HEW YORK'S 
 
 NFE RNO 
 
 SCENES FULL OF PATHOS POWERFULLY PORTRAYED 
 
 SIBERIAN DESOLATION CAUSED BY VICE 
 
 AND DRINK TENEMENTS PACKED 
 
 WITH MISERY AND CRIME. 
 
 COMMISSIONER & MRS. BALLINGTON BOOTH. 
 
 REPRINTED FROM AND COPYRIGHTED BY THB NEW YORK " HERALD." 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED AT THE SALVATION ARMY HEADQUARTERS, 
 in READE STREET. 
 
 1891.
 
 CONTENTS TABLE. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER 5 
 
 CHAPTER 1 13 
 
 In cheap lodging.houses 13 
 
 Among- horrors 15 
 
 A touching encounter lg 
 
 CHAPTER II 19 
 
 In cheap lodging-house-;. 19 
 
 All one to the governor 21 
 
 Groping in the dark. 33 
 
 A night in a bunk 24 
 
 CHAPTER III 31 
 
 Opium haunts and resorts of thieves 31 
 
 Where it was dangerous to speak 32 
 
 A touch on the arm 34 
 
 A scene of squalor 35 
 
 Saloons in legions 37 
 
 CHAPTER IV 39 
 
 Ever moving on aimlessly 39 
 
 Poverty, then crime 40 
 
 CHAPTER V 43 
 
 How to save the sufferers 43 
 
 Drink, only drink 44 
 
 And what is the remedy ? 45 
 
 CHAPTER VI 49 
 
 Heart chilled from the start 49 
 
 Inspecting slum nursery babies 51 
 
 Saved from despair 58 
 
 Soothing a child's grief 54 
 
 iii.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 56 
 
 Where poverty abides always r>6 
 
 Abode of the drink-ridden 57 
 
 Touched unto tears 59 
 
 Poverty beyond description 60 
 
 A typical s\ ory 62 
 
 Sickness beyond hope 62 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 65 
 
 From shadow to blackness 65 
 
 Baby's long wait for mamma 65 
 
 Prayer meeting under difficulties. 68 
 
 Jennie's story 70 
 
 Visiting the dives 71 
 
 By the wayside 73 
 
 CHAPTER IX 75 
 
 Patrolling the streets 75 
 
 Sunday morning 1 side-doors 76 
 
 Deference to Salvation girls 77 
 
 Wreckage of the night tide 78 
 
 CHAPTER X 81 
 
 Brave> y of The Army girls 81 
 
 Living in a cellar cupboard 82 
 
 Baby Jim 84 
 
 CHAPTER XI 86 
 
 Glimpses of sunlight 86 
 
 Taken by the nursery plan 87 
 
 CHAPTER XII 90 
 
 For His dear sake 90 
 
 Christianity, life not creed 91 
 
 Saved, although a tramp 92 
 
 Hope even for such as these 95 
 
 ARMY FIELD STATE, 1890. .. ; ..,, 97
 
 Valuation 
 
 NATIONAL HEADQUARTERS : 111 READE STRKET, NEW YORK CITY. 
 
 April 15th, 1891. 
 
 It could be readily under- 
 stood were we pleading for the life 
 of one condemned to die, or for the 
 pardon of one on whom judgment had 
 already been passed, that we should 
 
 Y.
 
 NEW YORKS INFEKNO. 
 
 experience difficulty in finding 
 language to express the feelings 
 which would weigh upon our hearts. 
 We are not at the bar pleading for 
 the life of one or two, but we 
 strive to plead with the conscience 
 the human sympathy-- the brother- 
 feeling--of the happy and fortunate 
 on behalf of the many, despairing 
 ones, hidden from them by the night 
 darkness in which they live. 
 
 It is no easy task, with the 
 full and only too real memory of the 
 depths of blight and ruin by which 
 we have just been surrounded, to even 
 faintly picture to others what our 
 minds and hearts still vividly see,
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 Every form of vice and iniquity 
 that can be admitted in the gap be- 
 tween theism and atheism, between 
 heaven and hell, exists in the un- 
 derworld of death with which we have 
 just been brought face to face. 
 
 With the knowledge of this we 
 have returned to prosecute with in- 
 tenser zeal and deeper love the 
 work of lifting the fallen and sav- 
 ing the lost. 
 
 It must be action, not senti- 
 ment; deeds, not words. 
 
 Shelter must be found for the 
 weary head of the homeless tramp. 
 More saviours must be raised up for 
 the rescue of abandoned and hope-
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 less women, who dwell in this shadow 
 of death. Salvation must be pro- 
 ^claimed in love in the ears of those 
 now filled only with curses and 
 blasphemy. 
 
 These pages will fall into the 
 hands of many who will never hear 
 our voiceswho, though unknown to 
 us, are known to our God by the 
 beatings of heart in sympathy with 
 humanity. To these we appeal. Help 
 us, that we may better help these 
 helpless, loveless ones; and of 
 them it may also be said, * I was 
 an hungered, and ye gave me meat : 
 I was thirsty, and ye gave me dr ink: 
 I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 naked, and ye clothed me: I was 
 sick and ye visited me. "
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 MR. BOOTH IN THE SLUMS, 
 
 WANTED-A RIVER OF SOCIAL' PURITY TO CLEANSE TH E 
 LABYRINTH'OF NEW YORK CITY. 
 
 ,E have read how Hercules, the mythical 
 hero, cleansed in one day the stables of 
 Augeas, King of Elis, in which 3,000 oxen 
 had stood for thirty years, by changing 
 the course of and leading through them 
 the two rivers, Alpheus and Peneus. 
 But such a vision of human depravity 
 and hard suffering as the one I have just 
 witnessed in the heart of this great city 
 causes me to yearn that it were possible 
 for a river of Divine power and social purity to sweep over 
 it, that the waters thereof might cleanse it from its festering 
 evil and cankering vice.
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 With faith in the Latin proverb that " The true knowledge 
 of thing's must he derived from the things themselves,"! was 
 disposed to withhold any very pronounced opinions of the 
 baser side of New York city until I had myself had the oppor- 
 tunity of visiting- some of its denser and darker neighbor- 
 hoods. 
 
 In accordance with a long desired undertaking, I with two 
 companions an officer and soldier in the Salvation Army 
 resolved to disguise myself, and in a rough and ragged garb, 
 which I was assured presented a most unkempt and shaggy 
 appearance, and which wou'd admit of my passing unsuspec- 
 ted even among 1 more dangerous members of a Bowery "gang," 
 I spent some time as one among the crowd of darkest America. 
 
 I had somewhat prepared myself for revelations of moral 
 decay and vicious life in this social quagmire. I had heard 
 again and again what one and another had said of this plague 
 spot of sin and death and I had seen many of its denizens. 
 
 But all previous accounts and descriptions became obliter- 
 ated from my memory by the surprise and horror I experi- 
 enced when passing through some of the foul haunts and 
 vicious hotbeds which make up the labyrinth of this modern 
 Sodom I had almost said the Inferno of America's greatest 
 city.
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 SORROW BY THE WAYSIDE. 
 
 IT was nine o'clock p. m. when I turned into our headquar- 
 ters on Reade street to change my dress and don my ill- 
 fitting and tattered clothes. The whirl and activity of 
 that precinct of the great city had now been hushed, and a 
 mantle of silence was thrown over the buildings which a few 
 hours before had worn all the appearance of life and bustle. 
 
 Leaving my watch and papers with a staff officer I sallied 
 forth with my two companions up the dark streets in the di- 
 rection of the Bowery. The wind, by no means strong, was 
 nevertheless piercing and chilling. The darkness was thick, 
 and helped to make more glaring the electric Jights. Here 
 and there a policeman eyed us curiously, if not suspiciously 
 from beneath the brim of his helmet. On, on we tramped 
 toward the quarters where the darkness of each night hides 
 fiom the eyes of the pure and good ten thousand sins which 
 lengthen the black catalogue of hell. 
 
 I had not to wait to reach the Bowery to see a sight which 
 would cause every pure father a shudder of horror and bring 
 to the cheek of every true mother a blush of shame. The 
 doors of a low saloon at a street corner opened suddenly and 
 two men stepped upon the sidewalk holdiner up a young 
 woman by her arms. Young did I say? She was not only 
 young, but fair nnd beautiful in face, yet awful to relate, was 
 so drunk that it was with difficulty that they could prevent 
 her from falling on the sidewalk. 
 
 " It is all right," said one of the men, looking across to the 
 
 13
 
 14 
 
 NEW YOBK'S INJ1RNO, 
 
 other with a wink, and with a grin upon his countenance he 
 signed to his companion to turn up a certain street, and they 
 disappeared into the darkness. 
 
 We shortly reached the Bowery and had turned from its 
 many lighted and thronged sidewalks and were making for 
 
 COMMISSIONER BOOTH IN SLUM COSTUME. 
 
 Water street when we beheld two half clad little girls come 
 out of a dingy, low-looking saloon. Their tiny faces looked 
 blue with cold and pinched with hunger. As I stopped for a 
 few seconds I overheard the elder say, "No use waiting any
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 15 
 
 longer, he won't come," then I thought of my little three- 
 year-old boy safe at home in his cot, and of the thousands of 
 children who at that hour would be tucked snugly in their 
 beds protected from the crushing blight and degradation which 
 would fall upon the lives of the little hungry ones who were 
 running past us with bare heads and naked feet. 
 
 AMONG HORRORS. 
 
 We turned'into Water street a street of death. It was 
 difficult to believe, as we glanced first to the right and then 
 to the left, that we were in a Christian country. Painted, 
 dressed in bright colors, sitting in the windows and at the 
 doors, were shameless women calling upon those who were 
 passing to enter, and as the horror of the surroundings un- 
 folded itsell in my mind the words of the sage rang in my 
 ears : " Her mouth is smoother than oil, but her end is bitter 
 as wormwood, sharp as a two edged sword. Her feet go down 
 to death, her steps take hold on hell." 
 
 Here and there on this "dark and black night "a man 
 could be seen to enter one of these places (aye and lads ap- 
 pearing less than sixteen) " as an ox goeth to the slaughter." 
 
 While passing along only one block we counted no less 
 than forty-eight prostitutes sitting in the doorways and win- 
 dows of this street of death. Nor is this quarter (incredible 
 as the number of women who were soliciting may seem) the 
 worst rendezvous or resort for fallen women in this precinct. 
 
 Another street the name of which, for the sake of the vis- 
 its our Slum Brigade are successfully making there, I with- 
 hold presented an even more horrible sight. Standing at the 
 corner of the block and looking down the street I was dumb- 
 founded almost paralyzed. The incessant low shuffling of 
 feet, reminding one of the tread of fallen spirits, was all one 
 could hear, save the low whisperings and murmurings of tl'fi
 
 16 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 women as one and another of the opposite sex passed them. 
 
 Oh, it was awful ! As I stood there within -sound of the 
 footsteps of despairing women I was reminded that one gen- 
 tleman engaged in this work had recently estimated that 
 there are from fifteen to twenty thousand prostitutes in the 
 cities of New York and Brooklyn. I could scarcely helieve 
 that such a condition of affairs as I then witnessed existed in 
 this city, where so many Christians have of late soothed 
 themselves and congratulated their countrymen upon the 
 need in "Darkest England" being so much greater than in 
 Darkest America. 
 
 A TOUCHING ENCOUNTER. 
 
 We counted along this street, in the length of only one 
 block, thirty-eight women waiting about. I have rarely ever 
 experienced such gratitude as while looking upon these poor, 
 down-trodden creatures for the nightly mission and vigilance 
 of the Slum Brigade, two of whom we shortly afterward 
 quite unexpectedly saw when passing along Cherry street. 
 
 It was a scene that could not fail to impress any man 
 though he carried a heart of stone. We were standing upon 
 the threshold of a large saloon. The strains of music and 
 wild mirth fell strangely upon our ears. At a table opposite 
 the bar sat a young: woman with her head bent. In front of 
 her were glasses containing newly-drawn liquor, but her 
 thoughts were not dwelling upon the contents of the glass 
 before her, and even the music seemed to lose its charm ; her 
 mind was being carried back to vows made beneath some kind 
 parental roof, and her heart was for a few moments directed 
 to the goodness and mercy of One who nearly nineteen hun- 
 dred years ago allowed His feet to be washed with the tears 
 and wiped with the hair of a fallen woman. 
 
 Around her shoulders was the loving arm of a slum sister,
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 17 
 
 who was speaking in terms of gentleness and mercy to her 
 of a nobler, higher and truer life which she might live. What 
 a look of conviction is stamped upon her countenance as that 
 slum savior, on behalf of the Saviour of Nazareth, deals 
 faithfully with the girl in the midst of those surroundings of 
 dancing, revelry and sin! 
 
 We pushed the door a little further open, and as a woman 
 rushed to bid us enter the other slum sister looked up it was 
 my wife ! 
 
 But a few seconds at that door was all the time we could 
 spare and our feet must hasten on to other and yet darker 
 centres of the great city. 
 
 While making our way past coarse looking men and hope- 
 less looking women, memory recalled the efforts of these 
 Saviour-like slum workers to me. But an hour before I had 
 entered their quarters and shaken hands with them. They 
 were sparsely f urnfshed, there being only plain wooden chairs 
 and tables, only a small-sized stove and no carpet ; but it was 
 scrupulously clean, and I could understand how the warmth 
 and brightness, to say nothing of the cheerful and saved faces 
 of those in this slum home, would be brightening to those who 
 had to walk about through the cheerless night without. 
 
 I recalled the bitter incident which the officer in charge 
 had related to me of the miserable room where she had found 
 amid extreme squalor and filth, a babe dying. The parents 
 were drunkards there were two other little children. A few 
 minutes after she entered the frail infant breathed its last in 
 her arms. 
 
 They then washed the infant and prepared to lay it out 
 for burial, but they had no place on which to lay the dead 
 child, and had to use the sides of an old packing case for this 
 purpose. The next morning, upon calling at this miserable
 
 18 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 abode, they found both father and mother drunk drunk, 
 with their dead infant lying a few feet from them ! 
 
 It is in such abodes as these, I recollected, that a ray of 
 comfort, truth and salvation is taken by these slum workers ; 
 and as I drew my tattered coat closer around me and passed 
 along in the glare of the saloons, I raised my heart from that 
 benighted centre in gratitude to God for this branch of Sal- 
 vation Army work.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN THE CHEAP LODGING HOUSES. 
 
 FOR some time it had been brought forcibly home to us 
 that there were many men in this great city homeless 
 and shelterless who seldom take off their coats and boots, 
 and for whom there are few lodging houses where they can 
 get clean and efficient accommodation and quiet repose. Not, 
 however, until we saw with our own eyes the miserable and 
 tired features of score's of men walking through the long, 
 bitter nights, cold and hungry, could we credit the in- 
 efficiency and discomfort of the lodging houses for out-of- 
 work and homeless men. 
 
 Resolved upon gaining some personal experience of one of 
 these lodging houses, in company with one of my compan- 
 ions I presented myself at the small narrow pigeonhole, 
 through which we made our united request for " a place to 
 sleep." A head was at once lowered and the two eyes scru- 
 tinized closely and suspiciously my long form and then the 
 shorter one of my companion. Their owner having satisfied 
 himself that the two applicants were sufficiently rough on the 
 exterior to be allowed to pass on the payment of ten cents 
 apiece, opened a door and we stepped over the threshold. But 
 what a sight confronted us ! 
 
 I drew back almost bewildered, wondering whether my 
 eyes had not for once utterly deceived me. Could it be pos- 
 sible that into a room about 20 by 25 feet, filled with the 
 smoke of tobacco and the strong fumes of drink, so musty 
 and close that one almost staggered under the atmosphere, 
 
 19
 
 ' frEW YORK'S INFERNO.
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 some sixty-five to seventj' men lay back to back huddled to- 
 gether on the floor like swine? Some were fully dressed, 
 others partially, others again were almost destitute of cloth- 
 ing. 
 
 For a few moments I and my companion stood as if riveted 
 to the floor. 
 
 The man having charge of the room had risen from a low 
 stool, with a greasy wooden pipe in his mouth, from which 
 the smoke of bad tobacco coiled up just under our faces, and 
 opening a side door he beckoned us to follow him. We did 
 so, but slowly, lest we should step upon some of the bodies 
 that crowded the floor. Ten cents each we had paid, and for 
 tbis we were to be favored with better accommodation than 
 those crowding the boards at five cents per head. 
 
 "That is your bunk." said the manager, slapping the mis- 
 erable covering of the narrow crib, which I at a glance dis- 
 covered lay in rather too close proximity to the one as unin- 
 viting beneath it. 
 
 " And that is yours," he said, turning to my companion, 
 pointing to another as he twisted his pipe into the opposite 
 side of a mouth denoting sternness and greed. Then the door 
 was closed, and we were left standing amid the slumbering 
 and slumberless inmates of that lodging house. 
 
 ALL ONE TO THE GOVERNOR. 
 
 ''What shall we do?'' I whispered over to my companion 
 and at the same instant took a hurried survey of the sleepers. 
 Hard faces, worn features and sad expressions bespoke the 
 weary and too oft fruitless hunt for work and the cruel 
 struggle to keep off the gaunt wolf of hunger, which struggle 
 slowly but too surely kills the victim or drives him to despair. 
 
 Sleep ! Talk of sleeping in the poisoned, loathsome at- 
 mosphere of that room ! I have read of the impure and fetid
 
 YORK'S 
 
 SI S
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 23 
 
 air which filled the pestilential prisons of those incarcerated 
 during the long struggle in the South, but it would be difficult 
 to imagine it worse than that which I breathed in that stifling 
 lodging house. 
 
 Having satisfied myself that the surroundings were such 
 as few even of the lowest type of humanity could endure, I 
 turned to my companion saying, " Let us go." 
 
 " Governor,'' I said in an undertone, " are you always as 
 full as this?" 
 
 " I guess pretty nearly always," was the reply. 
 
 " Well, I say, governor, I think this is too full for us, and 
 that we'll go elsewhere," I remarked. 
 
 "Say, boss," chimed in my companion, "I can't stand 
 this." 
 
 " I don't care. I've got your twenty cents," was the gruff 
 and quick reply. 
 
 We turned away from the door into the piercing, chilling 
 wind, which, though such a contrast, was preferable to the 
 thick, choking atmosphere within, to wonder how the poor, 
 penniless tramp must feel who has fallen low in the social 
 scale and who has no place to lay his head save the meagre 
 shelter afforded by some covered truck or the scanty refuge 
 of some dark and damp passageway. 
 
 GROPING IN THE DARK. 
 
 One of my companions who entered another lodging house 
 related the following to me : 
 
 " We arrived at the stoop of the dark entrance to the long, 
 narrow passage leading to what I supposed to be the office in 
 which I should see the landlord, with whom I would make 
 all arrangements. We opened the door and walked in with- 
 out any ceremony, but I found that we were mistaken that 
 it was a room occupied by tenants. I say tenants in the plu-
 
 24 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 ral, for there was a whole family father, mother and several 
 children that lived, ate, drankand slept all in that one small 
 room only a room about 16 by 18 feet. Everything looked 
 dirty, loathsome and repulsive. We asked if the ' boss' was 
 in. 
 
 " ' Noo, up stairs,' grunted the grizzly looking being: that 
 was sitting on a stool sucking a dirtv clay pipe. We tvirned 
 from this sight and from the foul air of the room, for- 
 getting to close the door as we departed. 
 
 " The man at once picked up a lump of coal and with an 
 oath wildly hurled it at us. 
 
 "We then groped our way through the dark up the stairs, 
 and at last discovered a doorway, at which we knocked. 
 
 "A young man responded, and demanded what we wished. 
 We said we wanted a place to sleep. 
 He replied, 'We have not got room.' 
 
 But a feminine voice behind answered, ' There is room 
 upstairs.' 
 
 So, with an old lamp, he led us up another flight, and 
 knocked at the first door he came to. 
 
 " There was no response. He commenced to kick at the 
 door. Still no response, save the cursings, which could be 
 heard from other portions of the house. He swore, adding, 
 
 'I'll smash the d d thing in ! : whereupon he lifted his foot 
 
 and began kicking violently, and then put his shoulder 
 against it in an effort to force it open. 
 
 " Then a perfect pandemonium reigned. Men and women 
 commenced calling, groaning and shouting, ' Let us sleep.' 
 He paid no attention to them, and, while still pressing 
 against the door, it was suddenly opened from within. 
 
 A NIGHT IN A BUNK. 
 
 " Here we found a crowded bedroom. Our bunks were
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 25 
 
 allotted us. My companion only removed his overcoat, and 
 then rolled in. I hesitated for twenty minutes. The bed- 
 clothing was dirty, and to use my comrade's expression, 
 'rotten.' At last I sprang up, lying in my clothes. Oh, what 
 a night of moral as well as literal darkness was that to scores 
 of people around us in that overcrowded building ! I over- 
 heard the low and vicious conversation through the thin 
 partition of two of the occupants, a man and a woman, in the 
 next room. On the floor above was another woman, whose 
 voice seemed to indicate old age. She mixed, in a foul and 
 dazed manner, religion with obscenity, and then broke out 
 with the sentence, 'I'll stand up for the captain of The Salva- 
 tion Army.' 
 
 " Evidently the slum women in visiting this low quarter 
 were recognized as doing a mission that called forth the 
 gratitude of this poor, drink-crazed mind. After a few 
 moments of silence I heard shrieks and oaths and curses. 
 Two women had descended the stairs and gone to the hydrant 
 outside to draw some water at the same time, and were in 
 hot dispute as to who had the first claim. They quarreled, 
 and then vile language followed such as I could never repeat. 
 
 " I tossed about in my hard bunk. It was dark. The door 
 was fast ! The place was stifling ! But a worse experience 
 than all previous ones followed. I soon became conscious of 
 the fact that the room was not only dirty, but was overrun 
 with vermin, and then a fuller horror of our situation seized 
 me. 
 
 'What was I to do ? I lay longing for the dawn of day, 
 and I do not think I slept more than one hour. I arose as the 
 (list streak of morning light fell into the room, and made my 
 way down out of the wretched building, bringing with me a 
 recollection of the first night in a New York lodging house 
 that I do not think time will ever erase."
 
 26 
 
 NEW YORKS INFERNO. 
 
 Here is the experience of another lodging house that was 
 tried, and the testimony of a poor unsheltered man concern, 
 ing the place : 
 
 We went up into the office to pay for our tickets, and as 
 we stepped up to give our ten cents we stumbled over several 
 men lying on the floor near the stove in a dark room. It was 
 filthy, and covered with tobacco juice. The man in charge 
 
 "NO THANKS ; I WAS THERE THREE WEEKS AGO." 
 
 did not give us our tickets immediately, but merely registered
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 27 
 
 our Christian names, and led us up another flight of stairs. 
 We then entered a room where there were forty men lying 
 in bunks, one close above another ; the atmosphere was filled 
 with the smell of vile tobacco, drink and that almost un. 
 bearable odor coming from the herding of many men to- 
 gether whose personal habits are filthy. The men themselves 
 were almost stripped, and their clothes thrown -about in 
 heaps in all directions. We couldn't remain in so filthy a 
 place. 
 
 A FIVE-CENT DOUBLE DECKER. 
 
 We returned down stairs, secured our tickets from the 
 man in charge, and had hardly reached the sidewalk before.
 
 28 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 we met a man whose appearance bespoke utter destitution 
 and poverty. We inquired of him as to how he was fixed up 
 for the night. He said he expected to walk the streets all 
 night, and we at once handed him one of the tickets. 
 
 He eagerly took it, and looked at the number ; then to ovir 
 surprise immediately handed it back, saying, "No, thank you; 
 I am clean now, and that is a filthy, lou^y place." 
 
 We asked Mm how long he had been without employment 
 and a place to sleep. He replied, "For two weeks." We then 
 inquired whether he drank. He said that he had sworn off at 
 Christmas, and that he had not touched a drop of liquor since 
 then. We then asked whether as soon as he had found em- 
 ployment he would turn to drink again. He answered with 
 a ring of sincerity that he had made up his mind that he 
 would never touch another drop of beer, supplementing his 
 answer with an oath. 
 
 We then inquired, "What is your nationality?" He 
 answered, "I am an American." 
 
 " So am I," my companion replied ; "give me your hand." 
 
 He said that he had been in search of work for two months, 
 and that he had nothing but .an occasional job of cleaning 
 sidewalks. He explained in sad and despairing tones that he 
 had remained in mission halls and Salvation Army barracks 
 until half-past ten and eleven o'clock, and had then to turn 
 out to walk the cold and pitiless streets penniless and homeless 
 all night. Let it be remembered that he thought that those 
 to whom he was speaking were such as himself. 
 
 We talked on while we stood close to. the lodging house 
 which, before he would enter, he vowed he would rather 
 walk till his overtired body dropped. "I am clean," he said, 
 "if nothing else. I was there one night three weeks ago, and 
 I was covered with filth and vermin, and J swore I'd never 
 cross its doors again,"
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 29 
 
 Before leaving him we dealt with him about his soul, but 
 received the answer, "I don't have much time to think about 
 it; it keeps a fellow always going to keep one's body alive." 
 
 We bid our new acquaintance good-bye, and ah ! how 
 loth we were to leave him to the mercy of the cold and 
 heartless night; how we wished our Salvation Army Shelters 
 were opened, and that we had some warm, comfortable place 
 to which we could have" invited this poor, nnbefriended fellow 
 countryman ! 
 
 GIVING AWAY A LODGING TICKET " TANKE, SIR !" 
 
 We jostled along a little further until we ran across an.
 
 30 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 aged and crippled man. I wish our plentifully clothed 
 fallow citizens could have looked but for a few moments upon 
 that dejected and pitiful object. A few loose and foul rags 
 hung from his bent and crippled frame. His hair was long 
 and matted and his face sunken and depraved. 
 
 We stopped, and holding out the ticket as we touched 
 him on the arm, we said, "Would you like a place to sleep to- 
 night ?" He looked at us with an incredulous stare and 
 stammered, hardly above a whisper, "No." Then he clutched 
 it with his skeleton hand and, chuckling for a moment, shuf- 
 fled on faster out of sight.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OPIUM HAUNTS AND RESORTS OF THIEVES. 
 
 TT7HE next streets up which we passed were exceptionally 
 JL close, with high buildings containing small windows 
 and many entrances on either side. There were very 
 narrow and miserably paved sidewalks. 
 
 " What quarter is this?" I asked of one of my companions 
 as I drew nearer to him. 
 
 " Speak a little lower," he replied. "This is the Chinese 
 quarter, and perhaps the worst portion of that quarter," and 
 surely it was hardly necessary for him to inform me of this, 
 for the next moment we were pretty well surrounded with 
 the fluttering gowns of passing members of the community 
 that represents the Celestial Empire. 
 
 Stop ! Do you see those coils of smoke ? Look down 
 those stone steps. See that form that silent being bent 
 over that small light ! And see how dexterously and care, 
 fully that hand turns round the small glutinous substance at 
 the end of that long needle. What is it that makes those 
 eyes brighten for a few moments, and absorbs the attention 
 of the individual looking toward the point of that needle? 
 What is it causes his eyes to dilate with expectation? 
 Opium. And hundreds of women in this city before this 
 night is past will have allowed themselves to come beneath 
 its baneful, demoralizing influence. 
 
 I could not help but wish that a similar work could be 
 commenced among the Chinese portion of this city as that 
 being prosecuted by our indefatigable workers in that 
 
 31
 
 NEW YORK'S INFEKNO. 
 
 section inhabited by the Chinese in the city of Melbourne, 
 Victoria, Australia, where to my knowledge a good work has 
 been accomplished. 
 
 We wended our way next to Mulberry Street, the haunt of 
 desperadoes. 
 
 We reached there a little before midnight truly the 
 devil's midday in this benighted and drink-cursed quarter. 
 Here we found crowds upon both sidewalks who were holding 
 high carnival. The incessant swinging of saloon doors which 
 
 AN OPIUM JOINT 
 
 admitted customers to hot and fetid rooms where the worst 
 kind of liquor is sold, was conspicuous on all sides. One had 
 at times to literally push one's way through the uncouth, 
 vicious-looking men, and past low women utterly lost to all 
 virtue and sense of goodness. 
 
 WHERE IT WAS DANGEROUS TO SPEAK. 
 
 The number of lighted windows on either side, story above 
 story, showed that there was life within, and that instead of
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 33 
 
 the residents being asleep they were taking part in the dark 
 revelry, actuated by the same spirit that prompted the hearts 
 of those who were slaves to drink and debauchery without. 
 
 We walked on to the place, of which one of my com- 
 panions said : 
 
 " Perhaps more crimes have been perpetrated and murders 
 committed here than on any other one spot in the dark 
 city." 
 
 We had no detectives or protection with us save that un- 
 seen. I buttoned my ragged coat closer round my neck, and 
 drew my old hat lower over my face. 
 
 ROBBING A DRUNKEN MAN. 
 
 "Do not speak loud," said my companion, and I walked on 
 silently along what I believe is one of the worst neighbor- 
 hoods I ever trod, and a foul blot upon the good name of our 
 fair country. I can understand one writing of this neighbor- 
 hood saying there is not a sin in the decalogue but flourishes 
 in this quarter, for if the stones could speak, then each would
 
 34 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 have to record some dark and bloody deed committed within 
 the circle of that fever-stricken and pestilential place. 
 
 We had not walked far before the loud and rapid utter- 
 ances of an Italian caused us to stop on the outskirts of a 
 small crowd. It was dark, but by the dim light of a nickering 
 lamp we could see the outline of a strong and tall man, who 
 was being held back by one of his own sex, while a woman 
 hung on each arm, frustrating his efforts to attack a woman. 
 
 It was the woman's attitude that particularly arrested 
 our attention a woman with set lips and brazen expression 
 holding up a brawny arm and clenched hand. They drew 
 nearer to each other, and I could see the bruise upon her 
 forehead, and the plaster that hid another wound upon the 
 side of her face. A torrent of language followed, and then a 
 shuffle, and the Italian was drawn back into the shadow of 
 saloon, for two policemen carrying their long night clubs had 
 arrived upon the spot. For us to stand any longer was only 
 to create suspicion, and we moved on. 
 
 A TOUCH ON THE ARM. 
 
 A few paces further and I felt some one suddenly clutch 
 my arm. I looked around, at the same moment shrinking 
 back a step. 
 
 Who could it be ? No one knew me in this of all places on 
 earth. 
 
 Who was it it was a woman one of those dissipated 
 creatures who carry the brand given by society all through 
 their downward career to the grave of despair and death. I 
 looked into her face for a few seconds, and then forcibly with- 
 drawing my arm I turned and without saying a word passed 
 along into the crowd saddened at heart. 
 
 It was an awful place. I had heard our slum sisters speak 
 of the misery, of the benighted homes, of the woebegone
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 35 
 
 creatures who lived in them, but here I was right in the 
 heart of the seething evil and curse, and for once I myself 
 was looking into the faces of those into whose life scarce a 
 spark of joy or a ray of hope dawns, except the mocking 
 mirth that comes from hell and the tantalizing hope that is 
 never realized. 
 
 A SCENE OF SQUALOR. 
 
 The following scene of wretchedness is but one of the 
 many our officers witness in this neighborhood : 
 
 " Up three broad steps, and we are in a large, wide pas- 
 sage, which has evidently seen very much better days. On 
 the door hangs a white drapery ; some little one is dead. The 
 dejected form of a woman leans against the wall, apparently 
 with no aim, no wish, in an attitude of deepest dejection. 
 We ask her what she is watching for. Lifting her heavy eye- 
 lids, she looks at us in a sullen, almost stupid manner, but all 
 we can get from her is, ' Waiting for the funeral ; waiting 
 for the funeral 1 ' and those swollen eyelids fall again. 
 
 " We leave her, and mounting the stairs, enter a little, 
 dark room, almost entirely devoid of furniture. We pass 
 through it to the one in the rear. It also is very small. In 
 the centre on a table lies the form of a dead babe, its mother 
 and a neighbor sitting on one side. 
 
 " This is what first meets our gaze, but as our eyes get ac- 
 customed to the dim light from the one candle burning on 
 the brass chandelier, we see there are others in the room. 
 On the right hand side is an old lounge, and on it lie what at 
 first seem to be two bundles. They are the two little broth- 
 ers of the dead baby ; one, as we lean over and look into his 
 thin, pale little face, with sunken eyes and bloodless lips, 
 looks as if he must soon have to follow baby. Both are just 
 huddled up, with their ragged coats on, trying to keep warm. 
 Two little girls look wistfully up in,to gur faces from the
 
 36 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 other side of the room, then climb on a chair and look at the 
 still, cold face of the one they, though so tiny themselves, 
 had often nursed and tried to soothe. But now our eyes fall 
 on the saddest part of that picture. The father of these chil- 
 dren lies in a drunken stupor in the other corner of the room. 
 All goodness and manliness gone, there he lay like a log, un- 
 conscious of anything drunk, drunk ! And yet the wife 
 tried to shield him, saying that he had sat up with them two 
 nights, and was so tired ! She then got up to put the shoes 
 we had brought for the babe upon its little feet. What a 
 shocking sight that poor little creature's legs presented 
 white, yellowish skin hanging on Io0g, straight bones, with 
 a slight enlargement which marked where the knee came 
 and nothing more ! 
 
 "We talked to them, prayed with them, and, promising 
 to come again, began to make our way toward the door, 
 when the great, heavy form of the ' father ' slowly rolled over 
 and rose, to reel round once or twice, stagger into the next 
 room and, fortunately, sink into a chair, where we were 
 obliged to leave him, and leave them to him and God." 
 
 Some distance further, after we had turned into an off 
 street, we saw a motley crowd gathered around a dark door- 
 way. Then the door suddenly opened and a woman stepped 
 out on to the sidewalk and beckoned with her bony finger to 
 a policeman. He stepped up, struck a match, walked in and 
 closed the door behind him. Then we heard a slight scuffle 
 within and a shuffling of feet. 
 
 We waited some seconds, or, I should have said, we did 
 not go away, but moved about so as to avoid any suspicion. 
 Then the door opened and two men, whom I judged from 
 their dress to be detectives, held on either arm a poor, help- 
 less, besotted drunkard. He was an old man with sunken
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 37 
 
 cheeks and torn and filthy rags covered his emaciated body. 
 
 " Get up," said one of the policemen, using his long night 
 club. The man's head dropped, his form leaned forward and 
 his feet fell from under him. In this condition, murmuring 
 to himself half aloud, he was carried off by the detectives to 
 the police station. 
 
 Not a nightly occurrence only, nay an hourly, an almost 
 momentary occurrence in these dark haunts of the great city. 
 
 "Come on," I said to my companion, "I have seen 
 enough." 
 
 A WAIF OF THE STREETS. 
 
 SALOONS IN LEGIONS. 
 
 But the saloons how many were there ? Hundreds. In
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 Cherry street alone, along one side of that street only, we 
 counted twenty-seven in three blocks. And mind you, almost 
 every saloon was crowded with customers, the majority of 
 whom were either drinking, shouting, cursing or swearing. 
 
 I have been told that there are thirty thousand saloons in 
 New York City. I thought the statement one that should 
 have little credence. But after passing up street after street 
 in which almost every second or third house was one of those 
 polling houses to destruction and ruin I can no longer doubt 
 the statement. 
 
 I and my comrades decided to count the number of 
 drunken individuals who passed us during that night, and 
 within three hours we counted not less than fifty-five persons, 
 who were so far intoxicated as to be unable to walk straight 
 upon the sidewalk, and this number was exclusive of those 
 we counted within saloons, and in some we found as many as 
 five, six, ten and even fifteen. 
 
 Let any one who is disposed to think me over-estimating 
 the number of these resorts or coloring my description of the 
 blight and curse they occasion walk along the Bowery on 
 Saturday night between the hours of ten and twelve, and if 
 he be unmoved by the scores of pitiful objects and woebegone 
 creatures who will pass him within an hour he must surely 
 possess an adamantine heart.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EVER MOVING ON AIMLESSLY. 
 
 IT is growing colder, and the wind blows sharper and 
 keener. A glance through the large, brightly polished 
 
 windows of the saloons tells us that the hand has 
 reached the figure twelve on the dial of the clock. There is 
 a sudden exit of men and women from these liquor rooms, 
 and a closing and locking of their doors. A large theatre 
 is just emptying itself, and crowds of men and women are 
 flocking past us on either side. 
 
 " Now," said my comrade, who had spent some years 
 in the very neighborhood through which I was walking, 
 " you have been told that there are few men who have 
 to walk about this great city without home or shelter. But 
 what you will se will prove a very different experience 
 from what you have heard." 
 
 We walked a little more briskly, though tired and lan- 
 guid. And, besides, it is between the hours of twelve and 
 four that one standing or lurking about is liable to be seized 
 by the strong arm of the law for vagrancy, and having no 
 credentials upon us and only a few cents in our pockets we 
 thought it wise to keep " on the move." 
 
 The Latin proverb reads, " The silent features have often 
 both words and expressions of their own." True ! And the 
 faces of the men who passed us, looking well-nigh numb 
 with cold, and with haggard and gaunt expressions, spoke in- 
 finitely more than words of the wretched and shelterless 
 night that lay before them.
 
 40 NEW YORK*S INFERNO. 
 
 " But it is after twelve o'clock," I said to my companion ; 
 " what are all these men doing at this hour walking about ? " 
 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp, to the right and left of us, with 
 their hands tucked in their sleeves and their heads bent as 
 though they were looking upon the sidewalk for some less 
 hard place than the pitiless stones beneath them to lay their 
 weary, aching bones upon. 
 
 " Will not these men have some place to sleep to-night ?" 
 I inquired. 
 
 " No, sir," replied my companion. " I have been one of 
 them myself, and have wandered the streets regularly for 
 nights. Let me take you to the streets where they sleep 
 upon the wagons and trucks. Do you see that covered truck 
 there ? I slept in that very truck for two nights. I would 
 have slept there longer but for being disturbed by the police. 
 You should come down here some wet night and see some of 
 these men creeping under steps and into dark passageways 
 and under trucks and wagons for some shelter from the rain 
 and protection from the wind. Ah, sir, it would make your 
 heart ache." 
 
 POVERTY, THEN CRIME. 
 
 On we sped, still passing scores of men, some of them 
 young men, apparently strong and capable of work. 
 
 Do you say they were thieves ? 
 
 I answer emphatically, " No /." 
 
 Possibly one in every six may have been a character 
 rightly designated by such a description, but the mass of these 
 men my companion (who had spent the blackest and most 
 miserable part of his life within this precinct) assured me 
 were men who had no work, no purse to pay for a shelter, 
 and no roof beneath which to lay their heads". 
 
 Speak to that man standing at that street corner. Talk to
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 41 
 
 him about means. Why, he has not the miserable pittance 
 that would pay for a night's lodging. There is not a dime on 
 his person. He will look you in the face and say : 
 
 "Give me work, and then talk about money. Give me 
 a chance to earn some food, and then talk about paying 
 for it." 
 
 Some of our field officers have spoken to these men con- 
 cerning their future, have urged them in loving and earnest 
 
 THE FIGHT IN FRONT OF THE DIVE. 
 
 terms to live a better life and prepare for death, and while 
 conversing with them have been forced to say mentally, 
 " This man already experiences the existence of a living 
 death. He lacks food, and we have need to give him the 
 physical bread before talking to him of the spiritual." 
 What is to be done with these out-of-works?
 
 42 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 What ought to be done for these men who spend these 
 nights in the cold, in the storm, unsought, unhoused, unbe- 
 friended ? 
 
 It is these very men we seek to help and for whom we 
 propose to open shelter houses where they can receive food 
 for the body plain, good, substantial food and after sup- 
 plying their bodily wants, we propose to bring them within 
 the influence of that grace which will supply their spiritual 
 needs. 
 
 It is the welfare of these men that I feel unutterably con- 
 cerned about. By helping, reclaiming and saving one of 
 these men I add another good member to society, and I better 
 the condition of the community. I strengthen its safety and 
 lessen its dangers, and, after all, "it is the welfare of the 
 people that is the supreme law." 
 
 It may be asked, " Ought not the police to interfere and 
 prevent them sleeping out of doors ?" 
 
 Let me assure my readers that the police have more now 
 than they can possibly do, and the courts, too, for that mat- 
 ter. The officers of the law have again and again assured 
 me that their time is almost wholly absorbed in looking after 
 these poor unfortunates. 
 
 What is wanted is more . suitable and efficient accommo- 
 dation, more comfortable and inviting shelter for these men 
 who are not only, and for some time have not only been, out 
 of work, but whose efforts to obtain work have been fruitless.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOW TO SAVE THE SUFFERERS. 
 
 TT7HERE is another phase to this great city life, and one 
 which cannot be overlooked, and that is the daily trap- 
 ping of the victims who have dropped into its whirl- 
 pool from country life innocent and unsophisticated young 
 men, who tramp the streets to find a lodging, and then are 
 herded in with those who are already as bad as human beings 
 can well-nigh be out of hell. 
 
 In many instances they have fallen to moral, aye, and to 
 social depths before they have time to realize their surround- 
 ings and appreciate any remedy. 
 
 Repeatedly the girls who have talked to our Slum sisters 
 in the dives and drinking saloons have said that they had no 
 idea of the place they were coming to, and that? the father or 
 mother, far away in the country, knows nothing about it 
 either ; that they are hopeless and despairing, and brushing 
 away the tears, they whirl back into the dance, and seem 
 to toss down glasses of spirits to try to blunt the edge of their 
 misery and shame. 
 
 Few places can exert a wider or more harmful influence 
 than the large building, to the threshold of which I threaded 
 my way, on the Bowery, the name of which I withhold, but 
 which, with others, is made conspicuous by a notice outside 
 that is deceptive in its character. It is an open auditorium, 
 fitted up with tables, to and from which waiters are ever 
 hurrying with wine and spirits. 
 
 43
 
 44 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 I, of course, was not allowed to enter. I was looked upon 
 as altogether too poverty-stricken and dejected to cross its 
 threshold, over which a stream of humanity was incessantly 
 pouring. My companion turned and whispered to me that 
 hundreds in this and like buildings received the first deadly 
 poison that devours and destroys both body and soul. 
 
 Further along, on the opposite side of the same street, 
 was another building, at the doors of which a man, dressed up 
 in a manner calculated to arouse the curiosity of passers-by, 
 was calling out at the top of his voice : " Step inside ; Step 
 inside! Seats all free! All seats free!" One glance within 
 revealed a large room, theatre-like in size and circus-like in 
 shape. The air was filled with clouds of the coveted weed 
 and the strong odor of drink. 
 
 DRINK, ONLY DRINK. 
 
 I stopped at the doorway a few moments and glanced 
 around. Men were rushing about from seat to seat and table 
 to table with bottles of all colors bearing foreign labels. 
 Drink ! 
 
 It was all drink. 
 
 It was drink at every turn, whichever way one cast one's 
 eyes. This seemed the one indispensable source to which the 
 thief, the harlot, the criminal and the murderer turned. If 
 strength was needed for the weak frame, if nerve required 
 for the daring deed, if solace wanted for some troubled breast, 
 it could be obtained at the same fiery source drink ! 
 
 The fact that alcohol destroys 100,000 lives in this country 
 annually, that it makes 70,000 widows and throws 100,000 
 orphans upon our hands ; that it causes 500 maniacs and as 
 many suicides, and consigns to bur jails some 500,000 crimi- 
 nals, had no particle of weight with these heedless, reckless 
 souls.
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 45 
 
 They wanted pleasure ; they only sought to appease their 
 lower appetites in sin and debauchery. On they swept to 
 drink deeper from the stream, the waters of which carry 
 putrefaction and death. 
 
 But I had seen enough, and turning to my companions I 
 said, "Let us leave and go home." Ah! welcome word. 
 For but for the grace of God we, as others who walked with 
 heavy and tired feet on either side of us, mierht have been 
 homeless, without bread and without that for which we now 
 can gladly sacrifice bread, the life that never dies, and with- 
 out which the soul has but the fearful looking forward to of 
 the death that never ends. 
 
 One more look, which brought in its turn such pity as I 
 have rarely before experienced for those whose only cathe- 
 drals are the cold and miserable streets of this great city. 
 Though I had seen with my own eyes so many different as- 
 pects of the city life, yet this was the one all absorbing phase 
 the need of hands-of rescue, homes of refuge for these un- 
 pitied, unreached, unhoused and unchurched fellow-citizons. 
 
 Oh, that anything I might say might arouse the sympa- 
 thies of those who have wealth and influence at their com- 
 mand by which they can succor and uplift these hungry and 
 weird-looking men who tramp the streets of our Empire City! 
 
 AND WHAT IS THE REMEDY? 
 
 Right thankful was I to again reach our Headquarters on 
 Reade Street, where I changed my disheveled and tattered 
 clothes for my Army uniform. 
 
 Still more gratitude did I experience when reaching the 
 stoop of my own home, and though my dear wife at the same 
 time had been visiting, in company with the Slum sisters, 
 other haunts and centres of vice and sin, taking hope and
 
 46 
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 peace with her to the hopeless and peaceless, and was still ab- 
 sent, yet I did not grudge an hour of her time for was it not 
 that for which I had just been wishing? And in the stead of that 
 one woman, and in the place of that small brigade of Slum 
 angels, I could have wished that a thousand ladies of New 
 York City could have entered the homes, unadorned by purity 
 and unknown to peace, and that a thousand men, whose 
 hearts are touched by the love of humanity, could be scat- 
 tered among their disheartened and despairing fellow-citizens. 
 Will this day dawn this day that shall bring joy to these 
 heavy hearts and brightness to these darkened souls ? 
 
 Oh, that God, who looks down upon the tangled maze of 
 human affairs with infinite love and pity, may cause the 
 uprising of those touched with the love that filled and in- 
 spired the breast of the Saviour of Nazareth the Friend of 
 the poor, who was not ashamed to eat with publicans and 
 sinners that they may become helpers and saviours of man- 
 kind!
 
 MRS. BOOTH'S DISCOVERIES. 
 
 PATHOS AND TRAGEDY ENCOUNTERED IN A NIGHT TOUR 
 WITH SALVATION GIRLS. 
 
 AM weary and stiff and my head aches from 
 the sights and sounds, the darkness and the 
 horror of the last twenty-four hours. 
 
 But my heart aches far more than my 
 body, and I feel the crushing and weary 
 burden that I always experience when I 
 step back into life from the darkness of 
 death and damnation of New York's hell. 
 
 I do not see how any woman whose 
 heart is capable of feeling any mother, 
 any wife could go into this darkness and come out the 
 same as she entered. I feel years older ! But, ah ! how 
 powerless are lips to describe or pens to write scenes which 
 baffle description and which no ink is black enough to 
 show in their true colors. 
 
 What can I say ? How can I begin ? And how can I 
 ever hope to make others see these things as we have seen 
 them? 
 
 47
 
 48 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 It is indeed a hopeless task. But if a brief chronicle of 
 the last twenty-four hours can convey even a vague idea of 
 Slumdom and of the life work of our slum saviours, I will 
 gladly jot down the lights and shadows of last night as they 
 pass again in panorama before my mind.
 
 CHAPTER Vf. 
 
 HEART CHILLED FROM THE START. 
 
 IT was chilly. Evening was falling. The pale yellow sunset 
 made the muddy streets and lengthening shadows all the 
 drearier, and the biting frost made us wrap our shawls 
 close around us as we hurried from Headquarters toward the 
 East side slums. My ragged calico- wrapper flapped drearily in 
 the wind and the mud splashed round us at every step. 
 
 Already an oppressive sense of that which would have to 
 be faced during the next few hours made me feel sad and 
 weary. And everything around us seemed so cheerless that 
 we shivered at the thought of what that night's frost would 
 mean to the hundreds of homeless ones among whom we 
 were going to work. 
 
 Cherry Hill and its surroundings presented a picture of 
 busy, hurrying life. 
 
 It was Saturday night, and quarreling women, squalid 
 children, tired men and dissipated boys jostled confusedly 
 along the sidewalks. The streets were like rivers of black 
 mud, through which one had to wade on the uneven cobble- 
 stones, stepping from one little, comparatively dry island to 
 another and alternately sinking ankle deep in the filth. 
 Heaps of rubbish, numberless wooden hoops broken off beer 
 casks and refuse of every description ornamented the road- 
 way. 
 
 We passed quickly through the throng, recognized on 
 every hand with " Good evening, sister !" " Oh ! there are 
 the Salvation girls 1" " Good evening 1" " Good evening 1" 
 
 49
 
 50 
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 cheerily came from the women standing gossiping on their 
 stoops, and from the policeman on the corner watching sus- 
 piciously the actions of the many ragged ones already be- 
 
 MRS. BOOTH IN SLUMMING COSTUME. 
 
 coming quarrelsome in preparation for Saturday night brawls 
 that make the night lively throughout this precinct. 
 
 We turned quickly into our little Slum quarters to be
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 51 
 
 greeted by the bright faces of the five Slum girls living there 
 and working lovingly and patiently under the direction of 
 my brave companion, Staff-Capt. Bown. We paused but a 
 few moments to talk together, and then I slipped up stairs to 
 the nursery to see the sleeping babies, whose weary mothers 
 would soon come to fetch them after their day's work was 
 done. 
 
 INSPECTING SLUM NURSERY BABIES. 
 
 Bright and cheery and clean looked the little room, and 
 peaceful looked the little white faces of the sleeping babies. 
 In the hammock swung a six-weeks-old little one, with its 
 blue eyes staring contentedly up at the ceiling. On the rock- 
 ing chair by the fire was a tiny girl. Two years of age she 
 was said to be ; but, oh, how thin and wan was her little 
 face, and how bony her tiny fingers as she clasped them and 
 rocked quietly to and fro. 
 
 Then I was taken into the inner room the sleeping-room 
 and there in their little cots three more little ones were 
 sleeping. The light streamed down from the window upon 
 the face of one ; and as I lifted the little red blanket back 
 and looked at the tiny face there was perfect contentment 
 written there, although the little one in the few months of 
 his life had seen sickness and sorrow, want and hunger. 
 
 But I quickly put the blanket back and crept away on 
 hearing that this was the most fretful and troublesome 
 baby of the lot, fearing to waken and call him back from 
 dreamland to the world which worries and ruffles so much 
 his poor little temper. I turned to another cot where a six- 
 weeks-old baby was waking. 
 
 Lovingly he was taken up in the arms of one of the Slum 
 girls, and a smile flickered on his baby face. Poor little one ! 
 His mother brought him there hopeless and despairing a few 
 mornings since. She was told she could not leave him on ac-
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO.
 
 YORK'S INFERNO. 58 
 
 count of sickness in the nursery, and with the tears coursing 
 down her wan cheeks she told of her misery. 
 
 SAVED FROM DESPAIR. 
 
 No home, no friend to turn to, no night's lodging, no food 
 to eat for four and twenty hours ! And, alas 1 no work to be 
 obtained with that little one in her arms. She pleaded very 
 pitifully for her little one to be cared for while she went out 
 to try and find work, and added : 
 
 " I am so wretched I feel tempted to cut my throat. For 
 what can I do ? What can I do ?'' 
 
 So the baby had been cared for during the day, and she 
 comes for him at night not knowing where she can find a 
 shelter for him and herself, and they go out together into the 
 chilly night, homeless and desolate ; but she presses him to 
 her mother's heart and feels comforted. 
 
 We came down again and asked a few questions as to the 
 visits of the day, and then we hurried out into the chilly 
 streets. 
 
 It was even colder now. The sunset had flickered out 
 and darkness had fallen. Ah ! well it had, for surely it was a 
 fit pall to cover the living death of vice which held high 
 carnival. 
 
 One of the first sights that met us as we crossed the street 
 was the figure of a tiny boy stooping over something spilled 
 upon the sidewalk. He had been sent out for a few cents' 
 worth of groceries ; a string had given way and a package 
 opening at both ends had let out a brown stream of coffee 
 which was mixing with the mud. Sitting 1 down upon a step 
 he looked in dismay at the broken package, big tears rolled 
 down his white cheeks and a howl of utter desolation broke 
 forth. Poor little fellow ! He could not have been more 
 than five years old !
 
 64 
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 SOOTHING A CHILD'S GRIEF. 
 
 Instantly my companion sat down upon the muddy step 
 with him, and stopping the escaping coffee, folded the paper 
 and carefully arranged the little package, while I untied the 
 string to fasten it for her. He looked up with blue eyes full 
 of surprise, and the lamplight flickered in the big tears ready 
 to drop, but checked by wonder. In a few minutes a crowd 
 of boys had gathered round us. 
 
 _ \\ tlli Q li '. 
 
 THE WAIFS SLEEPING UNDER A WAGON. 
 
 " What's the matter here?" shouted one to the other. 
 
 " Oh, it's the Salvation sisters picking up that shaver's 
 coffee for him." 
 
 A dirty, mischievous hand grabbed some of that which 
 had already been trodden into the mud. 
 
 "Get back, you!'' shouted another urchin. "What do 
 yer want to steal the bloke's coffee for ?" 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed a third, "that's what the sisters are 
 doing I" 
 
 "No, they ain't! They don't steal nothing. They ain't 
 thieves, like you !" came back the answer.
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 55 
 
 The little package was fastened up by now and securely 
 stowed away in a pocket of the little fellow's ragged jacket, 
 and he trotted away through the crowd homeward bound, 
 but fortunately saved from the warm welcome which doubt- 
 less would have greeted him. 
 
 TYING UP "THE COFFEE,
 
 CHAP PER VII. 
 
 WHERE POVERTY ABIDES ALWAYS. 
 
 WE hurried away in the opposite direction, for time flies 
 and we were bound for an hour or so of visiting be- 
 fore supper. We turned in at a door upon which there 
 may once have been a bell, but no bell-ringing or knocking 
 was necessary now, for it is one of the poorest lodging houses 
 of the city only one of them. Would to God it were the only 
 one ! But there are many, many more just like it. 
 
 An old man paused as we passed in, his tattered hat drawn 
 over his face, which bore unmistakably the marks of sickness 
 and vice. As he saw us a smile flickered round his otherwise 
 grim mouth, and he greeted my companion warmly. 
 
 We passed on, up one flight of dirty stairs, the boards of 
 which creaked ominously beneath us. A fusty, stifling smell 
 made us hold our breath. Another flight the air became 
 fouler. We paused for a moment's rest upon the landing. 
 There was a large ash barrel already full of refuse ! Another 
 flight it grew darker, and the gaslight below became indis- 
 tinct. Yet another flight, and now the smell became a 
 perfect stench, and we had carefully to feel our way along in 
 the dusk. There was but a flickering of faint light below us 
 as we waited upon another landing. 
 
 All the doors were closed, but we could hear the sound of 
 brawling and fighting within. Before us was a door to 
 which we groped our way, and then began to ascend the 
 garret stairs. Then we were in pitch blackness not a 
 glimmer of light and the air seemed about as thick as the 
 
 56
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 57 
 
 darkness around us. The stairs were very narrow and we 
 had to feel our way by the wall as we mounted. 
 
 At last we had reached the top of the house. No light of 
 any description was there. The eaves of the house fell low 
 all around us, and although it was too dark to see them, bare 
 rafters were over our heads. There was a door in front of us; 
 we heard talking, and stepping up to it, we knocked. 
 
 ABODE OF THE DRINK RIDDEN. 
 
 " Who's there?" shouted a voice, and unbidden we opened 
 the door. Directly my companion was seen and The Army 
 badge upon her old gray shawl recognized we were gladly 
 bidden to enter. The room was lighted by a lamp, the glass 
 of which was smoked and broken, and had been patched with 
 brown paper. In front of us stood an old woman in a 
 tattered black dress, her already gray hair matted and 
 disordered and her face bloated. At the table a man was 
 working, who took absolutely no notice of our entrance, and 
 on the only other chair visible sat an old woman with 
 a market basket in her hands evidently a neighbor. 
 
 My companion was no stranger in the room, and she 
 began at once to talk gently and in a neighborly way with 
 the woman, who is a hard drinker, and yet who has a heart 
 capable of being touched with a desire to do better. My 
 companion sat down upon an old box and I was most 
 cordially invited to sit down upon the bed. My heart sank 
 just a little lower as I did so. Bed clothing at least as we 
 are accustomed to speak of it there was none ; but an old 
 quilt or comfort was spread over the mattress, and I saw 
 enough at one glance to make me turn away and try to 
 forget that I had taken my seat there. 
 
 I watched the flickering of the lamplight on the two 
 faces one so pure and good, the other so bloated and sin
 
 58 
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERUO.
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO 59 
 
 spoiled. My companion was pleading with her patiently, 
 lovingly; trying to get the truth into her poor, befogged 
 mind ; and while they talked I glanced around the room. 
 
 It was a very small garret apartment ; the beams ran low 
 and there was no pretence at paint or plaster. In every di- 
 rection the walls and ceilings were draped with cobwebs. It 
 looked as if hundreds of busy spiders had been at work for 
 generations past. Across the window an old rag hung 
 which might possibly be dignified by the name of curtain. 
 We could hear the sound of shouting and riot in the streets, 
 and I wondered why it was so distinct as the window did 
 not seem made to opeu, and then I noticed that some panes 
 were gone, and the cold night air proving a blessing in 
 disguise could be felt through the otherwise stifling at- 
 mosphere. 
 
 TOUCHED UNTO TEARS. 
 
 " Will you sing to me?" I heard the woman say, and then 
 all was still while we sang : 
 
 Your garments must be white as snow, 
 
 Prepare to meet your God. 
 For to His throne we all must go, 
 
 Prepare to meet thy God. 
 Prepare me, prepare me, Lord, to stand before Thy Throne. 
 
 I watched the change upon her face ; tears welled up into 
 her eyes, and then slowly coursed down her cheeks. We 
 knelt down to pray, and then turned away from the wretched 
 room where drink had made such havoc, feeling thankful 
 that song and prayer could still touch this heart so hardened 
 to all else. 
 
 Out on the landing again in the dark of night we groped 
 our way across to another door and knocked. No response 
 but the sound of loud quarreling within. We knocked 
 again, Fumes of tobacco smoke had found their way through
 
 60 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 the chinks in the door and made the air still more difficult to 
 breathe. We knocked louder in desperation, anxious to get 
 in out of the darkness. 
 
 At last the door opened, and we asked if there was not a 
 sic-k woman there. " Yes," and we were bidden welcome. 
 
 Oh, it seems impossible to describe this room ! Could 
 I paint it in all its desolation and filth, with the sad, dark 
 colors it would need, my picture would be styled exaggerated. 
 But without any hesitation I can say that there was no room 
 for exaggeration, for imagination could depict nothing worse. 
 
 POVERTY BEYOND DESCRIPTION. 
 
 The room was chilly and damp, and one shuddered as if 
 entering a vault. The uneven and rotten boards of the floor 
 were black with layers of dirt, and the roof, which was com- 
 posed only of rafters, was ceUed with deposits of dirt, 
 cobweb and soot. Especially over the corner where the 
 stove had been the soot was so thick that it hung in black 
 layers and flakes. The window was broken, and to replace 
 the many missing panes rags had been hung over it and 
 propped up with a piece of kindling wood. The room was 
 utterly devoid of furniture. There was but one chair, but 
 that stood away in a corner, with the back long since 
 broken off and the bottom gone. It consisted simply of legs! 
 
 There was a shaky wooden bench, and to this, with an 
 apology for its poor accommodation, we were invited with a 
 touch of gallantry by a poor, tottering, drunken man, who 
 knew the slum saviours well enough to show them respect. 
 
 The bedstead was an iron one, but through age it had 
 given way in the middle. A few rags were all the bed cover- 
 ing of which it could boast, and in the midst of them, 
 emaciated by sickness and pinched by hunger, with her hair 
 already whitenedjay age,ancl limbs shivering in the bitt^ep
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 G 
 
 cold, sat a sick woman. Her only garment was a torn waist, 
 which she tried to hold around her with thin, bony hands. 
 
 "Yes, she has been feeling very sick. She is sick all the 
 time now." But she asked eagerly how the two sick slum 
 
 -3> dimiim 
 
 "COME ALONG, SIS." 
 
 officers were, and said that she had been thinking of them. 
 
 Her husband sat at the foot of the bed and tried to talk 
 to us, but he was incoherent and rambling, excited one 
 minute, despairing the next. A little of his story I have 
 learned, and it is but the story of hundreds more.
 
 62 NEW YORK'S INFEENO. 
 
 A TYPICAL STORY. 
 
 No work, weary tramps and endless searching, and yet 
 still no work ; companions who would offer him drink and he 
 (starving and despairing) takes it, and there is nothing else ; 
 returning at night, tired and footsore, he has to sit up by a 
 groaning wife in a cheerless, cold room with nothing to give 
 her to eat, and to fall asleep knowing that there is no better 
 hope on the waking to-morrow. 
 
 He had been several times to the slum quarters not to 
 beg nor to borrow only to say how sick he was of his own 
 wretched efforts to do better, and to be prayed with. A very 
 independent nature, so they told me, with some fine touches 
 and traits in his character, which make it impossible for him 
 to be a beggar, though hunger and misery are his daily 
 companions. 
 
 But to return to the room. One thing I have left un- 
 mentioned. It is a broken stove filled with gray ashes, but 
 no sign of fire. A crust lay on the table and a little salt was 
 in a plate ; but they had had nothing to eat that day, and 
 there was no hope of anything to eat on the next. 
 
 " But on Monday," he said, "the old woman shall have all 
 she wants, for I am going to work "hope was not yet gone! 
 A little inner room or cupboard I noticed at the end of this 
 room. It was another apartment let separately to another 
 lodger, with room only for a bed, and I could hear 
 sounds which came from the drunken woman who occupied 
 this garret corner. The whole scene was depressing, and 
 the icy coldness of the room made the filth and stench all 
 the more horrible 
 
 SICKNESS BEYOND HOPE. 
 
 The sick wQman had a wound several inches deep upon.
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 her leg, inflicted, I afterwards learned, by a quarrelsome 
 neighbor. But that which caused her suffering and weari- 
 ness and loss of sleep and the groans which broke from her 
 as she moved, was a dread disease whose grip she will never 
 more shake off. 
 
 Great knotted lumps were upon her breast, and as ske told 
 us the doctor said this would all have to be cut out, the word 
 " cancer " flashed through our minds. That is why she 
 would not go to a hospital, because she feared to face this 
 operation. She was sure she would never live through 
 it. But as we looked around at the misery, and thought of 
 the starvation and cold and loneliness, we felt that the living 
 death was worse than dying were it not for the hereafter. 
 
 All this time my companion had been talking faithfully to 
 the drunken man, and I heard him cursing the drink and 
 telling her how he hated it telling her that could the dead 
 mother of the beautiful French home of years ago see him 
 now she would never know him never ! never ! She would 
 not believe her son could fall so low or reach that wretched 
 garret. 
 
 Then we knelt down beside the bed and prayed to the One 
 whose eyes can see through the darkness and wretchedness 
 into those desolate hearts. And as we prayed the woman 
 rocked to and fro sobbing, and the man responded, " Yes, 
 yes ; that's true ! My God, help me ! " while the tears 
 washed his unwashed face and he pushed his fingers threugh 
 his matted hair. 
 
 Then we took leave, promising to send some toast and a 
 cup of tea to the sick one. 
 
 The door was left open so that we could grope our way 
 across the passage, and we began to descend into the darkness 
 of the narrow stairway. My companion went first, and as I
 
 64 
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 followed her into the shadows I looked back across the land- 
 ing and I shall not forget that last look. I could no longer 
 see the occupants of the room merely the end of the old 
 bedstead but their shadows were cast upon the wall 1 The 
 woman was still sitting up in bed, with her long, bony 
 fingers beckoning to her husband, as she tried to rouse him 
 from his drunken stupor and shouted : 
 
 " Can't you light the ladies down? Can't you hold a lamp 
 for 'em?" The back shadows were standing out on the wall 
 in bold relief, and the weak voice, querulous and shrill, gave 
 the scene a weird aspect. 
 
 'SAY, SING FOR US."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FROM SHADOW TO BLACKNESS. 
 
 JT7HEN we entered into the blackness again, and found our- 
 
 J_ selves presently upon the landing below. Turninganto 
 
 another room for a short call, we were welcomed and 
 
 told of the family's welfare or ill-fare it would he probably 
 
 better to say and where we listened to the violent rating 
 
 at the husband from his wife because he had neglected to 
 
 offer us a seat. 
 
 " Oh ! it's a poor welcome you give the ladies, Mike, if yer 
 can't have the common dacency to show 'em to a seat I " 
 
 But Mike was not concerned, and just then was engrossed 
 in talking out his troubles to my companion, who sym- 
 pathized with him over a pair of spectacles which he had re- 
 cently purchased, but which did not assist his failing sight. 
 
 Then down the stairs again we went and entered a room in 
 which we found six double beds. No partitions, no screens ; 
 families living here, too, huddled together in one common 
 room. Here the cooking, washing, sleeping was all done. 
 Fighting, living and dying went on sometimes all at the 
 same time. Its windows only let in the light and air when 
 broken, and the air was so thick with tobacco smoke that we 
 could hardly breathe. Men, women and children drag out a 
 miserable existence in this place. The bed nearest the door 
 had a string across the top of it and some filthy rags hung 
 over it. 
 
 BABY'S LONG WAIT FOR MAMMA. 
 
 It was the first thing that attracted my attention, for over 
 6s
 
 66 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 the rags peered a golden head of a perfect little angel. True, 
 the tiny face was dirty, and the mass of golden curls was 
 tangled, but it was a strikingly beautiful child, and such a 
 contrast to the rags around the bed on which it crouched. 
 The little dress it wore was insufficient to cover it and had 
 slipped down over the baby shoulders, and I saw the skin 
 was fair and white. There was a beautiful pose about the 
 neck and head which would have enraptured an artist. 
 
 As we peeped over the rags at the head, and then stepped 
 round to the side to speak to it, the little one's face beamed 
 forth with such a smile that it made us feel the tiny heart 
 was but waiting for love as the flower buds wait for the sun 
 ready to burst forth at the first ray. The mother was at 
 work, and the little one had to sit there [on the bed during 
 her absence. Ah ! many a long, dreary hour in the darkness 
 and squalor had this little one to wait. 
 
 No sheets or blankets were upon the bed, only a common 
 ticking covering and a few dirty rags for clothing. Some 
 clothes hung drying on a line extended from two of the bed- 
 posts, but the washing they had received seemed to have 
 done very little to improve them. There were five more beds 
 of the same description, with the ragged garments of the 
 divers families ornamenting the strings and posts around 
 them. 
 
 There was some water boiling on the stove, and there was 
 a bench for us to sit upon as we talked to the occupants of 
 the room. They knew the " Salvation Sisters," and were full 
 of inquiries as to those who had been to visit them. Simply 
 and earnestly, with first one and then another and then alto- 
 gether, my companion pleaded. One face especially struck- 
 us as an intelligent, fine face. It was that of a man who had 
 certainly seen far, far better days, but who, through the
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 67 
 
 strong chains of drink, had been dragged down until this 
 miserable, homeless place had become his only shelter. He 
 told us how he had recently attended our meetings on Four- 
 teenth Street, and he heard with interest of the opening of a 
 hall close by to which he said he would most certainly come 
 on Sunday. As we sang again we heard his voice chiming 
 in. When I prayed, the occupants of the room knelt down, 
 
 I 
 
 AFRAID OF ITS MOTHER. 
 
 and I could hear this man sobbing bitterly from the shadowy 
 corner where he knelt. 
 
 Heartsick, we turned into the landing, followed fey the 
 " God bless you'sl " of those who had just composed our little 
 audience. 
 
 Here a young woman came to open her sad heart to us, and 
 she told us, how she would have to go to work for herself
 
 68 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 directly she was well enough, for her husband was getting 
 worse and worse, and was drunk now all the time. 
 
 PRAYER-MEETING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 
 
 Then down we passed another flight, and knocked at the 
 door of the lodging-room on the ground floor. On entering, we 
 found ourselves surrounded by strangers, for there had been 
 moving of families since my companion last visited there. 
 One man, however, remembered her, and welcomed us. 
 There were six double beds in this room also. It was very 
 much like the room above, only more wretched if anything. 
 The floor was as dirty, the windows as dark and the beds as 
 filthy with their trimmings of old rags. Ragged coats, some- 
 times crowned by battered-in, mould-covered hats, hung 
 upon the bedposts. 
 
 Here we had another prayer-meeting, and talked and sang 
 with the people, but were interrupted by a man who lay on a 
 bed, with his wife sitting at the foot drinking. Both of them 
 were drunk and resented our presence, while his wife began 
 working herself up into a very violent rage. However, we 
 were surprised^to hear him chiming in as we sang,though they, 
 both of them, bounced out of the room when we prayed. 
 They returned afterward as we were saying good-bye, and we 
 took the opportunity to speak to them about their souls. 
 
 The man became interested, but his wife'? rage knew no 
 bounds, and she informed us in very strong terms that he 
 was quite as good as we were, while in the next breath she 
 declared that priests, doctors, missionaries and ministers had 
 tried their level best to make him better and could not suc- 
 ceed and it was pretty sure we should fail if they did. This 
 called forth answering abuse from him, and he demanded, in 
 very authoritative language, that she should immediately
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 69 
 
 " shut up and don't insult the ladies with your saucy tongue." 
 He, moreover, told her that she needed converting, and that 
 if she did not stop he would " throw her out of the window." 
 Then she dared him to do it, and so the quarrel went on. 
 
 We took our leave, followed by an assurance from the 
 woman that she wished us no harm, had never done anybody 
 any harm, and that she and her husband were a great deal 
 better than we were, which declaration seemed very much to 
 soothe her wounded feelings. 
 
 Then we passed out of the smoke, out of the foul, impure 
 air, into the chill and darkness of the night. Oh ! how fresh 
 and fragrant seemed the breeze to us, though to uptown 
 dwe'lers it might have seemed fetid and fraught with every 
 imaginable bad odor. Very bright and clean looked our little 
 slum home as we entered. How dazingly white the fresh 
 scrubbed boards appeared after the dirty vermin-ridden 
 houses from which we had just come, and the eight white 
 plates round the table shone brilliantly. 
 
 Glad, indeed, were the little band of Slum workers for the 
 hot coffee and bread and butter, and as I looked round at the 
 faces of these girls who so gladly and willingly give up the 
 comfort of ordinary life and live down in this darkness, 
 dressed in poor clothes, toiling and working, without money, 
 without praise and without thanks I did not wonder that 
 they shed light into many a dark home, and brought comfort 
 into many a breaking heart. 
 
 Their faces were so bright and their voices so cheery that 
 you would have thought sunbeams instead of lamplight were 
 playing on their features. Truly they lived in the sunshine 
 of the smile of Him whom they love and serve, and it is this 
 brightness which they carry with them into the sin-stricken, 
 wretched, homes which they visit,
 
 70 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 JENNIE'S STORY. 
 
 As we knelt and prayed together, our hearts were stronger 
 for what the night would bring. A few minutes we spent 
 there, and then, allotting the different portions of the neigh- 
 borhood to the girls, we prepared to go out again. But we 
 paused for a moment as one of the girls came down from the 
 nursery. 
 
 The last baby had just been taken away by its young 
 eighteen-year-old mother. It was " Jennie's baby" that I had 
 seen snugly wrapped up in the hammock ; and now she had 
 come, after a hard day's work, to fetch him away. 
 
 All her week's earnings were contained in an envelope she 
 held in her hand. Since Monday morning she had worked 
 hard, and for all this toil had received $2 honestly hers. As 
 she asked for change and opened the envelope that she might 
 pay the daily five cents for her baby's keep to her horror 
 she found that the $2 was missing. She had dropped it in 
 the street, and she hastened away to retrace her steps 
 through the darkness, while we all waited distressed and 
 anxious. Gladly would we have given her the money, but 
 we cannot give money, for instead of teaching self-help it 
 would pauperize ; and when once given more is always ex- 
 pected. To our joy, however, she came back a few minutes 
 later to say that she had picked it up upon the steps of a 
 store but half a block away. Then, cheery and happy, she 
 wrapped her baby round, and together they went out into the 
 frost and darkness. 
 
 A sad story is hers ! Twelve months ago she visited the 
 Slum quarters for the first time, despairing and sick at heart. 
 She was only seventeen then, and she had a five-month-old 
 baby in her arms no home, no friends ; no one with whom 
 to leave the Uttje one, and hejice go chance of getting work,
 
 NEW YORK^S INFERNO. 
 
 It meant to her either shame or starvation. For weeks 
 past she had slept with her babe in entryways and washed 
 him daily under the hydrants. How thankful she was when 
 he was taken into the nursery and she could gain an honest 
 living 1 ! But the baby was always ailing and died at last, and 
 the little one which now takes its place has better fare, for he 
 is a daily occupant of the nursery, and his mother is support- 
 ing them both by honest work. 
 
 VISITING THE DIVES. 
 
 Out into the night again went the little band, two and 
 two, scattered for night work with the teeming crowds that 
 turned midnight to noonday. Saloon and dive visiting was 
 the order of the night, and though it was not yet very late 
 we found all the men and women drunk in the first saloon 
 we entered. Hardly able to stand, they were leaning about 
 on tables and against the wall, quarreling and drinking, and 
 inhaling the fumes of the worst tobacco I have ever smelled. 
 
 One man became angry, saying that he did not need us, 
 and that he was a Catholic. But then some native honesty 
 lurking in his befogged brain made him add, " I know I ought 
 to be a good Catholic, and am a bad one, more's the pity." 
 Before we parted he was the most respectful and most inter- 
 ested member of our little audience. We were asked in 
 rather a definite manner to "quit," and so we passed out of 
 the glare and smoke into the night. 
 
 At the next door we heard the sound of music. A violin, 
 piano and flute were rattling off, loudly and shrilly, the 
 quickest of dance music. We pushed open the screen doors 
 and found ourselves in a large room where there were six or 
 seven young girls in brilliant short dresses drinking, dancing 
 and laughing with a low, dissolute crowd of men. Oh, how 
 difficult it is to deal with those whose hearts are aching, but
 
 72 
 
 NEW YORK^S INPERN6.
 
 NEW" YORK'S INFERNO. 78 
 
 who toss their heads and laugh, and walk away to dance the 
 dance of death, or to toss off spirits as if they were drinking 
 water 1 We talked with each one of them, and then passed 
 out again to another. 
 
 Both sides of the street to the right and to the left, in 
 front of us and behind are crowded, and we hear the sounds 
 of music and laughter and the shrill wrangling of those 
 already drunk. I could go on describing at length the work 
 which every week is done patiently and carefully in these 
 haunts of vice and sin, but I must pass on. 
 
 BY THE WAYSIDE. 
 
 Perhaps the most interesting work of that evening was 
 the quiet talks we had with the men lounging on the side- 
 walks. Every now and then we would be interrupted by the 
 drunken companion of one to whom we were speaking, or a 
 woman (without womanhood) would appear on the threshold 
 of one of those places and try to persuade or taunt our list- 
 ener into leaving us and joining the crowd within. 
 
 We talked to a pale-faced boy dressed in threadbare cloth' 
 ing, whose face was so pallid and ghastly that it looked as if 
 disease was already the forerunner of near approaching death. 
 He was only fourteen ! He lived in a saloon, and in his 
 young life had already seen more of vice and sin than a 
 volume could unfold. 
 
 " Never mind, if smoking and drinking may seem to you 
 to make you more manly, you know it really makes " But 
 before she could finish the sentence he chimed in with 
 
 " I know it makes fools of men. It would make a fool of 
 me." 
 
 And the bitterness in his voice showed us plainly that he 
 realized the end of the broad path down which those many 
 dancing feet were so swiftly treading,
 
 74 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 My companion was speaking to a man a few steps away, 
 when I began a conversation with a bright-eyed, good- 
 natured sailor lad, and found that he was a backslider. Fully 
 realizing the wretchedness and misery that those haunts 
 harbored behind their light and music, he still said that after 
 weeks of weary work at sea they were a sailor's only welcome 
 to shore again. 
 
 I could see, as he tried to laugh off what I was saying to 
 him, that he felt more than he cared to say. " It's all right 
 it's all right ! But it's no good talking to me," he said ; 
 and then I asked him looking into eyes that were frank and 
 honest despite the apparent indifference : " Do you not be" 
 lieve that this religion we talk about is real? Do you think 
 we are in earnest or not ?'' " In earnest ! Of course you are ! 
 We all know that. Why you go into dens and places where 
 others cannot and dare not enter, for it would be as much 
 as their lives are worth. But we know you." I inwardly said, 
 " Thank God !" as these words showed me that The Salvation 
 Army is gaining the confidence of the class for whom they 
 mostly work. With a warm nand-grip we parted, and I 
 saw him wistfully looking after us as we walked on. 
 
 Many others were talked to hopeless ones, starving ones, 
 staggering drunkards and then back again we went to hear 
 from the other Slum saviours of their visits in fifteen saloons.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PATROLLING THE STREETS. 
 
 FEW more minutes together and we turn out again to 
 pass the midnight hours on the streets. 
 It is very dark and cold now. Cats prowl about, growl- 
 ing in the ash barrels, running out from unsuspected nooks 
 and corners, fighting under the empty wagons that line the 
 streets, stealing down cellar stairs and darting about here, 
 there and everywhere. These vagrant cats seem to be the 
 only well-fed inhabitants of the slums, and it is a good thing 
 perhaps that they are there to help to clear the refuse from 
 the streets. 
 
 On, down street after street, until we walked into the 
 glare of the Bowery. Men and women pass us in scores, and 
 hundreds throng the streets as midnight approaches. Young 
 girls, laughing loud and long, old men tottering along with 
 the tide of passers-by, or leaning against some post or pillar ; 
 young men, some in tatters, with pinched and hungry 
 features, some with flashy dress and with the stamp of vice 
 upon their faces. 
 
 We were crossing the street when I became aware of a 
 band of drunken men just behind us. I could hear their talk, 
 and when we gained the other side and hurried on I thought 
 they were still following. 
 
 Suddenly my arm was tightly gripped ! I drew it away 
 and turned to confront the man who had taken it, when I 
 heard the words : 
 
 75
 
 76 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 "Don't you know me?' and a tall figure leaned over me. 
 The face was smeared with dirt, the clothes were ragged, the 
 hat was battered, but in spite of that I knew him it was my 
 husband ! 
 
 I had to struggle hard to keep an exclamation of joy and 
 a smile of glad recognition from lighting my face, but we 
 were the observed of all observers, with the light shining 
 brightly on my Army badge, and I knew only too well that 
 any affectionate look of recognition bestowed upon this (sup- 
 posed) street tough would be misunderstood. So, with a 
 short, earnest word or two and with a parting "God bless 
 you ! " I handed him a tract and we plunged again into the 
 throng. 
 
 It was Sunday morning now. Some saloons were still 
 open and crowded ; the front doors of others had been closed, 
 but through the cracks of the blinds and shutters we could 
 still see crowds within, and the side doors, we found, had 
 been opened. 
 
 SUNDAY MORNING SIDE DOORS. 
 
 The side entrances to the saloonsseemed every whit as bad 
 as the front, and quite as many people seemed to go into 
 them. Pool rooms were thronged, and billiard rooms also, 
 while up and down the streets the stream of passers still flowed 
 on, and every hour appeared more ghastly by the glare of the 
 electric light. 
 
 The walk of many was growing more and more unsteady, 
 and some of the homeless, shivering unemployed who could 
 not pay for a night's lodging, had slunk back into the door- 
 ways and were bracing themselves up against the sides. The 
 degradation and villainy written plainly upon some faces we 
 met was enough to make any heart shudder ; and it was 
 brought into greater prominence by the refined, and, in some
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 instances, beautiful faces of the hapless girls who were their 
 companions. 
 
 Then in the early morning hours, as we retraced our steps 
 again into the back streets, staggering figures were seen on 
 all sides. Here was a policeman rousing and waking a 
 drunken man, who lay stupefied and sleeping in an entry, but 
 who had to get up and stagger away into the darkness, only 
 to fall a little further on and be roused and driven forward by 
 another policeman,and further on by yet another and another. 
 
 DEFERENCE TO SALVATION GIRLS. 
 
 But even these staggering drunkards tried to step out of 
 our way and let us pass when they saw The Army badge and 
 recognized us as Salvationists. A little ragged, tattered boy 
 was running swiftly past us, and when he saw who we were 
 raised his tattered little cap with a wave of recognition and 
 a smile. And I thanked God from the depth of my heart that 
 the patient toil of these last months had done its work, and 
 had found a place for these brave girls in the hearts of those 
 for whom they live and work and sacrifice. 
 
 Away above us we could see glimmering like stars in the 
 darkness the brilliant lights of the Brooklyn Bridge ; cold and 
 clear and mocking they looked as they shone out of the dark- 
 ness, and their glimmer was reflected in the muddy pools at 
 our feet. Over that bridge passed daily hundreds and thou- 
 sands from home to office and office to home, knowing 
 nothing of the dying, starving, sin-blighted multitudes in the 
 hot-bed of wretchedness beneath. Mocking lights of Brook- 
 lyn Bridge ! You cannot lighten this darkness ! But above, 
 looking down with pitying love and mercy, we felt there was 
 One whose eyes can pierce not only the darkness of the 
 gathering clouds but also the darkness of vice and sin One 
 who can help us seek and save these wandering lost ones.
 
 YOBBOS INPBiJO> 
 
 Still the strains of music came from behind the closed 
 doors of the saloons, though the streets were desolate, save 
 for some forlorn figures, reeling now against a lamp-post, 
 now against the shutters of some store, and the upright 
 form of the police officer hovering in their wake and watch- 
 ing every suspicious figure that glided in and out and round 
 about the dark shadows. 
 
 A sheltering oasis, our tiny room in the .back tenement 
 house, seemed to us that night, and, weary and footsore as 
 we were, the little trundle bed was wonderfully welcome. 
 And it seemed soft to us when we thought of the many who 
 were sleeping in those empty carts or tramping the streets 
 all night, or lying upon filthy rags in the fetid air of the 
 lodging-house we had visited. 
 
 I cannot tell how it was that I managed to fall asleep at 
 all, for I felt as though sleep was the last thing possible. But 
 somehow or other my eyes closed, and then I found myself 
 in a thrilling and exciting situation, in the midst of a crowd 
 of men in a pool-room or a cellar, and I was trying to drive 
 out some boys who were there, and talking to the drunken 
 wretch who, I felt, had entrapped them to the ruin of their 
 souls. 
 
 From these scenes I was aroused. The room was light, 
 and dreams and shadows fled away as I heard a clear, happy 
 voice singing down below, " Hallelujah ! Hallelujah ! I love 
 Thee, my Saviour, I trust, Lord, in Thee." And then, looking 
 up, I could see from my window some smoky chimneys and 
 the tower of Brooklyn Bridge, and I realized that the night 
 with its horrors was over. 
 
 WRECKAGE OF THE NIGHT TIDE. 
 
 But daylight only ushered in a day with more heart-break- 
 ing scenes, more weariness and sadness, as we saw the
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 79 
 
 wreckage cast up by the stream of dissipation of the night 
 before. A very lively fight was going on in the yard below 
 between four wretched-looking cats, and shortly afterward a 
 sound of quarreling (this time in the human family) reminded 
 us that the "still calm of Sabbath" is a thing unknown in 
 slumdom. 
 
 I thought as we all knelt together in prayer around the 
 breakfast table and I listened to the clear ringing voices and 
 comforting words sung, how many of the despairing neigh- 
 bors must listen and be cheered by sounds so different to 
 those that clashed upon our ears, making the day miserable 
 and the stillness of night bristle with horror. Cries of mur- 
 der, the thud of falling blows, and the shrieks of women are 
 familiar sounds ! Their ears are accustomed to ribald, ob- 
 scene songs and peals of laughter, both hollow and false, 
 showing bitterness and woe unspoken. Like a fresh breeze to 
 becalmed sailors or the scent of violets to the fever-stricken 
 patient must seem the happy, cheery voices and the pure, 
 hope-breathing words wafted from the little Slum home in 
 the tenement house. 
 
 Oh for trust that brings the triumph, 
 When defeat seems strangely near ! 
 
 Oh for faith that changes fighting 
 Into victory's ringing cheer ! 
 Faith triumphant ! 
 
 Knowing not defeat or fear. 
 
 We sang over and over again, and it was not mere empty 
 sentiment. 
 
 The light of true faith shone on each face, and the deter- 
 mination to fight and suffer until each effort was crowned 
 with victory rang in the earnest voices. Ah ! no one but God 
 knows how much faith and trust and courage is needed by 
 these Slum officers, who become one with the outcast poor in
 
 80 
 
 r NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 home and dress and work, that they may tread in the steps 
 of Christ and for His dear sake win back those lost sheep.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 BRAVERY OF THE ARMY GIRLS. 
 
 MIDDEN haunts of darkest vice, saloons, dives, lodging 
 houses and dens of ill repute are alike visited. They 
 fearlessly enter everywhere into the shadows, with no 
 man or detective or escort to protect them, knowing that 
 around them are thrown the everlasting arms of Him who 
 can best gviard them. 
 
 Patiently, lovingly and bravely they are working on, day 
 and night ! Unknown are they by the outer world, without 
 honor, without recognition and often without the thanks of 
 those whom they strive to help. But God sees, and each act 
 done unto Him is chronicled. 
 
 Again we wrapped our shawls about us and paired off for 
 the day's visiting. But just before leaving the house we 
 were startled by the sound of high words and angry voices. 
 One of the girls went out to see what was the matter, and 
 found that it was " another row " between some neighbors, 
 of whom the girl spoke by name ; and just then the man was 
 heard threatening loudly to throw his wife over the stairs. 
 
 The great feature of Sunday visiting is invariably the 
 large number of people found drunk in their own homes. 
 The revels of the previous night seem to tell all round on men 
 and women alike. 
 
 Our first visit was in a cellar. Down the dirty sawdust- 
 strewn steps we stumbled into a low, damp place where 
 kindling wood lay about in piles, and stacks^of lumber still
 
 82 
 
 NEW YORK'S INFEENO. 
 
 waiting to be chopped forced us to carefully pick our way. 
 A lamp was nailed upon a beam and gave a little light. 
 
 No stranger looking in would have supposed that human 
 beings lived there ! But my companion went straight up to 
 the little partitioned off corner, which looked like a small shed 
 in which a goat could be kept, and through the chinks and 
 holes in the boards we could see a light from within, for no 
 daylight penetrated to the spot. 
 
 MISERABLE OLD AGtE. 
 
 LIVING IN A CELLAR CUPBOARD. 
 
 A voice from within answered the knock, and we opened
 
 YORK'S INFERNO, 
 
 the door. There was not room for us both to enter, so I stood 
 in the doorway and my companion went just inside. 
 
 So small was the place that it could not be called anything 
 but a cupboard. This was rented as a " furnished room," and 
 the rent was $6. The furniture consisted of a stove, in 
 which fortunately there was a fire, a table and two chairs. 
 My companion told me that the last time the poor old couple 
 were visited there was not a bit of warmth to counteract the 
 damp chill of the cellar. 
 
 At the table sat an old man, certainly past sixty, and his 
 aged wife. Behind some old rags and clothes hanging from 
 the side just behind the man was a bed, if it could be called 
 such. 
 
 After some talk we sang and prayed, and I could hardly 
 find room to kneel down. 
 
 There was no ventilation, no daylight and no comfort, and 
 as we picked our way out again through the wood cellar I 
 heard how they had first been found by our girls. One of 
 them had stopped to talk to the old woman, who had been 
 sitting despondently upon the steps, and following her into 
 her room had found the poor shed she called home. Still the 
 fact of being to themselves must make life in this cellar pre- 
 ferable to that in the lodging house. As we climbed the 
 steps again I caught my feet in my ragged dress, and picked 
 nij^self up again to find a tear half a yard long embellishing 
 the front of it. 
 
 A few steps further and we dived down a narrow alley- 
 way and reached a rear tenement house. In this house some 
 thirty families live, crowded into small rooms men, women 
 and children most of them squalid, drunken and quarrel- 
 some in the extreme.
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 BABY JIM. 
 
 It was in one of the topmost rooms that we had found a 
 poor baby boy (some time since), whose grandfather assured 
 us "only lived out of spite," and whose wasted little body 
 and one ragged garment spoke louder than words of neglect 
 and misery. 
 
 That house will always make me think of Baby Jim and 
 the long, weary hours he must have spent sobbing ; for his 
 mother used to go out and lock him up all alone, and he' had 
 lain on the bare boards until his little back was covered with 
 sores. 
 
 One day the slum officers called and found the door locked, 
 but while she was knocking at it the mother returned and 
 opened it. They entered, and found the poor baby sitting 
 beneath the table, his face swollen with tears and his little 
 body filthy. As his mother stooped to drag him up, with a 
 cry he shrank from her. 
 
 " Where is Baby Jim now ? " I asked. 
 
 "His mother is dead," answered my companion. Only 
 eighteen, and yet she had led such a dissolute life that, like 
 many others of these girls, she had died very suddenly, 
 almost as you might blow out the flame of a candle. 
 
 And Baby Jim has been taken away and has not been 
 found again. Let us hope that some white-winged angel has 
 carried him away from the wretchedness and squalor to the 
 peace and love which he never knew on earth. 
 
 The stairs are of stone, but thev are narrow and dirty, and 
 the air is bad. The smells are sickening. 
 
 A very warm welcome awaited us in the first room we 
 entered, and it was a bright, honest face that lighted up 
 with smiles at our visit. Clear, blue, Irish eyes and wavy 
 black hair had the mother, while the girl and boy, whose
 
 fttew YORK'S INFERNO. 86 
 
 morning toilet was being performed, were little copies of her. 
 The young husband sat on the couch, and the old mother at 
 the table. Another girl who was stay ing with them made up 
 the rest of the family, all of whom lived in those two small 
 rooms. 
 
 A change had crept into this home. There was food to 
 eat, and the children had new clothes, for the mother had 
 stopped drinking. When first found by our workers the 
 woman was hopelessly enchained by that soul and body 
 blighting enemy. In a squalid, filthy room of a house of bad 
 repute she was drinking with two men, in shameless, bold 
 attire. 
 
 No food had been in the house that day, and one hungry 
 child gnawed at a raw onion while they sat in a corner 
 watching their mother. As the Slum girls entered and began 
 to talk with her the men slunk out ; and a wave of bitter 
 remorse swept over the poor girl as she listened to their 
 words. She arose and paced the room, tearing her raven 
 black tresses. 
 
 " Oh, God help me ! God forgive me ! I know I know I 
 am lost ! It is all the drink the drink ! Seventy-five cents 
 gone in drink already this morning, and not a bit of food in 
 the house for my children ! My darlings ! Only twenty-four 
 only twenty- four and I'm a drunkard a drunkard ! " 
 
 Pausing before her children, with voice broken and 
 pathetic in the extreme, she cried : 
 
 "Oh, my children! My poor children! You have no 
 mother ! She is a drunkard a drunkard ! " And the black 
 hair was torn again. 
 
 Her husband was in jail at that time, still she could make 
 good money at her work. But, alas ! it all went in drink.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 GLIMPSES OF SUNLIGHT. 
 
 LOVING, patient, pleading, many visits and faith-wrought 
 prayers won this heart (really very honest and with 
 many redeeming features), and a strong bond of sym- 
 pathy sprang up hetween her and her new friends. 
 
 She moved into more respectable quarters, and then her 
 husband returned. He, too, drank, and drinks still, but she 
 has now got a little home, keeps herself looking clean and 
 bright, and her earnings are rightly spent. 
 
 Joyfully she showed the new dress she had bought for her 
 bright little girl, and then told us how she had been getting 
 on. She had been tempted often, and had sometimes given 
 way again to drink. 
 
 " But your words always, always come back to me," she 
 said, turning to my companion, "and they have all come 
 true every time ! " Now she " had done with the drink," she 
 said, " done with it forever." So with the prayer that He 
 who alone could give her the power to live out this resolu- 
 tion and keep her from falling might be near her, we turned 
 away, thankful for this little gleam of sunlight in the sad 
 visits of the day. 
 
 From behind each door as we climbed the winding stairs 
 came sounds of quarreling, drunkenness and sin. In describ- 
 ing one I can pretty nearly describe all. We knocked at a 
 door from behind which issued loud and coarse words. 
 
 "Come in ! " shrieked a chorus of women's voices. It was 
 a small and wretched room, with another one, cramped and 
 
 86
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 87 
 
 dark as a cupboard, opening out of it. Its occupants were 
 three women, two men and a babe. One woman was inclined 
 to resent our entrance, but after a few sharp words disap- 
 peared into the back room with the sickly baby. The other 
 two were civil, even pleased to see us. 
 
 The two men were in a besotted state we might sy liter- 
 ally soaked with drink. Of course, there was no carpet on 
 the floor ; dirt and disorder reigned, and the fumes of drink 
 and stale tobacco made the air thick and poisonous. 
 
 While I was talking to the girl-mother about her baby 
 and its future and the effect of her present life and surround- 
 ings upon him, I could hear my companion talking earnestly 
 to the men, and their incoherent and sometimes uncivil an- 
 swers. When these every now and then reached beyond the 
 limit of slum etiquette, the two women shouted in chorus : 
 
 " Ah ! Patsey, now can't yer hold yer saucy tongue 1 
 You're beastly drunk, anyway ! Shut up, and let us hear the 
 ladies. It's kind of them to call to see us ! " 
 
 And Patsey would roll back against the wall for a few 
 moments, pause, and try to collect his scattered senses before 
 again joining in the conversation. 
 
 TAKEN BY THE NURSERY PLAN. 
 
 The women were really interested, and said : 
 
 " Please don't yer take no notice of the men. They're aw- 
 ful rough, and don't know how to treat yer. But yer see how 
 it is, they're full and more's the pity ! " This family were 
 newcomers to the house, but had heard of us from neighbors. 
 
 "And is it true yer have a nursery fur babies? "they 
 asked. 
 
 There was a lull in the storm. Patsey rolled about un- 
 decidedly, perhaps wondering which of us to accost, and
 
 NEW YORK'S. INFEENO. 
 
 fearing another wifely reproof, and that which might accom- 
 pany and emphasize it. 
 
 " Yes," we answered, " we have a nursery, and sometimes 
 take as many as sixteen babies." 
 
 " Well, I never ! And can one fetch the baby away again 
 at night after work hours ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And is there any one there to look after 'em and see 
 they're all right ? " continued the young mother, her face all 
 interest. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," we answered. "Two girls to care for 
 them, and nice little beds, and toys, and swings, and milk ; 
 and they all look so clean and happy." 
 
 A SEAUTY AMONG THE^FJLTIJ,
 
 NfcW TORRES INFERNO. 
 
 "Well, well," chimed in the older woman, "and how 
 much is there to pay ? " 
 
 " Five cents a day," we answered. 
 
 " Five cents a day only five cents ! Well, did you ever 1 
 Only five cents ! That is fine." The women were tilled with 
 wonder, and then confided to us that the little mother was 
 going to work on her own account, if only she had some one 
 to "do right by the baby " in her absence, and the possibility 
 of taking him home at night. 
 
 Oh, how these mothers still cling to their babies, and I do 
 not wonder ! They want something to love, something that 
 will love them in return, something to cling to and live for, 
 or well, life would be too hard, too cold and too cruel to en- 
 dure, and the cold, lapping waters of the East River would be 
 welcome kisses, wooing to the oft-thought-of deliverance 
 death ! 
 
 But to return to my story. Our conversation was brought 
 to an end by the men who appeared deaf to the entreaties to 
 " shut up" and be " ashamed of yerselves," etc. So we took 
 leave, and the women whispered : 
 
 "Thank you kindly. Come again to see us when the men 
 ain't here, and don't you mind them don't be upset by them, 
 they be beastly drunk ! " 
 
 We smilingly assured them that our feelings were not 
 hurt, and our reception should not make us hesitate in call- 
 ing again.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FOR HIS DEAR SAKE. 
 
 IN the next room our welcome was even warmer. Two 
 women were violently drunk, while the men were stag- 
 gering and stupid. The tables were turned here, how- 
 ever, and the caustic, abusive language of one of the women 
 was roundly denounced by the man, who asked her if she 
 couldn't " trate the ladies dacent." 
 
 What a hubbub what language and, oh ! what faces ! 
 No woman's face could be imagined much more marred, 
 degraded and bloated. A regular virago ; bare arms raised 
 threateningly, hair a dirty, tangled mop, features swelled, 
 bloated flesh hanging in baggy folds, and such a tongue ! 
 
 " No, I don't want yer go away I have my praste ! I'm 
 a good Catholic, and I know lots better than you all about 
 religion get out !" 
 
 Here she was stopped by one of the men and had an aside 
 with the other woman, who was evidently coaching her for 
 the second attack. Meanwhile the man took down a crucifix 
 and showed it to us. 
 
 ' That's my religion, ladies! and this is the only one in 
 the whole house ! You won't find another one in any room 
 here ! There, ladies !" 
 
 We assured him that the dear crucified Lord was our God, 
 and that it was in memory of that cross that we tried to do 
 all we could in a neighborly way for those around us. 
 
 " Say ! say ! " shouted the woman, " can you bless yerself 
 in Latin ? Can you ? Listen ? " and in the loudest soprano 
 
 90
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 91 
 
 she proceeded to do so, while the others watched to see the 
 effect of this learning upon us. I glanced around the room. 
 It was dirty and in a state of chaos. In the inner room 
 kindling wood and filthy bedding were mixed in a ruined pile. 
 But my thoughts were speedily brought back. 
 
 " Now I tell yer I don't want yer ! I've got my praste ! " 
 Here we interrupted. 
 
 " Yes, we don't say anything about your priest or your re- 
 ligion, except that you should do as your priest tells you. He 
 does not tell you to get drunk and sin and live like this. You 
 are not a good Catholic. That's the trouble. We want to 
 help people to be good and serve God ; and we don't say 
 that it is the name that is wrong, but the life." 
 
 "And then with a few parting words of assurance that 
 we did not come there to preach at or to anger them, but 
 only to cheer or help them and to say a kind word, we 
 parted. 
 
 CHRISTIANITY, LIFE NOT CREED. 
 
 Down the dirty staircase we tramped heartsick and 
 tired reflecting with sorrow on the fact that in slumdom, as 
 in society, people haggle over the name, the creed, the 
 belief, and neglect the essence of religion the life. 
 
 Catholics, Protestants, infidels, alike we visit in these 
 sinful, wretched haunts, and to all our message is the same. 
 It is goodness, pureness, that alone can make life happy, 
 prosperous and peaceful here and the future Heaven ours. 
 And then we show them how the death and love of Christ 
 can make it possible for us to live such a life. 
 
 By patient, loving work washing of dirty children, nurs- 
 ing of sick ones, comforting of those in sorrow the slum 
 workers give them a practical object lesson in what religion 
 really is. We had visited newcgmers to the district that day
 
 92 NEW YORK'S INFEKNO. 
 
 who did not know us, hence our warm reception for in 
 hundreds of poor homes the girls are welcomed as " angels of 
 light." Aye, and even sent for at all hours when there 
 is trouble or sickness. 
 
 Again we found ourselves in the street, and the fresh air 
 was indeed welcome. I felt sick and so tired that my steps 
 were unsteady, and I had to take my companion's arm and 
 brace up for fear of appearing as staggering as our neighbors 
 are wont to be on Sundays. 
 
 On reaching our slum quarters we found a man sitting at 
 the table much enjoying a cup of warm coffee and some 
 bread and butter. He was very poor, and his face bore 
 marks of great suffering, but he was cheery and hopeful. 
 
 SAVED, ALTHOUGH A TRAMP. 
 
 "No, he has not yet got work, only odd jobs once in a 
 while." 
 
 There were " an awful lot of men hanging around out of 
 work " and times were hard, but he hoped better days 
 would dawn for him in the coming week. 
 
 His face brightened as he spoke, and I learned after 
 he had gone, that through the words of our officers he had 
 given his heart to God, and his life, so far as sin and 
 drink were concerned, had shown a decided change ; though, 
 alas! he is still in the great army of "out-of-works." He 
 came to New York some months ago as a stowaway on ship- 
 board after a long illness in the hospital of a far away 
 foreign port. He reached here homeless, friendless and 
 moneyless, and for weeks his only shelter for the night was 
 a pile of lumber behind which he crept. He heard of our 
 workers and came to them almost in despair, but now the 
 despair is gone, though the poverty still faces him. 
 
 As I laid aside ray ha,t a,nd, leaned, back, for a minute^
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 93 
 
 rest before our mid-day meal, I called my companion to me 
 and said : 
 
 " Now tell me about that poor baby girl whose frightful 
 story I heard the other day. Did she live after the brutal 
 treatment she received ? " 
 
 The tears came into her eyes as she answered, 
 
 " No ! poor little thing. She died ! The whole story is a 
 pitiful one ! " 
 
 And then I heard the following tale of poverty and 
 crime : 
 
 The family lived in a little back room behind a small tin- 
 ker store. When first visited the mother only about twen- 
 ty-four years of age was found in this little room with two 
 children, one about three years and the other a few months 
 old. Both of the children were naked and she had not a gar- 
 ment to put on them. They were very poor, and, alas ! 
 young as she was, she already was a hopeless drink victim. 
 A few more visits and the store was found vacant ; but we 
 followed them up and found that the father had had to move 
 from the store into a cellar and that the mother and children 
 were living in one of the worst lodging houses of the district. 
 
 The father was a respectable young man, steady and hon- 
 est, and tried to do all he could for the wife and children 
 whom he really loved. But what could he do ? She was like 
 a millstone around his neck, and the vile companionship of 
 the lodging house made her sink lower rapidly. 
 
 One night he called at our quarters in despair. Tears were 
 coursing down his face, and he said : 
 
 " I can't tell what to do for my wife ! She is nearly mad { 
 Can I bring her to you ? " 
 
 On receiving an answer in the affirmative, he hurried out 
 
 into the night and soon returned with the woman, Wjldlv 
 
 - v
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 
 
 she paced up and down the room groaning in some 'unutter- 
 able agony, and every now and then shrieking and talking 
 incoherently. What was it ? Our girls looked at her in 
 wonder. 
 
 For a minute or two she would seem calm, and looking up 
 into the faces around her she would say : 
 
 " Oh, you're so good so good, and I'm so bad so bad. 
 Don't despise me. Don't give me up because I'm so bad. Oh, 
 help me help me ! For God's sake help me ! " 
 
 And then she would start wildly up and shriek again. 
 
 Suddenly it dawned upon our girls that the first symp- 
 toms of delirium tremens were manifested thus. Telling her 
 husband to get her home and to bed as soon as he could they 
 went out with him to see her safely home, and to get the two 
 children, whom they had promised to keep while she was at 
 the hospital. After she came out again she came for the 
 children. They were kept in the nursery by day and she 
 came and fetched them at night. 
 
 "DRUNK AGAIN." 
 
 Often she would sit with despair written upon her hag- 
 gard face, sobbing,
 
 NEW YORK*S INFERNO. 
 
 "Oh, my Gracie, my Mamie I My Gracie, my Mamie ! My 
 poor, poor children !" 
 
 And yet, with all her desire to be good, the fiend seemed 
 to have a firm grip upon this poor victim. Again, late one 
 night, she came to the girls in the throes of delirium. They 
 could not turn her out, for she pitifully clung to them and 
 pleaded with them to keep her. So they locked her into one 
 of their little rooms, taking from her anything with which 
 she could commit suicide, and there through the dread night 
 they watched and cared for her. 
 
 HOPE EVEN FOR SUCH AS THIS AND THOUSANDS 
 MORE. 
 
 Her youngest child is in the sunny land where no sorrows 
 dwell. The husband in despair has given up the hope of ever 
 reclaiming his poor, drink-ridden young wife and has left her. 
 Still many, many such despairing ones are being reclaimed 
 and their lives brightened by a power even stronger than the 
 infernal chains that bind them. 
 
 Other stories, other scenes and sights rise up before me, 
 but I can write no more. I have come back into the rush 
 and whirl of the busy life of the city ; but still down in the 
 darkness are working ten true, brave, loving girls day and 
 night facing scenes such as I have described, and sometimes 
 even far more terrible ones than these. It is difficult for me 
 to shake off the experience. 
 
 It is now over, and I am trying to write sounds and sights 
 which still surge to and fro in my memory. But as I look 
 back over the pages I have written, I feel it is hopeless to 
 reproduce that which must be seen and felt and heard to be 
 understood. 
 
 No wonder our hearts ache ! No wonder we long to do 
 more, far more, in the future than we have ever done in the
 
 NEW YOKK*S INFEBNO. 
 
 past to alleviate this suffering, this raging stream of vice, 
 and to raise these fallen ones, to speak hope to the hopeless, 
 and bring sunshine into the darkness and horror of New 
 York's hell. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 FIELD STATE. 
 
 97 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 00 
 
 P4 
 
 Officers 
 
 'f O O: CO 1-^ O CO CC ?} O <?i l SQ CD i-i CO ri ^3 ^ 
 CO T-< CO ** T~H CO TH ^2 i~^ ^J^ O^ i~* GO CO O 
 
 P5 o 
 
 H % 
 = 
 
 Corps or 
 
 Societies. 
 
 r-T as" OT" 
 
 & 
 S o 
 
 
 .r,j c 
 
 S s 
 
 ' (B 
 
 Q _!/ 
 
 
 o^ ' ou ^.."S*F, 
 
 \RMY FIELD STATE, 
 
 s one name includes several counti 
 
 Headquarters 
 
 t: B : : u : : o : :< : : : % z : : : : 
 
 3^ : :"M : : . : s : * 5 J J 
 
 J > ^' : : c . : : o ; ; : ^ g : ; 
 
 c/3 Oi ^ '.S 1) T(r c '-'So < "' v "** 
 * 2 2 -S 8 S S .^'^"^fc > > <- > 43 |j - 1 
 o ^ 4-T.5 8 "S <! flr 7 - 1 C U Jitj ^ M i^r 
 
 ii^sncf jiii- 
 
 HillllHlil^lill 
 
 1 
 
 o 
 C 
 & cfl 
 
 o I 
 
 
 : 5 ::::::. a :::::: : : : 
 
 wz $ 
 
 M - 
 
 r V 
 
 
 
 ob EP'**Q*** 
 
 >J *"' 
 
 3 
 O 
 
 U 
 
 cn&:::---wS : ->J :: : ^ 
 
 H 
 
 H 
 
 H 
 
 
 = Ccdi 22 ^^^^^^"^^^ H 
 wSE<-<^5o2aK N
 
 98 THE ARMY'S STANDING IN THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 THE SALVATION ARMY'S STANDING IN THE UNITED 
 STATES. 
 
 JANUARY, 1891. 
 
 Number of Corps and Outposts 445 
 
 Number of Officers 1,150 
 
 Combined Weekly Circulation of three War Crys 
 
 New York and San Francisco, and Swedish 
 
 War Cry (New York) 53,000 
 
 Number of States occupied 35 
 
 Number of Hours spent by Officers in Visitation 
 
 during 1890 389,000 
 
 Number of Families Visited by Officers during 1890 547,000 
 Number of Persons Professing Conversion between 
 
 December 1, 1889, and December 1, 1890 23,562 
 
 Number of Open-air Services during 1890 46,800 
 
 Number of Persons estimated as Attending our 
 
 Open-air Meetings, 1890 4,000,000 
 
 Number of Persons Attending our Meetings during 
 
 October, 1890 1,070,000 
 
 Number of Persons Attending Meetings during 
 
 the Year 12,000,000 
 
 Rescue Homes 
 
 Slum Posts 2 
 
 Training Garrisons at New York, Brooklyn, Boston 
 
 (2), Detroit, Grand Rapids, Englewood, 111., 
 
 Des Moines, Omaha, Oakland, Cal., and San 
 
 Francisco 10
 
 NEW YORK'S INFERNO. 99 
 
 ISTOTIOIE ! 
 
 SYMPATHY MATERIALIZED. 
 
 HOW ALMOST ANYBODY MAY AID THE 
 SALVATION ARMY WORK. 
 
 No one who has not been engaged in this work can under- 
 stand how much help is needed to carry it on successfully 
 year after year. We realize that many who cannot possibly 
 give their lives up to seek and personally administer comfort 
 to the poor, long to do something, and yet possibly they also 
 find themselves financially unable to assist much those who 
 are doing the work. This may lead them to feel that their 
 interest will havfi to end in mere sympathy ; but this need 
 not be. 
 
 Our workers are all the time in need of clothing for women 
 and children. Babies with absolutely nothing to cover them, 
 or else with clothing so filthy that it has to be burned before 
 we can take them in, are met with daily, and the cast-off 
 garments of more fortunate little ones would be indeed a 
 blessing to them. If any of the readers of the Herald would 
 like to send parcels of to them useless clothes, address to 
 111 Reade street, New York City. We can promise to use 
 them to the best advantage in bringing comfort where it is 
 most needed. 
 
 May we also add that never in the history of our movement 
 in this country could we make a better use of money for the 
 practical advancement of work among the poor than at the 
 present time. Those who cannot go themselves into the 
 darkness of New York's hell to rescue its victims, who cannot 
 visit the saloons or stem the tide of godless debauchery that 
 is devastating our country, can, by proxy, reach forth the 
 hand of sympathy by giving us the means to do it. Let us 
 remind those who are interested in " New York's inferno " of 
 the words, " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the 
 least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto Me." 
 
 Believe us. yours truly in the holy war, 
 
 BALLINGTON BOOTH. 
 MAUD B. BOOTH.
 
 ADVERTISEMENTS. 
 
 BENEATH TWO FLAGS: 
 
 THE AIM, METHODS OF WORK AND HISTORY OF 
 
 THE SALVATION ARMY. 
 
 Illustrated, 12mo., doth, 288 pp. Price $1, post free. 
 
 
 
 This volume furnishes its readers with every needful partic- 
 ular concerning this growing organization of over 1,000,000 
 adherents, which, having spread out its branches throughout 
 Great Britain, is making rapid progress also in the United 
 States. 
 
 THE 
 
 WAR 
 
 CRY, 
 
 THE OFFICIAL GAZETTE OF THE SALVATION ARMY, 
 
 Consists of sixteen pages, sixty-four columns, with illustrations, 
 
 and contains the latest intelligence of the progress of the Salvation 
 
 Army work in ALL PARTS OF THE WORLD ; 
 
 Stories of Wonderful Conversions ; Original Salva- 
 tion Songs ; Lives of Prominent Salvation 
 Officers, 
 
 WITH PORTRAITS AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 EVERY SATURDAY. 
 
 Price 5c. ; Yearly Subscription, $2.00 postpaid.
 
 ADVERTISEMENTS. 
 
 " Popular Christianity." 
 
 BEING A 
 
 SERIES OF LECTURES 
 
 DELIVERED IN PRINCE'S HALL, PICCADILLY, LONDON. 
 BY MRS. GENERAL BOOTH, 
 
 ON THE FOLLOWING SUBJECTS : 
 
 The Christs of the Nineteenth Century Compared with the 
 Christ of God ; A Mock Salvation and a Real Deliverance 
 from Sin ; Sham Compassion and the Dying Love of Christ : 
 Popular Christianity : Its Cowardly Service versus the Real 
 Warfare ; The Sham Judgment in Contrast with the Great 
 White Throne ; Notes of Three Addresses on Household Gods: 
 
 The Salvation Army following Christ. 
 198 pages. Paper Cover, 40c. ; Cloth Boards, 75c. 
 
 "THE MUSICAL PIONEER," 
 
 Containing 106 pages. 
 
 CLOTH COVER, 50 CENTS ; PAPER, 25 CENTS. 
 
 NO HOME SHOULD BE WITHOUT ONE OF THESE HAND- 
 SOME VOLUMES. 
 
 It is the Cheapest Work of this Description we have 
 ever issued. 
 
 "THE MUSICAL SALVATIONIST." 
 
 A Monthly Magazine, containing Compositions mostly by Officers and 
 Soldiers of the Salvation Army. 
 
 MONTHLY, 10 CENTS; $1.00 PER YEAR. 
 
 Volumes 1, 2, 3 and 4, handsomely bound in cloth, are also 
 ready ; Price $1.00 per volume.
 
 ADVERTISEMENTS. 
 
 ALL THE WORLD : 
 
 A MONTHLY MAGAZINE 
 
 OF 
 
 THE SALVATION ARMY. 
 
 It contains Eighty Pages, Highly Illustrated, with 
 Lithographed Cover. 
 
 This Magazine is the representative organ of Salvation Army 
 life and work in all lands, and gives regular accounts of our Conti- 
 nental Warfare, as well as the latest information of Army work 
 amongst the heathen nations. 
 
 Price, Single Copy, 15 cts. ; $1.50 per year. 
 
 PUBLISHED AT SALVATION ARMY HEADQUARTERS : 111 READE 
 
 STREET, NEW YORK CITY. 
 
 THE^SOLDIERS 7 MKNUHL; 
 
 OR 
 
 PIETY AND PRACTICE. 
 
 BY COMMISSIONER BALLINGTON BOOTH. 
 
 Has only to be seen and read to be appreciated. 
 Price only 15 cents and 20 cents., postpaid. 
 
 NEWSPAPERS AND JOURNALS. 
 
 All the World (monthly), 15c. per copy ; post free, 
 
 per year $1 50 
 
 The Deliverer, the organ of The Salvation Army Rescue 
 
 Work, per vear .* no 
 
 The War Cry (frevv York). 5c.. yearly 2 00 
 
 (San Francisco), 
 Strids Ropet (Swedish^, 3c. 
 The War Cry (London), 5c., 
 " " " (Toronto), 5c., 
 En Avant (French), 5c.. 
 Der Kriegsruf (German-Swiss), 5c. 
 
 2 00 
 
 1 '..-> 
 
 2 00 
 2 Od 
 2 00 
 2 00
 
 WHAT IS AN AUXILIARY ? 
 
 There are many members of the community who view with sor- 
 row and pity the misery and vice to be seen on every hand. Not 
 a few of these are occupied themselves in evangelistic work, while 
 others do not profess, or even possess religion of any kind. 
 
 Although such friends cannot be soldiers in The Army, they 
 can help us with means and sympathy and influence in our efforts 
 ro deal with evil ; and this rather more than less perhaps because 
 they do not, by joining the League, endorse, or even approve all 
 the methods we employ. 
 
 We rely upon the Auxiliary League to assist us by means of 
 prayer, sympathy, influence and money. 
 
 We also desire Auxiliaries to 
 
 Use their Personal Influence 
 
 on our behalf, by letting it be known that they are not against us, 
 and by defending us from the effects of many misrepresentations of 
 ourselves and our motives. They can help us by obtaining explan- 
 ations of specific matters, by stating facts concerning our work to 
 their friends, or by making communications to the local press 
 calculated to remove false impressions. 
 
 Auxiliaries can help by gifts of money. In the United States 
 the cost of the necessary oversight, though kept down as much as 
 possible, is very great. Help must be given to officers who require 
 rest on account of sickness ; while the Slum work and our Rescue 
 operations, being only in their infancy as yet, are unable to sustain 
 themselves. 
 
 The annual subscription to the League is Five Dollars, and this 
 secures the War Cry or All the World and the Deliverer, at the 
 option of the subscriber, mailed free for twelve months. A hand- 
 some leather badge is also sent to each member, the production of 
 which will secure a hearty welcome to any gathering in any country , 
 and a pin is also furnished, which can be worn on the dress, show 
 it in that way. Like the badge, it will be recognized in any part of 
 the world. 
 
 Captain EDITH MARSHALL, who has charge of the Auxiliary De- 
 partment, will be happy to answer any inquiries, or supply any 
 information that members of the League may desire at any time. 
 
 All remittances should be made out in favor of BALLINGTON 
 BOOTH, 111 READE ST., NEW YORK CITY.
 
 ADVERTISEMENTS. 
 
 From Ocean to Ocean ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 The Salvation Army's March During 1890, 
 From the Atlantic to the PaeiBe, 
 
 BY COMMISSIONER BALLINGTON BOOTH. 
 
 Price, Paper, 25 cents ; Cloth, 75 cents ; 
 Superior Cloth Binding, $1.00. 
 
 PUBLISHED AT SALVATION ARMY HEADQUARTERS : 111 EEADE 
 
 STREET, NEW YORK CITY, 
 And may be obtained from any Salvation Army Officer. 
 
 IN DARKEST ENGLAND 
 
 AND THE WAY OUT. 
 
 IB IT G- IE UST E IR .A. H TB O O T 
 
 Large Demy 8vo. Illustrated. 300 Pages. Price, 
 
 Cloth, $1.50 and $1. Paper, 50c. Postage Free. 
 
 
 
 When this book was issued in London, within three hours 
 the first large edition was sold, and in two days thereafter the 
 list of individual subscribers to its appeal, at Salvation Head- 
 quarters, numbered 3,000.
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed. 
 
 QL JAN is 1997