil in the brief summer of the high Alps, it is impossible to believe that Englishmen, working on English soil, close to our markets and enjoying all the advantages of co-operation, cannot earn their daily bread by their daily toil. The soil of England is not unkindly, and although much is said against our climate, it is, as Mr. Russell Lowell observes, after a lengthened experience of many countries and many climes, "the best climate in the whole world for the laboring man." There are more days in the English year on which a man can work out of doors with a spade, with comparative comfort, than in any othe country under heaven. I do not say that men will make a for- tune out of the land, nor do I pretend that we can, under the gray English skies, hope ever to vie with the pro- ductiveness of the Jersey farms; but 1 am prepared to maintain against all comers that it is possible for an industrious man to grow his rations, provided he is given a spade with which to dig and land to dig in. Espe- cially will this be the case with intelligent direction and the advantages of co-operation. Is it not a reasonable supposition? It always seems to me a strange thing that men should insist that you must first transport your laborer thousands of miles to a des- olate, bleak country in order to set him to work to ex- 1^' m I } 1 i ■'■ ■ ■\ /; » -it', 'i f'' i ^ ,1.- AND THE WAY OUT lei tract a livelihood from the soil, when hundreds of thou- sands of acres lie only half tilled at home, or not tilled at all. Is it reasonable to think that you can only be- gin to make a living out of land when it lies several thousand miles from the nearest market, and thousands of miles from the place where the laborer has to buy his tools and procure all the necessaries of life which are not grown on the spot? If a man can make squatting pay on the prairies or in Australia, where every qunrter of grain which he produces has to be dragged by locomo- tives across the railways of the continent, and then car- ried by steamers across the wide ocean, can he not ecjually make the operation at least sufficiently profitable to keep himself alive if you plant him, with the same soil, within an hour by rail of the greatest markets in the world? The answer to this is, that you cannot give your man as much soil as he has on the prairies or in the Canadian lumber lands. This, no doubt, is true, but the squatter who settles in the Canadian backwoods does not clear his land all at once. He lives on a small portion of it, and goes on digging and delving little by little, until, after many years of Herculean labor, he hews out for himself, and his children after him, a freehold estate. Freehold estates, I admit, are not to be had for the picking up on English soil, but if a man will but work in England as ihey work in Canada or in Australia, he will find as little difficulty in making a livelihood here as there. I may be wrong, but when I travel abroad and see the desperate struggle on the part of peasant proprietors and the small holders in mountainous districts for an addi- tional patch of soil, the idea of cultivating which would make our agricultural laborers turn up their noses in Speechless contempt, I cannot but think that our Eng- *: i If 163 IN DARKEST ENGLAND !''i 1 1 « I i 1 M^ lisli soil could carry a far greater number of souls to the acre than that which it bears at present. Suppose, for instance, that Essex were suddenly to find itself unmoored from its English anchorage and towed across the Chan- nel to Normand_y, or, not to imagine miracles, suppose that an Armada of Chinese were to make a descent on the Isle of Thanet, as did the sv'ja-kings, Hengisf, and Horsa, does anyone imagine for a moment that Kent, fertile and cultivated as it is, wculd not be regarded as a very Garden of Eden, out of the odd corners of which our yellow-skinned invaders would contrive to extract sufficient to keep themselves in sturdy health? I only suggest the possibility in order to bring out clearly the fact that the difficulty Is not in the soil nor in the cli mate, but in the lack of application of sufficient labor to sufficient land in the truly scientific way. "What is the scientific way?" I shall be asked impa- tiently. I am not an agriculturist; I do not dogmatize. I have read much from many pens, and have noted the experiences of many colonies^ and I have learned the les- son that it 7S in the school of practical labor that the most valuable knowledge is to be obtained. Neverthe- less, the bulk of my proposals are based upon the experi- ence of many who have devoted their lives to the study of the subject, and have been endorsed by specialists whose experience gives them authority to speak with un- questioning confidence. Section I.— THE FARM PROPER My present idea is to take an estate from fi /e hundred to a thousand acres within reasonable distance of Lon- don. It should be of such land as will be suitable for market gardening, while having some clay on it for brick-making and for crops re(|uiring a heavier soil. If possible, it should not only be on a line of railway i '^'» I :*■■: «.:■ •^.a : ..•^■w,. ■r.jVWv' AND THE WAY OUT 188 -^v U "%y I' ■ which is manr>ged by intelligent and progressive direct- ors, but it should ^lave access to the sea and to the river. It should be freehold land, and it should lie at some considerable distance from any town or village. The reason for the latter desideratum is obvious. We must be near London for the sake of our niLTket and for the transmission of the commodities collected by our Household Salvage Brigade, but it must be some little distance from any town or village in order that the Col- ony may be planted clear out in the open away from the public house, that upas tree of civilization. A sine (/ml njn of the new Farm Colony is that no intoxicating liquors will be permitted within its confines on any pretext whatever. The doctors will have to prescribe some other stimulant than alcohol for residents in this Colony. But it will be little use excluding alcohol with a strong hand and by cast-iron regulations if the Colonists have only to take a short walk in order to find themselves in the midst of he "Red Lions," and the "Blue Dragons," and the "George the Fourths," which abound in every country town. Having obtained the land J should proceed to prepare it for the Colonists. This is an operation which is es- sentially the same in any country. You need water sup- ply, provisions and shelter. All this would be done at first in the simplest possible style. Our pioneer bri- gade, carefully selected from the Out-of-Works in the City Colony, would be sent down to lay out the estate and prepare it for those who would come after. And here let me say that it t- a great delusion to imagine that in the riffiaff and waste of the labor market there are no workmen to be had except those that are worth- less. Worthless under the present conditions, exposed to constant temptations to intemperance no doubt they are^ but some of the brightest men in London, with some f 'I I f 164 IN t)ARKEST ENGLAND if I of the smartest pairs of hands, and the clevere t ns, are at the present moment weltering helpless. i the sludge from which we propose to rescue them. I am not speaking without book in this matter. Some of my best Officers to-day have been even such as they. There is an infinite potentiality of capacity lying latent in our Provincial Tap-rooms and the City Gin Palaces if you can but get them soundly saved, and even short of that, if you can place them in conditions where they would no longer be liable to be sucked back into their old disastrous habits, you may do great things with them. I can well imagine the incredulous laughter which will greet my proposal. "What," it will be said, "do you think that you can create agricultural pioneers out of the scum of Cockneydom?" Let us look for a moment at the ingredients which make up what you call "the scum of Cockneydom." After careful examination and close cross-questioning of the Out-of- Works, whom we have already registered at oar Labor Bureau, we find that at least sixty per cent, are country folk, men, women, boys, and girls, who have left their homes in the counties to come up to town in the hope of bettering themselves. They are in no sense of the word Cockneys, and they represent not the dregs of the country but rather its brighter and more adventurous spirits who have boldly tried to make their way in new and uncongenial spheres and have terribly come to grief. Of thirty cases, selected haphazard, in the various Shelters during the week ending July 5th, 1890, twenty-two were country- born, sixteen were men who had come up a long time ago, but did not ever seem to have settled to regular employ, and four were old military men. Of sixty cases examined into at the Bureau and Shelters during tri« iortnight ending August and, forty-two were country peo^ ■*it I AND THE WAY OUT 1« Vigm; pie; twenty-six men who had been in London for various periods, ranging from six months to four years; nine were lads under eighteen, who had run away from home and come up to town; while four were ex-military. Of eighty-five cases of dossers who were spoken to at night when they slept in the streets, sixty-three were country people. A very small proportion of the genuine homeless Out-of-Works are Londoners bred and born. There is another element in the matter, the existence of wh ch will be news to most people, and that is the large ^portion of ex-military men who are among the helplesb hopeless destitute. Mr. Arnold White, after spending many months in the streets of London interro- gating more than four thousand men whom he found in the course of one bleak winter sleeping out of doors like animals returns it as his conviction that at least 20 per cent, are Army Reserve men. Twenty per cent! That is to say one man in every five with whom we shall have to deal has served Her Majesty the Queen under the colors. This is the resource to which these poor fol- lows come after they have given the prime of their lives to the service of their country. Although this may be largely brought about by their own thriftless and evil con- duct, it is a scandal and disgrace which may well make the cheek of th-. )atriot tingle. Still, I see in it a great resource. A mai2 who has been in the Queen's Army is a man who has learnt to obey. He is further a man who has been taught in the roughest of rough schools to be handy and smart, to make the best of the roughest fare, and not to consider himself a martyr if he is sent on a forlorn hope. I often say if we could only get Chris- tians to have one-half of the practical devotion and sense of duty that animates even the commonest Tommy Atkins, what a change would be brought about in the ^9fid! Look at poor Tommy! A country lad whp k 'i I 't '''H'^"' 106 IN DARKEST ENGLAND *J gets himself into some scrape, runs away from home, ftnds himself sinking lower and lower, with no hope of employment, no friends to advise him, and no one to give him a helping hand. In sheer despair he takes the Queen's shilling and enters the ranks. He is handed over to an inexorable drill sergeant; he is compelled to room in barvacks where privacy is unknown, to mix with men, many of them vicious, few of them companions whom he would of his own choice select. He gets his lations, and although he is told he will get a shilling a day, there are so many stoppages that he often does not finger a shilling a week. He is drilled and worked and ordered hither and thither as if he were a machine, all , of which he takes cheerfully, without even considering that there is any hardship in his lot, plodding on in a dull, stolid kind of way for his Queen and his country, doing his best, also, poor chap, to be proud of his red uniform, and to cultivate his se'f-respect by reflecting that he is one of the defenders of his native land, one of the heroes upon whose courage and endurance depends the safety of the British realm. Some fine day, at the other end of the world, some prancing pro-consul finds it necessary to smash one of the man-slaying machines that loom ominous on his borders, or some savage potentate makes an incursion into territory of a British colony, or some fierce outburst of Mohammedan fanaticism raises up a Mahdi in mid- Africa. In a moment Tommy Atkins is marched off to the troop ship, and swept across the seas, heart-sick and sea-sick, and miserable exceedingly, to fight the Queen's enemies in foreign parts. When he arrives there he is bundled ashore, brigaded with other troops, marched to the front through the blistering glare of a tropical sun, over poisonous marshes in which his com- rade? sicken and die, until at last he is drawn up in AND THB WAY OUT 167 ¥■:■ m _:fe; «ip£;/ square to receive the charge of tens of thousands of fero- cious savages. Far away from all who love him or care for him, foot-sore and travel weary, having eaten per- haps but a piece of dry bread in the last twenty-four hours, he must stand up and kill or be killed. Often he falls beneath the thrust of an assegai or the slashing broad-sword of the charging enemy. Then, after the fight is over, his comrades turn up the sod where he lies, bundle his poor bones 'nto the shallow pit, and leave him without even across to mark his solitary grave. Per- haps he is fortunate and escapes. Yet Tomnrjy goes un- complainingly through all these hardships and privations, does not think himself a martyr, takes no fine airs about what he has done and suffered, and shrinks uncomplain- ingly into our Shelters and our Factories, only asking as a benediction from Heaven that someone will give him an honest job of work to do. That is the fate of Tommy Atkins. If in our churches and chapels as much as one single individual were to bear and dare, for the benefit of his kind and the salvation of men, what a hundred thousand Tommy Atkinses bear uncomplainingly, taking it all as if it were in the day's work, for their rations and their shilling a da> (with stoppages), think you we should not transform the whole face of the world? Yea, verily. We find but very little of such devotion; no, not in Israel. I look forward to making great use of these Army Re- serve men. There are engineers amongst them ; there are artillerymen and infantry; there are cavalrymen, who know v/hat a horse needs to keep him in good health, and men of the transport department, for whom I shall find work enough to do in the transference of the multi- tudinous waste of London from our own Depots to the outlying Farm. This, however, is a digression, by the way. (■MJ i ... i mm mmsmmmmmmmm tit IN DARKEST EN'^LAND s w I # After having got the Farm into some kind of ship- shape, we should select from the City Colonies all those who were likely to be successful as our first set- tlers. These would consist of men who had been work- ing so many weeks or days in the Labor Factory, or had been under observation for a reasonable time at the Shelters or in the Slums, and who had given evidence of their willingness to work, their amenity to discipline, and their ambition to improve themselves. On arrival at the Farm they would be installed in a barracks, and at once told off to work. In winter time there would be draining, and road-making, and fencing, and many other forms of industry which could go on when the days are short and the nights are long. In Spring, Summertime and Autumn, some would be employed on the land, chiefly in spade husbandry, upon what is called the sys- tem of "intensive" agriculture, such as prevails in the suburbs of Paris, where the market gardeners literally create the soil, and which yields much greater results than when you merely scratch the surface with a plough. Our Farm, I hope, would be as productive as a great market garden. There would be a Superintendent on the Colony, who would be a practical gardener, familiar with the best methods of small agriculture, and every- thing that science and experience shows to be needful for the profitable treatment of the land. Then there would be various other forms of industry continually in progress, so that employment could be furnished, adapted to the capacity and skill of every Coionist. Where farm buildings are wanted, the Colonists must erect them themselves. If they want glass houses, they must 'put them up. Everything on the Estate must be the produc- tion of the Colonists. Take, for instance, the building of cottages. After the first detachment has settled down into its quarters and brought the ^elds somewhat intg AND THE WAY OUT 100 V'- a Af .,H' m- 14 *t "A cultivation, there will arise a demand for houses. These houses must be built, and the bricks made by the Colo- nists hemselves. All the carpentering and the joinery will be done on the premises, and by this means a sus- tained demand for work will be created. Then there would be furniture, clothing, and a great many other wants, the supply of the whole of which would create la* bor which the Colonists must perform. For a long time to come the Salvation Army will be able to consume all the vegetables and crops which the Colonies will produce. That is one advantage of being connected with so great and growing a concern; the right hand will help the left, and we shall be able to do many things which those who devote themselves exclusively to colonization would find it impossible to accomplish. We have seen the large quantities of provisions which are re- quired to supply the Food Depots in their present dimen- sions, and with the coming extensions the consumption will be enormously augmented. On this Farm I propose to carry on every description of "little agriculture." I have not yet referred to the female side of our operations, but have reserved them for another chapter. It is necessary, however, to bring them in here in order to explain that employment will be created for women as well as men. Fruit farming affords a great opening for female labor, and it will indeed be a change as from Tophet to the Garden of Eden when the poor lost girls on the streets of London exchange the pavements of Pic- cadilly for the strawberry beds of Essex or Kent. Not only will vegetables and fruit of every descri])tion be raised, but I think that a great deal might be done in the smaller adjuncts of the F'arm. It Is quite certain that amongst the mass of people with whom wc have to deal there will be a residual remnant 1 . « \ 1* 170 TN DARKEST ENGLAND -. f t fcf of persons to some extent mentally infirm or physically incapacitated from engaging in the harder toils. For these people it is necessary to find work, and I think there would boa good field for their benumbed energies in look- ing after rabbits, feeding poultry, minding bees, and, in short, doing all those little odd jobs about a place which must be attended to, but which will not repay the labor of able-bodied men. One advantage of the cosmopolitan nature of the Army is that we have Officers in almost every country in the world. When this Scheme is well on the way every Sal- vation Officer in every land will have it imposed upon him as one of the duties of his calling, to keep his eyes open for every useful notion and every conceivable con- trivance for increasing the yield of the soil and utilizing the employment of waste labor. By this means I hope that there will not be an idea in the world which will not be made available for our Scheme. If an Officer in Sweden can give us practical hints as to how they man- age food kitchens for the people, or an Officer in the South of France can explain how the peasants are able to rear eggs and poultry not only for their own use, but so as to be able to export them by the million to England; if a Sergeant in Belgium understands how it is that the rab- bit farmers there can feed and fatten and supply our market with millions of rabbits we shall have him over, tap his brains, and set him to work to benefit our people. By the establishment of this Farm Colony we should create a great school of technical agricultural education. It would be a Working Men's Agricultural University, training people for the life which they would have to lead in the new countries they will go forth to colonize and / possess. Every man who goes to our Farm Colony does so, not to acquire his fortune, but to obtain a knowledge of an ■ H '{^ ■ ) ";-fri-: II m AND THE WAY OUT 171 m ,1^1).: ■• occupation and that mastery of his tools which will en- ible him to play his part in the battle of life. He will be provided with a cheap uniform, which we shall find no difficulty in rigging up from the old clothes of Lon- don, and it will go hardly with us, and we shall have worse luck than the ordinary market gardener, if we do not succeed in making sufficient profit to pay all the ex- penses of the concern, and leave something over for the maintenance of the hopelessly incompetent, and those who, to put it roughly, are not worth their keep. Every person in the Farm Colony will be taught the elementary lesson of obedience, and will be instructed in the needful arts of husbandry, or some other method of earning his bread. The Agricultural Section will learn the lesson of the seasons and of the best kind of seeds and plants. Those belonging to this Section will learn how to hedge and ditch, how to make roads and build bridges, and generally to subdue the earth and make it yield to him the riches which it never withholds from the industrious and skillful workman. But the Farm Colony, any more than the City Colony, although an abiding institution, will not provide permanently forthose with whom we have to deal. It is a Training School for Emigrants, a place where those indispensably practical lessons are given which will enable the Colonists to know their way about and to feel themselves at home wherever there is land to till, stock to rear, and harvests to reap. We shall rely greatly for the peace and pros- perity of the Colony upon the sense of brotherhood which will be universal in it from the highest to the lowest. While there will be no systematic wage-paying there will be some sort of rewards and remuneration for honest industry, which will be stored up, for his benefit, as afterwards explained. They will in the m. In work each for all, and, therefore, the needs of all will be supplied| m I m IN DARKEST ENGLAND '■ ,) and any overplus will go to make the bridge over which any poor fellow may escape from the horrible pit and the miry clay from which they themselves have been res- cued. The dullness and deadncss of country life, especially in the Colonies, leads many men to prefer a life of hard- ship and privation in a City slum. But in our Colony they would be near to each other, and would enjoy the advantages of country life and the association and com- parionahip of life in town. Section II.— THE INDUSTRIAL VILLAGE In describing the operations of the Household Salvage Brigade I have referred to the enormous quantities of good, sound food which would be collected from doo to door every day of the year. Much of this food woui>. be suitable for human consumption, its waste being next door to sinful. Imagine, for instance,, the quantities of soup which might be made from boiling the good, fresh, meaty bones of the great City! Think of the dainty dishes which a French cook would be able to serve up from the scraps and odds and ends of a single West End kitchen! Good cookery is not an extravagance, but an economy, and many a tasty dish is made by our Continental friends out of materials which would be dis- carded indignantly by the poorest tramp in W'hitechapel. But after all that is done there will remain a mass of food which cannot be eaten by man, but can be convertcil into food for him by the simple process of passing it through another digestive apparatus. The old bread of London, the soiled, stale crusts, can be used in foddering the horses which are employed ia coll ecting the waste. It Will help^ to^feed^the rabbi cs, whose hutches will be close* Sy~every cottage on the estate, and the hens of the 'A' lly % Jl AND THE WAY OUT ^ ■■?>'. I>^ Colony will flourish on tljc crumbb which fall from the table of Dives. But after the horses and the rabbits and poultry have bet n served, there will remain a residuum of eatable matter, which can only be profitably disposed of to the voracious and necessary pig. I foresee the rise of a piggery in onnection with the new Social Scheme, which will dwarf into ir-significance all that exist in Grept Britain and Ireland. We have the advantage of the experience of the whole world as to the choice of breeds, the construction of sties, and the rearing of stock. We shall have the major part of our food practically ^or the cost of collection, and be able to adopt all the latest methods of Chicago for the killing, curing, and disposing of our pork, ham, and bacon. There arc few animals more useful than the pig. He will eat anything, live any* where, and almost every particle of him, from the tip oi his nose to the end of his tail, is capable of being con- verted into a salable commodity. Your pig also is a great producer of manure, anc^ agriculture is, after all, largely a matter of manure. Treat the land well, and it will treat you well. With our piggery in connection with our Farm Colony, there would be no lack of manure. With the piggery there would grow up a great bacon factory for curing, and that again would make more work. Then as for sausages, they would be produced literally by the mile, and all made of the best meat, instead of being manufactured out of the very objectionable in- gredients too often stowect away in that poor man's favorite ration. FooJGLANt) f u H ! 3 1/ i ^ of violating this order to be expelled, and that on the first offense. 3. Expulsion for drunkenness, dishonesty, or falsehood will follow the third offense. 4. Profane language strirtly forbidden. 5. No cruelty to be practiced on man, woman, child, or animal. 6. Soriouf offenders against the virtue of women or of children, of either sex, to incur immediate expulsion. 7. After a certain period of probation, and a considera- ble amount of patience, all who will not work to be ex- pel led. 8. The decision of the Governor of the Colony, whether in the City, or tlia Farm, or Over the Sea, to be binding in all cases. 9. With respect to penalties, the following rules will be pctea upon: The chief reliance for the maintenance, of order, as has been observed before, will be placed upon the spirit of love which will prevail throughout the community. But as it cannot be expected to be universally successful, certain penalties will have to be provided: (a) First offenses, except in flagrant cases, will be recorded. (^) The second offense will be published. {c) The third offense will incur expulsion or bemg handed over to the authorities. Other regulations will be necessary as the Scheme develops. There will be no attempt to enforce upon the Colo- nists the rules and regulations to v/hich Salvation Sol- diers are subjected. Those who are soundly saved and who of their own free will desire to become Salvationists will, of course, be subjected to the rules of the Service. But Colonists who are willing to work and obey the orders of the Commanding Officer will only be subject to the foregoing and similar regulations; in all other things they will be left frc ?. > For instance, there will be no objection to field recre- ','J '. v^^; ■3 3?' 1^, v«i w fr Ajfrt) THE WAY oirr in M&. m ations or any outdoor exercises which conduce to the maintenance of health and spirits. A reading-room and a library will be proyided, together with a hall, in which they can amuse themselves in the long winter nights and in unfavorable weather; but gambling and anything of an immoral tendency will be repressed like stealing. These things are not for the Salvation Army Soldiers, who have other work in the world, but for those who are not in the Army these recreations will be per- missible. There will probably be an Annual Exhibition of fruit and flowers, at which all the Colonists who have a plot of garden of thcur own will take part. They will exhibit their fruit and vegetables as well as their rabbits, their poultry, and all the other live stock of the farm. Every effort will be made to establish village indus- tries, and I am not without hope but that we may be able to restore some of the domestic occupations which steam has compelled us to confine to the great factories. The more the Colony can be made self-supporting the better. And although the hand loom can never com- pete with Manchester mills, still an occupation which kept the hands of the good wife busy in the long winter nights, is not to be despised as an element in the econom- ics of the Settlement. While Manchester and Leeds .nay be able to manufacture common goods much more cheaply than they can be spun at home, even these emporiums, with all tluir grand improvements in ma- chinery, would be sorely pressed to-day to compete with the hand \i>om in many superior classes of work. For instance, we all know the hdnd-sewn boot still holds its own against the mo^t peiAcct article that Uiachinery can turn out. There would be, in the centre of the Colony, a Public Elementary School, at which tht children would receive /# H \ ♦el , I I .( ; •} ( I 'SI .'■'» • el 'If m tN DA'IKEST ENGIjVND !i i! train»'nR, and side by side with tliat an AgricuItMral In- *dustrial School, as olsrwhcro described. The religious welfare of the Colony would be looked after by theSalva tion Army, but there will be no compulsion to take part in its services. The Sabbath will be strictly observed; no unnecessary work will be done in the Colony on tliat day, but beyond inlt-rdicted labor, tlie Colonists will be allowed to spend Sunilay as they pleas,--'. It will be the fault of the Salvation Army if they do not find our Sun- day Services sufliciently attractive to command their attendance. Section III.- AGRICULTURAL VILLAGES This brjn«;s me to the next feature of the Scheme, the creation of aj^ricultural s(?ttlements in the neij^hbor- hoovl of the Farm, around the orij^inal Estate. I hope to obtain land foi thepnrposeof allotments, which can be taken up to the e.xtent of so many acres by the more competent Colon ist.s who wish to remain at home instead of going abroad. There will be allotments from three to live acres, with a cottage, a cow, and the necessary tools and seed for making the allotment self-supporting. A weekly charge will be imposed for tlie repayment of the cost of the fixing and stock. The tenant will, of course, be entitled to his tenant-right, but adequate precautions will be taken against underletting and other forns by which sweating makes its way into agricultural com- munities. On entering into possession, the tenant will become responsible for his own and his family's main- tenance. I shall stand no longer in the relation of father of the household to him, as I do to the other members of the Colony; his obligations will cease to me, except in the payment of his rent. The creation of a large number of Allotment Fainis would make the establishment of a creamery necesi iry, fv AN© THE WAY OUT m y ;» t>' H£ §. where the milk could be brought in every day and con- verted into butter by the most modern methods with thi least possible delay. Dairying, which has in some placet on the continent almost developed to a fine art, is in I very backward condition in this country. But by co-opera tion among the cottiers and an intelligent Headquartei staff, much could be done which at present appears im possible. The tenant will be allowed permanent tenancy on pay ment of an annual rent or land tax, subject, of course to such necessary regulations which may be made fo; the prevention of intemperance and immorality and thi preservation of the fundamental featuies of the Colony lu this way our Farm Colony will throw off small Colo niesall round it tmtil the original cite is but the centn of a whole series of small farmj, where those whon we have rescued and trained will live, if not undc thei: own vine and fig tree, at least in the midst of their owi little fruit farm, and surrounded by their small fiockj and herds. The cottages will be so many detached resi dences, each standing in its own ground, not sofar awa} from its neighbors as to deprive its occupants of th< benefit of huuian intercourse. * Section IV.- -CO-OPERATIVE FARM Side by side with the Farm Colony proper I shoulc propose to renew the experiment of Mr. E. T. Craig. which he found to work so successfully at Ralahine. Wher any members of thi) original Colony had pulled them selves sufficiently together to desire to begin again or their own account, 1 should group some of them as part ners in a Co-operative Farm, and see whether or no th< success achieved in County Clare could not be repeatec in Essex or in Kent. 1 cannot have more unproraisinf material to deal with than the wild Irishmen on ColgneJ t lit IN PARKEST ENGLAND } Vandeleur's estate, and I would certainly take care to be safeguarded against any such mishap as destroyed the early promise of Ralahine. I shall look upon this as one of the most important experiments of the entire series, and if, as I anticipate, it can be worked successfully — that is, if the results of Ralahine can he secured on a larger scale — 1 shall con- sider that the problem of the employment of the people, and the use of the land, and the food supply for the globe, is unquestionably solved, were its inhabitants many times greater in number than they are. Without saying more, some idea will be obtained as to what I propose from the story of Ralahine, related briefly at the close of this volume. ■ ■ . /■ ' . V .it •J. . A' ^■f"' I. ' « in Pjfcs i i II % m.'- » .t- I CHAPTER IV THE OVER-SEA COLONY /; V / w. We now come to the third and final stage of the re- generative process -The Colony Over-Sea. To mention Over-Sea is sufficient with some people to damn the Scheme. A prejudice against emigration has been dili- gently fostered in certain quarters by those who have openly admitted that they did not wish to deplete the rank of the Army of Discontent at home, for the more discontented people you have here the more trouble you can give the Government, and the more power you have to bring about the general overturn, which is the only thing in which they see any hope for the future. Some again object to emigration on the ground that it is transportation. I confess that I have great sym- pathy with those who object to emigration as carried on hitherto, and if it be a consolation to any of my critics, I may say at once that so far from compuJso- rily expatriating any Englishman, I shall refuse to have any part or lot in emigrating any man or woman who does not voluntarily wish to be sent out. A journey over sea is a very different thing now to what it was when a voyage to Australia consumed more than aix months, when emigrants were crowded by hundreds into sailing ships^ and scenes ol abominable sin and brutaiiiy were the normal incidents of the passage. The World has grown much smaller since the electric tele- I graph wa«i discovered, s^pd side by side with the j^hrinkage 4i0fL^^^im'^- .1 in IN DARKEST ENGLAND ii of this planet under the influence of steam and electricity there has come a sense of brotherhood and a conscious- ness of community of interest and of nationality on the part of the English-speaking people throughout the world. To change from Devon to Australia is not such a change in many respects as merely to cross over from, Devon to Normandy. In Australia the Emigrant finds himself among men and women of the same habits, the same language, and in fact the same people, excepting that they live under the southern cross instead of in the nortliern latitudes. The reduction of the postage be- tween England and the Colonies, a reduction which I hope will soon be followed by the establishment of the Universal Penny Post between the English-speaking lands, will tend to lessen the sense of distance. The constant traveling of the Colonists backward and forward to England makes it absurd to speak of the Col- onies as if they were a foreign land. They are simp)ly pieces of Britain distributed about the world, enabling the Britisher to have access to the richest parts of the earth. Another objection which will be taken to this Scheme is that Colonists already over sea will see with infinite alarm the prospect of the transfer of our waste labor to their country. It is easy to understand how this misconception will arise, but there is not much danger of opposition on this score. The working-men who rule the roost at Melbourne object to the introduc- tion of fresh workmen ''nto their labor market, for the same reason that the new Dockers' Union objectB to the appearance of new hands at the dock gates — that is, for fear the new-comers will enter into unfriendly compe- tition with them. But no Colony, not even the Protec- tionist and Trade Unionists who govern Victoria, couUl rationally object to the introduction of trained Colonists 'W k -.'■■>> ■i.i .!;^ AH^D THE WAY OUT 1« . ^41 planted out upon the land. They would see tliat these men would become a source of wealth, biuiply because they would at once become producers as well as cornsum- ers, and instead of cutting down wages they would tend directly to improve trade, and so increase the employ- ment of the workmen now in the Colony. Emigration as hitherto conducted has been carried out on directly opposite principles to these. Men and women have sim- ply been shot down into countries without any regard to their possession of ability to earn a livelihood, and have consequently become an incubus upon the eaergi<>-& oi the community, and a discredit, expense, and burden. The result is that they gravitate to the towns and com- pete with colonial workmen, and thereby drive down wages. We shall avoid that mistake. We need not wonder that Australians and other Colonists should object to their countries being converted into a sort of dump- ing-ground on which to deposit men and women totally unsuited for the new circumstances in which thry find themselves. Moreover, looking at it from the aspect of the class itself, wojild such einigration be of any enduring value? It is not merely more favorable circumstances that are required by these crowds, l)ut those habits of industry, truthfulness, and self-restraint, which will enable them to profit by better conditions if they could only come to possess them. According to the most reliable iisforma- tion, there are already sadly too many of the same classes we want to help in countries supposed to be the paradise of the working-man. What could be done with a people whose first inquiry on reaching a foreign land would be for a whisky shop, and who were utteily ignorant of those forms of labor and habits of industry absolutely indispensable to the earning of a subsistence amid the hardships of an Erai» II ^"^"^Pl IM IN DARKEST ENGIAND grant's life? Such would naturally shrink from the self- denial, the new circumstances inevitably called for, and rather than suffer the inconveniences connected with a settler's life, would probably sink down into helpless despair, or settle in the slums of the first city they came to. These difficulties, in my estimation, bar the way to the emigration on any considerable scale of the "sub- merged tenth/' and yet I am strongly of opinion, with the majority of those who have thought and written on political economy, that emigration is the only remedy for this mighty evil. Now, the Over-Sea Colony plan, J think, meets these difficulties: (i) In the preparation of the Colony for the people, (a) In the preparation of the people for the Colony. (3) In the arrangements that are rendered possible for the transport of the people when prepared. It is proposed to secure a large tract of land in some country suitable to our purpose. We have thought of South Africa, to begin with. We are in no way pledged to this part of the world, or to it alone. There is noth- ing to prevent our establishing similar settlements in Canada, Australia, or some othrr land. (British Colum- bia has l>f:en sttongly urged upon our notice. Indeed, it is certain if this Sehenje provrs the success we an- ticipate, the first Colony will be Ihe forerunner of sim- ilar communities elsewlinre Africa, however, preientH to us great advantages for the moment. There it any amount of land suitable for our purpose which can be obtained, we think, without diffirully J )m (IJinul»« ii healthy. Labor it in great demand, so fliRf if by Hfiy means work failed on the Colony, there woiiM be aliinubi^il eppc^t unities for s#$;urij;ig good wages from the |{|j|)il/9f* iiig Coapanies. r Hi'' I W i f S^ - I" AND THE WAY OUT 189 Section I. -THE COLONY AND THE COLONISTS Before any decision is arrived at, however, informa- tion will be obtained as to the position and character of the land; the accessibility of, markets for commodi- ties; communication with Europe, and other necessary particulars. The next business would be to obtain on Rrant, or otherwise, a sufficient tract of suitable country for the purpose of a Colony, on conditions that would meet its present and future character. After obtaining a title to the country, the next busi- ness will be to effect a settlement in it. This, I suppose, will be accomplished by Bending a competent body of men under skilled supervi.sion to fix on a suitable location for the first settlement, erecting such buildings us would be required, inclosing and breaking up the laud, putting in first crops, and so storing sufficient supplies of food for the future. Then a supply of Colonists would be sent out to join them, and from time to time other detachments, as the Colony was prepared to receive them. Further locations could then be chosen, and more country broken up, and before a very long period has passed tlie Colony would be capable of receiving and absorbing a continuous stream of emigration of considerable proportions. The next work would be the establishment of a strong and efficient government, prepared to carry oiit and enforce the same laws and discipline to which the Colonists had been nrruRtomed in England, together with such altera- tions and additions as the new circumstances would ren- lUo nncsMfiury The Colunists would become reiponsible for all tliat cpnceined their own support; that is to say, they wt)uld Njr 8od self, engage in trade, hir* servants, and Umt- -ff^- IN DARKEST KNCtLANB 1 ^f 'I «¥ ■ act all the ordinary business .affairs of everyday life. Our Headquarters in England would represent the Col- ony in this country on their behalf, and with money sup- plied by thcrn, when once fairly established, would buy for their agents what they were at the outset unable to pro- d ice themselves, such as machinery and the like, also selling their produce to the best advantage. All land, timber, minerals, and the lik(>, would be rented to the Colonists; all unearned increments, and improvements on the land, would be held on behalf of the entire community, and utilized for its general ad vantages, a certain percentage being set apart for the extension of its borders, and the continued transmission of Colonists from England in increasing numbers. Arrangements would be made for the temporary accom- modation of new arrivals, Officers being maintained for the purpose of taking them in hand on landing and directing and controlling them generally. So far as possible, they would be introduced to work without any waste of time, situations being ready for them to enter upon; and any way, their wants would be supplied till this was the case. There would be friends who would welcome and care for them, not merely on the principle of profit and loss, but on the ground of friendship and religion, many of whom the emigrau^^^s would probably have known before in the old country, together with all the social influ- ences, restraints, and religious enjoyments to which the Colonisfs have been accustomed. After dealing with the preparation of the Colony for the Colonist, v/e now come to the preparation of the COLONISTS FOR THE OVER-SF,A COLONY They would be prepared by an education in honesty, truth, and industry, without which we could not indulge iD any hope of their succeeding. While men and women ,|i^^^ AND THE WAY OUT tit 4|r ■ m IN DARKEST EN€LAND ■5 i '^r Yi ^\ n ' ! /I i IS ■: I. I. 'I J ! ' !;■ ■I : I , :4 « i ■ i % vessel have to work, and tliere is no reason why our Col- onists should not work also. Of course, this method would require special arrange- ments in the fitting up of the vessel, which, if it were our own, it would not be difficult to make. At first sight it may seem difiicult to fir.d employments on board ship which could be engaged in to advantage, and it might not be found possible to fix up every individual right away; but I think there would be very few of the class and character of people we should take out, with the prior instructions they would have received, who would not have fitted themselves into some useful labor before the voyage ended. To begin with, there would be a large amount of the ordinary ship's work that the Colonists could perform, such as the preparation of food, serving it out, cleaning the decks and fittings of the ship generally, together with the loading and unloading of cargo. All these operations could be readily done under the direction of permanent hands. Then, shoemaking, knitting, sewing, tailoring, and other kindred occupations, could be engaged in. I should think sewing-machines could be worked, and, one way or another, any amount of garments could be manufactured, which would find ready and profitable sale on landing, either among the Colonists themselves, or with the people round about. Not only would the ship thus be a perfect hive of in- dustry, it would also be a floating temple. The Captain, Officers, and every member oi the crew would be Salva- tionists, and all, therefore, alike interested in the enter- prise. Moreover, the probabilities are that we should ob- tain the service of the ship's officers and crew in the most inexpensive manner, in harmony with the usages of the Army everywhere else, men serving from love, and not as a mere busiaess. The effect produced by our • j..;VM; M;% i^'-^'i'iSiw^^'^iilJiSj AND THE WAY OUT 195 4 ship cruising slowly southwards, testifying to the reality of a Salvation for both worlds, calling at all convenient ports, would constitute a new kind of mission work, and drawing out everywhere a large amount of warm, prac- tical sympathy. At present the influence cf those who go down to the sea in ships is not always in favor of raising the morals and religion of the dwellers in the places where they come. Here, however, would be one ship at least whose appearance foretold no disorder, gave rise to no debauchery, and from whose capacious hull would stream forth an Army of men, who, instead of thronging the grog-shops and other haunts of licin- tious indulgence, would occupj' themselves with explain- ing and proclaiming the religion of the Love of God and the Brotherhood of Man. 'h.'. i ■'!%??; „' i '-^£.,.- . I VPWMPI I ' •"■ f fAt 11 m» \i CHAPTER V MORE CRUSADES I have now sketched out briefly the leading features of the threefold Scheme by which I think a way can be opened out of "Darkest England," by which its forlorn denizens can escape into the light and freedom of a new life. But it is not enough to make a clear, broad road out of the heart of this dense and matted jungle forest; its inhabitants are in many cases so degraded, so hope- less, so uttqrly desperate, that we shall have to do some- thing more than make roads. As we read in the parable, it is often not enough that the feast be prepared and the guests be bidden; we must needs go into ,he highways and byways and compel them to come in. So it is not enough to provide our City Coiony and our Farm Col- ony, and then rest on our oars as if we had done our work. That kind of thing will not save the Lost. It is necessary to organize rescue expeditions to free tlie miserable wanderers from their captivity, and bring them out into the larger liberty and the fuller life. Talk about Stanlev and Emin I There is not one of us but has an Emin somewhere or other in the heart of Darkest England, whom we ought to sally forth to rescue. Our Em ins have the Devil for their Mahdi, and when we get to them we find that it is their friends and neighbors ipvho hold them back, and they are, oh, so irresolute! It needs each of us to be as indomitable as Stanley, to t>ur?t through all obstacles, to force our way right to the m i ■*.'■ AND TIIK WAY OUI IW ■ *M ■ ^f^ ;*#'"'.■; centre ol things, and then to labor with tlic poor pris- oner of .ice and crime with all our might. But had not the Expeditionary Committee furnished the financial means wlierehy a road was opened to the sea, both Stan- ley and Em in would probably h-ive been in the lieart ol Darkest Africa to this day. This Scheme isour Stanley Expedition. The analogy is very close. 1 propose to make a road clear down to the sea. but alas! our poor Emin! Even when the road is open, he halts and lingers and doubts. First he will, and then he won't, and nothing less than the irresistible pressure of a friendly and stronger ptirpose will constrain him to take the road which has been opened for him at such a cost of blood and treasure. I now, therefore, proceed to sketch some of the methods by which we shall attcnjpt to save the lost and to rescue those wlio are perishing in the midst of "Darkest England." Section I.— A SLUM CRUSADE— OUR SLUM SISTERS When Professor Huxley lived as a medical ofTicer in the East of London he acquired a knowledge of the actual condition of the life of m'^ny '^* its populace which led him long afterwards to declare that the sur- roundings of the savages of New Guinea were much more conducive to the leading of a decent human ex- istence than those in which many of the East-Enders live. Alas, it is not only in London that such lairs exist in which the savages of civilization lurk and breed All the great towns in both the Old World and the New have their slums, in which huddle together, in festering and verminous filth, men, vomen, and children. They correspond to the lepers who thronged the lazar- houses of the Middle Ages. As in those days St. Francis of Assissi and the heroic I ■■01 I ^:J^sfci^j.*«t:V**M4>i', in« IN DARKEST ENGLAND 4, I 1 1 I'll Ill . , i i I- ! i I ;i 1 l);nicl of saints who jL^ulhcrcd umlcr his orders were wont to go and lodge with tl\e lepers at the city gates, so tlic devoted souls who have enlisted in the Salvation Army take up their (piarters in tlie heart of the worst slums. But whereas the Friars were men, our Slum Hrif^ade is composed of women. I have a hundred of them under my orders, young women for the most part, ([uar- tered all of the'.n in outposts in the heart of the Devil's country. Most of them are the children of the poor, who have known hardship from their youth up. Some are ladies born and bred, who have not been afraid to exchange the comfort of a West End drawing-room for service among tlie vilest of the vile, and a residence in small and fetid rooms whose walls were infested with vermin. They live the life of the Crucified for tlie sake of the men and wo. ^^en for whom lie lived and died. They form one of the branches of the activity of the Army upon which I dwell with deepest sympathy. They are at the front : they are at close quarters with the enemy. To the dwellers in decent homes who occupy cush- ioned pews in fashionable churches, there is something strange and quaint in the language they hear read from the Bible, language which habitually refers to the Devil a^ ap actual personality, and to the struggle against sin and uncleanness as if it were a hand-to-hand death wres- tle with the legions of Hell. To our little sisters who dwell in an atmosphere heavy with curses, among peo- ple sodden with drink, in quarters where sin and un- cleanness are universal, all these Biblical sayings are as real as the quotations of yesterday's price of Consols are to a City man. They dwell in the midst of Hell, and in their daily warfare with a hundred devils it seems incredible to them that anyone can doubt the ex- istence of either one or the other. The Slum Sister is what her name implies — the Sister 4li?«f; ;';rf«nV- ic^>:^/'ij. m:&'M^^ W^^^^M^^^^^^ /*4:. AND THE WAY OIT 190 K*t";' B of the Slum. They go forth in Apostolic fashion, two- and two, living in a couple of the same kind of dens or rooms as are occupied by the people tlionisclves, differ- ing only in the cleanliness and order, and the few articles of furniture which they contain. Here they live all tlie year round, visiting the sick, looking after the childr(;n, showing the women how to keep themselves and their homes decent, often discharging the sick mother's duties themselves; cultivating peace, advocating temperance, counseling in temporalities, and ceaselessly preaching the religion of Jesus Christ to the Outcast of Society. I do not like to speak of their work— words fail me, and what I say is so unworthy the theme. I prefer to quote two descriptions by Journalists who have seen these girls at work in the field. The first is taken from a long artic'e which Julia Hayes Percy contributed to the New York Worlds describing a visit paid by her to the slum quarters of the Salvation Army in Cherry Hill Alleys, in the V/'iitechapel of New York: Twenty-four hours in the slums — just a night and a day — yet into them were crowded such revelations of misery, depravity, and degradation as having once been gr.zed upon, life can never be the same afterwards. Around and above this blighted neighborhood flows the tide of active, prosperous life. Men and women travel past in street cars, by the Elevated Railroad, and across the bridge, and take no thought of its wretchedness, of the criminals bred there, and of the disease engendered by its foulness. It is a fearful menace to the public health, both moral and physical^ yet the multitude is as heedless of danger as the peasant who makes his house and plants green vineyards and olives above Vesuvian fires. We are almost as careless and quite as unknow- ing as we pass the bridge in the late afternoon. Our immediate destination is the Salvation Army Bar- racks in Washington Street, and we are going finally to the Salvation Officers — two young women — who have been dwelling and doing a noble mission work for months in '>4j'''*«t*" tm iyvmi -#^- J. I 200 IN DARKEST ENGLAND 1;?|;ip. J-*; J. jJi-r in f. ^i '" one of the worsi corners of New York's most wretched quarters. These Officers are not living under the a?gis of the Army, however. The blue-bordered flag is furled out of sight, the uniforms and poke bonnets are laid away, and there are no drums or tambourines. "The banner over them is love" of their fellow-creatures among whom they dwell upon an equal plane of poverty, wearing no better clothes than the rest, eating coarse and scanty food, and sleeping upon hard cots or upon th'i floor. Their lives are consecrated to God's service among the poor of the earth. One is a woman in the early prime of vigorous life, the other a girl of eighteen. The elder of these de- voted women is awaiting us at the barracks to be our guide to Slumdom. She is tall, slender, and clad in a coarse brown gown, mended with patches. A big ging- ham apron, artistically rent in several places, is tied about her waist. She wears an old plaid woolen sharl and an ancient brown straw hat. Her dress indicates extreme poverty, her face denotes perfect peace. "This is Em," says Mrs. Ballington Booth, and after this in- troduction we sally forth. More and more wretched grows the district as we pene- trate further. Em pauses before a dirty, broken, smoke- dimmed window, through which in a dingy room are seen a. party of roughs — dark-looking men- -drinking and squabbling at a table. "They are our neighbors in the front." We enter the hall-way and proceed to the rear room. It i3 tiny, but clean and warm. Afire burns in the little cracked stove, which stands up bravely on three legs, with a brick eking out its support at the fourth corner. A tin lamp stands on the table; half a dozen chairs, one of which has arms, but must have re- nounced its rockers long ago, and a packing box, upon which we deposit our shawls, constitute the furniture. Opening from this is a small dark bedroom, with one cot made up and another folded against the wall. Against a door, which must communicate with the front room, in which we saw the disagreeable-looking men sitting, is a wooden table for the hand-basin. A small trunk and a barrel of clothing complete the inventory. fern's sister in the slum work gives us a sweet, shy wel- -<««^I^^^*'F ^^ A' MiiiWiniiBi AND THE WAY OUT 201 come. She is a Swedish girl, with the (air complexion and crisp, bright hair peculiar to the Scandinavian blonde-type. Her head reminds me of a Grenzc that hai.gs in the Louvre, with its low knot of ripplmg hair, which fluffs out from her brow and frames a dear little face with soft, childish outlines, a nez retrousse, a tiny mouth, like a crushed pink rose, and wistful blue eyes. Thi'" girl has been a Salvationist for two years. During that time she has learned to speak, read, and write h^ng- lish. while she has constantly labored among the poor and wretched. The house where we find ourselves was formerly no- torious as one of the worst in the Cherry Hill district. It has been the scene of some memorable crimes, and among them that of the Chinaman who slew his Irish wife, .ifter the manner of "Jack the Ripper," on the staircase leading to the second floor. A notable change has taken place in the tenement since Mat tie and Em have lived there, and their gentle influence is making itself felt in the neighboring houses ns well. It is nearly eight o'clock when we sally forth. Each of us carries a handful of printed slips bearing a text of Scripture and a few words of warning to lead the better life. "These furnish an excuse for entering places where otherwise we could not go," explains Em. After arranging a rendezvous, we separate. Mattie and Liz go off in one direction, and Em and I in an- other. From this our progress seems like a descent into Tartarus. Em pauses before a miserable-looking saloon, pushes open the low, swinging door, and we go in. It is a low-ceiled room, dingy with dirt, dim with the smoke, nauseating with the fames of sour beer and vile liquor. A sloppy bar extends along one side, and opposite is a long table, with indescribable viands littered over it, in- terspersed with empty glasses, battered hats, and cigar stumps. A motley crowd of men and women jostle in the narrow space. Em speaks to the soberest looking of the lot. He listens to her words, ( thers crowd about. Many accept the slips we offer, and gradually, as the throng sepjrates to make way, we gain the further end of the apartment. Em's serious, sweet, saint-like face I follow like a star. All sense of fear slips from me, ^^ W^t:. •;*V. 'mm0^ tm* Oi'iHilSii'&liiiiiiiMiinitM^-Ma, t t 1 •;: m \ 4,1 %: 7,1 i IN DARKEST ENGLAND and a great pity fills my soul as I look upon the various types of wretchedness. As the night wears on, the whole apartment seems to wake up. Every house is alight; the narrow sidewalks and filthy streets are full of people. Miserable little chil- dren, with sin-stamped faces, dart about like rats; little ones who ought to be in their cribs shift for themselves, and sleep on cellar-doors and areas, and under carts; a fev/ venders are abroad with their wares, but the most of the traffic going on is of a different description. Along Water Street are women conspicuously dressed in gaudy colors. Their heavily painted faces are bloated or pinched; they shiver in the raw night air. Liz speaks to one, who replies that she would like to talk, but dare not, and as she says this an old hag comes to the door and cries: "Get along; don't hinder her work! " During the evening a man to whom Em has bfeen talk- ing has told her: "You ought to join the Salvation Army; they are the only good women who bother us down here. I don't want to lead that sort of life; but I must go where it is light and warm and clean after working all day, and there isn't anyplace but this to come to," exclaimed the man. "You will appreciate the plea to-morrow when you see how the people live," Em says, as we turn our steps toward the tenement room, which seems like an oasis of peace and purity after the howling desert we have been wandering in. Em and Mattie brew some oatmeal gruel, and being chilled and faint, we enjoyed a cup of it. Liz and I share a cot in the outer room. We are just going to sleep when agonized cies ring out through the night; then the tones of a woman's voice pleading pitifully reach our ears. Wt; are unable to distinguish her words, but the sound is heart-rending. It comes Irom one of those dreadful Water Street houses, and we all feel that a tragedy is taking place. There is a sound of crashing blows and then silence. It is customary ii the slums to leave the house door open perpetually, hich is convenient for tramps, who creep into the hali ways to sleep at night, thereby saving ■■-'ii <1 i\-M^mt^;\ ■■iJ-*! '^kA ■■'im. } I m: AND THE WAY OUT 208 the few pence it costs to occupy a "spot" in the cheap lodging-houses. Em and Mat keep the corridor without their room beautifully clean, and so it has become an es- pecial favorite stamping-ground for these vagrants. We were told this when Mattie locked and bolted the door and then tied the keys and the door-handle together. So we understand why there are shuffling steps along the cor- ridor, bumping against the panels of the door, and heavy breathing without during the long hours of the night. All day Em and Mat have been toiling among their neighbors, and the night before last they sat up with a dying woman. They are worn out and sleep heavily. Liz and I lie awake and wait for the coming of the morning; we are too oppressed by what we have seen and heard to talk. In the morning Liz and I peep over into the rear houses where we heard those dreadful shrieks in the night. There is no sign of life, but we discover enough filth to breed diphtheria and typhoid throughout a large section. In the area below our window there are several inches of stagnant water, in which is heaped a mass of old shoes, cabbage heads, garbage, rotten wood, bones,, rags, and refuse^ and a few dead rats. We understand now why Em keeps her room full of disinfectants. She tells us that she dare not make any appeal to the sani- tary authorities, either on behalf of their own or any other dwelling, for fear of antagonizing the people, who consider such officials as their natural enemies. The first visit we pay is up a number of eccentric little flights of shaky steps interspersed with twists of passage- way. The floor is full of holes. The stairs have been patched here and there, but look perilous and sway be- neath the feet. A low door on the landing is opened by a bundle of rags and filth, out of which issues a wom- an's voice in husky tones, bidding us enter. She has La grippe. We have to stand very close together, for the room is small, and already contains three women, a man, a baby, a bedstead, a stove, and indescribable dirt. The atmosphere is rank with impurity. The man is evi- dently dying. Seven weeks ago he was "gripped." He is now in the last stages of pneumonia. Em has tried tp ' induce him Iv, be removed to the hospital, and he '■■:-'i' ■^f ■ % *•'.{ ,*»■ '■'■% ?7 ■. 'i i 1- \ ^t. '- i (' i? % i 4 » ■I; I;,. I * i ft- .f*.f' . '"W'''»V I'V,;. /it;-:* p 1^ m DARKEST ENGLAND >1V> gasps out his desire "to die in comfort in my own bed." Comfort! The "bed" is a rackhiaped with rags. Sheets, pillow-cases, and night-clothes are not in vogue in the slums. A woman lies asleep on the dirty floor with her head under the table. Another woman, who has been sharing the night watch with the invalid's wife, ia finish- ing her morning meal, in which roast oysters on the half shell are conspicuous. A child that appears never to have been washed toddles about the floor and tumbles over the sleeping woman's form. Em gives it some gruel, and ascertains that its name is "Christin*?. " The dirt, crowding, and smells in the first p'ace are characteristic of half a dozen others we visited We penetrate to garrets and descend into cellars. The "rear houses" are particularly dreadful. Everywhere there is ■.v."aying garbage lying about, and the dead cats and icits are evidence that there are mighty hunters among the gamins of the Fourth Ward. We find a number ill from the grip and consequent maladies. None of the sufferers will entertain the thought of seeking a hospital. One probably voices the opinion of the majority when he declares that "they'll wash you to death there." For these people a bath possesses more terrors than the gallows or the grave. In one room, with a wee window, lies a woman dying of consumption; wasted, wan, and wretched, lying on rags and swarming with vermin. Her little son, a boy of eight years, nestles beside her. His cheeks are scarlet, his eyes feverishly bright, and he has a hard cough. "It's the chills, mum," says the little chap. Six beds stand close together in another room; one is empty. Three days ago a woman died there, and the body has just been taken away. It hasn't disturbed the rest of the inmates to have death present there. A woman is lying on the wrecks of a bedstead, slats and posts sticking out in every direction from the rags on which she reposes. "It broke ^nder me in the night, mum," she explains. A woman is sick and wants Liz to say a prayer. We kneel on the filthy floor. Soon all my faculties are absorbed in speculating which will arrive first, the :t?i'' 4i:*i^iiiJ.^M -n ■>;5,W AND THE WAY OUT «0b "Amen" or the "B flat" which is wending its way towards me. This time the bug does not get there, and 1 enjoy grinding him under the sole of my Slum shoe when the prayer is ended. In another room we find what looks like a corpse. It is a woman in an opium stupor. Drunken men are brawling around her. Returning to our tenement, Em and Li?: meet us, and we return to our experience. The minor details vary slightly, but the story is the same piteous tale of woe every- where, and crime abounding, conditions which only change to a prison, a plunge in the river, or the Potter's field. The Dark Continent can show no lower depth of deg- radation than that sounded by the dwellers of the dark alleys in Cherry Hill. There isn't a vice missing in that quarter. Every sin in the Decalogue flourishes in that feeder of penitentiaries and prisons. And even as its moral foulness permeates and poisons the veins of ci:- social life, so the malarial filth with which the local- ity reeks must sooner or later spread disease and death. An awful picture, truly; but one which is to me irra- diated with the love-light which shone in the eyes of "Em's serious, sweet, saint-like face." Here is my second. It is written by a Journalist who had just witnessed the scene in Whitechapel. He writes: I had just passed Mr. Barnett's church when T was stopped by a small crowd at a street corner. There were about thirty or forty men, women, and children standing loosely together; some others were lounging on the opposite side of the street round the door of a public-house. In the centre of the crowd was a plain- looking little woman in Sab^ation Army uniform, with her eyes closed, praying the dear Lord that He would bless these dear people, and sa ^e them, save them now! " Moved by curiosity, I pressed hrough the outer fringe of the crowd, and in doing so I noticed a woman of an* other kind, also invoking Heavei% but in an altogether different fashion. Two dirty, tran^p-like men were list- •s| -..'^iSBB''' ,!.<4&&^,A- ..Jktnrtftsfe- •^1 206 IN DARIvEST ENGLAND f ' I' ' k ■ I; ^•■n >■ ■■ ■ 111 ^ ■ ■ l- 'I ■ 1 i/ if , - -il n ■ L ■-... -^^ : It ening to the prayer, standing the v/hilc smoking their short cutty pipes. For some reason or other they had offended the woman, and she was giving them a piece of her mind. They stood stolidly silent while she went at them like a fiend. She had been good-looking once, but was now horribly bloated with drink, and excited by passion. I heard both voices at the same time. What a contrast! The prayer was over now, and a pleading, earnest address was being delivered. "You are wrong," said the voice in the centre; "you know you are; all this misery and poverty is a proof of it. You are prodigals. You have got uway from your Father's house, and you are rebelling against Hirn every day. Can you wonder that there is so much hunger, and oppression, and wretchedness allowed to come upon you? In the midst of it all your Father loves you. He wants you to return to Him; to turn your backs upon your sins; abandon your evil doings; give up the drink and the service of the devil. He has given His Son JeFiis Christ to die for you. He wants to save you. Come to His feet. He is waiting. His arms are open. I know the devil has got fast hold of you; but Jesus will give you grace to conquer him. He will help you to master your wicked habits and your love of drink. But come to Him now. God is love. He loves me. He loves you. He loves us all. He wants to save us all." Clear and strong the voice, eloquent with the fervor of intense feeling, rang through the little crowd, past which streamed the ever-flowing tide of East End life. And at the same time that I heard this pure and passionate invocation to love God and be true to man, I heard a voice on the outskirts, and it said this: "You swine! PU knock the vitals out of yer. None of your impu- dence to me. your eyes, what do you mean by telling me that? You know what you ha' done, and now you are going to the Salvation Army. I'll let them k^iow you, you dirty rascal." The man shifted his pipe. "What's the matter?" "Matter!" screamed the virago hoarsely; " yer life, don't you know what's the matter? I'll matter ye, you hound. By God! I will, as sure as I'm alive. Matter! you know what's the lifc^--.;-'-:'^';^!: ».;, V.«t',;.''Va .•'^} :i y4^i.<'^_S^ ■^' I i -.■-f> I 4: *. .f •t ■"f . >?s><:'s^- AND THE WAV OUT 207 iTiatter. '• And so she went on, the men standing silently smoking until at last she took herself olf, her mouth full of oaths and cursing, to the public-houF-=i, It seemed as though the presence, and spiiit, and words of the Officer, who still went on with the message of mercy, had some strange effect upon them, which made these poor wretches impervious to the taunting, bitter sar- casms of this brazen, blatant virago. "God is love." Was it not, then, the accents of Cod's voice that sounded there above the din of the street and the swearing of the slums? Yea, verily, and that voice ceases not, and will not cease so long as the Slum Sis- ters fight under the banner of the Salvation Army. To form an idea of the immense amount of good, tem- poral and spiritual, which the Slum Sister is doing, you need to follow them into the kennels where they 'live, preaching the Gospel with the mop and the scrubbing- brush, and driving out the devil with soap and water. In one of our Slum posts, where the OflScer's rooms were on the ground floor, about fourteen other families lived in the same house. One little water-closet in the back yard had to do service for the whole place. As for the dirt, one Officer writes: "It is impossible to scrub the Homes; some of them are in such a filthy condition. When they have a fire the ashes are left to accumulate for day«5. The table is very seldom, if ever, properly cleaned; dirty cups and saucers lie about it, together with bits of bread, and if they have bloaters the bones and heads are left on the table. Sometimes there are pieces of onions mixed up with the rest. The floors are in a very much worse condition than the street pave- ments, and when they are supposed to clean them they do it with about a pint of dirty water. When they wash, which is rarely, for washing to them seems an unneces- sary work, they do it in a quart or two of water, and sometimes boil the things in some old saucepan in ,.t" ' jtMJtt^.» ^. il^lAirtt-i'^ij.i^t ^ t t? a::- V '1 .- ? t .:.i ^ "• -^ h t r' ■■: 1^ , '- fi ^,i \ ^-x^ ^:. ^^ Mi': 1 tN DARKEST ENGLANt) whkh they cook their food. They do this simply because they have no larger vessel to wash in. The vermin fall off the walls and ceiling on you while you are standing in the rooms. Some of the walls are covered with marks where they have killed them. Many people in the sum- mer sit on the door-steps all night, the reason for this being that their rooms are so close from the heat and so unendurable from ^he vermin that they prefer stay- ing out in the cool night air. But as they cannot stay anywhere long without drinking, they send for beer from the neighboring public — alas! never far away — and pass it from one doorway to another, the result being singing, shouting, and fighting up till three and four o'clock in the morning." I could fill volumes with stories of the war against vermin, which is part of this campaign in the slums, but the subject is too revolting to those who are often indifferent t4 the agonies their fellow-creatures suffer, so long as their sensitive ears are not shocked by the mention of so painful a subject. Here, for instance, is a sample of the kind of region in which the Slum Sis- ters spend themselves: "In an apparently respectable street near Oxford Street, the Officers were visiting one day, when they saw a very dark staircase leading into a cellar, and thinking it possible that someone might be there, they attempted to go down, and yet the staircase was so dark they thought it impossible for anyone to be there. How- ever, they tried again, pnd groped their way along in the dark for some time, until at last they found the door and entered the room. At first they could not discern any- thing because of the darkness. But after they got used to it they saw a filthy room. There was no fire in the grate, but the fire-place was heaped up with ashes, an accumulation of several weeks at least. At one end of t ' Wf- rJii^'S-'-tk;-."' mt^. .11 -Jt-- -..'■. Kt-- .tm •'*'■' AND THE WAY OUT 400 the room there was an old sack of rags and bones partly emptied, upon the floor, from which there came a most unpleasant odor. At the other end lay an old man very ill. The apology for a bed on which he lay was filthy, and had neither sheets nor blankets. His covering con- sisted of old rags. His poor wife, who attended on him, appeared to be a stranger to soap and water. These Slum Sisters nursed the old people, and on one occasion undertook to do their washing, and they brought it home to their copper for this purpose, but it was so in- fested with vermin that they did not know how to wash it. Their landlady, v/ho happened to see them, forbade them ever to bring such stuff there any more. The old man, when well enough, worked at his trade, which was tailoring. They had two shillings and sixpence per week from the parish.' Here is a report from the headquarters of our Slum Brigade as to the work which the Slum Sisters have done. It is almost four years since the Slum Work was started in London. The principal work done by our first Officers was that of visiting the sick, cleansing the homes of the Slummers, and of feeding the hungry. The following are a few of the cases of those who have gained temporally, as well as spiritually, through our work: Mrs. W. — Of Haggerston Slum. Hea/y drinker; wrecked home; husband a drunkard; place dirty and fil- thy, terribly poor. Saved now over two years, home Ai., plenty of employment at cane-chair bottoming; hus- band now saved also. Mrs. R.— DruryLane Slum. Husband and wife drunk- ards; husband very lazy, only worked when starved into it. We found them both out of work, home furniture- less, in debt. She got saved, and our lasses prayed for him to get work. He did so, and went to it. He fell out again a few weeks after, and beat his wife. She i4 !,^«(BPS . ^i'^^^i£u*i vit^itM-M^iik^, iiKfe'MV>**ii«S!#»!KMi, I ! I «• imM VJUJV18 I 1 I j '■■ "': ! ■'. ' ,!■ I- 1 . i i ■ . ■ ■ 1 -• . 1 ■ ■ 5 " II ['••ft ■C'; J: :4' ■pi': -'t •f' "ft. - A' ■^/y-'-J'^ »jj: ■^^:^i sin m DARKEST ENGLANB sought employment at charing and office-cleaning, got it, and has been regularly at work since. He too got work. He is now a teetotaler. Tiie home is very comfortable now, and they are putting money In the bank. A. M., in the Dials. Wns a great drunkard, thrift- less; did not go to the trouble of seeking work. Was in a Slum meeting, heard the Captain speak on "Seek first the Kingdom of God! " called out and said, "Do you mean that if I ask God for work. He will give it me?" Of course she said, "Yes." He was converted that night, found work, and is now employed in the Gas Works, Old Kent Road. Jimmy is a soldier in the Boro' Slum. Was starving when he got converted through being out of work. Through joining the Army, he was turned out of his home. He found work, and now owns a coffee-stall in Billingsgate Market, and is doing well. Sergeant R. — Of Marylebone Slum. Used to drink, lived in a wretched place in the famous Charles Street; had work at two places, at one of which he got 5s. a week, and the other los. , when he got saved; this was starva- tion wages, on which to keep himself, his wife, and four children. At the los. a week work he had to de- liver drink for a spirit merchant; feeling condemned over it, he gave it up, Lnd was out of work for weeks. The brokers were put in, but the Lord rescued him just in time. The 5s. a week employer took him afterwards at i8s., and he is now earning 22s., and has left the ground- floor Slum tenement for a better house. H. — Nine Elms Slum. Was saved on Easter Mon- day; out of work several weeks before; is a laborer; seems very earnest, in terrible distress. We allow his wife 2s. 6d. a week for cleaning the hall (to help them). In ad- dition to that, she gets another 2s. 6d. for nursing, and on th&t husband, wife, and a cfcuple of children pay the rent of 2s. a week and drag out an existence. I. have tried to get work for this man, but have failed. T. — Of Rotherhithe Slum. Was a great drunkard; is a carpenter; saved about nine months ago, but, having to work in a public-house on a Sunday, he gave it up; ••'<^l\ ■/r^:. m .;,;•: 1;''/' AND THE WAY OUT 211 t. • . he has not been able to get another job, and has nothing but what we have given hiin for making seats. Emma Y. — Now a Soldier of the Marylebone Slum Post, was a wild young Shimmer when we opened in the Boro' ; could be generally seen in the streets, wretchedly clad, her sleeves turned up, idle, only worked occasional Iv; got saved two years ago, had terrible persecution in her home. We got her a situation, where she has been for nearly eighteen months, and is now a good servant. Lodging-House Frank. — At twenty-one came into the possession of ^750, but, through drink and gambling, lost it all in six or eight months, and for over seven years he has tramped about from Portsmouth, through the South of England, and South Wales, from one lodging-house to another, often starving, drinking when he could get any money; thriftless, idle, no heart for work. We found him in a lodging-house six months ago, living with a fallen girl; got them both saved and married; five weeks after he got work as a carpenter at 30s. a week. He has a home of his own now, and promises well to make an Officer. The Officer who furnishes the above reports goes on to say: I can't call the wretched dwelling home, to which drink had brought Brother and Sister X. From a life of luxury, they drifted down by degrees to one room in a Slum tenement, surrounded by drunkards and the vilest characters. Their lovely half-starved children were compelled to listen to the foulest language, and hear fighting and quarreling, and alas, alas, not only to hear it in the adjoining rooms, but witness it within their own. For over two years they have been delivered from the power of the cursed drink. The old rookery is gone, and now they have a comfortably furnished home. Their children give evidence of being truly converted, and have a lively gratitude for their father's salvation. One boy of eight said, last Christmas Day, "I remember when we had only dry bread for Christmas; but to-day we had a goose and two plum puddings." Brother X. was dis- missed in disgrace from his situation as commercial ■■0 ' r - '.tWi •Ui^tiffh^^ i "SJ - vi t'i'. ■5s ■ (,* ■ traveler before his conversion; to-day he is chief man, next to his employer, in a large business house. He says: I am perfectly satisfied that very few of the lowest strata of Society are unwilling to work if they could get it. The wretched hand-to-mouth existence many ot them have to live disheartens them, and makes life with them either a feast or a famine, and drives those»who have brainf enough to crime. The results of our work in the Slums may be put down as: "ist. A marked improvement in the cleanliness of the homes and children; disappearance of vermin, and a considerable lessening of drunkenness. "2d. A greater respect for true religion, and espe- cially that of the Salvation Army. "3d. A much larger amount of work is being done now than before our going there. "4th. The rescue of many fallen girls. "5th. The Shelter work seems to us a development of the Slum work. In connection with our Scheme, we propose to imme- diately increase the numbers of these Slum Sister.s, and to add to their usefulness by directly connecting their operations with the Colony, enabling them thereby to help the poor people to conditions of life more favor- able to health, morals, and religion. This would be ac- complished by getting some of them employment in the City, which must necessarily result in better homes and surroundings, or in the opening up for others of a straight course from the Slums to the Farm Colony. Section II.— THE TRAVELING HOSPITAL Of course, there is only one real remedy for this state of things, and that I* t^ «-akt the people away from the ■■ii**#i»«*-' Mtti^imii^ .MW4i^^:- M. .'V' 'I :-2 'J AND THE WAV OUT 2t8 "I • ;*' ■ '.''4 wretch/ed hovels in which they sicken, suffer, and die with less comfort and consideration than the cattle in the staJls and sties of many a country stjuirt'. And this is certainly our ultimate ambition, but foi the present distress something might be done on the lines of district nursing, which is only in very imperfect operation. I have been thinking that if a little Van, drawn by a pohy, could be fitted up with what is ordinarily recpiired by the sick and dying, and trot round amongst these abodes of d(!solation, with a couple of nurses trained for the business, it might be of immense service, without being very costly. They could have a few simple instru- ments, so as to draw a tooth or lance an abscess, and what was absolutely requisite for simple surgical opera- tions. A little oil-stove for hot water to prepare a poul- tice, or a hot fomet, or a soap wash, and a number of other necessaries for nursing, could be carried with ease. The need for this will only be appreciated by those who know how utterly bereft of all the comforts and con- veniences for attending to the smallest matters in sick- ness which prevails in these abodes of wretchedness. It may be suggested, Why don't the people when they are ill go to the hospital? To which we simply reply that they won't. They cling to their own bits of rooms and to the companionship of the members of their own fam- ilies, brutal as they often are, and would rather stay and suffer, and die in the midst of all the filth and squalor that surrounds them in their own dens, than go to the big house, which, to them, looks very like a prison. The sufferings of the wretched occupants of the Slums that we have been describing, when sick and unable to help themselves, makes the organization of some system of nursing them in their ovrn homes a Christian duty. Here are a handful of pases, gleaned almost at random ■ ■ it .:w ■■^*Sfet-. ■ ;-is^:-.:>H> (X*,"'';; iiMiu.:: ■ .- '■ -•■ h'- ••*«*-^-iaWk.'«-': V m ;• . .. -%:■ t ;r ' : .it . #:■ t . ■ -'m . 9m- i ' ."■'":■"'' ! :;p i -v -<< 14 J r- til u IF; ! ■' II i t i --M ''m 214 '%!:• V -N DARKEST ENGLAND from the reports of our Slum Sisters, which will show the value of the agency above described: Many of those who are sick have often only one room, and often several children. The Officers come across many cases where, with no one to luok after them, they have to l^'e for hours without food or nourishment of any kind. Sometimes the neighbors will take them in a cup of tea. It is really a mystery how they live. A poor woman in Drury Lane was paralyzed. She had no one to attend to her; she lay on the floor, on a stuffed sack, and an old piece of cloth to cover her. Although it was winter, she very seldom had any fire. She had no garments to wear, and but very little to eat. Another poor woman, who was very ill, was allowed a little money by her daughter to pay her rent and get her food; but very frequently she had not the strength to light a fire or to get herself food. She was parted from her husband because of his cruelty. Often she lay for hours without a soul to visit or help her. Adjutant McClellan found a man lying on a straw mattress in a very bad condition. The room was filthy; the smell made the Officer feel ill. The man had been lying for days without having anything done for him. A cup of water was by his side. The Officers vomited trom the terrible smells of this place. Frequently sick people are found who need the con- tinual application of hot poultices, but who are left with a cold one for hours. In Marylebone the Officers visited a poor woman who T'as very ill. She lived in an underground back kitchen, with hardly a ray of light and never a ray of sunshine. Her bed was made up on some egg boxes. She had no one to look after her, except a drunken daughter, who very often, when drunk, used to knock the poor old woman about very badly. The Officers frequently found that she had not eaten any food up to tv/elve o'clock, not even a cup of tea to drink. The only furniture in the room was a small table, an old fender, and a box. The vermin seemed to be innumerable. A poor woman was taken very ill, but, having a small family, she felt she must get up and wash them. While % ■if ill 'Hi & 'i^,i^fiib0i.M>».y., . : jSafiA;*! s'l,;;! ''SiMt«;-"'i!*s ritVViht v'-^Mi-^ :i■*■. m 4 -.1 j<''t»«' I m i. '.4.1^^'. \ L.\.t'j J*!>fa. . *i;,.....^ ,..'. .-a nra r H 1^^ ■A- > V « r. .,■.■■• . .,•■ !16 IN DARKEST ENGl.AND t ■ Vr-. ::;*-•'. •$^.' 3;, Hi he camt out Ije was at any rate close to his old friends and relations, who would take him in and give him a help- ing hand to start once more a new life. But what has happened owing to the desire of the Government to do away with as many local jails as possible? The pris- oners, when convicted, arc sent long distances by rail to the central prisons, and on coming out find themselves cursed with the brand of the jail-bird, so far from home, character gone, and with no one to fall back upon r counsel, or to give them a helping hand. No wonder it is reported that vagrancy has much increased in some large towns on account of discharged prisoners taking to begging, having no other resource. In the competition lor work no employer is likely to take a man who is fresh from jail; nor are mistresses likely to ent;rtge a servant whose last character was her dis- charge from one of Her Majesty's prisons. It is incred- ible how much mischief is often done by well-meaning persons, who, in struggling towards the attainment of an excellent end— such, for instance, as that of economy and efficiency in prison administration — forget entirely the bearing which their reforms may have upon the prisoners themselves. The Salvation Army has at least one great qualifica- tion for dealing with this question. I believe I am in the proud position of being at the head of the only relig- ious body which has always some of its members in jail for conscience sake. We are also one of the few re- ligious bodies which can boast that many of those who are in our ranks have gone through terms of penal servi- tude. We, therefore, know the prison a*, both ends. Some men go to jail because they are better than their neighbors, most men because they are worse. Martyrs, patriots, reformers of all kinds belong to the first category. No great cause has ever achieved a triumph before it has IH ,m^^>i^-tAiim^ ^i^aik^siii-:ui>i-''iitm^^i^:. ■pi ■:# "IS nw^ ■ ■^i* Wili!^ ■ AND THE WAY OUT 217 furnished a certain (luota to the prison population. The repeal of an unjust law is seldom carri(>d until a c^irtain number of those who are laboring for the reform have experienced in their own persons the hardships of fine and imprisonment. Christianity itself would never have triumphed over the Paganism of ancient Home had the early Christians not been enabled to testify from the dungeon and the arena as to the sincerity and serenity of soul with which they could confront their persecutors, and from that time down to the successful struggles of our people for the right of public meeting at Whit- church and elsewhere, the Christian religion and the liberties of men have never failed to demand their quota of martyrs for the faith. When a man has been to prison in the best of causes, he learns to look at the question of prison discipline with a much more sympathetic eye for those who are sent there, even for the worst offenses, than judges and legislators who only look at the prison from the outside, "A fellow feeling makes one wondrous kind," and it is an immense advantage to us in dealing with the criminal classes that many of our best Officers have themselves been in a prison cell. Our people, thank God, have never learned to regard a prisoner as a mere convict — A 234. He is ever a human being to them, who is to be cared for and looked after as a mother looks after her ailing child. At present there seems to be but little likelihood of any real reform in the interior of our pris- ons. We havt therefore to wait until the men come out- side in order to see what can be done. Our work begins when that of the prison authorities ceases. We have already had a good deal of experience in this work, both here and in Bombay, in Ceylon, in South Africa, in Aus- tralia, and elsewhere, and as the net result of our expe- rience we proceed now to set forth the measures we in- 'i% l\l. '* ■3. 3 \ %\ :}ih., '%. 'Mi- V:-'., r>*#»'- 218 IN DARKEST ENGLAJH) tend to adopt, some of which are already in successful operation. 1. We propose the opening of Homes for this class as near as possible to the different jails. One for men has just been taken at King's Cross, and will be occu- pied as soon as it can be got ready. One for women must follow immediately. Others will be required in different parts of the Metropolis, and contiguous to each of its great prisons. Connected with these Homes will be workshops in which the inmates will be regularly em- ployed until such time as we can get them work else- where. For this class must also work, not only as a discipline, but as the me-^ns for their own support. 2. In order to save, as far as possible, first offenders from the contamination of prison life, and to prevent the formation of further evil companionships, and the recklessness which follows the loss of character entailed by imprisonment, we would offer, in the Police and Crimi- nal Courts, to take such offenders under our wing as were anxious to come and willing to accept our regula- tions. The confidence of both magistrates and prisoners would, we think, soon be secured, the friends of the latter would be mostly on our side, and the probability, therefore, is that we should soon have a large number of cases placed under our care on what is known as "suspended sentence," to be brought up for judgment when called upon, the record of each sentence to be wiped ou«- on report being favorable of their conduct in the Salvation Army H me. 3. We should seek access to the prisons in order to gain such acquaintance with the prisoners as would en- able us the more effectually to benefit them on their dis- charge. This privilege, we think, would be accorded us by the prison authorities when they became acquainted with the nature of our work and the remarkable results ?iS-,Jr's^!\i- ';';'''^^S-':'J^J5tei/ "■ '''•'^?♦H^- ,''■^•s^ .!■'■■'■ M '.*y> H ■' '•^ %if,'r j5 ANt) THE Way oxn 219 which followed it. The right of entry into the jails has already been conceded to our people in Australia, where they have free access to, and communion with, the inmates while undergoing their sentences. Prisoners are recommended to c^me to us by the jail authorities, who also forward to our people information of t\ie date and hour v/hen they leave, in order that they may be met on ti.eir release. 4. We propose to meet the criminals at the prison gates with the offer of immediate admission to our Homes. The general rule is for them to be met by their friends or old associates, who ordinarily belong to the same class. Any way, it would be an exception to the rule were they not all alike believers in the comforting and cheering power of the intoxicating cup. Hence the public-house is invariably adjourned to, where plans for further crime are often decided upon straight away, re- sulting frequently, before many weeks are past, in the return of the liberated convict to the confinement from which he has just escaped. Having been accustomed during confinement to the implicit submission of them- selves to the will of another, the newly-discharged pris- oner is easily influenced by whoever first gets hold of him. Now, we propose to be beforehand with these old com- panions by taking the jail-bird under our wing and set- ting before him an open door of hope the moment he crosses the threshold of the prison, assuring him that if he is willing to work and comply with our discipline, he never need know want any more. 5. We shall seek from the authorities the privilege of supervising and reporting upon those who are dis- charged with tickets-of-leave, so as to free them from the humiliating and harassing duty of having to report, themselves at the police stations. 6. We shall find suitable employment for each individ- ''■Ki,'ssm 3 >;*!*;• ' Us i, -^^J^^. he. tiiji f^-' f. «lrfi:Sf^,,'.4**?l'*.*- ^ao IN DARKEST ENGLANDf "Mi.''' t ■ i I ^ ,r><\,: I- i ual. If not in possession of some useful trade or call- ing, we will teach him one. 7. After a certain length of residence in these Homes, if consistent evidence is given of a sincere purpose to live an honest life, he will be transferred to the Farm Colony, unless in the meanwhile friends or old employers take him off our hands, or some other form of occupa- tion is obtained, in which case he will still be the ob- ject of watchful care. We shall offer to all the ultimate possibility of being restored to Society in the country, or transferred to com- mence life afresh in another. With respect to results we can speak very positively, for although our operations up to the present, except for a short time some three years ago, have been limited, and unassisted by the important accessories above de- scribed, yet the success that has attended them has been most remarkable. The following are a few instances which might be multiplied: J. W. was met at prison gate by the Captain of the Home and offered help. He declined to come at once, as he had friends in Scotland who he thought would help him; but if they failed, he promised to come. It was his first conviction, and he had six months for robbing his employer. His trade was that of a baker. In a few days he presented himself at the Home, and was received. In the course of a few weeks, he professed conversion, and gave every evidence of the change. For four months he was cook and ba/:er in the kitchen, and at last a situation as second hand was offered for him, with the J. S. Sergeant-Major of the Congress Hall Corps. That is three years ago. He is there to-day, saved, and satisfacto"yj ^ thoroughly useful and respect- able man. J. P. was an old offender. He was met at Millbank on the expiration of his last t?erm (five years), and brought to the Hohie, where he worked at his trade — a tailor. Eventually he got a situation, and has since ^■^h!^i^^^^M% i^^PWfu. ■^: M. AND THE WAY OUT m tharried. He has now a good home, the confidence of his neighbors, is well saved, and a soldier of the Hackney Corps. C. M. Old offender, and penal servitude case. Was induced to come to the Home, got saved, was there for a long period, offered for the work, and went into the Field, was Lieutenant for tv/o years, and eventually mar- ried. He is now a respectable mechanic and soldier of a Corps in Derbyshire. J. W. Was manager in a large West End millinery establishment. He was sent out with two ten-pound packages of silver to change. On his way he met a com- panion and was induced to take a drink. In the tavern the companion made an excuse to go outside and did not return, and W. found one of the packages had been ab- stracted from his outside pocket. He was afraid to re- turn, and decamped with the other into the country. Whilst in a small town he strolled into a Mission Hall; there happened to be a hitch in the proceedings, the or- ganist was absent, a volunteer was called for, and W., being a good musician, offered to play. It seems the music took hold of him. In the middle of the hymn he walked out and went to the police station and gave himself up. He got six months. When he came out he saw that Happy George, an ex-jail-bird, was an- nounced at the Congress Hall. He went to the meeting and was induced to come to the Home. He eventually got saved, and to-day he is at the head of a Mission work in the provinces. "Old Dan" was a penal servitude case, and had had sev- eral long sentences. He came into the Home and was saved. He managed the bootmaking there for a long time. He h.is sirxe gone into business at Hackney, and is married. He is of four years' standing, a thorough respectable tradesman, and a Salvationist. Charles C. has done in the aggregate twenty-three years' penal servitude. Was out on license, and got saved at the Hull Barracks. At that time he had neg- lected to report himself, and had destroyed his license, taking an assumed name. When he got saved he gave himself up, and was taken before the magistrate, who, instead of sending him back to fulfill his sentence, gave M •S'-v?- «S|i(ISji».^jil*#s Ji,. I «i^*>' :* ;■ v'^iiK. «<' r^iioi^ ^ .' ■^«vt4^; ■4^ J fM IN DARKEST ENGLAND in illi 11 I t - ■A '1; ;!^:- .1..;..;.:. ' ''A . '' ■S'?^ € him up to the Army. He was sent to us from Hull by our representative, is now in our factory and doing well. He is still under police supervision for five years. H. Kelso. Also a license man. He had neglected to report himself, and was arrested. While before the mag- istrate he said he was tired of dishonesty, and would go to the Salvation Army if they would discharge him. He was sent back to penal servitude. Application was made by us to the Home Secretary on his behalf, and Mr. Matthews granted his release. He was handed over to our Officers at Bristol, brought to London, and is now in the Factory, saved and doing well. Edwin Watts belongs to Birmingham, is in his forty- ninth year, and has been in and out of prison all his life. He was at Redhill Reformatory five years, and his last term was five years* penal servitude. The Chap- lain at Pentonville advised him, if he really meant ref- ormation, to seek the Salvation Army on his release. He came to Thames Street, was sent to the Workshop, and professed salvation the following Sunday at the Shelter. This is three months ago. He is quite satisfactory, in- dustrious, contented and seemingly godly. A. B., gentleman loafer, good prospects ; drink and idle- ness broke up his home, killed his wife, and got him into jail. Presbyterian minister, friend of his family, tried to reclaim him, but unsuccessfully. He entered the Pris- on Gate Home, became thoroughly saved, distributed handbills for the Home, and ultimately got work in a large printing and publishing works, where, after three years' service, he now occupies a most responsible posi- tion. Is an elder in the Presbyterian Church, restored to his family, and the possessor of a happy home. W. C, a native of London, a good-for-nothing lad, idle and dissolute. When leaving England his father warned him that if he didn't alter he'd end his days on the gallows. Served various sentences en all sorts of charges. Over six years ago we took him in hand, admitted him into Prison Gate Brigade Home, where he became truly saved; he got a job of painting which he had learnt in jail, and has married a woman who had formerly been a procuress, but had passed through our Rescued Sinners* Home, and there became thoroughly ..-f^ .t^;:V ■■■% ^.ii*!S(#»».!. . ^i;\v«^M^#/*«'t^i«!i^?*# AND THE WAY OUT 223 .<:'m converted. Together tlioy have braved the storms of life, both working diligently for their living. They have now a happy little home of their own, and are doing very well. F. X., the son of a Government officer, a drunkard, gam- bler, forger, and all-round blackguard; served numerous sentences for forgery. On his last discharge was admit- ted into Prison Gate Brigade Home, where he staid about five months, and became truly saved. Although his health was completely shattered from the effects of his sinful life, he steadfastly resisted all temptations to drink, and kept true to God. Through advertising in the IVar Cry, he found his lost son and daughter, who are delighted with the wonderful change in their father. They have become regular attendants at our meetings in the Temperance Hall. He now keeps a coffee-stall, is doing well, and properly saved. G. A., 72, spent 23 years in jail, last sentence two years for burglary; was a drunkard, gambler, and swearer. Met on his discharge by the Prison Gate Brigade, admit- ted into Home, where he remained four months, and be- came truly saved. He :s living a consistent, godly life, and is in employment. C. D., aged 64, opium-smoker, gambler, blackguard, separated from wife and family, and eventually landed in jail, was met on his discharge and admitted into Prison Gate Brigade Home, was saved, and is now restored to his wife and family, and giving satisfaction in his employm^t. S. T. was an idle, loafing, thieving, swearing, disrepu- table young man, who lived, when out of jail, with the low prostitutes of Little Bourke Street. Was taken in hand by our Prison Gate Brigade Officers, who got him saved, then found him work. After a few months he expressed a desire to work for God, and although a cripple and having to use a crutch, such was his earnest- ness that he was accepted and has done good service as an Army officer. His testimony is good and his life consistent. He is, indeed, a marvel of Divine grace. M. J., a young man holding a high position in England, got into a fast set; thought a change to the Colonies I "M). ■. Mummmi ^ li "; ,*;ji^ 11} It • '. I. -$ '$ ^ t : s-. •^ :! II >.■:.;,■;-„;■' ■■ i ! f 'i-'X'"',' •Jj^'^- •Si 'Mi . V ' ■ \"> ■i I i i ■ M ■ iS."-.:. !! 264 IN DARKEST ENGLANi> would be to his advantage. Started for Australia with ;^2oo odd, of which he spent a good portion on board ship in drink, soon dissipated the balance on landing, and»woke up one morning to find himself in jail with delirium tremens on him, no money, his luggage lost, and without a friend on the whole continent. On his discharge he entered our Prison Gate Home, beca>ne converted, and is now occupying a responsible position in a Colonial Bank. B. C, a man of good birth, education, and position; drank himself out of home and friends and into jail, on leaving which he came to our Home; was saved, exhib- iting by an earnest and truly consistent life the depth of his conversion, being made instrumental while with us in the salvation of many who, like himself, had come to utter destitution and crime through drink. He is now in a first-class situation, getting ;^300 a yea., wife and family restored, the possessor of a happy home, and the love of God shed abroad in it. I do not produce these samples, which are but a few, taken at random from the many, for the purpose of boast- ing. The power which has wrought these miracles is not in me nor in n^y Officers; it is power which comes down from above. But I think I may fairly point to these cases, in which our instrumentality has been blessed to the plucking of these brands from the burning, as affording some justi^.cation for the plea to be enabled to go on with this work on a much more extended scale, li any other organization, religious or secular, can show similar trophies as the result of such limited operations as ours have hitherto been among the criminal population, I am willing to give place to them. All that I want is to have the work done. Section IV.- -EFFECTUAL DELIVERANCE FOR THE DRUNKARD Th« number, misery, and hopeless condition of the i ^^iS)U*M'ti'im '•!?( ■ ■■'•■■',<:( ;;i(ife##iite,i^r \ryMi- :f ' AND THE WAY out Ml slaves of strong drink, of both sexes, have been already dealt with at considerable length. We have seen that there are in Great Britain one million of men and women, or thereabouts, completely under the domination of this cruel appetite. The utter helplessness of Society to deal with the drunkard has been proved again and again, and confessed on all hands by those who have had experience on the subject. As we have before said, the general feeling of all those who have tried their hands at this kind of business is one of despair. They think the present race of drunkards must be left to perish; that every species of effort having proved vain, the energies expended in the endeavor to rescue the parents will be laid out to greater advantages upon the children. There is a great deal of truth in all this. Our own efforts have been successful in a very remarkable degree. Some of the bravest, most devoted, and successful work- ers in our ranks are men and women who were once the most abjett slaves of the intoxicating cup. Instances of this have been given already. We might multiply them by thousands. Still, when compared with the ghastly array which the drunken army presents to-day, those rescued are comparatively few. The great reason for this is the simple fact that the vast majority of those addicted to the cup are its veritable slaves. No amount of reasoning, or earthly or religious considerations, can have any effect upon a man who ir, so completely under the mastery of this passion that he cannot break away from it, although he sees the most terrible consequences staring him in the face. The drunkard promises and vows, but promises and vows in vain. Occasionally he will put forth frantic efforts to deliver himself, but only to fall again in the presence of the opportunity. The insatiable crave con- 1,^1 •■ 1.- Hi M' t V ! m IN DARKEST ENCIAND i ' [I i • ? ! f At: trols him. lie cannot ^;i:t away from it. It compels him to drink, whether lie will or not, and, unless delivered byanAluiighly lumd, he will drink himself into a drunk ;, I ^''' ard's grave and a ilrujikard's hell. . • ;.- Our annals teem with successful rescues effected from ; ,^. the ranks of th<; diunken aruiy. The following will not only be examples of this, hut will tend to illustrate the strength and madness of the passion which masters the ';. slave to strong ilrink: ! Harbara. -Slie had sunk about as low as any woman ' could when we found her. b'rom the age of eighteen, j when her parents had forced her to throw over her sailor ; .;?i^ sweetheart and marry a man with "good prospects," she 1 . had been going steadily ilown. I She did not love her husband, and soon sought com- ; •> fort from the little public-house only a few steps from 1 V her own door. (Juarrels in lier home quickly gave place ' to fighting, angry curses, and oaths, and soon her life I -r- uecanie one of the most wretclied in the place. Her I >:■'•■ husband made no pnitense of carmg for lier, and when she was ill and unable to earn money by selling fish in the streets, he would gooff for a few months, leaving her to keep the house and support herself and babies as l)est she could. Out of her twenty years of married life, ten were spent in these on-and-off separations. And so she got to live for only one thing — drink. It was life to her; and the mad craving grew to be irresistible. The woman who looked after her at the birth of her child refused to fetch her whisky, so when she had done all she could and left the mother to rest, Barbara crept out of bed and crawled slowly "own the stairs over the way to the tap-room, where she sat drinking with the baby, not yet an hour old, in her arms. So things went on, until her life got so unbearable that she determined to have done with it. Taking her two eldest children with her, she went down to the bay, and deliberately threw them both into the water, jumping in herself after them. "Oh, mither, mither, dinna droon me!" wailed her little three-year-old Sarah, but she was determined and held them under the water, till, seeing a boat put out to the :y- ^!^J: n, 'Mi ,ji(r,\-K ■M*i.fi:Bv^3S}IIS)i^ii,.,,>i0i^{ m- ■ 'ifmsi W' }- Vl5.it-> AND TIIK WAY OUT 337 rescue, she knew that she was disrovercil. Too late to do it now, slie thought, and, holding both diiitlrcn, swam quickly back to the shore. A made up story al>out hav- in^; (alien into the water satisfied tin: boatman, and liarbara returned home dripping and bailhcl. Hut little Sarah did not recover from iht; sli(»c:k, and after a few weeks her short life ended, and she was laid in the Cemetery. Yet another time, goaded to desperation, she tried to take her life by hanging herself, but a neighbor came in and cut ht.'r down unconscious, but still living. She became a terror to all the neighborhood, and her name was the by word for daring and desperate actions. I>ut our Open-Air Meetings attracted her, she came to the Barracks, got saved, and was delivered from her love of drink and sin. From being a dread her home becanui a sort of house of refuge in the little low street v^here she lived; other wives as unhappy as herself wouKl come in for advice and help. Anyone knew that Barbie was changed, and loved to do all she could for her neighbors. A few months ago she came up to the Captain's in great dis- tress over a woman who lived just opj)osite. She had been cruelly kicked and cursed by her Iwisband, who had finally bolted the door against her, and she had turned to Barbie as the only hope. And of course Barbie took her in, with her rough-and-ready kindness got her to bed, kept out the other women who crowded round to sympa- thize and declaim against the husband's brutality, was both nurse and doctor for the poor woman till her child was born and laid in the mother's arms. And then, to Barbie's distress, she could do no more, for the woman, not daring to be absent longer, got up as best she could, and crawled on hands and knees down the little steep steps, across the street, and back to her own door. "But, Barbie! " exclaimed the Captain, horrified, "you should have nursed her, and kept her until she was strong enough." But Barbie answered by reminding the Captain of "John's' fearful teijiper, and how it miglit cost the woman her life to be absent from her home more than a couple of hours. The second is the case of— Hi; ii^ \. «■■■■ Mif • 1 '■-TSw yS i\ if s. i ■'-*"-, . f. ' ■^'''■" l! .. ■a ( ■ t? i. ,'! 328 IN DARKEST ENGLAND u fi i !;■■ :<-^' ■^i- i*. ■ ■■■■ Maggie. — She had a home, but seldom was sober enough to reach it at nights. She would fall down on the door-steps until found by some passer-by or a police- man. In one of her mad freaks a boon companion happened to offend her. He was a little hunchback, and a fellow- drunkard ; but without a moment's hesitation, Maggie seized him and pushed him head-foremost down the old fashioned wide sewer of the Scotch town. Had not some- one seen his heels kicking out and rescued him, he would surely have been suffocated. One winter's night Majjgie had been drinking heavily, fighting, too, PS usual, and she staggered only as far, on her way home, as the narrow chain-pier, flere she stumbled and fell, and lay along on the snow, the blood oozing from her cuts, and her hair spread out in a tan- gled mass. At 5 in the morning, some factory girls, crossing the bridge to their work, came upon her, lying stitf and stark amidst the snow and darkness. To rouse her from her drunken sleep was hard, but to raise her from the ground was still harder. The matted hair and blood had frozen fast to the earth, and Maggie was a prisoner. After trying to free her in different ways, and receiving as a reward volleys of abuse and bad language, one of the girls ran for a kettle of boiling water, and by pouring it all around her, they succeeded by degrees in meltitia; her on to her feet again! But she came to our Barracks, anJ! got soundly con- verted, and the Captain was rewarded for nights and days of toil by seeing her a saved and sober woman. AH went right till a friend asked her to his house, to drink his health and that of his newly married wife. "I wouldn't ask you to take anything strong," he said. "Drink to me with this lemonade." And Maggie, nothing suspecting, drank, and as she drank tasted in the glass her old enemy, whisky! The man laughed at her dismay, but a friend rushed off to tell the Captain. . "I may be in time, she has not really gone back;" and the Captain ran to the house, tying her bonnet- strings as she ran. i •7^ *-'\lK0- .M. A* AND THE WAY OUT ^ % ? % "It's no good—keep awa*— 1 don't want to sec 'er, Cap- tain," wailed Maggie; "let me have some more-~oh, I'm on fire inside." But the Captain was firm, and taking her to her home, she locked herself in with the woman, and sat with the key in her pocket, while Maggie, half mad with craving, paced the floor like a caged animal, threatening and entreating by terms. "Never while I live," was all the answer she could get; so she turned to the door, and busied herself tin r« a moment or two. A clinking noise. The Captain started up — to see the door open and Maggie rush through it! Accustomed to stealing and all its "dodges," she had taken the lock off the door, and was awry to the nearest public-house. Down the stairs, Captain after her, into the gin pal ace; but before the astonished publican could give her the drink she was clamoring for, the "bonnet" wat. bv her side. "If you dare to serve her, I'll break the glass before it reaches her lips. She shall not have any! ' and so Maggie was coaxed away, and shielded till the passion was over, and she was herself once more. But the man who gave her the whisky durst not leave his house for weeks. The roughs got tt know of the trap he had laid for her, and would have lynched him could they have got hold of him. The third is the case of Rose: Rose was ruined, deserted, and left to the streets when only a girl of thirteen, by a once well-to-do man, who is now, we believe, closing his days in a work- house in the North of England. Fatherless, motherless, and you might almost say friend- less, Rose trod the broad way to destruction, with nil its misery and shame, for twelve long years. Her wild, i>as- sionate nature, writhing under the wrong suffered, sought forgetful ni^ss in the intoxicating cup, and she soon be- came a notorious drunkard. S(>venty-four times during her career she was dragged before the magistrates, and seventy-four times, with one exception, she was pun- ished, but the seventy-fourth time she was as far off ref- ormation as ever. The one exception happened on the ■# •I J it ■I ^^ ^i>; \hj; 23f IN DARKEST ENGLAND in t' i\ I' i ! . - 1 : m-. &f: Queen' s Jubilee Day. On seeing her well-known face again before him, the magistrate inquired, "How many times has this woman been here before?" The Police Superintend- ent answered, "Fifty times." The magistrate remarked, in somewhat grim humor, "Then this is her Jubilee," and, moved by the coincidence, he let her go free. So Rose spent her Jubilee out of prison. It is a wonder that the dreadful, drunken, reckless, dissipated life she lived did not hurry her to an early grave; it did affect her reason, and for three weeks she was locked up in Lancaster Lunatic Asylum, having really gone mad through drink and sin. In evidence of her reckless nature, it is said that after her second imprisonment she vowed she would never again walk to the police station; consequently, when in her wild orgies the police found it necessary to arrest her, they had to get her to the police station as best they could, sometimes by requisitioning a wheelbarrow or a cart, or the use of a stretcher, and sometimes they hr^d to carry her right out. On one occasion, toward the close of her career, when driven to the last-named method, four policemen were carrying her to the station, and she was extra violent, screaming, plunging, and biting, when, either by accident or design, (jne of the policemen let go of her head, and it came in contact with the curbstone, causing tlie blood to pour forth in a Ltream. As soon as they placed her in the cell the poor creature caught the blood in her hands, and literally washed her face with it. On the following morning she presented a pit- iable sight, and before taking her into the court the po- lice wanted to wash her, but she declared she would draw any man's blood who attempted to put a finger upon her; thov had spilt her blood, and she would carry it into the court as a witness against them. On coming out of jail for the last time, she met with a few Salva- tionists beating the drum and singing "Oh! the Lamb, the bleeding Lamb; He was found worthy." Rose, struck with the song, and impressed with the very faces of the people, followed them, saying to herself, "I never before heard anything like that, or seen such happy look- ing people. " She came into the Barracks; her heart was broken; she found her way to the Penitent Form, and I m.'^W'Ku^,. «i^'^Mil||»t£^»|^lil?^J^^ ■: 'i? I ^ 2vv AND THE WAY OUT 981 Christ, with His own precious blood, washed her sins away. She arose from her knees and said to the Cap- tain, "It is all right now." Three months after her conversion a great meeting was held in the largest hall in the town, where she was known to almost every inhabitant. There were about three thousand people oresent- Rose was called upon to give her testimony to the power of God to save. A more enthusiastic wave of sympathy never greeted any speaker than that which met her from that crowd, every one of whom was familiar with her past history. After a few broken words, in which she spoke of the wonderful change that had taken place, a cousin, who, like herself, had lived a notoriously evil life, came to the Cross. Rose is now War Cry sergeant. She goes into the brothels and gin palaces and other hauiits of vice, from v/hich she was rescued, and sells more papers than any other Soldier. The Superintendent of Police, soon after her conver- sion, told the Captain of the Corps that in rescuing Rose a more wonderful work had been done than he had se(^n in all the years gone by. S. was a native of Lancashire, the son of poor but pious parents. He was saved when sixteen years of age. He was first an Evangelist, then a City Mission- ary for five or six years, and afterwards a Baptist Min- ister. He then fell under the influence of drink, re- signed, and became a commercial traveler, but lost his berth through drink. He was then an insurance agent, and rose to be superintendent, but was again dismissed through drink. During his drunken career he had delir- ium tremens four times, attempted suicide three times, sold up six homes, was in the workhouse with hip wife and family three times. His last contrivance forgetting drink was to preach mock sermons and offer mock prayers in the tap-rooms. After one of these blasphe- mous performances in a public-house, on the words, "Are you Saved?" he was challenged to go to the Salvation Barracks. He went, and the Captain, who knew him well, at once made for him, to plead for his soul, but S. knocked him down, and rushed back to the public- house for more drink. He was, however, so moved by 'nl 232 ;■.•■(.■■ IN DARKEST ENGLAND ;i: li i! ■i! i; i ! i i ? what he had heard that he was unable to raise the liq- uor to his mouth, although he made three attempts. He again returned to the meeting, and again quitted it for the public-house. He could not rest, and for the third time he returned to the Barracks. As he entered the last time the Soldiers were singing: Depth of mercy, can there be Mercy still reserved for me? Can my God his wrath forbear? Me, the Chief of Sinners, spare? This song impressed him still further; he wept, and remained in the Barracks under deep conviction until midnight. He was drunk all the next day, vainly try- ing to drown his convictions. The Captain visited him at night, but was quickly thrust out of the house. He was there again next morning, and prayed and talked with S. for nearly two hours. Poor S. was in despair. He persisted that there was no mercy for him. After a long struggle, however, hope sprung up, he fell upon his knees, confessed his sins, and obtained forgiveness. When this happened, his furniture consisted of a soap-box for a table, and starch boxes for chairs. His wife, himself, and three children had not slept in a bed for three years. He has now a happy family, a comfort- able home, and has been the means of leading num- bers of other slaves of sin to the Saviour, and to a truly happy life. Similar cases, describing the deliverance of drunkards from the bondage of strong drink, could be produced in- definitely. There are Officers marching in our ranks to- day, who were once gripped by this fiendish fascination, who have had their fetters broken, and are now free men in the Army. Still the mighty torrent of Alcohol, fed by ten thousand manufactories, sweeps on, bearing with it, I have no hesitation in saying, the foulest, bloodiest tide that ever flowed from earth to eternity. »The Church of the living God ought not — and to say nothing about religion, the people who have any humanity ought not — to ^est without doing something desperate to rescue this . ti'ji 1 .. jM MiiekMMm M mmii&: ^ ■v'*" ^m^t^ ,1 ■: vi -:^ f AND THE WAY OUT »8 quarter of a million who are in the eddying maelstrom. We purpose, therefore, the taking away of the people from the temptation which they cannot resist. We would to God that the temptation could be taken away from them, that every house licensed to send forth the black streams of bitter death were closed, and closed for- ever. But this will not be, we fear, for the present at least. While in one case drunkenness may be resolved into a habit, in another it must be accounted a disease. What is wanted in the one case, therefore, is some method of removing the man out of the sphere of the temptation, and in the other for treating the passion as a disease, as- we should any other physical affection, bringing to bear upon it every agency, hygienic and otherwise, calculated to effect a cure. The Dalrymple Homes, in which, on the order of a magistrate and by their own consent, Inebriates can be confined for a time, have been a partial success in deal ing with this class in both these respects; but they are admittedly too expensive to be of any service to the poor. It could never be hoped that working-people of themselves, or with the assistance of their friends, would be able to pay two pounds a week for the privilege of being removed away from the licensed temptations to drink which surround them at every step. Moreover, could they obtain admission, they would feel themselves any- thing but at ease amongst the class who avail themselves of these institutions. We propose to establish Homes which will contemplate the deliverance, not of ones and twos, but of multitudes, and which will be accessible to the poor, or to persons of any class choosing to use them. This is our national vice, and it demands nothing short of a national remedy — any way, one of proportions large enough to be counted national. -.#s^-. '"•» ■ 'A a j- •iiS^ai^i^.. .-V*,!.., '.(.. !' 884 IN DARKEST ENGLAND i { t : }! ::;i 111 I, i, ... I; :. . I' .5 ' •i 1 1 1 J i^ I ^ 1. To begin with, there will be City Homes, into which a man can be taken, watched over, kept out of the way of temptation, and if possible delivered from the power of this dreadful habit. In some cases persons would be taken in who are en- gaged in business in the City in the day, being accom- panied by an attendant to and from the Home. In this case, of course, adequate remuneration for this extra care would be required. 2. Country Homes, which we shall conduct on the Dalrymple principle; that is, taking persons for com- pulsory confinement, they binding themselves by a bond confirmed by a magistrate that they would remain for a certain period. The general regulations for both establishments would be something as follows: (i.) There would be only one class in each establish- ment. If it was found that the rich and the poor did not work comfortably together, separate institutions must be provided. (2.) All would alike have to engage in some remu- nerative form of employment. Outdoor work would be preferred, but indoor employment would be arranged for those for whora it was most suitable, and in such weather and at such times of the year when garden work was im- practicable. (3.) A charge of los. per week would be made. This could be remitted when there was no ability to pay it. The usefulness of such Homes is too evident to need any discussion. There is one class of unfortunate creat- ures who must be objects of pity to all who have any knowledge of their existence, and that is, those men and women who are being continually dragged before the magistrates, of- whom we are constantly reading in the police reports, whose lives are spent in and out of prison, at an enormous cost to the country^ and without any benefit tQ themselves, "Mi ,;•> ' 'J \r'' f'/i:^ ■^^ ':-^ ■>> ■■'it •*:t;,- It It:'. # ' ^;:v. '■■:■%■■■ f AND THE WAY OUT 235 We should then be able to deal with this class. It would be possible for a magistrate, instead of sentencing the poor wrecks of humanity to the sixty-fourth and one hundred and twentieth term of imprisonment, to send them to this Institution, by simply remanding them to come up for sentence when called for. How much cheaper such an arrangement would be for the country ! Section V. -A NEW WAY OF ESCAPE FOR LOST WOMEN THE REhCUE HOMES i Perhaps there is no evil more destructive of the best interests of Society, or confessedly more difficult to deal with remedially, than that which is known as the Social Evil. We have already seen something of the extent to which this terrible scourge has grown, and the alarming manner in which it affects our modern civilization. We have already made an attempt at grappling with this evil, having about thirteen Homes in Great Britain, accommodating 307 girls under the charge of 132 Officers, together with seventeen Homes abroad, open for the same purpose. The whole, although a small affair com- pared with the vastness of the necessity, nevertheless constitutes perhaps the largest and most efficient effort of its character in the world. It is difficult to estimate the results that have been already realized. By our varied' operations, apart from these Homes, probably hundreds, if not thousands, have been delivered from lives of shame and misery. We have no exact return of the number who have gone through the Homes abroad, but in connection with the work in this country, about 3,000 have been rescued, and arf living lives of virtue. ,' This success has not only been gratifying on account if i > ■ » I I ■■;• i i ( if' " *■■/' Ml !;. ; i : I ■>;■;■■ S?tI' dM IN DARKEST ENGLAND of the blessing it has brought these young women, the gladness it has introduced to the homes to which they have been restored, and the benefit it has bestowed upon Society, but because it has assured us that much greater results of the same character may be realized by opera- tions conducted on a larger scale, and under more favor- able circumstances. With this view wo propose to remodel and greatly in- crease the number of our Homes, botii in London and the provinces, establishing one in every great centre of this infamous traffic, and to make them very largely Receiving Houses, where the girls will be initiated into the system ol reformation, tested as to the reality of their desires for deliverance, and started forward on the highway of Irutli, virtue, and religion. From these Homes large numl)ers, as at present, would be restored to their friends and relatives, while some would be detained in training for domestic service, and others passed on to the Farm Colony. On the Farm they would be engaged in various occu- pations. In the Factory, at Bookbinding and Weaving; in the Garden and Glasshouses, amongst fruit and flow- ers; in the Dairy, making butter; in all cases going through a course of Housework which will fit them for domestic service. At every stage the same process of moral and religious training, on which we specially rely, will be carried for- ward. There would probably be a considerable amount of inter-marriage amongst the Colonists, and in this way a number of the?-? girls would be absorbed into Society. A large number would be sent abroad as domestic serv- ants. In Canada, the girls are taken out of the Rescue Homes as servants, with no other reference than is l^ained by a few weeks' residence there, and are paid as ■;;J'V^. -T. '•^j^''-^vfWrr<*- ■'■«'■ ■A ^' And the way gut m much as ;{;3 a month wages The scarcity of domestic servants in the Australian Colonies, Western States of America, Africa, and elsewhere is well known. And we have no doubt that on all hands our girls with twelve months' character will be welcomed, the question of outfit and passage money being easily arranged for by the persons requiring their services advancing the amount, with an understanding that it is to be deducted out of their first earnings. Then we have the Over-Sea Colony, which will re- quire the service of a large number. Very few families will go out who will not be very glad to take a young woman with them, not as a menial servant, but as a companion and friend. By this method we should be able to carry out Rescue work on a much larger scale. At present two difficul- ties very largely block our way. One is the costliness c* the work. The expense of rescuing a girl on the present plan cannot be much less than j^j ; that is, if we include the cost of those with whom we fail, and on whom the money is largely thrown away. Certainly j£y is not a very large sum for the measure oi benefit bestowed upon the girl by bringing her off the streets, and that which is bestowed on Society by removing her from her evil course; still, when the work runs into thousands of individuals, the amount required becomes considerable. On the plan proposed we calculate that from the date of their reaching the Farm Colony they will earu nearly all that is required for their support. The next difficulty which hinders our expansion in this department is the want of suitable and permanent situa- tions. Although we have been marvelously successful so far, having at this hour probably 1,200 girls in domes- tic service alone, still the difficulty in this respect is great. Families are naturally shy at receiving thes« rn\ 4 1' ^,.-, ;n>,, i i^, t ^^ i I, j • \ I ' ilf^ ' f ■u 288 IN DARKEST ENGLAND poor unfortunates when they can secure the help they need combined with unblemished character; and we can- not blame them. Then, again, it can easily be understood that the monotony of domestic service in this country is not alto- gether congenial to the tastes of many of these girls, who have been accustomed to a life of excitement and freedom. This can be easily understood. To be shut up seven days a week, with little or no intercourse, either with friends or with the outside world, beyond that which comes of the weekly Church service or "night out," with nowhere to go, as many of them are tied off from the Salvation Army Meetings, becomes very monot- onous, and in hours of depression it is not to be won- dered at if a few break down in their resolutions, and fall back into their old ways. On the plan we propose there is something to cheer these girls forward. Life on the Farm will be attract- ive. From there they can go to a new country and be- gin the world afresh, with the possibility of being mar- ried and having a little home of their own some day. With such prospects, we think, they will be much more likely to fight their way through seasons of darkness and temptation than as at present. This plan will also make the task of rescuing the girls much more agreeable to the Officers engaged in it. They will have this future to dwell upon as an encouragement topersevere with the girls, and will be spared one ele- ment at least in the regret they experience, when a girl falls back into old habits — namely, that she earned the principal part of the money that has been expended upon her. That girls can be rescued and blessedly saved even now, despite all their surroundings, we have many re- markable proofs. Of these take one or two as examples; -.:£^ J te'si*^*^*'' u;..,. ^;;'.i.K-:ll, 'jt^s^.- •V ■".1^ i /-■. 'I- ?i^ I .A^k'^C^:.' '¥? ■J , •■'- „'><'o' . > / W AND The way out 2S0 J. W. was brought by our Oflkers from a neighbor- hood which has. by reason of the atrocities perpetrated in it, obtained an unenviable renown, even among similar districts of equally bad character. She was only nineteen; a country girl. She had be- gun the struggle for life early as a worker in a large laundry, and at thirteen years of age was led away by an inhuman brute. The first false step taken, her course on the downward road was rapid, and growing restless * and anxious for more scope than that afforded in a country town, she came up to London. For some time she lived the life of extravagance and show known to many of this class for a short time- having plenty of money, fine clothes, and luxurious sur- roundings — until the terrible disease seized her poor body, and she soon found herself deserted, homeless and friendless, an outcast of Society. When we found her she wa^- hard and impenitent, diffi- cult to reach even with the hand of love; but love won, and since that time she has been in two or three situations, a consistent Soldier of an Army corps, and a champion IVar Cry seller. A 'riCKET-OF-LEAVE WOMAN A. B. was the child of respectable working-people— Ro- man Catholics — but was early left an orphan. She fell in with bad companions, and became addicted to drink, going from bad to worse until drunkenness, robbery, and harlotry brought her to the lowest depths. She passed seven yer s in prison, and after the last offense was dis- charged with seven years' police supervision. Failing to report herself, she was brought before the bench. The magistrate inquired whether she had ever had a chance in a Home of any kind. "She is too old, no one will take her," was the reply, but a Detective present, knowing a little about the Salvation Arniy, stepped for- ward and explained to the magistrate that he did not think the Salvation Army refused any who applied. She was formally handed over to us in a deplorable con- dition, her clothing the scantiest and dirtiest. For over three years she has given evidence of a genuine reforma- tion, during which time she has industriously earned her own living. ik^.-: mm t M. ':!■ i. i y I m m DARKEST ENGLAKD )>:, © A WILD WOMAN In visiting a slum in a town in the North of England, our Officers entered a hole, unfit to be called a human habitation— more like the den of some wild animal- almost the only furniture of which was a filthy iron bed- stead, a wooden box to serve for table and chair, while an old tin did duty as a dust-bin. « The inhabitant of this wretched den was a poor woman, who fled into the darkest corner of the place as our Officer entered. This poor wretch was the victim of a brutal man, who never allowed her to venture outsidie the door, keeping her alive by the scantiest allowance of food. Her only clothing consisted of a sack tied round her body. Her feet were bare, her hair matted and foulj presenting on the whole such an object as one could scarcely imagine living in a civilized country. She had left a respectable home, forsaken her husband and family, and sunk so low that the man who then claimed her boasted to the Officer that he had bettered her condition by taking her off the streets. We took the poor creature away, washed and clothed her; and, changed in heart and life, she is one mon added to the number of those who rise up to bless thi Salvation Army workers. Section VI.— A PREVENTIVE HOME FOR UN- FALLEN GIRLS WHEN IN DANGER ., There is a story told likely enough to be true about a young girl who applied one evening for admission to some home established for the purpose of rescuing fallen women. The matron naturally inquired whether she had forfeited her virtue; the girl replied in the negative. She had been kept from that infamy, but she was poor and friendless, and wanted somewhere to lay her head until she could secure work and obtain a home. The matron must have pitied her, but she could not help her, as she did not belong to the class for whose benefit the Institution was intended. The girl pleaded, but the .'i^-f^^ Mam i (». I I "A . h' I J' • ^.3 i I 'i ,'4 ■f 'A^'- y. :%.i f • •?>- ■ AKD THK WAV out d4i hiatron could not alter the riile, and dare not break it, they were so pressed to find room for their own poor un- fortunates, and she could not receive her. The poor girl left the door reluctantly, but returned in a very short time, and said, "I am fallen now, will you take wv. in?" I am so^mewhat slow to credit this incident; anyway it is true in spirit, and illustrates the fact that while there arc homes to which any poor, ruined, degraded harlot can run for shelter, there is only here and there a corner to which a poor, friendless, moneyless, home- less, but unfallen girl can fly for shelter from the storm "which bids fair to sweep her away, whether she will or no, into the deadly vortex of ruin which gapes beneath her. In London and all our large towns there must be a considerable number of poor girls who, from various causes, are suddenly plunged into this forlorn condi- tion; a quan i with the mistress and sudden discharge, a long bout of disease and dismissal penniless from the hospital, a robbery of a purse, having to wait for a situation until the last penny is spent, and many other causes will leave a girl an almost hopeless prey to the lynx-eyed villains who are ever watching to take advan- tage of innocence when in danger. Then, agnin, what a number there must ue in a great city like London who are ever faced with the alternative of being turned out of doors if they refuse to submit themselves to the infamous overtures of those around them. 1 imderstand that the Society for the Protection of Children prose- cuted last year a fabulous number of fathers for unnatural sins with their children. If so many were brought to justice, how many were there of whom the world never heard in any shape or form? We have only to imagine how many a poor girl is faced with the terrible alterna- tive of being driven literally into the streets by employ- '•, I i4i IN DARKEST ENGLAND ^■^i. :vi. V; W.^- I'' • I it. ■*-'*^ i8-- ers or relatives or others in whose power she is unfortu- nately placed. Now, we want a real home for such — a house to which any girl can fly at any hour of the day or night, and be taken in, cared for, shielded from the enemy, and helped intr circumstances of safety. The Refuge we propose will be very much on the same principle as the Homes for the Destitute already described. We should accept any girls, say from four- teen years of age, who were without visible means of support, but who were willing to work, and to conform to discipline. There would be various forms of labor provided, such as laundry work, sewing, knitting by ma chines, etc., etc. Every beneficial influence within our pow- er would be brought to bear on the rectification and forma- tion of character. Continued efforts would be made to secure situations according to the adaptation of the girls, to restore wanderers to their homes, and otherwise pro- vide for all. From thiv, as with the other Homes, there will be a way made to the Farm and to the Colony over the sea. The institutions would be multi- plied as we had means and found them to be necessary, and made self-supporting as far as possible. SECTiON VH.— INQUIRY OFFICE FOR LOST PEOPLE Perhaps nothing more vividly suggests the varied forms of broken-hearted misery in the great City than the statement that^ 18.000 people are lost in it every year, of whom 9,000 are never heard of any more, anyway in this world. What is true about London is, we suppose, true in about the same proportion of the rest of the country. Husbands, sons, daughters, and HiOthers are continually disappearing, and leaving no trace behind. -t.*,. ■f % u m^ '-t :-v ■'TflWft^''".' AND THE WAY OUT 'f. ^ J ^ rN^ 043 lu such cases, where the relations are of some impor- tance in the world, they may interest the police authori- ties sufficiently to make some inquiries in this country, which, however, are not often successful; or where they can afford to spend large sums of money, they can fall back upon the private detective, who will continue these inquiries, not only at home, but abroad. But where the relations of the missing individual are in humble circumstances, they are absolutely powerless, in nine cases out of ten, to effectually prosecute any search at all that is likely to be successful. Take, for instance, a cottager in a village, whose daughter leaves for service in a big town or city. Shortly afterwards a letter arrives informing her parents of the satisfactory chiracter of her place. The mistress is kind, the work easy, an \ she likes her fellow-servants. She is going to chapel or church, and the family are pleased. Letters continue to arrive of the same purport, but at length they suddenly cease. Full of coucf^rn, the mother writes to know the reason, but no ariswer comes back, and after a time the letters are returned with "Gone, no address," written on the envelope. The mother writes to the mistress, or the father journeys to the city, but o further information can be obtained beyond the fact that "tke girl has conducted herself some- what mysteriously of late; had ceased to be as careful at her work; had been noticed to be keeping company with some young man; had given notice, and disappeared alto- gether." Now, what can these poor people do? They apply to the police, but they can do nothing. Perhaps they ask the clergy. nan of the parish, who is equally helpless, and thtre is nothing for J^hem but for the father to hang his jicad and the motksr to cry k^rself to sleep — to long, 1 i: ;l ■ ''■^0*^f^"''\ za IN DARKEST ENGLAND ■r-figr-i. { =; I •'! iSii \:\l %^ • - and wait, and pray for information that perhaps never comes, and to fear the worst. Now, our Inquiry Department supplies a remedy for this state of things. In such a case application would simply have to be mad to the nearest Salvation Army (Officer — probaDly in her own village, anyway in the nearest town — who would instruct the parents to write to the Chief Office in London, sending portraits and all particulars. Inquiries would at once be set on foot, which would very possibly end in the restoration of the girl. The achievements of this Department, which has only been in operation for a short time, and that on a limited scale as a branch of Rescue Work, have been marvelous. No more romantic stories can be found in the pages of our most imaginative writers than those it records. We give three or four illustrative cases of recent date: A LOST HUSBAND Inquiry. — Mrs. S., of New Town, Leeds, wrote to say that Robert R. left England in July, 1889, for Canada, to improve his position. He left a wife and four little children behind, and on leaving said that if he were suc- cessful out there he should send for them, but if not he should return. ' As he was unsuccessful, he left Montreal in the Domin- ion Liner "Oregon," on October 30th, but except receiv- ing a card from him ere he started, the wife and friends had heard no more of him from that day till the date they wrote us. They had written to the "Dominion" Company, who replied that "he landed at Liverpool all right;" so, thinking he had disappeared upon his arrival, they put the matter in the hands of the Liverpool Police, who, after having the case in hand for several weeks, made the usual report — "Cannot be traced." RKiULT. — We at once commenced looking for some pas- senger who had come over by the same steamer, and after m 1 *•■ .J, ^i;;;. in if* ■^, H AND THE WAV OUT 243 the lapse of a little time we succeeded in getting hold of one. In our first interviev/ with him we learned that Robert R. did not land at Liverpool, but when suffering from depression, threw himself overboard three days after leav- ing America, and was drowned. We further elicited that upon his death the sailors rifled his clothes and boxes, and partitioned them. We wrote the Company reporting this, and they prom- ised to make inquiries and amends; but, as loo often hap- pens, upon making report of the same to the family, they took the matter into their own binds, dealt with the Company direct, and in all probability thereby lost a good sum in compensation which we should probably have obtained for them. )i^ n A LOST WIFE 1 '. -Ui-' *! Bf ■;.^ ft ' i.' ■*•' # (ft. Si I - Inquiry. — F. J. L. asked us to seek for his wife, who left him on November 4th, 1888. He feared she had gone to live an immoral life; gave us two addresses at which she might possibly be heard of, and a description. They had three children. Result. — Inquiries at the addresses given elicited no information, but from observation in the neighborhood the woman's whereabouts was discovered. After some difficulty our Officer obtained an interview with the woman, who was greatly astonished at our hav- ing discovered her. She was dealt with faithfully and firmly; the plain truth of God set before her, and was covered with shame and remorse, and promised to return. We communicated with Mr. L. A few days after he wrote that he had been telegraphed for, had forgiven his wife, and that they were reunited. Soon afterwards she wrote expressing her d««p grati- tude to Mrs. Bramwell Booth for the *roabl« talMn in her case. A LOST amfLD Inquiry. — Alice P. was stolen away from home by Gypsies ten years a^o, and new l«ags to find her parents '3«^ h \ I'^p I Br !| ^i- ■.'V-. ^ '"A'"' #:* '*-*'.' ■■'&' ?A 246 IN DARKEST ENGLAND to, be restored to them. She believes her home to be in Yorkshire. The Police had this case in hand for some time, but failed entirely. Result. — With these particulars we advertised in the "War Cry." Captain Green, seeing the advertisement, wrote, April 3d, from 3, C. S., M. H., that her Lieuten- ant knew a family of the name advertised for, living at Gomersal, Leeds. We, on the 4th, wrote to this address for confirmation. April 6th, we hear^' from Mr. P., that this lass is his child, and he '.viites full of gratitude and joy, say- ing he will send money for her to go home. We, mean- while, get from the Police, who had long sought this girl, a full description and photo, which we sent to Cap- tain Cutmore, and on April 9th she wrote us to the effect that the -^irl exactly answered the description. We got from the parents 15s for the fare, and Alice was once more restored to her parents. Praise God. A LOST DAUGHTER Inquiry. — E. W. ; age 17. Application from this girl's mother and brother, who had lost all trace of her since July, 1885, when she left for Canada. Letters had been once or twice received, dated from Montreal, but they stopped. A photo, full description, and handwriting were sup- plied. Result. — We discovered that some kind Church people here had helped E. W. to emigrate, but they had no in- formation as to her movements after landing. Full particulars, with photo, were sent to our Officers in Canada. The girl was not found in Montreal. The information was then sent to Officers in other towns in that part of the Colony. The inquiry was continued through some months; and, finally, through our Major of Bivibion, the girl was re- ported to us as having been recognized in one of our Barracks and identified. When suddenly called by her own name, she nearly fainted with agitation. r %. ^!L A •„ #v: i^'Jm. ' ..V ;):-•-«• .;,*»*■ J ■^'' AND THE WAV OUT 347 She was in a condition of terrible poverty and shame, but at once consented, on hearing of her mother's inquir- ies, to go into one of our Canadian Rescue Homes. She is now doing well. Her mother's joy may be imagined. n. » ■1 •.v,.; ',.f,i>'- A LOST SERVANT Inquiry. — Mrs. M., Clevedon, one of Harriett P.'s old mistresses, wrote us, in deep concern, about this girl. She said she was a good servant, but was ruined by the young man who courted her, and had since had three chil- dren. Occasionally she would have a few bright and happy weeks, but would again lapse into the "vile path." Mrs. M. tells us that Harriett had good parents, who ^^are dead, but she still has a respectable brother in Hamp- ^*^hire. The last she heard of her was that some weeks ago she was staying at a Girl's Shelter at Bristol, but had since left, and nothing more had been heard of her. The inquirer requested us to find her, and in much faith added: "I believe you are the only people who, if successful in tracing her, can rescue and do her a per- manent good." Result. — We at once set inquiries on foot and in the space of a few days found that she had started from Bristol on the road for Bath. Following her up, we found that at a little place called Bridlington, on the way to Bath, she had met a man, of whom she inquired her way. He hearing a bit of her stcry, after takipt; her to a public house, prevailed upon her to go home and live with him, as he had lost his wife. It was at this stage that we came upon the scene, and having dealt with them both upon the matter, got her to consent to come away if the man would not marry her, giving him two days to make up his mind. The two days' respite having expired, and he being unwilling to undertake matrimony, we brought her away, and sent her to one of our Homes, where she is enjoy- ing peace and penitence. When we informed the mistress and brother of the suc- cess, they were greatly rejoiced and overwhelmed us witlj thanks. 1^'^ S48 ^t - 1^ w .- J 'J IN DARKEST ENGLAND A LOST HUSBAND I In a seaside home last Christmas there was a sorrow- ing wife, who mourned over the basest desertion of her husband. Wandering from place to place, drinking, he ^ had left her to struggle alone with four little ones de- pendent upon her exertions. Knowing her distress, the Cap'ain of the Corps wrote begging us to advertise for the man in the Cry. We did this, but for some time heard nothing of the result. Several weeks later a Salvationist entered a beer-house, where a group of men were drinking, and began to dis- tribute IVar Crys amongst them, speaking here and there upon the eternity which faced everyone. At the counter stood a man with a pint pot in hand, who took one of the papers passed to him, and glancing carelessly down its columns caught sight of his own name, and was so startled that the pot f^ll from his grasp to the floor. "Come home," the paragraph ran, "and all will be forgiven." His sin faced him; the thought of a broken-hearted wife and starving children conquered him completely, and there and then he left the public-house, and started to walk home — a distance of many miles — arriving there about midnight the same night, after an absence of eleven months. The letter from his wife telling the good news of his return, spoke also of his determination by God's help to be a different man, and they are both attendants at the Salvation Army Barracks. A SEDUCER COMPELLED TO PAY ' Amongst the letters that came to the Inquiry Office one morning was one from a girl who asked us to help her to trace the father of her child, who had for some time ceased to pay anything towards its support. The case had been brought into the Police Court, and judgment given in her favor, but the guilty one had hidden, and his father refused to revsal his whereabouts. W« call^ upon the aldMT man and laid the matter be- fore hitHy but failed to prerail upon him either to pay bis son's liabilities or to put ub into commuoication si^^. -K ■xi. * ■i jilruk, n^ I ■M 0;- ■ •,' ■'' AND THE WAY OUT MO with him. The answers to an advertisement in the fVar Cry, however, had brought the required information as to his son's whereabouts, and the same morning that our Inquiry Officer communicated with the police, and served a summons for ihe overdue money, the young man had also received a letter from his father advising him to leave the country at once. He had given notice to his employers; and the ^i6 salary he received, with some help his father had sent him toward the journey, he was compelled to hand over to the mother of his child. FOUND IN THE BUSH A year or two ago a respectable-looking Dutch girl might have been seen making her way quickly and stealth- ily across a stretch of long rank grass towards the shelter of some woods on the banks of a distant river. Behiiid Ler lay the South African town from which she had come, betrayed, disgraced, ejected from her home with words of bitter scorn, having no longer a friend in the wide world who would hold out to her a hand of help. What could there be better for her than to plunge into that river yonder, and end this life — no matter what should come after the plunge? But Greetah feared the "future," and turned aside to spend the night in darkness, wretched and alone. Seven years had passed. An English traveler making his way through Southern Africa halted for the Sabbath at a little village on his route. A ramble through the woods hi-ougnt him unexpectedly in front of a kraal, at the door of which squatted an old Hottentot, with a fair v'hite-faced child playing on the ground near by. Glad t3 accept the proffered shelter of the hut from the burn- ing sun, the traveler entered, and was greatly aston- iijhed to find within, a young white girl, evidently the mother of the frolicsome child. Full of pity for the strange pair, and especially for the girl, who wore an air of refinement little to be expected in this out-of-the- world spot, he sat down on the •arth«n floor, and told thmn of the wonderful Salvation of God. This was Gre«tah, and the Englishman would have given a great V. i ,1 1i * 250 IN DARKEST ENGLAND deal if he could have rescued her from this miserable lot. But this was impossible, and with reluctance he bid her farwell. •^r;>. If,' il 5| h II U ■ m W'- It was an English home. By a glowing fire one night a man sat alone, and in his imaginings there came up the vision of the girl he had met in the Hottentot's kraal, and wondering whether any way of rescue was possible. Then he remembered reading, since his re- turn, the following paragraph in the War Cry: "to the distressed: "The Salvation Army invite parents, relatioi.s, and friends in any part of the world interested in an> wom- an or girl who is known, or feared to be, living in im- morality, or is in dang'^-r of coming under the control of immoral persons, to write, stating full particulars, with names, dates, and address of all concerned, and, if possible, a photograph of the person in whom the inter- est is tal 1. "Aii letters, whether from these persons or from such women or girls themselves^ will be regarded as strictly confi- dential. They may be written in any language, and should be addressed to Mrs. Bramwell Booth, loi. Queen Victoria Street, London, E. C. " "It will do no harm to try, anyhow," exclaimed he; ' the thing haunts me as it is;" and without further delay he penned an account of his African adventure, as full as possible. The next African mail carried instructions to the Officer in Command of our South African work. Shortly after, one of our Salvation Riders was explor- ing the bush, and after some difficulty the kraal was dis- covered — the girl was rescued and saved. The Hotten- tot was converted afterwards, and both are now Salvation Soldiers. Apart from the independent agencies employed to prosecute this class of inquiries, which it is proposed to very largely increase, the Army possesses in itsel .::>■ '■■% y\^ .'I ^4 P. '■^ 4 J ANb THE WAY OUT m ^ :■}. >;. Iff" •ii '■ • T-^m' i'' iP f)eculiar advantages for this kind of ''nvestigation. The mode of operation is as fellows: There is a Head Centre, under the direction of a capa- ble Officer and assistants, to which particulars of lost husbands, sons, daughters, and wives, as the case may be, are forwarded. These are advertised, except when deemed inadvisable, in the English "War Cry," with its 300,000 circulation, and from it copied into the twenty-three other "War Crys" published in different parts of the world. Specially prepared information in each case is sent to the local Officers of the Army when that is thought wise, or Special Inquiry Officers trained to their work are immediately set to work to follow up any clue which has been given by inquiring relations or friends. Every one of its 10,000 Officers, nay, almost every Soldier in its ranks, scattered, as they are, through every quarter of the globe, may be regarded as an Agent. A small charge for inquiries is made, and where per- sons are able, all tlie costs of the investigation will be defrayed by them. Section VIII.— REFUGES FOR THE CHILDREN OF THE STREETS For the waifs and strays of the streets of London much commiseration is expressed, and far more pity is deserved that is bestowed. We have no direct purpose of entering on a crusade on their behalf, apart from our at;jmp. at changing the hearts and lives and improving the circumstaiices of their parents. Our main hope for these wild, youthful outcasts lies in this direction. If we can reach and benefit their guardians, morally and materially, we shall take the most effectual road to benefit the children themselves. ■^^r m is Darkest England ( I s ' 1 «!> i ? H IS, I i 1 * I * ffl ''X ''' Still, a number oi tnem will unavoidably be forced upon us; and we shall be (juite prepared to accept the responsibility of dealing with them, calculating that our organization will enable us to do so, not only with facility and efficiency, but with trifling cost to the public. To begin with, Children's Creches, or Children's Day Homes, would be established in the centres of every poor population, where for a small charge babies and young children can be taken care of in the day while the mothers are at work, instead of being left to the dangers of the thoroughfares or the almost greater peril of being burnt to death in tlieir own miserable homes. By this plan we shall not only be able to benefit the poor children, if in no other direction than that of soap and water and a little wholesome food, but exercise some humanizing influence upon the mothers themselves. On the Farm Colony, we should be able to deal with the infants from the Unions and other quarters. Our Cottage mothers, with two or three children of their own, would readily take in an extra one on the usual terms of boarding out children, and nothing would be more simple or easy for us than to set apart some trust- worthy experienced dame to make a constant inspection as to whether the children placed out were enjoying the necessary conditions of health and general well-being. Here would be a Baby Farm carried on with the most favorable surroundings. Section IX.— INDUSTRIAL SCHOOLS I also propose, at the earliest opportunity, to give the subject of the industrial training of boys a fair trial; and, if successful, follow it on with a similar one for girls. I am nearly satisfied in my own mind that the children of the streets taken, say at eight years of age, 0$^i ■>m 3| ' •. ■' M ii^ ^^:. ■■t. ■'fev rW ^^ . ,!>■ ^ ANr> Tim WAY 6vT 96^ and kept till, say twenty-one, would, by jiulicious man- agement and the utilization of their strength and capac- ity, amply supply all their own wants, and would, I think, be likely to turn out thoroughly good and capable members of the community. Apart from the mere benevolent aspect of the ques- tion, the present system of teaching is, to my mind, unnatural, and shamefully wasteful of the energies of the children. Fully one-half the time that boys and girls are compelled to sit in school is spent to little or no purpose — nay, it 'S worse than wasted. The ds of the children are only capable of useful application for so many consecutive minutes, and hence the rational method must be to apportion the time of the children; say, half the morning's work to be given to their books, and the other half to some industrial employment; the garden would be most natural and healthy in fair weather, while the workshop should be fallen back upon when unfavorable. By this method health would be promoted, school would be loved, the cost of education would be cheap- encd, and the natural bent of the child's capacities would be discovered and could be cultivated. Instead of coming out of school, or going away from apprentice- ship, with the most precious part of life forever gone so far as learning is concerned, chained to some pursuit for which there is no predilection, and which promises nothing higher than mediocrity if not failure — the work for which the mind was peculiarly adapted and for which, therefore, it would have a natural capacity, would not only have been discovered, but the bent of the inclination cultivated, and the life's work chosen accordingly. It is not for me to attempt any reform of our School system on this model. But I do think that I may be ii^' hi N^ J ;i *^' ■.-ii"' 25i IN Darkest enulakd \ allowed to test the theory by Its practical working in an Industrial School in connection with the Farm Colony. I should begin probably with children selected for tlieir goodness and capacity, with a view to imparting a supe- rior education, thus fitting them for the position of Officers in all parts of the world, with the special object of rais- ing up a body of men thoroughly trained and educated, among other things, to carry out all the branches of the Social work that are set forth in this book, and it may be to instruct other nations in the same. Section X.— ASYLUMS FOR MORAL LUNATICS i i. '■ ''.. r.' ^ 1 ^W- •5I' I ft There will remain, after all has been said and done, one problem that has yet to be faced. You may min- imize thedifiiculty every way, and it is your duty to do so, but no amount of hopefulness can make us blink the fact that when all has been done and every chance has been offered, when you have forgiven your brother not only seven times, but seventy times seven, when you have fished him up from the mire and put him on firm ground only to see him relapse and again relapse until you have no strength left to pull him out once more, there will still remain a residuum of men and women who have, whether from heredity or custoni, c: hopeless demorali- zation, become reprobates. After a certain time, some men of science hold that persistence in habits tends to convert a man from a being with freedom of action and will into a mere automaton. There are some cases within our knowledge which seem to confirm the somewhat dreadful verdict by which a man appears to be a lost soul on this side of the grave. There are men so incorrigibly lazy that no inducement that you can offer will tempt them to work; so eaten up by vice that virtue is abhorrent to them, and so in- ■.Vi '^\ v^ |!»,- .^.^'. •.■rv .•r' Hy' AND TlfE WAY OUT 2S5 veterately dishonest that theft is to them a master pas- sion. When a human being has reached that stage, there is only one course that can be rationally pursued. Sor- rowfully, but remorselessly, it must be recognized that he has become lunatic, morally demented, inrapable of self-government, and that upon him, therefore, must be passed the sentence of permanent seclusion from a world in which he is not fit to be at large. The ulti- mate destiny of these poor wretches should be a penal settlement where they could be confined during Her Majesty's pleasure as are the criminal lunatics at Broadmoor. It is a crime against the race to allow those who are so inveterately depraved the freedom to wander abroad, infect their fellows, prey upon Society and to multiply their kind. Whatever else Society may do, and suffer to be done, this thing it ought not .^ allow, any more than it should allow the free per- ambulation of a mad dog. But before we come to this I would have every possible means tried to effect their reclamation. Let Justice punish them, and Mercy put her arms around them; let them be appealed to by pen- alty and by reason, and by every influence, human and Divine, that can possibly be brought to bear upon them. Then, if all alike failed, their ability to further curse their fellows and themselves should be stayed. They will still remain objects wortliy of infitiite com- passion. They should lead as human a life as is pos- sible to those who have fallen under so terrible a judg- ment. They should have their own little cottages in their own' little gardens, under the blue sky, and, if pos sible, amid the green fields. I would deny them none of the advantages, moral, mental, and religious, which might minister to their diseased minds, and tend to re- store them to a better state. Not until the breath leaves their bodies should we cease to labor and wrestle for n ¥■ '^**. ••^-. ■P .."'" i^ tN DARKEST ENGLAND ,1 -•' f,: l!v their salvation. But when they have reached a cer- tain point, access to their fellow-men should be forbid- den. Between them and the wide world there should be reared an impassable barrier, which once passed should be recrossed no more forever. Such a course must be wiser than allowing them to go in and out among their felloi»'L., carrying with them the contagion of moral lep- rosy, and multiplying a piogeny doomed before its birth to inherit the vices and diseased cravings of their un- happy parents. To these proposals three leading objections will prob- ably be raised. 1. It may be said that to shut out men and women from that liberty wliich is their universal birthright would be cruel. To this it might be sufficient to reply ihat this is already done; twenty years' immurement is a very com- mon sentence passed upon wrong-doers, and in some cases the law goes as far as toinfiict penal servitude for life. But we say further that it would be far more merci- ful treatment than that which is dealt out to them at present, and it would be far mere likely to secure a pleasant existence. Knowing their fate, they would soon become resigned to it. Habits of industry, sobriety, and kindness with them would create a restfulness of spirit, which goes far on in the direction of happiness, and jf religion were added it would make that happi- ness complete. There might be set continually before them a large measure of freedom and more freAent in- tercourse ^'ith the world in the shape of correspondence, newspapers, and even occasional interviews with rela- tives, as rewards for well-doing. A;id in sickness and old age their latter days might be closed in comfort. In fact, so far as this class of people are concerned, we can see that they would be Car better circumstanced lor bappi- .'i< • i? '^mr ■# ■-(fji^c^ff'M'";^'""^'-" ■ ANt) THE WAY OUT 3St ^■: a «; ttess in this life and in the life to come than in their present liberty— if a life spent alternatively in drunken- ness, lebauchery, and crime, en the one hand, or the prison on t^-e other, can be called libtrty. 2. It may be said that the carrying out of such a sug- gestion would be too expensive. To this we reply that it would have to be very costly to exceed the expense in which all soch characters involve the nation under the present regulations of vice and crime. But there is no need for any great expense, see- ing that after the first outlay the inmates of such an institution, if it were fixed upon the land, would leadil-y earn all that would be required for their support. 3. liut it may be said that this is impossible. It would certainly be impossible other than as a State regulation. But it would surely be a very simple matter to enact a law which should decree that after an individual had suffered a certain number of convictions for crime, drunkenness, or vagrancy, he should forfeit his freedom to roam abroad and curse his fellows. When I include vagrancy i this list, I do it on the supposi- tion that the opportunity and ability for work are pres- ent. Otherwise it seems to me most heartless to punish a hungry man who begs for food because he can in no other way obtain it. But witii the opportunity and ability for work I would count the solicitation of charity a crime, and punish it as such. Anyway, if a mar. would not work of his own free will, I would compel him. *i f^?' >»,■ ^ ■■'* h f IS ; ■ ■^1 i k'Jf: CHAPTER VI. AssisiANCE JN General. • t « I t „t:V * There are many who are not lost, who need help. A little assistance j^iven to day will perhaps prevent the need of having to save them to-morrow. There are some, who, after they have been rescued will still need a friendly hand. The very service which we have rendered them at starting makes it obligatory upon us to finish the gootl work. Hitherto it may be objected that the Scheme has dealt almost exclusively with those who are more or less disreputable and desperate. This was inevitable. We obey our Divine Master and seek to save those who are lost. But because, as 1 said at the beginning, urgency is claimed rightly for those who have no helper, we do not, therefore, forget the needs and the aspirations of the decent working people who are poor indeed, but who kee]> their feet, who have not fallen, and who help themselves and help each other. They constitute the bulk of the nation. There is an uppercrust and a submerged tenth. But the hardworking poor people, who earn a pound a week or less, constitute in every land the majority of the population. We cannot forget them, for we are at home with them. We belong to them and many thousands of them belong to us. We are always studying how to help them, and we think this can be done in many ways, some of which I proceed to describe. , A.- 1 i, 1 IN DARKEST ENGLAND 9M Section i. — Improved Lodgings. f j^' The necessity for a superior class of lodgings for the poor men rescued at our Shelters has been forcing itself already upon our notice, and demanding attention. One of the first things that happens when a man, liit'id out of the gutter, has obtained a situation, and is earning a decent livelihood, is for him to want some better accom- modation than that afforded at the Shchcrs. We have some hundreds on our hands now who can afford to pay for greater comfort and seclusion. These arc continually saying to us something like the following : 'The Shelters are all very well when a man is down in his luck. They have been a good thing for us ; in fact, had it not been for them, we would still have been with- out a friend, sleeping on the embankment, getting our living dishonestly, or not getting a living at all. We have nov got work, and want a bed to sleep on, and a room to ourselver, and a box, or something where we can stow away our bits of things. Cannot you do something for us?' We have replied that there were lodging houses elsewhere, which, now that they were in work, they could afford to pay for, where they would obtain the comfort they desired. To this they answer, "that is all very well. We know there are these places, that we could go to thei But then," they said, "you see, here in the Sheii-rs are our inmates, who think as we do. And there is the prayer, and the meeting; and kind influence every night, that helps to keep us straight. We would like a better place, but if you cannot find us one, we would rather stop in the Shelter and sleep on the floor, as we have been doing, than go to something more complete, get into bad company, and so fall back a^ain to where wc were w MO IN DARKEST ENGLAND But this, although natural, is not desirable ; for, if the process went on, in course of time the whole of the Shelter Depots would be taken up by persons who had risen above the class for whom they were originally destined. I propose, therefore, to draft those who get on, but wish to continue in connection with the Army, into a superior lodging-house, a sort of POOR man's metropole, managed on the same principles, but with better accom- modation in every way, which, I anticipate, would be self-supporting from the first. In these homes there would be separated dormitories, good sitting-rooms, cooking con- veniences, baths, a hail for meetings, and many other comforts, of which all would have the benefit at as low a figure above cost price as will not only pay interest on the original outlay, but secure us against any shrinkage of capital. Something superior in this direction will also be required for the women, having begun we must go on. Hitherto 1 have proposed to deal on!y with single men and single women, but one of the consequences of getting hold of these men very soon makes itself felt. Your ragged, hungry, destitute Out-of Work in almost every case is married. ,When he comes to us he comes as single and is dealt with as such, but after you rouse in him aspirations for better tilings he remembers the wife whom he has probably enough deserted, or left from sheer inability to provide her anything to eat. As soon as such a man finds himself under good influence and fairly employed his first thought is to go and look after the "Missis." There is very little reality about any change of heart in a married man wlio does not thus turn in sympa thy and lunging towards his wife, and the more successful we are in dealing with these people the riiiire inevitable it is that we shall be confronted with married couples who 1! i ;|« f AND THE WAY OUT Mt in tnm demand that we should provide for them lodgings. This we propose to do also on a commercial footing. I see greater developments in this direction, one of which will be described in the chapter relating to Suburban Cottages. The Model-lodging House for Married People is, however, one of those things that must be provided as an adjunct of the Food and Shelter Depots. Section 2. — Model Suburban Villages. As I have repeatedly stated already, but will state once more, for it is impoij^nt enough to bear endless repetition, one of the first steps which must inevitably be taken in the reformation of this class, is to make for them decent, healthy, pleasant homes, or help them to make them for themselves, which, if possible, is far better. I do not regard the institution of any first, second, or third-class lodging- houses as affording anything but palliatives of the existing distress. To substitute life in a boarding-house for life in the streets is, no doubt, an immense advance, but it is by no means the ultimatum. Life in a boarding-house is better than the worst, but it is far from being the be^^t form of human existence. Hence, the object I constantly keep in view is how to pilot those persons who have been set on their feet again by means of the Food and Shelter Depots, and who have obtained employment in the City, into the possession of homes of their own. Neither can I regard the one, or at most two, rooms in which the large majority of the inhabitants of our great cities are compelled to spend their days, as a solution of the question. The over-crowding which fills every sepa- rate room of a tenement with a human litter, and compels family life from the cradle to the grave to be lived within the four walls of a single apartment, must go on reproduc- ing in endless succession all the terrible evils which such ^ state of things must inevitably create. m i i . I t 5; 29a IN DARKEST ENGLAND Neither can I be satisfied -'th the vast, unsightly piles of barrack-like buildings, which are only a slight advance upon the Union Bastille — dubbed Model Industrial Dwellings — so much in fashion at present, as being a satisfactory settlement of the burning question of the hous- ing of the poor. As a contribution to this question, I propose the estab- lishment of a scries of Industrial Settlements or Suburban Villages, lying out in the country within a reasonable distance of all our groat cities, composed of cottages of suitable size and construction, and with all needful com- fort and accommodation for the families of working-men, the rent of which, together with the railway fare, and other economic conveniences, should be within the reach of a family of moderate income. This proposal lies slightly apart from the scope of this book, otherwise I should be disposed to elaborate the project at greater length. I may say, however, that what I here propose has been carefully thought out, and is of a perfectly practical character In the planning of it I have received some valuable assistance from a friend who has had considerable experience in the building trade, and he stakes his professiotial reputation on its feasibility. The following, however, may be taken as a rough outline : The Village should not be more than twelve miles from town , should be in a dry and healthy situation, and on a line of railway. It is not absolutely necessary that it should be near a station, seeing that the company would for their own interests, immediately erect one. The Cottages should be built of the best material and workmanship. This would be effected most satisfactorily by securing a contract for the labor only, the projectors of the Scheme purchasing the materials and supplying them direct from the manufacturers to the builders. The ■ 4 ■■i^ -» li^ m. ^,_.'..-.^,£^A AND THE WAY OUT i: U I I 1 *l !l; ? ' 'I '^i v«V' ':| : 1%; ■li'v cottages would consist of three or (our rooms with a scullery, and out-building in the garden. The cottages should be built in terraces, each having a good garden attached. Arrangements should be made for the erection of from one thousand to two thousand houses at the onset. In the Village a Co-operative Goods Store should be established, supplying everything that was really necessary for the villagers at the most economic prices. The sale of intoxicating drink should be strictly forbidden on the Estate, and if possible, the landowner from whom the land is obtained should be tied off from allowing any licenses to be held on any other portion of the adjoining land. It is thought that the Railway Company, in considera- tion of the inconvenience and suffering they have inflicted on the poor, and in their own interests, might be induced to make the following advantageous arrangements : (i) The conveyance of each member actually living in the village to and from London at the rate of six pence pA: week. Each pass should have on it the portrait of the owner, and be fastened to some article of the dress, and be available only by Workmen's Trains running early and late and during certain hours of the day, when the trains are almost empty. (2) The conveyance of goods and parcels should be at half the ordinary rates. It is reasonable to suppose tl^at landowners would gladly give one hundred acres of land in view of the immensely advanced values of the surrounding property which would immediately follow, seeing that the erection of one thousand or two thousand cottages would constitute the nucleus of a much larger Settlement. Lastly, the rent of a four-roomed cottage must not exceed 3s. per week. Add to this the sixpenny ticket to ■:.,;f.. -^i- J l> 1 ' II ti 0- <;• w it., i. ■ IN DARKEST ENGLAND and from London, and you have 3s. 6d., and if the com pany should insist on is., it will make 4s., for which there would be all the advantages of a comfortable cottage — of which it would be possible for the tenant to become the owner — a good garden, pleasant surroundings, and other influences promotive of the health and happiness of the family. It is hardly necessary to remark that in connection with this Village there will be perfect freedom of opinion on all matters. A glance at the ordinary homes of the poor people of this great City will at once assure us that such a village would be a veritable Paradise to them, and that were four, five, or six settlements provided at once they would not contain a tithe of the people who would throng to occupy them. Section 3. — The Poor Man's Bank If the love of money is the root of all evil, the want of money is the cause of an immensity of evil and trouble. The moment you begin practically to alleviate the miser- ies of the people, you discover that the eternal want of pence is one of their greatest difficulties. In my most sanguine moments I have never dreamed of smoothing this difficulty out of the lot of man, but it is surely no unattainable ideal to establish a Poor Man's Bank, which will extend to the lower middle class and the working population the advantages of the credit system, which is the very foundation of our boasted commerce. It might be better that there should be no such thing as credit, that no one should lend money, and that every- one should be compelled to rely solely upon whatever ready money he may possess from day to day. But if so, let us apply the principle all round ; do not let us glory in our world-wide commerce and boast ourselves in our fiches^ obtained^ in so many cases, by the ignoring o| t1 "^ ■^ ^ .»*. ^ 'i A i *«; t AND THE WAY OUT f65 this principle. If it is right for a great merchant to have dealings with his banker, if it is indispensable for the ' due carrying on of the business of the rich men that they should have at their elbow a credit system which will from time to time accommodate them with needful advances and enable them to stand up against the pres- sure of sudden demands, which ot rwise would wreck them, then surely the case is still stronger for providing a similar resource for the smaller men, the weaker men. At present, Society is organized far too much on the principle of giving to him who hath so that he shall have more abundantly, and taking away from him who hath not even that which he hath. If we are to really benefit the poor, we can only do so by practical measures. We have merely to look round and see the kind of advantages which wealthy men find indispensable for the due management of their business, and ask ourselves whether poor men cannot be supplied with the same opportunities. The reason why they are not is obvious. To supply the needs of the rich is a means of making yourself rich ; to supply the needs of the poor will involve you in trouble so out of proportion to the profit that the game may not be worth the candle. Men go into banking and other businesses for the sake of obtaining what the American humorist said was the chief end of man in these modern tiaies, namely, "ten per cent." To obtain a ten per cent, what will not men do? They will pen trate tne b wels of the earth, explore the depths of the soa ascend the snow-capped mountain's highest peak, or navif]f the air, if they can be guaran- teed a ten per cen I do not venture to suggest that the business of a Poor Man's Bank would yield ten percent., or even five, but I think it might be made to pay its expenses, and the resulting gain to the community would be enormous. Mi iii ■ t iff itj» H; ' I WBI^ I h \ h .K"'.' I ' iV'L 2M IN DARKEST ENGLAND Ask any merchant in your acquaintance where his busi- ness would be if he had no banker, and then, when you have his answer, ask yourself whether it would not be an object worth taking some trouble to secure, to furnish the great mass of our (ellow countrymen, on sound business principles with the advantages of the credit system, which is found to work so beneficially for the "well-to do"' U'.w. Someday, I hope, the State may be sulhciently enlight- ened to take up this business itself ; at present it is left in the hands of the pawnbroker and the loan agency, and a set of sharks, who cruelly prey upon the interests of the poor. The establishment of land banks, where the poor man is almost always a peasant, has been one of the features of modern legislation in Russia, Germany and elsewhere. The institution of a Poor Man's Bank will be, I hope, before long, one of the recognized objects of our own government. Pending that, I venture to throw out a suggestion, with- out in any way pledging myself to add this branch of activity to the already gigantic range of opei ons fore- sliadowed in this bool —Would it not be possible for some philanthropist with capital to establish on clearly defined principles a Poor Man's Bank for the making of small loans on good security, or making advances to those who are in danger of being overwhelmed by sudden financial pressure — in fact, for doing for the "little man" what all the banks do for the "big man '? Meanwhile should it enter into the heart of some benevolently disposed possessor of wealth to give the price of a race horse, or of an "old mister, ' to form the nucleus of the necessary capital, I will certainly experi- ment in this direction. I can anticipate the sneer of the cynic who scoffs at what he calls my glorified pawnshop. I am indifferent to bis sneers. A Mont de Pi6t$ — the very name (Mount q| ''^•. '4 *' AND THE WAY OUT Piety) shows that the Poor Man's B'»nk is regarded as anything but an objectionable inst'ution across the Channel — might be an excellent institution in England. Owing, however, to the vested interests of the existing traders it might be impossible for the State to establish it, excepting at a ruinous expense. There would le no difficulty, however of instituting a private Mont de Fit^t^, which would confer an incalculable boon upon the strug- gling poor. Further, 1 am by no means indisposed to recognize the necessity of dealing with this subject in connection with :he l^abor Bureau, provided that one clearly recognized principle can be acted upon. That principle is that a man shall be free to bind himself as security for the payment of a loan, that is to pledge himself to work for his ,itions until such time as he has repaid capital ami interest. An illustration or two will explain what I mean. Here is a carpenter who comes to our Labor shed ; he is an honest, decent man, who has by sickness or some other calamity been reduced to destitution. He has by degrees pawned one article after another to keep body and soul together, until at last he has been compelled to pawn his tools. We register him and an employer comes along who wants a carpenter whom we can recommend. Wt; at once sug- gest this man, but then arises this difficulty. He has no tools; what are we to do? As things are at present, the m.fn l(5ses the job and continues on our hantis. Obvi- ously it is most desirable in the interest of the community that the man should get his tools out ol pawn ; but who is to take the responsibility of advancing the money to 2d( m them? Ihis difficulty might be met, I think, by the man entering into a legal undertaking to make over his wage to us, or such proportion of them as would be convenient to his circumstances, we in return undertaking to find him in food and shelter until such time as he has i ! 1 tN DARKEST ENGLAND Pii' ^. I u ■ repaid the advance made. That oblij^ation it would he the truest kindness to enforce with Rhadamantine severity. Until the man is out of debt he is not his own master. All that he can make, over his actual rations and Shelter money should belonj^ to his creditor. Of course such an arrangement might be varied indefinitely by private agree- ment ; the repayment of instalments could be spread over a longer or shorter time, but the mainstay of the whole prmcipic would be the execution of a legal agreement by which the man makes over the whole product of his labor to the Bank until he has repaid his debt. Take another instance. A clerk who has been many years in a situation, and has a large family which he has brought up respectably and educated. He has every pros pect of retiring in a few years upon a supcranuating allowance, but is suddenly confronted by a claim, often through no fault of his own, of a sum of fifty or a hundred pounds, which is quite beyond his means. He has been a careful, saving man, who has never borrowed a penny in his life, and does not know where to turn in his emer- gency. If he cannot raise this money he will be sold up, his family will be scati ♦'ed, his situation and his prospect- ive pension will be lost, and blank ruin will stare him in the face. Now, were he in receipt of an income of ten times the amount, he would probably have a banking account, and, in consequence, be able to secure an advance of all he needed from his banker Why should he not be able to pledge his salary, or a portion of it, to an Institution which would enable him to pay off his debt, on terms that, while sufficiently remunerative to the bank, would not unduly embarrass him? At present what does the poor wretch do? He con- sults his friends, who, it is quite possible, are as hard up as himself, or he applies to some loan agency, and as likely as not falls into the hands of sharpers, who indeed| ,v ':*pi-3* f AND THE WAY OUt m I«t him have the money, but at interest n'toRcther out o* proportion to the risk which they run, and the use of the advantage which their position gives th«jm to extort every penny he has. A great black book written witliin and without in letters of lamentation, mourning and woe, might be written on the dealings of these usurers with their victims in every land. It is of little service denouncing these extortioners. They have always existed, and probably always will ; but what we can do is to circumscribe the range of their operations and the number of their victims. This can only be done by a legitimate and merciful provision for these poor creatures in their hours of desperate need, so as to prevent their falling into the hands of these remorseless wretches, who have wrecked the fortunes of thousands, and driven many a decent man to suicide or a premature grave. There are endless ramifications of this principle, which do not need lo be described here, but before leaving the subject I may allude to an evil which is a cruel reality, alas ! to a multitude of unfortunate men and women. I refer to the working of the Hire system. The decent poor man or woman who is anxious to earn an honest penny by the use of, it may be a mangle, or a sewing- machine, a lathe, or some other indispensable instrument, and is without the few pounds necessary to buy it, must take it on the Hire system— that is to say, for the accom modation of being allowed to pay for the machme by in-* stalments — he is charged, in addition to the full market value of his purchase, ten or twenty times the amount of what would be a fair rate of interest, and more than this if he should at any time, through misfortune, fail in his payment the total amount paid will be confiscated, the machine seized, and the money lost. Here again we fall back on our analogy of what goes on in a small community where neighbors know each other. ! f >; I « • f i tro IN DARKEST ENGLAND I i ,'/' Take, for instance, when a 'ad who is recognized as brifiht, promising, lioncst and iutlustrjoiis. who wants to make a start in life whicli re(]uire8 some little outlay, his better- to-do neighbor vill oft i assist him by providing the capital necessary to enable him to make -i way for himself m the world This n«!?ghl)or does this because hv knows the lad, b(;caus(* thv. family is at least related by ties of neighborhood, and tho honor of the lad's family is a security upon which a .nan may safely advance a sniall si'm. All this would e(juany ajiply to a destitute widow, an .irtisan suddenly thrown out of work, an orphan family or the like. In the large City all this kindly Ix^lpfulness disappears, and with it go all those small acts of service which are, ns it were, the buffers which save men from being crush<;d to death against the iron walls of circum stances. We must try to replace them in some way or other if we are to get back, not to the Garden of Ed«"n, but to the ordinary conditions of life, as they exist mi a h«.'althy, small comnnuiity. No institution, it is true, can ever replace the magic fmnd of personal friendship, but ii wt have the whole mass of society permeated in every direction by brotherly associations established for the pur- pose of m 'tual help and sympathizing counsel, it is not an impossible thing to believe that we shall be able tc do so;:nething tc restore the misbing element in modern civili- zation. ^ Section 4. -Thf. Pook Man's Lawyer. Ti:2 moment you .set about dealing with the W!\nts of the people you discover that many of their difliculties are not material, but moral. There never was a greater mis- take than to imagine that you have only to fiHl a man's stomach, and clothe his back in order to secure his hap- piness. Man is, much more than a digestive apparatus, liable to get out of order. Hence, while it is important to remember that man has a stomach, it is also uecess^y m ^jm tit-> AMU THK WAY OUT Vti to beaic in mind that he has a hf»ftrt, and a mind that is frequently sorely troifbled hy diflirtilties which, if h** liv the world, we must confront this difficulty, (iod, it was said in old time, settirtli the tlesolate in families ; but somehow, in our time, the desolate wander alone in tlic midst of a can'iess and unsympathi/.ini^' world. "There is no one who cares for my soul. Phen- is no creature loves me, and if I die no one will j)ity me," is surely one of the bitterest cries that can burst from a breakiufj; heart. C^ne of the secrets of tl»e success of the Salvation .\rn)y is, that the friendless of the world find friends in it. There is not one sinner in the world tin matt'-r how degraded and dirty he may be —whom my people will not re)<»ice to take l«y the hand and pray with, and labor for. if thereby they can but snatch him as a brand from tlie burning. Now, we want to make more use of this, to make the Salvation Arm/ the nucleus of a great agency for brini^ing comfort and counsel to those who are at their wit's end, fetiling as if in the whole world there was no one to whom they could go. What we want to do is to exemplify to the world the family idea. Our Father" is the keynote. One is Our Father, then all we are brfthren. lint in a family, if anyone is troubled in min«l or conscience, there is no difficulty. The daughter gus to her father, or the jj»jn to p i ■i t IN DARKEST ENGLAND N ' i I I ¥■:' ■Hr- iy 1*) his mother, find pour out their gotil's tronblcR, and are relieved. If there is any serious difficulty a family council is held, and all unite their will and their rescn'.rccs to get matters p it straight. This is what we rnoan to try to get done in the New organization of Society for which we are laboring. We cannot know better tlian God Alniiglity what will do good to man. We are content to follow on His lines, and to mend the world we shall seek to restore something of the family idea to the many hundreds ot thousands — nay, millions — who have no one wiser or more e,\perienced than themselves, to whom they can ta)-° their sorrows, or consult in their ilifficulties. Of course we can do this but imperfectly. Only Ood can create a mother. Hut Society needs a great deal of mothering, much more than it gets. And as a child needs a mother to run to in its diflkulties and troul)les, to whom it can let out its little heart in confidence, so men and women, weary and worn in the battles of life, need some one to whom they can go when pressed down with a sense of wrongs suffered or done, knowing that tlieir confidence will be preserved inviolate, and that their statements will be received with sympathy. I propose to attempt to meet this want. I shall establish a depart- ment, over which 1 shall place the wisest, the » ifuUest, and the most sagacious men and women whom 1 can find on \vy staff, to whom those m trouble and perplexity shall be invited to address themsslves. It is no use saying that we love our fellow men unless we try to help them, and it is no use pretending to sympathize with the heavy burdens which darken their lives unless we try to ease them and to lighten their existence. Insomuch as we heve more practical experience of life than other men. by so much are we bound to help their inexperience, and snare our talents with them. But If we believe they are our brothers, and that One is our «-. ; k_ ^.!r- S A .>- ■ 4- iwr. ANt) THE WAY OUt ITS Father, r-ven the God who will come to judge us hereafter for all the deeds that we have done in the body, then must wc constitute, in some such imperfect way as is open to us, thf parental office We must be willing to receive the outpourings of our struggling fellow men, to listen to the long- buried secret that has trcubled the human heart, and to welcome, instead of repellmg, those who would obey the Apostolic precept : "To confess their sins, one to another." Let not that word confession scandal ii^c any. Confession of the most open sort ; confession on the public platform before the presence of all the man's former asso- ciates in sin has long been one of the most potent weapons by which the Salvation Army has won its victories. That confession we have long imposed on all our converts, and it is the only confession which seems to us to be a condition of Salvation. But this suggestion is ni a differ ent kind. It is not imposed as a means of grace, ft is not put forward as a preliminary to the absoiiitiou which no one can pronounce but our Lor*' Himself. It is merely a response on our part to one ot the deepest needs and secret longings of the actual men and women who are meeting us daily in our work. Why should they be left to brood in misery over their secret sin, when a plain straightforward talk with a man (ir v/oman selected lor hi« or her sympathetic common sense and spiritual e.xperience might take the weight off their shoulders which is crushing them into dull despair i* Not for absolution, but for sympathy and direction, do I propose to establish my Advice Bureau in delinite form, for in practice it has been in existence for some time, and womlerful things have been done in the direction on which I contemplate it working. I have no pleasure in inventing these departments They all entail hard work and no end of anxiety. Hut if we are to represent the love of God to men, wu must miniiter to all the want« jM^ m IN DARKEST ENGLAND and needs of thr human heart. Nor is it only in affairs of the heart that this Advice Bureau will be of service. It will be quite as useful in affairs of the head. As I conceive it, the Advice Bureau will be THli POOR NfAN's LAWYER AND THE POOR MAN's TRIBUNE. Thwre are no means in London, so far as my knowledge goes, by which th** poor and needy can obtain any legal assistance in the varied oppressions and difficulties from which they must, in consequence of their poverty and associations, be continually suffering. While the "w(!ll to-do ' classes can fallback upon skilful friends for direction, or avail themselves of the learning and experience of the legal profession, the poor man has jiterally no one qualified to counsel him on such matters. In cases of sickness he can apply to the parish dot tor or the great hospital, and receive an odd word or two of advice, with a bottle of physic, which may or may not be of service. But if his circumstances are sick, out of order, in danger of carrying him to utter destitution, or to prison, or to the Union, lie has no one to appeal to who has the willingness or the ability to help .him. Now, we want to create a Court of Counsel or Appeal, to which anyone suffering from imposition having to do with person, liberty, or property, or anything else of sufficient importance, can aj)ply, and obtain not only advice, but practical assistance. Among otluTs for whom this Court would be devised is the shamefully neglected class of Widows, of whom in the East of Lontlon there ate 6.000, mostly in very destitute circumstances. In the whole of London there cannot be less than 20,000, and in England and Wales it is estima- ted there are 100,000, fifty thousand of whom are probably poor and friendless. The treatment of these poor people by the nation is a crying scandai Take the case of the average widow, V , ii^^ '■ AND THE WAY OUT 875 even whett left In comfortal)l« lirrumstances. She will often be launched into a sea (;f perplexity, alt)>ous;h able to avail herself of the best advice. But think of the multitudes of poor women, who, when they close their husband's eyes, lose the oai> friend who knows anything about their circumstancen. There may be a tntle of money or a struggling bu'^uness or a little income conuec ted with property or some other possession, all needing immediate attention, and that of a skilful sort, in order to enable the poor creature to weather the storm, and avoid the vortex of utter destitution All we have said applies equally to orphans and friend- less people generally. Nothing, however, short of a national institution could meet the necessities of all such cases. Bflt wc can do something, and in nuitters already referred to, such as involve loss of property, malicious prosecution, criminal and otherwise, we can render substantial assistance In carrying out this purpose it will be no part of our j)lan to encourage legal proceedings in others, or to have recourse to them ourselves. All resort to law would be avoided either in counselor v^r^'^tice, unless, absolutely necessary. But where manifest m justice and wrong are perpetrated, and every other method of obtaining repara- tion fails, we shall avail ourselves of the assistance the Law affords. Our great hope of usefulness, however, in this depart- ment lies in prevention. The knowledge that the oppressed poor have in us a frjenil able to speak for them will often prevent the injustice which cowardly and avaricious persons might otherwise inflict, and the same considt^rations may induce them to accord without com- pulsion the right of the weak and friemliess. I also calcu- late upon a wide sphere of usefulness in the direction of friendly arbitration and interv«ution Tlicrtj will be at iied a proper allowance to his unfortiuidte victim for the maintenance of her child. SHAOOWEI) AND CAUGHT. A was induced to leave a comfortable home to become the governess of the motherless children of Mr. G , whom she found to be a kind and consid. rnte employer. After she had been in his service some little time he proposed hat she should take a trip to Lonilon. To this she ve.y l..dly consented, all the ' lore so when he offered to t .ce her himself to a good appointment he had secured for her. In London he seduced her, and kept her as his mistress until, tired of her, he toid her to go and do as "other women did.' Instead of descending to this infamy, she procured work, and so suppotted herself and child in some degree of comfort, when he sought her out and agaui dragged her down. Another child was born, and a second time he threw her up and left her to starve. It was then she applied to our people. We hunted up the man, followed ■? AND THE WAY OUT «77 him to the country, threatened him with public exposure, and forced from him the payment to his victim of ^60 down, an allowance of /^i a week, and an Insurance Policy on his life for jC^SO in her favor. ^60 FROM ITALY. C. was seduced by a young Italian of pood position in society, who promised to marry her, but a short time before the day fixed for the ceremony he told her urgent business called him abroad. He assured her that he would return in two years and make her his wife. He wrote occasionally, and at last broke her heart by sending the news of his marriage to another, adding insult to injury by suggesting that she should come antl live with his wife as her maid, offering at the same time to pay for the maintenance of the child till it was old enough to be placed in charge of the captain of one of the vessels belonging to his firm. None of these promises were fulfilled, and C, with ho. This helps to maintain the child , and the girl is in domestic service and doing well. » IHE HIRE SYSTEM. The most ( ruel wrongs are frequently inflicted on the very poorest t»ersons, in connection with this method of obtainin>^ I'urniture, Sewing Machines, Mangles, or other articles. Caught by the lure of misleadin , advertisements, the poor are induced to purchase articles to be paid for by weekly or monthly instalments They struggle through half the amount perhaps, at all manner of sacrifice, when some delay in the payment is made the occasion not only for seizing the goods, which they have come to regard as their own, and on which their very existence depends. bu4 .■f) '^ » %n IN PARKEST ENGLAND by avaiHnp( themselves of some technical clause in the agreement, for robbing them in addition. In such circum- stances the poor things, being utterly friendless, have to submit to these infamous extortions without remedy Our Bureau will be open to all such. TAl.I.VMKN, MONKV I.KNDKRS, AND BILLS OF-SALF.MONOF.RS, Here again wo have a class who prey upon the poverty of the people, inducitig them to purchase things for which they have often no imme charged with criminal offenses, who, on a most careful enciuiry, might reasonably be supposed to be innocent, but who, through want of means, are ..-'.'•Hie to obtam the legal assistance, and produce the evidence necessary for an cHicitrnt tlefence. We shall not pretend autlioritativciy to judge as to who is innocent or who is guilty, but if after full explanation andenipiiry the person charged may reasonably be supposed to be innocent, and is not in a position to defend liinibelf, tiien we should feci free to advise such a case, hoping thereby tf) save such person and his family and friends from much misery and possibly from utter ruin. Mr. Justice Field recently remarked: — "For a man to assist another man who was under a crimi- nalchargr was a highly laudable and praiseworthyac t. ff a man was without frienn in tlie ordinary aff.iirs of life. This department will also be rob|>onsiblc for pjathering in- telligence, spreading information, and tlie general prosecu- tion of such measures as are likely to lead to the much needed beneficial changes in our Prison Management In short, it will seek to become the true friend and saviour of the Crimi- nal Classes in general, and in doing so we shall desire to act in harmony with the societies at present in existence, who may be seeking for objects kindred to the Advice Bureau. We pen the following list to give some idea of the topics on winch the Advice Bur^jau may be consulted: — Accidents, Claim for Administration of Es- t.ites Adulteration of Food and Drugs Agenc y, Questions of Agreements. Disputed Affiliation Cases Animals, Cruelty to Arrest, Wrongful AHsault Uankruptcies liills of Kxchange Hills of Sale I3unds, Forfeited Breach of Promise Chddreii, Cruelly to Children, Custody ol Compensation for In- juries " for Accident " for Defamation ' for Loss of Km- ployraent, &c , &c Confiscation by Land- lords Contracts Breach of Copyright. Infringe- mem of County (^ourt CasiM Debts Distress, I' legal Divorce Kjectment Cases Employers' Liability Act Executors, Duties of F.ictory Act, Hraach ( f Fraud Attempted Goodwill, Salt; of Guarantee, Forfeited Heir-at-I^w flusbands and Wives, Disputes of Imprisonment, False Infants, Custody of Intestacy, Cases of Judgment Summonses .andlord and Tenant Cases Meeting, Hight of Pub lie Negligence, AUi'ged Next of Kin Wanttd Nuisances. Alleged Tartnetship, thel^aw of Patents, Kt^gistration ■md Infringt-ment of Pawnbrokers and their I 'ledges Police C'ases Probate Kates and Taxes Reversionary Interests Seduction, Cases of Servants' Wrongfui Dismissal Sheriffs Sun-lies Estre.ited Tenancies Disputed Leases, Lapses and Re- Trade Marks, Iniringe- newals of l^egacies. Disputed Libel Cases Licenses Marriage I-«iw, Ques- tion of the Masters' and Servants' Acts men I of Trespass. Cases of Trustees and Trusts Wages Kepi Back Wills. Disputed and Unproved Women, Cruelty to Workmen, Grievances of &c &c Mortgages The Advice Bureau will therefore be, first of all, a place where men and women in trouble can come when they please Jo communicate in confidence the cause of their anxiety; '■/•#■ t ■ "■ ■t^ V.i I t ...w '-•iMr' -•■ -i>i t 4 4. AND THE WAY OUT 981 with a certainty that they will receive a sympathetic heal- ing and the best advice. Secondly, it will be a Poor Man's Lawyer, giving the bf;sl legal counsel as to the course lo be pursued in the vari- ous circuinstauc s with which the poor iind themselves con- fronted. Thirdly, it will be a Poor man's Tribune, and will under- take the defence of fri(*iidlnes8 prisoners supposed t) be innocent, together with the resistance of illegal rxtoriions, and the prtjsccution of offenders who refuse 1« gal satisfaction for the wrongs they have committed. Fourthly, it will act wherever it is lalled upon as a Court of Arbitration Detween litigants, where the decision will be according to equity, and the costs cut down to the lowest possible figure. Such .1 department cannot be improvi"^rd; but it is al- readv in a fair way of development, and it can hardly fail to do ^reat good. Skction 5. — Our Ini f.li.igence Dkpartment. An indispensable adjunct of this Scheme wlH be the institution of what may be cali<:d an .intelligence Depart- ujent at Headquarters. Power, it has been said, belongs to the best informed, and if we are effectually t ^ deal with the forces of social evil, we must have ready at our fingers* ends the accumulated experience and information of the v/hole world on this subject. The collection of facts and the sys- tematic record of them would be invaluable, rendering the results of the experiments of previous generations available for the information of our own. At the present there is no central institution, either gov- ernmental or otherwise, in this country or any other, which charges itself with the duty of collecting and collating the ideas and conclusions on Social Economy, so far as they arc likely to help thr solution of the problem we have io 1 ^A. '^^^r>^- IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // '"■^ "^^ .i.'W 7// / -''';,-:j^^;it- "-'■■^'^i'.'^'i^'^-^'''' 7 '§: • ( 283 IN DARKEST E>tGLAND w I' i I i 1*1 ■• j 1! ,' ' $ J '^ 1 i ? ' ii- 1 ■ •* 1 ' r»i 1 ' « 1 ! 1 1 ! hand. The British Home Office has only begun to index its own papers. The Local Government Board is in a sim- lar condition, and, although each particular Blue Book may- be admirably indexed, there is no classified index of the whole series. If this is the case with the Government, it is not likely that the innumerable private organizations v^hich are necking here and there at the social questiou should possess any systematized method for the purpose of comparing notes and storing information. This Intelligence Department, which I propose to found on a small scale at first, will have in it the germ of vast extension, which will, if adequately supported, become a kind of University, in which the accumulated experiences of the human race will be massed, digested, and rendered available to the humblest toiler in the great work of social reform. At the present moment, who is there that can produce in any of our museums and universities as much as a classified index of publications relating to one of the many heads under which I have dealt with this subject? Who is there among all our wise men and social reformers that can send me a list of all the best tracts upon — say, the establishment of agri- cultural colonies or the experiments that have been made in dealing with inebriates; or the best plans for the con- struction of a working man's cottage ? For the development of this Scheme I want sn Office t-o" begin with, In which, under the head of the varied subjects treated of in this volume, I may have arranged the con- densed essence of all the best books that have been written, and the names and addresses ot those whose opinions are worth having upon them, together with a note of what those opinions are, and the results of experiments which have been made in relation to them. I want to establish a system which will enable me to use, not only the eyes ancj h^nds of Salvation Officers, but of sympathetic friends in all parts of the world, for purposes of noticing and report- -\^i -j .■ *i*ii»i..i"'.;^;.^«.'j'- AND THE WAY out I i\ \ dft» ing at once every social experiment of importance, any words of wi[,doni on tlie social question, whether it may be the breeding of rabbits, the organization of an emigration service, the best method of conducting a Cottage Farm, or the best way of cooking potatoes. There is nothing in the whole range of our . ^>f ra ' ons upon which we should not be accumulating and recording the results of human experi- ence. What I want is to get the essence of wisdom which the wisest have gathered from the widest experience, rend- ered instantly available for the humblest worker in the Salvation Factory or Farm Colony, and for any other toiler in similar fields of social progress. It can be done, and in the service of the people it ought to be done. I look for helpers in this department among those who hitherto may not have cared for the Salvation Armv, but who in the seclusion of their studies and libraries will assist in the compiling of this great Index of Sociologi- cal Experiments, and who would be willing, in this form, to help in this Scheme, as Associates, for the amelioration of the condition of the people, if in nothing else than in using their eyes and ears, and giving me the benefit of their brains as to where knowledge lies, and how it can best be utilized. 1 propose to make a beginning by putting two capable men and a boy in an office, with instructions to cut out, preserve and verify all contemporary records in the daily and weekly press that have a bearing upon any branch of our departments. Round these two men and a boy will grow up, I confidently believe, a vast organization of zeal- ous, unpaid workers, who will co-operate in making our Intelligence Department a great storehouse of information — a universal library where any man may learn what is the sum of human knowledge upon any branch of the subject which we have taken in hand. ■i\i* ■ .» j! .iit' dS4 IN DARKEST ENGLANB ■I U0 lit' ■[* it. •Mil: ft ;f>', ill'!! m r', . ^ 1 < ■■ Section 6. — Co-oferation in General. If anyone asked me to state in one word what seemed likely to be the key of the solution of the Social Problem I should answer unhesitatingly Co-operation.- It being always understood that it is Co-operation conducted on righteous principles, and for wise and benevolent ends ; otherwise Association cannot be expected to bear any more profitable fruit than Individualism. Co-operation is applied association — association for the purpose of pro- duction and distribution. Co-operation implies the volun tary combination of individuals to the attaining an object by mutual help, mutual counsel, and mutual effort. There is a great deal of idle talk in the world just now about capital, as if capital were the enemy of labor. It is quite true that there are capitalists not a few who may be regarded as the enemies, not only of labor, but of the human race ; but capital itself, so far from being a natural enemy of labor, is the great ol'ject which the laborer has constantly in view. However much an agitator may denounce capital, his one great grievance is that he lias not enough of it for himself. Capital, therefore, is not an evil in itself; on the contrary, it is good — so good that one of the great aims of the social reformer ought to be to facilitate its widest possible distribution among his fellow- men. It is the congestion of capital that is evil, and the labor question will never be finally solved until every laborer is his own capitalist. All this is trite enough, and has been said a thousand timris already, but, unfortunately with the saying of it the matter ends. Co-operation has been brought into prac- tice in relation to distribution Avith considerable success but co-operation, as a means of production, has not achieved anything like the success that was anticipated. '^k*6::. ANt) THE WAY OUt d8& m Again and again enterprises have been begun on co-oper- ative principles which bid fair, in the opinion of the promoters, to succeed ; but after one, two, three, or ten years, the enterprise which was started w^th such high hopes has dwindled away into either total or partial failure. At present, many co-operative undertakings are nothing more or less than huge Joint Stock Limited Liability concerns, shares of which are held largely by working people, but not, necessarily, and sometimes not at all by those who are actually employed in the so called co- operative business. Now, why is this? Why do co- operative firms, co-operative factories, and co-operative Utopias so very often come to grief? I believe the cause is an open secret, and can be discerned by anyone who will look at the subject with an open eye. The success of industrial concerns iii largely a question of management. Mana:;,ement signifies government, and government implies authority, and authority is the last thing which co-operators of the Utopian order are willing to recognize as an element essential to the success of their Schemes. The co-operative institution which is governed on Parliamentary principles, with unlimited right of debate and right of obstruction, will never be able to compete saccessfully wit institutions which are directed by a single brain wielding the united resources of a dis- ciplined and obedient army of workers. Hence, to make co-operation a success you must superadd to the principle of consent the principle of authority ; you must invest in those to whom you entrust the management of your co- operative establishment the same liberty of action that is possessed by the owner of works on the other side of the street. There is no delusion more common among men than the belief that liberty, which is a good thing in itself, is so good as to enable those who nossesb it to dispense with all other good things. But as no man lives by bread ■ ■■> r:-f -P''#^i''''^; oi;- ^ i',*^':,ir*fe IN D/.RKEST KNGLll^D i\ Iff * ' u > a!. A i( i mf 1 H '■ '. ii ■ ! • j ■I -I 1 ■''0 ."• alone, neither can nations or factories or shipyards exist solely upon unlimited freedom to have their own way. In co-operatior we stand pretty much where the French nation stooa immediately after the outburst of the Revolution. In the enthusiasm of the proclamation of the rights of man, and the; repudiation of the rotten and effete regime of the Bourbons, the French peasants and workmen imagined that they were inaugurating the millen- nium when thoy icrawled Liberty, Equality, and Frater- nity across all the churches in every city of France. They carried their principles of freedom and license to the logical ultimate, and attempted to manage their army on Parlia- mentary principles. It did not work; their undisciplined levies were driven back ; disorder reigned in the Repub- lican camp ; and the French Revolution would have been stifled in its cradle had not the instinct of the nation discerned in time the weak point in its armor. Menaced by foreign wars and intestine revolt, the Republic estab- lished an iron discipline in its army, and enforced obedience by the summary process of military execution. The liberty and the enthusiasm developed by the outburst of the long pen': -up revolutionary forces supplied the motive powi-r, but it was the discipline of the revolutionary armies, the stern, unbending obedience which was enforced in all ranks from the highest to the lowest, which created for Nc^poleon the admirable military instru- n. ent by which he shattered every throne in Europe and swept in triumph from Paris to Moscow. In industrial affairs we are very much like the French Republic before it tempered its doctrine of the rights of man by the duty of obedience on the part of the soldier. We have got to introduce discipline into the industrial army, we have to superadd the principle of authority to the principle of co-operation, and so to enable the worker to profit to the full by the increased productiveness of the % \'M&'i^ imm^' AND THE WAY OUT ist willing labor of men who at: employed in their own work- shops and on their own property. There is no need to v.iamor for great schemes of State Socialism. The whole thing can be done simply, economically and speedily if only the workers will practice as much self-denial for the sake of establishing themselves as capitalists, as the Soldiers of the Salvation Army practice every year in Self Denial Week. What is the sense of never making a levy except during a strike? Instead of calling for a shilling, or two shillings a week in order to maintain men who are starving in idleness because of a dispute with their masters, why should there not be a levy kept up for weeks or months, by the workers, for the purpose of setting themselves up in business as masters? There would then be no longer a capitalist owner face to face with the masses of the proletariat, but all the means of production, the plant, and all the accumulated resources of capital would really be at the disposal of labor. This will never be done, however, as long as co-operative experiments are carried on in the present archaic fashion. Believing in co-operation as the ultimate solution, if to co-operation you can add subordination, I am disposed to attempt something in this direction in my new Social Scheme. I shall endeavor to start a Co-operative Farm on the principles of Ralahine, and base the whole of my Farm Colony on a Co-operative foundation. In starting this little Co-operative commonwealth, I am reminded by those who are always at a man's elbow to fill him with forebodings of ill, to look at the failures, which I have just referred to, which make up the history of the attempt to realize ideal commonwealths in this practical workaday world. Now, I have read the history of the many attempts at co-operation that have been made to form communistic settlements in the United States, and am psrfttctly familia? with tht —rrmyrlui fat» .;rViC -,?»«'*■*' '..'i .*f ..[> ;.,'. ■ , ■. > ms^. Section 7. — A Matrimonial Bureau. There is another direction in which something ought to be done to restore the natural advantages enjoyed by every rural community which have been destroyed by the increas- ing tendency ot mankind to come together in huge masses. 1 refer to that which is after all one of the most important elements in every human life, that of marrying and giviag in marriage. In ihe natural life of a country village all the lads and lasses grow up together, they meet together in religious associations, in daily employments, and in their amusements on the village green. They have learned their A, B, C and pothooks together, and when the time comes for pairing off they have had excellent opportunities of knowing the qualities and the defects of those whom they select as their partners in lire. Everything in such a com- munity lends itself naturally to the indispensable prelimi- naries of love-making and courtships, which, however much they may be laughed at, contribute more than most things to the happiness of life. But in a great city all this is destroyed. In London at the present moment how many hundreds, nay, thousands, of young men and young women, who are living in lodgings, are practically without any opportunity of making the acquain- tance of each other, or of any one of the other sex ! The street is no doubt the city substitute for the village green, and what a substitute it is ! It has been bitterly said by one who knew well what he was talkiiie abciit. ** There are thousands of young men to-day who have no right to call any woman Dy her Chris- tian name, except the girls they meet plying their dreadful trade in our public thoroughfares." As long as that is the ^^ii;S^'■^Ji:: ^M^: -■k^^f<^!^!0^^' .'-■:* i-'i'i'iBfet 290 IN DARKEST ENGLAND Vi 'in ' I i I ...v I f ' ' ' Hi ','.• ^&" M I case, vice has an enormous advantage over virtue; such an abnormal social arrangement interdicts morality and places avast premium upon prostitution. We must get back to nature if we have to cope v/ith this ghastly evil. There ought to be more opportunities afforded for nealthy human intercourse between young men and young women, nor can Society rid itself of a great responsibility for all the wrecks of manhood and womanhood with which our streets are strewn, unless it does make some attempt to bridge this hideous chasm which yawns between the two halves of humanity. The older I grow the more absolutely am I opposed to anything that violates the fundamental law of the family. Humanity is composed of two sexes, and woe be to those who attempt to separate them into distinct bodies, making of each half, one whole ! It has been tried in monasteries and convents with but poor success, yet what our fervent Protestants do not seem to see is that we are reconstructing a similar false system for our young peo- ple without the safeguards and the restraints of convent walls or the sanctifying influence of religious conviction. The conditions of City life, the absence of the enforced companionship of the village and small town, the difficulty of young people finding harmless opportunities of friendly intercourse, all tends to create classes of celibates who are not chaste, and whose irregular and lawless indulgence of a universal instinct is one of the most melancholy features of the present state of society. Nay, so generally is this rec- ognized, that one of the terms by which one of the conse- quences of this unnatural state of things is popularly known is **the social evil," as if all other social evils were com- paratively unworthy of notice in comparison to this. While I have been busily occupied in working out my Scheme for the registration of labor, it has occurred to me more than once, why could not something like the same plan be adopted in relation to men who want wives and ■■^-■'"^- ) . .^ ' f:.i''- ■' 4 -■■.•■• ; ! ,' . • . . ' , ' ■ ■; - ' • -; i^,'- ';^n^■J:•.'• >< ;.', ■ ,■■ *♦-' T'Twr AND THE WAY OUT ;• ', '■""■IT'T 3ti womon who want husbands ? Marriage is with most people largely a matter ^>i opportunity Many a man and many a woman, who would, if they had come togetiier, have formed a happy household, are leading at this moment miserable and solitary lives, suffering in body and in soul, in conse- quence of their exclusion from the natural state of matri- mony. Of course, the registration of the '.mmarried who wish to marry would be a matter of much greater delicacy than the registration of the joiners and stone masons who wish to obtain work. But the thing is not impossible. I have repeatedly found in my experience that many a man and many a woman would only be too glad to have a friend- ly hint as to where tht^y might prosecute their attentions or from which they might receive proposals. In connection with such an agency, if it were established — for I am not engaging to undertake this task — I am only throwing out a possible suggestion as to the development in the direction of meeting a much needed want, there might be added training homes for matrimony. My heart bleedsfor many a young couple whom I see launching out in to the sea of matrimony with no housewifery experience. The young girls who leave our public elcmcntar}' schools and go out into factories have never been trained to home duties, and yet, when taken to wife, are unreasonably expected to fil worthily the difficult positions of the head of a household and the mother of a family. A month spent before mar- riage in a training home of housewifery would conduce much more to the happiness of the married life than the honeymoon which immediately follows it. Especially is this the case with those who marry to go abroad and settle in a distant country. I often marvel when I think of the utter helplessness of t>e modern woman, compared with the handiness of her gnmdmother. How many of our girls cari even bake a loaf ? The baker has killed out one of our fundamental domestic art§, But ■■'■ r ':'. ■ ■*■ *^(f ' lifJ'fS^Ss- 293 IN DARKBST ENQLAim ■<.h 1 M m i-\ 1 ':. i ■ H! :i: H ^^.- I if you are in the Backwoods or in the Prairie or in the Bush, no baker's cart comes round every morning with the new- made bread, and I have often thought with sorrow of the kind of stuff which tin's poor wife must serve up to her hungry husband. As it is with baking, so it is with v/ash- ing, with milking, with spinning, with all the arts and sci- ences of the household, which were formerly taught, as a matter of course, to all the daughters who were born in the world. Talk about woman's rights, one of the first of woman's rights is to be trained to her trade, to be queen of of her household, and mother of her children. Speaking of colonists leads me to the suggestion whether something could not be done to supply, on a well organized system, the thousands of bachelor miners or the vart host of unmarried males who are struggling with the wilderness on the outskirts of civilization, with capable wives from the overplus of marr.ageable females who abound in our great towns Woman supplied in adequate quanti- ties is the great moralizer of Society, but woman doled out as she is in the Far West and the Australian bush, in the propor- tion of one woman to about a dozen men, is a fertile source of vice and crime. Here again we must get back to nature, whose fundamental laws our social arrangements have rude- ly set on one side with consequences which as usual she does not fail to exact with remorseless severity. There have always been born into the world and continue to be born boys and girls in fairly equal proportions, but with colonizing and soldiering our men go away, lea»ving behind them a continually growing surplus of marriageable but un- married spinsters, who cannot spin, and who are utterly unable to find themselves husbands. This is a wide field on the discussion of which I must not enter. I merely indi- cate it as one of those departments in which an intelligent philanthrophy might find a great sphere for its endeavors but it would be better not to touch it at all than to ^^ii ,i'l*: ■^^ •.>j»i:. l3/y^|il! If" w y;„ -i |- , ; , f j. ; ' '/W" ... >77J! ilND THS WAY OUT IN with it with lifihthearted precipitancy and without due consideration of alJ the difficulties and .x'-K!i(j>;?'-j' s !i ■?•';,«?' ■rr:n\^{V v; ', ■■w ,.-1 • -?y ■• ■'.-■■.■' V' V-1T», ■ ., ^ ,-M7 AM IN DARKEST ENGLAND ■■tit 'If •I m f 1' ( i [ S '. i Jl i '■■ ;■ ^ '. 1 C •: i ■' ■ % I 1 i . ^ a. i « >■ ,' ,. ■».. J 1 :i 1 fcJu 9 during the oppressive summer days, to brace them up for their winter's ta^k, although this might be as desirable in their case as in th.^c of their more highly favoretl fellow- creatures. But I would make it possible for every man. woman and child, to get, now and then, a day's refreshing change by a visit to that never-failing sourc^ of interest. In the carrying out of th.is plan, we are met at the outset with a difficulty of some little magnitude, and that is the necessity of a vastly reduced charge in the cost of the journey. To do anything effective we must be able to get a man from Whitechapel or Stratford to the sea-side and back for a shilling. Unfortunately, London is sixty miles from the sea. Sup- pose wc take it at seventy miles. This would involve a journey of one hundred and forty miles for the small sum of is. Can this be done? 1 think it can. and done to pay the rail- way companies; otherwise there is no ground to hope for this part of my Scheme ever being realized. But I think that tills great boon can be granted to the poor people with- out the tlividends being sensibly affected. I am told that the cost of haulage for an ordinary passenger train, carrying from five hundred to a thousand persons, is 2S. /d. {kt mile; a railway company could take six hundred passengers seventy miles there, and bring them seventy miles back, at a cost of ^i8 IS. 8d. S'x hundred passengers at a shilling is jC^o, so that there would be a clear profit to the company of nearly /,i2 on the haulage, towards the payment of inter- est on the the capital wear and tear of line, etc. But I reck- on, at a very moderate computation, that two hundred tliousand persons would travel to and fro every season. An addition of ;^io,ooo to the exchequer of a railwa}' company is not to be despised, and this would be a mere bagatelle to the indirect profits which would follow the establishment of a settlement whic!\ must in due course necessarily become very speedily a large and active community. '■\ M iSl.wii,'' .'! 'in 'i Mb AND THE WAY OUT i)95 This it would be necessary to bring honse to the railway companies, and for the execution of this part of my Scheme I must wait till I get some manager sufficiently public- spirited to try the experiment. When svich a man is found, I purpose to set at once ab^ut my Sea-Side Establishment. This will present the following special advantages, which I am quite certain will be duly appreciated by the very poor- est of the London population: — An estate of some three hundred acres would be purchased on which buildings would be erected, calculated to meet the wants of this class of excursionists. Refreshments would be provided at rates very similar to those charged at our London Food Depots. There would, of course, be greater facilities in the way of rooms and accommodation generally. Lodgings for invalids, children and those requiring to make a short stay in the place would be supplied at the lowest prices. Beds for single men and single women could be charged at the low rate of sixpence a night, and children in proportion, while accommudation of a suitable character, on very moderate terms, could be arranged for married people. No public-houses would be allowed within the precincts of the settlement. A park, playground, music, boats, covered conveniences for bathing, without the expense of hiring a machine, and other arrangements for the comfort and enjoyment of the people would be provided. The estate would form one of the Colonies of the general enterprise, and on it would be grown fruit, vegetables, flowers, and other produce for the use of the visitors, -^nd sold at the lowest remunerative rates. One of the first provisions fcr the comfort of the excursiotiists would be the erection of a large hall, affording ample shelter in case of unfavorable weather, and iu this and other parts of the ■*■/,. ( «lW "f ' ' W.l«> t,Kd.HM V'r^ ■ 9M IN DARKEST ENGLAND ■i ■ I lit ii place there would be the fullest opportunity for ministers o{ all denominations to hold religious services in connec- tion with any excursionists they might bring with them. There would be shops for tradesmen, houses for residents, a museum with a panorama and stuffed whale; boats would be let out at moderate prices, and a steamer to carry people so many miles out to sea, and so many miles back for a penny, with a possible bout of sickness, for which no extra charge would be made. In fact the railway fares and refreshment arrangements would be on such a scale, that a husband and wife could have a 70-mile ride through the green fields, the new-mown hay, the waving grain or fruit laden orchards; could wander for hours on the seashore, have comforting and nourishing refreshment, and be landed back at home, sober, cheered and invigorated for the small sum of 3s. A couple of children under 12 might be added at is. 6d, — nay a whole family, husband, wife and four children, supposing one is in arms, could have a day at the seaside, without obliga- tion or charity, for 5s. The gaunt, hungry inhabitants of the Slums would save up their halfpence, and come by thousands; clergymen would find it possible to bring half the poor and needy oc- cupants of their parishes; schools, mothers' meetings, and philanthrophic societies of all descriptions would come down wholesale; in short, what Brighton is to the West End and middle classes, this place would be to ths East End poor, nay, to the poor of the Metropolis generally, a White- phapel-by-the-Sea. Now this ought to be done apart from my Scheme al- together. The rich corporations which have the charge of ihe affairs of this great City, and thr millionaires, who would never have amassed their fortunes but by the assist- ance of the masses, ought to ay it shall be done. Suppose tlie Railroad Companies refi ed to lend the great highways, ■ c hill e^. AND THE Mr AY OUT Wt of which they have become the monopolists, for such an undertaking without a subvention, then the necessary sub- vention should be forthcoming. If it could be made possi- ble for the joyless toilers to come out of the sweater's den, or the stifling factory; if the seamstress could leave her needle, and the mother get away from the weary round of babydoin and household drudgery for a day now and then, to the cooling, invigorating, heart-stirring influences of the sea, it should be done, even if it did cost a few paltry thousmds. Let the men and woman who spend a little fortune every year in Continental tours, Alpine climbings, yacht excursions, and many another form of luxurious wanderings, come forward and say that it shall be possible for these crowds of thuir less fortunate brethren to have the opportunity of spending one day at least in the year by the sea. . ^ ■"h .vi;;f.it-.:hcJ): iii Ml] i> H ; ^r'f" ;, t i! i . \ • K I CHAPTER VII. Can it be Done and How? Section i. — The Credentials of the Salvation Army. Can '-, great work be done? I believe it can. And I believe that it can be done by the Sa) nation Army, because it has ready to hand an organization of men and women, numerous enough and zealous enough to grapple with the enormous undertaking. The work may prove beyond our powers. But this is not so manifest as to preclude us from wishing to make the attempt. That in itself is a qualifica- tion which is shared by no other organization — at present. If we can do it we have the field entirely to ourselves. The wealthy churches show no inclination to compete for the onerous privilege of making the experiment in this definite and practical form. Whether we have the power or not, we have, at least, the will, the ambition to do this great thing for the sake of our brethren, and therein lies our first cre- dential for being entrusted with the enterprise. The second credential is the fact that, while using all material means, our reliance is on the co-working power of God. We keep our powder dry, but we trust in Jehovah We go not forth in our own strength to this battle, our de • pcndence is upon Him who can influence the heart of man. There is no doubt that the most satisfactory method of rais- ing a man must be to effect such a change in his views and ■A_ :?^ ■' *» •vv IK DARKEST ENGLAND 2M feelings that he shall voluntarily abandon his evil ways, give himself to industry and {goodness in the midst of the very temptations and companionships that before led him astray, and live a Christian life, an example in himself of what can be done by the power of God in the very face of the most impossible circumstances. But herein lies the great difficulty again and again re- ferred to, men have not that force of character which will constrain them to avail themselves of the methods of deliv- era/ice. Now our scheme is based on the necessity of help- ing such. Our third credential is the faci that we have already out of practically nothing achieved so great a measure of suc- cess that >ve think we may reasonably be entrusted with tliis further duty. The ordinary operations of the Army have already effected most wonderful changes in the condi- tions of the poorest and worst. Multitudes of slaves of vice in every form have been delivered not only from these hab- its, but from the destitution and misery which they ever pro- duce. Instances have been given. Any number more can be produced. Our experience, which has been almost world-wide, has ever shown that not only does the criminal become honest, the drunkard sober, the harlot chaste, but that )overty of the most abject and helpless type vanishes awav. Our fourth credential is that our Organization alone of England's religious bodies is founded upon the principle of implicit obedience. For Discipline I can ariswer. The Salvation Army, largely recruited from among 'zm poorest of the poor, is often re- proached by its eneriies on account of the severity of its rule. It is the only religious body founded in our time that is based upon the principle of voluntary subiectlon to an absolute authority. No one is bound to rem? in in the Ar. my a aay longer than he pleases. While he lemains theirQ ■V J-^, -;i.jiik;; V ;.i;i:^4'''i^'isi'' fimT'^''*V'^ ^r.-'f-r^:'^''-^) \ "!■ , 1' ^0 IN DARKEST ENGLAND M .ilHl ■' 3 ! ■iill .■Is: ill! Hir •■t/ It i i II I' i ) t he is bound by the conditions of the Service. The first con- dition of that Service is implicit, unquestioning obedience. The Salvationist is taught to obey as is the soldier on the field of battle From the time when the Salvation Army began to ac- quire strength and to grow from the grain of mustard seed until now, when its branches overshadow the whole earthy we have been constantly warned against the evils which this autocratic system would entail. Especially were we told that in a democratic age the people would never stand the estab- lishment of what was described as a spiritual despotism. It was contrary to the spirit of the times, it would be a stone of stumbling and a rock of offence to the masses to whom we appeal, and so fort' and so forth But what has been the answer of accomplished facts to these predictions ot theorists? Despite the alleged unpop- ularity of our discipline, perhaps because of the rigor of military authority upon which we have insisted, the Salva- tion Army has grown from year to year with a rapidity to which nothing in modern Christendom affords any parallel It is only twenty-five years since it was born. It is now the largest Home and Foreign Missionary Society in the Protestant world. We have nearly io,ooo officers under our orders, a number increasing every day, every one of whom has taken service on the express condition that he or she will obey without questioning or gainsaying the orders from He idquarters. Of these 4,600 are in Great Britain The greatest number outside these islands, in any one country, are in the American Republic, where we have 1,018 officers, and democratic Australia, where we have 800- Nor is the submission to our discipline a mere paper loyalty. These officers are in the field, constantly exposed to privation and ill-treatment of all kinds. A telegram from me will send any of them to the uttermost parts ■C i ■ ■ ,!>'■'■'■»■' 1 :l AND THE WAY OUT aoi ■vx'i t..'-,:. "jli'U!? of the earth, will transfer them from the Slums of London to San Francisco, or despatch tl em tc assist in '^p?ning missions in Holland, Zululand, Sweden, or South America. So far from resenting the exercise of authority, the Salvation Army rejoices to recognize it as one great secret of its suc- cess, a pillar of strength upon which all its soldiers can rely, a principle which stamps it as being different from all other religious organizations founded in our day. With ten thousand officers, trained to obey, and trained equally to command, I do not feel that the organization even of the disorganized, sweated, hopeless, drink-sodden denizens of darkest England is impossible. It is possi- ble, because it has already been accomplished in the case of thousands who, before they were saved, were even such as those whose evil lot we are now attempting to deal with. Our fifth credential is the extent and universality of the Army, What a mighty agency for workin;^ out the Scheme is found in the Army in this respect. This will be apparent when we consider that it has already stretched itself through over thirty different Countries and Colonies, with a perma- nent location :n something like 4,000 different places, that it has either soldiers or friends sufficiently in sympathy with it to render assistance in almost every considerable popu- lation in the civilized world, and in much of the uncivilized, that it has nearly 10,000 separated officers whose training and leisure and history qualify them to become its enthusi- astic and earnest co-workers. In fact, our whole people will hail it as the missing link in the great scheme for the regeneration of mankind, enabling them to act out those im- pulses of their hearts which are ever prompting them to do good to the bodies as well as to the souls of men. Take the meetings. With few exceptions, every one of these four thousand centres has a Hall in which, on every evening in the week and from early morning until nearly midnight on every Sabbath, services are being held; that ■<'.iX m S ■' Vu '- ( nearly every service held irn'oors is preceded by one out o! doors, the special purport of every one being the saving of these wretched crowds. Indeed, when this Scheme is per- fected and fairly at work, every meeting and every proces- sion will be looked upon as an advertisement of the earthly as well as ihe heavenly conditions of happiness. And every Barracks and Officer's quarters will become a centre where poor sinful, suffering men and women may find sympathy, counsel and practical assistance in every sorrow that can possibly come upon them, and every Officer throughout our ranks in every quarter of the globe will become a co-worker. See how useful our people will be in the gathering of this class. They are in touch with them. They live in the same stieet, work in the same shops and factories, and come in contact with them at every turn and corner of life. If they don't live amongst them, they formerly did. They know where to find them; they are their old chums, pot- house companions, and pals in crime and mischief. This class is the perpetual difficulty of a Salvationist's life. He feels that there is no help for them in the conditions in which they are at present found. They are so hopelessly weak, and their temptations are so terribly strong, that they go down before them. The Salvationist feels this when he attacks them m the tap-rooms, in the low lodging houses, or in their own desolate homes. Hence, with many, the Crusader has lost all heart. He has tried them so often. But this Scheme of taking them right away from their old haunts and temptations will put new life into him and he will gather up the poor social wrecks wholesale, pass them along, and then go and hunt for more. Then see how useful this army of officers and soldiers will be for the regeneration of this festering mass of vice a crime when it is, so to speak, in our possession. All the thousands of drunkards and harlots, and blasphe- mers and idlers have to be made orer again, to be renewed t:y m^ ■ \l> ,M-... • v< AND THE WAY OUT S0» in the spirit of their minds, that is— made good. What a host of moral workers will be required to accomplisli such a gigantic transformation. In the Army we have a few thousands ready, anyway, we have as many as can be used at the outset, and the Scheme itself will go on manufactur- ing more. Look at the qualifications of these warriors for the work. They understand their pupils — having been dug out of the same pit. Set a rogue to catch a rogue, they say, that is, we suppose, a reformed rogue. Anyway, it is so with us. These rough-and-ready warriors will work shoulder to shoulder with them in the same manual employment. They will engage in the task for love. This is a substantial part of their religion, the moving instinct of the new heavenly nature that has come upon them. They want to spend their lives in doing good. Here will be an opportur>ity. Then see how useful these Soldiers will be for distribu- tion ! Evei'y Salvation Officer and Soldier in every one of these 4,000 centres, scattered through these thirty odd countries and colonies, with all their correspondents and friends and comrades living elsewhere, will be ever on the watch-tower looking out for homes and em])loyments vhere these rescued men and women can be fixed up to advantage, nursed into moral vigor, picked up again on stumbling, and watched over generally until able to travel the rough and slippery paths of life alone. I am, therefore, not without warrant for my confidence in the possibility of doing great things, if the problem so long deemed hopeless be approached with intelligence and determination on a scale corresponding to the magni- tude of the evil with which we have to cope. Section 2. — How Much Will it Cost? A considerable amount of money will be required to fairly launch this Scheme, and some income may be necessary to sustain it for a season, but, once fairly afloat, •A*" • -•■'■..,■' it I f« i If ^^ I d04 tK DARKEST ENGLAND ^t| y, .5 i -Jv we think there is good reason to beh'eve that in all its branches it will be self-supporting, unless its area of opera- tion is largely extended, on which we fully rely. Of course the cost of the effort must depend very much upon its magnitude. If anything is to be done commensurate with the extent of the evil, it will necessarily require a proportionate outlay. If it is only the drainage of a garden that is undertaken, a few pounds will meet the cost, but if it is a great dismal swamp of many miles in area, harboring all manner of vermin, and breeding all kinds of deadly malaria, that has to be reclaimed and culti- vated, a very different sum will not only be found neces- sary, but he deemed an economic investment. Seeing that the country pays out something like Ten Millions per annum in Poor J. aw and Charitable Relief without securing any real abatement of the evil, I cannot doubt that the public will hasten to supply one-tenth of that sum. If you reckon that of the submerged tenth we have one million to deal with, this will only be one pound per head for each of those whom it is sought to benefit, or say ONE MILLION STERLING to give the present Scheme a fair chance of getting into practical operation. According to the amount furnished, must necessarily be the extent of our operations. We have carefully calculated that with one hundred thousand pounds the scheme can be successfully set in motion, and that it can be kept going on an annual income of ;^30,ooo which is about there and a-quarter per cent, on the balance of the million sterling, for which I ask as an. earnest that the public intend to put its hand to this business with serious resolu- tion ; and our judgment is based, not on any mere imaginings, but upon the actual result of the experiments already made. Still it must be remembered that so vast AND THE WAY OUT tO^ and dc5lrabl<» an end cannot be even practically contem- plated without a proportionate financial outlay. Supposing, however, by the subscription of this amount the undertaking is fairly set afloat. The (jucstion may l)e asked, "What further funds will be required for its efficient maintenance?" This question we proceed to answer. Let us look at the three Colonies apart, and then at some of the circumstances which apply to the whole. To begin with, there is THE FINANCIAL ASPECT OF THE CITY COLONY. Here there will be, of course, a considerable outlay required for the purchasing and fitting up of property, the acquisition of machinery, furniture, tools and the necessary plant for carrying forward all these varied operations. These once acquired, no further outlay will be needed except for liie necessary reparations. The Homes for the Destitute will be nearly if not quite self sustaining. The Superior Homes for both Single and Married people will not only pay for themselves but ret.rrn some interest on the amount invested which would be devoted to the furtherance of other parts of the Scheme. The Refuges for Fallen Girls would require considerable funds to keep them going. But the public has never been slow to practically express its sympathy with this class of work. The Criminal Homes and Prison Gate Operations would require continual help but not a very great deal. Th'^n the work in the slums is somewhat expensive. The eighty young women at present engaged in it cost on an average 12s. per week each for personal maintenance in- clusive of clothes and other little matters and there are expenses for Halls and some little relief which cannot in any way be avoided, bringing our present annual Slum outlay to over ;^4,ooo. But the poor people amongst r • V 4 ^(A lU DARKEST ENGLAND ill ! ■ ' I': ■)ii 'i I '-■ '^<- whom they work notwithstanding their extrrmc poverty are already contributing over ^^1,000 per annum towards this amount, which income will increase. Still as by this Scliome we propose to add at once a hundred to the number already engaged, money will be required to keep this department going. The Inebriate Home I calculate will maintain itself. All its inmates will have to engage in some kind of remunerative labor, and we calculate, in addition, upon receiving money with a considerable number of those availing themselves of its benefits. But to practically assist the half-million slaves of the cup we must have mont:y not only to launch out but to keep our operations going. The Food Depots, once fitted up, pay their own working expenses. The Emigration, Advice, and Inquiry Bureaus must maintain themselves or nearly so. The Labor Shops, Anti-Sweating, and other similar operations will, without question, require money to make ends meet. But on the whole, a very small sum of money, in propor- tion to the immense amount of work done, will enable us to accomplish a vast deal of good. THE FARM COLONY FROM A FINANCIAL POINT OF VIEW. Let us now turn to the Farm Colony, and consider it from a monetary standpoint. Here also a certain amount of T >oney will have to be expended at the outset , some of le chief items of which will be the purchase of land, the erection of buildings, the supply of stock, and the production of first crops. There is an abundance of land in the market, at the present time, at very low prices. It is rather important for the initial experiment that an estate should be obtained not too far from London, with land suitable for iiomediatc cuiiivci«,ion. Such an estate 1 ..y^ .•^^: Xau ><■♦■■••'' rv'-.'' AN9 THE WAY OUT would beynfid (Question be expensive. After a time, I have no doubt, we shall be able to deal with land of almost any quality (and that in almost any part of the country ), in consequence of the superabundance of labor we shall possess. There is no question if the scheme goes forward, but that estates will be required in connec- tion with all our large towns and cities. I am not without hope that a sufficient quantity of land will be given, or, in any way, sold to us on very favorable terms. When ac(iuired and stocked, it is calculated that this land, if cultivated by spade husbandry, will support at least two persons per acre. The ordinary reckoning of those who have had experience witli allotments gives five persons to three acres. But, even supposing that this calculation is a little too sanguine, we can still rexkon a farm of 500 acres supporting, without any outside assist- ance, say 750 persons But, in this Scheme, we should have many advantages not possessed by the simple peasant, such as those resulting from combination, market garden- ing, and the other forms of cultivation already referred to, and thus we should want to place two or three times this number on that quantity of land. By a combination of City and Town Colonies, theiewill be a market for at least a large portion of the products. At ihe rate of our present consumption in the London Food Depots and Homes for the Destitute alone, at least 50 acres would be required for potatoes alone, and every additional Colonist would be an additional consumer. There will be no rent to pay, as it is proposed to buy the land right out. In the event of a great rush being made for the allotments spoken of, further land might be rented, with option of purchase. Of course the continuous change of laborers would tell against the profitableness of the undertaking. But this would be proportionally beneficial to the country, seeing .i-^' Cy :'s*->i;-,vi;' H'j- m: 1 i i. % ^ ' y % 1 ;■' •!<>■ ^ ?<>'^ 1 ! ! IM DARKEST ENGLAND that everyone who passes through the institution with credit makes one less in the helpless crowd. The rent of Cottages and Allotments would constitute a small return, and at least pay interest on tlie money invested in them. The labor si>ent upon the Colony would be constantly increasing its money value. Cottages would be built, orchards planted, land enriched, factories run up, ware houses erected, whilr other improvements would be con- tinually ^omg forward. All the laboi and a large part of tiic material would be provided by the Colonists them- selves. It may be suggested that the workers would have to be nuiintaiued during the progress oi these erections and manufactures, the cost of which would in itself amount to a consiilerable sum. IVue, and for this the tirst outlay would be required.. Uut after this every cottage erected, every road made, in short eveiy structure and improve- ment, wouKl be a means of carrying; forward the regenerat- ing process, and in many cases it is expected will become a source of income. As the Scheme progresses, it is not irrational to expect that 'Kuernment, or some of the varied Local Authorities, will assist in the working out of a plan which, in so marked i manner, will relieve the rates and taxes of the country. T!ie salaries of Officers would be in keeping with those given in the Salvation Army, which are very low. No wages would be paid to Colonists, as has been descriln^d, beyond pocket money and a tritle ,or extra service. Although no permanent invalid would be knowingly taken into the Colonies, it is fair to assun\e that there will be a certain number, and also a considerable residuum of naturally indolent, half-witted people, incapable of im- i I ..*# 0§[ M ■■■SF ' AND THE WAV OUT provemfnt. left upon our hands. Still. It is thought that with rcforiuod habits, variety of employment, atul careful oversight, sach may be made to earn their ovvu ntaiute- nance. at least, especially when it is borne in mwul that unless ihey work, so far as they have ability, they cannot remain in the Colony. If the Houselioki Salvage Scheme which has been explained in Chapter 11 proves the success we anticipate there can be no question that great tu\ancial assistance will be rendered by it to the entire scheme when once the whole thing has been brought into working order. Vm: FINANCIAL ASJ'KCV OK lUK OVKR SKA iOl.ONY. Let us now turn to the Over-Sea Colony, and regard it also from the hnancial staiul point. Here we nuist occupy ouiselves chietly with the preliminary outlay, as we could not for a moment contemplate having to t\n<\ money to assist it when once fairly established. The initial t\\pense will, no doubt, be somewhat heavy, but not beyond a reasonable anu>unt. The laiui required would probably be given, whether wo go to Africa, Canada, or elsewhere ; anyway, it would be acquired on such easy terms as would be a near approach to a gift. A considerable siuu wouUl certainly be necessary for effecting the hrst settlements. There wouM be temporary buildiiigs to erect, land to break up and crop, svock. farm implements and furniture to purchase, and other similar expenses. Hut this would not l>e uuviertaken on a large scale, as we should rely, to some extent, on the succes- sive batches of Colonists more or less provivling tor them- selves, and it\ this respect working out their own salvation. The amount ailvanced for pa-^sages. outfit money and settlement would be r«paid fcy instalments by the Colo- nists, which would in turn serv« to pay the cost of convey- iug others to the same dcstinAtiou. *?vi' ;vf II lil^-} i'jii' i^ Bi -i. \ "{',' ■ %i% IN DARKEST ENGLAND Passage and outfit money would, no doubt, continue to be some difficulty. ^8 per head, say, to Africa — ^$ passage money, and jQ^ for the journey across the country — is a large sum when a considerable number are involved ; and I am afraid no Colony would be reached at a much lower rate. But I am not without hope that the Govern- ment might assist us in this direction. Taking up the entire question, that is, of the three Colonies, we are satisfied that the sum named will suffice to set to work an agency which will probably rescue from lives of degradation and immorality an immense number of people, and that an income of something like ^30,000 will keep it afloat. But supposing that a much larger amount shoulf* be required, by operations greatly in advance of thoje here spoken of, which we think exceed- ingly probable, it is not unreasonable to expect that it will be forthcoming, seeing that caring for the poor is not only a duty of universal obligation p root principle of all religion, but an instinct of humanity not likely to be abolished in our time. We are not opposed to charity as such, but to the mode of its administration, which, instead of permanently relieving, only demoralizes and plunges the recipients lower in the mire, and so defeats its own purpose. "What!" I think I hear some say, "a million sterling! how can any man out of Bedlam dream of raising such a sum?" Stop a little! A million may be a great deal to pay for a diamond or a palace, but it is a mere trifle com- pared with the sums which Britain lavishes whenever Britons are in need of deliverance if they happen to be imprisoned abroad. The King of Ashantee had captive some British subjects — not even of English birth — in 1869. John Bull despatched General Wolseley wi^' the pick of the British army, who smashed Koffee Kalkallee, liberated the captives, and burnt Coomassie, and never v/inced V. '^'^l^-Y*"* AND THE WAY OUT ni when the bill came In foi' ^^750,000. But that was a mere trifle. When King Theodore, of Abyssinia, made captives of a couple of British representatives, Lord Napier was despatched to rescue. He marched his army to Magdala, brought back the prisoners, and left King Theodore dead. The cost of that expedition was over nine millions sterling, '^he Egyptian Campaign, that smashed Arabi, cost nearly five millions. The rush to Khartoum, that arrived too late to rescue General Gordon, cost at least as much. The Afghan war cost twenty-one millions sterling. Who dares then to say that Biitain cannot provide a million sterling to rescue not one or two captives, but a million, whose lot is quite as doleful as that of the prisoners of savage kings, but who are to be found, not in the land of the Soudan, or in the swamps of Ashantee, or in the Mountains of the Moon, but here at our very doors? Don't talk to me about the impossibility of raising a million. Nothing is impossible when Britp.in is in earnest. All talk of impossibility only means that you don't believe that the nation cares to enter upon a serious campaign against the enemy at our gates. When John Bull goes to the wars he does not count the cost. And who dare deny that the time has fully come for a declaration of war against the Social Evils which seem to shut out God from this, our world? n Section 3. — Some Advantages Stated. This Scheme takes into its embrace all kinds and classes of men who may be in destitute circumstances, irrespective of their character or conduct, and charges itself with supplying at once their temporal needs , and then altns at placing them in a permanent position of com- parative comfort, the only stipulation made being a will- ingness to work and to conform to discipline on tho part of those receiving its bsne£it. >' f5 .-ii ■u :, n m im. r: I f ^ 1 ! ■ ♦ i i*: 1^ Uk^ '■.. *■ ^r lil IN DARKEST ENGLAND While at the commencement, we must impose some limits with respect to age and sickness, we hope, when fairly at work, to be able to dispense with even these restrictions, and to receive any unfortunate individual who has only his misery to recommend him and an honest desire to get out of it. It will be seen that, in this respect, the Scheme stands head and shoulders above any plan that has ever been mooted before, seeing that nearly all the other charitable and remedial proposals more or less confess their utter inability to benefit any but what they term the "decent" working man. This Scheme seeks out by ah manner of agencies, marvelously adapted for the task, the classes whose welfare it contemplates, and, by varied measures and motives adapted to their circumstances, compels them to accept its benefits. Our Plan contemplates nothing short of revolutionizing the character of those whose faults are the reason for their destitution. We have seen that with fully fifty per cent, of these, their own evil conduct is the cause of their wretchedness. To stop short v^ith them of anything less than a real change of heart will be to invite and ensure failure. But this we arc confident of effecting — anyway, in the great majority of pases — by reasonings and persua- sions, concerning both earthly and heavenly advantages, by the power of man, and by the power of God. By this Scheme any man, no matter how deeply he may have fallen in self-respect and esteem of all about him, may re-enter life afresh, with the prospect of re-establish- ing his character when lost, or perhaps of establishing a character for the first time, and so obtaining an introduc- tion to decent employment, and a claim for admission into Society as a good citizen. While many of this crowd m i^ AND THE WAY •VT 818 are absolutely without a decent friend, ethers will have, on that higher level of respectability they once occupied, some relative, or friend, or employer, who occasionally thinks of them, and who, if only satisfied that a real change has taken place in the piodigal, will not only be willing, but delighted to help them once more. By this Scheme, we believe we shall be able to teach habits of ecor Dn»y, household management, thrift, and the like. There are numbers of men who, although suffering the direst pangs of poverty, know little or nothing about the value of money, or the prudent use of it ; and there are hundreds of poor women who do not know what a decently managed home is, and who could not make one if they had the most ample means and tried ever so hard to accomplish it, having never seen anything but dir^, disorder and misery in their domestic history. They could not cook a dinner or prepare a meal decently if their lives were dependent on it, never having had a chance of learning how to do it. But by this Scheme we hope to teach these things. By this Plan, habits of cleanliness will be created, and some knowledge of sanitary questions in general will be imparted. This Scheme changes the circumstances of those whose poverty is caused by their misfortune. To begin with, it finds work for the unemployed. This is the chief need. The great problem that has for ages been puzzling the brains of the political economist and philanthropist has been — "How can we find these people work?" No matter what other helps are discovered, without work there is no real ground for hope. Charity and all the other ten thousand devices are only temporary expedients, altogether insufficient to meet the necessity. Work, apart from the fact that it is God's method of supplying the wants of man's composite nature, is an ■t' 9 -r^ i- r ■ 7, \ 814 IN DARKEST ENGLAND 11 if'' f:»' ^!,f!f|:i bi^ I'i Sin. I.. :; I I 11 .trV, 75 ■ f . -£_.. essential to his well-being in every way— and on this Plan there is work, honorable work — none of your demoralizing stone-breaking, or oakum-picking business, which tantal- izes and insults poverty. Every worker will feel that he is not only occupied for his own benefit, but that any advantage reaped over and above that which he gains him- self will serve to lift some other poor wretch out of the gutter. There would be work within tlhe capacity of all. Every gift could be employed. For instance, take five persons on the Farm — a baker, a tailor, a shoemaker, a cook and an agriculturist. The baker would make bread for all, the tailor garments for all, the shoemaker shoes for all, the cook would cook for all, and the agriculturalist dig for all. These who know anything which would be useful to the inhabitants of the Colony will be set to do it, and those who are ignorant of any trade or profession will be taught one. This Scheme removes the vicious and criminal classes out of the sphere of those temptations before which they have invariably fallen in the past. Cur experience goes to show that when you have, by Divine grace, or by any consideration of the advantages of a good life, or the dis- advantages of a bad one, produced in a man circumstanced as those whom we have been describing, the rp=?olution to turn over a new leaf, the temptations and difficulties he has to encounter will ordinarily master him, and undo all that has been done, if he still continues to be surrounded by old companions and allurements to sin. Now, look at the force of the temptations this class has to fight against. What is it that leads people to do wrong — people of all classes, rich as well as poor? Not the desire to sin. They do not want to sin ; many of them do not know what sin is, but they have certain appetites or natural likings, the indulgence of which is •1k>-.i.- .** fai.; AKD tHE WAY OUT 81f pleasant to them, and when the desire for their uiilawfu? gratification is aroused, regardless of the claims of God, their own highest interests, or the well-being of theii fellows, they are carried away by them ; and thus all the good resolutions they have made in the past come to grief. For instance, take the temptation which comes through the natural appetite, hunger. Here is a man who ha? been at a religious meeting, or received some good advice, OTy perhaps, just come out of prison, with the memories of the hardships he has suffered fresh upon him, or the advice of the chaplain ringing in his ears. He has made up his mind to steal no more, but he has no means of earning a livelihood. He becomes hungry. What is he to do? A loaf of bread tempts him, or, more likely, a gold chain which he can turn into bread. An inward struggle commences, he tries to stick to his bargain, but the hunger goes on gnawing within, and it may be there is a wife and children hungry as well as himself; so he yields to the temptation, takes the chain and in turn the policeman takes him. Now this man does not want to do wrong, and still less does 1 > want to go to prison. In a sincere, dreamy way he dc ires to be good, and if the path were easier for him he would probably walk in it. Again, there is the appetite for drink That man has no thought of sinning when he takes his first glass. Much less does he want to get drunk. He may have still a vivid recollection of the unpleasant consequences that ..followed his last spree, but the craving is on him ; the public house is there har dy ; his companions press him i he yields and falls, and, perhaps, falls to rise no more. We might amplify, but our Scheme proposes to take the poor slave right away from the public-housea the drink and the companions that allure him to it, and therefore we think the chances of reformation in him are far greater. ^'?V'-« f 816 IN DARKEST ENGLAND .'.'•"',"."'' li .• i ri « ■ii; i Then think of the great boon this Scheme will be to the children, bringing them out of the slums, wretched hovels, and filthy surroundings in which they are being reared for lives of abomination of every description, into the fields, amongst the green trees and cottage homes, where they can grow up with a chance of saving both body and soul- Think again of the change this Scheme will make for these poor creatures from the depressing, demoralizing surroundings, of the unsightly, filthy quarters in which they are huddled together, to the pure air and sights and sounds of the country. There is much talk about the beneficial influence of pictures, music and literature upon the multitudes. Money, like water, is being poured forth to supply such attractions in Museums, People's Palaces, and the like, for the edification and amelioration of the social condition of the masses. But "God made the country, man niade the town,' and if we take the people to the pictures of divine manufacture, that must be th^ superior plan. Again the Scheme is capable of illimitable application. The plaister can be made as large as the wound. The wound is certainly a very extensive one, and it seems at first sight almost ridiculous for any private enterprise to attempt dealing with it. Three millions of people, living in little short of perpetual misery have to be reached and res- cued out of this terrible condition. But it can be done, and this Scheme will do it, if it is allowed a fair chance. Not all at once? True! It will take time, but it will begin to tell on the festering mass straight away. Within a measurable distance we ought to be able to take out of of this black sea at least a hundred individuals a week, and there is no reason why this number should not go on increasing. p--. AND THE WAY OUT 817 An appreciable impression on this gulf of misery would be immediately made^ not only for those who are rescued from its dark waters, but for those who are left behind seeing that for every hundred individuals removed, there is just the additional work which they performed for those who remain^ It might not be much, but still it would soon count up. Supposing three carpenters are starving on employment which covered one-third of their time, if you take two away, the one will have full employment. But it will be for the public to fix, by their contributions, the extent of our operations. The benefits bestowed by this Scheme will be permanent in duration. It will be seen that this is no temporary expedient, such as, alas ! nearly every effort hitherto made on behalf of these classes has been. Relief Works, Soup Kitchens, Enquiries into Character, Emigration Schemes, of which none will avail themselves. Charity in its hundred forms, Casual Wards, the Union, and a hundred other Nostrums may serve for the hour, but they are only at the best, palliations. But this Scheme, I am bold to say, offers a substantial and i>ermanent remedy. In relieving one section of the community, our plan involves no interference v/ith the well-being of any other. (See Chapter VII Section 4, Objections. ') This Scheme "removes the all but insuperable barrier to an industrious and godly life. It means not only the leading of these lost multitudes out of the "City of Destruction" into the Canaan of plenty, but the lifting of them up to the same level of advantage with the more favored of mankind for securing the salvation of their souls. Look at the circumstances of hundreds and thousands of the classes of whom we are speaking. From the cradle to the grave, might not their influence in the direction of Religious Belief be summarized in one sentence, "Atheism mu»t easy. ' Let my readers imagine theirs to have been •^•'i, .■..■\" m l^tiM?^: sis m bARKEST ENGLAND ■■: h !«•„ *J ,1, ft 1 ! ^l Pi 1' i'y 111 a similar lot. Is it not possible that, under such circnm- tances, they might have entertained some serious doubts as to the existence of a benevolent God who would thus allow His creatures to starve, or that they would have been so preoccupied with their temporal miseries as to have no heart for any concern about the nexLlife? Take a man, hungry and cold, who does not know where his next meal is coming from ; nay, who thinks it problematical whether it will come at all. We know his thoughts will be taken up entirely with the bread he needs for his body. What he wants is a dinner. The interests of his soul must wait. Take a woman with a starving family, who knows that as soon as Monday comes round th«. rent must be payed, or else she and her children must go into the street, and her little belongings be impounded. At the present moment she is without it. Are not her thoughts likely to wander in that direction if she slips into a Church or Mission Hall, or Salvation Army Barracks? I have had some experience on this subject, and have been making observations vith respect to it ever since the day 1 made my first attempt to reach these starving, hungry crowds just over forty-five years ago — and I am quite satisfied that these multitudes will not be saved in their present circumstances. All the Clergymen, Home Missionaries, Tract Distributors, Sick Visitors and every- one else who care about the salvation of the poor, may make up their minds as to that, if these people are to believe in Jesus Christ, become the Servants of God, and escape the miseries of the wrath to come, they mitist be helped out of their present social miseries. They must be put into a position in which they can work and eat, and have a decent room to live and sleep in, and see something before them besides a long, weary, monotonous, grinding round of toil, and anxious care to keep them- ..!■& m AND THE WAY OUT 81» Wit- selves and those they Icve barely alive, with nothing at the further end but the Hospital, the Union, or the Mad- house. If Christian Workers and Philanthropists will join hands to effect this change it will be accomplished, and the people will rise up and bless them, and be saved ; if they will not, the people will curse them and perish. Section 4. — Some Objections Met. Objections must be expected. They are a necessity with regard to any Scheme that has not yet been reduced to practice, and simply signify foreseen difficulties in the work- ing of it. We freely admit that there are abundance of diffi- culties in the way ol working out the plan, smoothly and successfully, that has been laid down. But many of these, we imagine, v/ill vanish when we come to close quarters, and the remainder will be surmounted by courage and patience. Should,- however, this plan prove the success we predict, it must eventually revolutionize the condition of the starving sections of Society, not only in this great metropolis, but throughout the whole range of civilization. It must therefore be worthy not only of a careful considera- tion but of persevering trial. Some of these difficulties at first sight appear rather seri- ous. Let us look at them. Objection I. — // is suggested that the class of people for whose benefit the Scheme is designed would not avail themselves of it. When the feast was prepared and the invitation had gone forth, It is said that the starving multitudes would not come; that though labor was offered them in the City, or prepared for them on the Farm, they would prefer to rot In their present miseries rather than avail themselves of the benefit provided. In order to gather the opinions of those most concerned, we consulted one evening, by a Census in our London Shel- .•*r f^ > '^ ir I y, ] ' 1 ; 1 j. . -■ il t ■i i 1 ' '" '* '-f i '^ > ' V - i' ■I "■ ^ 1 i ' '- : 1 1 f " I 7' wo IN DARKEST ENGLAND tcrs, two hundred .ind fifty men out of work, and all suffer- ing severely in consequence. We furnished a set of ques- tions, and obtained answers from the wlioie. Now, it must he borne in mind that these men were under no obligation whatever to make any reply to our inquiries, much less to answer them favorably to our plan, of which they knew next to nothing. These two hundred and fifty men were mostly in the prime of life, the greater portion of them being skilled workmen; an examination of "the return papers showing that out of the entire number two hundred and seven were able to work at their trades had they the opportunity. The number of trades naturally varied. There were some of all kinds; Engineers, Custom House Officers, Schoolmasters, Watch and Clockmakcrs, Sailors and men of the different branches of the Building trade; also a num- ber of men who have been in business on their own ac- count. The average amount of wages earned by the skilled me- chanics when regularly employed was 33s. per week; the money earned by the unskilled averaged 22s. per week. They could not be accounted lazy, as most of them, when not employed at their own trade or occupation, had proved their willingness to work by getting jobs at anything that turned up. On looking over the list we saw that one who had been a Custom House Officer had recently acted as Carpenter's Laborer; a Type-founder nad been glad to work at Chimney Sweeping; the Schoolnr jister, able to speak five languages, who in his prosperous days had owned a farm, was glad to do odd jobs as a Bricklayer's Laborer; a Gen- tleman's Valet, who once owned jQs a week, had come so low down in the world that he was glad to act as Sandwich man for the magnificent sum of fourteen pence a day, and that, only as an occasional affair. In the list was a dyer and cleaner, married, with a wife and nine children, who .I'f'a '"!?«'*»•-. * •Ji.-->'; ■ -i-i^'-^i-i ri-5i'w..'v5^.'";." AND THE WAY OUT ttl had been able to earn 40s. a week, but had done no regu- lar work for three years out of the last ten. We put the following question to the entire number: — " If yuu were put on a farm, and set to work at anything you could do, and supplied with food, lodging and cloth- ing, with a view to getting you on your feet, would you do all you could ? " In response, the whole 250 replied in the affirmative, with one exception, and on enquiry we elicited that, being a sailor, the man was afraid he would not know how to do the work. On being interrogated as to their willingness to grapple with the hard labor on the land, they said: " Why should we not? Look at us. Can any plight be m.ore miserable than ours?" Why not, indeed ? A glance at them would certainly make it impossible for any thoughtful person to assign a rational reason for their refusal — in rags, swarming with vermin, hungry, many of them living on scraps of food begged or earned in the most haphazard fashion, without sufficient clothing to cover their poor gaunt limbs, most of them without a shirt. They had to start out the next morn- ing, uncertain which way to turn to earn a crust for dinner, or the fourpence necessary to supply them again with the humble shelter they had enjoyed that night. The idea of their refusing employment which would supply abundantly the necessaries of life, and give the prospect of becoming, in process of time, the owner of a home, with its comforts and companionships, is beyond conception. There is not much question that this class will not only accept the Scheme we want to set before them, but gratefully do all in their power to make it a success. II. — Too many would come. This would be very probable. There would certainly be too many apply. But we should be under no obligation to 21 /^, ■^V .Ik; IN DARKEST ENGLAND 'VIW Hi ;"■' 1 • I . it'-' ■ ■• } ' I J ' 'K - ; ' 1 - ; -S, •jj : .V.-' ■ (■ 1 ^ ; .*^- % ' J ■ T.. ■: * ' i i'l ?-- 1,-Jk, , * • ■ nn hM. take more than was convenient. The larger the number of applications the wider the field for selection, and the greater the necessity for the enlargement of our operations. III. — T/f.''y would run inuay. It is further objected that if they did come, the monotony of the life, the strangeness of the work, together with the absence of the excitements and amusements with which they had been entertained in the cities and towns, would render their existence unbearable. Even when left to the streets, there is an amount of life and action in the city which is very attractive. Doubtless some would run away, but I don't think this would be a large proportion. The change would be so great, and so palpably advantageous, that I think they would find in it ample compensation for the deprivation of any little pleasurable excitement they had left behind them in the city. For instance, there would be — A sufficiency of food. The friendliness and sympathy of their new associates. There would be abundance of companions of similar tastes and circumstances — not all pious. It would be quite another matter to going single-handed on to a farm, or into a melancholy family. Then there would be the prospect of doing well for themselves in the future, together with all the religious life, meetings, music and freedom of the Salvation Army. But what says our experience ? If there be one class wl;ich is the despair of the social reformer, it is that which is variously described, but which we may term the lost women of our streets. From the point of view of the industrial organizer, they suffer from almost every fault that human material can possess. They are, with some exceptions, untra." led to labor, demoralized by a life of debauchery, accustomed to the wildest license, emancipated from all discipline but that of starvation, given to drink, and, for the most part, impaired in health. If^ ■■.;^M. mr lial Ich Ihe )m ley bed |se, ren AND THE WAY OUT therefore, any considerable number of this class can be shown to be ready to submit themselves voluntarily to dis- cipline, to endure deprivation of drink, and to apply them- selves steadily to industry, then example will go a long way towards proving that even the worst description of humanity, when intelligently, thoroughly handled, is amenable to dis- cipline and willing to work. In our British Rescue Homes we receive considerably over a thousand unfortunates every year; while all over the world, our annual average is two thousand. The work has been in progress for three years — long enough to enable us to test very fully the capacity of the class in question to reform. With us there is no compulsion. If any girl wishes to remain, she remains. If she wishes to go, she goes. No one is detained a day or an hour longer than they choose to stay. Yet our experience shows that, as a rule, tlie> do not run away. Much more restless and thoughtless and given to change, as a class, than men, the girls do not, in any considerable numbers, desert. The average of our London Homes, for the last three years, gives only 14 per cent, as leaving on their own account, while for the year i88g, only 5 per cent. And the entire number, who have either left or been dismissed during the year, amounts only to 13 per cent, c.i the whole. IV. — IViey ivould not work. Of course, to such as had for years been leading idle lives, anything like work and exhaustive labor would be very try- ing and wearisome, and a little patience and coaxing might be required to get them into the way of it. Perhaps some would be hopelessly beyond salvation in this respect, and, until the time comes, if it ever does arrive, when the Gov- ernment will make it a crime for an able-bodied man to beg when there is an opportunity for him to engage in remun- erative work, this class will wander abroad preying upon a generous public. It will, however, only need to be known ?'*$■ -:-^ '% ■'^fue well ever since. I think that, without exception,.tliey are Salvation Soldiers, and will be found at nearly every meet- ing on the Sabbath, etc. The binding of Salvation Army publications — ''The Deliverer," "All the World,"' the Penny Song Books, etc., almost keep us going. A little outside work for the end of the month is taken, but we are not able to make any profit generally, it is so badly paid. It will be seen that this is a miniature factory, but still it is a factor}', and worked on principles that will admit of illimitable extension and may, 1 think, be justly regarded as an encouragement and an exemplification of what may be ac- -•!£■ 'i " , if>«.;~M ■„:Cv .'•.' •■r .rS-^^K: IN DARKEST ENGLAND .1/^ U. 'f \t !l! ^'■>: :i: ■ i!; 1) 1 i ' 1 ■ . J! ll complished in endless variations. V. — -Again, it is objected that the class whose benefit we con- template would not have physical ability to work on a farm, or in the open air. How, it is asked, would tailors, clerks, weavers, seam- stresses and the destitute people, born and reared in tlit slums and poverty-hovels of the towns and cities, do farm or any other work that has to do with the land ? The em- ployment in the open air, with exposure to every kind of weather which accompanies it, would, it is said, kill them off right away. We reply, that the division of labor before described would render it as unnecessary as it would be undesirable and uneconomical, to put many of these people to dig or to plant. Neither is it any part of our plan to do so. On our Scheme we have shown how each one would be appointed to that kind of work for which his previous knowledge and experience and strength best adapted him. Moreover, there can be no possible comparison between the conditions of health enjoyed by men and women wander- ing about homeless, sleeping in the streets or in the fever- haunted lodging houses, or living huddled up in a single room, and toiling twelve and fourteen hours in a sweater's den, and living in comparative comfort in well-warmed and ventilated houses, situated in the open country, with abun- dance of gbod, healthy food. Take a man or a woman out into the fresh air, give them proper exercise and substantial food, supply them with a comfortable home, cheerful companions, and a fair prospect of reaching a position of independence in this or some other lanr*, and a complete renewal of health and careful in- crease of vigor will, we expect, be one of the first great bene- fits that will ensue. VI. — // is objected that we should be left with a considerably r^isiduum of half-witted, helpless people^ ^^t ,fJt AND THE WAY OUT 827 i ■.'►> iCV". Doubtless this would be a real difficulty, and we should have to prepare for it. We certainly, at the outset, should have to guard against too many of this class being left upon our hands, although we should not be compelled to keep anyone. It would, however, be painful to have to send them back to the dreadful life from which we had res- cued them. Still, however, this would not be so ruinous a risk, looked at financially, as some would imagine. We could, we think, mantain them for 4s. per week, and they would be very weak indeed in body, and very wanting in mental strength, if they were not able to earn that amount in some one of the many forms of employment which the Colony would open up. VII. — Aji^ain, itivillbe objected that some efforts of a similar character have failed. For instance, co-operative enterprises in farming have not succeeded. True, but so far as I can ascertain, nothing of the charac- ter I am describing has ever been attempted. A large num- ber of Socialistic communities have been established and come to grief in the United States, in Germany and else- where, but they have all, both in principle and practice, strikingly differed froni what we are p^-oposing here. Take one particular alone, the great bulk of these societies have not only been fashioned without any regard to the principles of Christianity, but, in the vast majority of instances, have been in direct opposition to them; and the only communi- ties based on co-operative principles that have survived the first few months of their existence have been based upon Christian truth. If not absolute successes, there have been some very remarkaLile results obtained by efforts partaking somewhat of the nature of the one I am setting forth. (See that of Ralahine, described in appendix.) VIII. — It is further objected that it would be impossible io maintain order and enforce good discipline amongst this class of people, ■■ :-r ■ A,, ■ ■■,-.. i •( v».^S 888 IN DARKEST ENGLAND m If ill I i ■ V \ : t * 1 ' We are 6f just the opposite opinion. We think that it would — nay, we are certain of it, and we speak as those who have had considerable experience in dealing with the lower classes of Society. We have already dealt with thfs difficulty. We may say further — That we do not propose to commence with a thousand people in a wild, untamed state, either at home or abroad. To the Over-Sea Colony we should send none but those who have had a long period of training in this country. The bulk of those sent to the Provincial Farm would have had some sort of trial in the different City Establishments. We should only draft them on to the Estate in small numbers, as we were prepared to^ deal with them, and I am quite satisfied that without the legal methods of maintaining order that are acted upon so freely in workhouses and other similar institutions, we should have as perfect obedience to Law, as great respect for authority, and as stiong a spirit of kindness pervading all ranks throughout the whole of the community as could be found in any other institution in the land. It will be borne in mind that our Army system of govern- ment largely prepares us, if it does not qualify us, for this task. Anyway, it gives us a good start. All our people are trained in habits of obedience, and all our Officers are edu- cated in the exercise of authority. The Officers through- out the Colony would be almost exclusively recruited from the ranks of the Army, and everyone of them would go to the work, both theoretically and practically familiar with those principles which are the essence of good discipline. Then we can argue, and that very forcibly, from the actual experience we have already had in dealing with this class. Take our experience in the Army itself. Look at the order of our Soldiers. Here are men and women, who have no temporial interest whatever at stake, receiving no remunera- tion often sacrificing their earthly interests by their unjoj^ ■ ■m^ AND THE WAY OUT »• with us, and yet see how they fall into line, and obey orders in the promptest manner, even when such orders go right in the teeth of their temporal interests. '* Yes," it will be replied by some, "this is all very excel- lent so far as it relates to those who are altogether of your own way of thinking. You can command them as you please, and they will obey, but what proof have you given of your ability to control and discipline those who are not of your way of thinking? *^You can do that with your Salvationists because they are saved, as you call it. When men are born again you can do any thing with them. But unless you convert all the denizens of Darkest England, what chance is there that they will be docile to your discipline ? If they were soundly saved no doubt something might be done. But they are not saved, soundly or otherwise; they are lost. What reason have you for believing that they will be amenable to discipline ? " I admit the force of this objection; but I have an answer, and an answer which seems to be complete. Discipline, and that of the most merciless description, is enforced upon multitudes of these people even now. Nothing that the most authoritative organization of industry could devise in the excess of absolute power, could for a moment com- pare with the slavery enforced to-day in the dens of the sweater. It is not a choice between liberty and discipline that confronts these unfortunates, but between discipline mercilessly enforced by starvation and inspired by futile greed, and discipline accompanied with regular rations and administered solely for their own benefit. What liberty is there for the tailors who have to sew for sixteen to twenty hours a day, in a pest-hole, in order to earn ten shillings a week ? There is no discipline so brutal as that of the sweater; there is no slavery so relentless as that from which we seek to deliver the victims. Compared witjj ,V^; .^i .'<■ •'■!. 880 IN DARKEST ENGLAND ^\l :^ h^>U iih !?• ■nS! their normal condition of existence, the most rigorous disci- pline which would be needed to secure the complete suc- cess of any new individual organization would be an escape from slavery into freedom. You may reply, "That it might be so, if people under- stood their own interest. But as a matter of fact they do not understand it, and that they will never have sufficient far-sightedness to appreciate the advantages that are offered them." To this 1 answer, that here also I do not speak from theory. I lay before you the ascertained results of years of experience. More than two years ago, moved by the misery and despair of the unemployed, I opened the Food and Shelter Depots in London already described. Here are a large numin-rof men every night, many of them of the lowest type of casuals who crawl about the streets, a certain proportion criminals, and about as difficult a class to man- age as I should think could be got together, and while there will be two hundred of them in a single building night after night, from tiie first opening of the doors in the evening un- til the last man has departed in the morning, there shall scarcely be a word of dissatisfaction; anyway, nothing in the shape of angry temper or bad language. No policemen are required; indeed two or three nights' experience will be sufficient to turn the regular frequenters of the place of their own free will into Officers of Order, glad not only to keep the regulations of the place, but to enforce its disci- pline upon others. Again, every Colonist, whether in the City or elsewhere, would know that those who took the interests of the Colony *o heart, were loyal to its authority and principles, and ^abored industriously in promoting its interests, would be rev/arded accordingly by promotion to positions of influence and authority, which would also carry with them ttjmporal advantages, present and prospective, .it ..i-.5 I AND THE WAY OUT Ml But one of our main hopes would be in the apprehension by the Colonists of the fact that all our efforts were pui forth on their behalf. Every man and woman on the place would know that this enterprise was begun and carried on solely for their benefit, and that of the other members of their class, and that only their own good beliavior and co- operation would ensure their reaping a personal share in such benefit. Still our expectations would be largely based on the creation of a spirit of unselfish interest in the commu- nity. IX. — Aj^am, it is objected that the Scheme is too vast to be attempted by voluntary enterprise; it ought to be taken up and carried out by the Government itself. Perhaps so, but there is no very near probability of Gov- ernment undertaking it, and we are not quite sure whether such an attempt wouJd prove a success if it were made. But seeing that neither Governments, nor society, nor indi- viduals have stood forward to undertake what God has made appear to us to be so vitally important a work, and as He has given us the willingness, and in many important senses the ability, we are prepared, if the financial help is furnished, to make a determined effort, not only I • undertake but to carry it forward to a triumphant success. X. — ft is ob/'ected that the classes ice seek to benefit are too ignorant and depraved for Christian effort, of" for effort of any kind, to rent It and reform. Look at the tramps, the drunkards, the harlots, the crim- - inals. How confirmed they are in their idle and vicious habits. It will be said, indeed has been already said by those with whom I have conversed, that I don't know them; which statement cannot, I think, be maintained, for if I don't know tliem, who does? I admit, liowever, that thousands of this class are very far gone from every sentiment, principle and practice of right conduct. But 1 argue that these poor people canota / J». '■ II u H ; i'^lil! ■.'»>.i;'^.^;^>v5;4r'i' -■,^;,.,,-, , dSft tH DARKEST ENGLAND bemuch more unfavorable subjects for the work of regeil- eration than are many of the savages and heathen tribes, in the conversion of whom Christians universally believe, for whom they beg large suins of money, and to whom they send their best and bravest people. Tiiese poor people are certainly embraced in the Divine plan of mercy. To their class, the Saviour especially gave His attention when He was on the earth, and for them He most certainly died on the Cross. Some of the best examples of Christian faith and practice, and some of the most successfid workers for the benefit of mankind, have sprung from this class, of which wo have instances recorded in the Bible, and any number in the his- tory of the Church and of the Salvation Army. It may be objected that while this Scheme would undoubtedly assist one class of the community by making steady, industrious workmen, it must thereby injure another class by introducing so many new hands into the labor mar- ket, already so seriously overstocked. To this we reply that there is certainly an appearance of force in this objection; but it has, I think, been already answered in the foregoing pages. Further, if the increase of workers, which this Scheme will certainly bring about, was the beginning and end of it, it would certainly present a somewhat serious aspect. But, even on that supposition, I don't see how the skilled worker could leave his brothers to rot in their present wretchedness, though their rescue should involve the sharing of a portion of his wages. (i) But there is no such danger, seeing that the number of extra hands thrown on the British Labor Market must be necessarily inconsiderable. (2) The increased production of food in our Farm and Colonial operations must indirectly benefit the working man. ill i i akd the way out iiA -tilH 1^^' Section 5. — Recapitulation. I have now passed in review the leading features of the Scheme, which I put forward as one that is calculated to considerably contribute to the amelioration of the condi- tion of the lowest stratum of our Society. It in no way professes to be complete in all its details.^ Anyone may at any point lay his finger on this, that, or the other feature of the Scheme, and show some void that must be filled in if it is to work with effect. There is one thing, however, that can be safely said in excuse for the short- comings of the Scheme, and that is that if you wait until you get an ideally perfect plan you will have to wait until the Millennium, and then you will not need it. My sug- gestions, crude though they may be, have, nevertheless, one element that will in time supply all deficiencies. There is life in them ; with life there is the promise and power of adaption to all the innumerable and varying circumstances of the class with which we have to deal. Where there is life there is infinite power of adjustment. This is no cast iron Scheme, forged in a single brain, and then set up a a standard to which all must conform It is a sturdy plant, which has its roots deep down in the nature and circumstances of men. Nay, I believe in the very heart of God Himself. It has already grown much, and will, if duly nurtured and tended, grow still further, until from it, as from the grain and mustard-seed in the parable, there shall spring up a great tree whose branches shall overshadow all the earth. Once more let me say, I claim no patent rights in any part of this Scheme. Indeed, I do not know what in it is original and what is not. Since formulating some of the plans, which I had thought were new under the sun, I have discovered that they have been already tried io pp 884 IN DARKEST ENGLAND 'H; [t. it: ft is; i ! 5 ; sle^«-./ different parts of the world, and that with great promise. It may be so with others, and In this I rejoice. I plead for no exclusiveness. The question is much too serious for such fooling as that. Here are millions of our fellow- creatures perishing amidst the breakers of the sea of life, dashed to pieces on sharp rocks, sucked under by eddying whirlpools, suffocated even when they think they have reached land, by treacherous quicksands ; to save them 5 from this imminent destruction I suggest that these things should be done If you have any better plan than mine for effecting this purpose, in God's name bring it to the light and get It carried out quickly. If you have not, then lend me a hand with mine, as I would be only too glad to lend you a hand with yours if it had in it greater promise of suc- cessful action than mine. In a Scheme for the working out of social salvation the great, the only, test that is worth anything is the success with which they attain the object with which they are deviled. An ugly old tub of a boat that will land a shipwrecked sailor safe on the beach is worth more to him than the finest yacht that ever left a slip-way incapa- ble of effecting the same object. The ^superfine votaries of culture may recoil in disgust from the rough-and-ready suggestions which I have made for dealing with the Sunken Tenth, but mere recoiling is no solution. If the cultured and the respectable and the orthodox and the established dignitaries and conventionalities of Society pass by on the other side we cannot follow their example. We may not be priests and Levites, but we can at least play the part of the Good Samaritan. The man who went down to Jericho and fell among thieves was probably a very improvident, reckless individual, who ought to have known better than to go roaming alone through defiles haunted by banditti, whom he even led into temptation by the careless way in which he exposed himself and his A. -ji •■•A, i'. ^ AND THE WA^ OUT 835 goods to their avaricious Raze. It was, no doubt, largely his own fault that he lay there bruised :md senseless, and ready to perish, just as it is largely the fault of those whom we seek to help that they lie in the heli)less plight in which we find them. But for all that, let us bind up their wounds with such balm as we can procure, and, setting them on our a:.s, let us take them to our Colonyj where they may have time to recover, and once more set forth on our journey of life. And now, having said this much by way of reply to some of my critics, 1 will recapitulate the salient features of the Scheme. I laid down at the beginning certain points to be kept in view as embodying those invariable laws or principles of political economy, without due regard to Which no Scheme can hope for even a chance of success. Subject to these conditions, I think my Scheme will pass muster. It is large enough to cope with the evils that will confront us ; it is practicable, for it is already in course of application, and it is capable of indefi- nite expansion. But it would be better to pass the whole Scheme in its more salient features in review once more. The Scheme will seek to convey benefit to the destitute classes in various ways altogether apart from their entering the Colonies. Men and women may be very poor and in very great sorrow, nay, on the verge of actual starvation, and yet be so circumstanced as to be unable to enroll themselves in the Colonial ranks. To these our cheap Food Depots, our Advice Bureau, Labor Shops and other agencies will prove an unspeakable boon, and will be likely by such temporary assistance to help them out of the deep gulf in which they are struggling. Those who need permanent assistance will be passed on to the City Colony, and taken directly under our control. Here they will be employed as before described. Many will be sent off to friends work will be found for others in the ■.'r« ■ -\ fl !li ■it, t i m m PAKKEST BNGLAKD City or elsewhere, while the great bulk, after reasonable testing as to their^ sincerity and willingness to assist in their own salvation, will be sent on to the Farm Colonies, where the same process of reformation and training will be continued, and unless employment is otherwise obtained they .vill then be passed on to the Over-Sea Colony. All in circumstances of destitution, vice, or criminality will receive casual assistance or be taken into the Colony, on the sole conditions of their being anxious for delivci- ance, and willing to work for it, and to conform to dis- cipline, altogether irrespective of character, ability, reli- gious opinions, or anything else. No benefit will be conferred upon any individual except under extraordinary circumstances, without some return being made in labor. Even where relatives and friends supply money to the Colonists, the latter must take their share of work with their cumrades. We shall not have room for a single idler throughout all our borders. The labor allotted to each individual will be chosen in view of his past employment or ability. Those who have anv knowledge of agricul.are will naturally be put to work on the land ; the shoemaker will make shoes, the weaver cloth, and soon. And when there is no knowl- edge of any handicraft, the aptitude of the individual and the necessities of the hour will suggest the sort of work ii would be ip-ost profitable for such an one to learn. Work of all descriptions will be executed as far as possible by hand labor. The presen*^ rage for machinery has tended to produce much destitution by supplanting hand labor so exclusively that the rush has been from the human to the macliine. We want, as far as is practicable, to travel back froni the machine to the human. Each member of the colony would receive food, clothing, lodging, medicine and all necessary care in case of sickness. ■ ■fit ANfi tttfi WAY cut No wages would be paid, except a trifle by way of encouragement for good behavior and industry, or to those occupying positions of trust, part of which will be saved in view of exigencies in our Colonial Bank, and the remainder used for pocket money. The whole Scheme of the three Colonies will for all prac- tical purposes be regarded as one ; hence the training will have in view the qualification of the Colonists for ultimately earning their livelihood in the world altogether independently of our assistance, or, failing this, fit them for taking some permanent work within our borders either at home or abroad. Another result of this unity of the Town and Country Colonic will be the removal of one of the difficulties ever connected with the disposal of the products of unemployed labor. The food from the Farm would be consumed by the City, while many of the things manufactured in the City would be consumed on the Farm. The continued effort of all concerned in the reformation of these people will be to inspire and cultivate those habits, the want of which has been so largely the cause of the destitution and vice of the past. Strict discipline, involving careful and continuous over- sight, would be necessary to the maintenance of order amongst so large a num' or of people, many of whom had hitherto lived a wild and licentious life. Our chief reliance in this respect would be upon the spirit of mutual interest that would prevail. The entire Colony would probably be divided into sec- tions, each under the supervision of a sergeant — one of themselves — working side by side with them, yet respon- sible for the behavior of all. The chief officers r.i the Colony would be individuals who had given themselves to tl\e work, not for a liveli- hood, but from a desire to be useful to the suffei ing poor. ^1 .1^ ^ tK DARKEST l^NdLAKS m ,4v ■ ?i^' 3^^ They would be selected at the outset from the Army, and that on the ground of their possessing certain capabilities for the position, such as knowledge of the particular kind of work they had to superintend, or their being good dis- ciplinarians and having the faculty for controlling men and being themselves influen( .;d by a spirit of love. Ultimately the Officers, we have no doubt, would be, as is the case in all our other operations, men and women raised up from the Colonists themselves, and who will consequently possess some special qualifications for dealing with those they have to su^/erintend. The Colonists will be divided into two classes : the ist, the class which receives no wages will consist of : (a) The new arrivals, whose ability, character and habits are as yet unknown. (/») The less capable in strength, mental calibre, or other capacity. (r) The indolent, and those whose conduct and character appeared doubtful. These would remain in this class, until sufficiently improved for advancement, or are pronounced so hopeless as to jusitfy expulsion. The 2nd class would have a small extra allowance, a part of which would be given to the workers for private use, and a part reserved for future contingencies, the pay- ment ol traveling expenses, etc.. From this class we should obtain our petty officers, send out hired laborers, emigrants, etc., etc. Such is the Scheme as I have conceived it. Intelligently applied, and resolutely persevered in, I cannot doubt that it will produce a great and salutary change in the condi- tion of many of the moiK hopeless of our fellow country- men. Nor is it only onr fellow countrymen to whom it is capable of auDlication. In its salient ffr «tures, with such alterations as are n»icessj::y, owing to differences of climate and of r*«*». «* •• capable of adoption in every city ■I m ■'.■\ ly lat ii- lit -e; is ^^ .■-.;i'fe' AND THE WAY OUT 8S9 in the world, for it Is an attempt to restore to the masses of humanity that are crowded together in cities, the human and natural elements of life which they possessed when they lived in the smaller unit of the village or the market town. Of the extent of the need there can be no question. It is, perhaps, greatest in London, where the masses of popu- lation are denser than those of any other city ; but it exists equally in the chief centres of population in the new Englands that have sprung up beyond the sea, as well as in the larger cities of Europe. It is a remarkable fact that up to the present moment the most eager welcome that has been extended to this Scheme reaches us from Melbourne, where our officers have been compelled to begin operations by the pressure of public opinion and in compliance with the urgent entreaties of the Government on one side and the leaders of the working rla^^ses on the other, before the plan had been elaborated, or instructions could be sent out for their guidance. It is rather strange to hear of distress reachinjr starva- tion point in a city like Melbourne, the capital of a great new country which teems with natural wealth of every kind. But Melbourne, too, has its unemployed, and in no city in the Empire have we been more successful in dealing with the social problem than in the capital of Victoria. The Australian papers for some weeks back have been filled with reports of the dealings of the Salva- tion Army with the unemployed of Melbourne. This was before the great Strike. The Government of Victoria practically threw upon our officers the task of dealing with the unemployed. The subject was debated in the House of Assembly, and at the close of the debate a subscription was taken up by one of those who had been our most strenuous opponents, and a sum of ;^4oo was handed •ver t« •ur ofteers l!« tlispsnso ia keeping the starving fr#H p«rishin{. Our people hftve feuftd situations for no ■'•y >.^ Ev- «i 940 IN DARKEST ENGLAND fewer than 1,776 persons, and are dispensing meals at the rate of 700 a day. The Government of Victoria has long been taking the lead in recognizing the secular uses of the Salvation Army. The following letter addressed by the Minister of the Interior to the Officer charged with the oversight of this part of our operations, indicates the estimation in which we are held : i Si i 1 i T. • Ik ii- '. !■ ' "-■..Til '\\ ■: -1, ■'t "t ' f /i * ^ &;^. Government of Victoria, Chief Secretary's Office, Melbourne. July 4th, i88g. Superintendent Salvation Army Rescue Work. Sir: — In compliance with your request for a letter of introduction which may be of use to you in England, I have much pleasure in stating from reports furnished by Officers of my Department, I am convinced that the work you have been engaged on during the past six years has been of material advantage to the community. You have rescued from crime some who, but for the counsel and assistance rendered them, might have been a permanent tax upon the State, and you have restrained from further criminal courses others who had already suffered legal punishment for their misdeeds. It has given me pleasure to obtain from the Executive Council, authority for you to apprehend children found in Brothels, and to take charge of such children after lormal committal Of the great value of this branch of your work there can be no question. It is evident that the attendance of yourself and your Officers at the police-courts and lock-ups has been attended with beneficial results, and your 'nvitation to our largest jails has been highly approved by the head of the Depart- ment Generally speaking, I may say that your policy and procedure have been commended by the Chief Officers of the Government of this Colony, who have observed your work. I have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient Servant, (SipMrf) Alfrxp Dsakin. ^# •,'f^ ^'M. '•% ■S" ■'■ AND THE WAY OUT 841 f (' The Victorian Parliament has voted an annual grant to our funds, not as a religious endowment, but in recogni- tion of the service which we render in the reclamation of criminals, and what may be called, if I may use a word which has been so depraved by Continental abuse, the moral police of the city. Our Officer in Melbourne has an official position which opens to him almost every State institution and all the haunts of vice where it may be necessary for him to make his way in the search for girls that have been decoyed from home or who have fallen into evil courses. It is in Victoria also that a system prevails of handing over first offenders to the care of the Salvation Army Officers, placing them in recognizance to come up when called for. An Officer of the Army attends at every Police Court, and the Prison Brigade is always on guard at the jail doors when the prisoners are discharged. Our Officers also have free access to the prisons, where they can conduct services and labor with the inmates for their salvation. As Victoria is probably the most democratic of our colonies, and the one in which the working-class has supreme control, the extent to which it has by its government recognized the value of our operations is sufficient to indicate that we have nothing to fear from the opposition of the democracy. In the neighboring colony of New South Wales a lady has already given us a fa;m of three hundred ac s fully stocked, on which to begin operations with a Farm Colony, and there seems some prospect that the Scheme will get itself into active shape at the other end of the world before it is set agoing in London. The eager welcome which has thus forced the initiative upon our Officers in Melbourne tends to encour- age the expectation that the Scheme will be regarded as no quaek applioation, but will be generally taken up and quickly set in opereticn all round the world. 1, i''- f'i* ..r m DARKEST ENGLAND CHAPTER Vm, A Practical Conclusion. ■1! f in ' 1 ■ ii I Throughout this book I have more constantly used th«3 first personal pronoun than ever before in anything I have written. I have done this deliberately, not from egotism, but in order to make it more clearly manifest that here is a definite proposal made by an individual who is prepared, if the means are furnished him, to carry it out. At the same time I want it to be clearly understood that it is not my own strength, nor at my own charge, that I propose to embark upon this great undertaking. Unless God wills that I should work out the idea whi' li I believe He has given me the conception, nothing can come of any attempt at its execution but confusion, disaster and disappointment. But if it be His will — and whether it is or not, visible and manifest tokens will so a be forth- coming — who is there that can stand against it? Trusting in Him for guidance, encouragement and support, I pro- pose at once to enter upon this formidable campaign. I do not run without being called. I do not press for- ward to fill this breach without being urgently pushed from behind. Whether or not, I am called of God, as well as by the agonizing cries of suffering men and women and children, He will make plain to me, and to us all ; for as Gideon looked for a sign before he, at the bidding of the heavenly messenger, undertook the leading of the chosen people against the hosts of Midian, even so do I look for a sign. Gideon's sign was arbitrary. He selected it. He dictated his own terms ; and out of compassion for his halting faith, a sign was given unto him, and that twice over. First his fleece was dry when all the country round was drenched with dew; and, secondly, his fleece ■ -.'si ■^S. AND THE WAY OUT 348 ■ & ■ mi' was drenched with dew when all the country round was dry. The sign for which I ask to embolden me to go forward is single, not double. It is necessary and not arbitrary, and it is one which the veriest sceptic or the most cynical materialist will recognize as sufficient. If I am to work out the Scheme I have outlined in this book, I must have ample means for doing so. How much would be required to establish this Plan of Campaign in all its fullness, overshadowing all the land with its branches laden with all manner of pleasant fruit, I cannot c/en venture to form a conception. But I have a definite idea as to how much would be required to set it fairly in operation. Why do I talk about commencing? We have already begun, and that with considerable effect. Our hand has been forced by circumstances. The mere rumor of our undertaking reaching the Antipodes, as before described, called forth such a demonstration of approval that my Officers there were compelled to begin action without waiting orders from home. In this country we have been working on the verge of the deadly morass for some years gone by, and not without marvelous effect. We have our Shelters, our Labor Bureau, our factory, our Inquiry Officers, our Rescue Homes, our Slum Sisters, and other kindred agencies, all in good going order. The sphere of these operations may be a limited one ; still, what we have done already is ample proof that when I propose to do rn ich more I am not speaking without my book ; and .houg'i the sign I ask for may not be given, I shall go f'truggling forward on the same lines; still, to seriously tike in hand the work which I have sketched out — to estab- lish this triple Colony, with all its affiliated agencies, I must have, at least, a hundred thousand pounds. A hundred thousand pounds ! That is the dew on my fteece. It is not much considering the money that is raise4 -'-'r- ■I «.*^ 844 IN DARKEST ENGLAND ^ ■ I^Hf^ M.# i^-, by my poor people for the'wofk of the Salvation Army. The proceeds of the Self-denial Week alone last year brought us in ^^20,000. This year it will not fall short of ^25,000. If our poor people can do so much out of their poverty, I do not think I am making an extravagant demand whc-n I ask that out of the millions of the wealth of the world I raise, as a first instalment, a hundred thousand pounds, and say that I cannot consider myself effectually called to undertake this work unless it is forth- coming. It is in no spirit of dictation or arrogance that I ask the sign. It is a necessity. Even Mnses could not have taken the Children of Israel dry-shod through the Red Sea unless the waves had divided. That was the sign which marked out his duty, aided his faith and determined his action. The sign which x seek is somewhat similar. Money is not everything. It is not by any means the main thing. Midas, with all his millions, could no more do the work than he could win the battle of Waterloo, or hold the Pass of Thermopylae. But the millions of Midas are capable of accomplishing great and mighty things, if they be sent about doing good under the direction of Divine wisdom and Christ-like love. How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the Kingdom of heaven ! It is easier to make a hundred poor men sacrifice their lives than it is to induce one rich man to sacrifice his fortune, or even a portion of it, to a cause in which, in his half-hearted fashion, he seems to believe. When I look over the roll of men and woiiien who have given up friends, parents, home prospects and everything they possess in order to walk bare-footed beneath a burn- ing sun in distant India, to live on a handful of rice, and die in the midst of the dark heathen for God and the Salvation Army, I semetimes marv«l how it is that they should be so eagcf to ^ivc up all, ev«n lif« itself, in 9 m ■f. frK AND THE WAY OUT JHB w cause which has not power enough in it to induce any reasonable number of wealthy men to g've to it the mere superfluities and luxuries of their existence. From those to whom much is given much is expected ; but, alas, alas, how little is realized! It is still the widow who casts her all into the Lord's treasury — the wealthy deem it a preposterous suggestion when we allude to the Lord's » , tithe, and count it boredom when we ask only for the crumbs that fall from their tables. Those who have followed me thus far will decide for themselves to what extent they ought to help me to carry out this Project, or whether they ought to help me at all. I do not think that any sectarian differences or religious feelings whatever ought to be imported into this question. Supposing you do not like my Salvation ism, surely it is better for these miserable, wretched crowds to b.ave food to eat, clothes to wear, and a home in which to lay their weary bones after their days toil is done, even though the change is accompanied by some peculiar religious notions and practices, than it would be for them to be* hungry, and naked, and homeless, and possess .10 religion at all. It must be infinitely preferable that they should speak the truth, and be virtuous, industrious and con- tented, even if they do pray to God, sing Psalms, and go about with red jerseys, fanatically, as you call it, "seeking for the millennium" — than that they should remain thieves 4 or harlots, with no belief in God at all, a burden to the Municipality, a curse to Society, and a danger to the State. That you do not like the Salvation Army, I venture to say, IS no justification for withholding your sympathy and practical co-operation in carrying out a Scheme which promises so much blessedness to your fellow- men. You may not like our gsvsrBnAnt, our methods, our faith. Your feeling towards us might perhaps be duly described ■f'-':-?"" 8M IN DARKEST ENGLAND m p by an observation that slipped unwittingly from the tongue of a somewhat celebrated leader in the evangelistic world some time ago, who, when asked what he thought of the Salvation Army, replied that "He did not like it at all, but he believed that God Almighty did.' Perhaps, as an agency, we may not be exactly of your way of tliinking, but that is hardly the question. Look at that dark ocean, full of human wrecks, writhing in anguish and despair. How to rescue those unfortunates is the question The particular character of the methods employed, the peculiar uniforms worn by the life-boat crew, the noises made by the rocket apparatus, and the mingled shoutings of the rescued and the rescuers, may all be contrary to your taste and traditions. But all these objections and antipathies, I submit, are as nothing compared with the delivering of the people out of that dark sea. If among my readers there be any whc have the least conception that this scheme is put forward by me from any interested motives, by all means let them refuse to contribute even by a single penny to what would be, at least, one of the most shameless of shams. There may be those who are able to imagine that men who have been literally martyred in this cause have faced their death for the sake of the paltry coppers they collected to keep body and soul together. Such may possibly find no difficulty in persuading themselves that this is but another attempt to raise money to augment that mythical fortune which I, who never yet drew a penny beyond mere out-of-pocket expenses from the Salvation Army funds, am supposed to be accumulating. From all such I ask only the tribute of their abuse, assured that the worst they say of me is too mild to describe the infamy of my conduct if they are correct in this interpretation of my motives. There appears to me to be only two reasons that will justify any man, with a heart in his bosom, in refusing to 'if ■:^ ., 1 AND THE WAY OUt I4t Co-operate with me in this Scheme ; /. JVia/ he should have an honest and inteliifj^ent eonviction that it cannot be carried out with any reasonablt measure of success; or 2. That he {^the objector') is prepared with some other plan which will as effectually accomplish the end it contemfranches. It is probable that some of my readers may not be able to endorse the plan as a whole, while heartily approving of some of its features ; and to the support of what they do not heartily approve they may not be willing to sub- scribe. Where this is so, we shall be glad for them to assist us in carrying out these portions of the undertaking which more especially command their sympathy and com- mend themselves to their judgment. For instance, one man may believe in the Over-Sea Colony, but feel no interest in the inebriate's home ; another, who may not care for emigration, may desire to furnish a Factory or a i'>*; ••:■>: M Mi- ^S- m IK DARKEST £NGLAKi> 'H ^^ 1 I- ■y. ■ ■«?.' Rciscue Home; a third may wish to give us an estate, * assJFt in the food and Shelter work, or the extension of the Slum brigade. Now, atthoue^h I regard the Scheme as one and indivisible — from which you cannot take away any portion without impairing the prospect of the whole — it is quite practicable to administer the money subscribed so that the wishes of each donor may be carried out. Sub- scriptions wiay therefore, be sent in for the General Fund of the social Scheme, or they can be devoted to any of the following distinct funds : 1. The City Colony. 2. Thn Farm Colony. 3. The Over-Sea Colony. 4. The Plousehold Salvage lirigaJe. 5. The Rescue Homes for Fallen Women. 6. the Deliverance for Drunkard. The Prison Gate Bri- gade. The Poor Man's Bank. The Poor Man's Lawyer 10. Whitechapel-by- t h e Sea. a. 9- Or any other department suggested by the fore- going. In making this appeal I have, so far, addressed myself chiefly to those who have money ; but money, indispen- sable as it is, has never been the thing most needful. Money is the sinews of war ; and, as society is at present constituted, neither carnal nor spiritual wars can be carried on without money. But there is something more necessary still. War cannot be waged without solaiers. A Wellington can do far more in a campaign than a Rothschild. More than money — a long, long way — I want men ; and when 1 say men, I mean women also — men of experience, men of brains, men of heart, and men of God. In this great expedition, thou»jh I am starting for territory which is familiar enough, I am, in a certain il ,;-. *-*wr.-'-,,v,, 1. , \i AND THE WAY OUT 851 111' a^f- sense, entering an unknown land. My people will be new at it. We have trained our soldiers to the saving of souls, we have taught them knee-drill, we have in- structed them in the art and mystery of dealing with the consciences and hearts of men ; and that will ever continue the main business of their lives. To save the soul, to regenerate the life, and to inspire the spirit with the undying love of Christ is the v.ork to which all other duties must ever be strictly subordinate in the soldiers of the Salvation Army. But the new sphere on which we are entering will call for faculties other than those which have hitherto been cultivated, and (or knowl- edge of a different character ; and those who .iave these gifts, and who are possessed of this practical information, will be sorely needed. Already our world-wide Salvation work engrosses the energies of every Officer v/hom we command With its extension we have the greatest difficulty to keep pace; and, when this Scheme has to be practically grappled with, we shall be in greater straits than ever. True, it will find employment for a multitude of energies and talents which are now lying dormruit but, nevertheless, this extension will tax our resource . to the very utmost In view of this, reinforcements will be indispensable. We shall need the best brains, the largest experience, and the most undaun- ted energy of the community. I want Recruits, but I caniu^t soften the conditions in order to attract men to the Colors. I want no comrades on these terms, but those who know our rules and are prepared to submit to our discipline ; who are one with us on the great principles which determine our action, and whose hearts are in this great work for the ameliora- tion of the hard lot of the lapsed and lost. These I will welcome to the service. It may be that you cannot deliver an open-air address, m- u -ty m IN DARKEST ENGLAND Mi^ f w^ III', or conduct an indoor meeting. Publiclabor for souls has hitherto been outside your practice. In the Lord's vine- yard, however, are many laborers, and all are not needed to do the same thing. If you have a practical acquaintance with any of the varied operations of which I have spoken in this book ; if you are familiar with agriculture, under- stand the building trade, or have a practical knowledge of almost any form of manufacture, there is a place for you. We cannot offer you great pay, social position, or any glitter and tinsel of man's glory ; in fact, we can promise little more than rations, plenty of hard work, and probably no little of worldly scorn ; but if on the whole you believe you can in no other way help your Lord so well and bless humanity so much, you will brave the opposition of friends, abandon earthly prospects, trample pride under foot, and come out and follow Him />/ //us Nno Crusade. To you who believe in the remedy here proposed, and the soundness of these plans, and have the ability to assist me, 1 now confidently appeal for practical evidence of the faith that is in you. The responsibility is no longer mine alone. It is yours as much as mine. It is yours ev(»n moi"; than mine if you withhold the means by which I may carry out the Scheme. I give what I have. If you give what you have the work will be done. If it is not done, and the dark river of wretchedness rolls on, as wide and deep as ever, the consequences will lie at the door of him who holds back. I am only one mnn -mong mv fellows, the same as you. The obligation to care for these lost and perishing multi- tudes does not rest on me any more than it does on you. To me has been given the idea, but to you the means by which it may be realized. The Plan has now been pub- lished to the world ; it is for you to say whether it is to remain barren, or whether it is to bear fruit in unnumbored blessings to all the children of men. -'M' IKK' APPENDIX .■« f k f-y-lT'' I t APPENDIX. T. The Salvation Army— A Sketch— The position of the Forces, October, 189a 3, Circular. ReRistrntiun Forms, and Notices o'-w issued by the Labor Bureaa 3. Count Ruinfurd'ii Bavarian Experience. 4. The Co-opt-raiive Experiinnnt at Kalahine. 5. Mr. Carlyle on the Kegiincntatiou of ihe Oat-of-Works. i, '• ChriMtianity and Civilimium," by the Re*. Dr. Barry. \ .. \ . . > I . • I > iV Sjtj ..41 4V APPENDIX. THE SALVATION ARMY. THE POSITION OF OUR FORCES OCTOBKR, 1890. THE SUPPLY (TRADE") DEPART. MKNT At Home. Abroad. niiildinRf) occupied. . . « 2a Otticcrs 53 15 Kinployoi «>7 55 S* "o Total . afo 70 The United KinKdom. 1373 France ) ^. Switzerland f '"° Sweden . 103 United States 363 Canada 317 Australia — Victor ". South Australia. .. New South Wales Tasmania Queensland New Zealand 63 India I o. Ceylon J '^ Holland 40 Denmark 33 Norway 45 Germany . 16 BelRium 4 Finland , 3 The Arnentine Republic 9 South Africa and St. Helena sa ToUl abroad 1499 Oread tolal 9B74 a O 79 41 57 78 970 465 90.1 99 186 5« 419 8 1 '}« 87 133 75 31 — 13 — »5 13 i6a «96 4910 8g6 94>6 THE PROPERTY DEPARTMENT. P50PKKTV NOW VKSTKO IN THE AKMY. The United KinKdniii ... . £3/7, yio Fr.inre and Switzerland .. lo.ouo Sweden i3,S9ti Norway 11,676 The United States 6,601 Can.-idn 98,738 Australia 86,251 New Zealand 14.798 India 5,537 Holland y.ilA Denmark . . >>340 South Africa 10,401 Total £;'■ f-- Total annual circulation of theabovo J3,4c»,0(o Total annual circulation of other publications 4,000,000 Total annual circulation of Army literature 37,400,100 The United Kingdom- "Tho War Cry" 300,oo«i weekly. "Tho Young Soldier" 126.750 "All the World" 50,000 monthly. "The Deliverer" 48,000 " GliNEKAL STATEMENTS AND STATISTICS. Training Garrisons for Ofliccrs (United Kingdom) 38 " " (Abroad) ..a8 LarRff vans for Ev.inReli/ini; the village (known as Cavalry forts) 7 Homes of rest for Officers 24 ludoor Meetings, held weekly Open-air Meetings held weckly(chiefly in England and colonies) Total Meetings held weekly. Accom- nodation. Annua! cost. 400 760 jC'I.soo 240 38.351 21,467 10,000 49,818 Number of Houses v-sited weekly (Great Britain only< S4.ooo Number of Countries and Colonies occupied 34 Number of Languages in which Literature is issueil 15 Number of Languages in which Salvation is preached by the Officers 39 Number of Local (f^on-Commissioned Officers) and Bandsmen 23,069 Number of Scribes and Office Employees 471 Sum raised annually frciu all sources by the Army £750,000 Average weekly reception of telegrams, 600, and letters 5,400, at the London head- quarters. Halancr Shekts, duly audited by chartet'etd their takinK any active part in Christin work. Persons are nnrolled either a» SubscribinR of CollectinR Aiixilarics. The League comprises persons of influence and position, members of nearly all dcQominatioos and many ministers. PAMPHLETS. Auxiliaries will always be supplied gratis with copies of our Annual Report and Balance Sheets and other pamphlets for distribution on application to Hoadquarter» Some of our Auxiliaries have materially helped us in this way by disiributint; our literatuit! at the seaside and elsewhere, and by niaking arrangements for the regular supply of waiting rooms, hydropathics and hotels, thus helping to dispel the prejudice under which m.ir.y persons unacquainted with the Army are found to labor. "All The World" is posted free regularly each month to Auxiliaries. For further information, and for full particulars of the work of the Salvation Army, apply personally or by letter to GKNERAL BOOTH, or to the Finmr.ial Sec- retary at International Headquarters, loi Queen VHctoria St.. London, E. C. to whom also contributions should be sent. Checks and Postal Orders crossed "City Bank." M .■» I THE SALVATION ARMY: A SKETCH. BY AN OFFICFR OF SEVKNTEEN YEARs' STANDING IVha/ is the Salvation Army? ■.:f< ! .!■ It is an OrKanization existing to effect a radical revolution in the spiritual condition of ibc ti.ormous majority of thu pcoplp of all lands. Its aim Is to produce a chanKu not only in the opinions, fceliiiKs and principles of these vast populations, bnt to alt«r the whole course of their livt's, so that instead of spending their time in frivolity and pleaburc-seckinK, if not in t!ie Rrosscsi forms of vice, they shall spt:nd it in the service of their generation and in the worship of God. So far it h.ia ir.iinly operated in pro- fesspdly Christian cf)untries, where the overwhelming majority of the people have ceased, publicly, al any rate, to worship Jesus Chiist, or to submit themselves in any way to His authority. To what extent has the Army suceeded? Its flag is now Hying in 34 countries or colonies, where, under the leadership of nearly io,(X)0 men and woai<;n, whoso lives aie entirely given up to the work, it is hold- ing sonje 40,800 religi.ius meetings every week, attended by millions of persons, who ten years ago would have laughed at the idea of praying. And these operations are but the means for fin ther extension, as will be seen, especially when it is remembered that the Army has its 27 wenkly ncwspa[)ers, of which no less than 31,000,000 copies are sold in the streets, publir-houses, and popular resorts of the godless majority. From its ranks, it is therefore certain that an ever-increasing multitude of men and women must eventually be won. That all this has noi amounted to the creation of a mere passing gust of feeling, may best be demonstrated perhaps from the fact that the Army has accumulatr>d no less than £775,000 worth of property, pays rentals amounting to £aao,ooo per ar .ura f.^r its meeting places, and has a total iocouc from all sources of ttireeM]uarters of a million per annum. Now consider from whence all this has sprung. It is only twenty-live years since the author of this volume stood absolutely alone in the East of London, to endeavor to Christianize its irreligious multitudes, without the remotest conception in bis own mind of the possibility of any such Organisation being created. Consider, moreover, through what opposition the Salvation Army has ever bad to make its way. |i» '!*ii\- ^ APPENDIX IM etch rmintnr it has to fte* ■■Iverttl prejtidie«.i1UtniM,Mi(l AOfltftrnpt^anr) ( stronger antipathy still. Tklit oppoalUon has Kftaerally (oaaH aspreation ia ayttamatic, Governtaental, and Fotica reatriclion. fnllowad in too many raaes hy impriaonmeat, and hy the condemnatory outpourings of Bi-^hopa, Clariry, PrPaimiAn and othera, naturally followed in ton many instanre» by the oatha and cnrans, the blows and insults of tho populace. Through all thia, in country After country, the Army uialcca its way to the position of universal respect, that respect, at any rate, which is shown to thosa who have conquer^-d. And of what material h.is this conquortng iiOBi been made? Wherever the Army goes it gathers into its meetings, in the first instance, a crowd of the most debased, brutal, blasphemous elements that can bo found who, if permitted, interrupt the services, and if they see iho slightest sign of police tolorance for their mlNConduct, frequently fall upon the Army officers or their property with violence. Yet a couple of officers face such an audience with the absolute certainty of recruitinff out of It ail Army Corps. Many thousands of those who are now moht prominent in the ranks of the Army never knew what it was to pray before they attended its services; and large numbers of them had settled into a profound conviction that everything con- nected with religion was utterly false. It is out of such material that God has cod- Blructed what is admitted to be one of the most fervid bodies of believers ever seen on the face of the earth. Many persons in looking at the progress of the Army have shown a strange want of discernment in talking and writing ns though all this had been done in a most haphaa- ard fashion, or as thotigh an individii.'l could by the nieio ettort of his will produce such changes in the lives of others as he chose. TI>q slightest reflccticjii will be suffic- ient wo aic sure to convince any impartial individual th.it the gigantir results attained by the Salvation Army could only be reached by steady unaltering processes adapted to this end. And what are the processes by which this great Army has been made.' 1. The foundation of all the Army's surcoss, looked at apart from its ilivine source of strength, is its continued direct attack upon those ^vhom it seeks to bring under the iaflucnce of the Gospel The Salvation Army Officer, instead of standing upon some dignified pedestal, to describe (he fallen condition of his fellow men, in the hojie that though far from him, they may thus, by some mysterious pii>cess, rome to a better life, goes down into tho street, and from door to dooi, and from room to room, lays hit hands on those who are spiritually sick, and leads thcni to the Almighty Healer. In its forms of speech and writing the Arr.iy constantly exhibits the same characteristic. Instead of propounding religious theories or pretending to teach a system of theology, it speaks much after the fashion of the old Prophet or Apostle, to each individual, about his or her sin and duty, thus bringing to bear vipon each heart and roniscience the light and power from heaven, by which alone the world can b«! transformed. 2. And step by step, along with this human contact goes unmistakably something that is not human. The puz/lement and self-contradiction of most critics of the Army springs undoub- tedly from the fact that they are bound to account for its success without admitting that any superhuman power attends its ministry, yet day after day, and night after night, the wonderful facts go on multiplying. The man who last night was drunk in a London slum, is to-night standing up for ^"hrist on an Army platform. The clever sceptir, who a few weeks ago was interrupting the speakers in Berlin, and pouring contempt upon their claims to a personal knowledge of the unseen Saviour, is to-day as thorough a believer as any of them. The poor girl, lost to shame and hope, who a month ago was an outcast of Paris, is to-day a modest devoted follower of Christ, working in a humble situation. To those who admit we are right in saying "this is tha ~ ard's doing," all is simple enough, and our certainty that the dregs of Society caq ftacomc its oraamanu reqoiras aa fortbar sspIsjMtioo. ^ ;. ..-..Ja-.,' vi afpehdix ^ m ^\ 3. All th«M ■e4«M miraelM w«Qld, however, have been comparatWely uselets bat for the Army's •yetMi of otilisiac the gifta and fmetgf ot our converts m the utter- moat. Suppoue that without any claim to Divine pow>:r tlut Army bad succeeded in raisioR up tens of thousands of persons, formerly unknown and unscon in the com- munity, and made then into Singers, Speakers, Musicians and Urderlins, thiit would ■urcly in iuelf have been a remarliable fact. But not ouly have these uiiKUttcd in var- iona labors for the benefit of the community. They have been fillc:d with a burning ambition to attain the highest potiiibln degree of usefulness. No one can wondur (hat we expect to sco tho same process carried on successfully amongst our new friends of the Casual Ward and (he Slum. And if the Army has been able (o ai rumplish all tlliH utiliiation of human talents for (ho highest purposes, in spite of an almost universally prevailing contrary practice amongst the Churches, what may not its Social Wing be expected to do, with the example of the Army before it? 4, The maintenance of al! this system has, of course, been largely due to the onqualiticd acceptance of military government and discipline. But for this, we can- not be blind to tho fact that even in our own r.inks difficulties would every day arise as to tho exaltation to front Bea(s of those who were formerly pcrsi'cutorH and injurious. The old feeling which would have kept Paul suspected, in the background, after his conversion is, unfortunately, n part of (he conservative groundwork of hun.au nature that continues to exist everywhere, and which has to be overcome by rigid discipline In order to secure that everywhere and always, (he new convert should be made the most of for Christ. Dnt Army system is a great indisputable fact, so nuich so that our enemies soine(ime9 reproach us wi(b it That it should be possible to create an Army Orgauization. and to secure faithful execution of duty daily, isiudeed a wonder, but a wonder Bccomplisbcd, just as completely amongst tho Republicans of America and France, as amongst (he mili(arily (ruined Gemiaus, or tho subjects of the British monarchy It is notorious that we can send an officer from London, posiicascd of 00 extraordinary ability, (o take command of any corps in the w I, with a certainty that he will find soldiers eager to do his bidding, and without a ought of disputing his commands so long us he coatioues faithful to the orders and regulations under which bis men are enlisted. 3. But those show a curious ignorance who set down our successes (o this disci- pline, as though it were something of the prison order, although enforced without any o! the power lying either behind the prison warder or the Catholic priest. On the conit'?ry. wherever (he disciplino of the Army has been eudangered, and its regular success for a time interrupted, it has been through an attempt to enforce it without enough of that joyous, cheerful spirit of love which is its main spring. Nobody can become acquainted with our soldiers in any land, without being almost immediately struck with their extraordinary gladness, and this joy is in itself one of the most infec- tious and influential elements of the Army's success. But if this be so, amid the com- paratively '!ll-tr>-do, judge of what its results are likely *.o be amongst the poorest and most wretched I To those who have never known bright days, the mere sight of a happy face is, as it were, a revelation and inspiration in one. 6. But the Army's success does not come v. ith magical rapidity; it depends, like that of all real work, upon infinite perseverance. To say nothing of the perseverance of the officer who has made the saving of men bis life work, and who, occupied and absorbed with this great pursuit, may naturally enough be expected to remain faithful, there are multitudes of our Soldiers who, after a hard day's toil for their daily bread, have but a few hours of leisure, but devote it ungrudgingly to the service of the War. Again and again, when the remains of some Soldier are laid to rest, amid the almost universal respect of a town, which once knew him only as an evil-doer, we hear it 9-«i-l that this man, since the date of bis conversion, ttom five to tea yean efo, km aeldeai heea abeeM tnm Ue poet, and never without ■Mi- s. I APPBimiX lood ratMtn for it His Huty amy have h<><-n com|MuraUv«ly inttKaifieuit, 'only a door-keeper, only a It^mr C>/MUer,"yet San^lay after Soaday, evetiinK after evcninc, he would be preaent, no matter who the rnnrinanclinK officer tninht be, to do his part, bt'aiinK with tlie un^ ly, breathing hope into the diitrcM«d, and abowing uowavertng faithfnlnesa to all. The continuance of theae piocesseit of mercy dependa largely apon leaderahlp. and the creation and maintenance of (his leadership li >s been >ne of ttjc marvels of thu Movement. We have men to-dny looked up to and reverencrd over wide areaa of country, arousing multitudes to the uioHt devoted service, who a few years ago wero champions of iniquity, notorious in nearly cvrry form of vice, and some of thr'i rin|f leaders in violent opposition to the Army. We have a right to believe that on the same lim Ood is going i<< raise up just such leaders without measure and without end ii> ncath, behind and peivading all the successes of the Salvation Army la • force again»i which the world may sneer, but without wh'cb tho world s miseries can* not be removed, the force of that Divine love which iMeathcd on Calvary, and which God is able to communicate by His spirit to human hearts to-day. It >s pitiful to see intelligent men attempting to account, without the admisaion of this great fact, for the self aacriftco and >.(icces8 of Salvntion Officers and Soldiers. If those who wish to understand the Army would only take the trouble to aprnd aa much as twenty-four hours with its people, how dittfirent ii tlmost every instance would be the conclusions arrived at. Half-an iiour spent in > o rooms inhabited by many of our officers would be sufficient to convince, even a well-to-do working man, that life could not be lived happily in such circumstances without some superhuman power, which alike sustains and gladdens the soul, altogether independently of earthly surroundings. The Scheme that has bfien propounded in this volume would, we are quit*; satis- lied, have no chance of ouccess were it not fur the fact that we have such a vast sup* ply of men and wimian who, through the love of Christ ruling in their hearts, aie pre- pared to look upon a life of sell nacriliclng effort for the benefit of the vilest and rougnest as the highest of priv ik-^es, With such a force at coinu.and, we dare to say that the accomplishment of this stupendous undertaking is a foregone conclusion if the material assistance which the Army does not possess is forthcoming. ■\-r.' THE SALVATION ARMY SOCIAL REFORM WING, Temporary Headquarters, 36 Upper Thames Strekt, London, E.G. Objects.— The brinsing together of employers and workers for their mutual ad- vantage. Making known the wants of each to each by providing a ready method of communication. Plan or» Operation, —The opening of a Central Registry Office, which for the present will be located at the above address, and where registers will be kept /rtf if charge wherein the wants of both employers and workers will be recorded, the registers being o\. n for consultation by all interested. Public Waitiu); Rooms (for male and female), to which the unemployed may come for thf porpose of scanning the newspapers, the insertion of advertiscmenta for em- ployment in all newspapeis at lowest rates. Wrting tables, &c., provided for their V *e to enable them to write applications for situations or work. The receiving of letters (replies to applications for employment; for unemployed workers. The Waiting Rooms will also act as Houses-of-Ca11, where employers can meet and enter into engagements with Workers of .ill kinds, by appointment or otherwiae, thus doing away with the snare that awaits many of the unemployed, who have 00 place to wait other than the Public House, which at present is alflUMt the l «y*!« l I17 nwant of advertiMraMiU, by 4«roolAr« aad direct appliMiticB to eaployoN. tiia kaue of Ubor aUUitict with iaformation at to tho number of uneoipiuyixi who ire aaxiout for worlc, the various traiifA and nccnpationa they represent, &i;., Ac. The oprninR of branches of the Labor Bureau as fast as funds and opportunities permit, fn all the larxe towns and centres of industry throuKhoui Great Uritain. In connection with tbu Labor Bureau we propose to deal with both okillcd an J un- skilled workers, amonRst the latter forminfc Huch aKencius as "Sandwich" lloard Men's Society, Shoe Black, Carpet Beating, White-washing, Window Cleaning. Wuud Chop- ping and other Brigades, all of which will, with many others, be put into operation as far as tho assistance of tho public (io the shape of applying for workers of all kinds) will afford us (ho opportunity A Domestic Servants' Agency will also be a branch of tho Bureau, and a Homo For Domestic Servants out of situation is aUo in contemplation. In this and other matters i'unds alone are required to commence opeiations. All communications, donations, etc., should be addressed as above, marked "Labor Bureau," etc. CENTRAL LABOR BUREAU. |V| \ iir". s H f ■ w LOCAL AOBNTS AND CORRESPONDBNTS' UEFARTMBNT. Dear Comrade — Tho enclosed letter, which has been sent to our Officers through- oat the Field, wil! eiplain the object wo have in view. Your name has been surk('^"^<1 to us as one whose heart is thoroughly in sympathy with any effort on behalf of poor suffering humanity Wu are anxious to have in connection with each of our Corps, and in cvrry locality throughout the Kingdom, some sympathetic, tevcl-headeil com- rade, acting as our Agent or local Correspondent, to whom wc could n-fcr at all times for reliable information, and who would take it as work of love to regularly rommu- nicate useful information respecting the social condition of things generally in their neighborhood. Kindly reply, giving >J your views and feelings on the subject as !>uon as possible, as we arc. anxious to organize at once. The first business on hand is for us to get information of those out of work and employers requiring workers, so that we can place them upon our registers, and make known the wants both of employers and employes. We shall bo glad of a communication from you, giving us some facta as to the condition of things in your locality, or any ideas or suggestions you would like to give, calculated to help us in connection with this good work. I may say that the Social Wing not only comprehends the labor question, but also prison rescue and other branches of Salvation work, dealing with broken-down humanity generally, so that yon can tee what a great blessing you may be to the work of God by co-operating with as. Believe me to be, Youra affectionately for the Suffering and Loel, etc. t; 'i^ ■"JS- 'i.--iti^, \y^ "•>;« I" .«; ' » »•* ■4<, J. LOCAL AfiBNtS AND COftJUIfiPONDBNTS' DBPARTMllMt. raOroAITIOII FOR LOCAI. AMMT, OOMMrOhOBNT, BT*. Mmm . AdilrCM ^; Occapation. If a Soldier, what Corps?. \k I' if?, * ■•A If not a Soldier, what Denomination?. Ifspol(entooa the aubjert, what reply have they made?. f'»;' 4 signed «. „.. Carps - »»« ..i80 . '■V*" Kindly retnm this as soon m possible, and we will tiiui pUcs owrselTSS ia coai- mnaicatioo witk tbs Cenntds you propose for this position. APt>El«DlX TO BM!»LOYERS OP LABeR. :'f !i We bcR to brinK to your notice the fact that the S<«i7aUon Armj hat op«n«d at the above address (In connection with the Social Reform Wing), a Labor B)ireau for the ReKisiration of thb wants of all classes of Labor, for both employer and employ^ in London and throughout the Kingdom, our object being to place in communication with aach other, for mutual advantage, those who want workers and those who want work. Arrangemcntn have be^n made at the above address for waiting rooms where em- ployers can see unemployed men and woiren, and where the latter may have accomoda- tion to write letters, see the advrrtiietnents iu the papers, &c,, &c. If you arc in want of wort-era of any kind, will you kindly fill up the enclosed form and return it to us? Wo will Ihen have the particulars entered up, and endeavor to have your wants supplied. Ail applications, I nc(>d hardly assure you, will have ouv beat attention, whether they refer to work of a permanent or tenifiorary character. We shall al»o be \i\in\, through the information office of Labor Department, to give jrou any further information as to plans, &c., or an Officer will wait upon you to receive instructions for the supply of workers, if requested. As no (.harge will l>u made for registration cf eilhnr (ho wants of employers or the wants of the unemployed, it will be obvious that a considerable outlay will bft neces> •ary to sustain ihcse operations in active usefulness, and that therefore financial help will be greatly needed. Wo shall gratefully receive donations, from (lie Hm.illc^t cc ;n up, to help to cover the cost of working thin department. Wti think it right to say that only in special cases shall we feel at liberty to give personal recommendations. This, however, will no doubt be understood, seeing that we shall have to deal with very large numbers who are total htrangeis to us. Pteate addreas all commuuicallona or douatioua ati above, marked "Central Labor Btueau," etc ■^4 ■;■■?; ' t , .t WB PROPOSE TO ENTER UPON A CRUSADE AGAINST " SWEATING." WILL YOU HELP US? i' i T, Dear !^ir:-»In connection with the Social Reform WinK a Central Labor 3nreaa has been opened, oot' department of which will deal especially with that claan of labor termed "unskilled," fiom amongst whoto are drawn Boakdmbn, MaaaiMatas, Bill DiaTRiatJToaa, CiacuLAa AoDaEaaiaa, WiNtmw C(.iANBaa, WKiTC-waaBBaa. Carpst huATtui, Ac, Ac. It is very important that work given to th:.ad workers and others net tnumerated, abould be taxed at little as possible by the Contractor, or those who act batwaan th« amployer and the worker. In all our operatioor in tioit capacity wt do not propoaa to make profit oat of tboaa wa tMSMf^l; payin* over the whole aaonat raeaived, Ima, say, oae-tuilf pawr/ la Um> aMIUaii, or aooM aacfa naall sna wkieh will go towards the eipetiM of pruvidiag boards, tor "aaadwicb" bo a r i lia« , tiM hira of barrows, pwoliMM of wtotmuy took. fta., fte. Wa ara wir aaikMta to balp that aaoat asady f^'js*, ilia "boardaaca," aHMf of are 'twantad" o«t af Ikair i ^4 ■Mfe hPTtrntk i WC APPKAL TO ALL WMO 8rMPATHI» WITH SVVmtNC nUUARtTT. tf^tt l Mf KeliKioim and Philanthropic individuals and Socielias, to aaaiat as ia our effortt, by placing orders for the supply of Doaidmea, Messenfcers, Bill-distributors, Window^ cleaners and other kinds of l»bor in our hands. Our charxn for " board men ' will bo it. 9tf., includinK boards, the placiuK and proper snpervisiou of the men, &c Tw« sliillinKs, at least will rc direct to the men; most of the hin r uf boarduien pay tliie« anrl Hume f^ven more, but often not more ihan one-half reaches the men. W? shall be glad to forward you further information of our plans, or will send e representative to further explain, or to take orders, on receivinf notice from you to thai etleci, BcUevt me to be, Yours faithfully. aU. •^i- CINTRAL LABOR BUREAU. ^ TMI liNBMPUJTID.— MALI AKD PSMAlA. NOTICE. ■■fh V Y A free registryi 'or >11 kinds of unemployed labor, has been opened at the abotl address. If you want work, call and make yourself and your wants known. Eni'^r your name and address and wants on the Registers, or fill up form below, mil hand it in at above address. Look over the advertiainK paxes of the papers provided. Tablen witb pens and ink are provided for you to write for situations. If you live at a distance, fill up this form KivinK all particuUrs, or rafereocM, and forward to Commissiooci Smith, care of the Labor Bureau. Name Addrei;, :m w Kind of week waatad, WafMye* • -^ ■ t: w^ Mm r di APf>BNtlX 'V V, I tf Naa«. A|e. During pail lo yeart have joa hud regular empioymenff ilow long for? What kind of work? What work can you do? What have yoii worked at at odd times? How uuich did you earn when reguluriy employed? How much did you earn when irregularly employed? Are you married? Is wife living? Howmaaycbildran, and ages? If you wjre put on a Farm lu work at anything yuu cunld do, and were nupplied with food, lodging ana clothea, with a view of gett^g you on you faot. woiM J9% 1 ! 1 a' A., Si \ HOW BEGGARY WAS ABOLISHED IN BAVARIA BY , . COUNT Rl'MFORD. Count Rumford was an American officer who served with considerable ditUoctioo in the Revolutionary War in that country, and afterwardit settled in Kngland. Front Ihencr he wenc to Ilavaria, where lie was promoted lo thr ch'iet roinniand of its anny, and also was enericetically cinpluyed in the Civil Goviiniiiint. iiavaiia at this time literally Nw..Iinod with heKKars. who were not only an eyesore nnd diitcredii tn the nation but a positive injnry to tfao State. The Count resolved npon the extinction of thiH uiiseiable profession, and the (ollowinK extracts froui his wiiiiuKS describe the method by which ht: accomplished it; - " Uavaria, by the nexloct of the Government, and the abuse of the kindness and charity of it: amltble people, had become infested with bcKKars, with whom minxlud vaicabonds itod thieves. Thoy were to the bojc poor, but they suflered li4um to fall into neiilect. BeRRary had become Rciiftral. - (FaRo 15.) " In short," sayt Count Kumfnrd, " ihusu detestable v(>rmin !>warme(*"'• proviilt'd at lirbt hy the Cuvcrnuiniit Inter by the coiuribiitioni uf ihu < itisens. liaker*; l>rouxht stali; bread; biitchurs rcluse lucai; ritizcns, their bro- ken viLiuals^all rcjuicinK in beinK frefd from the nuisance of bit^Kiry. The teachers of tiundicrafts wi'm* provided I-' the Goverument. And while all this wag free, r\ eryoiic was )>.iid Hie full value ifor his labor. Y>mi shall nut bcK, but here Ih comfort, food, work, |>ay. I'hcru wan no ill usage, no hatbh laiiKuaKc; in tive years not a blow was Kivcii even tc< a child by his instructor. 'When the preparatimis fnr this Krcat experiment had beau Kilontly completed, tha r*.im}--the right arm of the governing power, which had bi'cn prepared for the work by itH own thorough reformation -wan c dli'd into action in aid of the police and the civil niuRiHtialcs l 'Happy New Year and waited for the expected aIniH. ' 1 went up to him,' nays Count Kumford, 'and laying my haml gently on his shoulder, told him that liencefortli begging wouhi not be permit* ted in Munii li, that If he wan in neeil, asr istance wiuM be given hiui; and if Jeicc'ed begging auain, he woaKI lie severely punished,' lie was iht n sent to the Town II dl, bin nanie and residence inscribed upon the register, and he was directed to repair to the Miliary House of Industry next morning, where he would find dinner, work and wages. Kvery officer, every magistrate, every soldier, followed the example set tbem; every l^eggar was arretted, and li> one day a stop was put to beggars in Bavaria, It was baiUHhed out ot the kingdom. "And now let us m-o what was the progress and success 0*" ihis experiment. It Memed a risk to trust the raw materials of industry--wool, flax, hemp, etc. t<< the hands of common beggars; to render a debauched and dopiaved class orderly and useful, was an arduous enlerpriic. Of course the greater number made bid work at the beginning I'ki months they cost more than they came to. The- spoiled more horns 'han they made spoons. En.ployed drst in the courser and ruder nunufurtures, they were advanced as they improved, and were for aomo tiini> paid more than they •arned—paid to encuuiage good will, effort, and perseverance. These were worth any ^■am. The poor people saw that they were treated with more than justice- with kind- Mw . It was very evident that it waa all for 'heir good. At fii st there wa» coiifuaion, but no insubordination. They were awkward, hut not insensible to V.indnesa The aged, thn weak, and the children were put to the easiest tasks. The younger childiea were paid ^isipfy to look on until they begged to Join in the work, which seemed la litem like play, Everything aroiind them was made clean, (|uiet, orderly and pleasaat. f.Ufri; St theli own hmnes, they ranie ai a iis^d hour in the morning. They bad at fivta A ti«t, AQWlajyiig (MaMK of touii md biwi. Fi:ovt»l«M w«t« ^th*t coauib«i9>' •I ^y -; w. * APPBMDIX KT 6r booghi wkolaMie, and tba economies of cookery were "arried to tke latt point ol perfection. Cunnt Rumfoni Siaa so planned the cooking apparatui that three women cooked a dinner (or una tbou»nnd persona at a cost, tbouRh wood was used, ot4%d. for fuel; and the entire cost of the dinner for i.aoo was only £i 7s. 6Hd , or about one- third of n penny for each p> '^onl Perfect order was kept -at work, at tnealu and everywhere. As soon as a c .xup^iny took its place at table, the food having been previously served, all repecitird a short prayer. 'Perhaps,' says Count Kumford, 'I ouKbt to ask pardon for t.ncr>tioninfi so old fashioned a custom, but I own I am old- fashioned KnouRh myself to iiko such things.' "These poor people were generously p.tid for their labor, but something more thnn cash payment was necessary. There was needed th, appeaiancea aitd the very expressi-in ot their countenances, Cheerfulness and giatituilo replaced the gkom of niii^ery and the sullcnness of despair. Their hearts were Hoftencd; they were most grateftil to their benefactors for themselves, still more for their childien. These wnrkcd with their parents, fovniing little industtial grimps, wIk/MO afiociion excite.) the interest of every visitor. Parents were happy in the industry nrul growing intelligence of tlioir cliild- rrn, and the children were proud of their own ai hievomentH. "The great experiment was u complete and triuuiphant success. When Count Kumford wrote his account ofil, it had been five yeais In operation; It was, financially, a paying speculation, and had not only banished beggary, but hud wi ought an entire chniige in the manners, habits and very appearauce of the most abaudoncd and de- graded people in the kingdom." —{"Count Rumford," pages 18-84.) "Are the poor ungrateful? ' ount Rumford did not lind them ho. When, from the exh.tustion of his great labors, he fell dangerously ill, the>.H poor people «vhom ho had rescued from lives of shame and miseiy, spontaneously assembled, formed a pro- cession, and went in a body to the Cathedral to oflcr their tinited prayers for his recovery. When be was absent in Italy, and supposetl to be dangerously ill in Naples, they set apart a certain time every day after work hours, to pray foi their tf.nefactor. After an absence ct bftcen months. Count Rumford returned with renewed health to Munich, n city wheK' (here was work foi everyone, and not one poi.son whose wants were not provided for. When he visited the mililiiry wurkhousr, the reception given him by these poor people drew tears fiom the eyes of all present. A few days after he enteilained uighteen hundred of them in the English garden— a festival at which lou,QQo of the citiiens of Munich assisted." —("Count Ruuiford, ' pages a^-aj.) -.'( lift C0-01»ERaT!VI rxperimrnt at ralahinb. '■TIm o«tra«M of the •Whaefeet,' Lady Clare Boys,' and 'Terry AiU* (laboarvQi) («r 6ZM«de(1 thosu of rneent oeourvKece; yet no remedy but toroe was attempted, •x- eept it^y one Irislt IsBdlufd. Ml. John Soott Vandelevr, nf Ralahine, rouaty Clare, late high sherif of his sour.ty. Larly in i8ti his faniilv had bfiia obliged to ukc flight., Im cfcuugst of SM armed fioUs* fore*, luid his at^.-rrard k*d beta M«rder«d hy oa« ol (b« Ml APPENDIX Ubarsrs, havini; b«en chniiAa by lot at » maetinK hflld to deeidf who shnnid perp«- trate the deed. Mr. Vaudelcur came to EogUnd to seek aosMone who woold aid kin in orKaui/iiiK llic laborers int-c)|>eraii\t prinriploH, and he was recommended to Mr Craig, tio, at Kreat a.-xcrifico of hib pi>!>itiou and prospucta, consented to give liis services. "No one hut a man of rare zeal and courago would have attempted so apparently bopclcsH .1 task an that whirh Mi. I'raiK (indf^rtook. Poth the men whom he had to manage — the Terry Alts who had niurdcresidcrs were extremely anxious to become members of tii>i association. In Janu- ary, 18.1a, the community consisted of iifty adults and seventeen children The total number afterwards increased to eighty-one. Everything was prosperous, and the meniliuinof the associattou were not only benefitted themselves, but their improve- ment exercised a beneficent influence upon the people ia their neighlK>rhood It was hoped that uiher landlords would imitate the excellent example of Mr Vaadeleur especially ai> his experiment was one profitable to himself as, wall at* cnlcniated t« produce paacc- and cont^utment in disturbed Irelaad. JiiM wkiaa those hopes wturf •'%P '■^! 'I ''^..;«fc ,-% 1- I APPBNDIX svft ralMd to thtir higlMCt cl«RrM of expectancy, the happy community at RaUhlM wu brokas up throagh th« rain and Aiicht ot Mr Vandeleur, who had loat hit property by gamblitiK Evcrythinf was told nff . and the labor notcH saved by the memberi would have been worthlosa had aot Mr. CraiR, with uobid self-nacrifice, redeemed them out of liis own pocket. " Wo have given but a very scanty deacriptinn r>f tho syitsm pursued at Ralabine. The arranKcmcnts wt^rn in raost respects admirable, and reflected tlin greatest credit upon Mr. Craig as an organiser and :i'iinip thou o/this volumf, ut forth so lomn agv, but as ytt rtmaining unrtalited, and which I have nrvtr rtad. BXTKACTS FROM " PA.ST AND rRKSRNT.' " .\ Prime Minister, even hero in England, who hImII darn hclievo tho heavenly omens, and address himself like .1 man and lu>ro to tho great duuiti-Htruggling heart of England, and speak out for it, and act out for ii tho God sjusticn it is writhing to get uttered and perishing for want of -yns, lie too will s«!0 awaken round him, in pas- sionate, burning alldufiaiit loyalty the liojitof EiiKlund and sic Ii a Support' as no Division-List or Parliamentary Majority was ever yet known to yiold a man I Here as th;«re, now as then, he who can and dare trust the he.tveiily Immensities, all earthly Lut^uiities are subject to him We will pray for such a man and First-Lord-- yes, and far better, we will strive and incessantly mukn ready, each of us, to be woithy to serve and second such a First-Lord I We shall then be as good as stire of bis arriving sure if many things, let him arrive or not. ' Whn ran despair of Governments that passes a Soldier's Guard house, or meets a red-coated man on tho streets ? That a body of m^n could bo got tugeihcr to kill inber men when you bade them; this, a /•rinri, does it not •♦oem umi of iho impossi blest thmgs? Yet iKik, behold it; in the siolidetit of Do-nothing ilovcrnmcnts, that imposbibility is a thi^ig done." — (Cariyit, " I'aKt and I'nment," page Mj ) " Strange, intertsling, and yet most mournful to n fieri on Was this thou, of all llifl things mankind had some talent for. the cme thing, impoiiant to learn well and bring In perfection; this of successfully killing one another ? Truly, you have learned it well and carried the business to a high perfection It is incalculable wli.ii, by ariiinging, commanding and regimenting you can make of men. These thuuuand stialght standing, (irm-set individuals, wh>> shoulder arms, who march, wheel, advance, retreat: and aie, for your behoof .1 magazine chirged wiih fiery death, in tho most p«rfect condition of potential activity Few months ago, till the persuasive sergeant came, what were they? Multiform ragged losels, runaway apprentices, starved weavers thii'vi'ih valets; an entirely bmken ptipulailoii, fast tr>nding towards the treadmill. Hut the persuasive sergeant came, by tap ot drum enlisted, or formed lists of them, took heartily to drilling them; and he and you have madii Uiem this I Most pH MVilk APPENDIX two tentriet at th j Hnra« Gnnrds ind our Unltsd Sanries elobc. I eooM eoaealire sa Bmigralioi) Service, a Teachinf; \orvica. con^'.lerable vnriatica of United aud S«pa' rale aurviccs, of the duo thoutiatids btronR, eII effective aa tliis FighliiiK Sorvico ik; all doiiiK tkeir work like it— which work, much more than hf(htinR, is henceforth the nuc- etaity of theae new ^ges we me got into I llucb lieu among ua, convulaively, nigh det- perately, ttrugtiling to bt dorm." — <"Pa8t and Present," page X24 ) " It waa well, ail this wo know; and yet it was not well. Furty soldiers, I am told, will disperiio tholnrgent Spitaltiolds mob, forty to tea tliousand, that iu the proportion betwoon drilled jnt got to be actu- alities are become and bt^roming, one sees organisms enough in the dim, hugi! future, and 'United Services quite other than the redcoat one; and much, even in these yeara, struggling to be born I " — ("Past and Pie^'-n* • page aa6. "An effective 'Teaching Service,' I do consider that thero must bo: Hume educa- tion secretary, captain-general of teachers, who will actually contrive to get us taut^ht. Then again, why should there not bo an ' Emigration Service,' and serretnry with adjunrtb, with funds, furces, idle navy ships, and evcr-iucri'asing apparatus, in hue an effectivt tyttem of emigration, so that at length before our twct)ty years of ruspito ended. f!vcry honest, willing workman who fuiind England too htiait, and tho organi- zation of labor not ) ot sufficiently advanced, might find likewise a bridge buili to r.irry him into new westtrn lands, there to 'organir.c' with more alhow room somu labor for him lelf i There to be a real blessing, raising iv '^orii for us, purchasing new webs and hatchets from us; leaving ns at leaRt in peace; instead of staytug here to bo 4 physical-force Chartist, unhlesKe I and no blessing t Is it not scandalous lu consider that a Prime Minister could raise within the year, as I have seen ii done, a iiiiudreil and twenty ruiilions sterling to shoot the I'rc'ich: And we are stopped bhort for want of the hundredth part of tlint to keep the English Living ? The bodies of the English living, and the «ouls of the Eni^iisli living, these two 'Services,' an Education Ser- vice and an Entigitlion Service, these with mhi^ts, will have actually to he organized "A free bridge for rmigrantsi Why, wo H^ould then be on a par with America it self, thn most favuied o( ;til lands that have no gnvurnmenl; and we should have, be- .si f English ■MU In all quartoi!. of ilin Globe AH men trade with idl men when mutually conven icnt, and are oven hound l" do || liy ihe Maker of Men Our friends of (Ihlna, whn gtfiliily r< fui^ed to iiade in these rircuuistanccs -hud we nlll fwit, whlciili|r HMven's biMsiiif. we stigli ? ' APPENDIX *' K*ep notstandiitK it«A ftod rootwL Biiakly venture, briskly inatn; HcAd •111(1 baud, where'er thou foot it, And 1(0111 heart are iitill at boDM. In what laud the tun does visit Briiik or? >«(', vs' *>( o'er betiiici To Kivc snacn for wandering is it That the world was tuadc so wide. "Tearteen hnndr**'* vo.irs ago it wan a ronniderablo * [imiKTAiion Service, narcr doubt it, by much iiilistiiient, diiciiHsion and dpj,).-iratiiH that wr imiselves arrived in tbiu rcmarkabio island, and got into our present (li(Bciilti(i« nmonR utber«.'' (" Past and Prcafmt," pajtcB Mft-a-.o.) " The main Hnbstnncn of this immense problem of orRanizinK labot and fiiAt i>f all of manuKinK thv workinx rlasse^, will, it is very clear, have to be solved l)y tlioxo who stand practically in (be middle of it, by those who (heinselvrii work and preside ovm* work. Of all that can bu onartml by any Parliament in ri'Karii in i(, tlui Keraih lOUtt already lin potentially extant in those two classes who are to oboy such (na< iinent. A human ( baos in which ilu-ie i\ no light, you vainly attempt ((• irradintt by liifht abed OH it, order never can ari c there." — <' I'ast and Prusent, ' paRcs 231 - J3.) " Look around you. Your world-hosts are all in mntiny, im onfusiin, destltutioo, on (lie i'v<< of Uory wreck and madnuB^. I'lity will not in.iirb faitlKi (>i yon, mi i)m) sii pfiiii'u a day and supply and ticiiiand principlci tli<>y will iini, nor ouRbt th0fi not can the; Wo .bill reduce them to jrdri bexin reducinK them ii ordi-r, 10 just buboidiuiliiiii, noble loyalty iu return for n<>blu Kuidance Tboir hwnU aie drlwa niRb mad; bi yoiji^lic sane anil never s.uut. Not a-< a bowildL-i''d bcvsihlt nnit nob, but as a tirtii ti*glm(iiitn 1 mass, with nil captains ovui lliiin, will tbf.-sc men march any mure. All liuin in inlcresib, rombincd human endeavois, and sori.il growth in this world have atace'iiin staRc o( their developmeni, re(j'**>'' * 'Riniedient as the tbisti' liy ibe wayside; bava ye not conquered it, made it into beuutif ' bandana webs, whit' woven sliiits for men, briKht tintjd air garments whcteiii flit g( desses? Ye bavM Hliiveitd mouaidina asunder, made the bird iion pliant to you as putty; the forest miauls mnrsli jotui)»~ bear sheaves of Kolden Krain; .f^Rir— the Sea- Demon hitnt«lf stietcheb liis b.^« k for a sleek biiibway to you, and on Pireborses and Windborses ye career Yo are moat stroiiR. Tbor, red bearded, with liis blue Bun-eyes, with IiIh rheery hfiari and strong thander-baiumei, be and you have prevailed. Ye are moNl stronR, ye Suns of icy North, of the tat East, far marching from your ruRRed K ><>tt rn Wildneske' , bithei ward from the Rray dawu of Tiniel Ye are Sons of the ./<;/«<>» land, the lano of l)iiti( idtirs Conquered. Uifinult? You must try this tbiuR. Once liy it wiih thi- understanding that it will and shall have to bo done. Try it as you try ilie paltviei tiling, making of tnoneyt 1 will bet on you once more, against JotiiiM, Tailor-gods, Doublo-barrelUd Law-waid3, aud Ucuizcnb of Chaos whatsoevvr." — ("Past and Present," pages V36-37.) t "A question hero arises: Whether in some ulterior, perhaps not far-distant stage Qf Ihia 'Chivalry of Laboi," your Master- Workei may not find it possible, ani needful, (0 grant bin Worke.H puiiiiancnl /M/rr/W in his eutcrptiMi and theirs? So that it b()> come, In practical result, what in ("^ii nlial lu t aniii ' it ivi , is, a jo*nt enUlt* ptl%e., (ill (ireii from the Chirf Master down to tlie Inwi st Ovcrteer and Operative, fcooomicaliy as well a» Ijyalljr i:uiii:ern8d (ot it? Which kjueslion 1 do not aaswor. APPENDiX The tniwer, here nr else far, it perhapt. Ye«; and jret on« kaewt the diftevltiM. Deapotirm ia eaaenrUI in tnoai enterpriaea; I am told tb«y do not tolm ate fraedom of dobrtyli'!a8 little realized in the miles on niil<-s of tenement- bouses, and (he factories which have produced them, M though Christ bad never lived or never died How could it b« otkarwise ? The giv.. mass of men and women bave never had titae for religion You cannot expect them to work doi: bio tides. With bard physical labor, from morning till night in the