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r
IN DARKEST ENGLAND AND THE WAY OUT.
IN DARKEST ENGLAND
AND
THE WAY OUT.
BY \r>^
GENERAL BOOTH.
NEW YORK : LC^/TOQ^' i ' ^'
18 & 20 AsTOR Place. 1^«^^- 44 Fleet . SxHij'Br.
PRINTED IN THB UNITED STATES. r ;
Ti;r
»-» . . .I
2ir7m()
^•••■'
• - •• •
• •«• ••• • J •-•
• ♦••• •••
• ■
b • • • * *
fc h
TO THE MEMORY
Of 1HE
COMPANION. COUNSELLOR, AND COMRADE
OF NEARLY 40 YEARSi
THE SHARER OF MY EVERY AMBITION
FOR
THE WELFARE OF MANKINDt
MY
LOVING, FAITHFUL, AND DEVOTED WIFE
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
The progress *ot The Salvation Army m its work amongst the poor
and lost of many lands has compelled me to face the problems which are
more or less hopefully considered in the following pages. The grim
necessities of a huge Campaign carried on for many years against the evils
which lie at the root of all the miseries of modem life, attacked in a
thousand and one forms by a thousand and one lieutenants, have led me
step by step to contemplate as a possible solution of at least some of those
problems the Scheme of Social Selection and Salvation which I have here
set forth.
When but a mere child the degradation and helpless misery of the
poor Stockingers of my native town, wandering gaunt and hunger-stricken
through the streets droning out their melancholy ditties, crowding the
Union or toiling like galley slaves on relief works for a bare subsistence,
kindled in my heart yearnings to help the poor which have continued to
this day and which have had a powerful influence on my whole life. At
last I may be going to see my longings to help the workless realised. I
think I am.
The commiseration then awakened by the misery of this class has been
an impelling force which has never ceased to make itself felt during
forty years of active service in the salvation of men. During this time I
am thankful that I have been able, by the good hand of God upon me, to
do something in mitigation of the miseries of this class, and to bring not
only heavenly hopes and earthly gladness to the hearts of multitudes of
these wretched crowds, but also many material blessings, including such
PREFACE.
commonplace things as food, raiment, home, and work, the parent of so
many other temporal benefit)s. Aad thus many poor creatures have
proved Godliness to be " profitable unto all things, having the promise
of the life that now is as well as of that which is to come **
These results have been mainly attained by spiritual means. I have
boldly asserted that whatever his peculiar character or circumstances
might be, if the prodigal would come home to his Hea^ euly Father, he
would find enough and to spare in the Father's house to supply all his
need both for this world and the next; and I have known thousands,
nay, I can say tens of thousands, who have literally proved this to be
true, having, with little or no temporal assistance, come out of the darkest
depths of destitution, vice and crime, to be happy and honest citizens and
'^ true sons and servants of God.
And yet all the way through my career I have keenly felt the
remedial measures usually enundated in Christian programmes and
ordinarily employed by Christian philanthropy to be lamentably inade-
quate for any effectual dealing with the despairing miseries of these
outcast classes. The rescued are appallingly few — a ghastly minority com-
pared with the multitudes who struggle and sink in the open-moutned
abyss. Alike, therefore, my humanity and my Christianity, if I may speak of
them in any way as separate one from the other, have cried out for some
more comprehensive method of reaching and saving the perishing crowas.
No doubt it is good for men to climb unaided out of the whirlpool on to
the rock of deliverance in the very presence of the temptations which
have hither .o mastered them, and to maintain a footing thenk> with the
same billows of temptation washing over them. But, alas ! with many
this seems to be literally impossible. That decisive»iess of character, that
moral nerve which takes hold of the rope thrown for the rescue and keeps
its hold amidst all the resistances that have to be encounteieo, is wanting.
It )s gone. The general wreck has shattered and disorganiseo the wno'e man.
PREFACE.
AlaSy what multitudes there are around us everywhere, many known to
my readers personally, and any number who may be known to them by a
very short walk from their own dwellings, who are in this very plight I
Their vicious habits and destitute circumstances make it certain that,
without some kind of extraordinary help, they must hunger and sin, and
sin and hunger, until, having multiplied their kind, and filled up the
measure of their miseries, the gaunt fingers of death will close upon them
and terminate their wretchedness. And all this will happen this very
winter in the midst of the unparalleled wealth, and civilisation, and philan-
thropy of this professedly most Christian land.
Now, I propose to go straight for these sinking classes, and in doing
so shall continue to aim at the heart I still prophesy the uttermost
disappointment unle3S that citadel is reached. In proposing to add one more
to the methods I have already put into operation to this end, do not
let it be supposed that I am the less dependent upon the old plans,
or that I seek anything short of the old conquest. If we help the
man it is in order that we may change him. The builder who
should elaborate his design and erect his house and risk his reputation
without burning his bricks would be pronounced a failure and a fboL
Perfection of architectural beauty, unlimited expenditure of capital, un-
failing watchfulness of his labourers, would avail him nothing if the bricks
were merely unkilned clay. Let him kindle a fire. And so here I see the
folly of hoping to accomplish anything abiding, either in the drcumstances
or the morals of these hopeless classes, except there be a change efi*ected
in the whole man as well as in his surroundings. To this everything I
hope to attempt will tend. In many cases I shall succeed, in some I shall
£sa\ ; but even in failing of this my ultimate design, I shall at least benefit
the bodies, if not the souls, of men ; and if I do not save the fathers, I
shall make a better chance for the children.
It will be seen, therefore, that in this or in any other development that
may follow, I have no intention to depart in the smallest degree from the
PREFACE.
main principles on which I have acted in the past. My only hope for the
permanent deliverance of mankind from misery, either in this world or the
next, is the regeneration or remaking of the individual by the power of the
Holy Ghost through Jesus Christ. But in providing for the relief of temporal
misery I reckon that I am only making it easy where it is now difficult,
and possible where it is now all but impossible, for men and women to
find their way to the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.
That I have confidence in my proposals goes without saying. I believe
they will work. In miniature many of them are working already. But I
do not claim that my Scheme is either perfect in its details or complete in
the sense of being adequate to combat all forms of the gigantic evils
against which it is in the main directed. Like other human things it must
be perfected through suffering. But it is a sincere endeavour to do
something, and to do it on principles which can be instantly applied and
universally developed. Time, experience, criticism, and, above all, the
guidance of God will enable us, I hope, to advance on the lines here laid
down to a true and practical application of the words of the Hebrew
Prophet : " Loose the bands of wickedness ; undo the heavy burdens ; let
the oppressed go free; break every yoke; deal thy bread to the hungry;
bring the poor that are cast out to thy house. When thou secst the naked
cover him and hide not thyself from thine own flesh. Draw out thy soul
to the hungry — ^Then they that be of thee shall build the old waste places
and Thou shalt raise up the foundations of many generations."
To one who has been for thirty-five years indissolubly associated with
me in every undertaking I owe much of the inspiration which has found
expression in this book. It is probably difficult for me to fully estimate
"the extent to which the splendid benevolence and unbounded sympathy of
her character have pressed me forward in the life-long service of man, to
which we have devoted both ourselves and our children. It will be an
ever green and precious memory to me that amid the ceaseless suffering of
PREFACE.
a dreadful malady my dying wife found relief in considering and developing
the suggestions for the moral and social and spiritual blessing of the people
which are here set forth, and I do thank God she was taken from me
only when the book was practically complete and the last chapters had
been sent to the press.
In conclusion, I have to acknowledge tne services rendered to me in
preparing this book by Officers under my command. There could be
no hope of carrying out any part of it, but for the fact that so many
thousands are ready at my call and under my direction to labour to the
very utmost of their strength for the salvation of others without the hope
of earthly reward. Of the practical common sense, the resource, the readi-
ness for every form of usefulness of those Officers and Soldiers, the world
has no conception. Still less is it capable of understanding the height
and depth of their self-sacrificing devotion to God and the poor.
I have also to acknowledge valuable literary help from a friend of the
poor, who, though not in any way connected with the Salvation Army, has
the deepest sympathy with its aims and is to a large extent in harmony
with its principles. Without such assistance I should probably have found
it — overwhelmed as I already am with the affairs of a world-wide
enterprise — extremely difficult, if not impossible, to have presented these
proposals for which I am alone responsible in so complete a form, at any
rate at this time. I have no doubt that if any substantial part of my plan
is successfully carried out he will consider himself more than repaid for
the services so ably rendered.
WILLIAM BOOTH.
International Headquarters or
The Salvation Army,
London, E.G., October^ 189a
CONTENTS.
PART I. — THE DARKNESS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE.
Why "Darkest England"? ... ... ... ... \.. 9
CHAPTER 11.
The Submerged Tenth .... ••• ••• ••• ••• 17
CHAPTER III.
The Homeless ... ... ••• ••• ••• ••• ^
CHAPTER ly.
The Out-of-Works „. ... ... ••• ••• ••• 3^
CHAPTER V.
On the Verge of the Abyss ... ... ••• ••• •••40
CHAPTER VI.
The Vicious ••• ••• ••• ... ••• ••• 4^
CHAPTER VII.
The Criminals ••• ... ••• ••• ••• ••• 57
CHAPTER VIK
The Children of the Lost ... ... ... .^^ •.. 62
CHAPTER IX.
Is there no Help? «m ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• ^7
PART IL— DELIVERANCE.
CHAPTER L
A STUPENDOUS UNDERTAKINa PAGE
Section I.— The Essentials to Success ... ..• «.• ..• 85
,, 2. — My Scheme ... ... ... ... ... 90
CHAPTER II.
TO THE RESCUE ! — ^THE CITY COLONY.
Section l. — Food and Shelter for Every Man .... ... ... 94
2. — ^Work for the Out-of-Works. — The Factory ... ... 105
„ 3. — The Regimentation of the Unemployed ... ... 11 1
„ 4. — The Household Salvage Brigade ... ... ... 114
CHAPTER HI.
TO THE COUNTRY 1 — ^THE FARM COLONY.
Section i. — The Farm Proper ... ... ... ... ... 124
„ 2. — ^The Industrial Village ... ... ... ... 135
„ 3. — Agricultural Villages ... ... ... ... 140
M 4. — Co-operative Farm ... ... ... ... ... 142
CHAPTER IV.
NEW BRITAIN. — ^THE COLONY OVER SEA.
Section i. — The Colony and the Colonists ... ... ... 146
„ 2. — Universal Emigration ,„ ... ... ... 150
f» 3.— The Salvation Ship... ... ... ... ... 152
Section i.-
2..
3.-
•••
•••
If
ft
It
ff
ff
ft
ft
CHAPTER V.
MORE CRUSADES.
-A Slum Crusade. — Our Slum Sisters ...
-The Travelling Hospital
-Regeneration of our Criminals. — ^The Prison Gate
Drigaoe ••• ... ... ..• ••• •••
4. — Effectual Deliverance tor the Drunkard ..'. •••
5. — ^A New Way of Escape for Lost Women. — The Rescue
xlOmral .•• ••, ... V. ••• •••
6. — ^A Preventive Home for Unfallen Girls v^rhen in Danger ...
7. — Enquiry Office for Lost People ... ... •..
8. — Refuges for the Children of the Streets
9. — Industrial Schools ...
19 la — Asylums for Moral Lunatics ...
•••
•••
•»•
•••
•••
•••
PAGE
158.
170
173
180
188
192
194
201
202
204.
CHAPTER VL
ASSISTANCE IN GENERAL.
Section i. — Improved Lodgings
2. — Model Suburban Villages
3.— The Poor Man's Bank
4. — ^The Poor Man's Lawyer
5. — Intelligence Department
6. — Co-operation in General
7. — Matrimonial Bureau
8. — ^Whitechapel-by-the-Sea
tt
f>
f>
ff
»f
ff
ff
•••
•••
•••
•••
•••
•••
•••
•••
•••
•••
•••
•••
•••
•••
•••
•M
208
210
213
218
227
229
233
•••
237
CHAPTER Vn.
CAN IT BE DONE, AND HOW?
Section i. — ^The Credentials of the Salvation Army
2. — How much will it cost ?
3. — Some advantages stated
ff 4. — Some objections met ... •••
„ 5. — Recapitulation.
tf
ff
•••
•••
... 241
... 246
... 252
... 258
... 270
CHAPTER VIIL
A Practical Conclusion...
277
In Darkest England
PART I.— THE DARKNESS.
CHAPTER I.
WHY "DARKEST ENGLAND"?
This summer the attention of the civilised world has been arrested
by the story which Mr. Stanley has told of " Darkest Africa " and
his journeyings across the heart of the Lost Continent. In all that
spirited narrative of heroic endeavour, nothing has so much im-
pressed the imagination, as his description of the immense forest,
which offered an almost impenetrable barrier to his advance. The
intrepid explorer, in his own phrase, " marched, tore, ploughed,
and cut his way for one hundred and sixty days through this inner
womb of the true tropical forest." The mind of man with difficulty
endeavours to realise this immensity of wooded wilderness, covering
a territory half as large again as the whole of France, where the
rays of the sun never penetrate, where in the dark, dank air, filled
with the steam of the heated morass, human beings dwarfed into
pygmies and brutalised into cannibals lurk and live and die. Mr.
Stanley vainly endeavours to bring home to us the full horror of
that awful gloom. He says :
Take a thick Scottish copse dripping with rain ; imagine this to be a mere
undergrowth nourished under the impenetrable shade of ancient trees ranging
from loo to 1 80 feet high ; briars and thorns abundant; lazy creeks- me^^deriog
through the depths of the jungle, and sometimes a deep affluent of a great^river.
Imagine this forest and jungle in all stages of decay and growth, rain pattering
on you every other day of the year ; an impure atmosphere with its dread con-
sequences, fever and dysentery ; gloom throughout the day and darkness
almost palpable throughout the night; and then if you can imagine such
a forest extending the entire distance from Plymouth to Peterhead, you will
have a fair idea of some of the inconveniences endured by us in the Congo forest
The denizens of this region are filled with a conviction that the
forest is endless — interminable. In Vain did Mr. Stanley and his
companions endeavour to convince them that outside the dreary wood
were to be found sunlight, pasturage and peaceful meadows.
They" replied in a manner that seemed to imply that we must be strange
creatures to suppose that it would be possible for any world to exist save their
10 WHY "DARKEST ENGLAND"?
illimitable forest. "No," they replied, shaking their heads compassionatf»ly, and
pitying our absurd questions, "all like this,*' and they moved their hands
sweepingly to illustrate that the world was all alike, nothing but trees, trees and
trees — great trees rising as high as an arrow shot to the sky, lifting their crowns
intertwining their branches, pressing and crowding one against the other, until
neither the sunbeam nor shaft of light can penetrate it.
" We entered the forest," says Mr. Stanley, " with confidence ; forty
pioneers in front with axes and bill hooks to clear a path through the
obstructions, praying that God and good fortune would lead us."
But before the conviction of the forest dwellers that the forest was
without end, hope faded out of the hearts of the natives of Stanley's
company. The men became sodden with despair, preaching was
useless to move their brooding sullenness, their morbid gloom.
The little religion they knew was nothing more than legendary lore, and in
their memories there dimly floated a story of a land which grew darker and
darker as one travelled towards the end of the earth and drew nearer to the
place where a gr^at serpent lay supine and coiled round the whole world. Ah !
then the ancients must have referred to this, where the light is so ghastly, and
the woods are endless, and are so still and solemn and grey ; to this oppressive
loneliness, amid so much life, which is so chilling to the poor distressed heart ;
and the horror grew darker with their fancies ; the cold of early morning, the
comfortless grey of dawn, the dead w^hite mist, the ever-dripping tears of the
dew, the deluging rains, the appalling thunder bursts and the echoes, and the
wonderful play of the dazzling lightning. And when the night comes with its thick
palpable darkness, and they lie huddled in their damp little huts, and they hear
the tempest overhead, and the howling of the wild winds, the grinding and
groaning of the storm-tost trees, and the dread sounds of the falling giants, and
the shock of the trembling earth which sends their hearts with fitful leaps to
their throats, and the roaring and a rushing as of a mad overwhelming sea —
oh, Then the horror is intensified ! When the march has begun once again, and
the files are slowly moving through the woods, they renew their morbid
broodings, and ask themselves : How long is this to last ? Is the joy of life to
end thus ? Must we jog on day after day in this cheerless gloom and this
joyless duskiness, until we stagger and fall and rot among the toads ? Then
they disappear into the woods by twos, and threes, and sixes ; and after the
caravan has passed they return by the trail, some to reach Yambuya and upset
the young officers with their tales of woe and war ; some to fall sobbing under
a spear-thrust ; some to wander and stray in the dark mazes of the woods, hope-
lessly lost ; and some to be carved for the cannibal feast. And those who remain
compelled to it by fears of greater danger, mechanically march on, a prey to
dread and weakness.
That is the forest. But what of its denizens ? They are com-
paratively few; only some hundreds of thousands living in small
tribes from ten to thirty miles apart, scattered over an area on
which ten thousand million trees put out the sun from a region four
THE AFRICAN PARALLEL. , 11
times as wide as Great Britain. Of these pygmies there are two
kinds ; one a very degraded specimen with ferretlike eyes, close-set
nose, more nearly approaching the baboon than was supposed to be
possible, but very human; the other very handsome, with frank
open innocent features, very prepossessing. They are quick and
intelligent, capable of deep affection and gratitude, showing ret
markable industry and patience. A pygmy boy of eighteen worked
with consuming zeal ; time with him was too precious to waste in
talk. His mind seemed ever concentrated on work. Mr. Stanley said :
'* When I once stopped him to ask him his name, his face seemed
to say, * Please don^t stop me. I must finish my task.'
" All alike, the baboon variety and the handsome innocents, are
cannibals. They are possessed with a perfect mania for meat. We
were obliged to bury our dead in the river, lest the bodies should be
exhumed and eaten, even when they had died from smallpox.''
Upon the pygmies and all the dwellers of the forest has descended
a devastating visitation in the shape of the ivory raiders of civilisa-
tion. The race that wrote the Arabian Nights, built Bagdad and
Granada, and invented Algebra, sends forth men with the hunger for
gold in their hearts, and Enfield muskets in their hands, to plunder
and to slay. They exploit the domestic affections of the forest
dwellers in order to strip them of all they possess in the world. That
has been going on for years. It is going on to-day. It has come to
be regarded as the natural and normal law of existence. Of the
religion of these hunted pygmies Mr. Stanley tells us nothing,
perhaps because there is nothing to tell. But an earlier traveller,
Dr. Kraff, says that one of these tribes, by name Doko, had some
notion of a Supreme Being, to whom, under the name of Yer, they
sometimes addressed prayers in moments of sadness or terror. In
these prayers they say ; " Oh Yer, if Thou dost really exist why
dost Thou let us be slaves ? We ask not for food or clothing, for
wc live on snakes, ants, and mice. Thou hast made us, wherefore
dost Thou let us be trodden down ? "
It is a terrible picture, and one that has engraved itself deep on
the heart of civilisation. But while brooding over the awful
presentation of life as it exists in the vast African forest, it seemed to
me only too vivid a picture of many parts of our own land. As
there is a darkest Africa is there not also a darkest England ?
Civilisation, which can breed its own barbarians, does it not also
breed its own pygmies ? May we not find a parallel at our own
12 WHY "DARKEST ENGLAND " f
doors, and discover within a stone's throw of our cathedrals and
palaces similar horrors to those which Stanley has found existing
in the great Equatorial forest ?
The more the mind dwells upon the subject, the closer the analogy
appears The ivory raiders who brutally traffic in the unfortunate
denizens of the forest glades, what are they but the publicans who
flourish on the weakness of our poor ? The two tribes of savages,
the human baboon and the handsome dwarf, who will not speak
lest it impede him in his task, may be accepted as the two
varieties who are continually present with us — the vicious, lazy
lout, and the toiling slave. They, too, have lost all faith of life
being other than it is and has been. As in Africa, it is all trees,
trees, trees with no other world conceivable ; so is it here — it is all
vice and poverty and crime. To many the world is all slum, with
the )Vorkhouse as an intermediate purgatory before the grave. And
just as Mr. Stanley's Zanzibaris lost faith, and could only be induced
to plod on in brooding suUenness of dull despair, so the most of our
social reformers, no matter how cheerily they may have started off,
with forty pioneers swinging blithely their axes as they force their
way into the wood, soon become depressed and despairing. Who
can battle against the ten thousand million trees ? Who can hope to
make headway against the innumerable adverse conditions which
doom the dweller in Darkest England to eternal and immutable
misery ? What wonder is it that many of the warmest hearts and
enthusiastic workers feel disposed to repeat the lament of the old
English chronicler, who, speaking of the evil days which fell upon
\our forefathers in the reign of Stephen, said " It seemed to them as
if God and his Saints were dead."
An analogy is as good as a suggestion ; it becomes wearisome
when it is pressed too far. But before leaving it, think for a moment
how close the parallel is, and how strange it is that so much interest
should be excited by a narrative of human squalor and human
heroism in a distant continent, while greater squalor and heroism
not less magnificent may be observed at our very doors.
The Equatorial Forest traversed by Stanley resembles that Darkest
England of which I have to speak, alike in its vast extent — both stretch,
in Stanley's phrase, "as far as from Plymouth to Peterhead ;" its mono-
tonous darkness, its malaria and its gloom, its dwarfish de-humanized
inhabitants, the slavery to which they are subjected, their privations
and their misery. That which sickens the stoutest heart, and causes
THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND OF OUR TIME. 13
many of our bravest and best to fold their hands in despair, is the
apparent impossibility of doing more than merely to peck at the
outside of the endless tangle of monotonous undergrowth ; to let
light into it, to make a road clear through it, that shall not be imme-
diately choked up by the ooze of the morass and the luxuriant para-
sitical growth of the forest — who dare hope for that ? At present,
alas, it would seem as though no one dares even to hope ! It is the
great Slough of Despond of our time.
And what a slough it is no man can gauge who has not waded
therein, as some of us have done, up to the very neck for long years.
Talk about Dantd's Hell, and all the horrors and cruelties of the
torture-chamber of the lost ! The man w^ho walks with open eyes
and with bleeding heart through the shambles of our civilisation
needs no such fantastic images of the poet to teach him horror.
Often and often, when I have seen the young and the poor and the
helpless go down before my eyes into the morass, trampled underfoot
by beasts of prey in human shape that haunt these regions, it seemed
as if God were no longer in His world, but that in His stead reigned
a fiend, merciless as Hell, ruthless as the grave. Hard it is, no doubt,
to read in Stanley's pages of the slave-traders coldly arranging for
the surprise of a village, the capture of the inhabitants, the massacre
of those who resist, and the violation of all the women ; but the stony
streets of London, if they could but speak, would tell of tragedies as
awful, of ruin as complete, of ravishments as horrible, as if we were
in Central Africa; only the ghastly devastation is covered, corpse-
like, with the artificialities and hypocrisies of modem civilisation.
The lot of a negress in the Equatorial Forest is not, perhaps, a very
happy one, but is it so very much worse than that of many a pretty
orphan girl in our Christian capital ? We talk about the brutalities
of the dark ages, and we profess to shudder as we read in books of
the shameful exaction of the rights of feudal superior. And yet here,
beneath our very eyes, in our theatres, in our restaurants, and in many
other places, unspeakable though it be but to name it, the same hideous
abuse flourishes unchecked. A young penniless girl, if she be pretty,
is often hunted from pillar to post by her employers, confronted always
by the alternative — Starve or Sin. And when once the poor girl has
consented to buy the right to earn her living by the sacrifice of her
virtue, then she is treated as a slave and an outcast by the
evry men who have ruined her. Her word becomes unbeliev-
able, her life an ignominy, and she is swept downward
14 WHY " DARKEST ENGLAND " ?
ever downward, into the bottomless perdition of prostitution. But
there, even in the lowest depths, excommunicated by Humanity and
outcast from God, she is far nearer the pitying heart of the One true
Saviour than all the men who forced her down, aye, and than all the
Pharisees and Scribes who stand silently by while these fiendish
wrongs are perpetrated before their very eyes.
The blood boils with impotent rage at the sight of these enormities,
callously inflicted, and silently borne by these miserable victims.
Nor is it only women who are the victims, although their fate is the
most tragic. Those firms which reduce sweating to a fine art, who
systematically and deliberately defraud the workman of his pay,
who grind the faces of the poor, and who rob the widow and the
orphan, and who for a pretence make great professions of public-
spirit and philanthropy, these men nowadays are sent to Parliament
to make laws for the people. The old prophets sent them to Hell —
but we have changed all that. They send their victims to Hell, and
are rewarded by all that wealth can do to make their lives comfortable.
Read the House of Lords' Report on the Sweating System, and ask if
any African slave system, making due allowance for the superior civili-
sation, and therefore sensitiveness, of the victims, reveals more misery.
Darkest England, like Darkest Africa, reeks with malaria. The
foul and letid breath of our slums is almost as poisonous as that of
the African swamp. Fever is almost as chronic there as on the
Equator. Every year thousands of children are killed off by what is
called defects of our sanitary system. They are in reality starved
and poisoned,, and all that can be said is that, in many cases, it is
better for them that they were taken away Irom the trouble to come.
Just as in Darkest Africa it is only a part of the evil and misery
that comes iiom the superior race who invade the forest to enslave
and massacre its miserable inhabitants, so with us, much of the
misery of those whose lot we are considering arises from their own
habits. Drunkenness and all manner of uncleanness, moral and
physical, abound. Have you ever watched by the bedside of a man
in delirium tremens ? Multiply the sufferings of that one drunkard
by the hundred thousand, and you have some idea of what scenes
are being witnessed in all our great cities at this moment. As in
Africa streams intersect the forest in every direction, so the gin-
shop stands at every comer with its River of the Water of Death
flowing seventeen hours out of the twenty-four for the destruction
of the people. A population sodden with drink, steeped in vice,
A LIGHT BEYOND.
eaten up by every social and physical malady, these are the denizens
of Darkest England amidst whom my life has been spent, and to
whose rescue I would now summon all that is best in the manhood
and womanhood of our land.
But this book is no mere lamentation of despair. For Darkest
England, as for Darkest Africa, there is a light beyond. I think
I see my way out, a way by which these wretched ones may escape
from the gloom of their miserable existence into a higher and happier
life. Long wandering in the Forest of the Shadow of Death at our
doors, has familiarised me with its horrors ; but while the realisation
is a vigorous spur to action it has never been so oppressive as to
extinguish hope. Mr. Stanley never succumbed to the terrors which
oppressed his followers. He had Hved in a larger life, and knew
that the forest, though long, was not interminable. Every step
forward brought him nearer his destined goal, nearer to the light of
the sun, the clear sky, and the rolling uplands of the grazing land.
Therefore he did not despair. The Equatorial Forest was, after all,
a mere comer of one quarter of the world. In the knowledge of the
light outside, in the confidence begotten by past experience of suc-
cessful endeavour, he pressed forward ; and when the i6o days'
struggle was over, he and his men came out into a pleasant place
where the land smiled with peace and plenty, and their hardships
and hunger were forgotten in the joy of a great deliverance.
So I venture to believe it will be with us. But the er\d is not yet.
We are still in the depths of the depressing gloom. It is in no spirit
6f light-heartedness that this book is sent forth into the world
as if it was written some ten years ago.
If this were the first time that this wail of hopeless misery had
sounded on our ears the matter would have been less serious. It is
because we have heard it so often that the case is so desperate.
The exceeding bitter cry of the disinherited has become to be as
familiar in the ears of men as the dull roar of the streets or as the
moaning of the wind through the trees. And so it rises unceasing,
year in and year out, and we are too busy or too idle, too indifferent
or too selfish, to spare it a thought. Only now and then, on rare occa-
sions, when some clear voice is heard giving more articulate utterance
to the miseries of the miserable men, do we pause in the regular routine
of our daily duties, and shudder as we realise for one brief moment
what life means to the inmates of the Slums. But one of the grimmest
social problems of our time should be sternly faced, not with a view
16 WHY "DARKEST ENGLAND"?
to the generation of profitless emotion, but with a view to its
solution.
Is it not time? There is, it is true, an audacity in the mere
suggestion that the problem is not insoluble that is enough to take
away the breath. But can nothing be done? If, after full and
exhaustive consideration, we come to the deliberate conclusion
that nothing can be done, and that it is the inevitable and inexorable
destiny of thousands of Englishmen to be brutalised into worse than
beasts by the condition of their environment, so be it. But if, on the
contrary, we are unable to believe that this " awful slough," which
engulfs the manhood and womanhood of generation after generation,
is incapable of removal ; and if the heart and intellect of mankind alike
revolt against the fatalism of despair, then, indeed, it is time, and high
time, that the question were faced in no mere dilettante spirit, but with a
riesolute determination to make an end of the crying scandal of our age.
What a satire it is upon our Christianity and our civilisation,
that the existence of these colonies of heathens and savages in the
heart of our capital should attract so little attention ! It is no better
than a ghastly mockery — theologians might use a stronger word — to
call by the name of One who came to seek and to save that which
was lost those Churches which in the midst of lost multitudes either
sleep in apathy or display a fitful interest in a chasuble. Why all
this apparatus of temples and meeting-houses to save men from
perdition in a world which is to come, while never a helping hand is
stretched out to save them from the inferno of their present life ? Is
it not time that, forgetting for a moment their wranglings about the
infinitely little or infinitely obscure, they should concentrate all their
energies on a united effort to break this terrible perpetuity of
perdition, and to rescue some at least of those for whom they
profess to believe their Founder came to die ?
Before venturing to define the remedy, I begin by describing the
malady. But even when presenting the dreary picture of our social
ills, and describing the difficulties which confront us, I speak not
in despondency but in hope. "I know in whom I have believed."
I know, therefore do I speak. Darker England is but a fractional
part of " Greater England." There is wealth enough abundantly to
minister to its social regeneration so far as wealth can, if there be
but heart enough to set about the work in earnest. And I hope and
believe that the heart will not be lacking when once the problem is
maafully faced, and the method of its solution plainly pointed out.
CHAPTER IL
THE SUBMERGED TENTH.
In setting forth the difficulties which have to be grappled with, I
shall endeavour in all things to understate rather than overstate my
case. I do this for two reasons : first, any exaggeration would create
a reaction ; and secondly, as my object is to demonstrate the prac-
ticability of solving the problem, I do not wish to magnify its
dimensions. In this and in subsequent chapters I hope to convince
those who read them that there is no overstraining in the
representation of the facts, and nothing Utopian in the presentation
of remedies. I appeal neither to hysterical emotionalists nor head-
long enthusiasts ; but having tried to approach the examination of
this question in a spirit of scientific investigation, I put forth my
proposals with the view of securing the support and co-operation ot
the sober, serious, practical men and women who constitute the saving
strength and moral backbone of the country. I fully admit that there
is much that is lacking in the diagnosis of the disease, and, no doubt,
in this first draft of the prescription there is much room for improve-
ment, which will come when we have the light of fuller experience.
But with all its drawbacks and defects, I do not hesitate to submit
my proposals to the impartial judgment of all who are interested in
the solution of the social question as an immediate and practical mode
of dealing with this, the greatest problem of our time.
The first duty of an investigator in approaching the study of any
question is to eliminate all that is foreign to the inquiry, and to
concentrate his attention upon the subject to be dealt with. Here I
may remark that I make no attempt in this book to deal with Society
as a whole. I leave to others the formulation of ambitious pro-
grammes for the reconstruction of our entire social system ; not
because I may not desire its reconstruction, but because the
fijaboration of any plans which are more or less visionary and
B
18 THE SUBMERGED TENTH.
incapable of realisation for many years would stand in the way of
the consideration of this Scheme for dealing with the most urgently
pressing aspect of the question, which I hope may be put into
operation at once.
In taking this course I am aware that I cut myself off from a wide
and attractive field ; but as a practical man, dealing with sternly
prosaic facts, I must confine my attention to that particular
section of the problem which clamours most pressingly for
a solution. Only one thing I may say in passing. There
is nothing in my scheme which will bring it into collision either with
Socialists of the State, or Socialists of the Municipality, with In-
dividualists or Nationalists, or any of the various schools of thought
in the great field of social economics — excepting only those anti-
Christian economists who hold that it is an offence against the
doctrine of the survival of the fittest to try to save the weakest
from going to the wall, and who believe that when once a man is
down the supreme duty of a self-regarding Society is to jump upon
him. Such economists will naturally be disappointed with this book.
I venture to believe that all others will find nothing in it to
offend their favourite theories, but perhaps something of helpful
suggestion which they may utilise hereafter.
What, then, is Darkest England ? For whom do we claim that
" urgency " which gives their case priority over that of all other
sections of their countrymen and countrywomen ?
I claim it for the Lost, for the Outcast, for the Disinherited of the
World.
These, it may be said, are but phrases. Who are the Lost? I
reply, not in a religious, but in a social sense, the lost are those
who have gone under, who have lost their foothold in Society, those
to whom the prayer to our Heavenly Father, " Give us day by day
our daily bread," is either unfulfilled, or only fulfilled by the Devil's
agency: by the earnings of vice, the proceeds of crime, or the
contribution enforced by the threat of the law.
But I will be more precise. The denizens in Darkest England,
for whom I appeal, are (i) those who, having no capital or income of
their own, would in a month be dead from sheer starvation were they
exclusively dependent upon the money earned by their own »vork ;
and (2) those who by their utmost exertions are unable to attain
the regulation allowance of food which the law prescribes as indis-
pensable even for the worst criminals in our gaols.
THE CAB HORSE IDEAL OF EXISTENCE. 19
I sorrowfully admit that it would be Utopian in our present social
arrangements to dream of attaining for every honest Englishman a
gaol standard of all the necessaries of life. Some time, perhaps, we
may venture to hope that every honest worker on English soil will
always be as warmly clad, as healthily housed, and as regularly fed as
our criminal convicts — but that is not yet.
Neither is it possible to hope for many years to come that human
beings generally will be as well cared for as horses. Mr. Carlyle
long ago remarked that the four-footed worker has already got all
that this two-handed one is clamouring for : " There are not many
horses in England, able and willing to work, which have not due
food and lodging and go about sleek coated, satisfied in heart."
You say it is impossible ; but, sdd Carlyle, "The human brain, looking
at these sleek English horses, refuses to believe in such impossibility
for English men." Nevertheless, forty years have passed since
Carlyle said that, and we seem to be no nearer the attainment of the
four-footed standard for the two-handed worker. " Perhaps it might
be nearer realisation," growls the cynic, " if we could only produce
men according to demand, as we do horses, and promptly send them
to the slaughter-house when past their prime " — which, of course, is
not to be thought of.
What, then, is the standard towards which we may venture to aim
with some prospect of realisation in our time ? It is a very humble
one, but if realised it would solve the worst problems of modern Society.
It is the standard of the London Cab Horse.
When in the streets of London a Cab Horse, weary or careless or
stupid, trips and falls and lies stretched out in the midst of the traffic,
there is no question of debating how he came to stumble before we
try to get him on his legs again. The Cab Horse is a very real illus-
tration of poor broken-down humanity; he usually falls down because
of overwork and underfeeding. If you put him on his feet without
altering his conditions, it would only be to give him another dose of
agony ; but first of all you'll have to pick him up again. It may have
been through overwork or underfeeding, or it may have been all his
own fault that he has broken his knees and smashed the shafts, but
that does not matter. If not for his own sake, then merely in order
to prevent an obstruction of the traffic, all attention is concentrated
upon the question of how we are to get him on his legs again. The
load is taken off, the harness is unbuckled, or, if need be, cut, and
everything is done to help him up. Then he is put in the shafts
20 THE CLT^''^'^'^"'^ TENTH.
again and once more restored to his regular round of work.
That is the first ]point. The second is that every Cab Horse in
London has three things ; a shelter for the night, food for its stomach,
and work allotted to it by which it can earn its com.
These are the two points of the Cab Horse's Charter. When
he is down he is helped. up, and while he lives he has food, sheltei*
and work. That, .although a humble standard, is at present
absolutely unattainable by millions — literally by millions — of our
fellow-men and women in this country. Can the Cab Horse
Charter be gained for human beings? I answer, yes. The Cab
Horse standard can be attained on the Cab Horse terms. If you
get your fallen fellow on his feet again, Docility and Discipline will
enable you to reach the Cab Horse ideal, otherwise it will remain
unattainable. But Docility seldom fails where Discipline is intelli-
gently maintained. Intelligence is more frequently lacking to direct,
than obedience to follow direction. At any rate it is not for those
who possess the intelligence to despair of obedience, until they have
done their part. Some, no doubt, like the bucking horse that will
never be broken in, will always refuse to submit to any guidance but
their own lawless will. They will remain either the Ishmaels or the
Sloths of Society. But man is naturally neither an Ishmael nor a Sloth.
The first question, then, which confronts us is, what are the dimen-
sions of the Evil? How many of our fellow-men dwell in this Darkest
England? How can we take the census of those who have fallen below
the Cab Horse standard to which it is our aim to elevate the most
wretched of our countrymen ?
The moment you attempt to ansjver this question, you are con-
fronted by the fact that the Social Problem has scarcely been studied
at all scientifically. Go to Mudie's and ask for all the books that
have been written on the subject, and you will be surprised to find
how few there are. There are probably more scientific books
treating of diabetes or of gout than there are dealing with the great
social malady which eats out the vitals of such numbers of our
people. Of late there has been a change for the better. The Report
of the Royal Commission on the Housing of the Poor, and the Report
of the Committee of the House of Lords on Sweating, represent an
attempt at least to ascertain the facts which bear upon the Condition
of the People question. But, after all, more minute, patient, intelli-
gent observation has been devoted to the study of Earthworms, than
to the evolution, or rather the degradation, of the Sunken Section of
SOME GHASTLY FIGURES. 21
our people. Here and there in the immense field individual workers
make notes, and occasionally emit a wail of despair, but where is
there any attempt even so much as to take the first preliminary step
of counting those who have gone under ?
One book there is, and so far as I know at present, only one,
which even attempts to enumerate the destitute. In his " Life and
Labour in the East of London," Mr. Charles Bqoth attempts to form
some kind of an idea as to the numbers of those with whom we have
to deal. With a large staff of assistants, and provided with all the
facts in possession of the School Board Visitors, Mr. Booth took an
industrial census of East London. This district, which comprises
Tower Hamlets, Shoreditch, Bethnal Green and Hackney, contains
a population of 9o8,cxX) ; that is to say, less than one-fourth of the
population of London.
Hqw do his statistics work out ? If we estimate the number of
the poorest class in the rest of London as being twice as numerous
as those in the Eastern District, instead of being thrice as numerous,
as they would be if they were calculated according to the population
in the same proportion, the following is the result : —
Paupers East London resfofTindSn. ^**"^
Inmates of Workhouses, Asylums,
and Hospitals 17,000 ... 34,000 ... 51,000
Homeless
Loafers, Casuals, and some Crim-
inals 11,000 ... 22,000 ... 33,000
Starving
Casual earnings between i8s. per
week and chronic want .. .. 100,000 ... 200,000 ... 300,000
The Very Poor.
Intermittent earnings i8s. to 21s.
... 222,000
... 387,000
per week
74,000 ...
148,000
Small regular earnings i8s. to 21s.
f
per week
129,000 ...
258,000
331,000
662,000
Regular wages, artizans, etc., 22s.
to 30s. per week
377,000
Higher class labour, 30s. to 50s. per
weeK ... ... ... ...
121,000
Lower middle class, shopkeepers,
cicrjKs, eic. ..• ... ... ...
34,000
Upper middle class (servant keepers)
45,000
993,000
908,000
\
\
22 THE SUBMERGED TENTH.
It may be admitted that East London affords an exceptionally bad
district from which to generalise for the rest of the country. Wages
are higher in London than elsewhere, but so is rent, and the number
of the homeless and starving is greater in the human warren at the
East End. There are 31 milhons of people in Great Britain,
exclusive of Ireland. If destitution existed everywhere in East
London proportions, there would be 31 times as many homeless
and starving people as there are in the district round Bethnal Green.
But let us suppose that the East London rate is double the
average for the rest of the country. That would bring out the
following figures :—
Houseless
East London. United Kin^om.
Loafers, Casuals, and some Criminals ... 11,000 165,500
Starving
Casual earnings or chronic want 100,000 i,55o,ood
Total Houseless and Starving ...111,000 1,715,500
In Workhouses, Asylums, &C. ... 17,000 190,000
.128,000 . 1,905,500
Of those returned as homeless and starving, 870,000 were in
receipt of outdoor relief.
To these must be added the inmates of our prisons. In 1889,
174,779 persons were received in the prisons, but the average
number in prison at any one time did not exceed 60,000. The
figures, as given in the Prison Returns, are as follows : —
In Convict Prisons 11,660
In Local Prisons ...
In Reformatories ...
In Industrial Schools
Criminal Lunatics
20,883
1,270
21,413
910
56,136
Add to this the number of indoor paupers and lunatics (excluding
criminals) 78,966 — and we have an army of nearly two millions
belonging to the submerged classes. To this there must be added,
at the very least, another million, representing those dependent upon
the criminal, lunatic and other classes, not enumerated here, and the
more or less helpless of the class immediately above the houseless and
starving. This brings my total to three millions, or, to put it roughly
DESTITUTION— 3,000,000 STRONG. 23
to one-tenth of the population. According to Lord Brabazon and Mr.
Samuel Smith, *' between two and three millions of our population are
always pauperised and degraded." Mr. Chamberlain says there is a
" population equal to that of the metropolis," — that is, between four
and five millions — " which has rejnained constantly in a state of abject
destitution and misery." Mr. Giffen is more moderate. The sub-
merged class, according to him, comprises one in five of manual
labourers, six in ichd of the population. Mr. Gifiien does not add
the third million which is living on the border line. Between Mr.
Chamberlain's four millions and a half, and Mr. Giffen's i,8chd,ooo,
I am content to take three millions as representing the total strength-
of the destitute army.
Darkest England, then, may be said to have a population about
equal to that of Scotland. Three million men, women, and children,
a vast despairing multitude in a condition nominally free, but really
enslaved ; — these it is whom we have to save.
It is a large order. England emancipated her negroes sixty years
ago, at a cost of ;^40,ooo,ooo, and has never ceased boasting about it
since. But at our own doors, from " Plymouth to Peterhead,"
stretches this waste Continent of humanity — three million human
beings who are enslaved— ^some of them to taskmasters as merciless
as any West Indian overseer, all of them to destitution and despair.
Is anything to be dorfe with them ? Can anything be done for
them ? Or is this million-headed mass to be regarded as offering a
problem as insoluble as that of the London sewage, which, feculent and
festering, swings heavily up and down the basin of the Thames with
the ebb and flow of the tide ?
This Submerged Tenth — is it, then, beyond the reach of the nine-
tenths in the midst of whom they live, and around whose homes they
rot and die ? No doubt, in every large mass of human beings there
will be some incurably diseased in morals and in body, some for
whom nothing can be done, some of whom even the optimist must
despair, and for whom he can prescribe nothing but the bene-
ficently stern restraints of an asylum or a gaol.
But is not one in ten a proportion scandalously high ? The
Israelites of old set apart one tribe in twelve to minister to the Lord
in the service of the Temple ; but must we doom one in ten of
" God's Englishmen " to the service of the great Twin Devils —
Destitution and Despair ?
CHAPTER IIL
THE HOMELESS.
Darkest England may be described as consisting broadly of three
circles, one within the other. The outer and widest circle is
inhabited by the starving and the homeless, but honest, Poor. The
second by those who live by Vice ; and the third and innermost region
at the centre is peopled by those who exist by Crime. The whole of
the three circles is sodden with Drink. Darkest England has many
more public-houses than the Forest of the Aruwimi has rivers, of
which Mr. Stanley sometimes had to cross three in half-an-hour.
The borders of this great lost land are not sharply defined. They
are continually expanding or contracting. Whenever there is a
period of depression in trade, they stretch ; when prosperity returns,
they contract. So far as individuals are concerned, there are none
among the hundreds of thousands who live upon the out-
skirts of the dark forest who can truly say that they or
their children are secure from being hopelessly entangled in
its labyrinth. The death of the bread-winner, a long illness,
a failure in the City, or any one of a thousand other causes
which might be named, will bring within the first circle
those who at present imagine themselves free from all danger of
actual want. The death-rate in Darkest England is high. Death
is the great gaol-deliverer of the captives. But the dead are hardly
in the grave before their places are taken by others. Some escape,
but the majority, their health sapped by their surroundings, become
weaker and weaker, until at last they fall by the way, perishing
without hope at the very doors of the palatial mansions which, may-
be, some of them helped to build.
Some seven years ago a great outcry was made concerning the
Housing of the Poor. Much was said, and rightly said — it could not
be said too strongly — concerning the disease-breeding, manhood-
LAZARUS ON THE EMBANKMENT. 25
destroying character of many of the tenements in which the poor
nerd in our large cities. But there is a depth below that of the
dweller in the slums. It is that of the dweller in the street, who has
not even a lair in the slums which he can call his own. The house-
less Out-of-Work is in one respect at least like Him of whom it was
said, " Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the
Son of Man hath not where to lay His head."
The existence of these unfortunates was somewhat rudely forced
upon the attention of Society in 1887, when Trafalgar Square be-
came the camping ground of the Homeless Outcasts of London.
Our Shelters have done something, but not enough, to provide for
the outcasts, who this night and every night are walking about the
streets, not knowing where they can find a spot on which to rest
their weary frames.
Here is the return of one of my Officers who was told off* this
summer to report upon the actual condition of the Homeless who
have no roof to shelter them in all London : —
There are still a large number of Londoners and a considerable percentage
of wanderers from the country in search of work, who find themselves at night-
fall destitute. These now betake themselves to the seats under the plane trees
on the Embankment. Formerly they endeavoured to occupy all the seats, but
the lynx-eyed Metropolitan Police declined to allow any such proceedings, and
the dossers, knowing the invariable kindness of the City Police, made tracks for
that portion of the Embankment which, lying east of the Temple, comes under
the control of the Civic Fathers. Here, between the Temple and Blackfnars, I
found the poor wretches by the score; almost every seat contained its full
complement of six — some men, some women — all reclining in various postures
and nearly all fast asleep. Just as Big Ben strikes two, the moon,
flashing across the Thames and lighting up the stone work of the
Embankment, brings into relief a pitiable spectacle. Here on the
stone abutments, which afford a slight protection from the biting wind,
are scores of men lying side by side, huddled together for warmth,
and, of course, without any other covering than their ordinary clothing,
which is scanty enough at the best. Some have laid down a few pieces of
waste paper, by way of taking the chill ofif the stones, but the majority are too
tired, even for that, and the nightly toilet of most consists of first removing
the hat, swathing the head in whatever old rag may be doing duty as a
handkerchief, and then replacing the hat.
The intelligent-looking elderly man, who was just fixing himself up on a
seat, informed me that he frequently made that his night's abodet "You see,"
q^otk he, "there's nowhere else so comfortable. I was here last night, and
26 THE HOMELESS.
Monday and Tuesday as well, that*s four nights this week. I had no money for
lodgings, couldn't earn any, try as I might I've had one bit of bread to-day.
nothing else whatever, and I've earned nothing to-day or yesterdays I had
threepence the day before. Gets my living by carrying parcels, or minding
horses^ or odd jobs of that sort. You see I haven't got my health, that's
where it is. I used to work on the London General Omnibus Company and
after that on the Road Car Company, but I had to go to the infirmary with
bronchitis and couldn't get work after that What's the good of a man what's
got bronchitis and just left the infirmary ? Who'll engage him, I'd like to know ?
Besides, it makes me short of breath at times, and I can't do much. I'm a
widower ; wife died long ago. I have one boy, abroad, a sailor, but he's only
lately started and can't help me. Vest its very fair out here of nights, seats
rather hard, but a bit of waste paper makes it a lot softer. We have women
sleep here often, and children, too. They're very well conducted, and there's
seldom many rows here, you see, because everybody's tired out. We're too
sleepy to make a row."
Another party, a tall, dull, helpless-looking individual, had walked up from
the country ; would prefer not to mention the place. He had hoped to have
obtained a hospital letter at the Mansion House so as to obtain a truss for a
bad rupture, but failing, had tried various other places, also in vain, winding
up minus money or food on the Embankment.
In addition to these sleepers, a considerable number walk about the streets
up till the early hours of the morning to hunt up some job which will bring a
copper into the empty exchequer, and save them from actual starvation. I had
some conversation with one such, a stalwart youth lately discharged from the
militia, and unable to get work.
" You see," said he, pitifully, " I don't know my way about like most of the
London fellows. I'm so green, and don't know how to pick up jobs like they
do. I've been walking the streets almost day and night these two weeks and
can't get work. Ive got the strength, though I shan't have it long at this rate.
I only want a job. This is the third night running that I've walked the streets
all night ; the only money I get is by minding blacking-boys' boxes while they
go into Lockhart's for their dinner. I got a penny yesterday at it, and twopence
for carrying a parcel, and to-day I've had a penny. Bought a ha'pprth of bread
and a ha'penny mug of tea."
Poor lad t probably he would soon get into thieves' company, and sink into
the depths, for there is no other means of living for many like him ; it is starve
or steal, even for the young. There are gangs of lad thieves in the low
Whitechapel lodging-houses, varying in age from thirteen to fifteen, who live
by thieving eatables and other easily obtained goods from shop fronts.
In addition* to the Embankment, alfresco lodgings are found in the seats
outside Spitalfields Church, and many homeless wanderers have their own little
TWELVE STORIES FROM REAL LIFE. 27
nooks and comers of resort in many sheltered yards, vans, etc.^ all over London.
Two poor women I observed making thdr home in a shop door-way in Liverpool
Street Thus they manage in the summer; what it's like in winter time is
terrible to think of. In many cases it means the pauper's grave, as in the case
of a young woman who was wont to sleep in a van in Bedfordbury. Some men
who were aware of her practice surprised her by dashing a bucket of water on
her. The blow to her weak system caused illness, and the inevitable sequel —
a coroner's jury came to the conclusion that the water only hastened her death,
which was due, in plain English, to starvation.
The following are some statements taken down by the same Officer
from twelve men whom he found sleeping on the Embankment on
the nights of June 13th and 14th, 1890: —
No.. I. "I've slept here two nights; I'm a confectioner by trade; I come
from Dartford. I got turned off because I 'm getting elderly. They can get
young men cheaper, and I have the rheumatism so bad. I 've earned nothing
these two days ; I thought I could get a job at Woolwich, so I walked there,
but could get nothing. I found a bit of bread in the road wrapped up in a bit
of newspaper. That did me for yesterday. I had a bit of bread and butter
to-day. I 'm 54 years old. When it's wet we stand about all night under the arches."
No. 2. "Been sleeping out three weeks all but one night; do odd jobs,
mind horses, and that sort of thing. Earned nothing to-day, or shouldn't be
here. Have had a pen'orth of bread to-day. That 's all Yesterday had some
pieces given to me at a cook-shop. Two days last week had nothing at all
from morning till night By trade I'm a feather-bed dresser, but it 's gone out
of fashion, and besides that, I 've a cataract in one eye, and have lost the sight
of it completely. I 'm a widower, have one child, a soldier, at Dover. My last
regular work was eight months ago, but the firm broke. Been doing odd jobs
since."
No. 3. " I'm a tailor; have slept here four nights running. Can't get work.
Been out of a job three weeks. If I can muster cash I sleep at a lodging-house
in Vere Street, Clare Market. It was very wet last night. I left these seats and
went to Covent Garden Market and slept under cover. There were about
thirty of us. The police moved us on, but we went back as soon as they had
gone. I 've had a pen'orth of bread and pen'orth of soup during the last two
days — often goes without altogether. There are women sleep out here. They
are decent people, mostly charwomen and such like who can't get work."
No. 4. Elderly man ; trembles visibly with excitement at mention of work ;
produces a card carefully wrapped in old newspaper, to the effect that
Mr. J. R. is a member of the Trade Protection League. He is a waterside
labourer; last job at that was a fortnight since. Has earned nothing for five
da^ Had a bit of bread this morning, but not a scrap since. Had a cup of
28 THE HOMELESS.
tea and two slices of bread yesterday, and the same the day before ; the deputy
at a lodging house gave it to him. He is fifty years old, and is still damp from
sleeping out in the wet last night.
No. 5, Sawyer by trade, machinery cut him out. Had a job, haymaking
near Uxbridge. Had been on same job lately for a month ; got 2s. 6d.
a day. (Probably spent it in drink, seems a very doubtful worker.) Has been
odd jobbing a long time, earned 2d. to-day, bought a pen'brth of tea and ditto of
sugar (produces same from pocket) but can't get any place to make the tea ; was
hoping to get to a lodging house where he could borrow a teapot, but had no
money. Earned nothing yesterday, slept at a casual ward ; very poor place, get
insufficient food, considering the labour. Six ounces of bread and a pint of
skilly for breakfast, one ounce of cheese and six or seven ounces of bread for
dinner (bread cut by guess). Tea same as breakfast, — ^no supper. For this you
have to break 10 cwt. of stones, or pick 4 lbs. of oakum.
Number 6. Had slept out four nights running. Was a distiller by trade ;
been out four months ; unwilling to enter into details of leaving, but it was his
own fault. (Very likely; a heavy, thick, stubborn, and senseless-looking
fellow, six feet high, thick neck, strong limbs, evidently destitute of ability.)
Does odd jobs ; earned 3d. for minding a horse, bought a cup of cofifee and
pen'orth of bread and butter. Has no money now. Slept under Waterloo
Bridge last night.
No. 7. Good-natured looking man ; one who would suffer and say nothing ;
clothes shining with age, grease, and dirt ; they hang on his joints as on pegs ;
awful rags 1 I saw him endeavouring to walk. He lifted his feet very slowly
and put them down carefully in evident pain. His legs are bad; been in
infirmary several times with them. His uncle and grandfather were clergymen ;
both dead now. He was once in a good position in a money office, and after-
wards in the London and County Bank for nine years. Then he went with an
auctioneer who broke, and he was left ill, old, and without any trade. " A
clerk's place," says he, *' is never worth havings because there are so many of
them, and once out you can only get another place with difficulty. I have a
brother-in-law on the Stock Exchange, but he won't own me. Look at my
clothes? Is it likely?"
No. 8. Slept here four nights running. Is a builder's labourer by trade, that
is, a handy-man. Had a settled job for a few weeks which expired three weeks
since. Has earned nothing for nine days. Then helped wash down a shop
front and got 2s. 6d. for it. Does anything he can get. Is 46 years old. Earns
about 2d. or 3d. a day at horse minding. A cup of tea and a bit of bread
yesterday, and same to-day, is all he has had.
No. 9. A plumber's labourer (all these men who are somebody's "labourers"
are poor samples of humanity, evidently lacking in grit, and destitute of
ability to do any work which would mean decent wages). Judging from
THE NOMADS OF CIVILIZATION. 29
appearances, they will do nothing well. They are a kind of automaton, with
the machinery rusty; slow, dull, and incapable. The man of ordinary
intelligence leaves them in the rear. They could doubtless earn more even
at odd jobs, but lack the energy. Of course, this means little food,
exposure to weather, and increased incapability day by day. ("From
him that hath not," etc.) Out of work through slackness, does odd jobs ; slept
here three nights running. Is a dock labourer when he can get work. Has 6d.
an hour ; works so many hours, according as he is wanted. Gets 2s., 3s., or
4S. 6d. a day. • Has to work very hard for it Casual ward life is also vexy hard,
he says, for those who are not used to it, and there is not enough to eat. Has
had to-day a pen'orth of bread, for minding a cab. Yesterday he spent 3jd. on
a breakfast, and that lasted him all day. Age 25.
No. 10. Been out of work a month. Carman by trade. Arm withered, and.
cannot do work properly. Has slept here all the week ; got an awful cold
through the wet. Lives at odd jobs (they all do). Got sixpence yesterday for
minding a cab and carrying a couple of parcels. Earned nothing to-day, but
had one good meal ; a lady gave it him. Has been walking about all day look-
ing for work, and is tired out.
No. II. Youth, aged 16. Sad case; Londoner. Works at odd jobs and
matches selling. Has taken 3d. to-day, i.e.y net profit i^d. Has five boxes still.
Has slept here every night for a month. Before that slept in Covent Garden
Market or on doorsteps. Been sleeping out six months, since he left Feltham
Industrial School. Was sent there for playing truant. Has had one bit of bread
to-day ; yesterday had only some gooseberries and cherries, /.^., bad ones that
had been thrown away. Mother is alive. She " chucked him out " when he
returned home on leaving Feltham because he could'nt find her money for drink.
No. 12. Old man, age 67. Seems to take rather a humorous view of the
position. Kind of Mark Tapley. Says he can't say he does like it, but then he
must like it I Ha, ha ! Is a slater by trade. Been out of work some time ;
younger men naturally get the work. Gets a bit of bricklaying sometimes ; can
turn his hand to anything. Goes miles and gets nothing. Earned one and two-
pence this week at heading horses. Finds it hard, certainly. Used to care once,
and get down-hearted, but that's no good ; don't trouble now. Had a bit of
bread and butter and cup of coffee to-day. Health is awful bad, not half the
size he was ; exposure and want of food is the cause ; got wet last night, and is
very stiff in consequence. Has been walking about since it was light, that is
3 a.m. Was so cold and wet and weak, scarcely knew what to do. Walked to
Hyde Park, and got a little sleep there on a dry seat as soon as the park opened.
These are fairly typical cases of the men who are now wandering
homeless through the streets. That is the way in which the nomads
of civilization are constantly being recruited from above.
30 THE HOMELESS.
Such are the stories gathered at random one Midsummer night
this year under the shade of the plane trees of the Embankment. A
month later, when one of my staff took the census of the sleepers
out of doors along the line of the Thames from Blackfriars to
Westminster, he found three hundred and sixty-eight persons
sleeping in the open air. Of these, two hundred and seventy were
on the Embankment proper, and ninety-eight in and about Covent
Garden Market, while the recesses of Waterloo and Blackfriars
Bridges were full of human misery.
This, be it remembered, was not during a season of bad trade.
The revival of business has been attested on all hands, notably by
the barometer of strong drink. England is prosperous enough to
drink rum in quantities which appall the Chancellor of the Exchequer,
but she is not prosperous enough to provide other shelter than the
midnight sky for these poor outcasts on the Embankment.
To very many even of those who live in London it may be news
that there are so many hundreds who sleep out of doors every night.
There are comparatively few people stirring after midnight, and when
we are snugly tucked into our own beds we are apt to forget the
multitude outside in the rain and the storm who are shivering the
long hours through on the hard stone seats in the open or under the
arches of the railway. These homeless, hungry people are, however,
there, but being broken-spirited folk for the most part they seldom
make their voices audible in the ears of their neighbours. Now and
again, however, a harsh cry from the depths is heard for a moment,
jarring rudely upon the ear and then all is still. The inarticulate
classes speak as seldom as Balaam's ass. But they sometimes find a
voice. Here for instance is one such case which impressed me much.
It was reported in one of the Liverpool papers some time back. The
speaker was haranguing a small knot of twenty or thirty men : —
" My lads," he commenced, with one hand in the breast of his
ragged vest, and the other, as usual, plucking nervously at his beard,
" This kind o* work can't last for ever." (Deep and earnest ex-
clamations, " It can't ! It shan't") "Well, boys," continued the speaker,
" Somebody'll have to find a road out o' this. What we want is work,
not work'us bounty, though the parish has been busy enough
amongst us lately, God knows ! What we want is honest work.
(Hear, hear.) Now, what I propose is that each of you gets fifty
mates to join you ; that'll make about 1,200 starving chaps — "
"And then?" asked several very gaunt and hungry-looking men
A LAZARUS PROCESSION OF DESPAIR. 31
excitedly. " Why, then," continued the leader. " Why, then,"
interrupted a cadaverous-looking man from the farther and darkest
end of the cellar, " of course we'll make a London job of it, eh ? "
" No, no," hastily interposed my friend, and holding up his hands
deprecatingly, " we'll go peaceably about it chaps ; we'll go in a
body to the Town Hall, and show our poverty, and ask for work.
We'll take the women and children with us too." ("Too ragged!
Too starved! They can't walk it!") "The women's rags is no
disgrace, the staggerin' children '11 show what we come to. Let's
go a thousand strong, and ask for work and bread ! "
Three years ago, in London, there were some such processions.
Church parades to the Abbey and St. Paul's, bivouacs in Trafalgar
Square, etc. But Lazarus showed his rags and his sores too con-
spicuously for the convenience of Dives, and was summarily dealt
with in the name of law and order. But as we have Lord
Mayor's Days, when all the well-fed fur-clad City Fathers go in State
Coaches through the town, why should we not have a Lazarus
Day, in which the starving Out-of- Works, and the sweated half-
starved " in-works " of London should crawl in their tattered
raggedness, with their gaunt, hungry faces, and emaciated wives and
children, a Procession of Despair through the main thoroughfares,
past the massive houses and princely palaces of luxurious London ?
For these men are gradually, but surely, being sucked down into the
quicksand of modern life. They stretch out their grimy hands to us
in vain appeal, not for charity, but for work.
Work, work I it is always work that they ask. The Divine curse
is to them the most blessed of benedictions. " In the sweat of thy
brow thou shalt eat thy bread," but alas for these forlorn sons of
Adam, they .fail to find the bread to eat, for Society has no work for
them to do. They have not even leave to sweat. As well as discuss-
ing how these poor wanderers should in the second Adam "all be made
alive," ought we not to put forth some effort to effect their restoration
to that share in the heritage of labour which is theirs by right of
descent from the first Adam ?
CHAPTER IV.
THE OUT-OF-WORKS.
There is hardly any more pathetic figure than that of the strong,
able worker crying plaintively in the midst of our palaces and churches,
not for charity, but for work, asking only to be allowed the privilege
of perpetual hard labour, that thereby he may earn wherewith to fill
his empty belly and silence the cry of his children for food. Crying
for it and not getting it, seeking for labour as lost treasure and
finding it not, until at last, all spirit and vigour worn out in the
weary quest, the once willing worker becomes a broken-down
drudge, sodden with wretchedness and despairing of all help in this
world or in that which is to come. Our organisation of industry
certainly leaves much to be desired. A problem which even slave
owners have solved ought not to be abandoned as insoluble by the
Christian civilisation of the Nineteenth Century.
I have already given a few life stories taken down from the lips
of those who were found homeless on the Embankment which suggest
somewhat of the hardships and the misery of the fruitless search for
work. But what a volume of dull, squalid horror — a horror of great
darkness gradually obscuring all the light of day from the life of
the sufferer — might be written from the simple prosaic experiences
of the ragged fellows whom you meet every day in the street. These
men, whose labour is their only capital, are allowed,, nay compelled,
to waste day after day by the want of any means of employment, and
then when they have seen days and weeks roll by during which
their capital has been wasted by pounds and pounds, they are
lectured for not saving the pence. When a rich man cannot employ
his capital he puts it out at interest, but the bank for the labour
capital of the poor man has yet to be invented. Yet it might be
worth while inventing one. A man's labour is not only his capital,
but his life. When it passes it returns never more. To utilise it, to
i
THE HUNT FOB WORK. 33
prevent its wasteful squandering, to enable the poor man to bank it
up for use hereafter, this surely is one of the most urgent tasks
before civilisation.
Of all heart-breaking toil the hunt for work is surely the worst.
Yet at any moment let a workman lose his present situation, and he
is compelled to begin anew the dreary round of fruitless calls. Here
is the story of one among thousands of the nomads, taken down
from his own hps, of one who was driven by sheer hunger into
crime.
A bright Spring morning found me landed from a western colony. Fourteen
years had passed since I embarked from the same spot. They v/ere fourteen
years, as far as results were concerned, of non-success, a nd here I was again
in my own land, a stranger, with a new career to carve for myself and the
battle of life to fight over again.
My first* thought was work. Nevci before had I felt more eager for a down-
right good chance to win my way by hyciest toil ; but where was I to find work ?
With firm determination I started in search. One day passed without success,
and another, and another, but the thought cheered me, " Better luck to-morrow."
It has been said, ** Hope springs eternal in the human breast." In my case it
was to be severely tested. Days soon ran into weeks, and still I was on the
trail patiently and hopefully. Courtesy and politeness so often met me in my
enquiries for employment that I often wished they would kick me out, and so
vary the monotony of the sickly veneer of consideration that so thinly overlaid
the indifference and the absolute unconcern they had to my needs. A few cut up
rough and said, " No ; we don't want you." " Please don't trouble us again (this
after the second visit). We have no vacancy ; and if we had, we have plenty of
people on hand to fill it."
Who can express the feeling that comes over one when the fact begins to
dawn that the search for work is a failure? All my hopes and prospects
seemed to have turned out false. Helplessness, I had often heard of it, had
often talked about it, thought I knew all about it. Yes I in others, but now I
began to understand it for myself. Gradually my personal appearance faded.
My once faultless linen became unkempt and unclean. Down further an4
further went the heels ol my shoes, and I drifted into that distressing condition,
" shabby gentility." If the odds were against me before, how much more so
now, seeing that I was too shabby even to command attention, much less a
reply to my enquiry for work.
. Hunger now began to do its work, and I drifted to the dock gates, but what
chance had I among the hungry giants there? And so down the stream I
drifted until " Grim Want " brought me to the last shilling, the last lodging, and
the last meaL What shall X do ? Where shall I go ? I tried to think. Must
C
34- THE OUT-OF-WORKS.
I starve? Surely there must be some door still open for honest willing
endeavour, but where ? What can I do ? " Drink," said the Tempter ; but to
drink to drunkenness needs caih, and oblivion by liquor demands an equivalent
in the currency.
Starve or steal. " You must do one or the other,** said the Tempter. But I
recoiled from being a Thie£ '* Why be so particular ? " says the Tempter again.
"You are down now, who will trouble about jrou? Why trouble about
yourself? The choice is between starving and stealing." And I struggled
until hunger sto.w **iy judgment, and then I became a Thief
No one can pretend that it was an idle fear of death by starvation
which drove this poor fellow to steal. Deaths from actual hunger are
more common than is generally supposed. Last year, a man, whose
name was never known, was walking through St. James's Park, when
three of our Shelter men saw him suddenly stumble and fall. They
thought he was drunk, but found he had fainted. They carried him
to the bridge and gave him to the police. They took him to St.
George's Hospital, where he died. It appeared that he had, ac-
cording to his own tale, walked up from Liverpool, and had been
without food for five days. The doctor, however, said he had gone
longer than that. The jury returned a verdict of "Death from
Starvation."
Without food for five days or longer ! Who that has experienced
the sinking sensation that is felt when even a single meal has been
sacrificed may form some idea of what kind of slow torture killed that
man!
In 1888 the average daily number of unemployed in London was
estimated by the Mansion House Committee at 20,ocx). This vast
reservoir of unemployed labour is the bane of all efforts to raise the
scale of living, to improve the condition of labour. Men hungering to
death for lack of opportunity to earn a crust are the materials from
which "blacklegs" are made, by whose aid the labourer is constantly
defeated in his attempts to improve his condition.
This is the problem that underlies all questions of Trades Unionism,
and all Schemes for the Improvement of the Condition of the Industrial
Army. To rear any stable edifice that will not perish when the first
storm rises and the first hurricane blows, it must be built not upon
sand, but upon a rock. And the worst of all existing Schemes for
social betterment by organisaticm of the skilled workers and the like
is that they are founded, not upon " rock," nor even upon " sand,"
but upon the bottomless bog of the stratum of the Workless. It is
AN IMMENSE PROBLEM. 35
here where we must begin. The regimentation of industrial workers
who have got regular work is not so very difficult. That can be
done, and is being done, by themselves. The problem that we have
to face is the regimentation, the organisation, of those who have not
got work, or who have only irregular work, and who from sheer
pressure of absolute starvation are driven irresistibly into cut-throat
competition with their better employed brothers and sistcirs. Skin
for skin, all that a man hath, will he give for his life ; much more,
then, will those who experimentally know not God give all that they
might hope hereafter to have — in this world or in the world to come.
There is no gainsaying the immensity of the problem. It is
appalling enough to make us despair. But those who do not put
their trust in man alone, but in One who is Almighty, have no right
to despair. To despair is to. lose faith ; to despair is to forget God.
Without God we can do nothing in this frightful chaos of human
misery. But with God we can do all things, and in the faith that He
has made in His image all the children of men we face even this
hideous wreckage of humanity with a cheerful confidence that if we
are but faithful to our own high calling He will not fail to open up a
way of deliverance.
I have nothing to say against those who are endeavouring to open
up a way of escape without any consciousness of God's help. For
them I feel only sympathy and compassion. In so far as they are
endeavouring to give bread to the hungry, clothing to the naked, and
above all, work to the workless, they are to that extent endeavouring
to do the will of our Father which is in Heaven, and woe be unto all
those who say them nay ! But to be orphaned of all sense of the
Fatherhood of God is surely not a secret source of strength. It is
in most cases — it would be in my own — the secret of paralysis. If I
did not feel my Father's hand in the darkness, and hear His voice in
the silence of the night watches bidding me put my hand to this
thing, I would shrink back dismayed ; — but as it is I dare not.
How many are there who have made similar attempts and have failed,
and we have heard of them no more ! Yet none of them proposed to
deal with more than the mere fringe of the evil which, God helping me, I
will try to face in all its immensity. Most Schemes that are put
forward for the Improvement of the Circumstances of the
People are either avowedly or actually limited to those whose
condition least needs amelioration. The Utopians, the econo-
mists, and most of the philanthropists propound remedies.
36 THE OUT-OF-WORKS.
which, if adopted to-morrow, would only affect the aristo-
cracy of the miserable. It is the thrifty, the industrious, the sober,
the thoughtful who can take advantage of these plans. But
the thrifty, the industrious, the sober, and the thoughtful are already
very well able for the most part to take care of themselves. No one
will ever make even a visible dint on the Morass of Squalor who
does not deal with the improvident, the lazy, the vicious, and the
criminal. The Scheme of Social Salvation is not worth discussion
which is not as wide as the Scheme of Eternal Salvation set forth in
the Gospel. The Glad Tidings must be to every creature, not merely
to an elect few who are to be saved while the mass of their fellows
are predestined to a temporal damnation. We have had this doctrine
of an inhuman cast-iron pseudo-political ejonomy too long
enthroned amongst us. It is now time to fling down the false idol,
and proclaim a Temporal Salvation as full, free, and universal, and
with no other limitations than the " Whosoever will," of the Gospel.
To attempt to save the Lost, we must accept no limitations to
human brotherhood. If the Scheme which I set forth in these and
the following pages is not applicable to the Thief, the Harlot, the
Drunkard, and the Sluggard, it may as well be dismissed without
ceremony. As Christ came to call not the saints but sinners to
repentance, so the New Message of Temporal Salvation, of salvation
from pinching poverty, from rags and misery, must be offered to alL
They may reject it, of course. But we who call ourselves by the
name of Christ are not worthy to profess to be His disciples until we
have set an open door before the least and worst of these
who are now apparently imprisoned for life in a horrible
dungeon of misery and despair. The responsibility for its rejection
must be theirs, not ours. We all know the prayer, " Give me neither
poverty nor riches, feed me with food convenient for me " — and for
every child of man on this planet, thank God the prayer of Agur,
the son of Jakeh, may be fulfilled.
At present how far it is from being realised may be seen by anyone
who will' take the trouble to go down to the docks and see the struggle
for work. Here is a sketch of what was found there this summer : —
London Docks, 7.25 a.m. The three pairs of huge wooden doors are closed.
Leaning against them, and standing about, there are perhaps a couple of
hundred men. The public house opposite is full, doing a heavy trade. All
along the road are groups of men, and from each direction a steady stream
Increases the crowd at the gate.
AT THE DOCK GATES. 37
7.30. Doors open, there is a general rush to the interior. Everybody
marches about a hundred yards along to the iron barrier — a temporary chain
affair, guarded by the dock police. Those men who have previously (i.e., night
before) been engaged, show their ticket and pass through, about six hundred.
The rest — some five hundred — stand behind the barrier, patiently waiting the
chance of a job, but less than twenty of these get engaged* They are taken on
by a foreman who appears next the barrier and proceeds to pick his men. No .
sooner is the foreman seen, than there is a wild rush to the spot and a sharp,
mad fight to " catch his eye." The men picked out, pass the barrier, and the
excitement dies away until another lot of men are wanted
They wait until eight o'clock strikes, which is the signal to withdraw.
The barrier is taken down and all those hundreds of men, wearily disperse to
" find a job." Five hundred applicants, twenty acceptances I No wonder one
tired-out looking individual ejaculates, *' Oh dear, Oh dear ! Whatever shall I
do ? " A few hang about until mid-day on the slender chance of getting takeii
on then for half a day.
Ask the men and they will tell you something like the following
story, which gives the simple experiences of a dock labourer.
R. P. said : — " I was in regular work at the South West India Docks
before the strike. We got 5d. an hour. Start work 8 a.m. summer and 9 a.m.
winter. Often there would be five hundred go, and only twenty get taken on
(that is besides those engaged the night previous.) The foreman stood in his
box, and called out the men he wanted. He would know quite five hundred by
name. It was a regular fight to get worV. I have known nine hundred to be
taken on, but there's always hundreds turned away. You see they get to know
when ships come in, and when they're consequently likely to be wanted, and
turn up then in greater numbers. I would earn 309. a week sometimes and
then perhaps nothing for a fortnight. That's what makes it so hard. You get
nothing to eat for a week scarcely, and then when you get taken on, you are so
weak that you can't do it properly. I've stood in the crowd at the gate and had
to go away without work, hundreds of times. Still I should go at it again if I
could. I got tired, of the little work and went away into the country to get work
on a farm, but couldn't get it, so I'm without the lay. that it costs to join the
Dockers' Union. I'm going to the country again in a day or two to try again.
Expect to get 3^. a day perhaps. Shall come back to the docks again. There
is a chance of getting regular dock work, and that is, to lounge about the pubs,
where the foremen go, and treat them. Then they will very likely take you on
next day.''
' R. P. was a non-Unionist. Henry F. is a Unionist. His history
is much the same.
38 THE OUT-OF-WORKS.
" I worked at St. Kathcrinc's Docks five months ago. You have to get to the
gates at 6 o'clock for the first call. There's generally about 400 waiting. They
will take on one to two hundred. Then at 7 o'clock there's a second call.
Another 400 will have gathered by then, and another hundred or so will be taken
on. Also there will probably be calls at nine and one o'clock. About the same
number turn up but there's no work for many hundreds of them. I was a Union
man. That means los. a week sick pay, or 8s. a week for slight accidents ; also
some other advantages. The Docks won't take men on now unless they are
Unionists. The point is that there's too many men. I would often be out of
work a fortnight to three weeks at a time. Once earned £'^ in a week, working
day and night, but then had a fortnight out directly after. Especially when there
don't happen to be any ships in for a few days, which means, of course, nothing
to unload. That's the time ; there's plenty of men almost starving then. They
have no trade to go to, or can get no work at it, and they swoop down to the
docks for work, when they had much better stay away."
But it is not only at the dock-gates that you come upon these
unfortunates who spend their lives in the vain hunt for work. Here
is the story of another man whose case has only too many parallels.
C. is a fin^ built man, standing nearly six feet. He has been in the Royal
Artillery for eight years and held very good situations whilst in it. It seems
that he was thrifty and consequently steady. He bought his discharge, and
being an excellent cook opened a refreshment house, but at the end of five
months he was compelled to close his shop on account of slackness in trade,
which was brought about by the closing of a large factory in the locality.
After having worked in Scotland and Newcastle-on-Tyne for a few years,
and through ill health having to give up his situation, he came to London with
tne hope that he might get something to do in his native town. He has had no
regular employment for the past eight months. His wife and family are in a
state oi destitution, and he remarked, " We only had i lb. of bread between us
yesterday." He is six weeks in arrears of rent, and is afraid that he will be
ejected. The furniture which is in his home is not worth 3s. and the clothes of
each member of his family are in a tattered state and hardly fit for the rag bag.
He assured us he had tried everywhere to get employment and would be willing
to take anything. His characters are very good indeed.
Now, it may seem a preposterous dream that any arrangement can
b^ devised by which it may be possible, under all circumstances, to
provide food, clothes, and shelter for all these Out-of- Works
without any loss of self respect ; but I am convinced that it can be
done, providing only that they are willing to Work, and, God helping
me, if the means are forthcoming, I mean to try to do it ; bow, and
where, and when, I will explain in subsequent chapters.
A REALISABLE IDEAL. 39
All that I need say here is, that so long as a man or woman is
willing to submit to the discipline indispensable in every campaign
against any formidable foe, there appears to me nothing impossible
about this ideal ; and the great element of hope before us is that the
majority are, beyond all gainsaying, eager for work. Most of
them now do more exhausting work in seeking for employment than
the regular toilers do in their workshops, and do it, too, under the
darkness of hope deferred which maketh the heart sick.
CHAPTER V.
ON THE VERGE OF THE ABYSS.
There is, unfortunately, no need for me to attempt to set out, how-
ever imperfectly, any statement of the evil case of the sufferers whom
we wish to help. For years past the Press has been filled with
echoes of the " Bitter Crv of Outcast London," with pictures of
" Horrible Glasgow," and the like. We have had several volumes
describing " How the Poor Live," and I may therefore assume that
all my readers are more or less cognizant of the main outlines of
" Darkest England." My slum officers are living in the midst of it ;
their reports are before me, and one day I may publish some more
detailed account of the actual facts of the social condition of the
Sunken Millions. But not now. All that must be taken as read. I
only glance at the subject in order to bring into clear rehef the
salient points of our new Enterprise.
I have spoken of the houseless poor. Each of these represents a
point in the scale of human suffering below that of those who have still
contrived to keep a shelter over their heads. A home is a home, be
it ever so low ; and the desperate tenacity with which the poor
will cling to the last wretched semblance of one is very touch-
ing. There are vile dens, fever-haunted and stenchful crowded
courts, where the return of summer is dreaded because it
means the unloosing of myriads of vermin which render night
unbearable, which, nevertheless, are regarded at this moment as
havens of rest by their hard-working occupants. They can scarcely
be said to be furnished. A chair, a mattress, and a few miserable
sticks constitute all the furniture of the single room in which they
have to sleep, and breed, and die ; but they cHng to it as a drowning
man to a half-submerged raft. Every week they contrive by pinch-
ing and scheming to raise the rent, for with them it is pay or go ;
and they struggle to meet the collector as the sailor nerves himself
A CRY OF DESPAIR. 41
to avoid being sucked under by the foaming wave. If at any time
work fails or sickness comes they are liable to drop helplessly into
the ranks of the homeless. It is bad for a single man to have to
confront the struggle for life in the streets and Casual Wards. But
how much more terrible must it be for the married man with his
wife and children to be turned out into the streets. So long as the
family has a lair into which it can creep at night, he keeps his footing;
but when he loses that solitary foothold then arrives the time if
there be such athing as Christian compassion, for the helping hand
to be held out to save him from the vortex that sucks him downward
— ay, downward to the hopeless under-strata of crime and despair.
" The heart knoweth its own bitterness and the stranger inter-
meddleth not therewith." But now and thfen out of the depths there
sounds a bitter wail as of some strong swimmer in his agony as he
is drawn under by the current. A short time ago a respectable man,
a chemist in Holloway, fifty years of age, driven hard to the wall,
tried to end it all by cutting his throat. His wife also cut her
.throat, and at the same time they gave strychnine to their only
child. The effort failed, and they were placed on trial for attempted
murder. In the Court a letter was read which the poor wretch had
written before attempting his life : —
My dearest George, — Twelve months have I now passed of a most miserable
and struggling existence, and I really cannot stand it any more. I am com-
pletely worn out, and relations who could assist me won't do any more, for such
was uncle's last intimation. Never mind ; he can't take his money and comfort
with him, and in all probability will find himself in the same boat as myself.
He never enquires whether I am starving or«iot. £s — aniere flea-bite to him —
would have put us straight, and with his security and good interest might have
obtained me a good situation long ago. I can face poverty and degradation no
longer, and would sooner die than go to the workhouse, whatever may be the
awful consequences of the steps we have taken. We have, God forgive us,
taken our darling Arty with us out of pure love and affection, so that the
darling should never be cuffed about, or reminded or taunted with his heart-
broken parents' crime. My poor wife has done her best at needle-work,
washing, house-minding, &c., in fact, anything and everything that would bring
in a shilling ,* but it would only keep us in semi-starvation. I have now done
six weeks' travelling from morning till night, and not received one farthing for
it If that is not enough to drive you mad — wickedly mad — I don't know what
is. No bright prospect anywhere ; no ray of hope.
May God Almighty forgive us for this heinous sin, and have mercy
on our sinful souls, is the prayer ' of your miserable, broken-hearted,
42 ON THE VERGE OF THE ABYSS.
^— >JM^11P^^M^— ^— i— ■».W1 »■ ■■ !»■ ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■»» III ^B^^— 1^— ^1^^-^M^ . ,^
but loving brother, Arthur. We have now done everything that we can
posisibly think of to avert this wicked proceeding, but can discover no
ray of hope. Fervent prayer has availed us nothing; our lot is cast,
and we must abide by it. It must be God's will or He would have
ordained it differently. Dearest Georgy, I am exceedingly sorry to leave you
all, but I am mad — ^thoroughly mad. You, dear, must try and forget us, and,
if possible, forgive us ; for I do not consider it our own fault we have not
succeeded. If you could get £^ for our bed it will pay our rent, and our scanty
furniture may fetch enough to bury us in a cheap way. Don't grieve over us or
follow us, for we shall not be worthy of such respect. Our clergyman has
never called on us or given us the least consolation, though I called on him a
month ago. He is paid to preach, and there he considers his responsibility
ends, the rich excepted. We have only yourself and a very few others who
care one pin what becomes of us, but you must try and forgive us, is the last
fervent prayer of your devotedly fond and affectionate but broken-hearted and
persecuted brother. (Signed) R. A. O ,
That is an authentic human document — a. transcript from the life
of one among thousands who go down inarticulate into the depths.
They die and make no sign, or, worse still, they continue to exist,
carrying about with them, year after year, the bitter ashes of a life
from which the furnace of misfortune has burnt away all joy, and hope,
and strength. Who is there who has not been confronted by many
despairing ones, who come, as Richard O went, to the clergyman,
crying for help, and how seldom have we been able to give it them ?
It is unjust, no doubt, for them to blame the clergy and the comfort-
able well-to-do — for what can they do but preach and offer good
advice ? To assist all the Richard O s' by direct financial advance
would drag even Rothschild iilto the gutter. And what else can be
done ? Yet something else must be done if Christianity is not to be
a mockery to perishing men.
Here is another case, a very common case, which illustrates how
the Army of Despair is recruited.
Mr. T., Margaret Place, Gascoign Place, Bethnal Green, is a bootmaker by trade.
Is a good hand, and has earned three shillings and sixpence to four shillings and
sixpence a day. He was taken ill last Christmas, and went to the London Hospital ;
was there three months. A week after he had gone Mrs. T. had rheumatic
fever, and was taken to Bethnal Green Infirmary, where she remained about
three months. Directly after they had been taken ill, their furniture was seized
for the three weeks' rent which was owing. Consequently, on becoming con"
valescent, they were homeless. They came out about the same time. He went
out to a lodging-house for a night or two, until she came out. He then had
WANTED A SOCIAL LIFE-BOAT BRIGADE! 43
twopence, and she had sixpence, which a nurse had given her. They went to a
lodging-house together, but the society there was dreadful. Next day he had a
day*s work, and got two shillings and sixpence, and on the strength of this they
took a furnished room at tenpence per day (payable nightly). His work lasted
a few weeks, when he was again taken ill, lost his job, and spent all their money.
Pawned a shirt and apron for a shilling ; spent that, too. At last pawned theit
tools for three shillings, which got them a few days' food and lodging. He is
now minus tools and cannot work at his own job, and does anything he can.
Spent their last twopence on a pen'orth each of tea and sugar. In two days
they had a slice of bread and butte/ each, that 's all. They are both very weak
through want of food.
" Let things alone," the laws of supply and demand, and all the
rest of the excuses by which those who stand on firm ground salve
their consciences when they leave their brother to sink, how do
they look when we apply them to the actual loss of life at sea ?
Does "Let things alone" man the lifeboat? Will the inexorable laws of
political economy save the shipwrecked sailor from the boiling surf?
They often enough are responsible for his disaster. Coffin ships
are a direct result of the wretched policy of non-interference with the
legitimate operations of commerce, but no desire to make it pay
created the National Lifeboat Institution, no law of supply and
demand actuates the volunteers who risk their lives to bring the
shipwrecked to shore.
What we have to do is to apply the same principle to society.
We want a Social Lifeboat Institution, a Social Lifeboat Brigade, to
snatch from the abyss those who, if left to themselves, will perish
as miserably as the crew of a ship that founders in mid-ocean.
The moment that we take in hand this work we shall be
compelled to turn our attention seriously to the question
whether prevention is not better than cure. It is easier and
cheaper, and in every way better, to prevent the loss
of home than to have to re-create that home. It is better to keep a
man out of the mire than to let him fall in first and then risk the
chance of plucking him out. Any Scheme, therefore, that attempts
to deal with the reclamation of the lost must tend to develop into an
endless variety of ameliorative measures, of some of which I shall
have Somewhat to say hereafter. I only mention the subject here in
order that no one may say I am blind to the necessity of going further
and adopting wider plans of operation than those which I pat
forward in this book. The renovation of our Social System is a
44 ON THE VERGE OF THE ABYSS.
work so vast that no one of us, nor all of us put together, can define
all the measures that will have to be taken before we attain even the
Cab-Horse Ideal of existence for our children and children's
children. All that we can do is to attack, in a serious, practical
spirit the worst and most pressing evils, knowing that if we do our
duty we obey the voice of God. He is the Captain of our Salvation.
If we but follow where He leads we shall not want for marching orders,
nor need we imagine that He will narrow the field of operations.
I am labouring under no delusions as to the possibility of inaugu-
rating the Millennium by any social specific. In the struggle of life
the weakest will go to the wall, and there are so many weak. The
fittest, in tooth and claw, will survive. All that we can do is to
soften the lot of the unfit and make their suffering less horrible than
it is at present. No amount of assistance will give a jell3rfish a back-
bone. No outside propping will make some men stand erect. All
material help from without is useful only in so far as it develops
moral strength within. And some men seem to have lost even the
very faculty of self-help. There is an immense lack of common
sense and of vital energy on the part of multitudes.
It is against Stupidity in every shape and form that we have to
wage our eternal battle. But how can we wonder at the want of sense
on the part of those who have had no advantages, when we see such
plentiful absence of that commodity on the part of those who have
had all the advantages ?
How can we marvel if, after leaving generation after generation
to grow up uneducated and underfed, there should be developed a
heredity of incapacity, and that thousands of dull-witted people
should be born into the world, disinherited before their birth of their
share in the average intelligence of mankind ?
Besides those who are thus hereditarily wanting in the qualities
necessary to enable them to hold their own, there are the
weak, the disabled, the aged, and the unskilled ; worse than all,
there is the want of character. Those who have the best of reputa-
tion, if they lose their foothold on the ladder, find it difficult enough
to regain their place. What, then, can men and women who have no
character do ? When a master has the choice of a hundred honest
-men, is it reasonable to expect that he will select a poor fellow with
tarnished reputation ?
All this is true, and it is one of the things that makes the problem
almost insoluble. And insoluble it is, I am absolutely convinced,
SAVING THE BODY TO SAVE THE SOUL. 4b
unless it is possible to bring new moral life into the soul of these
people. This should be the firet object of every social reformer, whose
work will only last if it is built on the solid foundation of a new
birth, to cry " You must be bom again."
To get a man soundly saved it is not enough to put on him a pair
of new breeches, to give him regular work, or even to give him a
University education. These things are all outside a man, and if the
inside remains unchanged you have wasted your labour. You must
in some way or other graft upon the man's nature a new nature,
which has in it the element of the Divine. All that I propose in this
book is governed by that principle.
The difference between the method which seeks to regenerate the
man by ameliorating his circumstances and that which ameliorates
his circumstances in order to get at the regeneration of his heart,
is the diflference between the method of the gardener who grafts a
Ribstone Pippin on a crab-apple tree and one who merely ties
apples with string upon the branches of the crab. To change the
nature of the individual, to get at the heart, to save his soul is the
only real, lasting method of doing him any good. In many modem
schemes of social regeneration it is forgotten that " it takes a soul
to move a body, e'en to a cleaner sty,'* and at the risk of being mis-
understood and misrepresented, I must assert in the most un-
qualified way that it is primarily and mainly for the sake of saving
the soul that I seek the salvation of the body
But what is the use of preaching the Gospel to men whose whole
attention is concentrated upon a mad, desperate struggle to keep
themselves alive ? You might as well give a tract to a shipwrecked
sailor who is battling with the surf which has drowned his comrades
and threatens to drown him. He will not listen to you. Nay, he
cannot hear you any more than a man whose head is under water
can listen to a sermon. The first thing to do is to get him at least
a footing on firm ground, and to give him room to live. Then you
may have a chance. At present you have none. And you will
have all the better opportunity to find a way to his heart, if he
comes to know that it was you who pulled him out of the horrible
pit and the miry clay in which he was sinking to perdition.
CHAPTER VI
THE VICIOUS.
There are many vices and seven deadly sins. But of late years
many of the seven have contrived to pass themselves off as virtues.
Avarice, for instance ; and Pride, when re-baptised thrift and self-
respect, have become the guardian angels of Christian civilisation ;
and as for Envy, it is the corner-stone upon which much of our
competitive system is founded. There are still two vices which are
fortunate, or unfortunate, enough to remain undisguised, not even
concealing from themselves the fact that they are vices and not
virtues. One is drunkenness ; the other fornication. The vicious-
ness of these vices is so little disguised, even from those who
habitually practise them, that there will be a protest against merely
describing one of them by the right Biblical name. Why not say
prostitution ? For this reason : prostitution is a word applied to
only one half of the vice, and that the most pitiable. Fornication
hits both sinners alike. Prostitution applies only to the woman.
When, however, we cease to regard this vice from the point of
view of morality and religion, and look at it solely as a factor in the
social problem, the word prostitution is less objectionable. Fca: the
social burden of this vice is borne almost entirely by women. The
male sinner does not, by the mere fact of his sin, find himself in a
worse position in obtaining employment, in finding a home, or even
in securing a wife. His wrong-doing only hits him in his purse, or,
perhaps, in his health. His incontinence, excepting so far as
it relates to the woman whose degradation it necessitates, does not
add to the number of those for whom society has to provide. It is
an immense addition to the infamy of this vice in man that
its consequences have to be borne almost exclusively by woman.
The difficulty of dealing with drunkards and harlots is almost
insurmountable. Were it not that I utterly repudiate as a funda-
"NOT BORN BUT DAMNED INTO THE WORLD." 47
mental denial of the essential principle of the Chstian religion the
popular pseudo-scientific doctrine that any man or woman is past
saving by the grace of God and the power of the Holy Spirit, I would
sometimes be disposed to despair when contemplating these victims
of the Devil. The doctrine of Heredity and the suggestion of Irre-
sponsibility come perilously near re-establishing, on scientific bases,
the awful dogma of Reprobation which has cast so terrible a shadow
over the Christian Church. For thousands upon thousands of these
poor wretches are, as Bishop South truly said, " not so much bom
into this world as damned into it." The bastard of a harlot, bom in
a brothel, suckled on gin, and familiar from earliest infancy with all
the bestialities of debauch, violated before she is twelve, and driven
out into the streets by her mother a yfear or two later, what chance is
there for such a girl in this world — I say nothing about the next ?
Yet such a case is not exceptional. There are many such differing
in detail, but in essentials the same. And with boys it is almost
as bad. There are thousands who were begotten when both
parents were besotted with drink, whose mothers saturated them-
selves with alcohol every day of their pregnancy, who may be
said to have sucked in a taste for strong drink with their mothers'
milk, and who were surrounded from childhood with opportunities
and incitements to drink. How can we marvel that tfie constitution
thus disposed to intemperance finds the stimulus of drink indispen-
sable ? Even if they make a stand against it, the increasing
pressure of exhaustion and of scanty food drives them back to the
cup. Of these poor wretches, born slaves of the bottle, predestined
to drunkenness from their mother's womb, there are — who can say
how many ? Yet they are all men ; all with what the Russian
peasants call " a spark of God " in them, which can never be wholly
obscured and destroyed while life exists, and if any social scheme is
to be comprehensive and practical it must deal with these men. It
must provide for the drunkard and the harlot as it provides for the
improvident and the out-of-work. But who is sufficient for these
things?
I will take the question of the drunkard, for the drink difficulty lies
at the root of everything. Nine-tenths of our poverty, squalor, vice,
and crime spring from this poisonous tap-root. Many of our social
evils, which overshadow the land like so many upas trees, would
dwindle away and die if they were not constantly watered with strong
drink. There is universal agreement on that point ; in fact, the
48 THE VICIOUS.
agreement as to the evils of intemperance is almost as universal as
the conviction that politicians will do nothing practical to interfere
with them. In Ireland, Mr. Justice Fitzgerald says that intemperance
leads to nineteen-twentieths of the crime in that country, but no one
proposes a Coercion Act to deal with that evil. In England,
the judges all say the same thing. Of course it is a mistake
to assume that a murder, for instance, would never be committed by
sober men, because murderers in most cases prime themselves for
their deadly work by a glass of Dutch courage. But the facility of
securing a reinforcement of passion undoubtedly tends to render
always dangerous, and sometimes irresistible, the temptation to violate
the laws of God and man.
Mere lectures against the evil habit are, however, of no avail.
We have to recognise, that the gin-palace, like many other evils,
although a poisonous, is still a natural outgrowth of our social con-
ditions. The tap-room in many cases is the poor man's only parlour.
Many a man takes to beer, not from the love of beer, but from a
natural craving for the light, warmth, company, and comfort which is
thrown in along with the beer, and which he cannot get excepting by
buying beer. Reformers will never get rid of the drink shop until
they can outbid it in the subsidiary attractions which it offers to its
customers. Then, again, let us never forget that the temptation to
drink is strongest when want is sharpest and misery the most acute.
A well-fed man is not driven to drink by the craving that torments
the hungry ; and the comfortable do not crave for the boon of for-
getfulness. Gin is the only Lethe of the miserable. The foul and
poisoned air of the dens in which thousands live predisposes to a
longing for stimulant. Fresh air, with its oxygen and its ozone,
being lacking, a man supplies the want with spirit. After a time the
longing for drink becomes a mania. Life seems as insupportable with-
out alcohol as without food. It is a disease often inherited, always de-
veloped by indulgence, but as clearly a disease as ophthalmia or stone.
All this should predispose us to charity and sympathy. While
recognising that the primary responsibility must always rest upon
the individual, we may fairly insist that society, which, by its habits,
its customs, and its laws, hai greased the slope down which these
poor creatures slide to perdition, shall seriously take in hand their
salvation.
How many are there who are, more or less, under the dominion
of strong drink ? Statistics abound, but they seldom tell us what
WANTED, A CENSUS OF DRUNKARDS. 49
we want to know. We know how many public-houses there are in
the land, and how many arrests for drunkenness the police make in
a year; but beyond that we know little. Everyone knows that for
one man who is arrested for drunkenness there are at least ten —
and often twenty — who go home intoxicated. In London, for
instance, there are 14,000 drink. shops, and every year 20,000
persons are arrested for drunkenness. But who can for a moment
believe that there are only 20,000, more or less, habitual drunkards
in London ? By habitual drunkard I do not mean one who is
always drunk, but one who is so much under the dominion of the
evil habit that he cannot be depended upon not to get drunk when-
ever the opportunity offers.
In the United Kingdom there are 190,000 public-houses, and
every year there are 200,000 arrests for drunkenness. Of course,
several of these arrests refer to the same person, who is locked up
again and again. Were this not so, if we allowed six drunkards to
each house as an average, or five habitual drunkards for one arrested
for drunkenness, we should arrive at a total of a million adults who
are more or less prisoners of the publican — as a matter of fact,
Isaac Hoyle gives i in 12 of the adult population. This may be an
excessive estimate, but, if we take half of a million, we shall
not be accused of exaggeration. Of these some are in the last stage
of confirmed dipsomania ; others are but over the verge ; but the
procession tends ever downwards.
The loss which the maintenance of this huge standing army of a
half of a million of men who are more or less always besotted
men whose intemperance impairs their working power, consumes their
earnings, and renders their homes wretched, has long been a familiar
theme of the platform. But what can be done for them? Total
abstinence is no doubt admirable, but how are you to get them to be
totally abstinent ? When a man is drowning in mid-ocean the one
thing that is needful, no doubt, is that he should plant his feet firmly
on terra firma. But how is he to get there ? It is just what he
cannot do. And so it is with the drunkards. If they are to be rescued
there must be something more done for them than at present is
attempted, unless, of course, we decide definitely to allow the iron
laws of nature to work themselves out in their destruction. In
that case it might be more merciful to facilitate the slow workings
of natiu-al law. There is no need of establishing a lethal chamber
for drunkards like that into which the lost dogs of London are
D
50 THE VICIOUS.
driven, to die in peaceful sleep under the influence of carbonic oxide.
The State would only need to go a little further than it goes at
present in the way of supplying poison to the community. If, in
addition to planting a flaming gin palace at each comer, free to all
who enter, it were to supply free gin to all who have attained a
certain recognised standard of inebriety, delirium tremens would
soon reduce our drunken population to manageable proportions.
I can imagine a cynical millionaire of the scientific philan-
thropic school making a clearance of all the drunkards in a
district by the simple expedient of an unlimited allowance
of alcohol.- But that for us is out of the question. The problem
of what to do with our half of a million drunkards remains to be
solved, and few more difficult questions confront the social reformer.
The question of the harlots is, however, quite as insoluble by the
ordinary methods. For these unfortunates no one who looks below
the surface can fail to have the deepest sympathy. Some there are,
no doubt, perhaps many, who — whether from inherited passion or
from evil education — have deliberately embarked upon a life of vice,
but with the majority it is not so. Even those who deliberately
and of free choice adopt the profession of a prostitute, do so
under the stress of temptations which few moralists seem to realise.
Terrible as the fact is, there is no doubt it is a fact that there is no
industrial career in which for a short time a beautiful girl can make
as much money with as little trouble as the profession of a courtesan.
The case recently tried at the Lewes assizes, in which the wife of
an officer in the army admitted that while living as a kept mistress
she had received as much as ;£'4,ocx) a year, was no doubt very
exceptional. Even the most successful adventuresses seldom make '
the income of a Cabinet Minister. But take women in professions
and in businesses all round, and the number of young women who
have received ;£'50O in one year for the sale of their person is
larger than the number of women of all ages who make a similar sum
by honest industry. It is only the very few who draw these gilded
prizes, and they only do it for a very short time. But it is
the few prizes in every profession which allure the multitude, who
think little of the many blanks. And speaking broadly, vice offers
to every good-looking girl during the first bloom of her youth and
beauty more money than she can earn by labour in any field of
industry open to her sex. The penalty exacted afterwards is disease,
degradation and death, but these things at first are hidden from her sight.
FROM THE REGISTER OF THE RESCUE HOME. 51
The profession of a prostitute is the only career in which the
maximum income is paid to the newest apprentice. It is the one
calling in which at the beginning the only exertion is that of self-
indulgence ; all the prizes are at the commencement. It is the ever-
new embodiment of the old fable of the sale of the soul to the Devil.
The tempter offers wealth, comfort, excitement, but in return the
victim must sell her soul, nor does the other party forget to exact
his due to the uttermost farthing. Human nature, however, is
short-sighted. Giddy girls, chafing against the restraints of uncon-
genial industry, see the glittering bait continually before them.
They are told that if they will but **do as others do" they will
make more in a night, if they are lucky, than they can make
in a week at their sewing ; and who can wonder that in many cases
the irrevocable step is taken before they realise that it is irrevocable,
and that they have bartered away the future of their lives for the
paltry chance of a year's ill-gotten gains ?
Of the severity of the punishment there can be no question. If the
premium is high at the beginning, the penalty is terrible at the close.
And this penalty is exacted equally from those who have deliberately
said, "Evil, be thou my Good," and for those who have been decoyed,
snared, trapped into the life which is a living death. When you see
a girl on the street you can never say without enquiry whether she
is one of the most-to-be condemned, or the most-to-be pitied of her
sex. Many of them find themselves where they are because of a too
trusting disposition, confidence bom of innocence being often the
unsuspecting ally of the procuress and seducer. Others are as much
the innocent victims of crime as if they had been stabbed or maimed
by the dagger of the assassin. The records of our RescueJUttmes
abound with life-stories, some of which we have been able t^iferify
to the letter — which prove only too conclusively the existence of
numbers of innocent victims whose entry upon this dismal life can
in no way be attributed to any act of their own will. Many are
orphans or the children of depraved mothers, whose one idea of a
daughter is to make money out of her prostitution. Here are a few
cases on our register : —
E. C, aged i8, a soldier's child, bora on the sea. Her father died, and her
mother, a thoroughly depraved woman, assisted to secure her daughter's prostitu-
tion.
P. S., aged 20, ill^timate child. Went to consult a doctor one time about
some ailment. The doctor abused his position and took advantage of his patient,
52 THE VICIOUS.
and when she complained, gave her £^ as compensation. When that was spent,
having lost her character, she came on the town. We looked the doctor up, and
he fled.
E. A., aged 17, was left an orphan very early in life, and adopted by her god-
father, who himself was the means of her ruin at the age of 10.
A girl in her teens lived with her mother in the " Dusthole," the lowest part ot
Woolwich. This woman forced her out upon the streets, and profited by her
prostitution up to the very night of her confinement. The mother had all the time
been the receiver of the gains.
£., neither father nor mother, was taken care ot by a grandmother till, at an
early age, accounted old enough. Married a soldier ; but shortly before the birth
of her first child, found that her deceiver had a wife and family in a distant part
of the country, and she was soon left friendless and alone. She sought an
asylum in the Workhouse for a few weeks, after which she vainly tried to get
honest employment. Failing that, and being on the very verge of starvation,
she entered a lodging-house in Westminster and " did as other girls." Here
our lieutenant found and persuaded her to leave and enter one of our Homes,
where she soon gave abundant proof of her conversion by a thoroughly changed
life. She is now a faithful and trusted servant in a clergyman's family.
A girl was some time ago discharged from a city hospital after an illness. She
was homeless and friendless, an orphan, and obliged to work for her living.
Walking down the street and wondering what she should do next, she met a girl,
who came up to her in a most friendly fashion and speedily won her confidence.
"Discharged ill, and nowhere to go, are you?" said her new friend. "Well,
come home to my mother's ; she will lodge you, and we'll go to work together,
when you are quite strong."
The girl consented gladly, but found herself conducted to the very lowest
part of Woolwich and ushered into a brothel ; there was no mother in the case.
Sh<aj|j[Pll hoaxed, and powerless to resist. Her protestations were too late to
save ^er, and having had her character forced from her she became hopeless,
and stayed on to live the life of her false friend.
There is no need for me to go into the details of the way in which
men and women, whose whole livelihood depends upon their success
in disarming the suspicions of their victims and luring them to their
doom, contrive to overcome the reluctance of the young girl without
parents, friends, or helpers to enter their toils. What fraud fails to
accomplish, a little force succeeds in effecting ; and a girl wtio has
been guilty of nothing but imprudence finds herself an outcast for
Hfe.
The very innocence of a girl tells against her. A woman of
the world, once entrapped, would have all her wits about her to
THE VICTIMS OF IGNORANT INNOCENCE. 53
extricate herself from the position in which she found herself. A
perfectly virtuous girl is often so overcome with shame and horror
that there seems nothing in life worth struggling for. She accepts
her doom without further struggle, and treads the long and torturing
path-way of ** the streets " to the grave.
" Judge not, that ye be not judged " is a saying that applies most
appropriately of all to these unfortunates. Many of them would
have escaped their evil fate had they been less innocent. They are
where they are because they loved too utterly to calculate con-
sequences, and trusted too absolutely to dare to suspect evil. And
others are there because of the false education which confounds
ignorance with virtue, and throws our young people into the midst
of a great city, with all its excitements and all its temptations, with-
out more preparation or warning than if they were going to live in
the Garden of Eden.
Whatever sin they have committed, a terrible penalty is exacted.
While the man who caused their ruin passes as a respectable
member of society, to whom virtuous matrons gladly marry — if he
is rich — their maiden daughters, they are crushed beneath the mill-
stone of social excommunication.
Here let me quote from a report made to me by the head of our
Rescue Homes as to the actual life of these unfortunates.
The following hundred cases are taken as they come from our Rescue
Register. The statements are those of the girls themselves. They arc
certainly frank, and it will be noticed that only two out of the hundred allege
that they took to the life out of poverty : —
Cause of Fall.
Condition when Applying,
Rags ... ... ,.. 25
Destitution ... ,.. 27
Decently dressed .,. 48
Drink...
Seduction
Wilful choice ...
14
33
24
Bad company ...
Poverty
27
2
Total
100
Total 100
Out of these girls twenty-three have been in prison.
The girls suffer so much that the shortness of their miserable life is the only
redeeming feature. Whether we look at the wretchedness of the life itaelf ; theu-
perpetual intoxication ; the cruel treatment to which they are subjected by their
task-masters and mistresses or bullies ; the hopelessness, suffering and despair
induced by their circimistances and surroundings ; the depths of miserv^ de^^-
54 THE VICIOUS.
dation and poverty to which they eventually descend; or their treatment in
sickness, their friendlessness and loneliness in death, it must be admitted that a
more dismal lot seldom falls to the fate of a human being. I will take each oi
these in turn.
Health. — This life induces insanity, rheumatism, consumption, and all forms
of syphilis. Rheumatism and gout are the commonest of these evils. Some
were quite crippled by both — ^young though they were. Consumption sows its
seeds broadcast. The life is a hot-bed for the development of any constitutional
and hereditary germs of the disease. We have found girls in Piccadilly at mid-
night who are continually prostrated by haemorrhage, yet who have no other
way of life open, so struggle on in this awful manner between whiles.
Drink. — This is an inevitable part of the business. All confess that they
could never lead their miserable lives if it were not for its influence.
A girl, who was educated at college, and who had a home in which was every
comfort, but who, when ruined, had fallen even to the depth of Woolwich
" Dusthole," exclaimed to us indignantly — " Do you think I could ever, ever do
this if it weren't for the drink ? I always have to be in drink if I want to sin."
No girl has ever come into our Homes from street-life but has been more or less
a prey to drink.
Cruel Treatment. — The devotion of these women to their bullies is as
remarkable as the brutality of their bullies is abominable. Probably the primary
cause of the fall of numberless girls of the lower class, is their great aspiration
to the dignity of wifehood ; — they are never " somebody " until they are married,
and will link themselves to any creature, no matter how debased, in the hope ot
being ultimately married by him. This consideration, in addition to their help-
less condition when once character has gone, makes them suffer cruelties
which they would never otherwise endure from the men with whom large
numbers of them live.
One case in illustration of this is that of a girl who was once a respectable
servant, the daughter of a police sergeant. She was ruined, and shame led her
to leave home. At length she drifted to Woolwich, where she came across a
man who persuaded her to live with him, and for a considerable length of time
she kept him, although his conduct to her was brutal in the extreme.
The girl living in the next room to her has frequently heard him knock her
head against the wall, and pound it, when he was out of temper, through her
gains of prostitution being less than usual. He lavished upon her every sort of
cruelty and abuse, and at length she grew so wretched, and was reduced to
so dreadful a plight, that she ceased to attract. At this he became furious, and
pawned all her clothing but one thin garment of rags. The week before her
first confinement he kicked her black and blue from neck to knees, and she
was carried to the police station in a pool of blood, but she was so loyal to
the wretch that 3he refused to appear against him.
FROM WOOLWICH OUSTHOLE. 55
She was going to drown herself in desperation, when our Rescue Officers spoke
to her, wrapped their own shawl around her shivering shoulders, took her home
with them, and cared for her. The baby was born dead — a tiny, shapeless mass.
This state of things is all too common.
Hopelessness — Surroundings. — ^The state of hopelessness and despair fn
which these girls live continually, makes them reckless of consequences, and
large numbers commit suicide who are never heard of. A West End policeman
assured us that the number of prostitute-suicides was terribly in advance of
anjrthing guessed at by the public.
Depths to which they Sink. — There is scarcely a lower class of girls to be
found than the girls of Woolwich " Dusthole " — ^where one of our Rescue Slum
Homes is established. The women living and following their dreadful busi-
ness in this neighbourhood are so degraded that even abandoned men will
refuse to accompany them home. Soldiers are forbidden to enter the place, or
to go down the street, on pain of twenty-five days' imprisonment ; pickets are
stationed at either end to prevent this. The streets are much cleaner than many
of the rooms we have seen.
One public house there is shut up three or four times in a day sometimes for
fear of losing the licence through the terrible brawls which take place within,
A policeman never goes down this street alone at night — one having died not
long ago from injuries received there — but our two lasses go unharmed and
loved at all hours, spending every other night always upon the streets.
The girls sink to the " Dusthole" after coming down several grades. There is
but one on record who came there with beautiful clothes, and this poor girl,
when last seen by the officers, was a pauper in the workhouse infirmary in a
wretched condition.
The lowest class of all is the girls who stand at the pier-head — these sell
themselves literally for a bare crust of bread and sleep in the streets.
Filth and vermin abound to an extent to which no one who has not seen it
can have any idea.
The " Dusthole " is only one, alas of many similar districts in this highly
civilised land.
Sickness, Friendlessness — Death. — In hospitals it is a known fact that these
girls are not treated at all like other cases ; they inspire disgust, and are most
frequently discharged before being really cured.
Scorned by their relations, and ashamed to make their case known even to
those who would help them, unable longer to struggle out on the streets to cam
the bread of shame, there are girls lying in many a dark hole in this big city
positively rotting away, and maintained by their old companions on the streets.
Many are totally friendless, utterly cast out and left to perish by relatives and
friends. One of this class came to us, sickened and died, and we buried her,
being her only followers td the grave.
66 THE VICIOUS.
It is a sad story, but one that must not be forgotten, for these
women constitute a large standing army whose numbers no one can
calculate. All estimates that I have seem purely imaginary. The
ordinary figure given for London is from 60,000 to 80,000. This
may be true if it is meant to include all habitually unchaste women.
It is a monstrous exaggeration if it is meant to apply to those who
make their living solely and habitually by prostitution. These figures,
however, only confuse. We shall have to deal with hundreds every
month, whatever estimate we take. How utterly unprepared society
is for any such systematic reformation may be seen from the fact
that even now at our Homes we are unable to take in all the girls
who apply. They cannot escape, even if they would, for want of
funds whereby to provide them a way of release.
CHAPTER VIL
THE CRIMINALS.
One very important section of the denizens of Darkest England
are the criminals and the semi-criminals. They are more or less
predatory, and are at present shepherded by the police and punished
by the gaoler. Their numbers cannot be ascertained with very
great precision, but the following figures are taken from the prison
returns of 1889 • —
The criminal classes of Great Britain, in round figures, sum up a
total of no less than 90,000 persons, made up as follows : —
Convict prisons contain ... ... ... 1 1,660 persons.
Local
,) „ •.. •.. ... si\^f\j\jj ,f
Reformatories for children convicted of crime
Industrial schools for vagrant and refractory children
Criminal lunatics under restraint
Known thieves at large
Known receivers of stolen goods
Suspected persons
...
20,883
...
1,270
hildren
21,413
•..
910
• ••
14,747
•••
1,121
•••
17,042
Total
89,046
,f
,>
n
f»
f»
The above does i^ot include the great army of known prostitutes,
nor the keepers and owners of brothels and disorderly houses, as to
whose numbers Government is rigidly silent.
. These figures are, however, misleading. They only represent the
criminals actually in gaol on a given day. The average gaol popula-
tion in England and Wales, excluding the convict establishments,
was, in 1889, 15,119, but the total number actually sentenced and
imprisoned in local prisons was 153,000, of whom 25,000 only came
on first term sentences ; 76,300 of them had been convicted at least
10 times. But even if we suppose that the criminal class numbers
58 THE CRIMINALS.
no more than 90,ocx), of whom only 35, OCX) persons are at large, it is
still a large enough section of humanity to compel attention. 90,cxx>
criminals represents a wreckage whose cost to the community is very
imperfectly estimated when we add up the cost of the prisons, even
if we add to them the whole cost of the police. The police have so
many other duties besides the shepherding of criminals that it is
unfair to saddle the latter with the whole of the cost of the constabu-
lary. The cost of prosecution and maintenance of criminals, and
the expense of the police involves an annual outlay of ;£^4,437,ooo.
This, however, is small compared with the tax and toll which this
predatory horde inflicts upon the community on which it is quartered.
To the loss caused by the actual picking and stealing must be added
that of the unproductive labour of nearly 65,000 adults. Dependent
upon these criminal adults must be at least twice as many women
and children, so that it is probably an under-estimate to say that this
list of criminals and semi-criminals represents a population of at least
200,000, who all live more or less at the expense of society.
Every year, in the Metropolitan district alone, 66,100 persons are
arrested, of whom 444 are arrested for trying to commit suicide — life
having become too unbearable a burden. This immense population
is partially, no doubt, bred to prison, the same as other people are
bred to the army and to the bar. The hereditary criminal is by no
means confined to India, although it is only in that country that they
have the engaging simplicity to describe themselves frankly in
the census returns. But it is recruited constantly from the outside.
In many cases this is due to sheer starvation. Fathers of' the Church
have laid down the law that a man who is in peril of death from
hunger is entitled to take bread wherever he can find it to keep body
and soul together. That proposition is not embodied in our
jurisprudence. Absolute despair drives many a man into the
ranks of the criminal class, who would never have fallen into the
category of criminal convicts if adequate provision had been made for
the rescue of those drifting to doom. When once he has fallen, circum-
stances seem to combine to keep him there. As wounded and sickly stags
are gored to death by their fellows, so the unfortunate who bears the
prison brand is hunted from pillar to post, until he despairs of ever
regaining his position, and oscillates between one prison and another
for the rest of his days. I gave in a preceding page an account of
how a man, after trying in vain to get work, fell before the temptation
to steal in order to escape starvation. Here is the sequel of that
GAOL BIRD'S TALE. 59
man's story. After he had stolen he ran away, and thus describes
his experiences : —
" To fly was easy. To get away from the scene required very little ingenuity,
but the getting away from one suffering brought another. A straight look from
a stranger, a quick step behind me, sent a chill through every nerve. The
cravings of hunger had been satisfied, but it was the cravings of conscience that
were clamorous now. It was easy to get away from the earthly consequences of
sin, but from the fact — never. And yet it was the compulsion of circumstances
that made me a criminal. It was neither from inward viciousness or choice, and
how bitterly did I cast reproach on society for allowing such an alternative to
offer itself — 'to Steal or Starve,' but there was another alternative that here
offered itself— either give myself up, or go on with the life of crime. I chose the
former. I had travelled over loo miles to get away from the scene of my theft,
and I now find myself outside the station house at a place where I had put in
my boyhood days.
." How many times when a lad, with wondering eyes, and a heart stirred
with childhood's pure sympathy, I had watched the poor waifs from time to
time led within its doors. It was my turn now. I entered the charge
room, and with business-like precision disclosed my errand, viz. : that I wished
to surrender myself for having conunitted a felony. My story was doubted.
Question followed question, and confirmation must be waited. 'Why had I
surrendered ? * * I was a rum 'un.' ' Cracked.' * More fool than rogue.' ' He
will be sorry when he mounts the wheel.' These and such like remarks were
handed round concerning me. An hour passed by. An inspector enters, and
announces the receipt of a telegram. ' It is all right. You can put him down.
And turning to me, he said, ' They will send for you on Monday,* and then I
passed into the inner ward, and a cell. The door closed with a harsh, grating
clang, and I was left to face the most clamorous accuser of all — my own interior
self.
" Monday morning, the door opened, and a complacent detective stood
before me. Who can tell the feeling as the handcuffs closed round my wrists,
and we started for town. As again the charge was entered, and the passing of
another night in the cell ; then the morning of the day arrived. The gruff, harsh
' Come on ' of the gaoler roused me, and the next moment I found myself in the
prison van, gazing through the crevices of the floor, watching the stones flying
as it were from beneath our feet. Soon the court-house was reached, and
hustled into a common cell, I found myself ^mongst a crowd of boys and men,
all bound for the * dock.' One by one the names are called, and the crowd is
gradually thinning down, when the announcement of my own name fell on my
startled ear, and I found myself stumbling up the stairs, and finding myself in
daylight and the *dock.' What a terrible ordeal it was. The ceremony was
60 THE CRIMINALS.
brief enough ; * Have you anything to say ? ' ' Don't interrupt his Worship
prisoner ! * Give over talking ! ' * A month's hard labour.' This is about all I
heard, or at any rate realised, until a vigorous push landed me into the presence
of the officer who booked the sentence, and then off I vvrent to gaoL I need
not linger over the formalities of the reception. A nightmare seemed to have
settled upon me as I passed into the interior of the correctional.
" I resigned my name, and I seemed to die to myself for henceforth. 332B
disclosed my identity to myself and others.
"Through all the weeks that followed I was like one in a dream. Meal times,
resting hours, as did every other thing, came with clock-like precision. At times
I thought my mind had gone — so dull, so callous, so weary appeared the organs
of the brain. The harsh orders of the gaolers ; the droning of the chaplain in
the chapel ; the enquiries of the chief warder or the governor in their periodical
visits, — all seemed so meaningless.
"As the day of my liberation drew near, the horrid conviction that circum-
stances would perhaps compel me to return to prison haunted me, and so
helpless did I feel at the prospects that awaited me outside, that I dreaded
release, which seemed but the facing of an uns3rmpathetic world. The day
arrived, and, strange as it may sound, it was with regret that I left my cell. It
had become my home, and no home Waited me outside.
" How utterly crushed I felt ; feelings of companionship had gone out to my
unfortunate fellow-prisoners, whom I had seen daily, but the sound of whose
voices I had never heard, whilst outside friendships were dead, and companion-
ships were for ever broken, and I felt as an outcast of society, with the mark ot
*gaol bird' upon me, that I must cover my face, and stand aside and cry
* unclean.' Such were my feelings.
" The morning of discharge came, and I am once more on the streets. My
scanty means scarcely sufficient for two days' least needs. Could I brace myself
to make another honest endeavour to start afresh ? Try, indeed, I did. I fell
back upon my antecedents, and tried to cut the dark passage out of my life, but
straight came the questions to me at each application for employment, * What
have you been doing lately?' 'Where have you been living?' If I evaded
the question it caused doubt ; if I answered, the only answer I could give was
* in gaol,' and that settled my chances.
*' What, a comedy, after all, it appeared. I remember the last words of the
chaplain before leaving the prison, cold and precise in their officialism : ' Mind
you never come back here again, young man.' And now, as though in response
to my earnest effort to keep from going to prison, society, by its actions, cried
out, ' Go back to gaol. There are honest men enough to do our work without
such as you.'
" Imagine, if you can, my condition. At the end of a few days, black despair
had wrapt itself around every faculty of mind and body. Then followed several
HELP FOR THE DISCHARGED PRISONER. 61
days and nights with scarcely a bit of food or a resting-place. I prowled the
streets like a dog, with this difference, that the dog has the chance of helping
himself, and I had not. I tried to forecast how long starvation's fingers would
be in closing round the throat they already gripped. So indifferent was I alike
to man or God, as I waited for the end."
In this dire extremity the writer found his way to one of our
Shelters, and there found God and friends and hope, and once more
got his feet on to the ladder which leads upward from the black
gulf of starvation to competence and character, and usefulness and
heaven.
As he was then, however, there are hundreds — nay, thousands —
now. Who will give these men a helping hand ? What is to be
done with them ? Wou Id it not be more merciful to kill them off
at once instead of sternly crushing them out of all semblance of
honest manhood ? Society recoils from such a short cut. Mer
virtuous scruples reminds me of the subterfuge by which English
law evaded the veto on torture. Torture was forbidden, but the
custom of placing an obstinate witness under a press and slowly
crushing him within a hairbreadth of death was legalised and
practised. So it is to-day. When the criminal comes out of gaol
the whole world is often but a press whose punishment is sharp and
cruel indeed. Nor can the victim escape even if he opens his mouth
and speaks.
*«
CHAPTER VIII.
THE CHILDREN OF THE LOST.
Whatever may be thought of the possibility of doing anything
with the adults, it is universally admitted that there is hope for the
children. " I regard the existing generation as lost," said a leading
Liberal statesman. " Nothing can be done with men and women
who have grown up under the present demoralising conditions. My
only hope is that the children may have a better chance. Education
will do much." But unfortunately the demoralising circumstances of
the children are not being improved — are, indeed, rather, in many
respects, being made worse. The deterioration of our population in
large towns is one of the most undisputed facts of social economics.
The country is the breeding ground of healthy citizens. But for
the constant influx of Countrydom, Cockneydom would long
ere this have perished. But unfortunately the country is being
depopulated. The towns, London especially, are being gorged with
undigested and indigestible masses of labour, and, as the result, the
children suffer grievously.
The town-bred child is at a thousand disadvantages compared with
his cousin in the country. But every year there are more town-bred
children and fewer cousins in the country. To rear healthy children
you want first a home ; secondly, milk ; thirdly, fresh air ; and
fourthly, exercise under the green trees and blue sky. All these
things every country labourer's child possesses, or used to possess.
For the shadow of the City life lies now upon the fields, and even in
the remotest rural district the labourer who tends the cows is often
denied the milk which his children need. The regular demand of
the great towns forestalls the claims of the labouring hind. Tea and
slops and beer take the place of milk, and the bone and sinew of the
next generation are sapped from the cradle. But the country child,
SCHOOLED, NOT EDUCATED. 63
if he has nothing but skim milk, and only a little of that, has at least
plenty of exercise in the fresh air. He has healthy human rela-
tions with his neighbours. He is looked after, and in some sort of
fashion brought into contact with the life of the hall, the vicarage,
and the farm. He lives a natural life amid the birds and trees and
growing crops and the animals of the fields. He is not a mere
human ant, crawling on the granite pavement of a great urban ants'
nest, with an unnaturally developed nervous system and a sickly
constitution.
But, it will be said, the child of to-day has the inestimable
advantage of Education. No ; he has not. Educated the children
are not. They are pressed through " standards," which exact a
certain acquaintance with ABC and pothooks and figures, but
educated they are not in the sense of the development of their
latent capacities so as to make them capable for the discharge of
their duties in life. The new generation can read, no doubt.
Otherwise, where would be the sale of " Sixteen String Jack,"
" Dick Turpin," and the like ? But take the girls. Who can
pretend that the girls whom our schools are now turning out are
half as well educated for the work of life as their grandmothers
were at the same age ? How many of all these mothers of the
future know how to bake a loaf or wash their clothes ? Except
minding the baby — a task that cannot be evaded — what domestic
training have they received to qualify them for being in the future
the mothers of babies themselves ?
And even the schooling, such as it is, at what an expense is it
often imparted I The rakings of the human cesspool are brought
into the school-room and mixed up with your children. Your little
ones, who never heard a foul word and who are not only innocent,
but ignorant, of all the horrors of vice and sin, sit for hours side by
side with little ones whose parents are habitually drunk, and
play with others whose ideas of merriment are gained from the
familiar spectacle of the nightly debauch by which their mothers
earn the family bread. It is good, no doubt, to learn the
ABC, but it is not so good that in acquiring these indispensable
rudiments, your children should also acquire the vocabulary of the
harlot and the comer boy. I speak only of what I know, and of
that which has been brought home to me as a matter of repeated
complaint by my Officers, when I say that the obscenity of the talk
of many of the children of some of our public schools could hardly
64 THE CHILDREN OF THE LOST.
be outdone even in Sodom and Gomorrha. Childish innocence is
very beautiful ; but the bloom is soon destroyed, and it is a cruel
awakening for a mother to discover that her tenderly nurtured boy,
or her carefully guarded daughter, has been initiated by a companion
into the mysteries of abomination that are concealed in the phrase —
a house of ill-fame.
The home is largely destroyed where the mother follows the
father into the factory, and where the hours of labour are so long
that they have no time to see their children. The omnibus drivers
of London, for instance, what time have they for discharging the daily
duties of parentage to their little ones ? How can a man who is on his
omnibus from fourteen to sixteen hours a day have time to be a father
to his children in any sense of the word ? He has hardly a chance
to see them except when they are asleep. Even the Sabbath, that
blessed institution which is one of the sheet anchors of human exist-
ence, is encroached upon. Many of the new industries which
have been started or developed since I was a boy ignore man's
need of one day's rest in seven. The railway, the post-office, the
tramway all compel some of their employes to be content with less
than the divinely appointed minimum of leisure. In the country
darkness restores the labouring father to his little ones. In the
town gas and the electric light enables the employer to rob the
children of the. whole of their father's waking hours, and in some
cases he takes the mother's also. Under some of the conditions of
modern industry, children are not so much born into a home as
they are spawned into the world like fish, with the results which
we see.
The decline of natural affection follows inevitably from the sub-
stitution of the fish relationship for that of the human. A father
who never dandles his child on his knee cannot have a very keen
sense of the responsibilities of paternity. In the rush and pressure
of our competitive City life, thousands of men have not time to be
fathers. Sires, yes ; fathers, no. It will take a good deal of school-
master to make up for that change. If this be the case, even with
the children constantly employed, it can be imagined what kind of a
home life is possessed by the children of the tramp, the odd jobber,
the thief, and the harlot. For all these people have children,
although they have no homes in which to rear them. Not a bird in
all the woods or fields but prepares some kind of a nest in which to
batch and rear its young, even if it be but a hole in the sand or a
THE CURSE UPON THE CRADLE. 65
few Crossed sticks in the bush. But how many young ones amongst
our people are hatched before any nest is ready to receive them ?
Think of the multitudes of children born in our workhouses,
children of whom it may be said " they are conceived in sin and
shapen in iniquity/' and, as a punishment of the sins of the parents,
branded from birth as bastards, worse than fatherless, homeless, and
friendless, " damned into an evil world," in which even those who
have all the advantages of a good parentage and a careful training
find it hard enough to make their way. Sometimes, it is true,
the passionate love of the deserted mother for the child which has
been the visible symbol and the terrible result of her undoing
stands between tfte little one and all its enemies. But think how
often the mother regards the advent of her child with loathing and
horror; how the, discovery that she is about to become a mother
affects her like a nightmare ; and how nothing but the dread of the
hangman's rope keeps her from strangling the babe on the very hour
of its birth. What ghances has such a child ? And there are many such.
In a certain country that I will not name there exists a scienti-
fically arranged system of infanticide cloaked under the garb of philan-
thropy. Gigantic foundling establishments exist in its principal cities,
where every comfort and scientific improvement is provided for the
desertedchildren, with the result thatone-half of themdie. The mothers
are spared the crime. The State assumes the responsibility. We do
something like that here, but our foundling asylums are the Street, the
Workhouse, and the Grave. When ah English Judge tells us, as
Mr. Justice Wills did the other day, that there were any number of
parents who would kill their children for a few pounds' insurance'
money, we can form some idea of the horrors of the existence into
which many of the children of this highly favoured land are ushered
at their birth. -
The overcrowded homes of the poor compel the children to witness
everything. Sexual morality often comes to have no meaning to them.
Incest is so familiar as hardly to call for remark. The bitter poverty
of the poor compels them to leave their children half fed. There are few
more grotesque pictures in the history of civilisation than that of the com-
pulsory attendance of children at school, faint with hunger because they
had no breakfast, and not sure whether they would even secure a
dry crust for dinner when their morning's quantum of education had
been duly imparted. Children thus hungered, thus housed, and thus
left to grow up as best they can without being fathered or mothered.
66 THE CHILDREN OF THE LOST.
are not, educate them as you will, exactly the most promising
material for the making of the future citizens and rulers of the
Empire.
What, then, is the ground for hope that if we leave things alone the
new generation will be better than their elders ? To me it seems
that the truth is rather the other way. The lawlessness of our lads,
the increased license of our girls, the general shiftlessness from the
home-making point of view of the product of our factories and schools
are far from reassuring. Our young people have never learned to
obey. The fighting gangs of half-grown lads in Lisson Grove, and
the scuttlers of Manchester are ugly symptoms of a social condition
that will not grow better by being left alone. ^
It is the home that has been destroyed, and with the home the
home-like virtues. It is the dis-homed multitude, nomadic, hungry,
thjLt is rearing an undisciplined population, cursed from birth with
hereditary weakness of body and hereditary faults of character.
It is idle to hope to mend matters by taking the children and
bundling them up in barracks. A child brought up in an institution^
is too often only half-human, having never known a mother's love
and a father's care. To men and women who are without homes,
children must be more or less of an incumbrance. Their advent
is regarded with impatience, and often it is averted by crime. The
unwelcome little stranger is badly cared for, badly fed, and allowed
every chance to die. Nothing is worth doing to increase his
chances of living that does not Reconstitute the Home. But between
us and that ideal how vast is the gulf! It will have to be bridged,
however, if anything practical is to be done.
CHAPTER IX.
IS THERE NO HELP?
It may be said by those who have followed me to this point that
while it is quite true that there are many who are out of work, and
not less true that there are many who sleep on the Embankment and
elsewhere, the law has provided a remedy, or if not a remedy,
at least a method, of dealing with these sufferers which is sufficient.
The Secretary of the Charity Organisation Society assured one of
my Officers, who. went to inquire for his opinion on the subject,
"that no further machinery was necessary. All that was needed in
this direction they alre?dy h d in working order, and to create
any further machinery wouU do more harm than good."
Now, what is the existing machinery by which Society, whether
through the organisation of the State, or by individual endeavour,
attempts to deal with the submerged residuum ? I had intended at
one time to have devoted considerable space to the description of the
existing agencies, together with certain observations which have
been forcibly impressed upon my mind as to their failure audits
cause. The necessity, however, of subordinating everything to the
supreme purpose of this book, which is to endeavour to show how
light, can be let into the heart of Darkest England, compels me to
pass rapidly over this department of the subject, merely glancing ais
I go at the well-me^Lning, but more or less abortivfe, attempts to cope
with this great and appalling evil.
The first place must naturally be given to the administration of
the Poor Law. Legally the State accepts the responsibility of
providing food and shelter for every man, woman, or child who is
utterly destitute. This responsibility it, however, practically shirks
by the imposition of conditions on the claimants of relief that are
hateful and repulsive, if not impossible. As to the method of Poor
68 IS THERE NO HELPf
Law administration in dealing with inmates of workhouses or in the
distribution of outdoor relief, I say nothing. Both of these raise
great questions which lie outside my immediate purpose. All that
I nefed to do is to indicate the limitations — it may be the necessary
limitations — under which the Poor Law operates. No Englishman can
come upon the rates so long as he has anything whatever left to call
his own. When long-continued destitution has been carried on to the
bitter end, when piece by piece every article of domestic furniture has
been sold or pawned, when all efforts to procure employment have
failed, and when you have nothing left except the clothes in which you
stand, then you can present yourself before the relieving officer and
secure your lodging in the workhouse, the administration of which
varies infinitely according to the disposition of the Board of Guardians
under whose control it happens to be.
If, however, you have not sunk to such despair as to be willing to
barter your liberty for the sake of food, clothing, and shelter in
the Workhouse, but are only temporarily out of employment,
seeking work, then you go to the Casual Ward. There you are
taken in, and provided for on the principle of making it as dis-
agreeable as possible for yourself, in order to deter you from
again accepting the hospitality of the rates, — and of course in
defence of this a good deal can be said by the Political Economist
But what seems utterly indefensible is the careful precautions which
are taken to render it impossible for the unemployed Casual to
resume promptly after his night's rest the search for work. Under
the existing regulations, if you are compelled to seek refuge on
Monday night in the Casual Ward, you are bound to remain there
at least till Wednesday morning.
The theory of the system is this, that individuals casually poor
and out of work, being destitute and without shelter, may upon
application receive shelter for the night, supper and a breakfast, and
in return for this, shall perform a task of work, not necessarily in
repayment for the relief received, but simply as a test of their
willingness to work for their living. The work giVen is the same as
that given to felons in gaol, oakum-picking and stone-breaking.
The work, too, is excessive in proportion to what is received.
Four pounds of oakum is a great task to an expert and an
old hand. To a novice it can only be accomplished with the
greatest difficulty, if indeed it can be done at all. It is even
in excess of the amount demanded from a criminal in gaol.
THE CASUAL WARD. 69
The stone-breaking test is monstrous. Half a ton of stone from any
man in return for partially supplying the cravings of hunger is an
outrage which, if we read of as having occurred in Russia or Siberia,
would find Exeter Hall crowded with an indignant audience, and
Hyde Park filled with strong oratory. But because this system
exists at our own doors, very little notice is taken of it. These
tasks are expected from all comers, starved, ill-clad, half-fed
creatures from the streets, foot-sore and worn out, and yet unless it
is done, the alternative is the magistrate and the gaol. The old
system was bad enough, which demanded the picking of one pound
of oakum. As soon as this task was accomplished, which generally
kept them till the middle* of next day, it was thus rendered im-
possible for them to seek work, and they were forced to spend
another night in th*e ward. The Local Government Board, however,
stepped in, and the Casual was ordered to be detained for the whole
day and the second night, the amount of labour required from him
being increased four-fold.
Under the present system, therefore, the penalty for seeking shelter
from the streets is a whole day and two nights, with an almost
impossible task, which, failing to do, the victim is liable to be dragged
before a magistrate and committed to gaol as a rogue and vagabond,
while in the Casual Ward their treatment is practically that of a
criminal. They sleep in a cell with an apartment at the back, in
which the work is done, receiving at night half a pound of gruel and
eight ounces of bread, and next morning the same for breakfast, with
half a pound of oakum and stones to occupy himself for a day.
The beds are mostly of the plank type, the coverings scant, the
comfort nil. Be it remembered that this is the treatment meted
out to those who are supposed to be Casual poor, in temporary
difficulty, walking from place to place seeking some employment.
The treatment of the women is as follows : Each Casual has to
stay in the Casual Wards two nights and one day, during which
time they have to pick 2 lb. of oakum or go to the wash-tub and
work out the time there. While at the wash-tub they are allowed
to wash their own clothes, but not otherwise. If seen more than
once in the same Casual Ward, they are detained three days by
order of the inspector each time seen, or if sleeping twice in the
same month the master of the ward has power to detain them three
days. There are four inspectors who visit different Casual Wards j
and if the Casual is seen by any of the inspectors (who in turn visit
70 IS THERE NO HELP?
all the Casual Wards) at any of the wards they have previously
visited^ they are detained three days in each one. The inspector,
who is a male person, visits the wards at all unexpected hours, even
visiting while the females are in bed. The beds are in some wards
composed of straw and two rugs, in others cocoanut fibre .and two
rugs. The Casuals rise at 5.45 a.m. and go to bed 7 p.m. If they
do not finish picking their oakum before 7 p.m., they stay up till
they do. If a Casual does not come to the ward before 12.30,
midnight, they keep them one day extra. The way in which this
operates, however, can be best understood by the following state-
ments, made by those who have been in Casual Wards, and who
can, therefore, speak from experience as to how the system afiects
the individual : —
J. C. knows Casi-al Wards pretty well. Has been in St. Giles, White-
chapel, St. George's, Paddington, Marylebone, Mile End. They vary a. little
in detail, but as a rule the doors open at 6 ; you walk in ; they tell 3rou what
the work is, and that if you fail to do it, you will be liable to imprisonment.
Then you bathe. Some places the water is dirty. Three persons as a rale
wash in one water. At Whitechapel (been there three times) it has always
been dirty ; also at St. George's. I had no bath at Mile End ; they were short
of water. If you complain they take no notice. You then tie your clothes in
a bundle, and they give you a nightshirt. At most places they serve supper to
the men, who have to go to bed and eat it there. Some beds are in cells ; some
in large rooms. You get up at 6 a.m. and do the task. The amount of stone-
breaking is too much ; and the oakum-picking is also heavy. The food differs.
At St. Giles, the gruel left over-night is boiled up for breakfast, and is coose^
quently sour ; the bread is puffy, full of holes, and don't weigh the regulation
amount. Dinner is only 8 ounces of bread and \\ ounce of cheese, and if
that's short, how can anybody do their work ? They will give you water to drink
if you ring the cell bell for it, that is, they will tell you to wait, and bring it
in about half an hdur. There are a good lot of " moochers " go to Casual Wards,
but there are large numbers of men who only want work.
J. D. ; age 25 ; Londoner ; can't get work, tried hard ; been refused, work
several times on account of having no settled residence ; looks suspicious, they
think, to have " no home." Seems a decent, willing man. Had two penny-
worth of soup this morning, which has lasted all day. Earned is. 6d. yesterday,
bill distributing, nothing the day before. Been in good many London Casual
Wards. Thinks they are no good, because they keep him all day, when he might
be seeking work. Don't want shelter in day time, wants work. If he goes in twice
in a month to the same Casual Ward, they detain him four days. Considers the
food decidedly insufficient to do the required amount of work. If the work is
THE EXPERIENCES OF CASUALS. 71
not done to time, you are liable to 21 days' imprisonment Get badly treated
some places, especially where there is a bull3ring superintendent Has done 21
days for absolutely refusing to do the work on such low diet, when unfit Can't
get justice, doctor always sides with superintendent
J. S. ; odd jobber. Is working at board carrying, when he can get it. There's
quite a rush for it at is. 2d. a day. Carried a couple of parcels yesterday, got
5d. for them ; also had a bit of bread and meat given him by a working man, so
altogether had an excellent day. Sometimes goes all day without food, and
plenty more do the same. Sleeps on Embankment, and now and then in Casual
Ward. Latter is clean and comfortable enough, but they keep you in all day ;
that means no chance of getting work. Was a clerk once, but got out of a job,
and couldn't get another ; there are so many clerks.
"A Tramp " says : " I've been in most Casual Wards in London ; was in the
one in Macklin Street, Drury Lane, last week. They keep you two nights and
a day, and more than that if they recognise you. You have to break 10 cwt. of
stone, or pick four pounds of oakum. Both are hard. About thirty a night go
to Macklin Street. The food is i pint gruel and 6 oz. bread for breakfast ; 8 oz.
bread and i^ oz. cheese for dinner; tea same as breakfast. No supper. It is
not enough to do the work on. Then you are obliged to bathe, of course ;
sometimes three will bathe in one water, and if you complain they turn nasty,
and ask if you are come to a palace. Mitcham Workhouse I've been in ; grub
is good ; 1 1 pint gruel and 8 oz. bread for breakfast, and same for supper.
F. K. W. ; baker. Been board-carrying to-day, earned one shilling, hours
9 till 5. I've been on this kind of life six years. Used to work in a bakery,
but had congestion of the brain, and couldn't stand the heat. I've been in about
every Casual Ward in England. They treat men too harshly. Have to work
very hard, too. Has had to work whilst really unfit. At Peckham (known as
Camberwell) Union, was quite unable to do it through weakness, and appealed
to the doctor, who, tal *ng the part of the other officials, as usual, refused to
allow him to forego the work. Cheeked the doctor, telling him he didn't under-
stand his work ; result, got three days' imprisonment. Before going to a Casual
Ward at all, I spent seven consecutive nights on the Embankment, and at last
went to the W^ard.
The result of the deliberate policy of making the night refuge
for the unemployed labourer as disagreeable as possible, and of
placing as many obstacles as possible in the way of his finding work
the following day, is, no doubt, to minimise the number of Casuals,
and without question succeeds. In the whole of London the number
of Casuals in the wards at night is only 1,136. That is to
say, the conditions which are imposed are so severe, that the
majority of the Out-of- Works prefer to sleep in the open air, taking
72 IS THERE NO HELPf
their chance of the inclemency and mutability of our English
weather, rather than go through the experience of the Casual Ward.
It seems to me that such a mode of coping with distress does not
so much meet the difficulty as evade it. It is obvious that an
apparatus, which only provides for 1,136 persons per night, is
utterly unable* to deal with the numbers of the homeless Out-of- Works.
' But if by some miracle we could use the Casual Wards as a means
of providing for all those who are seeking work from day to day,
without a place in which to lay their heads, save the kerbstone of the
pavement or the back of a seat on the Embankment, they would utterly
fail to have any appreciable effect upon the mass of human misery
with which we have to deal. For this reason ; the administration
of the Casual Wards is mechanical, perfunctory, and formal. Each of
the Casuals is to the Officer in Charge merely one Casual the more.
There is no attempt whatever to do more than provide for them
merely the indispensable requisites of existence. There has never
been any attempt to treat them as human beings, to deal with
them as individuals, to appeal to their hearts, to help them on
their legs again. They are simply units, no more thought of
and cared for than if they were so many coffee beans passing
through a coffee mill ; and as the net result of all my experience
and observation of men and things, I must assert unhesitatingly
that anything which dehumanises the individual, anything which
treats a man as if he were only a number of a ■ series or a cog
in a wheel, without any regard to the character, the aspirations,
the temptations, and the idiosyncrasies of the man, must utterly
fail as a remedial agency. The Casual Ward, at the best, is merely
a squalid resting place lor the Casual in his downward career. If
anything is to be done for these men, it must be done by other
agents than those which prevail in the administration of the Poor
Laws.
The second method in which Society endeavours to do its duty to
the lapsed masses is by the miscellaneous and heterogeneous efforts
which are clubbed together under the generic head of Charity. Far
be it from me to say one word in disparagement of any effort that
is prompted by a sincere desire to alleviate the misery of our fellow
. creatures, but the most charitable are those who most deplore the
utter failure which has, up till now, attended all their efforts to do
more than temporarily alleviate pain, or effect an occasional im-
provement in the condition of individuals.
CHAOTIC CHARITY. 73
There are many iastitutions, very excellent in their way, without
which it is difficult to see how society could get on at all, but when they
have done their best there still remains this great and appalling mass of
human misery on our hands, a perfect quagmire of Human Sludge.
They may ladle out individuals here and there, but to drain the whole
bog is an effort which seems to be beyond the imagination of most of
those who spend their lives in philanthropic work. It is no doubt better
than nothing to take the individual and feed him from day to day, to
bandage up his wounds and heal his diseases ; but you may go on
doing that for ever, if you do not do more than that ; and the worst
of it is that all authorities agree that if you only do that you will
probably increase the evil with which you are attempting to deal,
and that you had much betten let the whole thing alone.
There is at present no attempt at Concerted Action. Each one
deals with the case immediately before him, and the result is what
might be expected ; there is a great expenditure, but the gains are,
alas I very$mall. The fact, however, that so much is subscribed for
the temporary relief and the mere alleviation of distress justifies my
confidence that if a Practical Scheme of dealing with this misery in a
permanent, comprehensive fashion be discovered, there will be no lack
of the sinews of war. It is well, no doubt, sometimes to administer
an anaesthetic, but the Cure of the Patient is worth ever so much
more, and the latter is the object which we must constantly set
before us in approaching this problem.
The third method by which Society professes to attempt the re-
clamation of the lost is by the rough, rude surgery of the Gaol.
Upon this a whole treatise might be written, but when it was
finished it. would be nothing more than a demonstration that our
Prison system has practically missed aiming at that which should be
the first essential of every system of punishment. It is not Refor-
matory, it is not worked as if it were intended to be Reformatory. It
is punitive, and only punitive. The whole administration needs to be
reformed from top to bottom in accordance with this fundamental prin-
ciple, viz., that while every prisoner should be subjected to that
measure of punishment which shall mark a due sense of his crime
both to himself and society, the main object should be to rouse in his
mind the desire to lead an honest life ; and to effect that change in
his disposition and character which will send him forth to put
that desire into practice. At present, every Prison is more
or less a Training School for Crime, an introduction to the
74 IS THERE NO HELP?
society of criminals, the petrifaction of any lingering human
feeling and a very Bastille of Despair. The prison brand
is stampefi upon those who go in, and that so deeply, that
it seems as if it clung to them for life. To enter Prison once,
means in many cases an almost certain return there at an early
date. All this has to be changed, and will be, when once the
work of Prison Reform is taken in hand by men who understand
the subject, who believe in the reformation of human nature in every
form which its depravity can assume, and who are in full sympathy
with the class for whose benefit they labour ; and when those
charged directly with the care of criminals seek to Work out their
regeneration in the same spirit.
The question of Prison Reform is all the more important because it
is only by the agency of the Gaol that Society attempts to deal with
its hopeless cases. If a woman, driven mad with shame, flings
herself into the river, and is fished out alive, we clap her into Prison
on a charge of attempted suicide. If a man, despairing of work and
gaunt with hunger, helps himself to food, it is to the same reformatory
agency that he is forthwith subjected. The rough and ready surgery
with which we deal with our social patients recalls the simple
method of the early physicians. The tradition still lingers among
old people of doctors who prescribed bleeding for every ailment,
and of keepers of asylums whose one idea of ministering to a
mind diseased was to put the body into a strait waistcoat. Modem
science laughs to scorn these simple '' remedies" of an unscientific age,
and declares that they were, in most cases, the most efficacious
means of aggravating the disease they prbfessed to cure. But in
social maladies we are still in the age of the blood-letter and the
strait waistcoat. The Gaol is our specific for Despair. When all
else fails Society will always undertake to feed, clothe, warm, and
house a man, if only he will commit a crime. It will do it alsa in
such a fashion as to render it no temporary help, but a permanent
necessity.
Society says to the individual : " To qualify for free board and
lodging you must commit a crime. But if you do you must pay the
price. You must allow me to ruin your character, and doom
you for the rest of your life to destitution, modified by the
occasional successes of criminality. You shall become the Child
of the State, on condition that we doom you to a tem-
poral perdition, out of which you will never be permitted to escape.
s.
BMIGRATION AS A PANACEA. 76
and in which you will always be a charge upon our resources and a
constant source of anxiety and inconvenience to the authorities. I
will feed you, certainly, but in return you must permit me to damn
you." ^ That surely ought not to be the last word of Civilised
Society.
" Certainly not," say others. " Emigration is the true specific. '
The waste lands of the world are crying aloud for the application of
surplus labour. Emigration is the panacea." Now I have no objec-
tion to emigration. Only a criminal lunatic could seriously object to
the transference of hungry Jack from an overcrowded shanty — •
where he cannot even obtain enough bad potatoes to dull the
ache behind his waistcoat, and is tempted to let his child
die for the sake of the insurance money — to a land flowing
with milk and honey, where he can eat meat three times
a day and where a man's children are his wealth. But you
might as well lay a new-bom child naked in the middle of a new-sown
field in March, and expect it to live and thrive, as expect emigration
to produce successful results on the lines which some lay down.
The child, no doiibt, has within it latent capacities which, when years
and training have done their work, will enable him to reap a harvest
from a fertile soil, and the new sown field will be covered with
golden grain in August. But these facts will not enable the infant
to still its hunger with the clods of the earth in the cold spring time.
It is just like that with emigration. It is simply criminal to take a
multitude of untrained men and women and land them penniless and
helpless on the fringe of some new continent. The result of such
proceedings we see in the American cities; in the degradation of their
slums, and in the hopeless demoralisation of thousands who, in theii
own country, were living decent, industrious lives.
A few months since, in Paramatta, in New South Wales, a young
man who had emigrated with a vague hope of mending his fortunes,
found himself homeless, friendless, and penniless. He was a clerk.
They wanted no more clerks in Paramatta. Trade was dull, employ-
ment was scarce, even for trained hands. He went about from day
to day seeking work and finding none. At last he came to the end
of all his resources. He went all day without food ; at night he
slept as best he could. Morning came, and he was hopeless.
All next day passed without a meal. Night came. He could not
sleep. He wandered about restlessly. At last, about midnight, an
idea seized him. Grasping a brick, he deliberately walked up to a
76 IS THERE NO HELP?
jeweller's window, and smashed a hole through the glass. He
made no attempt to steal anything. He merely smashed the
pane and then sat down on the pavement beneath the window,
waiting for the arrival of the policeman. He waited some hours ;
but at last the constable arrived. He gave himself up, and was
marched off to the lock-up. " I shall at least have something to eat
now," was the reflection. He was right. He was sentenced to
one year's imprisonment, and he is in gaol at this hour. This very
morning he received his rations, and at this very moment he is
'^Ddged, and clothed and cared for at the cost of the rates and taxes.
He has become the child of the State, and, therefore, one of the
socially damned. Thus emigration itself, instead of being an
invariable specific, sometimes brings us back again to the gaol door.
Emigration, by all means. But whom are you to emigrate?
These girls who do not know how to bake ? These lads who never
handled a spade ? And where are you to emigrate them ? Are
you going to make the Colonies the dumping ground of your human
refuse ? On that the colonists will have something decisive to say,
where there are colonists ; and where there are not, how are you
to feed, clothe, and employ your emigrants in the uninhabited
wilderness ? Immigration, no doubt, is the making of a colony,
just as bread is the staff of life. But if you were to cram a stomach
with wheat by a force-pump you would bring on such a fit of
indigestion that unless your victim threw up the indigestible mass
of unground, uncooked, unmasticated grain he would never want
another meal. So it is with the new colonies and the surplus labour
of other countries.
Emigration is in itself not a panacea. Is Education? In one
sense it may be, for Education, the developing in a man of all his
latent capacities for improvement, may cure anything and everything.
But the Education of which men speak when they use the term, is
mere schooling. No one but a fool would say a word against school
teaching. By all means let us have our children educated. But
when we have passed them through the Board School Mill we have
enough experience to see that they do not emerge the renovated
and regenerated beings whose advent was expected by those Vho
passed the Education Act. The '^ scuttlers " who knife inoffensive
persons in Lancashire, the fighting gangs of the West of London,
belong to the generation that has enjoyed the advantage of Compulsory
Education. Education, book-learning and schooling will not
\
THE LIMITATIONS OF TRADES UNIONISM. 77
Bolve the difficulty. It helps, no doubt. But in some ways it
aggravates it. The common school ta which the •children of
thieves and harlots and drunkards are driven, to sit side by side
with our little ones, is often by no means a temple of all the virtues.
It is sometimes a university of all the vices. The bad infect the
good, and your boy and girl come back reeking with the contamina-
tion of bad associates, an^ familiar with the coarsest obscenity of
the slum. Another great evil is the extent to which our Education
tends to overstock the labour market with material for quill-drivers
and shopmen, and gives our youth a distaste for sturdy labour.
Many of the most hopeless cases in our Shelters are men of con-
siderable education. Our schools help to enable a starving man to
tell his story in more grammatical language than that whidi his
father could have employed, but they do not feed him, or teach him
where to go to get fed. So far from doing this they increase the ten-
dency to drift into those channels where food is least secure, because
employment is most uncertain, and the market most overstocked.
"Try Trades Unionism," say some, and their advice is being
widely followed. There are many and great advantages in Trades
Unionism. The fable of the bundle of sticks is good for all time.
The more the working people can be banded together in voluntary
organisations, created and administered by themselves for the
protection of their own interests, the better — at any rate for this
world — and not only for their own interests, but lor those of every
other section of the community. But can we rely upon this agency
as a means of solving the problems which confront us ? Trades
Unionism fias had the field to itself for a generation. It is twenty
years since it was set free from all the legal disabilities under which
it laboured. But it has not covered the land. It has not organised all
skilled labour. Unskilled labour is almost untouched. At the
Congress at Liverpool only one and a half million workmen were
represented. Women are almost entirely outside the pale. Trade
Unions not only represent a fraction of the labouring classes, but
they are, by their constitution, unable to deal with those who do
not belong to their body. What ground can there be, then, for^
hoping that Trades Unionism will by itself solve the difficulty?
The most experienced Trades Unionists will be the first to admit that
any scheme which could deal adequately with the out-of-works and
others who hang on to their skirts and form the recruiting ground
of blacklegs and embarrass them in every way, would be, of all
78 IS THERE NO HELP?
others that which would be most beneficial to Trades Unionism.
The same may be said about Co-operation. Personally, I am
a strong believer in Co-operation, but it must be Co-operation based
on the spirit of benevolence. I don't see how any pacific re-adjust-
ment of the social and economic relations between classes in this
country can be effected except by the gradual substitution of co-
operative associations for the present ^ wages system. As you
will see in subsequent chapters, so far from there being anything in
my proposals that would militate in any way again3t the ultimate
adoption of the co-operative solution of the question, I look to
Co-operation as one of the chief elements of hope in the future. But
we have not to deal with the ultimate future, but with the immediate
present, and for the evils with which we are dealing the existing co-
operative organisations do not and cannot give us much help.
Another — I do not like to call it specific ; it is only a name, a mere
mockery of a specific — so let me call it another suggestion made
when discussing this evil, is Thrift. Thrift is a great virtue no
doubt. But how is Thrift to benefit those who have nothing?
What is the use of the gospel of Thrift to a man who had nothing
to eat yesterday, and has not threepence to-day to pay for his lodging
tornight ? To live on nothing a day is difficult enough, but to save
on it would beat the cleverest political economist that ever lived. I
admit without hesitation that any Scheme which weakened the
incentive to Thrift would do harm. But it is a mistake to imagine
that social damnation is an incentive to Thrift. It Operates least
where its force ought to be most felt. There is no fear that iany
Scheme that we can devise will appreciably diminish the deterrerit
influences which dispose a man to save. But it is idle wasting time
upon a plea that is only brought forward as an excuse for inaction.
Thrift is a great virtue, the inculcation of which must be
constantly kept in view by all those who are attempting to
educate and save the people. It is not in any sense a specific for the
salvation of the lapsed and the lost. Even among the most wretched
of the very poor, a man must have an object and a hope before he
*will save a halfpenny. "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we
perish," sums up the philosophy of those who have no. hopei In the
thriftincss of th6 French peasant we see that the temptation
of eating, and drinking is capable of being resolutely subordinated to
che superior claims of the accumulation of a dowry for the daughter,
or for the acquisition of a little more land for the son.
SOCIALIST UTOPIANISM. 79
Of the schemes of those who propose to bring in a new heaven
and a new earth by a more scientific distribution of the pieces of gold
and silver in the trouser pockets of mankind, I need not say an^'thing
here. They may be good or they may not. I say nothing against any
short cut to the Millennium that is compatible with the Ten Com-
mandments. I intensely sympathise with the aspirations that lie
behind all these Socialist dreams. But whether it is Henry
George's Single Tax on Land Values, or Edward Bellamy's National-
ism, or the more elaborate schemes of the Collectivists, my attitude
towards them all is the same. What these good people want
to do, I also want to do. But I am a practical man, deal-
ing with the actualities of to-day. I have no preconceived
theories, and I flatter myself I am singularly free from prejudices.
I am ready to sit at the feet of any who will show me any good. I
keep my mind open on all these subjects ; and am quite prepared to
hail with open arms any Utopia that is offered me. But it must be
within range of my finger-tips. It is of no use to me if it is in the
clouds. Cheques on the Bank of Futurity I accept gladly enough
as a free gift, but I can hardly be expected to take them as if they
were current coin, or to try to cash them at the Bank of England.
It may be that nothing will be put permanently right until every-
thing has been turned upside down. There are certainly so
many things that need transforming, beginning with the heart of
each individual man and woman, that I do not quarrel with any
Visionary when in his intense longing for the amelioration of the
condition of mankind he lays down his theories as to the necessity
for radical change, however impracticable they may appear to me.
But this is the question. Here at our Shelters last night
were a thousand hungry, workless people. I want to know
what to do with them? Here is John Jones, a stout stalwart
labourer in rags, who has not had one square meal for a month, who
has been hunting for work that will enable him to keep body and
soul together, and hunting in vain. There he is in his hungry
raggedness, asking for work that he may live, and not die of sheer
starvation in the midst of the wealthiest city in the world. What is
to be done with John Jones ?
The individualist tells me that the free play of the Natural Laws
governing the struggle for existence will result in the Survival of the
Fittest, and that in the course of a few ages, more or less, a much
nobler type will be evolved. But meanwhile what is to become of John
80 18 THERE NO HELP?
Jones ? The Socialist tells me that the great Social Revdution is
looming large on the horizon. In the good time coming, when wealth
will be re-distributed and private property abolished, all stomachs
will be filled and there will be no more John Jones' impatiently
clamoming for opportunity to work that they may not die. It may
be so, but in the meantime here is John Jones growing more im-
patient than ever because hungrier, who wonders if he is to wait for
a dinner until the Social Revolution has arrived. What are we to do
with John Jones ? That is the question. And to the solution of that
question none of the Utopians give me much help. For practical pur-
poses these dreamers fall under the condemnation they lavish so freely
upon the conventional religious people who relieve themselves of all
anxiety for the welfare of the poor by saying that in the next world
all will be put right. This religious cant, which rids itself of all the
importunity of suffering humanity by drawing unnegotiable bills pay-
able on the other side of the grave, is not more impracticable than
the Socialistic clap-trap which postpones all redress of human suffer-
ing until after the general overturn. Both take refuge in the Future
to escape a solution of the problems of the Present, and it matters
little to the sufferers whether the Future is on this side of the grave
or the other. Both are, for them, equally out of reach.
When the sky falls we shall catch larks. No doubt. But in the
meantime ?
It is the meantime — that is the only time in which we have to work.
It is in the meantime that the people must be fed, that their life's work
must be done or left undone for ever. Nothing that I have to
propose in this book, or that I propose to do by my Scheme, will in
the least prevent the coming of any of the Utopias. I leave the
limitless infinite of the Future to the Utopians. They may build
there as they please. As for me, it is indispensable that whatever I
do is founded on existing fact, and provides a present help for the
actual need.
There is only one class of men who have cause to oppose the
proposals which I am about to set forth. That is those, if such
there be, who are determined to bring about by any and every means
a bloody and violent overturn of all existing institutions. They will
oppose the Scheme, and they will act logically in so doing. For the only
hope of those who are the artificers of Revolution is the mass of seething
discontent and misery that lies in the heart of the social system.
Honestly believing that things* must get worse before they get
THE SOLDieRg 0(^ DESPAIR. 81
better, they build all their hopes upon the general overturn, and
they resent as an indefinite postponement of the realisation of their
dreams any attempt at a reduction of human misery.
The Army of the Revolution is recruited by the Soldiers of Despair.
Therefore, down with any Scheme which gives men Hope. In so far as
it succeeds it curtails our recruiting ground and reinforces the ranks
of our Enemies. Such opposition is to be counted upon, and to be
utilised as the best of all tributes to the value of our work. Those
who thus count upon violence and bloodshed are too few to hinder,
and their opposition will merely add to the momentum with which I
hope and believe this Scheme will ultimately be enabled to surmount
all dissent, and achieve, with the blessing of God, that measure of
success with which I verily believe it to be charged.
PART II. — DELIVERANCE.
CHAPTER I.
A STUPENDOUS UNDERTAKING.
Such, then, is a brief and hurried survey of Darkest England, and
those who have been in the depths of the enchanted forest in which
wander the tribes of the despairing Lost will be the first to admit
that I have in no way exaggerated its horrors, while most will
assert that I have under-estimated the number of its denizens. I
have, indeed, very scrupulously striven to keep my estimates of the
extent of the evil within the lines of sobriety. Nothing in such an
enterprise as that on which I am entering could worse befall me
than to come under the reproach of sensationalism or exaggeration.
Most of the evidence upon which I have relied is taken direct from
the official statistics supplied by the Government Returns;
and as to the rest, I can only say that if my figures
are compared with those of any other writer upon this Object,
it will be found that my estimates are the lowest. I am not
prepared to defend the exact accuracy of my calculations, excepting
so far as they constitute the minimum. To those who believe that
the numbers of the wretched are far in excess of my figures, I have
nothing to say, excepting this, that if the evil is so much greater than
I have described, then let your efforts be proportioned to your
estimate, not to mine. The great point with each of us is, not how
many of the wretched exist to-day, but how few shall there exist in
the years that are to come.
The dark and dismal jungle of pauperism, vice, and despair is the
inheritance to which we have succeeded from the generations and
centuries past, during which wars, ms\irrec\;\oiv&^ ^xA w^x^x^s^
84 A STUPENDOUS UNDERTAKING.
troubles left our forefathers small leisure to attend to the well-being
of the sunken tenth. Now that we have happened upon more
fortunate times, let us recognise that we are our brother's keepers,
and set to work, regardless of party distinctions and religious
differences, to make this world of ours a little bit more like home for
those whom we call our brethren.
The problem, it must be admitted, is by no means a simple one ;
nor can anyone accuse me in the foregoing pages of having mini-
mised the difficulties which heredity, habit, and surroundings place in
the way of its solution, but unless we are prepared to fold our arms
in selfish ease and say that nothing can be done, and thereby doom
those lost millions to remediless perdition in this world, to say
nothing of the next, the problem must be solved in some way. But
in what way? That is the question. It may tend, perhaps, to
the crystallisation of opinion on this subject if I lay down, with
such precision as I can command, what must be the essential
elements of any scheme likely to command success.
Section i.— THE ESSENTIALS TO SUCCESS
The first essential that must be borne in mind as governing every
Scheme that may be put forward is that it must change the man when
it is his character and conduct wHtcH constitute the reasons for his failure
in the battle of life. No change in circumstances, no revolution in
social conditions, can possibly transform the nature of man. Som6
of the worst men and women in the world, whose names are
chronicled by history with a shudder of horror, were those who had
all the advantages that wealth, education and station could confer or
ambition could attain.
The supreme test of any scheme for benefiting humanity lies in the
answer to the question, What does it make of the individual? Does
it quicken his conscience, does it soften his heart, does it enlighten
his mind, does it, in short, make more of a true man of him, because only
by such influences can he be enabled to lead a human life? Among the
denizens of Darkest England there are many who have found their way
thither by defects of character which would under the most favourable
circumstances relegate them to the same position. Hence, unless you
can change their character your labour will be lost. You may clothe
the drunkard, fill his purse with gold, establish him in a well-furnished
home, and in three, or six, or twelve months he will once more be on
the Embankment, haunted by delirium tremens, dirty, squalid, and
ragged. Hence, in all cases where a man's own character and
defects constitute the reasons for his fall, that character must be
changed and that conduct altered if any permanent beneficial results
are to be attained. If he is a drunkard, he must be made sober ;
if idle, he must be made industrious ; if criminal, he must be made
honest ; if impure, he must be made clean ; and if he be so deep
down in vice, and has been there so long that he has lost all heart,
and hope, and power to help himself, and absolutely refuses to move,
he must be inspired with hope and have created within him the
ambition to rise ; otherwise he will never gel out oi ViwtVtfycr^^^'^
86 THE ESSENTIALS TO SUCCESS.
Secondly : The remedy , to be effectual^ must change the circumstances
of the individual when they are the cause of his wretched condition^ and
lie beyond his control Among those who have arrived at their
present evil plight through faults of self-indulgence or some defect in
their moral character, how many are there who would have been very
differently placed to-day had their surroundings been otherwise ?
Charles Kingsley puts this very abruptly where he makes the
Poacher's widow say, when addressing the Bad Squire, who drew back
" Our daughters, with base-bom babies,
' Have wandered away in their shame.
If your misses had slept, Squire, where they did,
Your misses might do the same.*
Placed in the same or similar circumstances, how many of us woulcl
have turned out better than this poor, lapsed, sunken multitude ?
Many of this crowd have never had a chance of doing better ; they
have been bom in a poisoned atmosphere, educated in circumstances
which have rendered modesty an impossibility, and have been
thrown into life in conditions which make vice a second nature.
Hence, to provide an effective remedy for the evils which we
are deploring these circumstances must be altered, and unless
my Scheme effects such a change, it will be of no use.
There are multitudes, myriads, of men and women, who
are floundering in the horrible quagmire beneath the burden
of a load too heavy for them to bear; every plunge they
take forward lands them deeper; some have ceased even to
struggle, and lie prone in the filthy bog, slCwly suffocating,
with their manhood and womanhood all but perished. It is
no use standing on the firm bank of the quaking morass and
anathematising these poor wretches ; if you are to do them any good,
you must give them another chance to get on their feet, you must
give them firm foothold upon which they can once more stand upright,
arid you must build stepping-stones across the bog to enable them
safely to reach the other side. Favourable circumstances will not
change a man's heart or transform his nature, but unpropitious
circumstances may render it absolutely impossible for him to escape,
no matter how he may desire to extricate himself. The first step with
these helpless, sunken creatures is to create the desire to escape, and
then provide the means for doing so. In other words, give tlie man
another chance.
WHAT THE SCHEME MUST BE AND MUST NOT BE. 87
Thirdly : Any remedy worthy of consideration must be on a
scale commensurate with the evil with which it proposes to deal. It
is no use trying to bail out the ocean with a pint pot. This evil is
one whose victims are Counted by the million. The army of the Lost
in our midst exceeds the numbers of that multitudinous host which
Xerxes led from Asia to attempt the conquest of Greece. Pass in
parade those who make up the submerged tenth, count the
paupers indoor and outdoor, the homeless, the starving, the
criminals, the lunatics, the drunkards, and the harlots — and yet
do not give way to despair ! Even to attempt to save a tithe of
this host requires that we should put much more force and fire into
our work than has hitherto been exhibited by anyone. There must
be no more philanthropic tinkering, as if this vast sea of human
misery were contained in the limits of a garden pond.
Fourthly : Not only must the Scheme be large enough^ but it must
be permanent. That is to say, it must not be merely a spasmodic
effort coping with the misery of to-day ; it must be established
on a durable footing, so as to go on dealing with the misery of to-
morrow and the day after, so long as there is misery left in the world
with which to grapple.
Fifthly : But while it must be permanent^ it must also be immediately
practicable. Any Scheme, to be of use, must be capable of being
brought into instant operation with beneficial results.
Sixthly : The indirect features of the Scheme must not be such as
tc produce injury to the persons whom we seek to benefit. Mere
charity, for instance, while relieving the pinch of hunger, de-
moralises the recipient ; and whatever the remedy is that we employ,
it must be of such a nature as to do good without doing evil at the
same time. It is no use conferring sixpennyworth of benefit on a
man if, at the same time, we do him a shilling'sworth of harm.
Seventhly : While assisting one class of the community ^ it must not
seriously interfere with the interests of another. In raising one section
of the fallen, we must not thereby endanger the safety of those who
with difficulty are keeping on their feet.
These are the conditions by which I ask you to test the Scheme I
am about to unfold. They are formidable enough, possibly, to deter
many from even attempting to do anything. They are not of my
making. They are obvious to anyone who looks into the matter.
They atie the laws which govern the work of the philanthropic
88 THE ESSENTIALS TO SUCCESS.
reformer, just as the laws of gravitation, of wind and of weather,
govern the operations of the engineer. It is no use sa3ring we could
build a bridge across the Tay if the wind did not blow, or that we
could build a railway across a bog if the quagmire would afford us a
solid foundation. The engineer has to take into account the difficulties,
and make them his starting point. The wind will blow, therefore
the bridge must be made strong enough to resist it. Chat Moss will
shake ; therefore we must construct a foundation in the very bowels
of the bog on which to build our railway. So it is with the social
difficulties which confront us. If we act in harmony with these laws
we shall triumph ; but if we ignore them they will overwhelm us
with destruction and cover us with disgrace.
But, difficult as the task may be, it is not one which we can
neglect. When Napoleon was compelled to retreat under circum-
stances which rendered it impossible for him to carry off his sick
and wounded, he ordered his doctors to poison every man in the
hospital. A general has before now massacred his prisoners rather
than allow them to escape. These Lost ones are the Prisoners of
Society ; they are the Sick and Wounded in our Hospitals. What a
shriek would arise from the civilised world if it were proposed to
administer to-night to every one of these millions such a dose of
morphine that they would sleep to wake no more. But so far
as they are concerned, would it not be much less cruel thus
to end their life than to allow them to drag on day after day,
year after year, in misery, anguish, and despair, driven into vice
and hunted into crime, until at last disease harries them into the
grave?
I am under no delusion as to the possibility of inaugurating a
millennium by my Scheme; but the triumphs of science deal so much
with the utilisation of waste material, that I do not despair of some-
thing effectual being accomplished in the utilisation of this waste
human product. The refuse which was a drug and a curse to our
manufacturers, when treated under the hands of the chemist, has been
the means of supplying us with dyes rivalling in loveliness and
variety the hues of the rainbow. If the alchemy of science can
extract beautiful colours from coal tar, cannot Divine alchemy
enable us to evolve gladness and brightness out of the agonised
hearts and dark, dreary, loveless lives of these doomed myriads ?
Is it too much to hope that in God's world God^s children may be
able to do something, if they set to work with a will, to carry out a
THE KEY TO THE ENIGMA. 89
plan of campaign against these great evils which are the nightmare
of our existence ?
The remedy, it may be, is simpler than some imagine. The key .
to the enigma may lie closer to our hands than we have any idea of.
Many devices have been tried, and many have failed, no doubt ; it is
only stubborn, reckless perseverance that can hope to succeed ; it is
well that we recognise this. How many ages did men try to make
gunpowder and never succeeded? They would put saltpetre to
charcoal, or charcoal to sulphur, or saltpetre to sulphur, and so
were ever unable to make the compound explode. But it has only been
discovered within the last few hundred years that all three were
needed. Before that gunpowder was a mere imagination, a phantasy
of the alchemists. How easy it is to make gunpowder, now the
secret of its manufacture is known I
But take a simpler illustration, one which lies even within the
memory of some that read these pages. From the beginning of the
world down to the beginning of this century, mankind had not found
out, with all its striving after cheap and easy transport, the miraculous
difference that would be brought about by laying down two parallel
lines of metal. All the great men and the wise men of the past
lived and died oblivious of that fact. The greatest mechanicians
and engineers of antiquity, the men who bridged all the rivers of
Europe, the architects who built the cathedrals which are still the
wonder of the world, failed to discern what seems to us so obviously
simple a proposition, that two parallel lines of rail would diminish
the cost and difficulty of transport to a minimum. Without that
discovery the steam engine, which has itself been an invention of
quite recent years, would have failed to transform civilisation.
What we have to do in the philanthropic sphere is to find some-
thing analogous to the engineers' parallel bars. This discovery I
think I have made, and hence have I written this book.
Section 2.— MY SCHEME:
What, then, is my Scheme ? It is a very simple one, although in
its ramifications and extensions it embraces the whole world. In
this book I profess to do no more than to merely outline, as plainly
and as simply as I can, the fundamental features of my proposals.
I propose to devote the bulk of this volume to setting forth what can
practically be done with one of the most pressing parts of the
problem, namely, that relating to those who are out of work, and
who, as the result, are more or less destitute. I have many ideas of
what might be done with those who are at present cared for in some
measure by the State, but I will leave these ideas for the present.
It is not urgent that I should explain how our Poor Law system
could be reformed, or what I should like to see done for the Lunatics
in Asylums, or the Criminals in Gaols. The persons who are pro-
vided for by the State we will, therefore, for the moment, leave
out of count. The indoor paupers, the convicts, the inmates ot
the lunatic asylums are cared for, in a fashion, already. But,
over and above all these, there exists some hundreds of thousands
who are not quartered on the State, but who are living on the
verge of despair, and who at any moment, under circumstances of
misfortune, might be compelled to demand relief or support in one
shape or another. I will confine myself, therefore, for the present
to those who have no helper.
^ It is possible, I think probable, if the proposals which I am now
putting forward are carried out successfully in relation to the lost,
homeless, and helpless of the population, that many of those who
are at the present moment in somewhat better circumstances will
demand that they also shall be allowed to partake in the benefits of
the Scheme. But upon this, also, I remain* silent. I merely remark
that we have, in the recognition of the importance of discipline and
organisation, what may be called regimented co-operation, a
principle that will be found valuable for solving many social prob-
^ THE OPEN SECRET. 91
lems other than that of destitution. Of these plans, which are at
present being brooded over with a view to their realisation wheu
the time is propitious and the opportunity occurs, I shall have
something to say.
What is the outward and visible form of the Probleni of the
Unemployed ? Alas ! we are all too familiar with it for any lengthy
description to be necessary. The social problem presents itself
before us whenever a hungryj dirty and ragged man stands at our
door asking if we cdn give him a crust or a job. That is the social
question. What are you to do with that man ? He has no money
in his pocket, all that he can pawn he has pawned long ago, his
stomach is. as empty as his purse, and the whole of the clothes upon
his back, even if sold on the best terms, would not fetch a shilling.
There he stands, your brother, with sixpennyworth of rags to cover
his nakedness from his fellow men and not sixpennyworth of
victuals within his reach. He asks for work, which he will set to
even on his empty stomach and in his ragged uniform, if so be that
you will give him something for it, but his hands are idle, for no one
employs him. What are you to do with that man ? That is the
great note of interrogation that confronts Society to-day. Not only
in overcrowded England, but in newer countries beyond the
sea^ where Society has not yet provided a means by which
the men can be. put upon the land and the land be made
to feed the men. To deal with this man is the Problem
of the Unemployed. To deal with him effectively you must
deal with him immediately^ you must provide him in some way or
other at once with food, and shelter, and warmth. Next you must
find him something to do, something that will test the reality of his
desire to work. This test must be more or less temporary, and
should be of such a nature as to prepare him for making a permanent
livelihood. Then, having trained him, you must provide him where-
withal to start life afresh. All these things I propose to do. My
Scheme divides itself into three sections, each of which is indis-
pensable for the success of the whole. In this three-fold organisation
lies the open secret of the solution of the Social Problem.
The Scheme I have to offer consists in the formation of these
people into self-helping and self-sustaining communities, each being
a kind of co-operative society, or patriarchal family, governed and
disciplined on the principles which have already proved so effective
in the Salvation Army.
92 MY SCHEME.
These communities we will call, for want of a better term, Colonies.
There will be —
(i) The City Colony.
,^ (2) The Farm Colony.
(3) The Over-Sea Colony.
THE CITY COLONY.
By the City Colony is meant the establishment, in the very
centre of the ocean of misery of which we have been speaking, of a
number of Institutions to act as Harbours of Refuge for all and any
who have been shipwrecked in life, character, or circumstances.
These Harbours will gather up the poor destitute creatures, supply
their immediate pressing necessities, furnish temporary employment,
inspire them with hope for the future, and commence at once a course
of regeneration by moral and religious influences.
From these Institutions, which are hereafter described, numbers
would, after a short time, be floated off to permanent employment, or
sent home to friends happy to receive them on hearing of theii
reformation. All who remain on our hands would, by varied means,
be tested as to their sincerity, industry, and honesty, and as soon as
satisfaction was created, be passed on to the Colony of the second
class.
THE FARM COLONY.
This would consist of a settlement of the Colonists on an estate in
the provinces, in the culture of which they would find employment
and obtain support. As the race from the Country to the City has
been the cause of much of the distress we have to battle with, we
propose to find a substantial part of our remedy by transferring these
same people back to the country, that is back again to " the Garden !"
Here the process of reformation of character would be carried for-
ward by the same industrial, moral, and religious methods as have
already been commenced in the City, especially including those forms
of labour and that knowledge of agriculture which, should the
Colonist not obtain employment in this country, will qualify him for
pursuing his fortunes under more favourable circumstances in some
other land.
From the Farm, as from the City, there can be no question that
large numbers, resuscitated in health and character, would be restored
to friends up arid down the country. Some would find employment
In tb^ir own callings, others would settle in cottages on a small piece
THE THREE-FOLD COLONY. 93
of land that we should provide, or on Co-operative Farms which we
intend to promote ; while the great bulk, after trial and training,
would be passed on to the Foreign Settlement, which would con-
stitute our third class, namely The Over-Sea Colony.
THE OVER-SEA COLONY.
All who have given attention to the subject are agreed that in our
Colonies in South Africa, Canada, Western Australia and elsewhere,
there are millions of acres of useful land to be obtained almost for
the asking, capable of supporting our surplus population in health
and comfort, were it a thousand times greater than it is. We pro-
pose to secure a tract of land in one of these countries, prepare it
for settlement, establish in it authority, govern it by equitable laws,
assist it in times of necessity, settling it gradually with a prepared
people, and so create a home for these destitute multitudes.
The Scheme, in its entirety, may aptly be compared to A Great
Machine, foundationed in the lowest slums and purlieus of our great
towns and cities, drawing up into its embrace the depraved and destitute
of all classes ; receiving thieves, harlots, paupers, drunkards, prodigals,
all alike, on the simple conditions of their being willing to work and
to conform to discipline. Drawing up these poor outcasts, reforming
them, and creating in them habits of industry, honesty, and truth ;
teaching them methods by which alike the bread that perishes and
that which endures to Everlasting Life can be won. Forwarding
them from the City to the Country, and there continuing the process
of regeneration, and then pouring them forth on to the virgin soils
that await their coming in other lands, keeping hold of them with a
strong government, and yet making them free men and women ; and
so la3dng the foundations, perchance, of another Empire to swell to
vast proportions in later times. Why not ?
;
^
CHAPTER II.
TO THE RESCUE I—THE CITY COLONY.
The first section of my Scheme is the establishment of a Receiving
House for the Destitute in every great centre of population. We
start, let us remember, . from the individual, the ragged, hungry,
penniless man who confronts us with despairing demands for food,
shelter, and work. Now, I have had some two or three years*
experience in dealing with this class. I believe, at the present
moment, the Salvation Army supplies more food and shelter to the
destitute than any other organisation in London, and it is the experi-
ence and encouragement which I have gained in the working of
these Food and Shelter Dep6ts which has largely encouraged me to
propound this scheme.
Section i.— FOOD AND SHELTER FOR EVERY MAN.
As I rode through Canada and the United States some three years
ago, I was greatly impressed with the superabundance of food which
I saw at every turn. Oh, how I longed that the poor starving
people, and the hungry children of the East of London and of
other centres of our destitute populations, should come into the
midst of this abundance, but as it appeared impossible for me to
take them to it, I secretly resolved that I would endeavour to bring
some of it to them. I am thankful to say that I have already been
able to do so on a small scale, and hope to accomplish it ere long on
a much vaster one.
With this view, the first Cheap Food Dep6t was opened in the
East of London two and a half years ago. This has been fol-
lowed by others, and we have now three establishments : others are
being arranged for.
Since the commencement in 1888, we have supplied over three
and a half million meals.
Some idea can be formed of the extent to which these Food and
Shelter Dep6ts have already struck their roots into the strata of
WHAT HAS BEEN DONE ALREADY.
95
Society which it is proposed to benefit, by the following figures,
which give the quantities of food sold during the year at our Food
Dep6ts.
FOOD SOLD IN DEPOTS AND SHELTERS DURING 1889.
Article.
Weight.
tt
f»
M
tt
tu
Measure.
Soup 1 16,400 gallons ..,
Bread 192^ tons 106,964 41b. -loaves
Tea 2j „ 46,980 gallons ...
Coffee 15 cwt I3,949
Cocoa 6 tons 29,229
Sugar 25
Potatoes 140
Flour 18
Peaflour 28^,,
Oatmeal 3J „
Rice 12
Beans 12
Onions and parsnips 12
Jam 9
Marmalade '.,.., 6
Meat 15
Milk
Remarks.
it
tt
it
tt
ft
tt
, ^00 ba^s
.2.800
, 1 80 sacks
288
36
, 120
240
240
2,880 J
jars
1,920
tt
14,300 quarts
This includes returns from three Food Dep6ts and five Shelters. I
propose to multiply their number, to develop their usefulness, and to
make them the threshold of the whole Scheme. Those who have already
visited our Dep6ts will understand exactly what this means. The
majority, however, of the readers of these pages have not done so,
and for them it is necessary to explain what they are.
At each of our Depots, which can be seen by anybody that cares 1
take the trouble to visit them, there are two departments, one dealing
with food, the other with shelter. Of these both are worked together
and minister to the same individuals. Many come for food who do
not come for shelter, although most of those who come for shelter
also come for food, which is sold on terms to cover, as nearly as
possible, the cost price and working expenses of the establishment.
In this our Food Depots differ from the ordinary soup kitchens.
96
FOOD AND SHELTER FOR EVERY MAN.
There is no gratuitous distribution of victuals. The following is our
Price List : —
WHAT IS SOLD AT THE FOOD DEP6tS.
FOR A CHILD.
d.
Soup
»»
Per Basin J
With Bread \
d.
Coffee or Cocoa per cup J
»t H With Bread and Jam ^
Soup
FOR ADULTS.
d.
»»
Potatoes
Cabbage
Haricot Beans ... .
Boiled Jam Pudding.
„ Plum
Rice
Baked Plum
tf
tt
ff
Per Basin J
With Bread i
• • • • • • n
• • • • • • Q
• • • « • • A
• • • • • • Q
Each I
• • • • • • A
• • • • • • V
d.
Baked Jam Roll \
Meat Pudding and Potatoes 3
Corned Beef „ 3
„ Mutton „ 2
Coffee per cup, Jd. ; per mug i
Cocoa „ Jd. „ I
■1-6^ ,f ^u. ,, I
Bread & Butter, Jam, or Marmalade
per slice \
Soup in own Jugs, id. per Quart.
Ready at 10 a.m.
A certain discretionary power is vested in the Officers in charge
of the Dep6t, and they can in very urgent cases give relief, but the
rule is for the food to be paid for, and the financial results show
that working expenses are just about covered.
These Cheap Food Depots I have no doubt have been and are 01
great service to numbers of hungry starving men, women, and
children, at the prices just named, which must be within the
reach of all, except the absolutely penniless ; but it is the Shelter that
I regard as the most useful feature in this part of our undertaking,
for if anything is to be done to get hold of those who use the Dep6t,
some more favourable opportunity must be afforded than is oflfered
by the mere coming into the food store to get, perhaps, only a basin
of soup. This part of the Scheme I propose to extend very
considerably.
Suppose that you are a casual in the streets of London, homeless,
friendless, weary with looking for work all day and finding nope.
Night comes on. Where are you to go ? You have perhaps only
a few coppers, or it may be, a few shillings, left of the rapidly
dwindling store of your little capital. You shrink from sleeping in
the open air ; you equally shrink from going to the fourpenny Doss-
house where, in the midst of strange and ribald company, you may
be robbed ot the remnant of the money still in your possession.
While at a loss as to what to do, someone who sees you suggests
AT A SHELTER DEPOT. 97
that you should go to our Shelter. You cannot, of course, go to the
Casual Ward of the Workhouse as long as you have any money in
your possession. You come along to one of our Shelters. On
entering you pay fourpence, and are free of the establishment for
the night. You can come in early or late. The company begins to
assemble about five o'clock in the afternoon. In the women's
Shelter you find that many come much earlier and sit sewing,
reading or chatting in the sparely furnished but well warmed -oom
from the early hours of the afternoon until bedtime.
You come in, and you get a large pot of coffee, tea, or cocoa, and
a hunk of bread. You can go into the wash-house, where you can
have a wash with plenty of warm water, and soap and towels free.
Then after having washed and eaten you can make yourself
comfortable. You can write letters to your friends, if you have any
friends to write to, or you can read, or you can sit quietly and do
nothing. At eight o'clock the Shelter is tolerably full, and then
begins what we consider to be the indispensable feature of the
whole concern. Two or three hundred men in the men's Shelter, or
as many women in the women's Shelter, are collected together, most
of them strange to each other, in a large room. They are all wretchedly
poor — what are you to do with them ? This is what we do with them.
We hold a rousing Salvation meeting. The Officer in charge of
the Dep6t, assisted by detachments from the Training Homes, con-
ducts a jovial free-and-easy social evening. The girls have their
banjos and their tambourines, and for a couple of hours you have
as lively a meeting as you will find in London. There is prayer,
short and to the point ; there are addresses, some delivered by the
leaders of the meeting, but the most of them the testimonies of those
who have been saved at previous meetings, and who, rising in their
seats, tell their companions their experiences. Strange experiences
they often are of those who have been down in the very bottomless
depths of sin and vice and misery, but who have found at last firm
footing on which to stand, and who are, as they say in all sincerity,
" as happy as the day is long." There is a joviality and a genuine
good feeling at some of these meetings which is refreshing to the
soul. There are all sorts and conditions of men ; casuals, gaol
birds, Out-of- Works, who have come there for the first time, and who
find men who last week or last month were even as they themselves
^re now — still poor but rejoicing in a sense of brotherhood and a
consciousness of their being no longer outcasts and forlorn in this
98 FOOD AND SHELTER FOR EV€RY MAN.
wide world. There are men who have at last seen revive before
them a hope of escaping from that dreadful vortex, into which their
sins and misfortunes had drawn them, and being restored to those
comforts that they had feared so long were gone for ever; nay,
of rising to live a true and Godly life. These tell their mates how
this has come about, and urge all who hear them to try for
themselves and see whether it is not a good and happy thing
to be soundly saved. In the intervals of testimony — and these
testimonies, as every one will bear me witness who has ever attended
any of our meetings, are not long, sanctimonious lackadaisical
speeches, but simple confessions of individual experience — there are
bursts of hearty melody. The conductor of the meeting will start
up a verse or two of a hymn illustrative of the experiences mentioned
by the last speaker, or one of the girls from the Training Home will
sing a solo, accompanying herself on her instrument, while all join
in a rattling and rollicking chorus.
There is no compulsion upon anyone of our dossers to take part
in this meeting ; they do not need to come in until it is over ; but as
a simple matter of fact they do come in. Any night between eight
and ten o'clock you will find these people sitting there, listening to
the exhortations and taking part in the singing, many of them, no
doubt, unsympathetic enough, but nevertheless preferring to be presenv
with the music and the warmth, mildly stirred, if only by curiosity,
as the various testimonies are delivered.
Sometimes these testimonies are enough to rouse the most cynical
of observers. We had at one of our shelters the captain of an
ocean steamer, who had sunk to the depths of destitution through
strong drink. He came in there one night utterly desperate and was
taken in hand by our people — and with us taking in hand is no mere
phrase, for at the close of our meetings our officers go from seat to
seat, and if they see anyone who shows signs of being affected by the
speeches or the singing, at once sit down beside him and begin to
labour with him for the salvation of his soul. By this means they
are able to get hold of the men and to know exactly where the
difficulty lies, what the trouble is, and if they do nothing else, at least
succeed in convincing them that there is someone who cares- for their
soul and would do what he could to lend them a helping hand*
The captain of whom I was speaking was got hold of in this way.
He was deeply impressed, and was induced to abandon once and for
all his habits of intemperance. From that meeting he went an
HE SALVATION DOSS HOUSE. 99
altered man. He regained his position in the merchant service, and
twelve months afterwards astonished u§ all by appearing In the
uniform of a captain of a large ocean steamer, to testify to those
who were there how low he had been, how utterly he had lost all
hold on Society and all hope of the future, when, fortunately led to
the Shelter, he found friends, counsel, and salvation, and from that
time had never rested until he had regained the position which he
had forfeited by his intemperance.
The meeting over, the singing girls go back to the Training Home,
and the men prepare for bed. Our sleeping arrangements are
somewhat primitive ; we do not provide feather beds, and when you
go into our dormitories, you will be surprised to find the floor
covered by what look like an endless array of packing cases. These
are our beds, and each of them forms a cubicle. There is a mattress
laid on the floor, and over the mattress a leather apron, which is all
the bedclothes that we find it possible to provide. The men
undress, each by the side of his packing box, and go to sleep under
their leather covering. The dormitory is warmed with hot water
pipes to a tejnperature of 60 degrees, and there has never been any
complaint of lack of warmth on the part of those who use the
Shelter. The leather can be kept perfectly clean, and the
mattresses, covered with American cloth, are carefully inspected
every day, so that no stray specimen of vermin may h;;
left in the place. The men turn in about ten o'clock and sleep
until six. We have never any disturbances of any kind in the
Shelters. We have provided accommodation now for several
thousand of the most helplessly broken-down men in London,
criminals many of them, mendicants, tramps, those who are among
the filth and offscouring of all things; but such is the influence
that is established by the meeting and the moral ascendancy
of our officers themselves, that we have never had a
fight on the premises, and very seldom do we ever hear
an oath or an obscene word. Sometimes there has been
trouble outside the Shelter, when men insisted upon coming in
drunk or were otherwise violent ; but once let them come to
the Shelter, and get into the swing of the concern, and we
have no trouble with them. In the morning they get up and have
their breakfast and, after a short service, go off their various ways.
We find that we can do this, that is to say, we can provide coffee
and bread for breakfast and for supper, and a shake-down on the
OQnnoa
100 FOOD AND SHELTER FOR EVERY MAN.
floor in the packing-boxes I have described in a warm dormitory
for fourpence a head.
I propose to develop these Shelters, so as to aflford every man
a locker, in which he could store arij^ little valuables that he
may possess. I would also allow him the use of a boiler in
the washhouse with a hot drying oven, so that he could wash his
shirt over night and have it returned to him dry in the morning.
Only those who have had practical experience of the difficulty of
seeking for work in London can appreciate the advantages of
the opportunity to get your shirt washed in this way — if
you have one. In Trafalgar Square, in 1887, there were
few things that scandalised the public more than the
spectacle of the poor people camped in the Square, washing their
shirts in the early morning at the fountains. If you talk to any men
who have been on the road for a lengthened period they will tell
you that nothing hurts their self-respect more or stands more fatally
in the way of their getting a job than the impossibility of getting
their little things done up and clean.
In our poor man's "Home" everyone could at least keep himself
clean and have a clean shirt to his back, in a plain way, no doubt ;
but still not less effective than if he were to be put up at one of the
West End hotels, and would be able to secure anyway the neces-
saries of life while being passed on to something far better. This is
the first step.
SOME SHELTER TROPHIES.
Of the practical results which have followed our methods of deal-
ing with the outcasts who take shelter with us we have many striking
examples. Here are a few, each of them a transcript of a life
experience relating to men who are now active, industrious members
•f the community upon which but for the agency of these Depots they
would have been preying to this day.
A. S.— Born in Glasgow, 1825. Saved at Clerkenwell, May 19, 1889* Poor
parents raised in a Glasgow Slum. Was thrown, on the streets at seven years
of age, became the companion and associate of thieves, and drifted into crime.
The following are his terms of imprisonment : — 14 days, 30 days, 30 days, 60
days, 60 days (three times in succession), 4 months, 6 months (twice), 9 months,
18 months, 2 years, 6 years, 7 years (twice), 14 years ; 40 years 3 months and 6
days in the aggregate. Was flogged for violent conduct in gaol 8 times.
W. M. ('•Buff").— Born in Deptford, 1864, saved at Clerkenwell, March
3I5t, 1889. His father was an old Navy man, and earned a decent living
SOME SHELTER TROPHIES. 101
as manager. Was sober, respectable, • and trustworthy. Mother was a dis-
reputable drunken slattern : a curse and disgrace to husband and family. The
home was broken up, and little Bu£f was given over to the evil influences of his
depraved mother. His 7th birthday present from his admiring parent was a
" quarten o' gin." He got some education at the One Tun Alley Ragged School,
but when nine years old was caught apple stealing, and sent to the Industrial
S^chool at Ilford for 7 years. Discharged at the end of his term, he drifted to
the streets, the casual wards, and Metropolitan gaols, every one of whose
interiors he is familiar with. He became a ringleader of a gang that infested
London ; a thorough mendicant and ne^er-do-well ; a pest to society. Naturally
he is a bom leader, ana one ol ttiose spmts that command a foUowinsr ; conse-
quently, when he got Salvation, the major part of his following came after hfm
to the Shelter, and eventually to God. His character since conversion has been
altogether satisfactory, and he is now an Orderly at Whitechapel, and to all
appearances a " true lad."
C. W. (" Frisco "). — Born in San Francisco, 1862. Saved April 24tli|
1889. Taken away from home at the age of eight years, and made his wayito
Texas. Here he took up life amongst the Ranches as a Cowboy, and varied it
with occasional trips to sea, developing into a tjrpical brass and rowdy. He had
2 years for mutiny at sea, 4 years for mule stealing, 5 years for cattle stealing-,
and has altogether been in gaol for thirteen years and eleven months. He came
over to England, got mixed up with thieves and casuals here, and did several
short terms of imprisonment. He was met on his release at Millbank by an old
chum (Bufi) and the Shelter Captain ; came to Shelter, got saved, and has stood
firm.
H. A. — Bom at Deptford, 1850. Saved at Clerkenwell, January I2th^
1889. Lost mother in early life, step-mother difficulty supervening, and. a
propensity to misappropriation of small things developed into thieving;. He
followed the sea, became a hard drinker, a foul-mouthed blasphemer, and,.a
blatant spouter of infidelity. He drifted about for years, ashore and afloat,
and eventually reached the Shelter stranded. Here he sought God, and has
done welL This summer he had charge of a gang of ha)rmakers sent mfo
the countryj" and stood the ordeal satisfactorily. He seems honest in hfa
profession, and strives patiently to follow after God. He is at the
workshops.
H. S. — Bom at A , in Scotland. Like most Scotch lads although
parents were in poor circumstances he managed to get a good education.
Early in life he took to newspaper work, and picked up the details of the
joumalistic profession in several prominent papers in N.B. Eventually he gpt
a position on a provincial newspaper, and having put in a course at Glasgow
University, graduated B.A. there. After this he was oa»«he aiaff of a
/
102 FOOD AND SHELTER FOR EVERY MAN.
Welsh paper. He married a decent girl, and had several little ones, but
giving way to drink, lost position, wife, family, and friends. At times
he would struggle up and recover himself, and appears generally to have
been able to 3ecure a position, but again and again his besetment overcame
him, and each time he would drift lower and lower. For a time he was engaged
in secretarial work on a prominent London Charity, but fell repeatedly, and at
length was dismissed. He came to us an utter outcdst, was sent to Shelter and
Workshop got saved, and is now in a good situation. He gives every promise,
and those best able to judge seem very sanguine that at last a real good work
has been accomplished in him.
F. D. — Was bom in London, and brought up to the iron trade, Held several
good situations, losing one after another, from drink and irregularity. On one
occasion, with £20 in his pocket, he started for Manchester, got drunk there, was
locked up and fined five shillings, and fifteen shillings costs ; this he paid, and as
he was leaving the Court, a gentleman stopped him, saying that he knew his father,
and inviting him to his house ; however, with £\.o in his pocket, he was too
independent, and he declined ; but the gentleman gave him his address, and
left him. A few days squandered his cash, and clothes soon followed, all dis-
appearing for drink, and then without a coin he presented himself at the
address given to him, at ten o'clock at night. It turned out to be his uncle, who
gave him £2 to go back to London, but this too disappeared for liquor. He
tramped back to London utterly destitute. Several nights were passed on the
Embankment, and on one occasion a gentleman gave him a ticket for the
Shelter ; this, however, he sold for 2d. and had a pint of beer, and stopped out
all night. But it set him thinking, and he determined next day to raise 4d. and
see what a Shelter was like. He came to Whitechapel, became a regular cus-
tomer, eight months ago got saved, and is now doing well.
F. H. — Was born at Birmingham, 1858. Saved at Whitechapel, March
26th, 1890. Father died in his infancy, mother marrying again. The
stepfather was a drunken navvy, and used to knock the mother about, and the
lad was left to the streets. At 12 years of age he left home, and tramped to
Liverpool, begging his way, and sleeping on the roadsides. In Liverpool he
lived about the Docks for some days, sleeping where he could. Police found
him and returned him to Birmingham ; his reception being an unmerciful
thrashing from the drunken stepfather. He got several jobs as errand-boy,
remarkable for his secret piiferings, and two years later left with fifty shillings
stolen money, and reached Middlesbrough by road. Got work in a nail factory,
stayed nine months, then stole nine shillings from fellow-lodger, and again
took the road. He reached Birmingham, and finding a warrant out for him,
joined the Navy. He was in the Impregnable training-ship three years,
behaved himself, only getting " one dozen," and was transferred with
SOME SHELTER TROPHIES. 103
character marked " good " to the Iron Duke in the China seashj soon
got drinking, and was locked up and imprisoned for riotous conduct in
almost every port in the stations. He broke ship, and deserted
several times, and was a thorough specimen of a bad British tar. He
saw gaol in Signapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama, Shanghai, Canton, and other
places. In five years returned home, and, after furlough, joined the Belle
Isle in the Irish station. Whisky here again got hold of him, and excess
ruined his constitution. On his leave he had married, and on his discharge
joined his wife in Birmingham. For some time he worked as sweeper in the
market, but two years ago deserted his wife and family, and came to London,
settled down to a loafer's life, lived on the streets with Casual Wards for his
home. Eventually came to Whitechapel Shelter, and got saved. He is now
a trustworthy, reliable lad ; has become reconciled to wife, who. came to London
to see him, and he bids fair to be a useful man.
J. W. S. — Bom in Plymouth. His parents are respectable people. He is clever
at his business, and has held good situations. Two years ago he came to London,
fell into evil courses, and took to drink. Lost situation after situation, and kept on
drinking ; lost everything, and came to the streets. He found out Westminster
Shelter, and eventually got saved ; his parents were communicated with, and help
and clothes forthcoming ; with Salvation came hope and energy ; he got a situation
at Lewisham (7d. per hour) at his trade. Four months standing, and is a
promising Soldier as well as a respectable mechanic.
J. T. — Bom in Ireland ; well educated (commercially) ; clerk and accountant.
Early in life joined the Queen's Army, and by good conduct worked his way
up. Was orderly-room clerk and paymaster's assistant in his regiment.
He led a steady Hfe whilst in the service, and at the expiration of his
term passed into the Reserve with a " very good " character. He was a long
time unemployed, and this appears to have reduced him to despair, and so to
drink. He sank to the lowest ebb, and came to Westminster in a deplorable
condition ; coatless, hatless, shirtless, dirty altogether, a fearful specimen ot
what a man of good parentage can be brought to. After being at Shelter some
time, he got saved, was passed to Workshops, and gave great satisfaction. At
present he is doing clerical work and gives satisfaction as a workman : a good
influence in the place.
J. S. — Born in London, of decent parentage. From a child he exhibited
thieving propensities ; soon got into the hands of the police, and was
in and out of gaol continually. He led the life of a confirmed tramp, and roved
all over the United Kingdom. He has been in penal servitude three times, and
his last term was for seven years, with police supervision. After his release he
married a respectable girl, and tried to reform, but circumstances were against him ;
character he had none, a gaol career only to recommend him, and so he and
104 FOOD AND SHELTER FOR EVERY MAN.
his wife eventually drifted to destitution. They came to the Shelter, and asked
advice ; they were received, and he made application to the sitting Magistrate at
Clerkenwell as to a situation, and what he ought to do. The Magistrate
helped him, and thanked the Salvation Army for its efforts in behalf of him and
such as he, and asked us to look after the applicant. A little work was given
him, and after a time a good situation procured. To-day they have a good
time ; he is steadily employed, and both are serving God, holding the respect
and confidence of neighbours, etc.
E. G. — Came to England in the service of a family ol position, and
afterwards was butler and upper servant in several houses of the nobility. His
health broke down, and for a long time he was altogether unfit for work. He
had saved a considerable sum of money, but the cost of doctors and the neces-
saries of a sick man soon played havoc with his little store, and he became
reduced to penury and absolute want. For some time he was in the Workhouse,
and, being discharged, he was advised to go to the Shelter. He was low in
health as well as in circumstances, and broken in spirit, almost despairing. He
was lovingly advised to cast his care upon God, and eventually he was con-
verted. After some time work was obtained as porter in a City warehouse.
Assiduity and faithfulness in a year raised him to the position of traveller. To-
day he prospers in body and soul, retaining the respect and confidence of all
associated with him.
We might multiply these records, but those given show the kind
of results attained.
There's no reason to think that influences which have been
blessed of God to the salvation of these poor fellows will not be
equally efficacious if applied on a wider scale and over a vaster
area. The thing to be noted in all these cases is that it was not the
' mere feeding which effected the result ; it was the combination of the
feeding with the personal labour for the individual soul. Still, if we
had not fed them, we should never have come near enough to gain
any hold upon their hearts. If we had merely fed them, they would
have gone away next day to resume, with increased energy, the
predatory and vagrant life which they had been leading. But when
our feeding and Shelter Dep6ts brought them to close quarters, our
officers were literally able to put their arms round their necks and
plead with them as brethren who had gone astray. We told them
that their sins and sorrows had not shut them out from the love of the
Everlasting Father, who had sent us to them to help them with all the
power of our strong Organisation, of the Divine authority of which we
never feel so sure as when it is going forth to seek and to save the lost.
Section 2.— WORK FOR THE OUT-OF-WORKS.— THE FACTORY.
The foregoing, it will be said, is all very well for your outcast when
he has got fourpence in his pocket, but what if he has not got his
fourpence ? What if you are confronted with a crowd of hungry
desperate wretches, without even a penny in their pouch, demanding
food and shelter ? This objection is natural enoi^h, and has been
duly considered from the first.
I propose to establish in connection with every Food and Shelter
Dep6t a Workshop or Labour Yard, in which any person who comes
destitute and starving will be supplied with sufficient work to enable
him to earn the fourpence needed for his bed and board. This is a
fundamental feature of the Scheme, and one which I think will
commend it to all those who are anxious to benefit the poor by
enabling them to help themselves without the demoralising interven-
tion of charitable relief.
Let us take our stand for a moment at the door of one of our
Shelters. There comes along a grimy, ragged, footsore tramp, his
feet bursting out from the sides of his shoes, his clothes all rags,
with filthy shirt and towselled hair. He has been, he tells you, on
the tramp for the last three weeks, seeking work and finding none,
slept last night on the Embankment, and wants to know if you can
give him a bite and a sup, and shelter for the night. Has he any
money ? Not he ; he probabl}r spent the last penny he begged or
earned in a pipe of tobacco, with which to dull the cravings of his
hungry stomach. What are you to do with this man ?
Remember this is no fancy sketch — it is a typical case. There
are hundreds and thousands of such applicants. Any one who is
at all familiar with life in London and our other large towns, will
recognise that gaunt figure standing there asking for bread and
shelter or for work by which he can obtain both. What can we
do with him? Before him Society stands paralysed, quieting its
conscience every now and then by an occasional dole of bread
106 WORK FOR THE OUT-OF-WORKS.— THE FACTORY.
and soup, varied with the semi-criminal treatment of the Casual
Ward, until the manhood is crushed out of the man and you have in
your hands a reckless, despairing, spirit-broken creature, with not even
an aspiration to rise above his miserable circumstances, covered with
vermin and filth, sinking ever lower and lower, until at last he is
hurried out of sight in the rough shell which carries him to a pauper's
grave.
I propose to take that man, put a strong arm round him, and
extricate him from the mire in which he is all but suffocated. As a
first step we will say to him, ** ^ou are hungry, here is food ; you
are homeless, here is a shelter for your head ; but remember you
must work for your rations. This is not charity ; it is work for the
workless, help for those who cannot help themselves. There is the
labour shed, go and earn your fourpence, and then come in out of
the cold and the wet into the warm shelter ; here is your mug of
coffee and your great chunk of bread, and after* you have finished
these there is a meeting going on in full swing with its joyful music-
and hearty human intercourse. There are those who pray for you
and with you, and will make you feel yourself a brother among men.
There is your shake-down on the floor, where you will have your
warm, quiet bed, undisturbed by the ribaldry and curses with which
you have been familiar too long. There is the wash-house, where
you can have a thorough wash-up at last, aft^r all these days of
unwashedness. There is plenty of soap and warm water and clean
towels ; there. Coo, you can wash your shirt and have it dried while
you sleep. In the morning when you get up there will be breakfast
for you, and your shirt will be dry and clean. Then when you are
washed and rested, and are no longer faint with hunger, you can go
and seek a job, or go back to the Labour shop until something better
turns up."
But where and how ?
Now let me introduce you to our Labour Yard. Here is no
pretence of charity beyond the charity which gives a man remunera-
tive labour. It is not our business to pay men wages. What we
propose is to enable those, male or female, who are destitute, to earn
their rations and do enough work to pay for their lodging until they
are able to go out into the world and earn wages for themselves.
There is no compulsion upon any one to resort to our shelter, but if
a penniless man wants food he must, as a rule, do work sufficient to
pay for what he has of that and of other accommodation. I say as a rule
NOT CHARITY, BUT WORK. 107
because, of course, our Officers will be allowed to make exceptions in -
extreme cases, but the rule will be first work then eat. And
that amount of work will be exacted rigorously. It is that which
distinguishes this Scheme from mere charitable relief. --
I do not wish to have any hand in establishing a new centre of
demoralisation. I do not want my customers to be pauperised by
being treated to anything which they do not earn. To develop
self-respect in the man, to make him feel that at last he has
got his foot planted on the first rung of the ladder which leads
upwards, is vitally important, and this cannot be done unless the
bargain between him and me is strictly carried out. So much coffee,
so much bread, so much shelter, so much warmth and light from me,
but so much labour in return from him.
What labour ? it is asked. For answer to this question I would
like to take you down to our Industrial Workshops in Whitechapel.
There you will see the Scheme in experimental operation. What we
are doing there we propose to do everywhere up to the extent of the
necessity, and there is no reason why we should fail elsewhere if we
can succeed there.
Our Industrial Factory at Whitechapel was established this Spring.
We opened it on a very small scale. It has developed until we have
nearly ninety men at work. Some of these are skilled workmen
who are engaged in carpentry. The particular job they have now
in hand is the making of benches for the Salvation Army. Others
are engaged in mat making, some are cobblers, others painters, and
so forth. This trial effort has, so far, answered admirably. No
one who is taken on comes for a permanency. So long as he is
, willing to work for his rations he is supplied with materials and
provided with skilled superintendents. The hours of work are
eight per day. Here are the rules and regulations under which the
work is carried on at present : —
THE SALVATION ARMY SOCIAL REFORM WING.
Temporary Headquarters —
36, Upper Thames Street, London, E.C.
CITY INDUSTRIAL WORKSHOPS.
Objects. — ^These workshops are open for the relief of the unemployed and
■ destitute, the object being to make it unnecessary for the homeless or workless
to be compelled to go to the Workhouse or Casual Ward, food and shelter being
provided for them in exchange for work done by them, until they can procure
work for themselves, or it can be found for them elsewhere.
108 WORK FOR THE OUT-OF-WOilKS.-THE FACTORY.
Plan of Operation. — ^All those appljdng for assistance will be placed in
what is termed the first class. They must be willing to do any kind of work
allotted to them. While they remain in the first class, they shall be entitled to
three meals a day, and shelter for the night, and will be expected in return to
cheerfully perform the work allotted to them.
Promotions will be made from this first-class to the second-class of all those
considered eligible by the Labour Directors. They will, in addition to the food
and shelter above mentioned, receive sums of money up to 5s. at the end of the
week, for the purpose of assisting them to provide themselves with tools, to get
work outside.
Regulations. — No smoking, drinking, bad language, or conduct calculated^
to demoralize will be permitted on the factory premises. No one under the-
influence of drink will be admitted. Any one refusing to work, or guilty of bad
conduct, will be required to leave the premises.
Hours of Work. — 7 a.m. to 8.30 a.m.; 9 a.m. to i p.m.; 2 p.m. to 5.30 p.m.
Doors will be closed 5 minutes after 7, 9, and 2 p.m. Food Checks will be
given to all as they pass out at each meal time. Meals and Shelter provided at
272, Whitechapel Road.
Our practical experience shows that we can provide work by which
a man can earn his rations. We shall be careful not to sell the goods
so manufactured at less than the market prices. In firewood, for
instance, we have endeavoured to be rather above the average than
below it. As stated elsewhere, we are firmly opposed to injuring
one class of workmen while helping another.
Attempts on somewhat similar lines to those now being described
have hitherto excited the liveliest feelings of jealousy on the part of
the Trade Unions, and representatives of labour. They rightly
consider it unfair that labour partly paid for out of the Rates and
Taxes, or by Charitable Contributions, should be put upon the market
at less than market value, and so compete unjustly with the pro-
duction of those who have in the first instance to furnish an impor-
tant quota of the funds by which these Criminal or Pauper workers
are supported. No such jealousy can justly exist in relation to our .
Scheme, seeing that we are endeavouring to raise the standard of
labour and are4)ledged to a war to the death against sweating in
every shape and form.
But, it will be asked, how do these Out-of- Works conduct
themselves when you get them into the Factory ? Upon this point L
have a very satisfactory report to render. Many, no doubt, are below
par, under-fed, and suffering from ill health, or the consequence of
THE RESULT OF PRACTICAL EXPERIMENT, 109
their intemperance. Many also are old men, who have been crowded
out of the labour market by their younger generation. But, without
making too many allowances on these grounds, I may fairly say that
these men have shown themselves not only anxious and willing, but
able to work. Our Factory Superintendent reports : —
Of loss of time there has practically been none since the opening, June 29th.
£^ch man during his stay, with hardly an exception, has presented himself
punctually at opening time and worked more or less assiduously the whole of
the labour hours. The morals of the men have been good, in not more than
three instances has there been an overt act of disobedience, insubordination, or
mischief. The men, as a whole, are uniformly civil, willing, and satisfied ; they
are all fairly industrious, some, and that not a few, are assiduous and energetic.
The Foremen have had no serious complaints to make^or delinquencies to report.
On the I Sth of August I had a return made of the names and
trades and mode of employment of the men at work. Of the forty
in the shops at that moment, eight were carpenters, twelve labourers,
two tailors, two sailors, three clerks, two engineers, while among the
rest was a shoemaker, two grocers, a cooper, a sailmaker, a musician, •
a painter, and a stonemason. Nineteen of these were employed in
sawing, cutting and tying up firewood, six were making mats, seven
making sacks, and the rest were employed in various odd jobs.
Among them was a Russian carpenter who could not speak a word
of English. The whole place is a hive of industry which fills the
hearts of those who go to see it with hope that something is about
to be done to solve the difficulty of the unemployed.
Although our Factories will be permanent institutions they will not
be anything more than temporary resting-places to those who avail
themselves ot their advantages. They are harbours of refuge into
which the storm-tossed workman may run and re-fit, so that he may
again push out to the ordinary sea of labour and earn his living.
The establishment of these Industrial Factories seems to be one of
the most-obvious duties of those who jvould effectually deal with the
Social Problem. They are as indispensable a link in the chain of
deliverance as the Shelters, but they are only a link and not a
stopping-place. And we do not propose that they should be
regarded as anything but stepping-stones to better things.
These Shops will also be of service for men and women temporarily
unemployed who have families, and who possess some sort of a
home. In numerous instances, if by any means these unfortunates
could find bread and rent for a few weeks, they would tide over
110 WORK FOR THE OUT-OF-WORKS.-THE FACTORY.
their difficulties, and an untold amount of misery would be averted.
In such cases Work would be supplied at their own homes where
preferred, especially for the women and children, and such remunera-
tion would be aimed at as would supply the immediate necessities of
the hour. To those who have rent to pay and families to support
something beyond rations would be indispensable.
The Labour Shops will enable us to work out our Anti-Sweating
experiments. For instance, we propose at once to commence manu-
facturing match boxes^ for which we shall aim at giving nearly treble
the amount at present paid to the poor starving creatures engaged in
this work.
In all these workshops our success will depend upon the extent
to which we are able to establish and maintain in the minds of the
workers sound moral sentiments and to cultivate a spirit of hope-
fulness and aspiration. We shall continually seek to impress upon
them the fact that while we desire to feed the hungry, and clothe the
naked, and provide shelter for the shelterless, we are still more
anxious to bring about that regeneration of heart and life which is
essential to their future happiness and well-being.
But no compulsion will for a moment be allowed with respect to
religion. The man who professes to love and serve Grod will be
helped because of such profession, and the man who does not will
be helped in the hope that he will, sooner or later, in grati-
tude to God, do the same ; but there will be no melancholy misery-
making for any. There is no sanctimonious long face in the
Army. We talk freely about Salvation, because it is to us
the very light and joy of our existence. We are happy, and w;e
wish others to share our joy. We know by our own experience
that life is a very different thing when we have found the peace
of God, and are working together with Him for the salvation of the
world, instead of toiling for the realisation of worldly ambition cm:
the amassing of earthly gain. •
Section 3.— THE REGIMENTATION OF THE UNEMPLOYED.
Wlien we have got the homeless, penniless tramp washed, and
housed, and fed at the Shelter, and have secured him the means of
earning his fourpence by chopping firewood, or making mats or
cobbling the shoes of his fellow-labourers at the Factory, we have
next to seriously address ourselves to the problem of how to help
him to get back into the regular ranks of industry. The Shelter and
the Factory are but stepping-stones, which have this advantage, they
give us time to look round and to see what there is in a man and
what we can make of him.
The first and most obvious thing to do is to ascertain whether
there is any demand in the regular market for the labour which is
thus thrown upon our hands. In order to ascertain this I have
already established a Labour Bureau, the operations of which I
shall at once largely extend, at which employers can register their
needs, and workmen can register their names and the kind of work
they can do.
At present there is no labour exchange in existence in this country.
Thecolumnsof the daily newspaper are the only substitute for this much
needed register. It is one of the many patnful consequences arising
from the overgrowth of cities. In a village where everybody knows
everybody else this necessity does not exist. If a farmer wants a
couple of extra men for mowing or some more women for binding
at harvest time, he runs over in his mind the names of every avail-
able person in the parish. Even in a small town there is little
difficulty in knowing who wants employment. But in the cities
this knowledge is not available ; hence we constantly hear of per-
sons who would be very glad to employ labour for odd jobs in an
occasional stress of work while at the same time hundreds of persons
are starving for want of work at another end of the town. To meet
this evil the laws of Supply and Demand have created the Sweating
112 THE REGIMENTATION OF THE UNEMPLOYED.
Middlemen, who farm out the unfortunates and charge so heavy a
commission for their share that the poor wretches who do the work
receive hardly enough to keep body and soul together. I propose
to change all this by establishing Registers which will enable us to
lay our hands at a moment's notice upon all the unemployed men in
a district^ in any particular trade. In this way we should become
the universal intermediary between those who have- no employment
and those who want workmen.
In this we do not propose to supersede or interfere with the
regular Trade Unions. Where Unions exist we should place our-
selves in every case in communication with their officials. But the
most helpless mass of misery is to be found among the unorganised
labourers who have no Union, and who are, therefore, the natural
prey of the middleman. Take, for instance, one of the most
wretched classes of the community, the poor fellows who per-
ambulate the streets as Sandwich Men. These are farmed out by
certain firms. If you wish to send fifty or a hundred men through
London carrying boards announcing the excellence of your goods,
you go to an advertising firm who will undertake to supply you
with as many sandwich men as you want for two shillings or half a
crown a day. The men are forthcoming, your goods are advertised,
you pay your money, but how much of that goes to the men ?
About one shilling, or one shilling and threepence ; the rest goes to
the middleman. I propose to supersede this middleman by forming
a Co-operative Association of Sandwich Men. At every Shelter there
would be a Sandwich Brigade .^eady in any numbers when wanted.
The cost of registration and organisation, which the men would
gladly pay, need not certainly amount to more than a penny in the
shilling.
All that is needed is to establish a trustworthy and disinterested
centre round which the unemployed can group themselves, and
which will form the nucleus of a great CoHDperative Self-helping
Association. The advantages of such a Bureau are obvious. But in
this, also, I do not speak from theory. I have behind me the
experience of seven months of labour both in England and Australia.
In London we have a registration office in Upper Thames Street,
where the unemployed come every morning in droves to register
their names and to see whether they can obtain situations. In
Australia, I see, it was stated in the House of Assembly that our
Officers had been instrumental in finding situations for no less than
THE LABOUR BUREAU AT WORK. 113
one hundred and thirty-two " Out-of-Works " in a few days. Here,
in London, we have succeeded in obtaining employment for a great
number, although, of course, it is beyond our power to help all
those who apply. We have sent hay-makers down to the country
and there is every reason to believe that when our Organisation
is better known, and in more extended operation, we shall
have a great labour exchange between town and country, so
that when there is scarcity in one place and congestion in another
there will be information immediately sent, so that the surplus labour
can be drafted into those districts where labour is wanted. For
instance, in the harvest seasons, with changeable weather, it is quite
a common occurrence for the crops to be seriously damaged for want
of labourers, while at the same time there will be thousands wandering
about in the big towns and cities seeking work, but finding no one to
hire them. Extend this system all over the world, and make it not
only applicable to the transfer of workers between the towns and the
provinces, but between Country and Country, and it is impossible to
exaggerate the enormous advantages which would result. The officer
in charge of our experimental Labour Bureau sends me the following
notes as to what has already been done through the agency of the
Upper Thames Street office : —
SALVATION ARMY SOCIAL REFORM WING.
LABOR BUREAU.
Bureau opened June i6th, 1890. The following are particulars of transactions
vp to September 26th, 1890 : —
Applications for employment — Men
Women
Applications from Employers tor Men
„ It Women ...
Sent to Work— Men ...
n Women ... •.• ...
•••
Women
2462
208
2670
128
59
187
301
68
•
369
Permanent Situations 146
Temporary Employment, viz: — Boardmen,
Cleaners, &c., Ac. 223
Seat to Workshop in Hanbuiy Street 165
H
Section 4.— THE HOUSEHOLD SALVAGE BRIGADE.
It is obvious that the moment you begin to find work for the un-
employed labour of the community, no matter what you do by way
of the registration and bringing together of those who want work
and those who want workers, there will still remain a vast residuum
of unemployed, and it will be the duty of those who undertake to
deal with the question to devise means for securing them employ-
ment. Many things are possible when there is a directing in-
telligence at headquarters and discipline in the rank and file, which
would be utterly impossible when everyone is left to go where he
pleases, when ten men are running for one man's job, and when no
one can be depended upon to be in the way at the time he is
wanted. When my Scheme is carried out, there will be in every
populous centre a Captain of Industry, an Officer specially charged
with the regimentation of unorganised labour, who would be con-
tinually on the alert, thinking how best to utilise the waste human
material in his district. It is contrary to all previous experience to
suppose that the addition of so much trained intelligence will not
operate beneficially in securing the disposal of a commodity which is
at present a drug in the market.
Robertson, of Brighton, used frequently to remark that every
truth was built up of two apparent contradictory propositions. In
the same way I may say that the solution of every social difficulty
is to be found in the discovery of two corresponding difficulties. It
Is like the puzzle maps of children. When you are putting one
together, you suddenly come upon some awkward piece that will not
fit in anywhere, but you do not in disgust and despair break your
piece into fragments or throw it away. On the contrary, you keep
it by you, knowing that before long you will discover a number of
other pieces which it will be impossible to fit in until you fix your
unmanageable, unshapely piece in the centre. Now, in the work of
WANTED, A NERVOUS SYSTEM FOR SOCIETY. 116
piecing together the fragments which lie scattered around the base
of our social system we must not despair because we have in the
unorganised, untrained labourers that which seems hopelessly out
of fit with everything around. There must be something correspond-
ing to it which is equally useless until he can be brought to bear
upon it. In other words, having got one difficulty in the case of the
Out-of-Works, we must cast about to find another difficulty to pair off
against it, and then out of t^o difficulties will arise the solution of
the problem.
We shall not have far to seek before we discover in every town
and in every <:ountry the corresponding element to our unemployed
labourer. We have waste labour on the one hand ; we have waste
commodities on the other. About waste land I shall speak in the
next chapter ; I am concerned now solely with waste commodities.
Herein we have a means of immediately emplpying a large number
of men under conditions which will enable us to permanently provide
for many of those whose hard lot we are now considering.
I propose to establish in every large town what I may call " A
Household Salvage Brigade," a civil force of organised collectors,
who will patrol the whole town as regularly as the policeman, who
will have their appointed beats, and each of whom will be entrusted
with the task of collecting the waste of the houses in their circuit.
In small towns and villages this is already done, and it will be
noticed that most of the suggestions which I have put forth in this
book are based upon the central principle, which is that of restoring
to the over-grown, and, therefore, uninformed masses of population
in our towns the same intelligence and co-operation as to the mutual
wants of each and all, that prevails in your small town or village.
The latter is the manageable unit, because its dimensions and its
needs have not out-grown the range of the individual intelligence
and ability of those who dwell therein. Our troubles in large
towns arise chiefly from the fact that the massing of population
has caused the physical bulk of Society to outgrow its intelligence.
It is as if a human being had suddenly developed fresh limbs which
were not connected by any nervous system with the gray matter of
his brain. Such a thing is impossible in the human being, but,
unfortunately, it is only too possible in human society. In the
human body no member can suffer without an instantaneous tele-
gram being despatched, as it were, to the seat of intelligence ; the
foot or the finger cries out when it suffers, and the whole body
/
116 THE HOUSEHOLD SALVAGE BRIGADE.
suffers with it. So, in a small community, every one, rich and poor,
is more or less cognizant of the sufferings of the community. In a
large town, where people have ceased to be neighbourly, there is
only a congested mass of population settled down on a certain small
area without any human ties connecting them together. Here,
it is perfectly possible, and it frequently happens, that men
actually die of starvation within a few doors of those who,
if they had been informed of the • actual condition of the
sufferer that lay within earshot of their comfortable drawing-
rooms, would have been eager to minister the needed relief. What
we have to do, therefore, is to grow a new nervous system for the
body politic, to create a swift, almost automatic, means of communi-
cation between the community as a whole and the meanest of its
members, so as to restore to the city what the village possesses.
I do not say that the plan which I have suggested is the only
plan or the best plan conceivable. All that I claim for it is that it
is the only plan which I can conceive as practicable at the present
moment, and that, as a matter of fact, it holds the field alone, for no
one, so far as I have been able to discover, even proposes to reconsti-
tute the connection between what I have called the gray matter of
the brain of the municipal community and all the individual units
which make up the body politic.
Carrying out the same idea I come to the problem of the waste
commodities of the towns, and we will take this as an earnest of the
working out of the general principle. In the villages there is very
little waste. The sewage is applied directly to the land, and so
becomes a source of wealth instead of being emptied into great
subterranean reservoirs, to generate poisonous gases, which by a
most ingenious arrangement, are then poured forth into the
very heart of our d^yellings, as is the case in the great cities.
Neither is there any waste of broken victuals. The villager
has his pig or his poultry, or if he has not a pig his
neighbour has one, and the collection of broken victuals is con-
ducted as regularly as the delivery of the post. And as it is with
broken victuals, so it is with rags and bones, and old iron, and all
the debris of a household. When I was a boy one of the most
familiar figures in the streets of a country town was the man, who,
with his small hand-barrow or donkey-cart, made a regular patrol
through all the streets once a week, collecting rags, bones, and all
other waste materials, buying the same from the juveniles who
HOW TO DEAL WITH LONDON. 117
collected them in specie, not of Her Majestys current coin, but of
common sweetmeats, known as " claggum " or " taffy." When the
tootling of his familiar horn was heard the children would bring
out their stores, and trade as best they could with the itinerant
merchant, with the result that the closets which in our towns to-day
have become the receptacles of all kinds of disused lumber were
kept then swept and garnished. Now, what I want to know is why
can we not establish on a scale commensurate with our extended
needs the rag-and-bone industry in all our great towns ? That there is
sufficient to pay for the collection is, I think, indisputable. If it paid
in a small North-country town or Midland village, why would it not
pay much better in an area where the houses stand more closely
together, and where luxurious living and thriftless habits have so
increasgd that there must be proportionately far more breakage,
more waste, and, therefore, more collectable matter than in the rural
districts ? In looking over the waste of London it has occurred to
me that in the debris of our households there is sufficient food, it
utilised, to feed many of the starving poor, and to employ some
thousands of them in its collection, and, in addition, largely to assist
the general scheme.
What I propose would be to go to work on something like the
following plan : —
London would be divided into districts, beginning with that port-
tion of it most likely to furnish the largest supplies of what would be
worth collection. Two men, or a man and a boy, would be told ofi
for this purpose to this district. ^
Households would be requested to allow a receptacle to be placed
in some convenient spot in which the servants could deposit the
waste food, and a sack of some description would also be supplied
for the paper, rags, &c.
The whole would be collected, say once or twice a week, or more
frequently, according to the season and circumstances, and transferred
to dep6ts as central as possible to the different districts.
At present much of this waste is thrown into the dust-bin, there
to fester and breed disease. Then there are old newspapers, ragged
books, old bottles, tins, canisters, etc. We all know what a number
of articles there are which are not quite bad enough to be thrown
into the dust heap, and yet are no good to us. We put
them on one side, hoping that something may turn up, and
as that something very seldom does turn up, there they remain*
118 THE HOUSEHOLD SALVAGE BRIGADE.
Crippled musical instruments, for instance, old toys, broken-oown
perambulators, old clothes, all the things, in short, for which we
have no more need, and for which there is no market within our
reach, but which we feel it would be a sin and a shame to destroy.
When I get my Household Salvage Brigade properly organised,
beginning, as I said, in some district where we should be likely to
meet with most material, our uniformed collectors would call every
other day or twice a week with their hand barrow or pony cart. As
these men would be under strict discipline, and numbered, the house-
holder would have a security against any abuse of which such
regular callers might otherwise be the occasion.
At present the rag and bone man who drives a more or less pre-
carious livelihood by intermittent visits, is looked upon askance by
prudent housewives. They fear in many cases he takes the refuse
in order to have the opportunity of finding something which may be
worth while ** picking up," and should he be impudent or negligent
there is no authority to whom they can appeal. Under our Brigade,
each district would have its numbered officer, who would himself be
subordinate to a superior officer, to whom any complaints could be
made, and whose duty it would be to see that the officers under his
command punctually performed their rounds and discharged their
duties without offence.
Here let me disclaim any intention of interfering with the Little
Sisters of the Poor, or any other persons, who collect the broken
victuals of hotels and other establishments for charitable purposes.
My object is not to poach on my neighbour's domains, nor shall I
ever be a party to any contentious quarrels for the control of this or
that source of supply. All that is already utilised I regard as outside
my sphere. The unoccupied wilderness of waste is a wide enough
area for the operations of our Brigade. But it will be found in
practice that there are no competing agencies. While the broken
victuals of certain large hotels are regularly collected, the things
before enumerated, and a number of others, are untouched because not
sought after.
Of the immense extent to which Food is wasted few people hav^
any notion except those who have made actual experiments. Some
years ago, Lady Wolseley established a system of collection from
house to house in Mayfair, in order to secure materials for a
charitable kitchen which, in concert with Baroness Burdett-Coutts, she
had started at Westminster. The amount of the food which she
WASTE FOOD AND OLD CLOTHES. 119
gathered was enormous. Sometimes legs of mutton from which only
one or two slices had been cut were thrown into the tub, where they
waited for the arrival of the cart on its rounds. It is by no means
an excessive estimate to assume that the waste of the kitchens of
the West End would provide a sufficient sustenance for all the Out-
of- Works who will be employed in our labour sheds at the
industrial centres. All that it needs is collection, prompt, systematic,
by disciplined men who can be relied upon to discharge their task
with punctuality and civility, and whose failure in this duty can be
directly brought to the attention of the controlling authority.
Of the utilisation of much of the food which is to be so collected I
shall speak hereafter, when I come to describe the second great
division of my scheme, namely the Farm Colony. Much of the food
collected by the Household Salvage Brigade would not be available
for human consumption. In this the greatest care would be exercised,
and the remainder would be dispatched, if possible, by barges down
the river to the Farm Colony, where we shall meet it hereafter.
But food is only one of the materials which we should handle.
At our Whitechapel Factory there is one shoemaker whom we picked
off the streets destitute and miserable. He is now saved, and
happy, and cobbles away at the shoe leather of his mates. That
shoemaker, I foresee, is but the pioneer of a whole army of shoe-
makers constantly at work in repairing the cast-off boots and shoos
of Ilondon. Already in some provincial towns a great business is
done by the conversion of old shoes into new. They call the men
so employed translators. Boots and shoes, ats every wearer of
them knows, c^o not go to pieces all at once or in all parts at once.
The sole often wears out utterly, while the upper leather is quite
good, or the upper leather bursts while the sole remains practically
in a salvable condition ; but your individual pair of shoes and boots
are no good to you when any section of them is hopelessly gone to
the bad. But give our trained artist in leather and his army of
assistants a couple of thousand pairs of boots and shoes, and it will
go ill with him if out of the couple of thousand pairs of wrecks he
cannot construct five hundred pairs, which, if not quite good, will
be immeasurably better than the apologies for boots which cover
the feet of many a poor tramp, to say nothing of the thousands of
poor children who are at the present moment attending our public
schools. In some towns they have already established a Boot and
Shoe Fund in order to provide the little ones who come to school
120 THE HOUSEHOLD SALVAGE BRIGADE.
with shoes warranted not to let in water between the school house
and home. When you remember the 43,000 children who are
reported by the School Board to attend the schools of London alone
unfed and starving, do you not think there are many thousands to
whom we could easily dispose, with advantage, the resurrected shoes
of our Boot Factory ?
This, however, is only one branch of industry. Take old
umbrellas. We all know the itinerant umbrella mender, whose
appearance in the neighbourhood of the farmhouse leads the good
wife to look after her poultry and to see well to it that the watch-
dog is on the premises. But that gentleman is almost the only
agency by which old umbrellas can be rescued from the dust heap.
Side by side with our Boot Factory we shall have a great umbrella
works. The ironwork of one umbrella will be fitted to the stick of
another, and even from those that are too hopelessly gone for any
further use as umbrellas we shall find plenty of use for their steels
and whalebone.
So I might go on. Bottles are a fertile source of minor domestic
worry. When you buy a bottle you have to pay a penny for it ;
but when you have emptied it you cannot get a penny back ; no, nor
even a farthing. You throw your empty bottle either into the dust
heap, or let it lie about. But if we could collect all the waste bottles
of London every day, it would go hardly with us if we could not
turn a very pretty penny by washing them, sorting them, and send-
ing them out on a new lease of life. The washing of old bottles
alone will keep a considerable number of people going.
I can imagine the objection which will be raised by some short-
sighted people, that by giving the old, second-hand material a new
lease of life it will be said that we shall diminish the demand for
new material, and so curtail work and wages at one end while we
are endeavouring to piece on something at the other. This objec-
tion reminds me of a remark of a North Country pilot who, when,
speaking of the dulness in the shipbuilding industry, said that
nothing would do any good but a series of heavy storms, which
would send a goodly number of ocean-going steamers to the bottom,
to replace which, this political economist thought, the yards would
once more be filled with orders. This, however, is not the way in
which work is supplied. Economy is a great auxiliary to trade,
inasmuch as the money saved is expended on other products of
industry.
TIN TOYS FOR THE MILTON. 121
There is one material that is continually increasing in quantity,
which is the despair of the life of the householder and of the Local
Sanitary Authority. I refer to the tins in which provisions are
supplied. Nowadays everything comes to us in tins. We have
coffee tins, meat tins, salmon tins, and tins ad nauseam. Tin is
becoming more and more the universal envelope of the rations of
man. But when you have extracted the contents of the tin what
can you do with it ? Huge mountains of empty tins lie about every
dustyard, for as yet no man has discovered a means of utilising them
when in great masses. Their market price is about four or five
shillings a ton, but they are so light that it would take half a dozen
trucks to hold a ton. They formerly burnt them for the sake of the
solder, but now, by a new process, they are jointed without solder.
The problem of the utilisation of the tins is one to which we would
have to addiess ourselves, and I am by no means desponding as to
the result.
I see in the old tins of London at least one means of establishing
an industry which is at present almost monopolised by our ncigh-
boiu"s. Most of the toys which are sold in France on New Year's
Day are almost entirely made of sardine tins collected in the French
capital. The toy market of England is at present far from being
overstocked, for there are multitudes of children who have no toys
worth speaking of with which to amuse themselves. In these empty
tins I see a means of employing a large number of people in turning
out cheap toys which will add a new joy to the households of the
poor — the poor to whom every farthing is important, not the rich —
the rich can always get toys — but the children of the poor, who live
in one room and have nothing to look out upon but the slum or the
street These desolate little things need our toys, and if supplied
cheap enough they will take them in sufficient quantities to make it
worth while to manufacture them.
A whole book might be written concerning the utilisation of the
waste of London. But I am not going to write one. I hope before
long to do something much better- than write a book, namely, to
establish an organisation to utilise the waste, and then if I describe
what is being done it will be much better than by now explaining
what I propose to do. But there is one more waste material to
which it is necessary to allude. I refer to old newspapers and
magazines, and books. Newspapers accumulate in our houses until
we sometimes bum them in sheer disgust. Magazines and old books
122 THE HOUSEHOLD SALVAGE BRIGADE.
lumber our shelves until we hardly know where to turn to put a
new volume. My Brigade will relieve the householder from these
difficulties, and thereby become a great distributing agency of cheap
literature. After the magazine has done its duty in the middle
class household it can be passed on to the reading-rooms, work-
houses, and hospitals. Every publication issued from the Press
that is of the slightest use to men and women will, by our Scheme,
acquire a double share of usefulness. It will be read first by its
owner, and then by many people who would never otherwise see it.
We shall establish an immense second-hand book shop. All the
best books that come into our hands will be exposed for sale, not
merely at our central depots, but on the barrows of our peripatetic
colporteurs, who will go from street to street with literature which,
I trust, will be somewhat superior to the ordinary pabulum supplied
to the poor. After we have sold all we could, and given away all
that is needed to public institutions, the remainder will be carried
down to our great Paper Mill, of which we shall speak later, in
connection with our Farm Colony.
The Household Salvage Brigade will constitute an agency capable
of being utilised to any extent for the distribution of parcels
newspapers, &c. When once you have your reliable man who will
call at every house with the regularity of a postman, and go his beat
with the punctuality of a policeman, you can do great things with
him. I do not need to elaborate this point. It will be a universal
Corps of Commissionaires, created for the service of the public and
in the interests of the poor, which will bring us into direct relations
with every family in London, and will therefore constitute an
unequalled medium for the distribution of advertisements and the
collection of information.
It does not require a very fertile imagination to see that when
such a house-to-house visitation is regularly established, it will
develop in all directions ; and working, as it would, in connection
with our Anti-sweating Shops and Industrial Colony, would probably
soon become the medium for negotiating sundry household repairs,
from a broken window to a damaged stocking. If a porter were
wanted to move furniture, or a woman wanted to do charing, or some
one to clean windows or any other odd job, the ubiquitous Servant of
All who called for the waste, either verbally or by postcard, would re-
ceive the order, and whoever was wanted would appear at the time
desired without any further trouble on the part of the householder.
THE QUESTION OF COST. 123
One word as to the cost. There arc five hundred thousand houses
in the Metropolitan Police district. To supply every house with a
tub and a sack for the reception of waste would involve an initial ex-
penditure which could not possibly be less than one shilling a house.
So huge is London, and so enormous the numbers with which we shall
have to deal, that this simple preliminary would require a cost of
;fi'2 5,000. Of course I do not propose to begin on anything like such
a vast scale. That sum, which is only one of the many expenditures
involved, will serve to illustrate the extent of the operations which
the Household Salvage Brigade will necessitate. The enterprise
is therefore beyond the reach of any but a great and powerful
organisation, commanding capital and able to secure loyalty,
disciplinci and willing service.
CHAPTER in.
TO THE COUNTRY!— THE FARM COLONY.
I leave on one side for a moment various features of the operations
which will be indispensable but subsidiary to the City Colony, such
as the Rescue Homes for Lost Women, the Retreats for lnebriateS| the
Homes for Discharged Prisoners, the Enquiry Office for the Discovery
of Lost Friends and Relatives, and the Advice Bureau, which will, in
time, become an institution that will be invaluable as a poor man's
Tribune. All these and other suggestions for saving the lost and
helping the poor, although they form essential elements of the City
Colony, wiir be better dealt with after I have explained the relation
which the Farm Colony will occupy to the City Colony, and set forth
the way in which the former will act as a feeder to the Colony Over
oca*
I have already described how I propose to deal, in the first case,
with the mass of surplus labour which will infallibly accumulate on
our hands as soon as the Shelters are more extensively established
and in good working order. But I fully recognise that when all has
been done that can be done in the direction of disposing of the
unhired men and women of the town, there will still remain many
whom you can neither employ in the Household' Salvage
Brigade, nor for whom employers, be they registered never so care-
fully, can be found. What, then, must be done with them ? The
answer to that question seems to me obvious. They must go upon
the land 1
The land is the source of all food ; only by the application of
labour can the land be made fully productive. There is any amount
of waste land in the world, not far away in distant Continents, next
door to the North Pole, but here at our very doors. Have you ever
calculated^ for instance, the square miles of unused land which fringe
the sides of all our railroads ? l^o dowbx. som^ ^xEvVi^akscieat* are of
THE LAND IS WORTH CULTIVATING. 126
material that would baffle the cultivating skill of a Chinese or the
careful husbandry of a Swiss mountaineer; but these arc exceptions.
When other people talk of reclaiming Salisbury Plain, or of
cultivating the bare moorlands of the bleak North, I think of the
hundreds of square miles of land that lie in long ribbons on the side
of each of our railways, upon which, without any cost for cartage,
innumerable tons of City manure could be shot down, and the crops
of which could be carried at once to the nearest market without any
but the initial cost of heaping into convenient trucks. These
railway embankments constitute a vast estate, capable of growing
fruit enough to supply all the jam that Crosse and Blackwell ever
boiled. In almost every county in England are vacant farms, and,
in still greater numbers, farms but a quarter cultivated, which only
need the application of an industrious population working with due
incentive to produce twice, thrice, and four times as much as they
yield to-day.
I am aware that there are few subjects upon which there are
such fierce controversies as the possibilities of making a liveli-
hood out of small holdings, but Irish cottiers do it, and
in regions infinitely worse adapted for the purpose than
our Essex com lands, and possessing none of the advantages which
civilization and co-operation place at the command of an intelligently
directed body of husbandmen. Talk about the land not being worth
cultivating 1 Go to the Swiss Valleys and examine for yourself the
miserable patches of land, hewed out as it were from the heart of the
granite mountains, where the cottager grows his crops and makes a
livelihood. No doubt he has his Alp, where his cows pasture in
summer-time, and his other occupations which enable him to supplement
the scWy yield of his farm garden among the crags ; but if it pays
the Swiss mountaineer in the midst of the eternal snows, far removed
from any market, to cultivate such miserable soil in the brief summer
of the high Alps, it is impossible to believe that Englishmen, working
on English soil, close to our markets and enjoying all the advantages
of co-operation, cannot earn their daily bread by their daily toil.
The soil of England is not unkindly, and although much is said
against our climate, it is, as Mr. Russell Lowell observes, after a
lengthened experience of many countries and many climes, " the besc
climate in the whole world for the labouring man." There are more
days in the English year on which a man can work out of
doors with a spade with comparative comfort than in any
SicnoN i.^THE FARM PROPER.
My present idea is to take an estate from five hundred to a
thousand acres within reasonable distance of London. It should be of
such land as will be suitable for market gardening, while having some
clay on it for brick-making and for crops requiring a heavier soil.
If possible, it should not only be on a line of railway which is
managed by intelligent and progressive directors, but it should have
access to the sea and to the river. It should be freehold land, and
it should lie at some considerable distance from any town or village.
The reason for the latter desideratum is obvious. We must be near
London for the sake of our market and for the transmission of the
commodities collected by our Household Salvage Brigade, but it
must be some little distance from any town or village in order
that the Colony may be planted clear out in the open away from the
public house, that upas tree of civilisation. A sine qud non of the
new Farm Colony is that no intoxicating liquors will be permitted
within its confines on any pretext whatever. The doctors will have
to prescribe some other stimulant than alcohol for residents in this
Colony. But it will be little use excluding alcohol with a strong
hand and by cast-iron regulations if the Colonists have only to take
a short walk in order to find themselves in the midst of the " Red
Lions," and the " Blue Dragons," and the " George the Fourths,"
which abound in every country town.
Having obtained the land I should proceed to prepare it for the
Colonists. This is an operation which is essentially the same in any
country. You need water supply, provisions and shelter. All
this would be done at first in the simplest possible style. Our
pioneer brigade, carefully selected from the competent Out-of-Works
in the City Colony, would be sent down to lay out the estate and
prepare it for those who would come after. And here let me say
that it is a great delusion to imagine that in the riffraff' and waste of
the labour market there are no workmen to be had except those that
are worthless. Worthless under the present conditions, exposed to
constant temptations to intemperance no doubt they arc, but some of
the brightest men in London, with some of the smartest pairs of
hands, and the cleverest brains, are at the present moment weltering
helplessly in the sludge from which we propose to rescue them.
TN PRAISE OF TOMMY ATKINS. 129
I am not speaking without book in this matter. Some of my best
Officers to-day have been even such as they. There is an infinite
potentiality of capacity lying latent in our Provincial Tap-rooms
and the City Gin Palaces if you can but get them soundly saved,
and even short of that, if you can place them in conditions where
they would no longer be Hable to be sucked back into their old
disastrous habits, you may do great things with them.
I can well imagine the incredulous laughter which will greet my
proposal. "What," it will be said, "do you think that you can
create agricultural pioneers out of the scum of Cockneydom ? " Let
us look for a moment at the ingredients which make up what you
call "the scum of Cockneydom." After careful examination and
close cross-questioning of the Out-of- Works, whom we have already
registered at our Labour Bureau, we find that at least sixty per cent,
are country folk, men, women, boys, and girls, who have left their
homes in the counties to come up to town in the hope of bettering
themselves. They are in no sense of the word Cockneys, and they
represent not the dregs ot the country but rather its brighter and
more adventurous spirits who have boldly tried to make their way
in new and uncongenial spheres and have terribly come to grief. Of
thirty cases, selected haphazard, in the various Shelters during the
week ending July 5th, 1890, twenty-two were country-born, sixteen
were men who had come up a long time ago, but did not ever seem
to have settled to regular employ, and four were old military men.
Of sixty cases examined into at the Bureau and Shelters during the
fortnight ending August 2nd, forty-two were country people ; twenty-
six men who had been in London for various periods, ranging from
six months to four years ; nine were lads under eighteen, who had
run dway from home and come up to town ; while four were
ex-military. Of eighty-five cases of dossers who were spoken to at
night when they slept in the streets, sixty-three were country people.
A very small proportion of the genuine homeless Out-of- Works are
Londoners bred and born.
There is another element in the matter, the existence of which
will be news to most people, and that is the large proportion of
ex-military men who are among the helpless, hopeless destitute.
Mr. Arnold White, after spending many months in the streets of
London interrogating more than four thousand men whom he found
in the course of one bleak winter sleeping out of doors like animals
returns it as his conviction that at least 20 per cent, are Army
I
130 THE FARM PROPER.
Reserve men. Twenty per cent ! That is to say one man in every
five with whom we shall have to deal has served Her Majesty the
Queen under the colours. This is the resource to which, these poor
fellows come after they have given the prime of their lives to the
service of their country. Although this may be largely brought about
by their own thriftless and evil conduct, it is a scandal and dis-
grace which may well make the cheek of the patriot tingle. Still,
I see in it a great resource. A man who has been in the Queen's
Army is a man who has learnt to obey. He is further a man
who has been taught in the roughest of rough schools to be handy
and smart, to make the best of the roughest fare, and not to consider
himself a martyr if he is sent on a forlorn hope. I often say if we
could only get Christians to have one-half of the practical devotion
and sense of duty that animates even the commonest Tommy Atkins
what a change would, be brought about in the world !
Look at poor Tommy ! A country lad who gets himself into some
scrape, runs away from home, finds himself sinking lower and lower,
with no hope of employment, no friends to advise him, and no one to
give him a helping hand. In sheer despair he takes the Queen's
shilling and enters the ranks. He is handed over to an inexorable
drill sergeant, he is compelled to room in barracks where privacy
is unknown, to mix with men, many of them vicious, few of them
companions whom he would of his own choice select. He gets his
rations, and although he is told he will get a shilling a day, there
are so many stoppages that he often does not finger a shiHing a
week. He is drilled and worked and ordered hither and thither as
if he were a machine, all of which he takes cheerfully, without even
considering that there is any hardship in^ his lot, plodding on in a
dull, stolid kind of way for his Queen and his country, doing his
best, also, poor chap, to be proud of his red uniform, and to cultivate
his self-respect by reflecting that he is one of the defenders of his
native land, one of the heroes upon whose courage and endurance
depends the safety of the British realm.
Some fine day at the other end of the world some prancing
pro-consul finds it necessary to smash one of the man-slaying
machines that loom ominous on his borders, or some savage
potentate makes an incursion into territory of a British colony, or
some fierce outburst of Mahommedan fanaticism raises up a Mahdi
in mid- Africa. In a moment Tommy Atkins is marched off to the
troop-ship, and swept across the seas, heart-sick and sea-sick,
THE SETTLERS ON THE FARM. 131
and miserable exceedingly, to fight the Queen's enemies in foreign
parts. When he arrives there he is bundled ashore, brigaded with
other troops, marched to the front through the blistering glare of a
tropical sun over poisonous marshes in which his comrades sicken
and die, until at last he is drawn up in square to receive the charge
of tens of thousands of ferocious savages. Far away from all
who love him or care for him, foot-sore and travel weary, having
eaten perhaps but a piece of dry bread in the last twenty-four hours,
he must stand up and kill or be killed. Often he falls beneath the
thrust of an assegai or the slashing broadsword of the charging
enemy. Then, after the fight is over his comrades turn up the sod
where he lies, bundle his poor bones into the shallow pit, and
leave him without even a cross to mark his solitary grave. Perhaps
he is fortunate and escapes. Yet Tommy goes uncomplainingly
through all these hardships and privations, does not think himself
a martyr, takes no fine airs about what he has done and suffered,
and shrinks uncomplainingly into our Shelters and our Factories,
only asking as a benediction from heaven that someone will
give him an honest job of work to do. That is the fate of Tommy
Atkins. If in our churches and chapels as much as one single
individual were to bear and dare, for the benefit of his kind and the
salvation of men, what a hundred thousand Tommy Atkins' bear
uncomplainingly, taking it all as if it were in the day's work, for their
rations and their shilling a day (with stoppages), think you we
should not transform the wh61e face of the world ? Yea, verily.
We find but very little of such devotion ; no, not in Israel.
• I look forward to making great use of these Army Reserve men.
There are engineers amongst them ; there are artillery men and
infantry ; there are cavalry men, who know what a horse needs to
keep him in good health, and men of the transport department, for
whom I shall find work enough to do in the transference of the
multitudinous waste of London from our town Dep6ts to the outlying
Farm. This, however, is a digression, by the way.
After having got the Farm into some kind of ship-shape, we should
select from the City Colonies all those who were likely to be
successful as our first settlers. These would consist of men who
had been working so many weeks or days in the Labour Factory, or
had been under observation for a reasonable time at the Shelters
or in the Slums, and who had given evidence of their willingness to
work, their amenity to discipline, and their ambition to improve
132 THE FARM PROPER.
themselves. On arrival at the Farm they would be installed in a
barracks, and at once told off to work. In winter time there would
be draining, and road-making, and fencing, and many other forms of
industry which could go on when the days are short and the nights
are long. In Spring, Summertime and Autumn, some would be
employed on the land, chiefly in spade husbandry, upon what is
called the system of " intensive " agriculture, such as prevails in
the suburbs of Paris, where the market gardeners literally create
the soil, and which yields much greater results than when you
merely scratch the surface with a plough.
Our Farm, I hope, would be as productive as a great market garden
There would be a Superintendeilt on the Colony, who would be
a practical gardener, familiar with the best methods of small
agriculture, and everything that science and experience shows to be
needful for the profitable treatment of the land. Then there would
be various other forms of industry continually in progress, so that
employment could be furnished, adapted to the capacity and skill of
every Colonist. Where farm buildings are wanted, the Colonists must
erect them themselves. If they want glass houses, they must put
them up. Everything on the Estate must be the production of the
Colonists. Take, for instance, the building of cottages. After the
first detachment has settled down into its quarters and bipught the
fields somewhat into cultivation, there will arise a demand for
houses. These houses must be built,, and the bricks made by the
Colonists themselves. All the carpentering and the joinery will be
done on the premises, and by this means a sustained demand for
work will be created. Then there would be furniture, clothing, and
a great many other wants, the supply of the whole of which would
create labour which the Colonists must perform.
For a long time to come the Salvation Army will be able to con-
sume all the vegetables and crops which the Colonies will produce.
That is one advantage of being connected with so great and grow-
ing a concern ; the right hand will help the left, and we shall be
able to do many things which those who devote themselves ex-
clusively to colonisation would find it impossible to accomplish.
We have seen the large quantities of provisions which are required
to supply the Food Dep6ts in their present dimensions, and with the
coming extensions the consumption will be enormously augmented.
On this Farm I propose to carry on every description of " little
agriculture.^
A TRAINING SCHOOL FOR EMIGRANTS. 133
I have not yet referred to the female side of our operations, but
have reserved them for another chapter. It is necessary, however,
to bring them in here in order to expfain that employment will be
created for women as well as men. Fruit farming affords a great
opening for female labour, and it will indeed be a change as
from Tophet to the Garden of Eden when the poor lost girls on the
streets of London exchange the pavements of Piccadilly for the straw-
berry beds of Essex or Kent.
Not only will vegetables and fruit of every description be raised,
but I think that a great deal might be done in the"^ smaller adjuncts of
the Farm. ,
It is quite certain that amongst the mass of people with whom we
have to deal there will be. a residual remnant of persons to some
extent mentally infirm or physically incapacitated from engaging in
the harder toils. For these people it is necessary to find workgpnd
I think there would be a good field for their benumbed energies
in looking after rabbits, feeding poultry, minding bees, and, in short
doing all those little odd jobs about a place which must be attended
to, but which will not repay the labour of able-bodied men.
One advantage of the cosmopolitan nature of the Army is that
we have Officers in almost every country in the world. When this
Scheme is well on the way every Salvation Officer in every land will
have it imposed upon him as one of the duties of his calling to keep
his eyes open for every useful notion and every conceivable con-
trivance for increasing the yield of the soil and utilising the employ-
ment of waste labour. By this means I hope that there will not be
an idea in the world which will not be made available for our
Scheme. If an Officer in Sweden can give us practical hints as to
how they manage food kitchens for the people, or an Officer in the
South of France can explain how the peasants are able to rear eggs
and poultry not only for their own use, but so as to be able to
export them by the million to England ; if a Sergeant in Belgium
understands how it is that the rabbit farmers there can feed and fatten
and supply our market with millions of rabbits we shall have him
over, tap his brains, and set him to work to benefit our people.
By the establishment of this Farm Colony we should create a great
school of technical agricultural education. It would be a Working
Men's Agricultural University, training people for the life which they
would have to lead in the new countries they will go forth to colonise
and possess.
134 THE FARM PROPER.
Every man who goes to our Farm Colony does so, not to acquire
his fortune, but to obtain a knowledge of an occupation and that
mastery of his tools which will enable him to play his part in the
battle of life. He will be provided with a cheap uniform, which we
shall find no difficulty in rigging up from the old clothes of London,
^nd it will go hardly with us, and we shall have worse luck than the
ordinarys market gardener, if we do not succeed in making sufficient
profit to pay all the expenses of the concern, and leave something
over for the maintenance of the hopelessly incompetent, and those
who, to put it roughly, are not worth their keep.
Every person in the Farm Colony will be taught the elementary
lesson of obedience, and will be instructed in the needful arts ot
husbandry, or some other method of earning his bread. The
Agricultural Section will learn the lesson of the seasons and of the
best kind of seeds and plants. Those belonging to this Section will
leaifPhow to hedge and ditch, how to make roads and build bridges,
and generally to subdue the earth and make it yield to him the riches
which it never withholds from the industrious and skilful workman.
But the Farm Colony, any more than the City Colony, although an
abiding institution, will not provide permanently for those with whom
we have to deal. It is a Training School for Emigrants, a place
where those indispensably practicallessons are given which will enable
the Colonists to know their way about and to feel themselves at home
wherever there is land to till, stock to rear, and harvests to reap.
We shall rely greatly for the peace and prosperity of the Colony
upon the sense of brotherhood which will be universal in it from the
highest to the lowest. While there will 'be no systematic wage-
paying there will be some sort of rewards and remuneration for
honest industry, which will be stored up, for his benefit, as after-
wards explained. They will in the main work each for all, and,
therefore, the needs of all will be supplied, and any overplus will go to
make the bridge over which any poor fellow may escape from the
horrible pit and the miry day from which they themselves have been
rescued.
The dulness and deadness of country life, especially in the
Colonies, leads many men to prefer a life of hardship and privation
in a City slum. But in our Colony they would be near to each other,
and would enjoy the advantages of country life and the association
and companionship of life in town.
Section 2.-.THE INDUSTRIAL VILLAGE.
In describing the operations of the Household Salvage Brigade
I have referred to the enormous quantities of good sound food which
would be collected from door to door every day of the year. Much
of this food would be suitable for human consumption, its waste
being next door to sinful. Imagine, for instance, the quantities of
soup which might be made from boiling the good fresh meaty bones
of the great City ! Think of the dainty dishes which a French cook
would be able to serve up from the scraps and odds and ends of a
single West End kitchen. Good cookery is not an extravagance
but an economy, and many a tasty dish is made by our Continental
friends out of materials which would be discarded indignantly by the
poorest tramp in Whitechapel.
But after all that is done there will remain a mass of food which
cannot be eaten by man, but can be converted into food for him
by the simple process of passing it through another digestive
apparatus. The old bread of London, the soiled, stale crusts can be
used in foddering the horses which are employed in collecting the
waste. It will help to feed the rabbits, whose hutches will be close
by every cottage on the estate, and the hens of the Colony will
flourish on the crumbs which fall from the table of Dives. But after
the horses and the rabbits and poultry have been served, there will
remain a residuum of eatable matter, which can only be profitably
disposed of to the voracious and necessary pig. I foresee the rise of
a piggery in connection with the new Social Scheme, which will dwarf
into insignificance all that exist in Great Britain and Ireland. We
have the advantage of the experience of the whole world as to the
choice of breeds, the construction of sties, and the rearing of stock.
We shall have^ the major part of our foocl practically for the cost of
^collection, and be able to adopt all the latest methods of Chicago for
the killing, curing, and disposing of our pork, ham, and bacon.
136 THE INDUSTRIAL VILLAGE.
There arc few animals more useful than the pig. He will eat any-
thing, live anywhere, and almost every particle of him, from the tip
of his nose to the end of his tail, is capable of being converted into
a saleable commodity. Your pig also is a great producer of manure,
and agriculture is after all largely a matter of manure. Treat the
land well and it will treat you well. With our piggery in connection
with our Farm Colony there would be no lack of manure.
With the piggery there would grow up a great bacon factory for
curing, and that again would make more work. Then as for
sausages they would be produced literally by the mile, and aH made
of the best meat instead of being manufactured out of the very
objectionable ingredients too often stowed away in that poor man's
favourite ration.
Food, however, is only one of the materials which will be
collected by the Household Salvage Brigade. The barges which
float down the river with the tide, laden to the brim with the cast-off
waste of half a million homes, will bring down an enormous
quantity of material which cannot be eaten even by pigs. There
will be, for instance, the old bones. At present it pays speculators
to go to the prairies of America and gather up the bleached bones
of the dead buffaloes, in order to make manure. It pays manu-
facturers to bring bones from the end of the earth in order to grind
them up for use on our fields. But the waste bones of London; who
collects them ? I see, as in a vision, barge loads upon barge loads
of bones floating down the Thames to the great Bone Factory.
Some of the best will yield material for knife handles and buttons,
and the numberless articles which will afford ample opportunity in
the long winter evenings for the acquisition of skill on the part of
our Colonist carvers, while the rest will go straight to the Manure Mill.
There will be a constant demand for manure on the part of bur
ever-increasing nests of new Colonies and our Co-operative Farm,
every man in which will be educated in the great doctrine that there
is no good agriculture without liberal manuring. And here will be
an unfailing source of supply.
Among the material which comes down will be an immense
quantity of r;feasy matter, bits of fat, suet and lard, tallow, strong
butter, and all tfee rancid fat of a great city. For all that *we shall
have to find use. The best of it will make waggon grease, the
rest, after due boiling and straining, will form the nucleus of the raw
material which will make our Social Soap a household word through-
GOVERNMENT OF COLONISTS. 137
out the kingdom. After the Manure Works, the Soap Factory will be
the natural adjunct of our operations.
The fourth great output of the daily waste of London will be waste
paper and rags, which, after being chemically treated, and duly
manipulated by machinery, will be re-issued to the world in the
shape of paper. The Salvation Army consumes no less than thirty
tons of paper every week. Here, therefore, would be one customer
for as much paper as the new mill would be able to turn oUt at the
onset ; paper on which we could print the glad tidings of great joy,
and tell the poor of all nations the news of salvation for earth and
Heaven, full, present, and free to all the children of men.
Then comes the tin. It will go hard with us if we cannot find
some way of utilizing these tins, whether we make them into flower-
pots with a coat of enamel, or convert them into ornaments, or cut
them up for toys or some other purpose. My officers have been
instructed to make an exhaustive report on the way the refuse
collectors of Paris deal with the sardine tins. The industry of
making tin toys will be one which can be practised better in the Farm
Colony than in the City. If necessary, we shall bring an accomplished
workman from France, who will teach our people the way of dealing
with the tin.
In connection with all this it is obvious there would be a constant
demand for packing cases, for twine, rope, and for boxes of all kinds;
for carts and cars; and, in short, we should before long have
a complete community practising almost all the trades that are
to be found in London, except the keeping of grog shops, the whole
being worked upon co-operative principles, but co-operation not for
the benefit of the individual co-operator, but for the benefit of the
sunken mass that lies behind it.
RULES AND REGULATIONS FOR THE GOVERNMENT OF
COLONISTS.
A document containing the Orders and Regulations for the Government of
the Colony must be approved and signed by every Colonist before admission.
Amongst other things there will be the following : —
1. All Officers must be treated respectfully and implicitly obeyed.
2. The use of intoxicants strictly prohibited, none being allowed within its
borders. Any Colonist guilty of violating this Order to be expelled, and that on
the first offence.
3. Expulsion for drunkenness, dishonesty, or falsehood will follow the third
offence.
138 THE INDUSTRIAL VILLAGE.
4. Profane language strictly forbidden.
5. No cruelty to be practised on man, woman, child, or animal
6. Serious offenders against the virtue of women, or of children of either
to incur immediate expulsion.
7. After a certain period of probation, and a considerable amount of patience,
all who will not work to be expelled.
8. The decision of the Govemcr of the Colony, whether in the City, or the
Farm, or Over the Sea, to be binding in all cases.
9. With respect to penalties, the following rules will be acted upon. The
chief reliance for the maintenance of order, as has been observed before, will be
placed upon the spirit oi love which will prevail throughout the community.
But as it cannot be expected to be universally successful, certain penalties will
have to be prc^ded : —
(a) First offences, except in flagrant cases, will be recorded.
(p) The second offence will be published.
(c) The third offence will incur expulsion or being handed over to
the authorities.
Other regulations will be necessary as the Scheme develops.
There will be no attempt to enforce upon the Colonists the rules
and regulations to which Salvation Soldiers are subjected. Those
who are soundly saved and who of their own free will desire to become
Salvationists will, of course, be subjected to the rules of the Service.
But Colonists who are willing to work and obey the orders of the
Commanding Officer will only be subject to the foregoing and similar
regulations ; in all other things they will be left free. \
For instance, there will be no objection to field recreations or any
outdoor exercises which conduce to the maintenance of health and
spirits. A reading room and a library will be provided, together with
a hall, in which they can amuse themselves in the long vrinter nights
and in unfavourable weather. These things are not for the Salva-
tion Army Soldiers, who have other work in the world, but for those
who are not in the Army these recreations will be permissible.
Gambling and anything of an immoral tendency will be repressed
like stealing.
There will probably be an Annual Exhibition of fruit and flowers,
at which all the Colonists who have a plot of garden of their own
will take part. They will exhibit their fruit and vegetables as well
as their rabbits, their poultry and all the other live-stock of the farm.
Every effort will be made to establish village industries, and I am
not without hope but that we may be able to restore some of th^
PUBLIC ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. 139
, \
domestic occupations which steam has compelled us to confine to the
great factories. The more the Colony can be made self-supporting
the better. And although the hand loom can never compete with
Manchester mills, still an occupation which kept the hands of the
goodwife busy in the long winter nights, is not to be despised as an
element in the economics of the Settlement. While Manchester and
Leeds may be able to manufacture common goods much more cheaply
than they can be spun at home, even these emporiums, with all their
grand improvements in machinery, would be sorely pressed to-day to
compete with the hand-loom in many superior classes of work. For
* instance, we all know the hand-sewn boot still holds its own against
the most perfect article that machinery can turn out.
There would be, in the centre of the Colony, a Public Elementary
School at which the children would receive training, and side by
side with that an Agricultural Industrial School, as elsewhere
described.
The religious welfare of the Colony would be looked after by the
Salvation Army, but there will be no compulsion to take part in its
services. The Sabbath will be strictly observed ; no unnecessary
work will be done in the Colony on that day, but beyond interdicted
labour, the Colonists will be allowed to spend Sunday as they please.
It will be the fault of the Salvation Army if they do not find our
Sunday Services sufficiently attractive to command their attendance.
/
Section 3.— AGRICULTURAL VILLAGES.
This brings me to the next feature of the Scheme, the creation of
agricultural settlements in the neighbourhood of the Farm, around
the original Estate. I hope to obtain land for the purpose of allot-
ments which can be taken up to the extent of so many acres by the
more competent Colonists who wish to remain at home instead of
going abroad. There will be allotments from three to five acres
with a cottage, a cow, and the necessary tools and seed for making
the allotment self-supporting. A weekly charge will be imposed for
the repayment of the cost of the fixing and stock. The tenant
will, of course, be entitled to his tenant-right, but adequate pre-
cautions will be taken against underletting and other forms by which
sweating makes its way into agricultural communities. On entering
into possession, the tenant will become responsible for his own and
his family's maintenance. I shall stand no longer in the relation of
father of the household to him, as I do to the other members of the
Colony ; his obligations will cease to me, except in the payment of his
rent.
The creation of a large number of Allotment Farms would make the
establishment of a creamery necessary, where the milk could be
brought in every day and converted into butter by the most modem
methods, with the least possible delay. Dairying, which has in some
places on the Continent almost developed to a fine art, is in a very
backward condition in this country. But by co-operation among
the cottiers and an intelligent Headquarter staff" much could be done
which at present appears impossible.
The tenant will be allowed permanent tenancy on payment of an
annual rent or land tax, subject, of course, to such necessary regu-
lations which may be made for the prevention of intemperance and
immorality and the preservation of the fundamental features of the
Colony. In this way our Farm Colony will throw off" small Colonies
COTTAGES DETACHED RESIDENCES.
141
all round it until the original site is but the centre of a whole series
of small farms, where those whom we have rescued and trained will
live, if not under their own vine and fig tree, at least in the midst
of their own little fruit farm, and surrounded by their small flocks
and herds. The cottages will be so many detached residences, each
standing in its own ground, not so far away from its neighbours as
to deprive its occupants of the benefit of human intercourse.
/
Section 4.— CO-OPERATIVE FARM.
Side by side with the Farm Colony proper I should propose to
renew the experiment of Mr. E. T. Craig, which he found work so
successfully at Ralahine. When any members of the original Colpny
had pulled themselves sufficiently together to desire to begin again
on their own account, I should group some of them as partners in a
Co-operative Farm, and see whether or no the success achieved in
County Clare could not be repeated in Essex or in Kent. I cannot
have more unpromising material to deal with than the wild Irishmen
on Colonel Vandeleur's estate, and I would certainly take care to be
safeguarded against any such mishap as destroyed the early promise
of Ralahine.
I shall look upon this as one of the most important experiments of
the entire series, and if, as I anticipate, it can be worked success-
fully, that is, if the results of Ralahine can be secured on a larger
scale, I shall consider that the problem of the employment of the
people, and the use of the land, and the food supply for the globe, is
unquestionably solved, were its inhabitants many times greater in
number than they are.
Without saying more, some idea will be obtained as to what I
propose from the story of Ralahine related briefly at the close of
this volume.
CHAPTER IV.
NEW BRITAIN.— THE COLONY OVER-SEA
We now come to the third and final stage of the regenerative
process. The Colony Over-Sea. To mention Over-Sea is sufficient
with some people to damn the Scheme. A prejudice against emigra-
tion has been diligently fostered in certain quarters by those who
have- openly admitted that they did not wish to deplete the ranks of
the Army of Discontent at home, for the more discontented people
you have here the more trouble you can give the Government, and
the more power you have to bring about the general overturn,* which
is the only thing in which they see any hope for the future. Some
again object to emigration on the ground that it is transportation. I
confess that I have great sympathy with those who object to emigra-
tion as carried on hitherto, and if it be a consolation to any of my
critics I may say at once that so far from compulsorily expatriating
any EngUshman I shall refuse to have any part or lot in emigrating
any man or woman who does not voluntarily wish to be sent out.
A journey over sea is a very different thing now to what it was
when a voyage to Australia consumed more than six months, when
emigrants were crowded by hundreds into sailing ships, and scenes
of abominable sin and brutality were the normal incidents of the
passage. The world has grown much smaller since the electric
telegraph was discovered and side by side with the shrinkage of
this planet under the influence of steam and electricity there has
come a sense of brotherhood and a consciousness of community of
interest and of nationality on the part of the English-speaking people
throughout the world. To change from Devon to Australia is not
such a change in many respects as merely to cross over from Devon
to Normandy. In Australia the Emigrant finds himself among men
and women of the same habits, the same language, and in fact the
same people, excepting that they live under the southeractoas^YGsXRaA.
144 THE COLONY OVER-SEA.
of in the northern latitudes. The reduction of the postage between
England and the G)lonies, a reduction which I hope will soon be
followed by the establishment of the Universal Penny Post between
the English speaking lands, will further tend to lessen the sense of
distance.
The constant travelling of the Colonists backwards and forwards
to England makes it absurd to speak of the Colonies as if they were
a foreign land. They are simply pieces of Britain distributed about
the world, enabling the Britisher to have access to the richest parts
of the earth.
Another objection which will be taken to this Scheme is that
colonists already over sea will see with infinite alarm the prospect of
the transfer of our waste labour to their country. It is easy to under-
stand how this misconception will arise, but there is not much dangei
of opposition on this score. The working-men who rule the roost
at Melbourne object to the introduction of fresh workmen into
their labour market, for the same reason that the new Dockers'
Union objects to the appearance of new hands at the dock gates,
that Js for fear the newcomers will enter into unfriendly competition
with them. But no Colony, not even the Protectionist and Trade
Unionists who govern Victoria, could rationally object to the intro-
duction of trained Colonists planted out upon the land. They
would see that these men would become a source of wealth,
simply because they would at once become producers as well
as consumers, and instead of cutting down wages they would
rend directly to improve trade and so increase the emplo3mient
of the workmen now in the Colony. Emigration as hitherto
conducted has been carried out on directly opposite principles to
these. Men and women have simply been shot down into countries
without any regard to their possession of ability to earn a liveli-
hood, and have consequently become an incubus upon the energies
of the community, and a discredit, expense, and burden. The result
is that they gravitate to the towns and compete with the colonial
workmen, and thereby drive down wages. We shall avoid that
mistake. We need not wonder that Australians and other Colonists
should object to their countries being converted into a sort of
dumping ground, on which to deposit men and women totally
unsuited for the new circumstances in which they find themselves.
Moreover, looking at it from the aspect of the class itself,
would such emigration be of any enduring value? It is not
WHERE SHOULD IT BE ? 145
merely more favourable circumstances that are required by
these crowds, but those habits of industry, truthfulness, and
self-restraint, which will enable them to profit by better conditions if
they could only come to possess them. According to the most
reliable information, there are already sadly too many of the same
classes we want to help in countries supposed to be the paradise of
the working-man.
What could be done with a people whose first enquiry on reaching
a fiDreign land would be for a whisky shop, and who were utterly
ignorant of those forms of labour and habits of industry absolutely
indispensable to the earning of a subsistence amid the hardships of an
Emigrant's life ? Such would naturally shrink from the self-denial
the new circumstances inevitably called for, and rather than suffer
the inconveniences connected with a settler's life, would probably
sink down into helpless despair, or settle in the slums of the first
city they came to.
These difficulties, in my estimation, bar the way to the emigration
on any considerable scale of the " submerged tenth," and yet I am
strongly of opinion, with the majority of those who have thought and
written on political economy, that emigration is the only remedy for
this mighty evil. Now, the Over-Sea Colony plan, I think, meets
these difficulties : —
(i) In the preparation of the Colony for the people.
(2) In the preparation of the people for the Colony.
(3) In the arrangements that are rendered possible ior the tiansport of
the people when prepared.
It is proposed to secure a large tract of land in some country
s^uitable to our purpose. We hav^ thought of South Africa, to begin
with. We are in no way pledged to this part of the world, or to it
alone. There is nothing to prevent our establishing similar settle-
ments in Canada, Australia, or some other land. British Columbia
has been strongly urged upon our notice. Indeed, it is certain if
this Scheme proves the success we anticipate, the first Colony will
be the forerunner of similar communities elsewhere. Africa, how-
ever, presents to us great advantages for the moment. There is any
amount of land suitable for our purpose which can be obtained, we
think, without difficulty. The climate is healthy. Labour is in
great demand, so that if by any means work failed on the Colony,
there would be abundant opportunities for securing good wages from
the neighbouring Companies.
Section i.— THE COLONY AND THE COLONISTa
Before any decision is arrived at," however, information will be
obtained as to the position and character of the land ; the accessibility
of markets for commodities ; communication with Europe, and other
necessary particulars.
The next business would be to obtain on grant, or otherwise, a
sufficient tract of suitable country for the purpose of a Colony, on
conditions that would meet its present and future character.
After obtaining a title to the country, the next business will be to
effect a settlement in it. This, I suppose, will be accomplished by
sending a competent body ot men under skilled supervision to fix on
a suitable location for the first settlement, erecting such buildings as
would be required, enclosing and breaking up the land, putting in
first crops, and so storing sufficient supplies of food for the future.
Then a supply of Colonists would be sent out to join them, and
from time to time other detachments, as the Colony was prepared to
receive them. Further locations could then be chosen, and more
country broken up, and before a very long period has passed the
Colony would be capable of receiving and absorbing a continuous
stream of emigration of considerable proportions.
The next work would be the establishment of a strong and
efficient government, prepared to carry out and enforce the same
laws and discipline to which the Colonists had been accustomed in
England, together with such alterations and additions as the new
circumstances would render necessary.
The Colonists would become responsible for all that concerned
their own support ; that is to say, they would buy and sell, engage
in trade, hire, servants, and transact all the ordinary business affairs
of every-day life.
Our Headquarters in England would represent the Colony in this
country on their behalf, and with money supplied by them, when
once fairly established, would buy for their agents what th^ were at
THE COLONISTS PREPARED FOR THE COLONY. 147
the outset unable to produce themselves, such as machinery and the
like, also selling their produce to the best advantage.
All land, timber, minerals, and the like, would be rented to the
Colonists, all unearned increments, and improvements on the land,
would be held on behalf of the entire community, and utilised for its
general advantages, a certain percentage being set apart for the
extension of its borders, and the continued transmission of Colonists
from England in increasing numbers.
Arrangements would be made for the temporary accommodation
of new arrivals. Officers being maintained for the purpose of taking
them in hand on landing and directing and controlling them generally.
So far as possible, they would be introduced to work without any
waste of time, situations being ready for them to enter upon ; and
any way, their wants would be supplied till this was the case.
There would be friends who would welcome and care for them,
not merely on the principle of profit and loss, but on the ground of
friendship and religion, many of whom the emigrants would probably
have known before in the old country, together with all the social
influences, restraints, and religious enjoyments to which the Colonists
have been accustomed.
After dealing with the preparation of the Colony for the Colonists,
we now come to the preparation of the
COLONISTS FOR THE COLONY OVER-SEA.
They would be prepared by an education in honesty, truth, and
industry, without which we could not indulge in any hope of their
succeeding. While men and women would be received into the
City Colony without character, none would be sent over the sea who
had not been proved worthy of this trust.
They would be inspired with an ambition to do well for themselves
and their fellow Colonists.
They would be instructed in all that concerned their future career.
They would be taught those industries in which they would be
most profitably employed.
They would be inured to the hardships they would have to endure.
They would be accustomed to the economies they would have to
practise.
They would be made acquainted with the comrades with whom
they would have to live and labour.
They would be accustomed to the Government, Orders, and
Rogttktian« whidi.they would hav« to obey.
148 THE COLONY AND THE COLONISTS.
They would be educated, so far as the opportunity served, in those
habits of patience, forbearance, and affection which would so largely
tend to their own welfare, and to the successful carrying out of this
part of our Scheme.
TRANSPORT TO THE COLONY OVER-SEA.
We now come to the question of transport. This certainly has an
element of difficulty in it, if the remedy is to be applied on a very
large scale. But this will appear of less importance if we consider : —
That the largeness of the number will reduce the individual cost
Emigrants can be conveyed to such a location in South Africa, as
we have in view, by ones and twos at £S per head, including land
journey; and, no doubt, were a large number carried, this figure
would be reduced considerably.
Many of the Colonists would have friends who would assist them
with the cost of passage money and outfit.
All the unmarried will have earned something on the City and
Farm Colonies, which will go towards meeting their passage money.
In the course of time relatives, who are comfortably settled in the
Colony, will save money, and assist their kindred in getting out to
them. We have the examples before our eyes in Australia and the
United States of how those countries have in this form absorbed
from Europe millions of poor struggling people.
All Colonists and emigrants generally will bind themselves in a
legal instrument to repay all monies, expenses of passage, outfit, or
otherwise, which would in turn be utilised in sending out further
contingents.
On the plan named, if prudently carried out, and generously
assisted, the transfer of the entire surplus population of this country
is not only possible, but would, we think, in process of time, be
effected with enormous advantage to the people themselves, to this
country, and the country of their adoption. The history of
Australia and the United States evidences this. It is quite true
the first settlers in the latter were people superior in every way
for such an enterprise to the bulk of those we propose to send out.
But it is equally true that large numbers of the most ignorant and
vicious of our European populations have been pouring into that
country ever since without affecting its prosperity, and this Colony
Over-Sea would have the immense advantage at the outset which
would come from a government and discipline carefully adapted to its
peculiar circumstances, and rigidly enforced in every particular.
TRANSPORT TO THE COLONY OVER-SEA. 14«
^
I would guard against misconception in relation to this Colony
Over-Sea by pointing out that all my proposals here are necessarily ten-
tative and experimental. There is no intention on my part to stick to
any of these suggestions if, on maturer consideration and consulta-
tion with practical men, they can be improved upon. Mr. Arnold
White, who has abeady conducted two parties of Colonists to South
Africa^ is one of the few men in this country who has had
practical experience of the actual difficulties of colonisation.
I have, through a mutual friend, had the advantage of com-
paring notes with him very fully, and I venture to believe that there
is nothing in this Scheme that is not in harmony with the
result of his experience. In a couple of months this book will be
read all over the world. It will bring me a plentiful crop of sugges-
tions, and, I hope, offers of service from many valuable and
experienced Colonists in every country. In the due order of things
the Colony Over-Sea is the last to be started. Long before our first
batch of Colonists is ready to cross the ocean I shall be in a position
to correct and revise the proposals of this chapter by the best wisdom
and matured experience of the practical men of every Colony in the
Empire.
Section 2.— UNIVERSAL EMIGRATION.
We have in our remarks on the Over-Sea Colony referred to the
general concensus of opinion on the part of those who have studied
the Social Question as to Emigration being the only remedy for the
overcrowded population of this country, at the same time showing
some of the difficulties which lie in the way of the adoption of the
remedy ; the dislike of the people to so great a change as is
involved in going from one country to another ; the cost of their
transfer, and their general unfitness for an emigrant's life. These
difficulties, as I think we have seen, are fully met by the Over-Sea
Colony Scheme. ' But, apart from those who, driven by their abject
poverty, will avail themselves of our Scheme, there are multitudes
of people all over the country who would be likely to emigrate could
they be assisted in so- doing. Those we propose to help in the
following manner :—
1. By opening a Bureau in London, and appointing Officers whose business
it will be to acquire every kind of information as to suitable countries, their
adaptation to, and the openings they present for different trades and callings,
the possibility of obtaining land and employment, the rates of remuneration,
and the like. These enquiries will include the cost of passage-money, railway
fares, outfit, together with every kind of information required by an emigrant.
2. From this Bureau any one may obtain all necessary information.
3. Special terms v^ill be arranged with steamships, railway companies, and
land agents, of which emigrants using the Bureau will have the advantage.
4. Introductions will be supplied, as far as possible, to agents and friends in
the localities to which the emigrant may be proceeding.
5. Intending emigrants, desirous of saving money, can deposit it through
this Bureau in the Army Bank for that purpose.
6. It is expected that government contractors and other employers of labour
requiring Colonists of reliable character will apply to this Bureau for such,
offering favourable terms with respect to passag^money, employment, and
Qth^ advantages.
AN EMIGRATION BUREAU. 161
7. No emigrant will be sent out in response tp any application from abroad
where the emigrant's expenses are defrayed, without references as to character,
industry, and fitness.
This Bureau, we think, will be especially useful to women and
young girls. There must be a large number of such in this country
living in semi-starvation, anyway, with very poor prospects, who
would be very welcome abroad, the expense of whose transfer
governments, and masters and mistresses alike would be very glad to
defray, or assist in defraying, if they could only be assured on both
sides of the beneficial character of the arrangements when made.
So widespread now are the operations of the Army, and so
extensively will this Bureau multiply its agencies that it will speedily
be able to make personal enquiries on both sides, that is in the
interest alike of the emigrant and the intended employer in any part
of the world.
Section 3.— THE SALVATION SHIP.
When we have selected a party of emigrants whom we believe
to be sufficiently prepared to settle on the land which has been got
ready for them in the Colony over Sea, it will be. no dismal
expatriation which will await them. No one who has ever been on
the West Coast of Ireland when the emigrants were departing, and
has heard the dismal wails which arise from those who are taking
leave of each other for the last time on earth, can fail to sympathise
with the horror excited in many minds by the very word emigration.
But when our party sets out, there will be no violent wrenching of
home ties. In our ship we shall export them all — father, mother,
and children. The individuals will be grouped in families, and the
families will, on the Farm Colony, have been for some months past
more or less near neighbours, meeting each other in the field, in
the workshops, and in the Religious Services. It will resemble
nothing so much as the unmooring of a little piece of England, and
towing it across the sea to find a safe anchorage in a sunnier clime.
The ship which takes out emigrants will bring back the produce of
the farms, and constant travelling to and fro will lead more than
ever to the feeling that we and our ocean-sundered brethren are
members of one family.
No one who has ever crossed the ocean can have failed to be
impressed with the mischief that comes to emigrants when they are
on their way to their destination. Many and many a girl has dated
her downfall from the temptations which beset her while journeying
to a land where she had hoped to find a happier future.
" Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do," and he
must have his hands full on board an emigrant ship. Look into
the steerage at any time, and you will find boredom inexpressible
on every face. The men have nothing to do, and an incident of no
more importance than the appearance of a sail upon the distant
VVORK ON BOARD SHIP. 153
horizon is an event which makes the whole ship talk. I ^.o not see
why this should be so. Of course, in the case of conveying
passengers and freight, with the utmost possible expedition, for
short distances, it would be idle to expect that either time or
energies could be spared for the employment or instruction of the
passengers. But the case is different when, instead of going to
America, the emigrant turns his face to South Africa or remote
Australia. Then, even with the fastest steamers, they must remain
some weeks or months upon the high seas. The result is that
habits of idleness are contracted, bad acquaintances are formed, and
very often the moral and religious work of a lifetime is
undone.
To avoid these evil consequences, I think we should be compelled
to have a ship of- our own as soon as possible. A sailing vessel
might be found the best adapted for the work. Leaving out the
question of time, which would be of very secondary importance with
us, the construction of a sailing ship would afford more space for
the accommodation of emigrants and for industrial occupation, and
would involve considerably less working expenses, besides costing
very much less at the onset, even if we did not have one given to
us, which I should think would be very probable.
All the emigrants would be under the charge of Army Officers,
and instead of the voyage being demoralising, it. would be made
instructive and profitable. From leaving London to landing at
their destination, every colonist would be under watchful oversight,
could receive instruction in those particulars where they were still
needing it, and be subjected to influences that would be beneficial
everyway.
Then we have seen that one of the great difficulties in the
direction of emigration is the cost of transport. The expense of
conveying a man from England to Australia, occupying as it does
some seven or eight weeks, arises not so much from the expense
connected with the working of the vessel which carries him, as the
amount of provisions he consumes during the passage. Now, with
this plan I think that the emigrants might be made to earn at least
a portion of this outlay. There is no reason why a man should not
work on board ship any more than on land. Of course, nothing
much could be done when the weather was very rough ; but the
average number of days during which it would be impossible for
passengers to employ themselves profitably in the time spent
• (
154 . THE SALVATION SHIP
between the Channel and Cape Town or Australia would be
comparatively few.
When the ship was pitching or rolling, work would be difficult ;
but even then, when the Colonists get their sea-legs, and are free
from the qualmishness which overtakes landsmen when first getting
afloat, I cannot see why they should not engage in some form of
industrial work far more profitable than yawning and lounging about
the deck, to say nothing of the fact that by so doing they would
lighten the expense of their transit. The sailors, firemen,
engineers, and everybody else connected with a .vessel have to
work, and there is no reason why our Colonists should not work
also.
Of course, this method would require special arrangeanents ip the
fitting up of the vessel, which, if it were our own, it would not be
difiicult to make. At first sight it may seem difficult to find
employments on board ship which could be engaged in to advantage,
and it might not be found possible to fix up every individua:l right
away ; but I think there would be very few of the class and
character of people we should take out, with the prior instructions
they would have received, who would not have fitted themselves
into some useful labour before the voyage ended.
To begin with, there would be a large amount of the ordinary
ship's work that the Colonists could perform, such as the preparation
of food, serving it out, cleaning the decks and fittings of the ship
generally, together with the loading and unloading of cargo. All
these operations could be readily done under the direction of per-
manent hands. Then shoemaking, knitting, sewing, tailoring, and
other kindred occupations could be engaged in. I should think
sewing-machines could be worked, and, one way or another, any
amount of garments could be manufactured, which would find ready
and profitable sale on landing, either among the Colonists them-
selves, or with the people round about.
Not only would the ship thus be a perfect hive of industry, it would
also be a floating temple. The Captain, Officers, and every member of
the crew would be Salvationists, and all, therefore, alike interested in
the enterprise. Moreover, the probabilities are that we should
obtain the service of the ship's officers and crew in the most
inexpensive manner, in harmony with the usages of the Army
everywhere else, men serving from love and not as a mere business.
The effect produced by our ship cruising slowly southwards,
A MISSIONARY VESSEL. 15B
testifying to the reality of a Salvation for both worlds, calling at
all convenient ports, would constitute a new kind of mission work,
and drawing out everywhere a large amount of warm practical
sympathy. At present the influence of those who go down to the
sea in ships is not always in favour of raising the morals and
religion of the dwellers in the places where they come. Here,
however, would be one ship at least whose appearance foretold
no disorder, gave rise to no debauchery, and from whose capacious
hull would stream forth an Army of men, who, instead of thronging
the grog-shops and other haunts of licentious indulgence, would
occupy themselves with explaining and proclaiming the religion
of the Love of God and the Brotherhood of Man.
CHAPTER V.
MORE CRUSADES.
I have now sketched out briefly the leading features of the three-
fold Scheme by which I think a way can be opened out of " Darkest
England," by which its forlorn denizens can escape into the Hght and
freedom of a new life. But it is not enough to make a clear broad
road out of the heart of this dense and matted jungle forest ; its
inhabitants are in many cases so degraded, so hopeless, so utterly
desperate that we shall have to do something more than make roads.
As we read in the parable, it is often not enough that the feast be
prepared, and the guests be bidden ; we must needs go into the high-
ways and byways and compel them to come in. So it is not enough
to provide our City Colony and our Farm Colony, and then rest on
our oars as if we had done our work. That kind of thing will not
save the Lost.
it is necessary to organise rescue expeditions to free the miserable
wanderers from their captivity, and bring them out into the larger
liberty and the fuller life. Talk about Stanley and Emin I There is
not one of us but has an Emin somewhere or other in the heart of
Darkest England, whom he ought to sally forth to rescue. Our Emins
have the Devil for their Mahdi, and when we get to them we find
that it is their friends and neighbours who hold them back, and they
are, oh, so irresolute ! It needs each of us to be as indomitable as
Stanley, to burst through all obstacles, to force our way right to the
centre of things, and then to labour with the poor prisoner of vice
and crime with all our might. But had not the Expeditionary
Committee furnished the financial means whereby a road was opened to
the sea, both Stanley and Emin would probably have been in the
heart of Darkest Africa to this day. This Scheme is our Stanley
Expedition, The analogy is very close. I propose to make a road
A NEW SFANLEY FOR ANOTHER EMIN. 157
clear down to the sea. But alas our poor Emin 1 Even when the
road is open, he halts and lingers and doubts. First he will, and
then he won't, and nothing less than the irresistible pressure of a
friendly and stronger purpose will constrain him to take the road
which has been opened for him at such a cost of blood and treasure.
I now, therefore, proceed to sketch some of the methods by which
we shall attempt to save the lost and to rescue those who are
perishing in the midst of " Darkest England."
Section i.— A SLUM CRUSADE.— OUR SLUM SISTERS.
When Professor Huxley lived as a medical officer in the East of
London he acquired a knowledge of the actual condition of the life
of many of its populace which led him long afterwards to declare
that the surroundings of the savages of New Guinea were much
more conducive to the leading of a decent human existence than
those in which many of the East-Enders live. Alas, it is not only
in London that such lairs exist in which the savages of civilisation
lurk and breed. All the great towns in both the Old World and the
New have their slums, in which huddle together, in festering and
verminous filth, men, women, and children. They correspond to
the lepers who thronged the lazar houses of the Middle Ages."
As in those days St. Francis of Assissi and the heroic band of
saints who gathered under his orders were wont to go and lodge
with the lepers at the city gates, so the devoted souls who have
enlisted in the Salvation Army take up their quarters in the heart of
the worst slums. But whereas the Friars were men, our Slum
Brigade is composed of women. I have a hundred of them under
my orders, young women for the most part, quartered all of them in
outposts in the heart of the Devil's country. Most of them ^re the
children of the poor who have known hardship from their youth up.
Some are ladies born and bred, who have not been afraid to
exchange the comfort of a West End drawing-room for service
among the vilest of the vile, and a residence in small and fetid
rooms whose walls were infested with vermin. They live the life of the
Crucified for the sake of the men and women for whom He lived and
died. They form one of the branches of the activity of the Army
upon which I dwell with deepest sympathy. They are at the front ;
they are at close quarters with the enemy.
To the dwellers in decent homes who occupy cushioned pews in
fashionable churches there is something strange and quaint in the
THE SISTERS OF THE SLUM. 159
language they hear read from the Bible, language which habitually
refers to the Devil as an actual personality, and to the struggle
against sin and uncleanness as if it were a hand to hand death
wrestle with the legions of Hell. To our little sisters who dwell in
an atmosphere heavy with curses, among people sodden with drink,
in quarters where sin and uncleanness are universal, all these
Biblical sayings are as real as the quotations of yesterday's price of
Consols are to a City man. They dwell in the midst of Hell, and in
their daily warfare with a hundred devils it seems incredible to them
that anyone can doubt the existence of either one or the other.
The Slum Sister is what her name implies, the Sister of the Slum.
They ga forth in Apostolic fashion, two-and-two living in a couple of
the same kind of dens or rooms as are occupied by the people
themselves, differing only in the cleanliness and order, and the few
articles of furniture which they contain. Here they live all the year
round, visiting the sick, looking after the children, showing the
women how to keep themselves and their homes decent, often
discharging the sick mother's duties themselves ; cultivating peace,
advocating temperance, counselling in temporalities, and ceaselessly
preaching the religion of Jesus Christ to the Outcasts of Society.
I do not like to speak of their work. Words fail me, and what I
say is so unworthy the theme. I prefer to quote two descriptions by
Journalists who have seen these girls at work in the field. The first
is taken from a long article which Julia Hayes Percy contributed to
the New York Worlds describing a visit paid by her to the slum
quarters of the Salvation Army in Cherry Hill Alleys, in the
Whitechapel of New York.
Twenty-four hours in the slums — ^just a night and a day^yet into them were
crowded such revelations of misery, depravity, and degradation as having once
been gazed upon life can never be the same afterwards. Around and above
this blighted neighbourhood flows the tide of .active, prosperous life. Men an.d
women travel past in street cars by the Elevated Railroad and across the bridge,
and take no thought of its wretchedness, of the criminals bred there, and of
the disease engendered by its foulness. It is a fearful menace to the public
health, both moral and physical, yet the multitude is as heedless of danger as
the peasant who makes his house and plants green vineyards and olives above
Vesuvian fires. We are almost as careless and quite as unknowing as we pass
the bridge in the late afternoon.
Our immediate destination is the Salvation Army Barracks in Washing-
ton Street, and we are going finally to the Salvation Officers— two
160 A SLUM CRUSADE.
young women — who have been dwelling and doing a noble mission
work for months in one of the worst comers of New York's most
wretched quarter. These Officers are not living under the aegis of the
Army, however. The blue bordered flag is furled out of sight, the
uniforms and poke bonnets are laid away, and there are no drums or tam-
bourines. *' The banner over them is love " of their fellow-creatures among
whom they dwell upon an equal plane of poverty, wearing no better clothes
than the rest, eating coarse and scanty food, and sleeping upon hard cots or
upon the floor. Their lives are consecrated to God's service among the poor ot
the earth. One is a woman in the early prime of vigorous life, the other a girl
of eighteen. The elder of these devoted women is awaiting us at the barracks
to be our guide to Slumdom. She is tall, slender, and clad in a coarse brown
gown, mended with patches. A big gingham apron, artistically rent in several
places, is tied about her waist. She wears on old plaid woollen shawl and an
ancient brown straw hat. Her dress indicates extreme poverty, her face denotes
perfect peace. " This is Em," says Mrs. Ballington Booth, and after this intro-
duction we sally forth.
More and more wretched grows the district as we penetrate further.
Em pauses before a dirty, broken, smoke-dimmed window, through which
in a dingy room are seen a party of roughs, dark-looking men, drinking
and squabbling at a table. "The7 are our neighbours in the front."
We enter the hall-way and proceed to the rear room. It is tiny, but clean and
warm. A fire bums on the little cracked stove, which stands up bravely on
three legs, with a brick eking out its support at the fourth comer. A tin lamp
stands on the table, half-a-dozen chairs, one of which has arms, but must have
renounced its rockers long ago, and a packing box, upon which we deposit our
shawls, constitute the furniture. Opening from this is a small dark bedroom,
with one cot made up and another folded against the wall. Against a door,
which must communicate with the front room, in which we saw the disagree-
able-looking men sitting, is a wooden table for the hand-basin. A small trunk
and a barrel of clothing complete the inventory.
Em*s sister in the slum work gives us a sweet shy welcome. She is a
Swedish girl, with the fair complexion and crisp, bright hair peculiar to the
Scandinavian blonde-tjrpe. Her head reminds me of a Grenze that hangs in the
Louvre, with its low knot ot rippling hair, which fluff's out from her brow and
frames a dear little face with soft childish outlines, a nez retrousse, a tiny mouth,
like a cmshed pink rose, and wistful blue eyes. This girl has been a Sal-
vationist for two years. During that time she has leamed to speak, read, and
write English, while she has constantly laboured among the poor and wretched
The house where we find ourselves was formerly notorious as one of the
worst in the Cherry Hill district. It has been the scene of some memorable
ROUND THE SLUMS OF NEW YORK. 161
crimes, and among them that of the Chinaman who slew his Irish wife, after
the manner of " Jack the Ripper," on the staircase leading to the second floor.
A notable change has taken place in the tenement since Mattie and £m have
lived there, and their gentle influence is making itself felt in the neighbouring
houses as well. It is nearly eight o'clock when we sally forth. Each of us
carries a handful of printed slips bearing a text of Scripture and a few words
of warning to lead the better life.
" These furnish an excuse for entering places where otherwise we could not
go,'* explains Em.
After arranging a rendezvous, we separate. Mattie and Liz go ofl* in one
direction, and Em and I in another. From this our progress seems like a
descent into Tartarus. Em pauses before a miserable-looking saloon, pushes
open the low, swinging door, and we go in. It is a low-ceiled room, dingy with
dirt, dim with the smoke, nauseating with the fumes of sour beer and vile
liquor. A sloppy bar extends along one side, and opposite is a long table, with
indescribable viands littered over it, interspersed with empty glasses, battered
hats, and cigar stumps. A motley crowd of men and women jostle is the
narrow space. Em speaks to the soberest \ooking of the lot. He listens to
her words, others crowd about. Many accept the slips we offer, and gradually,
as the throng separates to make way, we gain the further end of the apartment.
Em's serious, sweet, saint-like face I follow like a star. All sense of fear slips
from me, and a great pity fills my soul as I look upon the various types oi
wretchedness.
As the night wears on, the whole apartment seems to wake up. Every house is
alight ; the narrow sidewalks and filthy streets are full of people. Miserable
little children, with sin-stamped faces, dart about like" rats ; little ones who
ought to be in their cribs shift for themselves, and sleep on cellar doors and
areas, and under carts ; a few vendors are abroad with their wares, but the most
of the traffic going on is of a different description. Along Water Street are
women conspicuously dressed in gaudy colours. Their heavily-painted faces
are bloated or pinched ; they shiver in the raw night air. Liz speaks to one,
who replies that she would like to talk, but ^are not, and as she says this an
old hag comes to the door and cries : —
** Get along ; don't hinder her work ! "
During the evening a man to whom Em has been talking has told her : —
" You ought to join the Salvation Army ; they are the only good women who
bother us down here. I don't want to lead that sort of life ; but I must go
where it is light and warm and clean after working all day, and there isn't any
place but this to come to " exclaimed the man.
"You will appreciate the plea to-morrow when you see how the people live,"
Em says, as we turn our steps toward the tenement room, which seems like an
L
162 A SLUM CRUSADE.
oasis of peace and purity after the howling desert we have been wandering in.
Em and Mattie brew some oatmeal gruel, and being chilled and faint we en-
joyed a cup of it. Liz and I share a cot in the outer room. We are just going
to sleep when agonised cries ring out through the night ; then the tones of a
woman's voice pleading pitifully reach our ears. We are unable to distinguish
her words, but the sound is heart-rending. It comes from one of those dreadful
Water Street houses, and we all feel that a tragedy is taking place. There is a
sound of crashing blows and then silence.
It is customary in the slums to leave the house door open perj)etudly, which
is convenient for tramps, who creep into the hall-ways to sleep at night, thereby
saving the few pence it costs to occupy a " spot " in the cheap lodging houses.
Em and Mat keep the corridor without their room beautifully clean, and so it has
become an especial favourite stamping ground for these vagrants. We were told
this when Mattie locked and bolted the door and then tied the keys and the door-
handle together. So we understand why there are shufiQing steps along the
corridor, bumping against the panels of the door, and heavily breathing without
during the long hours of the night.
All day Em and Mat have been toiling among their neighbours, and the night
before last they sat up with a dying woman. They are worn out and sleep
heavily. Liz and I lie awake and wait for the coming of the morning ; we are
too oppressed by what we have seen and heard to talk.
In the morning Liz and I peep over into the rear houses where we heard
those dreadful shrieks in the night. There is no sign of life, but we discover
enough filth to breed diphtheria and typhoid throughout a large section. In the
area below our window there are several inches of stagnant water, in which is
heaped a mass of old . shoes, cabbage heads, garbage, rotten wood, bones, rags
and refuse, and a few dead rats. We understand now why Em keeps her room
uU of disinfectants. She tells us that she dare not make any appeal to the
sanitary authorities, either on behalf of their own or any other dwelling, for fear
of antagonizing the people, who consider such officials as their natural enemies.
The first visit we pay is up a number of eccentric little flights of shaky steps
interspersed with twists of passageway. The floor is full of holes. The stairs
have been patched here and therfr, but look perilous and sway beneath the feet,
A low door on the landing is opened by a bundle of rags and filth, out of which
issues a woman's voice in husky tones, bidding us enter. She has La grippe.
We have to stand very close together, for the room is small, and already
contains three women, a man, a baby, a bedstead, a stove, and indescribable
dirt. The atmosphere is rank with impurity. The man is evidently dying.
Seven weeks ago he was " gripped." He is now in the last stages of pneumonia.
Em has tried to induce him to be removed to the hospital, and he gasps out his
desire " to die in comfort in my own bed." Comfort ! The " bed " is a rack
heaped with rags. Sheets, pillow-cases, and night-clothes are not in vogue in
DIRT, DRINK, AND DEATH. 168
the slums. A woman lies asleep on the dirty floor with her head under the
table. Another woman, who has been sharing the night watch with the invalid's
wife, is fuiishing her morning meal, in which roast oysters on the half shell are
conspicuous. A child that appears never to have been washed toddles about
the floor and tumbles over the sleeping woman's form. Em gives it some gruel,
and ascertains that its name is " Christine."
The dirt, crowding, and smells in the first place are characteristic ot half a
dozen others we visited. We penetrate to garrets and descend into cellars.
The "rear houses" are particularly dreadful. Everywhere there is decaying
garbage lying about, and the dead cats and rats are evidence that there are
mighty hunters among the gamins of the Fourth Ward. We find a number ill
from the grip and consequent maladies. None of the sufferers will entertain
the thought of seeking a hospital. One probably voices the opinion of the
majority when he declares that " they'll wash you to death there." For these
people a bath possesses more terror than the gallows or the grave.
In one r^^om, with a wee window, lies a woman djring of consumption ; wasted,
wan, and wretched, lying on rags and swarming with vermin. Her little son,
a boy of eight years, nestles beside her. His cheeks are scarlet, his eyes
feverishly bright, and he has a hard cougli.
**It*s the chills, mum," says the little chap.
Six beds stand clc se together in another room ; one is empty. Three days
ago a woman died there and the body has just been taken away. It hasn't
disturbed the rest of the inmates to have death present there. A woman is
lying on the wrecks of a bedstead, slats and posts sticking out in every direction
from the rags on which she reposes. ^
** It broke under me in the night," she explains. A woman is sick and wants
Liz to say a prayer. W^e kneel on the filthy floor. Soon all my faculties are
absorbed in speculating which will arrive first, the "Amen" or the "B flat"
which is wending its way towards me. This time the bug does not get there,
and I enjoy grinding him under the sole of my Slum shoe when the prayer is
ended.
In another room we find what looks like a corpse. It is a woman in an opium
stupor. Drunken men are brawling around her.
Returning to our tenement, Em and Liz meet us, and we return to our experi-
ence. The minor details vary slightly, but the story is the same piteous tale of
woe everywhere, and crime abounding, conditions which only change to a prison,
a plunge in the river, or the Potter's field.
The Dark Continent can show no lower depth ot degradation than that
sounded by the dwellers of the dark alleys in Cherry Hill. There isn't a vice
missing in that quarter. Every sin in the Decalogue flourishes in that feeder of
penitentiaries and prisons. And even as its moral foulness permeates and
164 A SLUM CRUSADE.
poisons the veins of our social life so the malarial filth with which the locality
reeks must sooner or later spread disease and death.
An awful picture, truly, but one which is to me irradiated with the
love-light which shone in the eyes of " Em's serious, sweet, saint-
like face."
Here is my second. It was written by a Journalist who had just
witnessed the scene in Whitechapel. He writes : —
I had just passed Mr. Bamett's church when I was stopi)ed by a small crowd
at a street comer. There were about thirty or forty men, women, and children
standing loosely together, some others were lounging on the opposite side of
the street round the door of a public-house. In the centre of the crowd was a
plain-looking little woman in Salvation Army uniform, with her eyes closed,
praying the " dear Lord that he would bless these dear people, and save them,
save them now 1 " Moved by curiosity, I pressed through the outer fringe of
the crowd, and in doing so, I noticed a woman of another kind, also invoking
Heaven, but in an altogether different fashion. Two dirty tramp-like men
were listening to the prayer, standing the while smoking their short cutty
pipes. For some reason or other they had offended the woman, and she
v/as giving them a piece of her mind. They stood stolidly silent while she went
at them like a fiend. She had been good-looking once, but was now horribly
bloated with drink, and excited by passion. I heard both voices at the
same time. What a contrast 1 The prayer was over now, and a pleading earnest
address was being delivered.
" You are wrong," said the voice in the centre " you» know you are ; all
this misery and poverty is a proof of it. You are prodigals. You have got
away from your Father's house, and you are rebelling against Him every day.
Can you wonder that there is so much hunger, and oppression, and wretched-
ness allowed to come upon you ? In the midst of it all your Father loves you.
He wants you to return to Him ; to turn your backs upon your sins ; abandon
your evil doings ; give up the drink and the service of the devil. He has given
His Son Jesus Christ to die for you. He wants to save you. Come* to His feet.
He is waiting. His arms are open. I know the devil has got fast?' hold ot
you ; but Jesus will give you grace to conquer him. He will help you to
master your wicked habits and your love of drink. But come to Him now. God is
love. He loves me. He loves you. He loves us all. He wants to save us all."
Clear and strong the voice, eloquent with the iervour of intense
feeling, rang through the little crowd, past which streamed the ever-
flowing tide of East End life. And at the same time that I heard
this pure and passionate invocation to love God and be true to man I heard
a voice on the outskirts, and it said this : " You swine 1 I'll kjnock
the vitals out of yer. None of your impudence to me.
N.
AT A SLUM POST. 165
your eyes, what do you mean by telling me that ? You know what you
ha* done, and now you are going to the Salvation Army. I'll let them know you,
you dirty rascal." The man shifted his pipe. "What's the matter?" "Matter!"
screamed the virago hoarsely. " yer Hie, don't you know what's the matter ?
Ill matter ye, you hound. By God ! I will, as sure as I'm alive. Matter !
you know what's the matter." And so she went on, the men standing silently
smoking until at last she took herself off, her mouth full of oaths and cursing, to
the public-house. It seemed as though the presence, and spirit, and words of
the Officer, who still went on with the message of mercy, had some strange efifect
upon them, which made these poor wretches impervious to the taunting, bittei
sarcasms of this brazen, blatant virago.
" God is love." Was it not, then, the accents of God's voice that
sounded there above the din of the street and the swearing of the
slums? Yea, verily, and that voice ceases not and will not cease, so
long as the Slum Sisters fight under the banner of the Salvation
Army.
To form an idea ot the immense amount of good, temporal and _
spiritual, which the Slum Sister is doing ; you need to follow them
into the kennels where they live, preaching the Gospel with the mop
and the scrubbing brush, and driving out the devil with soap and
water. In one oi our Slum posts, where the Officer's rooms were on the
ground floor, about fourteen other iamilies lived in the same house.
One little water-closet in the back yard had to do service for the
whole place. As for the dirt, one Officer writes, " It is impossible to
scrub the Homes ; some oi them are in such a filthy condition. When
they have a fire the ashes are lett to accumulate lor days. The
table is very seldom, if ever, properly cleaned, dirty cups and
saucers lie about it, together with bits of bread, and if they have
bloaters the bones and heads are left on the table. Sometimes there are
pieces of onions mixed up with the rest. The floors are in
a very much worse condition than the street pavements, and when
they are supposed to clean them they do it with about a pint of dirty
water. When they wash, which is rarely, for washing to them
seems an unnecessary work, they do it in a quart or two of water,
and sometimes boil the things in some old saucepan in which they
cook their food. They do this simply because they have no larger •
vessel to wash in. The vermin fall off the walls and ceiling on you
while you are standing in the rooms. Some of the walls are covered
with marks where they have killed them. Many people in the
summer sit on the door steps all night, the reason for this being, that
166 A SLUM CRUSADE.
their rooms are so close from the heat and so unendurable from the
vermin that they prefer staying out in the cool night air. But as
they cannot stay anywhere long without drinking, they send for beer
from the neighbouring public — alas ! never far away — and pass it from
one doorway to another, the result being singing, shouting and fight-
ing up till three and four o'clock in the morning."
I could fill volumes with stories of the war against vermin, which
is part of this campaign in the slums, but the subject is too revolting
to those who are often indifferent to the agonies their fellow creatures
suffer, so long as their sensitive ears are not shocked by the mention
of so painful a subject. Here, for instance, is a sample of the kind
of region in which the Slum Sisters spend themselves : —
"In an apparently respectable street near Oxford street, the 0£5cers
where visiting one day when they saw a very dark staircase leading
into a cellar, and thinking it possible that someone might be there
they attempted to go down, and yet the staircase was so dark they
thought it impossible for anyone to be there. However, they tried
again and groped their way along in the dark for some time until at
last they found the door and entered the room. At first they could
not discern anything because of the darkness. But after they got
used to it they saw a filthy room. There was no fire in the grate, but
the fire-place was heaped up with ashes, an accumulation of several
weeks at least. At one end of the room there was an old sack of
rags and bones partly emptied upon the floor, from which there came
a most unpleasant odour. At the other end lay an old man very ill.
The apology for a bed on which he lay was filthy and had neither
sheets nor blankets. His covering consisted of old rags. His poor
wife, who attended on him, appeared to be a stranger to soap and
water. These Slum Sisters nursed the old people, and on one
occasion undertook to do their washing, and they brought it heme to
their copper for this purpose, but it was so infested with vermin that
they did not know how to wash it. Their landlady, who happened
to see them, forbade them ever to bring such stuff there any more.
The old man, when well enough, worked at his trade, which was
tailoring. They had two shillings and sixpence per week from the
parish."
Here is a report from the headquarteFS of our Slum Brigade as to
the work which the Slum Sisters have done.
It is almost four years since the Slum Work was started in
London. The principal work done by our first Officers was that of
SOME SLUM TROPHIES. 167
visiting the sick, cleansing the homes of the Slummers, and of
feeding the hungry. The following are a few of the cases of those
who have gained temporally, a$ well as spiritually, through our
work : —
Mrs. W. — Of Haggerston Slum. Heavy drinker, wrecked home, husband
a drunkard, place dirty and filthy, terribly poor. Saved now over two years,
home A I., plenty of employment at cane-chair bottoming; husband now saved
also.
Mrs. R. — Drury Lane Slum. Husband and wife, drunkards ; husband very
lazy, only worked when starved into it. We found them both out of work,
home-fumitureless, in debt. She got saved, and our lasses prayed for him to get
work. He did so, and went to it. He fell out again a few weeks after, and beat his
wife. She sought employment at charing and office cleaning, got it, and has
been regularly at work since. He too got work. He is now a teetotaler. The
home is very comfortable now, and they are putting money in the bank.
A. M. in the Dials. Was a great drunkard, thriftless, did not go to the
trouble of seeking work. Was in a Slum meeting, heard the Captain speak on
" Seek first the Kingdom of God 1 " called out and said, " Do you mean that if I
ask God for work. He will give it me ? " Of course she said, " Yes." He was
converted that night, found work, and is now employed in the Gas Works, Old
Kent Road.
Jimmy is a soldier in the Boro' Slum. Was starving when he got converted
through being out of work. Through joining the Army, he was turned out ot
his home. He found work, and now owns a coffee-stall in Billingsgate Market,
and is doing well
Sergeant R. — Of Marylebone Slum. Used to drink, lived in 2^ wretched
place in the famous Charles Street, had work at two places, at one of
which he got 5s. a week, and the other los., when he got saved ; this was
starvation wages, on which to keep himself, his wife, and four children. At the"
IDS. a week work he had to deliver drink for a spirit merchant ; feeling con-
demned over it, he gave it up, and was out of work for weeks. The brokers
were put in, but the Lord rescued him just in time. The 5s. a week employer
took him aftenvards at i8s., and he is now earning 22s., and has left the ground-
floor Slum tenement for a better house.
H. — Nine Elms Slum. Was saved on Easter Monday, out of work
several weeks before, is a labourer, seems very earnest, in terrible distress.
We allow his wife 2s. 6d. a week for cleaning the hall (to help them). In
addition to that, she gets another 2s. 6d. tor nursing, and on that husband, wife,
and a couple of children pay the rent of 2s. a week and drag out an existence.
I have tried to get work for this man, but have failed.
168 A SLUM CRUSADE
T. — Of Rotherhithe Slum. Was a great drunkard, is a carpenter ; saved
about nine months ago, but, having to work in a public-house on a Sunday,
he gave it up ; he has not been able to get another job, and has nothing but
what we have given him for making seats.
Emma Y. — Now a Soldier of the Marylebone Slum Post, was a wild
young Slummer when we opened in the Boro' ; could be generally seen in the
streets, wretchedly clad, her sleeves turned up, idle, only worked occasionally,
got saved two years ago, had terrible persecution in her home. We got her a
situation, where she has been for nearly eighteen months, and is now a good
servant.
Lpdging-House Frank. — At twenty-one came into the possession of ;£75o,
but, through drink and gambling, lost it all in six or eight months, and for over
seven years he has tramped about from Portsmouth, through the South of
England, and South Wales, from one lodging-house to another, often starving,
drinking when he could get any money ; thriftless, idle, no heart for work.
We found him in a lodging-house six months ago, living with a fallen girl ; got
them both saved and married ; five weeks after he got work as a carpenter at
30s. a week. He has a home of his own now, and promises well to make an
Officer.
The Officer who furnishes the above reports goes on to say : —
I can't call the wretched dwelling home, to which drink had brought Brother
and Sister X. From a life of luxury, they drifted down by degrees to one room
in a Slum tenement, surrounded by drunkards and the vilest characters. Their
lovely half-starved children were compelled to listen to the foulest language,
and hear fighting and quarrelling, and alas, alas, not only to hear it in the
adjoining rooms, but witness it within their own. For over two years they
have been delivered from the power of the cursed drink. The old rookery is "
gone, and now they have a comfortably-furnished home. Their children give
evidence of being truly converted, and have a livel^ gratitude for their father's
salvation. One boy of eight said, last Christmas Day, " I remember when we
had only dry bread for Christmas ; but to-day we had a goose and two plum-
puddings." Brother X. was dismissed in disgrace from his situation as
commercial traveller before his conversion ; to-day he is chiet man, next to his
employer, in a large business house.
He says : —
I am perfectly satisfied that very few of the lowest strata of Society are un-
willing to work if they could get it. The wretched hand-to-mouth existence
many of them have to live disheartens them, and makes life with them either a
feast or a famine, and drives those who have brains enough to crime.
RESULTS ALREADY ATTAINED. 169
The results of our work in the Slums may be put down as : —
1st. A marked improvement in the cleanliness of the homes and
children ; disappearance of vermin, and a considerable lessening of
drunkenness.
2nd. A greater respect for true religion, and especially that of the
Salvation Army.
3rd. A much larger amount of work is being done now than
before our going there.
4th. The rescue of many fallen girls.
Sth. The Shelter work seems to us a development of the Slum
work.
In connection with our Scheme, we propose to immediately
increase the numbers of these Slum Sisters, and to add to their use-
fulness by directly connecting their operations with the Colony,
enablmg them thereby to help the poor people to conditions of life
more favourable to health, morals, and religion. This would be
accomplished by getting some of them employment in the City, which
must necessarily result in better homes and surroundings, or in the
opening up for others of a straight course from the Slums to the
Farm Colony,
Section 2.-.THE TRAVELLING HOSPITAL.
Of course, there is only one real remedy for this state of things,
and that is to take . the people away from the wretched hovels in
which they sicken, suffer, and die, with less comfort and considera-
tion than the cattle in the stalls and styes of many a country
Squire. And this is certainly pur ultimate ambition, but for the
present distress something might be done on the lines of district
nursing, which is only in very imperfect operation.
I have been thinking that if a little Van, drawn by a pony, could
be fitted up with what is ordinarily required by the sick and dying,
and trot round amongst these abodes of desolation, with a couple of
nurses trained for the business, it might be of immense service,
without being very costly. They could have a few simple instru-
ments, so as to draw a tooth or lance an abscess, and what was
absolutely requisite for simple surgical operations. A little oil-stove
for hot water to prepare a poultice, or a hot foment, or a soap wash,
and a number of other necessaries for nursing, could be carried
with ease.
The need for this will only be appreciated by those who know
how utterly bereft of all the comforts and conveniences for attending
to the smallest matters in sickness which prevails in these abodes of
wretchedness. It may be suggested. Why don't the people when
they are ill go to the hospital ? To which we simply reply that
they won't. They cling to their own bits of rooms and to the com-
panionship of the members of their own families, brutal as they often
are, and would rather stay and suffer, and die in the midst of all the
filth and squalor that surrounds them in their own dens, than go to
the big house, which, to them, looks very like a prison.
The sufferings of the wretched occupants of the Slums that we have
been describing, when sick and unable to help themselves, makes the
organisation of some system of nursing them in their own homes a
SICKNESS IN THE SLUMS. 171
Christian duty. Here are a handful of cases, gleaned almost at
random from the reports' of our Slum Sisters, which will show th6
value of the agency above described : —
Many of those who are sick have often only one room, and often several
children. The Officers come across many cases where, with no one to look after
them, they have to lie for hours without food or nourishment of any kind.
Sometimes the neighbours will take them in a cup of tea. It is really a mystery
how they live.
A poor woman in Drury Lane was paralyzed. She had no one to attend to
her ; she lay on the floor, on a stuffed sack, and an old piece of cloth to cover
her. Although it was winter, she very seldom had' any fire. She had no
garments to wear, and but very little to eat
Another poor woman, who was very ill, was allowed a little money by her
daughter to pay her rent and get her food ; but very frequently she had not the
strength to light a fire or to get herself food. She was parted from her husband
because of his cruelty. Often she lay for hours without a soul to visit or help
her.
Adjutant McClellan found a man lying on a straw mattress in a very bad
condition. The room was filthy ; the smell made the Officer feel ill. The man
had been lying for days without having anything done for him. A cup of water
was by his side. The Officers vomited from the terrible smells of this place.
Frequently sick people are found who need the continual application of hot
poultices, but who are left with a cold one for hours.
In Marylobone the Officers visited a poor old woman who was very ill. She
lived in an underground back kitchen, with hardly a ray of light and never a ray
of sunshine. Her bed was made up on some egg boxes. She had no one to
look after her, except a drunken daughter, who very often, when drunk, used to
knock the poor old woman about very badjy. The Officers frequently found
that she had not eaten any food up to twelve o'clock, not even a cup of tea to
drink. The only furniture in the room was a small table, an old fender, and a
box. The vermin seemed to be innumerable.
A poor woman was taken very ill, but, having a small family, she felt she
must get up and wash them. While she was washing the baby she fell down
and was unable to move. Fortunately a neighbour came in soon after to ask
some question, and saw her lying there. She at once ran and fetched another
neighbour. Thinking the poor woman was dead, they got her into bed and
sent for a doctor. He said she was in consumption and required quiet and
nourishment This the poor woman could not get, on account of her children.
She got up a few hours afterwards. As she was going downstairs she fell
down again. The neighbour picked her up and put her back to bed, where for
/
172
THE TRAVELLING HOSPITAL.
a long time she lay thoroughly prostrated. The Officers took her case in hand,
fed, and nursed her, cleaned her room and generally looked after her.
In another dark slum the Officers found a poor old woman in an underground
back kitchen. She was suffering with some complaint When they knocked at
the door she was terrified for fear it was the landlord. The room was in a most
filthy condition, never having been cleaned. She had a penny paraffin lamp
which filled the room with smoke. The old woman was at times totally unable
to do anything for hersel£ The Officers looked after her.
Section 3.— REGENERATION OF OUR CRIMINALS.— THE PRISON
GATE BRIGADE
Our Prisons ought to be reforming institutions, which should turn
men out better than when they entered their doors. As a matter of
fact they are often quite the reverse. There are few persons in this
world more to be pitied than the poor fellow who has served his first
term of imprisonment or finds himself outside the gaol doors without
a character, and often without a friend in the world. Here, again,
the process of centralization, gone on apace of late years, however
desirable it may be in the interests of administration, tells with
disastrous effects on the poor wretches who are its victims.
In the old times, when a man was sent to prison, the gaol
stood within a stone's throw of his home. When he came out he was
at any rate close to his old friends and relations, who would take him in
and give him a helping hand to start once more a new life. But what has
happened owing to the desire of the Government to do away with as
many local gaols as possible ? The prisoners, when convicted, are
sent long distances by rail to the central prisons, and on coming out
find themselves cursed with the brand of the gaol bird, so far from
home, character gone, and with no one to fall back upon for counsfel,
or to give them a helping hand. No wonder it is reported that
vagrancy has much increased in some large towns on account of
discharged prisoners taking to begging, having no other" resource.
In the competition for work no employer is likely to take a man
who is fresh from gaol; nor are mistresses likely to engage a
servant whose last character was her discharge from one of Her
Majesty's prisons. It is incredible how much mischief is often done
by well-meaning persons, who, in struggling towards the attainment
of an excellent end — such, for instance, as that of economy and
efficiency in prison administration — forget entirely the bearing which
their reforms may have upon the prisoners themselves.
174 THE PRISON GATE BRIGADE.
The Salvation Army has at least one great qualification for dealing
with this question. I believe I am in the proud position of being at the
head of the only religious body which has always some of uts
members in gaol for conscience* sake. We are also one of the few
religious bodies which can boast that many of those who are in our
r^nks have gone through terms of penal servitude. We, therefore,
know the prison at both ends. Some men go to gaol because they
are better than their neighbours, most men because they are worse.
Martyrs, patriots, reformers of all kinds belong to the first category.
No great cause has ever achieved a triumph before it has furnished
a certain quota to the prison population. The repeal of an unjust
law is seldom carried until a certain number of those who are
labouring for the reform have experienced in their own persons the
hardships of fine and imprisonment. Christianity itself would never
have triumphed over the Paganism of ancient Rome had the early
Christians not been enabled to testify from the dungeon and the
arena as to the sincerity and serenity of soul with which they could
confront their persecutors, and from that time down to the success-
ful struggles of our people for the right of public meeting at Whit-
church and elsewhere, the Christian religion and the liberties of men
have never failed to demand their qu ta of mart3rrs for the faith.
When a man has been to prison in the best of causes he learns to
look at the question of prison discipline with a much more sympa-
thetic eye for those who are sent there, even for the worst offences,
than judges and legislators who only look at the prison from the
outside. " A fellow-feeling makes one wondrous kind," and it is an
immense advantage to us in dealing with the criminal classes that
many of our best Officers have themselves been in a prison cell.
Our people, thank God, have never learnt to regard a prisoner as a
mere convict — A 234. He is ever a human being to them, who is to
be cared for and looked after as a mother looks after her ailing child.
At present there seems to be but little likelihood of any real reform
in the interior of our prisons.. We have therefore to wait until the
men come outside, in order to see what can be done. . Our work
begins when that of the prison authorities ceases. We have already
had a good deal of experience in this work, both here and in Bombay,
in Ceylon, in South Africa, in Australia and elsewhere, and as the nett
result of our experience we proceed now to set forth the measures
we intend to adopt, some of which are already in successful
operation.
WHAT WE PROPOSE TO DO FOR THE PRISONERS. 175
1. We propose the opening of Homes for this class as near as
possible to the different gaols. One for men has just been taken at
King's Cross, and will be occupied as soon as it can be got ready.
One lor women must follow immediately. Others will be required
in different parts of the Metropolis, and contiguous to each of its
great prisons. Connected with these Homes will be workshops Jn
which the inmates will be regularly employed until such time as we
can get them work elsewhere. For this class must also work, not
only as a discipline, but as the means for their own support.
2. In order to save, as far as possible, first offenders from the
contamination of prison life, and to prevent the formation of further
evil companionships, and the recklessness which follows the loss of
character entailed by imprisonment, we would offer, in the Police
and Criminal Courts, to take such offenders under our wing as were
anxious to come and willing to accept our regulations. The confidence
of both magistrates and prisoners would, we think, soon be secured,
the friends of the latter would be mostly on our side, and the probability,
therefore, is that we should soon have a large number of ca^s placed
under our care on what is known as " suspended sentence," to be
brought up for judgment when called upon, the record of each
sentence to be wiped out on report 'Deing favourable of their conduct
in the Salvation Army Home.
3. We should seek access to the prisons in order to gain such
acquaintance with the prisoners as would enable us the more effectu-
ally to benefit them on their discharge. This privilege, we think,
would be accorded us by the prison authorities when they became
acquainted with the nature of our work and the remarkable results
which followed it. The right of entry into the gaols has already
been conceded to our people in Australia, where they have free
access to, and communion with, the inmates while undergoing their
sentences. Prisoners are recommended to come to us by the gaol
authorities, who also forward to our people information of the date
and hour when they leave, in order that they may be met on their
release.
4. We propose to meet the criminals at the f)rison gates with the
offer of immediate admission to our Homes. The general rule is for
them to be met by their friends or old associates, who ordinarily
belong to the same class. Any way, it would be an exception to the
rule were they not all alike believers in the comforting and cheering
power of tKe intoxicating cup. Hence the public-house is invariably
176 THE PRISON GATE BRIGADE.
adjourned to, where plans for further crime are often decided upon
straight away, resulting frequently, before many weeks are past, in
the return of the liberated convict to the confinement from which he
has just escaped. Having been accustomed during confinement to
the implicit submission of themselves to the will of another, the
newly-discharged prisoner is easily influenced by whoever first gets
hold of him. Now, we propose to be beforehand with these old
companions by taking the gaol-bird under our wing and setting
before him an open door of hope the moment he crosses the
threshold of the prison, assuring him that if he is willing to work
and comply with our discipline, he never need know want any more.
5. We shall seek from the authorities the privilege of supervising
and reporting upon those who are discharged with tickets-of-leave,
so as to free them from the humiliating and harassing duty of
having to report themselves at the police stations.
6. We shall find suitable employment for each individual. If not
in possession of some useful trade or calling we will teach him one.
7. After a certain length of residence in these Homes, if consistent
evidence is given of a sincere purpose to live an honest life, he will
be transferred to the Farm Colony, unless in the meanwhile friends
or old employers take him off our hands, or some other form of
occupation is obtained, in which case he will still be the object of
watchful care.
We shall offer to all the ultimate possibility of being restored
to Society in this country, or transferred to commence life afresh in
another.
With respect to results we can speak very positively, for although
oyr operations up to the present, except for a short time some three
years ago^ have been limited, and unassisted by the important acces-
sories above described, yet the success that has attended them has
been most remarkable. The following are a few instances which
might be multiplied : —
J. W. was met at prison gate by the Captain of the Home and offered help.
He declined to come at once as he had friends in Scotland who he thought
would help him ; but if they failed, he promised to come. It was his first
conviction, and he had six months for robbing his employer. His trade was
that 01 a baker. In a few days he presented himself at the Home, and was
received. In the course of a few weeks, he professed conversion, and gave
every evidence of the change. For four months he was cook and baker in the
kitchen, and at last a situation as second hand was offered for him, with the
SOME PRISOh* TROPHIES. 177
J. S. Sergeant-major of the Congress Hall Corps. That is three years ago. He
is there to-day, saved, and satisfactory ; a thoroughly useful and respectable man.
J. P. was an old offender. He was met at Millbank on the expiration of his
last term (five years), and brought to the Home, where he worked at his trade— ^
a tailor. Eventually he got a situation, and has since married. He has now a
good home, the confidence of his neighbours, is well saved, and a soldier of the
Hackney Corps.
C. M. Old offender, and penal servitude case. Was induced to come to the
Home, got saved, was there for a long period, offered for the work, and went
into the Field, was Lieutenant for two years, and eventually married. He is
now a respectable mechanic and soldier of a Corps in Derbyshire.
J. W. Was manager in a large West End millinery establishment. He was
sent out with two ten-pound packages of silver to change. On his way he met
a companion and was induced to take a drink. In the tavern the companion
made an excuse to go outside and did not return, and W. found one of the
packages had been abstracted from his outside pocket. He was afraid to
return, and decamped with the other into the country. Whilst in a small town
he strolled into a Mission Hall ; there happened to be a hitch in the proceedings,
the organist was absent, a volunteer was called or, and W., being a good
musician, offered to play. It seems the music took hold of him. In the middle
of the hymn he walked out and went to the police station and gave himself up.
He got six months. When he came out, he saw that Happy George, an ex-gaol
bird, was announced at the Congriess Hall. He went to the meeting and was
induced to come to the Home. He eventually got saved, and to-day he is at the
head of a Mission work in the provinces.
" Old Dan " was a penal servitude case, and had had several long sentences.
He came into the Home and was saved. He managed the bootmaking there
for a long time. He has since gone into business at Hackney, and is married.
He is of four years' standing, a thorough respectable tradesman, and a
Salvationist.
Charles C. has done in the aggregate twenty-three years* penal servitude.
Was out on licence, and got saved at the Hull Barracks. At that time he
had neglected to report himself, and had destroyed his licence, taking an
assumed name. When he got saved he gave himself up, and was taken
before the magistrate, who, instead of sending him back to fulfil his sentence,
gave him up to the Army. He was sent to us from Hull by our representative,
is now in our factory and doing well. He is still under police supervision for
five years.
H. Kel^o. Also a licence man. He had neglected to repbrt himself, and was
arrested. While before the magistrate he said he was tired of dishonesty, and
would jgo to the Salvation Army if they would discharge him. He was sent
M
178 THE PRISON GATE BRIGADE.
back to penal servitude. Application was made by us to the Home Secretary
on his behalf, and Mr. Matthews granted his release. He was handed over to
our Officers at Bristol, brought to London, and is now in the Factory, saved and
doing well.
E. W. belongs to Birmingham, is in his forty-ninth year, and has been
in and out of prison all his life. He was at Redhill Reformatory five years, and
his last ^erm was five years* penal servitude. The Chaplain at Pentonville
advised him if he really meant reformation to seek the Salvation Army on his
release. He came to Thames Street, was sent to the Workshop and professed
salvation the following Sunday at the Shelter. This is three months ago. He
is quite satisfactory, industrious, contented and seemingly godly.
A. B., Gentleman loafer, good prospects, drink and idleness broke up hii
home, killed his wife, and got him into gaol. Presbyterian minister, friend of his
family, tried to reclaim him, but unsuccessfully. He entered the Prison Gate
Home, became thoroughly saved, distributed handbills for the Home, and ulti-
mately got work in a large printing and publishing works, where, after three
years' service, he now occupies a most responsible position. Is an elder in the
Presbyterian Church, restored to his family, and the possessor of a happy home,
W. C, a native of London, a good-for-nothing lad, idle and dissolute. When
leaving England his father warned him that if he didn't alter he'd end his days
on the gallows. Served various sentences on all sorts of charges. Over six
years ago we took him in hand, admitted him into Prison Gate Brigade Home,
where he became truly saved ; he got a job of painting, which he had learnt in
gaol, and has married a woman who had formerly been a procuress, but had passed
through our Rescued Sinners' Home, and there became thoroughly converted.
Together they have braved the storms of life, both working diligently for their
living. They have now a happy little home of their own, and are doing very
well.
F. X., the son of a Government officer, a drunkard, gambler, forger, and
all-round blackguard ; served numerous sentences for forgery. On his last
discharge was admitted into Prison Gate Brigade Home, where he stayed abottt
five months and became truly saved. Although his health was completely
shattered from the effects of his sinful life, he steadfastly resisted all temptations
to drink, and kept true to God. Through advertising in the War Cry^ he found
his lost son and daughter, who are delighted with the wonderful change in
their father. They have become regular attendants at our meetings in the
Temperance Hall. He now keeps a coflfee-stall, is doing well, and properly
saved.
G. A., 72, spent 23 years in gaol, last sentence two years for burglary ; was
a drunkard, gambler, and swearer. Met on his discharge by the Prison Gate
Brigade, admitted into Home, where he remained four months, and became
Xn\\y saved. He is living a consistent, godly life, and is in employment
/
SOME PRISON TROPHIES. 179
C. D., aged 64, opium-smoker, gambler, blackguard, separated from wife and
family, and eventually landed in gaol, was met on his discharge and admitted
into Prison Gate Brigade Home, was saved, and is now restored to his wife and
family, and giving satisfaction in his emplojmient
S. T. was an idle, loafing, thieving, swearing, disreputable young man, who
lived, when out of gaol, with the low prostitutes of Little Bourke Street. Was
taken in hand by our Prison Gate Brigade Officers, who got him saved, then
found him work. After a few months he expressed a desire to work for God,
and although a cripple, and having to use a crutch, such was his earnestness
that he was accepted and has done good service as an Army officer. His testi-
mony is good and his life consistent. He is, indeed, a marvel of Divine grace.
M. J., a young man holding a high position in England, got into a fast set ;
thought a change to the Colonies would be to his advantage. Started for
Australia with £200 odd, of which he spent a good portion on board ship in
drink, soon dissipated the balance on landing, and woke up one morning to
find himself in gaol, with delirium tremens on him, no money, his luggage lost,
and without a friend on the whole continent. On his discharge he entered our
Prison Gate Home, became converted, and is now occupying a responsible
position in a Colonial Bank.
B. C, a man Of good birth, education, and position ; drank himself out of
home and friends and into gaol, on leaving which he came to our Home ; was
saved, exhibiting by an earnest and truly consistent life the depth of his con-
version, being made instrumental while with us in the salvation of many who,
like himself, had come to utter destitution and crime through drink. He is now
in a first-class situation, getting £2^0 a year, wife and family restored, the
possessor of a happy home, and the love of God shed abroad in it.
I do not produce these samples, which are but a few, taken at
random from the many, for the purpose of boasting. The power
which has wrought these miracles is not in me nor in my Officers ;
It is power which comes down from above. But I think I may
fairly point to these cases, in which our instrumentality has been
blessed, to the plucking of these brands from the burning, as affording
some justification for the plea to be enabled to go on with this work
on a much more extended scale. If any other organisation, religious
or secular, can show similar trophies as the result of such limited
operations as ours have hitherto been among the criminal population,
I am willing to give place to th«n. All that I want is to have the
work done.
Section 4.— EFFECTUAL DELIVERANCE FOR THE DRUNKARD.
The number, misery, and hopeless condition of the slaves of strong
drink, of both sexes, have been already dealt with at considerable
length.
We have seen that there are in Great Britain one million of men
and women, or thereabouts, completely under the domination of this
cruel appetite. The utter helplessness of Society to deal with the
drunkard has been proved again and again, and confessed on all
hapds by those who have had experience on the subject As we
have before said, the general feehng of all those who have tried their
hands at this kind of business is one of despair. They think the
present race of drunkards must be left to perish, that every species
o£ effort having proved vain, the energies expended in the
endeavour to rescue the parents will be laid out to greater
advantages upon the children.
There is a great deal of truth in all this. Our own efforts have
been successful in a very remarkable degree. Some of the bravest,
most devoted, and successful workers in our ranks are men and
women who were once the most abject slaves of the intoxicating
cup. Instances of this have been given already. We might
multiply them by thousands. Still, when compared with the ghastly
array which the drunken army presents to-day, those rescued arc
comparatively few. The great reason for this is the simple fact that
the vast majority of those addicted to the cup are its veritable
slaves. No amount of reasoning, or earthly or religious considerations,
can have any effect upon a man who is so completely under the
mastery of this passion that he cannot break away from it, although
he sees the most terrible consequences staring him in the face.
The drunkard promises and vows, but promises and vows in
wn. Occasionally he will put forth frantic efforts to deliver himself,
but only to fall again in the presence of the opportunity. The
A SUCCESSFUL RESCUE. 19!
insatiable crave controls him. He cannot get away from it. It
compels him to drink, whether he will or not, and, unless delivered
by an Almighty hand, he will drink himself into a drunkard's grave
and a drunkard's hell.
Our annals team with successful rescues effected from the ranks of
the drunken aurmy. The following will not only be examples of this,
but will tend to illustrate the strength and madness of the passion
which masters the slave to strong drink.
Barbara. — She had sunk about as low as any woman could when we found her.
From the age of eighteen, when her parents had forced her to throw over her
sailor sweetheart and marry a man with '* good prospects," she had been going
steadily down.
She did not love her husband, and soon sought comfort from the little public-
kouse only a few steps from her own door. Quarrels in her home quickly gave
place to fighting angry curses, and oaths, and soon her life became one of the
most wretched in the place. Her husband made no pretence of caring for her,
and when she was ill* and unable to earn money by selling fish in the streets, he
would go ofif for a few months, leaving her to keep the house and suppoit
kerself and babies as best she could. Out of her twenty years of married li£e,
ten were sj)ent in these on-and-oflF separations. And so she got to live for only
one thing — drink. It was life to her ; and the mad craving grew to be irresistible.
The woman who looked after her at the birth of her child refused to fetch her
whisky, so when she had done all she could and left the mother to rest,
Barbara crept out of bed and crawled slowly down the stairs over the way to
the tap-room, where she sat drinking with the baby, not yet an hour old, in her
arms. So things went on, until her life got so unbearable that she determined to
have done with it. Taking her two eldest children with her, she went down to the
bay, and deliberately threw them both into the water, jumping in herself after
them. " Oh, mither, mither, dinna droon me I " wailed her little three-year-old
Sarah, but she was determined and held them under the water, till, seeing a boat
put out to the rescue she knew that she was discovered. Too late to do it
now, she thought, and, holding both children, swam quickly back to the shore. A
made-up story about having fallen into the water satisfied the boatman, and
Barbara returned home dripping and baffled. But little Sarah did not recover
from the shock, and after a few weeks her short life ended, and she was laid in
the Cemetery.
Yet another time, goaded to desperation, she tried to take her life by hanging
herself, but a neighbour came in and cut her down unconscious, but still living
She became a terror to all the neighbourhood, and her name was the bye-word
for daring and desperate actions. But our Open-Air Meetings attracted her, she
came to the Barracks, got saved, and was delivered from her love of drink and sin.
.182 EFFECTUAL DELIVERANCE FOR THE DRUNKARD.
From being a dread her home became a sort of house of refuge in the little
low street where she lived ; other wives as unhappy as herself would come in for
advice and help. Anyone knew that Barbie was changed, and loved to do
all she could for her neighbours. A few months ago she came up to the Captain s
in great distress over a woman who lived just opposite. She had been cruelly
kicked and cursed by her husband, who had finally bolted the door against her,
and she had turned to Barbie as the only hope. And of course Barbie took her
in, with her rough-and-ready kindness got her to bed, kept out the other women
who crowded round to sympathise and declaim against the husband*s brutahty,
was both nurse and doctor for the poor woman till her child was bom and
laid in the mother's arms. And then, to Barbie's distress, she could do no more,
for the woman, not daring to be absent longer, got up as best she could, and
crawled on hands and knees down the little steep steps, across the street, and
back to her own door. ** Butj Barbie 1 " exclaimed the Captain, horrified, " you
should have nursed her, and kept her until she was strong enough." But Barbie
answered by reminding the Captain of " John's " fearful temper, and how it
might cost the woman her life to be absent from her home more than a couple
of hours.
. The second is the case of —
Maggie. — She had a home, but seldom was sober enough to reach it at nights.
She would fall down on the doorsteps until found by some passer-by or a
policeman.
In- on« of hei* mad freaks a boon-companion happened to offend her. He
was a little hunch-back, and a fellow-drunkard ; but without a moment's hesita-
tion, Maggie seized him and pushed him head-foremost down the old-
fashioned wide sewer of the Scotch town. Had not some one seen his heels
kicking out and rescued him, he would surely have been suffocated.
One winter's night Maggie had been drinking heavily, fighting, too, as usual,
and she staggered only as far, on her way home, as the narrow chain-pier.
Here she stumbled and fell, and lay along on the snow, the blood oozing from
her cuts, and her hair spread out in a tangled mass.
At 5 in the morning, some factory girls, crossing the bridge to their work,
came upon her, lying stiff and stark amidst the snow and darkness.
To rouse her from her drunken sleep was hard, but to raise her from the
ground was still harder. The matted hair and blood had frozen last to the
estrth, and Maggie was a prisoner. After trying to free her in different ways,
and receiving as a reward volleys of abuse and bad language, qne of the girls
ran for a kettle of boiling water, and by pouring it all around her, they succeeded
by degrees in melting her on to her feet again I
But she came to our Barracks, and got soundly converted, and the Captain
was rewarded for nights and days of toil by seeing her a saved and sober woman.
A WONDERFUL CASE. 183
All went right till a friend asked her to his house, to drink his health, and
that of his newly-married wife.
" I wouldn't ask you to take anything strong," he said. " Drink to me with this
lemonade."
And Maggie, nothing susf)ecting, drank, and as she drank tasted in the glass
her old enemy, whisky I
The man laughed at h • dismay, but a friend rushed off to tell the Captain.
"I may be in time, she has not really gone back"; and the Captain ran to the
house, tying her bonnet strings as she ran.
" It's no good — keep awa' — I don't want to see'er, Captain," wailed Maggie ;
** let me have some more — oh, I'm on fire inside."
But the Captain was firm, and taking her to her home, she locked herself in
with the woman, and sat with the key in her pocket, while Maggie, half mad
with craving, paced the floor like a caged animal, threatening and entreating by
fferms.
" Never while I live," was all the answer she could get ; so she turned to the
door, and busied hersell there a moment or two. A clinking noise. The Captain
started up — to see the door open and Maggie rush through it I Accustomed
to stealing and all its " dodges," she had taken the lock off the door, and was
away to the nearest public-house.
Down the stairs. Captain after her, into the gin palace ; but before the
astonished publican could give her the drink she was clamouring for, the
** bonnet " was by her side, " If you dare to serve her, I'll break the glass before
it reaches her lips. She shall not have any ! " and so Maggie was coaxed away,
and shielded till the passion was over, and she was herself once more.
But the man who gave her the whisky durst, not leave his house for. weeks.
The roughs got to know of the trap he had laid for her, and would have lynched
him could they have got hold of him.
The third is the case of Rose.
■
Rose was ruined, deserted, and left to the streets when only a girl of thirteen,
by a once well-to-do man, who is now, we believe, closing his days in a workhouse
in the North of England.
Fatherless, motherless, and you might almost say friendless, Rose trod the
broad way to destruction, with all its misery and shame, for twelve long years.
Her wild, passionate nature, writhing under the wrong suffered, sought forgest-
fulness in the intoxicating cup, and she soon became a notorious drunkard.
Seventy-four times during her career she was dragged before the magistrates,
and seventy-four times, with one exception, she was punished, but the seventy-
fourth time she was as far ofi* reformation as ever. The one exception happened
on the Queen's Jubilee Day. On seeing her well-known face again before him,
the magiistrate enquired, " How many times has this woman been here before?"
184 EFFECTUAL DELIVERANCE FOR THE DRUNKARD.
The Police Superintendent answered, " Fifty times." The magistrate remarked,
in somewhat grim humour, " Then this is her Jubilee," and, moved by the coinci-
dence, he let her go free. So Rose spent her jubilee out of prison.
It is a wonder that the dreadful, drunken, reckless, dissipated life she lived did
not hurry her to an early grave ; it did afifect her reason, and for three weeks
she was locked up in Lancaster Lunatic Asylum, having really gone mad through
drink and sin.
In evidence of her reckless nature, it is said that after her second imprison-
ment she vowed she would never again walk to the police station ; con-
sequently, when in her wild orgies the police found it necessary to arrest
her, they had to get her to the police station as best they could, some-
times by requisitioning a wheelbarrow or a cart, or the use of a stretcher, and
sometimes they had to carry her right out. On one occasion, towards the close
of her career, when driven to the last-named method, four policemen were carry-
ing her to the station, and she was extra violent, screaming, plunging and biting,
when, either by accident or design, one of the policemen let go of her head, and
it came in contact with the curbstone, causing the blood to pour forth in a stream.
As soon as they placed her in the cell the poor creature caught the blood in her
hands, and literally washed her face with it. On the following morning she
presented a pitiable sight, and before taking her into the court the police wanted
to wash her, but she declared she would draw any man's blood who attempted
to put a finger upon her ; they had spilt her blood, and she would carry it into
the court as a witness against them. On coming out of gaol for the last time,
she met with a few Salvationists beating the drum and singing ** Oh ! the Lamb,
the bleeding Lamb ; He was found worthy." Rose, struck with the song, and
impressed with the very faces of the people, followed them, saying to herself,
*' I never before heard anything like that, or seen such happy looking people."
She came into the Barracks ; her heart was broken ; she found her way to the
Penitent Form, and Christ, with His own precious blood, washed her sins away.
She arose from her knees and said to the Captain, *' It is all right now."
Three months after her conversion a great meeting was held in the largest
hall in the town, where she was known to almost every inhabitant. There were
about three thousand people present. Rose was called upon to give her testi-
mony to the power of God to save. A more enthusiastic wave of sympathy
never greeted any speaker than that which met her from that crowd, every
one of whom was familiar with her past history. After a few broken words, in
which she spoke of the wonderful change that had taken place, a cousin, who,
like herself, had lived a notoriously evil life, came to the Cross.
Rose is now War Cry sergeant. She goes into the brothels and gin palaces
and other haunts of vice, from which she was rescued, and sells more papers
than any other Soldier.
DELIVER THEM FROM TEMPTATION. 185
« __________^
Tkc Superintendent of Police, soon after her conversion, told the Captain of
the Corps that in rescuing Rose a more wonderful work had been done than he
had seen in all the years gone by.
S. was a native of Lancashire, the son of poor, but pious, parents. He was
saved when sixteen years of age. He was first an Evangelist, then a City
Missionary for five or six years, and afterwards a Baptist Minister. He
then fell under the influence of drink, resigned, and became a commercial
traveller, but lost his berth through drink. He was then an insurance agent,
and rose to be superintendent, but was again dismissed through drink.
During his drunken career he had delirium tremens four times, attempted
suicide three times, sold up six homes, was in the workhouse with his
wife and family three times. His last contrivance for getting drink was to
preach mock sermons, and offer mocf prayers in the tap-rooms.
After one of these blasphemous performances in a public-house, on the words,
" Are you Saved ? " he was challenged to go to the Salvation Barracks. He
went, and the Captain, who knew him well, at once made for him, to plead for
his soul, but S. knocked him down, and rushed back to the public-house for
more drink. He was, however, so moved by what he had heard that he was
unable to raise the liquor to his mouth, although he made three attempts. He
again returned to the meeting, and again quitted it for the public-house. He
could not rest, and for the third time he returned to the Barracks. As he entered
the last time the Soldiers were singing : —
" Depth of mercy, can there be
Mercy still reserved for me ?
Can my God his wrath forbear ?
Me, the chief of Sinners, spare ? "
This song impressed him still further ; he wept, and remained in the Barracks
under deep conviction until midnight. He was drunk all the next day, vainly
trying to drown his convictions. The Captain visited him at night, but was
quickly thrust out of the house. He was there again next morning, and prayed
and talked with S. for nearly two hours. Poor S. was in despair. He persisted
that there was no mercy tor him. After a long struggle, however, hope sprung
up, he fell upon his knees, confessed his sins, and obtained forgiveness.
When this happened, his furniture consisted of a soap-box for a table, and
starch boxes for chairs. His wife, himself, and three children, had not slept
in a bed for three years. He has now a happy family, a comfortable home, and
has been the means of leading numbers of other slaves of sin to the Saviour, and
to a truly happy life.
Similar cases, describing the deliverance of drunkards from the
bondage of strong drink, could be produced indefinitely. There are
OflScers marching in our ranks to-day, who where once gripped by
186 EFFECTUAL DELIVERANCE FOR THE DRUNKARD.
this fiendish fascination, who have had their fetters broken, and are
now free men in the Army. Still the mighty torrent of Alcohol,
fed by ten thousand manufactories, sweeps on, bearing with it, I
have no hesitatiun in saying, the foulest, bloodiest tide that ever
flowed from earth to eternity. The Church of the living God
ought not — and to say nothing about religion, the people who have
any humanity ought not, to rest without doing something desperate
to rescue this half of a million who are in the eddying mael-
strom. We purpose, therefore, the taking away of the people from
the temptation which they cannot resist. We would to God that
the temptation could be taken away from them, that every house
licensed to send forth the black streams of bitter death were closed,
and closed for ever. But this will not be, we fear, for the present
at least.
While in one case drunkenness may be resolved into a habit, in
another it must be accounted a disease. What is wanted in the one
case, therefore, is some method of removing the man out of the
sphere of the temptation, and in the other for treating the passion
as .a disease, as we should any other physical affection, bringing to
bear upon it every agency, hygienic and otherwise, calculated to
effect a cure.
The Dalrymple Homes, in which, on the order of a magistrate and
by their own consent, Inebriates can be confined for a time, have
been a partial success in dealing with this class in both these
respects ; but they are admittedly too expensive to be of any service
to the poor. It could never be hoped that working people of them-
selves, or with the assistance of the:r fri«^^ds, would be able to pay
two pounds a week for the privilege of being removed away from the
licensed temptations to drink which surround them at every step.
Moreover, could they obtain admission they would feel themselves
anything but at ease amongst the class who avail themselves
of these institutions. We propose to establish Homes which will
contemplate the deliverance, not of ones and twos, but of multi-
tudes, and which will be accessible to the poor, or to persons of any
class choosing to use them. This is our national vice, and it
demands nothing short of a national remedy — anyway, one of
proportions large enough to be counted national.
I. To begin with, there will be City Homes, into which a man
can be taken, watched over, kept out of the way of temptation, and if
possible delivered from the power of this dreadful habit.
THE SOCIAL EVIL. 187
In some cases persons would be taken in who are engaged in
business in the City in the day, being accompanied by an attendant
to and from the Home. In this case, of course, adequate remunera-
tion for this extra care would be required.
2. Country Homes, which we shall conduct on the Dalrymple
principle ; that is, taking persons for compulsory confinement, they
binding themselves by a bond confirmed by a magistrate that they
would remain for a certain period.
The general regulations for both establishments would be some-
thing as follows : —
(i). There would be only one class in each establishment. It it was
found that the rich and the poor did not work comfortably
together, separate institutions must be provided.
(2). All would alike have to engage in some remunerative form of em-
ployment. Outdoor work would be preferred, but indoor employ-
ment would be arranged for those for whom it was most suitable,
and in such weather and at such times of the year when garden
work was impracticable.
(3). A charge ct los. per week would be made. This could be
remitted when there was no ability to pay it.
The usefulness of such Homes is too evident to need any
discussion. There is one class of unfortunate creatures who must
be 'objects of pity to all who have any knowledge of their existence,
and that is, those men and women who are being continually dragged
before the magistrates, of whom we are constantly reading in the
police reports, whose lives are spent in and out of prison, at an
enonnous cost to the country, and without any benefit to themselves.
We should then be able to deal with this class. It would be
possible for a magistrate, instead of sentencing the poor wrecks of
humanity to the sixty-fourth and one hundred and twentieth term of
imprisonment, to send them to this Institution, by simply remanding
them to come up for sentence when called for. How much cheaper
such an arrangement would be for the country I
^
Section 5.— A NEW WAY OF ESCAPE FOR LOST WOMEN.
THE RESCUE HOMES.
Perhaps there is no evil more destructive of the best interests of
Society, or confessedly more difficult to deal with remedially, than
that which is known as the Social Evil. We have already seen
something of the extent to which this terrible scourge has grown,
and the alarming manner in which it affects our modem civilisation.
We have already made an attempt at grappling with this evil, having
about thirteen Homes in Great Britain, accommodating 307 girls
under the charge of 132 Officers, together with seventeen Homes
abroad, open for the same purpose. The whole, although a small
affair compared with the vastness of the necessity, nevertheless
constitutes perhaps the largest and most efficient effort of its
character in the world.
It is difficult to estimate the results that have been already
realised. By our varied operations, apart from these' Homes,
probably hundreds, if not thousands, have been delivered from lives
of shame and misery. We have no- exact return of the number who
have gone through the Homes abroad, but in connection with the
work in this country, about 3,000 have been rescued, and are living
lives of virtue.
This success has not only been gratifying on account of the
blessing it has brought these young women, the gladness it has
introduced to the homes to which they have been restored, and the
benefit it has bestowed upon Society, but because it has assured us
that much greater results of the same character may be realised by
operations conducted on a larger scale, and under more favourable
circumstances.
With this view we propose to remodel and greatly increase the
number of our Homes both in London and the provinces, estab-
lishing onfi in every great centre of this infamous traffic.
To make them very largely Receiving Houses, where the girls
will be initiated into the system of reformation, tested as to the
reality of their desires for deliverance, and started forward on the
hig^hway of truth, virtue, and religion.
GIRLS IN THE FARM COLONY. 189
From these Homes large numbers, as at present, would be
restored to their friends and relatives, while some would be detained
in training for domestic service, and others passed on to the Farm
Colony.
On the Farm they would be engaged in various occupations. In the
Factory, at Bookbinding and Weaving ; in the Garden and Glass-
houses amongst fruit and flowers ; in the Dairy, making butter ; in
all cases going through a course of House-work which will fit them
for domestic service.
At every stage the same process of moral and religious training,
on which we specially rely, will be carried forward.
There would probably be a considerable amount of inter-marriage
amongst the Colonists, and in this way a number of these girls
would be absorbed into Society.
A large number would be sent abroad as domestic servants. In
Canada, the girls are taken out of the Rescue Homes as servants,
with no other reference than is gained by a few weeks' residence
there, and are paid as much as £^ a month wages. The scarcity ol
domestic servants in the Australian Colonies, Western States of America,
Africa, and elsewhere is well known. And we have no doubt that
on all hands our girls with 12 months' character will be welcomed,
the question of outfit and passage-money being easily arranged for
by the persons requiring their services advancing the amount, with
an understanding that it is to be deducted out of their first earnings.
Then we have the Colony Over-Sea, which will require the service
of a large number. Very few famihes will go out who will not be
very glad to take a young woman v/ith them, not as a menial
servant, but as a companion and friend.
By this method we should be able to carry out Rescue work on a
much larger scale. At present two difficulties very largely block our
way. One is the costliness of the work. The expense of rescuing
a girl on the present plan cannot he much less than £7 ; that is,
if we include the cost of those with whom we fail, and on whom the
money is largely thrown away. Seven pounds is certainly not a
very large sum for the measure of benefit bestowed upon the girl by
bringing her off the streets, and that which is bestowed on Society
by removing her from her evil course. Still, when the work runs
into thousands of individuals, the amount required becomes con-
siderable. On the plan proposed we calculate that from the date oj
their reaching the Farm Colony they will earn nearly all that is
required for their support.
190 THE RESCUE HOMES.
The next difficulty which hinders our expansion in this depart-
ment is the want of suitable and permanent situations. Although
we have been marvellously successful so far, having at this hour
probably i,200 girls in domestic service alone, still the difficulty in this
respect is great. Families are naturally shy at receiving these poor
unfortunates when they can secure the help they need combined with
unblemished character ; and we cannot blame them.
Then, again, it can easily be understood that the monotony of
domestic service in this country is not altogether congenial to the
tastes of many of these girls, who have been accustomed to a life of
excitement and freedom. This can be easily understood. To be
shut up seven days a week with little or no intercourse, either with
friends or with the outside world, beyond that which comes of the
weekly Church service or ** night out " with nowhere to go, as many
of them are tied off from the Salvation Army Meetings, becomes
very monotonous, and in hours of depression it is not to be
wondered at if a few break down in their resolutions, and fall back
into their old ways.
On the plan we propose there is something to cheer these girls for-
ward. Life on the farm will be attractive. From there they can go to
a new country and begin the world afresh, with the possibility of being
married and having a little home of their own some day. With such
prospects, we think, they will be much more likely to fight their
way through seasons of darkness and temptation than as at
present.
This plan will also make the task of rescuing the girls much more
agi^eeable to the Officers engaged in it. They will have this future
to dwell upon as an encouragement to persevere with the girls, and
will be spared one element at least in the regret they experience,
when a girl falls back into old habits, namely, that she earned the
principal part of the money that has been expended upon her.
That girls can be rescued and blessedly saved even now, despite
all their surroundings, we have many remarkable proofs. Of these
take one or two as examples : —
J. W. was brought by our Officers from a neighbourhood which has, by reason
of the atrocities perpetrated in it, obtained an unenviable renown, even among
similar districts of equally bad character.
She was only nineteen. A country girl. She had begun the struggle for
life early as a worker in a large laundry, and at thirteen years of age was led
away by an inhuman brute. The first false step taken, her course on the
\
A WILD WOMAN. 191
downward road was rapid, and growing restless and anxious for more scope
than that afforded in a country town, she came up to London.
For some time she lived the life of extravagance and show, known to many of
this class for a short time — having plenty of money, fine clothes, and luxurious
surroundings — until the terrible disease seized her poor body, and she soon found
herself deserted, homeless and friendless, an outcast of Society.
When we found her she was hard and impenitent, difficult to reach even with
the hand of love ; but love won, and since that time she has been in two or three
situations, a consistent Soldier of an Army corps, and a champion War Cry seller.
A TICKET-OF-LEAVE WOMAN.
A. B. was the child of respectable working people-^Roman Catholics — ^but
was early left aw orpnan. sme leii m with bad companions, and became ad-
dicted to drink, going from bad to worse until drunkenness, robbery, and harlotry
brought her to the lowest depths. She passed seven years in prison, and after
the last offence was discharged with seven years' police supervision. Failing to
report herself, she was brought before the bench.
The magistrate inquired whether she had ever had a chance in a Home of any
kind. " She is too old, no one will take her," was the reply, but a Detective
present, knowing a little about the Salvation Army, stepped forward and ex-
plained to the magistrate that he did not think the Salvation Army refused
any who applied. She was formally handed over to us in a deplorable condition,
her clothing the scantiest and dirties*.. For over three years she has given
evidence of a genuine reformation, during which time she has industriously earned
her own living.
A WILD WOMAN.
In visiting a slum in a town in the North of England, our Officers entered a
hole, unfit to be called a human habitation — more like the den of some wild
animal alnjpst the only furniture of which was a filthy iron bedstead, a wooden
box to serve for table and chair, while an old tin did duty as a dustbin.
The inhabitant of this wretched den was a poor woman, who fled into the
darkest corner of the place as our Officer entered. This poor wretch was the
victim of a bnatal man, who never allowed her to venture outside the door,
keeping her alive by the scantiest allowance of food. Her only clothing con-
sisted of a sack tied round her body. Her feet were bare, her hair matted and
foul, presenting on the whole such an object as one could scarcely imagine living
in a civilised country.
She had left a respectable home, forsaken her husband and family, and sunk
so low that the man who then claimed her boasted to the Officer that he had
bettered her condition by taking her off the streets.
We took the poor creature away, washed and clothed her ; and, changed in
heart and life, she is one more added to the number of those who rise up to
bless tke Salvation Army workers.
Section 6.— A PREVENTIVE HOME FOR UNFALLEN GIRLS WHEN
IN DANGER.
There is a story told likely enough to be true about a young girl
who applied one evening for admission to some home established for
the purpose of rescuing fallen women. The matron naturally
inquired whether she had forfeited her virtue ; the girl replied in the
negative. She had been kept from that infamy, but she was poor
and friendless, and wanted somewhere to lay her head until she
could secure work, and obtain a home. The matron must have
pitied her, but she could not help her as she did not belong to the
class for whose benefit the Institution was intended. The girl
pleaded, but the matron could noc alter the rule, and dare not break it,
they were so pressed to find room for their own poor unfortunates,
and she could not receive her. The poor girl left the door reluctantly
but returned in a very short time, and said, " I am fallen now, will
you take me in ? "
I am somewhat slow to credit this incident ; anyway it is true in
spirit, and illustrates the fact that while there are homes to which
any poor, ruined, degraded harlot can run for shelter, there is only
here and there a corner to which a poor friendless, moneyless, home-
less, but unfallen girl can fly for shelter from the storm which bids
fair to sweep her away whether she will or no into the deadly vortex
of ruin which gapes beneath her.
In London and all our large towns there must be a considerable
number of poor girls who from various causes are suddenly plunged
into this forlorn condition ; a quarrel with the mistress and sudden
discharge, a long bout of disease and dismissal penniless from the
hospital, a robbery of a purse, having to wait for a situation until
the last penny is spent, and many other causes will leave a girl an
almost hopeless prey to the linx-eyed villains who are ever watching
to take advantage of innocence when in danger. Then, again, what
a number there must be in a great city like London who are ever
faced with the alternative of being tvimed omI of doors if they refuse
HOME^ TO FLY TO.
193
to submit themselves to the infamous overtures of those around
them. I understand that the Society for the Protection of Children
prosecuted last year a fabulous number of fathers for. unnatural sins
with their children. If so many were brought to justice, how many
were there of whom the world never heard in any shape or form ?
We have only to imagine how many a poor girl is faeed with the
terrible alternative of being driven literally into the streets by
employers or relatives or others in whose power she is unfor-
tunately placed.
Now, we want a real home for such — a house to which any girl
can fly at any hour of the day or night, and be taken in, cared for,
shielded from the enemy, and helped into circumstances of safety.
. The Refuge we propose will be very much on the same principle
as the Homes for the Destitute already described. We should
accept any girls, say from fourteen years of age, who were without
visible means of support, but who were willing to work, and to
.conform to discipline. There would be various forms of labour
provided, such as laundry work, sewing, knitting by machines, &c.
Every beneficial influence within our power would be brought
to bear on the rectification and formation of character. Continued
efforts would be made to secure situations according to the adapta-
tion of the girls, to restore wanderers to their homes, and otherwise
provide for all. From this, as with the other Homes, there will be
a way made to the Farm and to the Colony over the sea. The
institutions would be multiplied as we had means and found them to
be necessary, and made self-supporting as far as possible.
Section 7.--ENQUIRY OFFICE FOR LOST PEOPLE.
Perhaps nothing more vividly suggests the varied forms of broken-
hearted misery in the great City than the statement that 18,000
people are lost in it every year, of whom 9,000 are never heard of
any more, anyway in this world. What is true about London is,
we suppose, true in about the same proportion of the rest of the
country. Husbands, sons, daughters, and mothers are continually
disappearing, and leaving no trace behind.
In such cases, where the relations are of some importance in the
world, they may interest the police authorities sufficiently to make
some enquiries in this country, which, however, are not often suc-
cessful ; or where they can afford to spend large sums of money,
they can fall back upon the private detective, who will continue
these enquiries, not only at home but abroad.
But where the relations of the missing individual are in humble
circumstances, they are absolutely powerless, in nine cases out of
ten, to effectually prosecute any search at all that is likely to be
successful.
Take, for instance, a cottager in a village, whose daughter leaves
for service in a big town or city. Shortly afterwards a letter
arrives informing her parents of the satisfactory character of her
place. The mistress is kind, the work easy, and she likes her
fellow servants. She is going to chapel or church, and the family
are pleased. Letters continue to arrive of the same purport, but,
at length, they suddenly cease. Full of concern, the mother writes to
know the reason, but no answer comes back, and after a time the
letters are returned with " gone, no address," written on the
envelope. The mother writes to the mistress, or the father journeys
to the city, but no further information can be obtanned beyond the
fact that ** the girl has conducted herself somewhat mysteriously of
late ; had ceased to be as careful at her work ; had been noticed to
be keeping company with some young man ; had given notice and
disappeared altogether."
FINDING THE LOST.
195
Now, what can these poor people do ? They apply to the police,
but they can do nothing. Perhaps they ask the clergyman of the
parish, who is equally helpless, and there fs nothing for them but
for the father to hang his head and the mother to cry herself to
sleep — to long, and wait, and pray for information that perhaps never
comes, and to fear the worst.
Now, our Enquiry Department supplies a remedy for this state qf
things. In such a case application would simply have to be made to
the nearest Salvation Army Officer — probably in her own village, any
way, in the nearest town — who would instruct the parents to write
to the Chief Office in London, sending portraits and all particulars.
Enquiries would at once be set on foot, which would very possibly
end in the restoration of the girl.
The achievements of this Department, which has only been in
operation for a short time, and that on a limited scale, as a branch of
Rescue Work, have been marvellous. No more romantic stories can
be found in the pages of our most imaginative writers than those it
records. We give three or four illustrative cases of recent date.
ENQUIRY.
RESULT.
A LOST HUSBAND.
Mrs. S., of New Town, Leeds, wrote
to say that Robert R. left England in
July 1889, for Canada to improve his
position. He left a wife and four little
children behind, and on leaving said
that if he were successful out there he
should send for them, but if not he
should return.
As he was unsuccessful, he left
Montreal in the Dominion Liner
" Oregon," on October 30th, but except
receiving a card from him ere he
started, the wife and friends had heard
no more of him from that day till the
date they wrote us.
They had written to the "Dominion"
Company, who replied that " he landed
at Liverpool all right," so, thinking he
had disappeared upon his arrival, they
put the matter in the hands of the
Liverpool Police, who, after having the
case in hand for several weeks made
the usual report — " Cannot be traced."
We at once commenced looking for
some passenger who had come over
by the same steamer, and after the
lapse of a little time we succeeded in
getting hold of one.
In our first interview with him we
learned that Robert R. did not land at
Liverpool, but when suffering from de-
pression threw himself overboard three
days after leaving America, and was
drowned. We further elicited that
upon his death the sailors rifled his
clothes and boxes, and partitioned them.
We wrote the Company reporting
this, and they promised to make en-
quiries and amends, but as too often
happens, upon making report of the
same to the family they took the
matter into their own hands, dealt
with the Company direct, and in all pro-
bability thereby lost a good sum in
compensation which we should pro-
bably have obtained for them.
196
ENQUIRY OFFICE FOR LOST PEOPLE.
A LOST WIFE.
F. J. L. asked us to seek for his wife,
who left him on November 4th, 1888.
He feared she had gone to live an im-
moral life ; gave us two addresses at
which sjie might possibly be heard of,
and a description. They had three
children*
Enquiries at the addresses given
elicited no information, but from ob-
servation in the neighbourhood the
woman's whereabouts was discovered.
After some difficulty our Officer ob-
tained an interview with the woman,
who was greatly astonished at our
having discovered her. She was dealt
with faithfully and firmly: the plain
truth of God set before her, and was
covered with shame and remorse, and
promised to return.
We communicated with Mr. L. A
few days after he wrote that he had
been telegraphed for, had forgiven his
wife, and that they were re-united.
Soon afterwards she wrote expres-
sing her deep gratitude to Mrs. Bram-
well Booth for the trouble taken in her
case.
A LOST CHILD.
Alice P. was stolen away from home
by Gypsies ten years ago, and now
longs to find her parents to be restored
to them. She believes her home to be
in Yorkshire.
The Police had this case in hand for
some time, but failed entirely.
With these particulars we advertised
in the "War Cry." Captain Green,
seeing the advertisement, wrote, April
3rd, from 3, C. S., M. H., that her
Lieutenant knew a family of the name
advertised for, living at Gomersal,
Leeds.
We, on the 4th, wrote to this ad-
dress for confirmation.
April 6th, we heard from Mr. P ,
that this lass is his child, and he writes
full of gratitude and joy, saying he
will send money for her to go home.
We, meanwhile, get from the Police,
who had long sought this girl, a full
description and photo, which we
sent to Captain Cutmore; and on
April 9th, she wrote us to the effect
that the girl exactly answered the
description. Wh got from the parents
15/- for the fare, and Alice was once
more restored to her parents.
Praise God.
FOUND IN CANADA.
197
A LOST DAUGHTER.
E. W. Age 17. Application from this
girl's mother and brother, who had lost
all trace of her since July, 1885, when
she left for Canada. Letters had been
once or twice received, dated from
Montreal, but they stopped.
A photo., full description, and
handwriting were supplied.
A LOST
Mrs. M., Clevedon, one of Harriett P.*s
old mistresses, wrote us, in deep con-
cern, abput this girl. She said she was a
good servant, but was ruined by the
young man who courted her, and had
since had three children. Occasionally,
she would have a few bright and
happy weeks, but would again lapse
into the " vile path."
Mrs. M. tells us that Harriett had
good parents, who are dead, but she
still has a respectable brother in Hamp-
shire. The last she heard of her was
that some weeks ago she was staying
at a Girl's Shelter at Bristol, but had
since left, and nothing more had been
heard of her.
The enquirer requested us to find
her, and in much faith added, " I believe
you are the only people who, if success-
ful in tracing her, can rescue and do
her a pennanent good." |
We discovered that some kind
Church people here had helped E. W.
to emigrate, but they had no informa-
tion as to her movements after landing.
Full particulars, with photo., were
sent to our Officers in Canada. The girl
was not found in Montreal. The infor-
mation was then sent to Officers in other
towns in that part of the Colony.
The enquiry was continued through
some months; and, finally, through
our Major of Division, the girl was
reported to us as having been recognised
in one of our Barracks and identified.
When suddenly called \>yherown name^
she nearly fainted with agitation.
She was in a condition of terrible
poverty and shame, but at once con-
sented, on hearing of her mother's en-
quiries, to go into one of our Canadian
Rescue Homes. She is now doing well.
Her mother's joy may be imaginer •
SERVANT.
We at once set enquiries on foott
and in the space of a few days found
that she had started from Bristol on
the road for Bath. Following her up
we found that at a little place called
Bridlington, on the way to Bath, she
had met a man, of whom she enquired
her way. He hearing a bit of her
story, after taking her to a public-
house, prevailed upon her to go home and
live with him, as he had lost his wife.
It was at this stage that we came
upon the scene, and having dealt with
them both upon the matter, got her to
consent to come away if the man
would not marry her, giving him two
days to make up his mind.
The two days' respite having expired
and, he being unwilling to undertake
matrimony, we brought her away, and
sent her to one of our Homes, where
she is enjoying peace and penitence.
When we informed the mistress and
brother of the success, they were greatly
rejoiced aod o>ienjVi.tVn\e5i >a^ 'sk^
thanks.
198 ENQUIRY OFFICE FOR LOST ^PEOPLE.
A LOST HUSBAND.
In a seaside home last Christmas there was a sorrowing wife, who mourned
over the basest desertion of her husband. Wandering from place to place
drinking, he had left her to struggle alone with four little ones dependent
upon her exertions.
Knowing her distress, the captain of the corps wrote begging us to advertise
for the man in the Cry, . We did this, but for some time heard nothing of the
result.
Several weeks later a Salvationist entered a beer-house, where a group of
men were drinking, and began to distribute War Crys amongst them, speaking
here and there upon the eternity which faced everyone.
At the counter stood a man with a pint pot in hand, who took one of the
jpapers passed to him, and glancing carelessly down its columns caught sight of
his own name, and was so startled that the pot fell from his grasp to the floor.
" Come home," the paragraph ran, " and all will be forgiven."
His sin faced him ; the thought of a broken-hearted wife and starving
children conquered him completely, and there and then he left the public-
house, and started to walk home — a distance of many miles — arriving there
about midnight the same night, after an absence of eleven months.
The letter from his wife telling the good news of his return, spoke also of
his determination by God's help to be a different man, and they are both
attendants at the Salvation Army barracks. _
A SEDUCER COMPELLED TO PAY.
Amongst the letters that came to the Inquiry Office one morning was one
from a girl who asked us to help her to trace the father of her child who had for
some time ceased to pay anything towards its support. The case had been
brought into the Police Court, and judgment given in her favour, but the guilty
one had hidden, and his father refused to reveal his whereabouts.
We called upon the elder man and laid the matter before him, but failed to
prevail upon him either to pay his son's liabilities or to put us into communica-
tion with him. The answers to an advertisement in the War Cry^ however, had
brought the required information as to his son's whereabouts, and the same
morning that our Inquiry Officer communicated with the police, and served a
summons for the overdue money, the young man had also received a letter
from his father advising him to leave the country at once. He had given
notice to his employers ; and the ;£i6 salary he received, with some help his
father had sent him towards the journey, he wai compelled to hand over to the
mother of his child.
TRACED AMONG THE KAFFIRS. 199
FOUND IN THE BUSH.
A year or two ago a respectable-looking Dutch girl might have been seen
making her way quickly and stealthily across a stretch of long rank grass towards
the shelter of some woods on the banks of a distant river. Behind her lay the
South African town from which she had come, betrayed, disgraced, ejected from
her home with words of bitter scorn, having no longer a friend in the wide world
who would hold out to her a hand of help. What could there be better for her
than to plunge into that river yonder, and end this life — no matter what should
come after the plunge ? But Greetah feared the " future," and turned aside to
spend the night in darkness, wretched and alone.
• * * * «
Seven years had passed. An English traveller making his way through
Southern Africa halted for the Sabbath at a little village on his route. A ramble
through the woods brought him unexpectedly in front of a kraal, at the door ot
which squatted an old Hottentot, with a fair white-faced child playing on the
ground near by. Glad to accept the proffered shelter of the hut from the burning
sun^ the traveller entered, and was greatly astonished to find within a young
white girl, evidently the mother of the frolicsome child. Full of pity for the
strange pair, and especially for the girl, who wore an air of refinement little to be
expected in this out-of-t|je-world spot, he sat down on the earthen floor, and
told them of the wonderful Salvation of God. This was Greetah, and the
Englishman would have given a great deal if he could have rescued her from
this miserable lot. But this was impossible, and with reluctance he bid her
farewell.
• * * « *
It was an English home. By a glowing fire one night a man sat alone, and
in his imaginings there came up the vision of the girl he had met in the Hottentot's
Kraal, and wondering whether any way of rescue was po«^sible. Then he
remembered reading, since his return, the following paragraph ir the War Cry : —
"to the distressed.
'• The Salvation Army invite parents, relations, -and friends %a any part of the
world interested in any woman or girl who is known, or feared to be, living in
immorality, or is in danger of coming under the control of immoral persons, to
write, stating full particulars, with names, dates, and address of all concerned,
and, if possible, a photograph of the person in whom the interest is taken.
" All letters, whether from these persons or from such women or girls them-
selves^ will be regarded as strictly .confidential. They may be written in any
language, and should be addressed to Mrs. Bramwell Booth, loi. Queen Victoria
Street, London, E.C."
" It will do no harm to try, anyhow," exclaimed he, " the thing haunts me as
it is," and without further delay he penned an account of his African adventure,
* ' ^am
200 ENQUIRY OFFICE FOR LOST PEOPLE.
as full as possible. The next African mail carried instructions to the Officer ia
Command of our South African work.
* * * « *
Shortly after, one of our Salvation Riders was exploring the bush, and after
some difficulty the kraal was discovered — the girl was rescued and saved. The
Hottentot was converted afterwards, and both are now Salvation Soldiers.
Apart from the independent agencies employed to prosecute this
class of enquiries, which it is proposed ta very largely increase, the
Army possesses in itself peculiar advantages for this kind of
investigation. The mode of operation is as follows : —
There is a Head Centre under the direction of a capable Officer
and assistants, to which particulars of lost husbands, sons, daughters,
and wives, as the case may be, are forwarded. These are advertised,
except when deemed inadvisable, in the English " War Cry," with
its 300,000 circulation, and from it copied into the twenty-three other
" War Crys " published in different parts of the world. Specially
prepared information in each case is sent to the local Officers of the
Army when that is thought wise, or Special Enquiry Officers trained
to their work are immediately set to work to follow up any clue which
has been given by enquiring relations or friends.
Every one of its 10,000 Officers, nay, almost every soldier in its
ranks, scattered, as they are, through every quarter of the globe,
may be regarded as an Agent.
A small charge for enquiries is made, and, where persons are able
all the costs of the investigation will be defrayed by them.
Mi^
Section S.— REFUGES FOR THE CHILDREN OF THE STREETS.
For the waifs and strays of the streets of London much com-
miseration is expressed, and far more pity is deserved than is
bestowed. We have no direct purpose of entering on a crusade on
their behalf, apart from our attempt at changing the hearts and lives
and improving the circumstances of their parents.
Our main hope for these wild, youthful, outcasts lies in this
direction. If we can reach and benefit their guardians, morally and
materially, we shall take the most effectual road to benefit the
children themselves.
Still, a number of them will unavoidably be forced upon us ; and
we shall be quite prepared to accept the responsibility of dealing
with them, calculating that our organisation will enable us to do so,
not only with facility and efficiency, but with trifling cost to the
public.
To begin with. Children's Creches or Children's Day Homes would
be established in the centres of every poor population, where for a
small charge babies and young children can be taken care of in the
day while the mothers are at work, instead of being left to the
dangers of the thoroughfares or the almost greater peril of being
burnt to death in their own miserable homes.
By this plan we shall not only be able to benefit the poor children,
if in no other direction than that of soap and water and a little whole-
some food, but exercise some humanising influence upon the mothers
themselves.
On the Farm Colony, we should be able to deal with the infants
from the Unions and other quarters. Our Cottage mothers, with
two or three children of their own, would readily take in an
extra one on the usual terms of boarding out children, and nothing
would be more simple or easy for us than to set apart some trust-
worthy experienced dame to make a constant inspection as to
whether the children placed out were enjoying the necessary conditior^
of health and general well-being. Here would be a Daby Pariii
carried on with the most favourable surroundings.
Section 9.— INDUSTRIAL SCHOOLS.
I also propose, at the earliest opportunity, to give the
subject of the industrial training of boys a fair trial; and,
if successful, follow it on with a similar one for girls. I
am nearly satisfied in my own mind that the children of the
streets taken, say at eight years of age, and kept till, say
twenty-one, would, by judicious management and the utilisation of
their strength and capacity, amply supply all their own wants, and
would, I think, be likely to turn out thoroughly good and capable
members of the community.
Apart from the mere benevolent aspect of the question, the
present system of teaching is, to my mind, unnatural, and shame-
fully wasteful of the energies of the children. Fully one-half the
time that boys and girls are compelled to sit in school is spent to
little or no purpose — nay, it is worse than wasted. The minds of the
children are only capable of useful application for so many con-
secutive minutes, and hence the rational method must be to apportion
the time of the children ; say, half the morning's work to be given to
their books, and the other half to some industrial employment ; the
garden would be most natural and healthy in fair weather, while the
workshop should be fallen back upon when unfavourable.
By this method health would be promoted, school would be loved,
the cost of education would be cheapened, and the natural bent of
the child's capacities would be discovered and could be cultivated.
Instead of coming out of school, or going away from apprenticeship,
with the most precious part of life for ever gone so far as learning
is concerned, chained to some pursuit for which there is no predilec-
tion, and which promises nothing higher than mediocrity if not
failure — the work for which the mind was peculiarly adapted
and for which, therefore, it would have a natural capacity,
would not only have been discovered, but the bent of the inclination
cultivated, and the life's work chosen accordingly.
INDUSTRIAL SCHOOLS. 203
It is not for me to attempt any reform of our School system on
this model. *But I do think that I may be allowed to test the theory
by its practical working in an Industrial School in connection with
the Farm Colony. I should begin probably with children selected
for their goodness and capacity, with a view to imparting a superior
education, thus fitting them for the position of Officers in all parts of
the world, with the special object of raising up a body of men
thoroughly trained and educated, among other things, to carry out
all the branches of the Social work that are set forth in this book,
and it may be to instruct other nations in the same.
Section io.— ASYLUMS FOR MORAL LUNATICS
I'here will remain, after all has been said and done, one problem
that has yet to be faced. You may minimise the difficulty every way,
and it is your duty to do so, but no amount of hopefulness can make
us blink the fact that when all has been done and every chance
has been offered, when you have forgiven your brother not only
seven times but seventy times seven, when you have fished him
up from the mire and put him on firm ground only to see
him relapse and again relapse until you have no strength left to
pull him out once more, there will still remain a residuum of
men and women who have, whether from heredity or custom, or
hopeless demoralisation, become reprobates. After a certain time,
some men of science hold that persistence in habits tends to convert
a man from a being with freedom of action and will into a mere
automaton. There are some cases within our knowledge which
seem to confirm the somewhat dreadful verdict by which a man
appears to be a lost soul on this side of the grave.
There are men so incorrigibly lazy that no inducement that
you can offer will tempt them to work ; so eaten up by vice
that virtue is abhorrent to them, and so inveterately dishonest
that theft is to them a master passion. When a human being has
reached that stage, there is only one course that can be rationally
pursued. Sorrowfully, but remorselessly, it must be recognised
that he has become lunatic, morally demented, incapable of self-
government, and that upon him, therefore, must be passed the
sentence of permanent seclusion from a world in which he is not fit
to be at large. e ultimate destiny of these poor wretches should
be a penal setiicment where they could be confined during H^r
Majesty's pleasure as are the criminal lunatics at Broadmoor.
It is a crime against the race to allow those who are so inveterately
depraved the freedom to wander abroad, infect their fellows, prey
OBJECTS OF INFINITE COMPASSION. 205
upon Society, and to multiply their kind. Whatever else Society
may do, and suffer to be done, this thing it ought not to allow, any
more than it should allow the free perambulation of a mad dog. But
before we come to this I would have every possible means tried to
effect their reclamation. Let Justice punish them, and Mercy put
her arms around them ; let them be appealed to by penalty and by
reason, and by every influence, human and Divine, that can possibly
be brought to bear upon them. Then, if all alike failed, their ability
to further curse their fellows and themselves should be stayed.
They will still remain objects worthy of infinite compassion. They
should lead as human a life as is possible to those who have fallen
under so terrible a judgment. They should have their own little cottages
in their own little gardens, under the blue sky, and, if possible, amid the
green fields. I would deny tjiem none of the advantages, moral, mental,
and religious which might minister to their diseased minds, and tend to
restore them to a better ^tate. Not until the breath leaves their
bodies should we cease to labour and wrestle for their salvation
But when they have reached a certain point access to their fellow
men should be forbidden. Between them and the wide world there
should be reared an impassable barrier, which once passed should be
recrossed no more for ever. Such a course must be wiser than allow-
ing them to go in and out among their fellows, carrying with them
the contagion of moral leprosy, and multiplying a progeny doomed
before its birth to inherit the vices and diseased cravings of their
unhappy parents.
To these proposals three leading objections will probably be raised
I. It may be said that to shut out men and women from
that liberty which is their universal birthright would be
cruel.
To this it might be sufficient to reply that this is already done ;
twenty years* immurement is a very common sentence passed upon
wrongrdoers, and in some cases the law goes as far as to inflict
penal servitude for life. But we say further that it would be far
more merciful treatment than that which is dealt out to them at
present, and it would be far more likely to secure a pleasant existence.
Knowing their fate they would soon become resigned to it. Habits
of industry, sobriety, and kindness with them would create a restful-
ness of spirit which goes far on in the direction of happiness, and if
religion were added it would make that happiness complete.
There might be set continually before them a large measure of free-
206 ASYLUMS FOR MORAL LUNATICS.
dom and more frequent intercourse with the world in the shape of
correspondence, newspapers^ and even occasional interviews with
relatives, as rewards for well-doing. And in sickness and old age
their latter days might be closed in comfort. In fact, so far as this
class of people were concerned, we can see that they would be far
better circumstanced for happiness in this life and in the life to
come than in their present liberty — if a life spent alternatively
in drunkenness, debauchery, and crime, on the one hand, or the
prison on the other, can be calted liberty.
2. It may be said that the carrying out of such a sug-
gestion would be too expensive.
To this we reply that it would have to be very costly to exceed
the expense in which all such characters involve the nation under
the present regulations of vice and crime. But there is no need for
any great expense, seeing that after the first outlay the inmates of
such an institution, if it were fixed upon the land, would readily
earn all that would be required for their support.
3. But it may be said that this is impossible.
It would certainly be impossible other than as a State regulation.
But it would surely be a very simple matter to enact a law which
should decree that after an individual had suffered a certain number
of convictions for crime, drunkenness, or vagrancy, he should forfeit
his freedom to roam abroad and curse his fellows. When I in-
clude vagrancy in this list, I do it on the supposition that the oppor-
tunity and ability for work are present. Otherwise it seems to me
most heartless to punish a hungry man who begs for food because
he can in no other way obtain it. But with the opportunity and
ability for work I would count the solicitation of charity a crime, and
punish it as such. Anyway, if a man would not work of his own
free will I would compel him.
\
CHAPTER VI.
ASSISTANCE IN GENERAL.
There are many who are not lost, who need help. A little assis-
tance given to-day will perhaps prevent the need of having to save
them to-morrow. There are some, who, after they have been
rescued, will still need a friendly hand. The very service which we
have rendered them at starting makes it obligatory upon us to finish
the good work. Hitherto it may be objected that the Scheme has
dealt almost exclusively with those who are more or less disreputable
and desperate. This was inevitable. We obey our Divine Master
and seek to save those who are lost. But because, as I said at the
beginning, urgency is claimed rightly for those who have no helper,
we do not, therefore, forget the needs and the aspirations of the
decent working people who are poor indeed, but who keep their feet,
who have not fallen, and who help themselves and help each other.
They constitute the bulk of the nation. There is an uppercrust and
a submerged tenth. But the hardworking poor people, who earn
a pound a week or less, constitute in every land the majority of the
population. We cannot forget them, for we are at home with them.
We belong to them and many thousands of them belong to us. We
are always studying how to help them, and we think this can be done
in many ways, some of which I proceed to describe.
N
Section i.-IMPROVED LODGINGS.
The necessity for a superior class of lodgings for the poor men
rescued at our Shelters has been forcing itself already upon our
notice, and demanding attention. One of the first things that
happens when a man, lifted out of the gutter, has obtained a
situation, and is earning a decent livelihood, is for him to want some
better accommodation than that afforded at the Shelters. We have
some hundreds on our hands now who can afford to pay fftr greater
comfort and seclusion. These are continually saying to us something
like the following : —
"The Shelters are all very well when a man is down in his luck.
They have been a good thing for us ; in fact, had it not been for
them, we would still have been without a friend, sleeping on the
Embankment, getting our living dishonestly, or not getting a living
at all. We have now got work, and want a bed to sleep on, and a
room to ourselves, and a box, or something where we can stow away
our bits of things. Cannot you do something for us ? " We have
replied that there were Lodging-houses elsewhere, which, now that
they were in work, they could afford to pay for, where they would
obtain the comfort they desired. To this they answer, " That is all
very well. We know there are these places, and that we could go
to them. But then," they said, "you see, here in the Shelters are
our mates, who think as we do. And there is the prayer, and the
meeting, and kind influence every night, that helps to keep us
straight. We would like a better place, but if you cannot find us
one we would rather stop in the Shelter and sleep on the floor, as
we have been doing, than go to something more complete, get into
bad company, and so fall back again to where we were before."
But this, although natural, is not desirable ; for, if the process
went on, in course of time the whole of the Shelter Dep6ts would be
taken up by persons who had risen above the class for whom they
•^ THE POOR MAN'S METROPOLE. 209
were originally destined. I propose, therefore, to draft those who get
on, but wish to continue in connection with the Army, into a superior
lodging-house, a sort of
POOR man's METROPOLE,
managed on the same principles, but with better accommodation
in every way, which, I anticipate, would be self-supporting from
the first. In these homes there would be separate dormitories,
good sitting-rooms, cooking conveniences, baths, a hall for meetings,
and many other comforts, of which all would have the benefit at as
low a figure above cost price as will not only pay interest on the
original outlay, but secure us against any shrinkage of capital.
Something superior in this direction will also be required for the
women. Having begun, we must go on. Hitherto I have proposed
to deal only with single men and single women, but one of the conse-
quences of getting hold of these men very soon makes itself felt. Your
ragged, hungry, destitute Out-of-Work in almost every case is married.
When he comes to us he comes as single and is dealt with as
such, but after you rouse in him aspirations for better things he
remembers the wife whom he has probably enough deserted, or
left from sheer inability to provide her anything to eat. As soon as
such a iftan finds himself under good influence and fairiy employed his
first thought is to go and look after the ** Missis." There is very
little reality about any change of heart in a married man who does
not thus turn in sympathy and longing towards his wife, and the
more successful we are in dealing with these people the more
inevitable it is that we shall be confronted with married couples
who in turn demand that we should provide for them lodgings.
This we propose to do also on a commercial footing. I see greater
developments in this direction, one of which will be described in the
chapter relating to Suburban Cottages. The Model-lodging House
for Married People is, however, one of those things that must be
provided as an adjunct of the Food and Shelter Depdts,
Section 2.— MODEL SUBURBAN VILLAGES.
As I have repeatedly stated already, but will state once more,
for it is important enough to bear endless repetition, one of the
first steps which must inevitably be taken in the reformation of this
class, is to make for them decent, healthy, pleasant homes, or help
them to make them for themselves, which, if possible, is far better.
I do not regard the institution of any first, second, or third-class
lodging-houses as affording anything but palliatives of the existing
distress. To substitute life in a boarding-house for life in the
streets is, no doubt, an immense advance, but it is by no means
the ultimatum. Life in a boarding-house is better than the worst,
but it is far from being the best form of human existence. Hence,
the object I constantly keep in view is how to pilot those persons
who have been set on their feet again by means of the Food and
Shelter Depots, and who have obtained employment in the City,
into the possession of homes of their own.
Neither can I regard the one, or at most two, rooms in which the
large majority of the inhabitants of our great cities are compelled
to spend their days, as a solution of the question. The over-
crowding which fills every separate room of a tenement with a
human litter, and compels family life from the cradle to the grave to
be lived within the four walls of a single apartment, must go on
reproducing in endless succession all thie terrible evils which such a
state of things must inevitably create.
Neither can I be satisfied with the vast, unsightly piles of
barrack-like buildings, which are only a slight advance upon the
Union Bastille — dubbed Model Industrial Dwellings — so much in
fashion at present, as being a satisfactory settlement of the burning
question of the housing of the poor.
As a contribution to this question, I propose the establishment of
a scries of Industrial Settlements or Suburban Villages, lying out in
WORKMEN'S COTTAGES. 211
the country, within a reasonable distance of all" our great cities,
composed of cottages of suitable size and construction, and with all
needful comfort and accommodation for the families of working-men,
the rent of which, together with the railway fare, and other
economic conveniences, should be within the reach of a family of
moderate income.
This proposal lies slightly apart from the scope of this book,
otherwise I should be disposed to elaborate the project at greater
length. I may say, however, that what I here propose has been
carefully thought out, and is of a perfectly practical character. In
the planning of it I have received some valuable assistance from a
friend who has had considerable experience in the building trade,
and he stakes his professional reputation on its feasibility. The
following, however, may be taken as a rough outline : —
The Village should not be more than twelve miles from town ;
should be in a dry and healthy situation, and on a line of railway.
It is not absolutely necessary that it should be near a station, seeing
that the company would, for their own interests, immediately
erect one.
The Cottages should be built of the best material and workman-
ship. This would be effected most satisfactorily by securing a
contract for the labour only, the projectors of the Scheme purchasing
the materials and supplying them direct from the manufacturers to
the builders. The cottages would consist of three or four rooms,
with a scullery, and out-building in the garden. The cottages
should be built in terraces, each having a good garden
attached.
Arrangements should be made for the erection of from one
thousand to two thousand houses at the onset.
In the Village a Co-operative Goods Store should be established,
supplying everything that was really necessary for the villagers at
the most economic prices.
The sale of intoxicating drink should be strictly forbidden on the
Estate, and, if possible, the landowner from whom the land is
obtained should be tied off from allowing any licences to be held on
any other portion of the adjoining land.
It is thought that the Railway Company, in consideration of the
inconvenience and suffering they have inflicted on the poor, and in
their own interests, might be induced to make the following
advantageous arrangements : —
212 MODEL SUBURBAN VILLAGES.
(i) The conveyance of each member actually living in the village
to and from London at the rate of sixpence per week. Each pass
should have on it ^he portrait of the owner, and be fastened to some
article of the dress, and be available only by Workmen's Trains
running early and late and during certain hours of the day, when the
trains are almost empty.
(2) The conveyance of goods and parcels should be at half the
ordinary' rates.
It is reasonable to suppose that large landowners would gladly
give one hundred acres of land in view of the immensely advanced
values of the surrounding property which would immediately follow,
seeing that the erection of one thousand or two thousand cottages
would constitute the nucleus of a much larger Settlement
Lastly, the rent of a four-roomed cottage must not exceed 3s.
per week. Add to this the sixpenny ticket to and from London,
and you have 3s. 6d., and if the company should insist on is., it
will make 4s., for which there would be all the advantages of a
comfortable cottage — of which it would be possible for the tenant to
become the owner — a good garden, pleasant surroundings, and other
influences promotive of the health and happiness of the family. It
is hardly necessary to remark that in connection with this Village
there will be perfect freedom of opinion on all matters. A glance at
the ordinary homes of the poor people of this great City will at once
assure us that such a village would be a veritable Paradise to them,
and that were four, five, or six settlements provided at once they
would not contain a tithe of the people who would throng to occupy
them.
SEtTioN 3— THE POOR MAN'S BANK.
If the love of money* is the root of all evil, the want of money is
the cause of an immensity of evil and trouble. The moment you
begin practically to alleviate the miseries of the people, you discover
that the eternal want of pence is one of their greatest difficulties. In
my most sanguine moments I have never dreamed of smoothing this
difficulty out of the lot of man, but it is surely no unattainable ideal
to establish a Poor Man's Bank, which will extend to the lower
middle class and the working population the advantages of the credit
system, which is the very foundation of our boasted commerce.
It might be better that there should be no such thing as credit,
that no one should lend money, and that everyone should be com-
pelled to rely solely upon whatever ready money he may possess
from day to day. But if so, let us apply the principle all round ; do
not let us glory in our world-wide commerce and boast ourselves in
our riches, obtained, in so many cases, by the ignoring of this prin-
cigle. If it is right for a great merchant to have dealings with his
banker, if it is indispensable for the due carrying on of the business
of the rich men that they should have at their elbow a credit system
which will from time to time accommodate them with needful
advances and enable them to stand up against the pressure of
sudden demands, which otherwise would wreck them, then surely
the case is still stronger for providing a similar resource for the
smaller men, the weaker men. At present Society is organised far
too much on the principle of giving to him who hath so that he
shall have more abundantly, and taking away from him who hath
not even that which he hath.
If we are to really benefit the poor, we can only do so by practical
measures. We have merely to look round and see the kind of
advantages which wealthy men find indispensable for the due
management of their business, and ask ourselves whether poor men
214 THE POOR MAN'S BANK.
cannot be supplied with the same opportunities. The reason why
they are not is obvious. To supply the needs of the rich is a means
of making yourself rich ; to supply the needs of the poor will
involve you in trouble so out of proportion to the profit that the
game may not be worth the candle. Men go into banking and
other businesses for the sake of obtaining what the American
humourist said was the chief end of man in these modem times,
namely, "ten per cent." To obtain a ten per cent, what will not men
do? They will penetrate the bowels of the earth, explore the
depths of the sea, ascend the snow-capped mountain's highest peak,
or nayigate the air, if they can be guaranteed a ten per cent. I do
not venture to suggest that the business of a Poor Man's Bank
would yield ten per cent., or even five, but I think it might be made
to pay ijgexpenses, and the resulting gain to the community would
be enormoi^s.
Ask any merchant in your acquaintance where his business
would be if he had no banker, and then, when you have his answer,
ask yourself whether it would not be an object worth taking some
trouble to secure, to furnish the great mass of our fellow country-
men, on sound business principles with the advantages of the credit
system, which is found to work so beneficially for the " well-to-do "
few.
Some day I hope the State may be sufficiently enlightened to take
up this business itself ; at present it is left in the hands of the
pawnbroker and the loan agency, and a set of sharks, who cruelly prey
upon the interests of the poor. The establishment of land banks,
where the poor man is almost always a peasant, has been one of the
features of modem legislation in Russia, Germany, and elsewhere.
The institution of a Poor Man's Bank will be, I hope, before long,
one of the recognised objects of our own government.
Pending that I venture to throw out a suggestion, without in any
way pledging myself to add this branch of activity to the already
gigantic range of operations foreshadowed in this book — ^Would it not
be possible for some philanthropists with capital to establish on
clearly defined principles a Poor Man's Bank for the making of small
loans on good security, or making advances to those who are in
danger of being overwhelmed by sudden financial pressure — in fact, for
doing for the " little man " what all the banks do for the " big man " ?
Meanwhile, should it enter into the heart of some benevolently dis-
posed possessor of wealth to give the price of a racehorse, or of an
PERSONAL SECURITY. 215
** old master/* to form the nucleus of the necessary capital, I will cer-
tainly experiment in this direction. i
I can anticipate the sneer of the cynic who scoffs at what he calls
my glorified pawnshop. I am indifferent to his sneers. A Mont dc
Fi6t6 — the very name (Mount of Piety) shows that the Poor Man's
Bank is regarded as anything but an objectionable institution across
the Channel — might be an excellent institution in England. Owing,
however, to the vested interests of the existing traders it might be
impossible for the State to establish it, excepting at a ruinous
expense. There would be no difficulty, however, of instituting a
private Mont de Piet6, which would confer an incalculable boon upon
the struggling poor.
Further, I am by no means indisposed to recognise the necessity of
dealing with this subject in connection with the Labour Bureau,
provided that one clearly recognised principle can be acted upon.
That principle is that a man shall be free to bind himself as security
for the repayment of a loan, that is to pledge himself to work for his
rations until such time as he has repaid capital and interest.
An illustration or two will explain what I mean. Here is a
carpenter who comes to our Labour shed ; he is an honest, decent
man, who has by sickness or some other calamity been reduced to
destitution. He has by degrees pawned one article after another
to keep body and soul together, until at last he has been
compelled to pawn his tools. We register him, and an employer
comes along who wants a carpenter whom we can recommend.
We at once suggest this man, but then arises this difficulty.
He has no tools ; what are we to do ? As things are at
present, the man loses the job and continues on our hands.
Obviously it is most desirable in the interest of the community
that the man should get his tools out of pawn ; but who is to
take the responsibility of advancing the money to redeem them ?
This difficulty might be met, I think, by the man entering into a
legal undertaking to make over his wages to us, or such proportion
of them as would be convenient to his circumstances, we in return
undertaking to find him in food and shelter until such time
as he has repaid the advance made. That obligation it would be
the truest kindness to enforce with Rhadamantine severity. Until
the man is out of debt he is not his own master. All that he can
make over his actual rations and Shelter money should belong to his
creditcwr Of course such an arrangement might be varied indefinitely
216 THE POOR MAN'S BANK.
by private agreement ; the repayment of instalments could be spread
over a longer or shorter time, but the mainstay of the whole principle
would be the execution of a legal agreement by which the man makes
over the whole product of his labour to the Bank until he has repaid
his debt.
Take another instance. A clerk who has been many years in a
situation and has a large family, which he has brought up respectably
and educated. He has every prospect of retiring in a few years
upon a superannuating allowance, but is suddenly confronted by a claim
often through no fault of his own, of a sum of fifty or a hundred
j)ounds, which is quite beyond his means. He has been a careful,
saving man, who has never borrowed a penny in his life, and does
not know where to turn in his emergency. If he cannot raise this
money he will be sold up, his family will be scattered, his situation
and his prospective pension will be lost, and blank ruin will stare
him in the face. Now, were he in receipt of an income of ten times
the amount, he would probably have a banking account, and, in
consequence, be able to secure an advance of all he needed from his
banker. Why should he not be able to pledge his salary, or a
portion of it, to an Institution which would enable him to pay off
his debt, on terms that, while sufficiently remunerative to the
bank, would not unduly embarrass him ?
At present what does the poor wretch do? He cbnsults his
friends, who, it is quite possible, are as hard up as himself, or he
applies to some loan agency, and as likely as not falls into the
hands of sharpers, who indeed, let him have the money, but at interest
altogether out of proportion to the risk which they run, and use the
advantage which their position gives them to extort every penny he
has. A great black book written within and without in letters of
lamentation, mourning, and woe might be written on the dealings of
these usurers with their victims in every land.
It is of little service denouncing these extortioners. They have
always existed, and probably always will ; but what we can do
is to circumscribe the range of their operations and the number
of their victims. This can only be done by a legitimate and
merciful provision for these poor creatures in their hours of
desperate need, so as to prevent their falling into the hands of
these remorseless wretches, who have wrecked the fortunes of
thousands, and driven many a decent man to suicide or a pre-
mature grave
HARDSHIP OF THE HIRE SYSTEM. 217
I ■ ■» I 111 ■ I , . I ■!■•■■ I I I ■ ■
There are endless ramifications of this principle, which do not
need to be described here, but before leaving the subject I may
allude to an evil which is a cruel reality, alas ! to a multitude of
unfortunate men and women. I refer to the working of the Hire
System. The decent poor man or woman who is anxious to
earn an honest penny by the use of, it may be a mangle, or a
sewing-machine, a lathe, or some other indispensable instrument,
and is without the few pounds necessary to buy it, must take it on
the Hire System — that is to say, for the accommodation of being
allowed to pay for the machine by instalments — he is charged, in
ad4ition to the full market value of his purchase, ten or twenty times
the amount of what would be a fair rate of interest, and more than
this if he should at any time, through misfortune, fail in his payment,
the total amount already paid will be confiscated, the machine seized,
and the money lost.
Here again we fall back on our analogy of what goes on in a
small community where neighbours know each other. Take, for
instance, when a lad who is recognised as bright, promising, honest,
and industrious, who wants to make a start in life which requires
some little outlay, his better-to-do neighbour will often assist
him by providing the capital necessary to enable him to make
a way for himself in the world. The neighbour does this because
he knows the lad, because the family is at least related by ties of
neighbourhood, and the honour of the lad's family is a security upon
which a man may safely advance a small sum. All this would
equally apply to a destitute widow, an artizan suddenly thrown out
of work, an orphan family, or the like. In the large City all this
kindly helpfulness disappears, and with it go all those small acts of
service which are, as it were, the buffers which save men from
being crushed to death against the iron walls of circumstances. We
must try to replace them in some way or other if we are to get
back, not to the Garden of Eden, but to the ordinary conditions
of life, as they exist in a healthy, small community. No institu-
tion, it is true, can ever replace the magic bond of personal
friendship, but if we have the whole mass of Society permeated
in every direction by brotherly associations established for the
purpose of mutual help and sympathising counsel, it is not an
impossible thing to believe that we shall be able to do something
to restore the missing element in modem civilisation.
Section 4.— THE POOR MAN'S LAWYER.
The moment you set about dealing with the wants of the people,
you discover that many of their difficulties are not material, but
moral. There never was a greater mistake than to imagine that you
have only to fill a man's stomach, and clothe his back in order to
secure his happiness. Man is, iftuch more than a digestive apparatus,
liable to get out of order. Hence, while it is important to remember
that man has a stomach, it is also necessary to bear in mind that he
has a heart, and a mind that is frequently sorely troubled by diffi-
culties which, if he lived in a friendly world, would often disappear.
A man, and still more a woman, stands often quite as much in need
of a trusted adviser as he or she does of a dinner or a dress. Many
a poor soul is miserable all the day long, and gets dragged down
deeper and deeper into the depths of sin and sorrow and despair for
want of a sympathising friend, who can give her advice, and make
her feel that somebody in the world cares for her, and will help her
if they can.
If we are to bring back the sense of brotherhood to the world, we
must confront this difficulty. God, it was said in old time, setteth
the desolate in families ; but somehow, in our time, the desolate
wander alone in the midst of a careless and unsympathising world.
** There is no one who cares for my soul. There is no creature
loves me, and if I die no one will pity me," is surely one of the
bitterest cries that can burst from a breaking heart. One of the
secrets of the success of the Salvation Army is, that the friendless of
the world find friends in it. There is not one sinner in the world —
no matter how degraded and dirty he may be — whom my people will
not rejoice to take by the hand and pray with, and labour for, if
thereby they can but snatch him as a brand from the burning.
Now, we want to make more use of this, to make the Salvation
Army the nucleus of a great agency for bringing comfort and counsel
SOCIETY NEEDS "MOTHERING/' 219
to those who arc at their wits' end, feeling as if in the whole world
there was no one to whom they could go.
What we want to do is to exemplify to the world the family idea.
" Our Father " is the keynote. One is Our Father, then all we are
brethren. But in a family, if anyone is troubled in mind or
conscience, there is no difficulty. The daughter goes to her father,
or the son to his mother, and pour out their souFs troubles, and are
relieved. If there is any serious difficulty a family council is held,
and all unite their will and their resources to get matters put
straight. This is what we mean to try to get done in the New .
Organisation of Society for which we are labouring. We cannot
know better than God Almighty what will do good to man. We are ^
content to follow on His lines, and to mend the world we shall seek
to restore something of the family idea to the many hundreds of
thousands — ay, millions — who have no one wiser or more
experienced than themselves, to whom they can take their sorrows,
or consult in their difficulties.
Of course we can do this but imperfectly. Only God can create a
mother. But Society needs a great deal of mothering, much more,
than it gets. And as a child needs a mother to run to in its
difficulties and troubles, to whom it can let out its little heart in
confidence, so men and women, weary and worn in the battles
of life, need someone to whom they can go when "pressed down
with a sense of wrongs suffered or done, knowing that their confi-
dence will be preserved inviolate, and that their statements will
be received with sympathy. I propose to attempt to meet this want.
I shall establish a department, over which I shall place the wisest,
the pitifullest, and the most sagacious men and women whom I can
find on my staff, to whom all those in trouble and perplexity shall
be invited to address themselves. It is no use saying that we love
our fellow men unless we try to help them, and it is no use pretending
to sympathise with the heavy burdens which darken their lives
unless we try to ease them and to lighten their existence.
Insomuch as we have more practical experience of life than
other men, by so much are we bound to help their inexperience, and
share our talents with them. But if we believe they are our brothers,
and that One is our Father, even the God who will come to judge
U8 hereafter for all the deeds that we have done in the body, then
must we constitute, in some such imperfect way as is open to us, the
parentitl ofiScet We must be willing to receive the outpourings of our
220 THE POOR MAN'S LAWYER.
struggling fellow men, to listen to the long-buried secret that has
troubled the human heart, and to welcome instead of repelling those
who would obey the Apostolic precept: "To confess their sins one to
another." Let not that word confession scandalise any. Confession of
the most open sort ; confession on the public platform before the
presence of all the man's former associates in sin has long been one of
the most potent weapons by which the Salvation Army has won its
victories. That confession we have long imposed on all our converts,
and it is the only confession which seems to us to be a condition of
Salvation. But this suggestion is of a different kind. It is not im-
posed as a means of grace. It is not put forward as a preliminary to
the absolution which no one can pronounce but our Lord Himself. It is
merely a response on our part to one of the deepest needs and
secret longings of the actual men and women who are meeting us
daily in our work. Why should they be left to brood in misery
over their secret sin, when a plain straightforward talk with a man
or woman selected for his or her S3mipathetic common-sense and
spiritual experience might take the weight oflF their shoulders which
is crushing them into dull despair ?
Not for absolution, but for sympathy and direction, do I propose to
establish my Advice Bureau in definite form, for in practice it has
been in existence for some time, and wonderful things have been
done in the direction on which I contemplate it working. I have
no pleasure in inventing these departments. They all entail hard
work and no end of anxiety. But if we are to represent the love
of God to men, we must minister to all the wants and needs of the
human heart. Nor is it only in affairs of the heart that this Advice
Bureau will be of service. It will be quite as useful in affairs of
the head. As I conceive it, the Advice Bureau will be
THE POOR man's LAWYER AND THE POOR MAN's TRIBUNE.
There are no means in London, so far as my knowledge goes, by
which the poor and needy can obtain any legal assistance in the
varied oppressions and difficulties from which they must, in conse-
quence of their poverty and associations, be continually suflFering.
While the '* well-to-do " classes can fall back upon skilful friends
for direction, or avail themselves of the learning and experience of the
legal profession, the poor man has literally no one qualified to counsel
him oa such mattery. In cases of sickness he can apply to the
A POPULAR COURT OF ARBITRATION. 221
parish doctor or the great hospital, and receive an odd word or two
of advice, with a bottle of physic which may or may not be of
service. But if his circumstances are sick, out of order, in danger of
carrying him to utter destitution, or to prison, or to the Union, he
has no one to appeal tb who has the willingness or the ability to help
him.
Now, we want to create a Court of Counsel or Appeal, to which
anyone suffering from imposition having to do with person, liberty,
or property, or anything else of sufficient importance, can apply, and
obtain not only advice, but practical assistance.
Among others for whom this Court would be devised is the
shamefully-neglected class of Widows, of whom in the East
of London there are 6,000, mostly in very destitute circumstances.
In the whole of London there cannot be less than 20,000, and
in England and Wales it is estimated there are 100,000, fifty
thousand of whom are probably poor and friendless.
The treatment of these poor people by the nation is a crying
scandal. Take the case of the average widow, even when left in
comfortable circumstances. She will often be launched into a sea ot
perplexity, although able to avail herself of the best advice. But
think of the multitudes of poor women, who, when they close
their husbands' eyes, lose the only friend who knows anything
about their circumstances. There may be a trifle of money or a
struggling business or a little income connected with property or
-some other possession, all needing immediate attention, and that
of a skilful sort, in order to enable the poor creature to weather
the storm and avoid the vortex of utter destitution.
All we have said applies equally to orphans and friendless
people generally. Nothing, however, short of a national institu-
tion could meet the necessities of all such cases. But we can do
something, and in matters already referred to, such as involve
loss of property, malicious prosecution, criminal and otherwise, we
can render substantial assistance.
In carrying out this purpose it will be no part of our plan to
encourage legal proceedings in others, or to have recourse to
them ourselves. All resort to law would be avoided either in
counsel or practice, unless absolutely necessary. But where
manifest injustice and wrong are perpetrated, and every other
method of obtaining reparation fails, we shall avail ourselves of
the assistance the Law affords.
222 THE POOR MAN'S LAWYER.
, - —
Our great hope of usefulness, however, in this Department lies
in prevention. The knowledge that the oppressed poor have in us a
friend able to speak for them will often prevent the injustice which
cowardly and avaricious persons might otherwise inflict, and the
same considerations may induce them to accord without compulsion
the right of the weak and friendless.
I also calculate upon a wide sphere of usefulness in the direction
of friendly arbitration and intervention. There will be at least one
disinterested tribunal, however humble, to which business, domestic,
or any other questions of a contentious and litigious nature can be
referred without involving any serious costs.
The following incidents have been gathered from operations already
undertaken in this direction, and will explain and illustrate the kind
of work we contemplate, and some of the benefits that may be
expected to follow from it.
About four years ago a young and delicate girl, the daughter of a pilot, came
to us in great distress. Her story was that of thousands of others. She had
been betrayed by a man in a good position in the West End, and was now the
mother of an infant child
Just before her confinement her seducer had taken her to his solicitors and
made her sign and swear an affidavit to the effect that he was not the father of
the then expected child. Upon this he gave her a few pounds in settlement of
all claims upon him. The poor thing was in great poverty and distress.
Through our solicitors, we immediately opened communications with the man,
and after negotiations, he, to avoid further proceedings, was compelled to secure
by a deed a proper allowance to his unfortunate victim for the maintenance of
her child.
SHADOWED AND CAUGHT.
A was induced to leave a comfortable home to become the governess of
the motherless children of Mr. G , whom she found to be a kind and con-
siderate employer. After she had been in his service some little time he pro-
posed that she . should take a trip to London. To this she very gladly
consented, all the more so when he offered to take her himself to a good
appointment he had secured for her. In London he seduced her,, and kept her
as his mistress until, tired of her, he told her to go and do as ** other women
did."
Instead of descending to this infamy, she procured work, and so supported
herself and child in some degree of comfort, when he sought her out and again
dragged her down. Another child was born, and a second time he threw her
up and left her to starve. It was thep §he applied to our people. We bunted
DEFENCE OF THE DEFENCELESS. 223
Up the man, followed him to the country, threatened him with public exposure,
and forced from him the payment to his victim of £60 down, an allowance of
;^i a week, and an Insurance Policy on his life for £^S^ ^^ ^^r favour.
;g6o FROM ITALY.
C. was seduced by a young Italian of good position in society, who promised
to marry her, but a short time before the day fixed for the ceremony he told her
urgent business called him abroad. He assured her he would return in two
years and make her his wife. He wrote occasionally, and at last broke her
heart by sending the news of his marriage to another, adding insult to injury by
suggesting that she should come and live with his wife as her maid, offering at
the same time to pay for the maintenance of the child till it was old enough to
be placed in charge of the captain of one of the vessels belonging to his firm.
None of these promises were fulfilled, and C, with her mother's assistance,
for a time managed to support herself and child ; but the mother, worn out by
age and trouble, could help her no longer, and the poor girl was: driven to
despair. Her case was brought before us, and we at once set to work to assist
her. The Consul of the town where the seducer lived in style was communicated
with. Approaches were made to the young man's father, who, to save the dis-
honour that would follow exposure, paid over £60. This helps to maintain the
child ; and the girl is in domestic service and doing well.
THE HIRE SYSTEM.
The most cruel wrongs are frequently inflicted on the very poorest
persons, in connection with this method of obtaining . Furniture,
Sewing Machines, Mangles, or other articles. Caught by the lure of
misleading advertisements, the poor are induced to purchase articles
to be paid for by weekly or monthly instalments. They struggle
through half the amount perhaps, at all manner of sacrifice, when
some delay in the payment is made the occasion not only for seizing
the goods, which they have come to regard as their own, and on
which their very existence depends, but by availing themselves of
some technical clause in the agreement, for robbing them in addition.
In such circumstances the poor things, being utterly friendless, have
to submit to these infamous extortions without remedy. Our Bureau
will be open to all such.
TALLYMEN, MONEY LENDERS, AND felLLS-OF-SALEMONGERS.
Here again we have a class who prey upon the poverty of the
people, inducing them to purchase things for which they have often
no immediate use — anyway for which there is no real necessity — by
all manner of specious promises as to easy terms of repayment
224 THE POOR MAN'S LAWYER.
— ■'^^■-Mrw — r - ■ _ _ ■ I - - — m- - — v - - - --
And once having got their dupes into their power they drag them
down to misery, and very often utter temporal ruin ; once in their
net escape is exceedingly difficult, if not impossible. We propose
to help the poor victims by this Scheme, as far as possible.
Our Bureau, we expect will be of immense service to Clergymen,
Ministers of all denominations, District Visitors, Missionaries, and
others who freely mix among the poor, seeing that they must be
frequently appealed to for legal advice, which they are quite unable
to give, and equally at a loss to obtain. We shall always be very
glad to assist such.
THE DEFENCE OF UNDEFENDED PERSONS.
The conviction is gradually fixing itself upon the public mind that
a not inconsiderable number of innocent persons are from time to
time convicted of crimes and offences, the reason for which often is
the mere inability to secure an efficient defence. Although there are
several societies in London and the country dealing with the criminal
classes, and more particularly with discharged prisoners, yet there
does not appear to be one for the purpose of assisting unconvicted
prisoners. This work we propose boldly to take up.
By this and many other ways we shall help those charged with
criminal offences, who, on a most careful enquiry, might reasonably
be supposed to be innocent, but who, through want of means, are
unable to obtain the legal assistance, and produce the evidence
necessary for an efficient defence.
We shall not pretend authoritatively to judge as to who is innocent
or who is guilty, but if after full explanation and enquiry the person
charged may reasonably be supposed to be innocent, and is not in a
position to defend himself, then we should feel free to advise such a
case, hoping thereby to save such person and his family and friends
from much misery, and possibly from utter ruin.
Mr. Justice Field recently remarked : —
" For a man to assist another man who was under a criminal charge was a
highly laudable and praiseworthy act. If a man was without friends, and an
Englishman came forward and legitimately, and for the purpose of honestly
assisting him with means to put before the Court his case, that was a highly
laudable and praiseworthy act, and he should be the last man in the country to
complain of any man for so doing."
These remarks are endorsed by most Judges and Magistrates,
and our Advice Bureau will give practical effect to them.
ADVICE BUREAU IN CRIMINAL CHARGES.
225
In every case an attempt will be made to secure, not only the
outward reformation, but the actual regeneration of all whom we
assist. Special attention, as has been described under the " Criminal
Reform Department," will be paid to first offenders.
We shall endeavour also to assist, as far as we have ability, the
Wives and Children of persons who are undergoing sentences,
by endeavouring to obtain for them employment, or otherwise
rendering them help. Hundreds of this class fall into the deepest
distress and demoralisation through want of friendly aid in the
forlorn circumstances in which they find themselves on the con-
viction of relatives on whom they have been dependent for a liveli-
hood, or for protection and direction in the ordinary affairs of life.
This Department will also be responsible for gathering intelligence,
spreading information, and the general prosecution of such measures
as are likely to lead to the much-needed beneficial changes in our
Prison Management. In short, it will seek to become the true friend
and saviour of the Criminal Classes in general, and in doing so
we shall desire to act in harmony with the societies at present in
existence, who may be seeking for objects kindred to the
Advice Bureau.
We pen the following list to give some idea of the topics on which
the Advice Bureau may be consulted : —
Accidents, Claim for
Administration of Estates
Adulteration of Food and
Drugs
Agency, Questions of
Agreements, Disputed
Affiliation Cases
Animals, Cruelty to
Arrest, Wrongful
Assault
Bankruptcies
Bills of Exchange
Bills of Sale
Bonds, Forfeited
Breach of Promise
Children, Cruelty to
tt
ft
tt
Children, Custody of Employers* Liability Act
Compensation for Injuries Executors, Duties of
for Accident
for Defamation Factory Act, Breach of
for Loss of Fraud, Attempted
Employ-
ment, &c.,
&c.
Confiscation by Landlords
Contracts, Breach of
Goodwill, Sale ot
Guarantee, Forfeited
Copyright, Infringement
of •
County Court Cases
Debts
Distress, Illegal
Divorce
Ejectment Cases
Heir-at-Law
Husbands and Wives,
Disputes of
Imprisonment, False
Infants, Custody of
Intestacy, Cases of
Judgment Summonses.
226
THE POOR MAN'S LAWYER.
Landlord and Tenant
Cases
Leases, Lapses and
Renewals of
Legacies, Disputed
Libel Cases '
Licences
Marriage Law, Question
of the
Masters* and Servants*
Acts
Meeting, Right of Public
Mortgages
Negligence, Alleged
^ext of Kin Wanted
Nuisances, Alleged
Partnership, The Law of
Patents, Registration and
Infringement of
Paymbrokers and their
Pledges
Police Cases
Probate
Rates and Taxes
Reversionary Interests
Seduction, Cases of
Servants' Wrongful Dis-
missal
Sheriffs
Sureties Estreated
Tenancies, Disputed
Trade Marks, Infringe-
ment of
Trespass, Cases of
Trustees and Trusts
Wages Kept Back
Wills, Disputed and
Unproved
Women, Cruelty to
Workmen, Grievances oi
&c., &c.
The Advice Bureau will therefore be, first of all, a place where
men and women in trouble can come when they please to com-
municate in confidence the cause of their anxiety, with a certainty
that they will receive a sympathetic hearing and the best advice.
Secondly, it will be a Poor Man's Lawyer, giving the best legal
counsel as to the course to be pursued in the various circumstances
with which the poor find themselves confronted.
Thirdly, it will act as a Poor Man's Tribune, and will undertake
the defence of friendless prisoners supposed to be innocent, together
with the resistance of illegal extortions, and the prosecution of
offenders who refuse legal satisfaction for the wrongs they have
committed.
Fourthly, it will act wherever it is called upon as a Court of
Arbitration between litigants, where the decision will be according
to equity, and the costs cut down to the lowest possible figure.
Such a Department cannot be improvised ; but it is already in a
fair way of development, and it can hardly fail to do great good.
Section 5.~0UR INTELLIGENCE DEPARTMENT.
An indispensable adjunct of this Scheme will be the institution of
what may be called an Intelligence Department at Headquarters.
Power, it has been said, belongs to the best informed, and if we are
effectually to deal with the forces of social evil, we must have ready
at our fingers' ends the accumulated experience and information of
the whole world on this subject. The collection of facts and the
systematic record of them would be invaluable, rendering the results
of tlie experiments of previous generations available for the informa-
tion of our own.
At the present there is no central institution, either governmental
or otherwise, in this country or any other, which charges itself with
the duty of collecting and collating the ideas and conclusions on
Social Economy, so far as they are likely to help the solution of the
problem we have in hand. The British Home Office has only begun
to index its own papers. The Local Government Board is in a
similar condition, and, although each particular Blue Book may be
admirably indexed, there is no classified index of the whole series.
If this is the case with the Government, it is not likely that the innu-
merable private organisations which are pecking here and there at the
social question should possess any systematised method for the purpose
of comparing notes and storing information. This Intelligence Depart-
ment, which I propose to found on a small scale at first, will have in
it the germ of vast extension which will, if adequately supported,
become a kind of University, in which the accumulated experiences
of the human race will be massed, digested, and rendered available
to the humblest toiler in the great work of social reform. At the
present moment, who is there that can produce in any of our
museums and universities as much as a classified index of publica-
tions relating to one of the many heads under which I have dealt
with this subject ? Who is there among all our wise men and social
reformers that can send me a list of all the best tracts upon — say,
the establishment of agricultural colonies or the experiments that
have been made in dealing with inebriates ; or the best plans for the
construction of a working man's cottage ?
S28 OUR Intelligence department.
» ^ — ■ — - " — **^*^
For the development of this Scheme I want an Office to be ;in with,
in which, under the head of the varied subjects treated of in this
volume, I may have arranged the condensed essence of all the best
books that have been written, and the names and addresses of those
whose opinions are worth having upon them, together with a note of
what those opinions are, and the results of experiments which have
been made in relation to them. I want to establish a system which
will enable me to use, not only the eyes and hands of Salvation
Officers, but of sympathetic friends in all parts of the world, fgr
purposes of noticing and reporting at once every social experiment
of importance, any words of wisdom on the social question, whether
it may be the breeding of rabbits, the organisation of an emigration
service, the best method of conducting a Cottage Farm, or the
best way of cooking potatoes. There is nothing in the whole range
of our operations upon which we should not be accumulating and
recording the results of human experience. What I want is to get
the essence of wisdom which the wisest have gathered from the
widest experieuce, rendered instantly available for the humblest
worker in the Salvation Factory or Farm Colony, and for any other
toiler in similar fields of social progress.
It can be done, and in the service of the people it ought to be done.
I look for helpers in this department among those who hitherto
may not have cared for the Salvation Army, but who in the seclusion
of their studies and libraries will assist in the compiling of this
great Index of Sociological Experiments, and who would be willing,
in this form, to help in this Scheme, as Associates, for the ameliora-
ting of the condition of the people, if in nothing else than in using
their eyes and ears, and giving me the benefit of their brains as to
where knowledge lies, and how it can best be utilised. I propose to
make a beginning by putting two capable men and a boy in an
office, with instructions to cut out, preserve, and verify all con-
temporary records in the daily and weekly press that have a bearing
upon any branch of our departments. Round these two men and a
boy will grow up, I confidently believe, a vast organisation of
zealous unpaid workers, who will co-operate in making our Intel-
Igence Department a great storehouse of information — a universal
library where any man may learn what is the sum of human know-
ledge upon any branch of the subject which we have taken in hand
Section 6.— CO-OPERATION IN GENERAL
If anyone asked me to state in one word what seemed likely to be
the key of the solution of the Social Problem I should answer un-
hesitatingly Co-operation. It being always understood that it is Co-
operation conducted on righteous principles, and for wise and
benevolent ends ; otherwise Association cannot be expected to bear
any more profitable fruit than Individualism. Co-operation is applied
association — association for the purpose of production and distribu-
tion. Co-operation implies the voluntary combination of individuals
to the attaining an object by mutual help, mutual counsel, and mutual
eflfort. There is a great deal of idle talk in the world just now
about capital, as if capital were the enemy of labour. It is quite
true that there are capitalists not a few who may be regarded as the
enemies, not only of labour, but of the human racs; but capital
itself, so far from being a natural enemy of labour, is the great object
which the labourer has constantly in view. However much an
agitator may denounce capital, his one great grievance is that he has
not enough of it for himself Capital, therefore, is not an evil in
itself; on the contrary, it is good — so good that one of the great aims
of the social reformer ought to be to facilitate its widest possible
distribution among his fellow-men. It is the congestion of capital
that is evil, and the labour question will never be finally solved
until every labourer is his own capitalist.
All this is trite enough, and has been said a thousand times already,
but, unfortunately, with the saying of it the matter ends. Co-opera-
tion has been brought into practice in relation to distribution with
considerable success, but co-operation, as a means of production, has
not achieved anything like the success that was anticipated. Again
and again enterprises have been begun on co-operative principles
which bid fair, in the opinion of the promoters, to succeed ; but after
one, two, three, or ten years, the enterprise which was started with
such high hopes has dwindled away into e\t\iei tot^ox^^T>aai'l^iiNJ^^
230 CO-OPERATION IN GENERAL.
At present, many co-operative undertakings are nothing more or less
than huge Joint Stock Limited LiabiUty concerns, shares of which
are held largely by working people, but not necessarily, and some-
times not at all by those who are actually employed in the so-called
co-operative business. Now, why is this ? Why do co-operative
firms, co-operative factories, and co-operative Utopias so very often
come to grief ? I believe the cause is an open secret, and can be
discerned by anyone who will look at the subject with an open eye.
The success of industrial concerns is largely a question of manage-
ment. Management signifies government, and government impUes
authority, and authority is the last thing which co-operators of the
Utopian order are willing to recognise as an element essential to the
success of their Schemes. The co-operative institution which is
governed on Parliamentary principles, with unlimited right of
debate and right of obstruction, will never be able to compete
successfully with institutions which are directed by a single
brain wielding the united resources of a disciplined and obedient
army of workers. Hence, to make co-operation a success you
must superadd to the principle of consent the principle of
authority ; you must invest in those to whom you entrust the manage-
ment of your co-operative establishment the same liberty of action
that is possessed by the owner of works on the other side of the
street. There is no delusion more common among men than the
belief that liberty, which is a good thing in itself, is so good as to
enable those who possess it to dispense with all other good things-
But as no man lives by bread alone, neither can nations or factories
or shipyards exist solely upon unlimited freedom to have their own
way. In co-operation we stand pretty much where the French
nation stood immediately after the outburst of the Revolution. In
the enthusiasm of the proclamation of the rights of man, and the
repudiation of the rotten and effete regime of the Bourbons, the
French peasants and workmen imagined that they were inaugurating
the millennium when they scrawled Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity
across all the churches in every city of France. They carried their
principles of freedom and license to the logical ultimate, and
attempted to manage their army on Parliamentary principles. It
did not work ; their undisciplined levies were driven back ; disorder
reigned in the Republican camp ; and the French Revolution would
have been stifled in its cradle had not the instinct of the nation
discerned in time the weak point in its armour. Menaced by foreign
SUCCESS IN CO-OPERATIOW. 231
wars and intestine revolt, the Republic established an iron discipline
in its army, and enforced obedience by the summaty process of
military execution. The liberty and the enthusiasm developed by
the outburst of the long pent-up revolutionary forces supplied the
motive power, but it was the discipline of the revolutionary armies,
the stern, unbending obedience which was enforced in all ranks from
the highest to the lowest, which created for Napoleon the admirable
military instrument by which he shattered every throne in Europe
and swept in triumph from Paris to Moscow.
In industrial affairs we are very much like the French Republic
before it tempered its doctrine of the rights of man by the duty of
obedience on the part of the soldier. We have got to introduce dis-
cipline into the industrial army, we have to superadd the principle of
authority tp the principle of co-operation, and so to ei^ble the
worker to profit to the full by the increased productiveness of the
willing labour, of men who are employed in their own workshops and
on their own property. There is no need to clamour for great'
schemes of State Socialism. The whole thing can be done simply,
economically, and speedily if only the workers will practice as much
self-denial for the sake of establishing themselves as capitalists, as
the Soldiers of the Salvation Army practice every year in Self Denial
Week. What is the sense of never making a levy except during a
strike ? Instead of calling for a shilling, or two shillings, a week in
order to maintain men who are starving in idleness because of a dis-
pute with their masters, why should there not be a levy kept up for
weeks or months, by the workers, for the purpose of setting them-
selves up in business as masters ? There would then be no longer
a capitalist owner face to face with the masses of the proletariat, but
all the means of production, the plant, and all the accumulated re-
sources of capital would really be at the disposal of labour. This
will never be done, however, as long as co-operative experiments are
carried on in the present archaic fashion.
Believing in co-operation as the ultimate solution, if to co-opera-
tion you can add subordination, I am disposed to attempt some-
thing in this direction in my new Social Scheme. I shall endeavour
to start a Co-operative Farm on the principles of Ralahine, and base
the whole of my Farm Colony on a Co-operative foundation.
In starting this little Co-operative Commonwealth, I am reminded
by those who are always at a man^s elbow to fill him with forebodings
of ill, to look at the failures, which I have just referred to, which
232
CO-OPERATION IN GENERAL.
make up the history of the attempt to realise ideal commonwealths in
this practical workaday world. Now, I have read the history of the
many attempts at co-operation that have been made to form commun-
istic settlements in the United States, and am perfectly familiar with
the sorrowful fate with which nearly all have been overtaken ; but the
story of their failures does not deter me in the least, for I regard
them as nothing more than warnings to avoid certain mistakes,
beacons to illustrate the need of proceeding on a different tack.
Broadly speaking, your experimental communities fail because your
Utopias all start upon the system of equality and government by
vote of the majority, and, as a necessary and unavoidable con-
sequence, your Utopians get to loggerheads, and Utopia goes to smash.
I shall avoid that rock. The Farm Colony, like all the other
departments of the Scheme, will be governed, not on the principle of
countiilg noses, but on the exactly opposite principle* of admitting
no noses into the concern that are not willing to be guided by the
directing brain. It will be managed on principles which assert that
the fittest ought to rule, and it will provide for the fittest being
selected, and having got them at the top, will insist on universal
and unquestioning obedience from those at the bottom. If any-
one does not like to work for his rations and submit to
the orders of his superior Officers he can leave. There is no
compulsion on him to stay. The world is wide, and outside the
confines of our Colony and the operations of our Corps my authority
does not extend. But judging from our brief experience it is not
from revolt against authority that the Scheme is destined to fail.
There cannot be a greater mistake in this world than to imagine
that men object to be governed. They like to be governed, provided
that the governor has his " head screwed on right" and
that he is prompt to hear and ready to see and recognise all that
is vital to the interests of the commonwealth. So far from there
being an innate objection on the part of mankind to being governed,
the instinct to obey is so universal that even when governments have
gone blind, and deaf, and paralytic, rotten with corruption and hope-
lessly behind the times, they still contrive to live on. Against a capable
Government no people ever rebel, only when stupidity and incapacity
have taken possession of the seat of power do insurrections .break
out.
V
\ \
Section 7.— A MATRIMONIAL BUREAU.
There is another direction in which something ought to be done
to restore the natural advantages enjoyed by every rural community
which have been destroyed by the increasing tendency of mankind
to come together in huge masses. I refer to'that which is after all
one of the most important elements in every human life, that of
marrying and giving in marriage. In the natural life of a country
village all the lads and lasses grow up together, they meet together
in religious associations, in daily employments, and in their amuse-
ments on the village green. They have learned their A, B, C and pot-
hooks together, and when the time comes for pairing off they have had
excellent importunities of knowing the qualities and the defects of
those whom they select as their partners in life. Everything in such
a community lends itself naturally to the indispensable preliminaries
of love-making, and courtships, which, however much they may be
laughed at, contribute more than most things to the happiness
of life. But in a great city all this is destroyed. In London at
the present moment how many hundreds, nay thousands, of young
men and young women, who are living in lodgings, are practically
without any opportunity of making the acquaintance of each other,
or of any one of the other sex I The street is no doubt the city
substitute for the village green, and what a substitute it is !
It has been bitterly said by one who knew well what he was
talking about, "There are thousands of young men to-day who
have no right to call any woman by her Christian name, except
the girls they meet plying their dreadful trade in our public
thoroughfares." As long as that is the case, vice has an enormous
advant^e over virtue ; such an abnormal social arrangement inter-
dicts morality and places a vast premium upon prostitution. We
must get back to nature if we have to cope with this ghastly evil.
There ought to be more opportunities afforded for healthy human
intercourse between young men and young women, nor can Society
234 A MATRIMONIAL BUREAU.
rid itself of a great responsibility for all the wrecks of manhood and
womanhood with which our streets are strewn, unless it does make
some attempt to bridge this hideous chasm which yawns between the
two halves of humanity. The older I grow the more absolutely am
I opposed to anything that violates the fundamental law of the family.
Humanity is composed of two sexes, and woe be to those who
attempt to separate them into distinct bodies, making of each half one
whole ! It has been tried in monasteries and convents with but poor
success, yet what our fervent Protestants do not seem to see is
that we are reconstructing a similar false system for our young
people without the safeguards and the restraints of convent walls
or the sanctifying influence of religious conviction. The conditions
of City life, the absence of the enforced companionship of the
village and small town, the difficulty of young people finding
harmless opportunities of friendly intercourse, all tends to create
classes of celibates who are not chaste, and whose irregular
and lawless indulgence of a universal instinct is one of th^ most
melancholy features of the present state of society. Nay, so generally
is this recognised, that one of the terms by which one of the con-
s.equences of this unnatural state of things is popularly known is
"the social evil," as if all other social evils were comparatively
unworthy of notice in comparison to this.
While I have been busily occupied in working out my Scheme for
the registration of labour, it has occurred to me more than once,
why could not something like the same plan be adopted in
relation to men who want wives and women who want
husbands ? Marriage is with most people largely a matter of
opportunity. Many a man and many a woman, who would, if they
had come together, have formed a happy household, are leading at
this moment miserable and solitary lives, suffering in body and in
soul, in consequence of their exclusion from the natural state of
matrimony. Of course, the registration of the unmarried who wish
to marry would be a matter of much greater delicacy than the
registration of the joiners and stone-masons who wish to obtain
work. But the thing is not impossible. I have repeatedly found
in my experience that many a man and many a woman would only
be too glad to have a friendly hint as to where they might prosecute
their attentions or from which they might receive proposals.
In connection with such an agency, if it were established — ^for I am
not engBjpng to undertake? this task — I am only throwing out a
A TRAINING HOME OF HOUSEWIFERY. 235
possible suggestion as to the development in the direction of meeting
a much needed want, there might be added training homes for
matrimony. My heart bleeds for many a young couple whom I see
launching out into the sea of matrimony with no housewifery
experience. The young girls who leave our public elementary
schools and go out into factories have never been trained to home
duties, and yet, when taken to wife, are unreasonably expected to
fill worthily the difficult positions of the head of a household and
the mother of a family. A month spent before marriage in a
training home of housewifery would conduce much more to the
happiness of the married life than the honeymoon which
immediately follows it.
Especially is this the case with those who marry to go abroad
and settle in a distant country. I often marvel when I think of the
utter helplessness of the modern woman, compared with the handi-
ness of her grandmother. How many of our girls can even bake a
a loaf? The bater has killed out one of our fundamental
domestic arts. But if you are in the Backwoods or in the Prairie or
in the Bush, no baker^s cart comes round every morning with the
new-made bread, and I have often thought with sorrow of the kind
of stuflF which this poor wife must serve up to her hungry husband.
As it is with baking, so it is with washing, with milking, with
spinning, with all the arts and sciences of the household, which
were formerly taught, as a matter of course, to all the daughters
who were born in the world. Talk about woman's rights, one of
the first of woman's rights is to be trained to her trade, to be
queen of her household, and mother of her children.
Speaking of colonists leads me to the suggestion whether
something could not be done to supply, on a well-organised
system, the thousands of bachelor miners or the vast host of
unmarried males who are struggling with the wilderness on the
outskirts of civilisation, with capable wives from the overplus
of marriageable females who abound in our great towns. Woman
supplied in adequate quantities is the great moraliser of Society,
but woman doled out as she is in the Far West and the
Australian bush, in the proportion of one woman to about a dozen
men, is a fertile source of vice and crime. Here again we must
get back to nature, whose fundamental laws our social arrangements
have rudely set on one side with consequences which as usual she does
not fail to exact with remorseless severity. There have always been
236 . A MATRIMONIAL BUREAU.
bom into the world and continue to be bom boys and girls in fairly
equal proportions, but with colonising and soldiering our men go away,
leaving behind them a continually growing surplus of marriageable
but unmarried spinsters, who cannot spin, and who are utterly
unable to find themselves husbands. This is a wide field on the
discussion of which I must not enter. I merely indicate it as one
of those departments in which an intelligent philanthropy might
find a great sphere for its endeavours ; but it would be better not
to touch it at all than to deal with it with light-hearted precipitancy
and without due consideration of all the difficulties and dangers
connected therewith. Obstacles, however, exist to be overcome and
converted into victories. There is even a certain fascination about
the difficult and dangerous, which appeals very strongly to all who
know that it is the apparently insolvable difficulty which contains
within its bosom the key to the problem which you are seeking to
solve.
V
Section 8.— WHITECHAPEL-BY-THE-SEA.
In considering the various means by which some substantial
improvement can be made in the condition of the toiling masses,
recreation cannot be omitted. I have repeatedly had forced
upon me the desirability of making it possible for them to spend
a few hours occasionally by the seaside, or even at times three or
four days. Notwithstanding the cheapened rates and frequent
excursions, there are multitudes of the poor who, year in and
out, never get beyond the crowded city, with the exception of
dragging themselves and their children now and then to the parks
on holidays or hot summer evenings. The majority, especially
the inhabitants of the East of London, never get away from
the sunless alleys and grimy streets in which they exist from
year to year. It is true that a few here and there of the adult
population, and a good many of the children, have a sort
of annual charity excursion to Epping Forest, Hampton Court, or
perhaps to the sea. But it is only the minority. The vast number,
while possessed of a passionate love of the sea, which only those
who have mixed with them can conceive, pass their whole lives
without having once looked over its blue waters, or watched its
waves breaking at their feet.
Now I am not so foolish as to dream that it is possible to make any
such change in Society as will enable the poor man to take his
wife and children for a fortnight's sojourn, during the oppressive
summer days, to brace them up for their winter's task, although this
might be as desirable in their case as in that of their more highly
favoured fellow-creatures. But I would make it possible for every
man, woman and child, to get, now and then, a day's refreshing
change by a visit to that never-failing source of interest.
In the carrying out of this plan, we are met at the onset with a
difficulty of seme litde magnitude, and that is the neiCje^^vt^ oC i.
T, ■
238 WHITECHAPEL-BY-THE-SEA.
* -
vastly reduced charge in the cost of the>joumey. To do anything
effective tve must be able to get a man from Whitechapel or Stratford
to the sea-side and back for a shilling.
Unfortunately, London is sixty miles from the s^ Suppose we
take it at seventy miles. This would involve a journey of one
hundred and forty miles for the small sum of is. Can this be done? I
think it can, and done to pay the railway companies ; otherwise
there is no ground to hope for this part of my Scheme ever being
realised. But I think that this great boon can be granted to the
poor people without the dividends being sensibly affected. I am
told that the cost of haulage for an ordinary passenger train,
carrying from five hundred to a thousand persons, is 2s. 7d. per mile ;
a railway company could take six hundred passengers seventy miles
there, and bring them seventy miles back, at a cost of ;^i8 is. 8d.
Six hundred passengers at a shilling is £30, so that there would be a
clear profit to the company of nearly ;^I2 on the haulage, towards
the payment of interest on the capital, wear and tear of line, &c.
But I reckon, at a, very moderate computation, that two hundred
thousand persons would travel to and fro every season. An addition
of ;^io,ooo to the exchequer of a railway company is not to be
despised, and this would be a mere bagatelle to the indirect profits which
would follow the establishment of a settlement which must in due
course necessarily become very speedily a large and active com-
munity.
This it would be necessary to bring home to the railway com-
panies, and for the execution of this part of my Scheme I must wait
till I get some manager sufficiently public-spirited to try the experi-
ment. When such a man is found, I purpose to set at once about
'my Sea-Side Establishment. This will present the following special
advantages, which I am quite certain will be duly appreciated by the
very poorest of the London population : —
An estate of some three hundred acres would be purchased, on
which buildings would be erected, calculated to meet the wants of
this class of excursionists.
Refreshments would be provided at rates very similar to those
charged at our London Food Dep6ts. There would, of course, be
greater facilities in the way of rooms and accommodation generally.
Lodgings for invalids, children, and those requiring to make a
short stay in the place would be supplied at the lowest prices. Beds
for single men and single women could be charged at the low rate
A BRIGHTON FOR THE EAST END. 239
of sixpence a night, and children in proportion, while accommoda-
tion of a suitable character, on very moderate terms, could be
arranged for married people.
No public-houses would be allowed within the precincts of the
settlement.
A park, playground, music, boats, covered conveniences for
bathing, without the expense of hiring a machine, and other arrange-
ments for the comfort and enioyment of the people would be provided.
The estate would form one of the Colonies of the general enter-
prise, and on it would be grown fruit, vegetables, flowers, and other
produce for the use of the visitors, and sold at the lowest remunera-
tive rates. One of the first provisions for the comfort of the
excursionists would be the erection of a large hall, affording ample
shelter in case of unfavourable weather, and in this and other parts
of the place there would be the fullest opportunity for ministers of all
denominations to hold religious services in connection with any
excursionists they might bring with them.
There would be shops for tradesmen, houses for residents, a
museum with a panorama and stuffed whale ; boats would be let out
at moderate prices, and a steamer to carry people so many miles out
to sea, and so many miles back for a penny, with a possible bout of
sickness, for which no extra charge would be made.
In fact the railway fares and refreshment arrangements would be
t^ sncn a scale, that a husband and wife could have a 70-mile ride
through the green fields, the new-mown hay, the waving grain or
fruit laden orchards ; could wander for hours on the seashore, have
comforting and nourishing refreshment, and be landed back at home
sober, cheered and invigorated for the small sum of 3s. A couple
of children under 12 might be added at is. 6d. — nay, a whole family,
husband, wife and four children, supposing one is in arms, could have
a day at the seaside, without obligation or charity, for 5s.
The gaunt, hungry inhabitants of the Slums would save up their
halfpence, and come by thousands ; clergymen would find it possible
to bring half the poor and needy occupants of their parishes ;
schools, mothers* meetings, and philanthropic societies of all
descriptions would come down wholesale ; in short, what Brighton
is to the West End and middle cksses, this place would be to the
East End poor, nay, to the poor of the Metropolis generally, a
Whitechapel-by-the-Sea.
240
WHITECHAPEL-BY-THE-8EA.
Now this ought to be done apart from my Scheme altogether. The
rich corporations which have the charge of the affairs of this great
City, and the millionaires, who would never have amassed their
fortunes but by the assistance of the masses, ought to say it shall be
done. Suppose the Railway Companies refused to lend the great
highways of which they have become the monopolists for such an
undertaking without a subvention, then the necessary subvention
should be forthcoming. If it could be made possible for the joyless
toilers to come out of the sweater's den, or the stifling factory ; if the
seamstress could leave her needle, and the mother get away from the
weary round of babydom and household drudgery for a day now and
then, to the cooling, invigorating, heart-stirring influences of the sea,
it should be done, even if it did cost a few paltry thousands. Let the
men and women who spend a little fortune every year in Continental
tours, Alpine climbings, yacht excursions, and many another form of
luxurious wanderings, come forward and say that it shall be possible
for these crowds of their less fortunate brethren to have the oppor-
tunity of spending one day at least in the year by the sea.
, t
CHAPTER VII.
CAN IT BE DONE, AND HOW?
Section i.— THE CREDENTIALS OF THE SALVATION ARMY.
Can this great work be done ? I believe it can. And I believe
that it can be done by the Salvation Army, because it has ready
to hand an organisation of men and womeh, numerous enough
and zealous enough to grapple with the enormous undertaking.
The work may prove beyond . our powers. But this is not so
manifest as to preclude us from wishing to make the attempt.
That in itself is a qualification which is shared by no other
organisation — at present. If we can do it we have the field entirely
to ourselves. The wealthy churches show no inclination to com-
pete for the onerous privilege of making the experiment in this defi-
nite and practical form. Whether we have the power or not, we
have, at least, the will, the ambition to do this great thing for the
sake of our brethren, and therein lies our first credential for being
entrusted with the enterprise.
The second credential is the fact that, while using all material
means, our reliance is on the co-working power of God. We
keep our powder dry, but we trust in Jehovah. We go not
forth in our own strength to this battle, our dependence is
upon Him who can influence the heart of man. There is
no doubt that the most satisfactory method of raising a man
must be to effect such a change in his views and feelings that he
shall voluntarily abandon his evil ways, give himself to industry and
goodness in the midst of the very temptations and companionships
that before led him astray, and live a Christian life, an example in
himself of what can be done by the power of God in the very face
of the most impossible circumstances.
i*r.-. v;-: .
242 TH£ CREDENTIALS OF THE SALVATION ARMY.
But herein lies the great difficulty again and again referred to, men
have not that force of character which will constrain them to avail
themselves of the methods of deliverance. Now our Scheme is
based on the necessity of helping such.
Our third credential is the fact that we have already out of
practically nothing achieved so great a measure of success that we
think we may reasonably be entrusted with this further duty. The
ordinary operations of the Army have already effected most wonder-
ful changes in the conditions of the poorest and worst. Multitudes
of slaves of vice in every form have been delivered not only from
these habits, but from the destitution and misery which they ever
produce. Instances have been given. Any number more can be
produced. Our experience, wkichhas been almost world-wide, has ever
shown that not only does the criminal become honest, the drunkard
sober, the harlot chaste, but that poverty of the most abject and
helpless type vanishes away.
Our fourth credential is that our Organisation alone of England's
religious bodies is founded upon the principle of implicit obedience.
For Discipline I can answer. The Salvation Army, largely
recruited from among the poorest of the poor, is often reproached by
its enemies on account of the severity of its rule. It is the only
religious body founded in our time that is based upon the principle
of voluntary subjection to an absolute authority. No one is bound
to remain in the Army a day longer than he pleases. While he
remains there he is bound by the conditions of the Service. The
first condition of that Service is implicit, unquestioning obedience.
The Salvationist is taught to obey as is the soldier on the field of
battle.
From the time when the Salvation Army began to acquire strength
and to grow from the grain of mustard seed until now, when its
branches overshadow the whole earth, we have been constantly
warned against the evils which this autocratic system would entail.
Especially were we told that in a democratic age the people would
never stand the establishment of what was described as a spiriual
despotism. It was contrary to the spirit of the times, it would be a
stone of stumbling and a rock of offence to the masses to whom we
appeal, and so forth and so forth.
But what has been the answer of accomplished facts to these
predictions of theorists ? Despite the alleged unpopularity of our
discipline, perhaps because of the rigour of military authori*^y upon
TEN THOUSAND OFFICERS. 243
whkh we have insisted, the Salvation Army has grown from year to
year with a rapidity to which nothing in modem Christendom
affords any parallel. It is only twenty-five years since it was born.
It is now the largest Home and Foreign Missionary Society in the
Protestant world. We have nearly 10,000 officers under our orders,
a number increasing every day, every one of whom has taken service
on the express condition that he or she will obey without questioning
or gainsaying the orders from Headquarters. Of these, 4,600 are
in Great Britain. The greatest nuhiber outside these islands, in
any one country, are in the American Republic, where we have 1,0 1 8
officers, and democratic Australia, where we have 800.
Nor is the submission to our discipline a mere paper loyalty.
These officers are in the field, constantly exposed to privation and
ill-treatment of all kinds. A telegram from me will send any of
them to the uttermost parts of the earth, will transfer them from
the Slums of London to San Francisco, or despatch them to assist
in opening missions in Holland, Zululand, Sweden, or South
America. So far from resenting the exercise of authority, the
Salvation Army rejoices to recognise it as one great secret of
its success, a pillar of strength upon which all its soldiers can
rely, a principle which stamps it as being different from all other
religious organisations founded in our day.
With ten thousand officers, trained to obey, and trained equally
to command, I do not feel that the organisation even of the dis-
organised, sweated, hopeless, drink-sodden denizens of . darkest
England is impossible. It is possible, because it has already been
accomplished in the case of thousands who, before they were saved,
were even such as those whose evil lot we are now attempting
to deal with.
Our fifth credential is the extent and universality of the
Army. What a mighty agency for working out the Scheme is
found in the Army in this respect! This will be apparent when
we consider that it has already stretched itself through over
thirty different Countries and Colonies, with a permanent location in
something like 4,000 different places, that it has either soldiers
or friends sufficiently in sympathy with it to render assistance in
almost every considerable population in the civilised world, and
in much of the uncivilised, that it has nearly 10,000 separated
officers whose training, and leisure, and history qualify them to
beecnne its enthusiastic and earnest co-workers. In fact, our
244 THE CREDENTIALS OF THE SALVATION ARMY.
whole people will hail it as the missing link in the great Scheme
for the regeneration of mankind, enabling them to act out those
impulses of their hearts which are ever prompting them to do
good to the bodies as well as to the souls of men.
Take the meetings. With few exceptions, every one of these four
thousand centres has a Hall in which, on every evening in the week
and from early morning until nearly midnight on every Sabbath,
services are being held ; that nearly every service held indoors is pre-
ceded by one out of doors, the special purport of every one being
the saving of these wretched crowds. Indeed, when this Scheme is
perfected and fairly at work, every meeting and every procession will
be looked upon as an advertisement of the earthly as well as the
heavenly conditions of happiness. And every Barracks and Officer's
quarters will become a centre where poor sinful suffering men^and
women may find sympathy, counsel, and practical assistance in every
sorrow that can possibly come upon them, and every Officer
throughout our ranks in every quarter of the globe will become
a co-worker.
See how useful our people will be in the gathering in of this class.
They are in touch with them. They live in the same street, work
in the same shops and factories, and come in contact with them at
every turn and corner of life. If they don't live amongst them, they
formerly did. They know where to find them ; they are their old
chums, pot-house companions, and pals in crime and mischief. This
class is the perpetual difficulty of a Salvationist's life. He
feels that there is no help for them in the conditions in which
they are at present found. They are so hopelessly weak, and their
temptations are so terribly strong, that they go down befca-e them.
The Salvationist feels this when he attacks them in the tap-rooms,
in the low lodging houses, or in their own desolate homes. Hence,
with many, the Crusader has lost all heart. He has tried them so
often. But this Scheme of taking them right away from their old
haunts and temptations will put new Hfe into him and he will gather
up the poor social wrecks wholesale, pass them along, and then go
and hunt for more.
Then see how useful this army of Officers and Soldiers will be for
the regeneration of this festering mass of vice and crime when it is,
so to speak, in our possession.
All the thousands of drunkards, and harlots, and blasphemers, and
idlers have to be made oyer again, to be renewed in the spirit of their
SET A ROGUE TO CATCH A ROGUE. 245
minds, that is — made good. What a host of moral workers will be re-
quired to accomplish such a gigantic transformation. In the Army we
have a few thousands ready, anyway we have as many as can be
used at the outset, and the Scheme itself will go on manufacturing
more. Look at the qualifications of these warriors for the work !
They have been trained themselves, brought into line and are
examples of the characters we want to produce.
They understand their pupils — having been dug out of the same
pit. Set a rogue to catch a rogue, they say, that is, we suppose,
a reformed rogue. Anyway, it is so with us. These rough-and-
ready warriors will work shoulder to shoulder with them in the
same manual employment. They will engage in the task for love.
This is a substantial part of their religion, the moving instinct of
the new heavenly nature that has come upon them. They want
to spend their lives in doing good. Here will be an opportunity.
Then see how useful these Soldiers will be for distribution 1 Every
Salvation Officer and Soldier in every one of these 4,000 centres,
scattered through these thirty odd countries and colonies, with all
their correspondents and friends and comrades living elsewhere, will
be ever on the watch-tower looking out for homes and employments
where these rescued men and women can be fixed up to advantage,
nursed into moral vigour, picked up again on stumbling, and watched
over generally until able to travel the rough and slippery paths of
life alone.
I am, therefore, not without warrant for my confidence in the
possibility of doing great things, if the problem so long deemed
hopeless be approached with intelligence and. determination on a
scale corresponding to the magnitude of the evil with which we
have to cope.
Section 2.— HOW MUCH WILL IT COST ?
A considerable amount of money will be required to fairly launch
this Scheme, and some income may be necessary to sustain it for a
season, but, once fairly afloat, we think there is good reason to
believe that in all its branches it will be self-supporting, unless its
area of operation is largely extended, on which we fully rely. Of
course, the cost of the effort must depend very much upon its magni-
tude. If anything is to be done commensurate with the extent of
the evil, it will necessarily require a proportionate outlay. If it is
only the drainage of a garden that is undertaken, a few pounds will
meet the cost, but if it is a great dismal swamp of many miles in
area, harbouring all manner of vermin, and breeding all kinds of
deadly malaria, that has to be reclaimed and cultivated, a very
different sum will not only be found necessary, but be deemed an
economic investment.
Seeing that the country pays out something like Ten Millions per
annum in Poor Law and Charitable Relief without securing any real
abatement of the evil, I cannot doubt that the public will hasten to
supply one-tenth of that sum. If you reckon that of the submerged
tenth we have one million to deal with, this will only be one pound
per head for each of those whom it is sought to benefit, or say
ONE MILLION STERLING
to give the present Scheme a fair chance of getting into practical
operation.
According to the amount furnished, must necessarily be the extent
of our operations. We have carefully calculated that with one
hundred thousand pounds the scheme can be successfully set in
motion, and that it can be kept going on an annual income of
;^30,000 which is about three and a-quarter per cent, on the balance
of the million sterling, for which I ask as an earnest that the public
intend to put its hand to this business with serious resolution;
and our judgment is based, not on any mere imaginings, but upon
the actual result of the experiments already made. Still it must be
remembered that so vast and desirable an end cannot be even
practically contemplated without a proportionate financial outlay.
Supposing, however, by the subscription of this amount the under-
taking is fairly set afloat. The question may be asked, " What further
iFINANCING THE CITY COLONY. 247
funds will be required for its efficient maintenance ? " This question
we proceed to answer. Let us look at the three Colonies apart, and
then at some of the circumstances which apply to the whole. To
begin with, there is
THE FINANCIAL ASPECT OF THE CITY COLONY.
Here there will be, of course, a considerable outlay required for
the purchasing and fitting up of property, the acquisition of machinery,
furniture, tools, and the necessary plant for carrying forward all these
varied operations. These once acquired, no further outlay will be
needed except for the necessary reparations.
The Homes for the Destitute will be nearly, if not quite, self-
sustaining. The Superior Homes for both Single and Married
people will not only pay for themselves, but return some interest
on the amount invested, which would be devoted to the futherance
of other parts of the Scheme.
The Refuges for Fallen Girls would require considerable funds
to keep them going. But the public has never been slow to
practically express its sympathy with this class of work.
The Criminal Homes and Prison Gate Operations would require
continued help, but not a very great deal. Then, the work in the
Slums is somewhat expensive. The eighty young women at
present engaged in it cost on an average I2s. per week each for
personal maintenance, inclusive of clothes and other little matters,
and there are expenses for Halls and some little relief which
cannot in anyway be avoided, bringing our present annual Slum
outlay to over ;^4,ooo. But the poor people amongst whom they
work, notwithstanding their extreme poverty, are already contributing
over ;£"i,CHDO per annum towards this amount, which income will
increase. Still as by this Scheme we propose to add at once a
hundred to the number already engaged, money will be required
to keep this department going.
The Inebriate Home, I calculate, will maintain itself All its
inmates will have to engage in some kind of remunerative labour, and
we calculate, in addition, upon receiving money with a con-
siderable number of those availing themselves of its benefits.
But to practically assist the half-million slaves of the cup we
must have money not only to launch out but to keep our operaii^nj
going.
The Food Dep6ts, once fitted up, pay their own working expenses.
248 HOW MUCH WILL IT COST t
The Emigration, Advice, and Inquiry Bureaux must maintain
themselves or nearly so.
The Labour Shops, Anti-Sweating, and other similar operations
will without question require money to make ends meet.
But on the whole, a very small sum of money, in proportion to the,
immense amount of work done, will enable us to accomplish a vast
deal of good.
THE FARM COLONY FROM A FINANCIAL POINT OF VIEW.
Let us now turn to the Farm Colony, and consider it from a
monetary standpoint. Here also a certain amount of money will
have to be expended at the outset ; some of the chief items of which
will be the purchase of land, the erection of buildings, the supply
of stock, and the production of first crops. There is an abundance
of land in the market, at the present time, at very low prices.
It is rather important for the initial experiment that all estate
should be obtained not too far from London, with land suitable for
immediate cultivation. Such an estate would beyond question be
expensive. After a time, I have no doubt, we shall be able to deal
with land of almost any quality (and that in almost any part of the
country), in consequence of the superabundance of labour we shall
possess. There is no question if the scheme goes forward, but
that estates will be required in connection with all our large towns
and cities. I am not without hope that a sufficient quantity of
land will be given, or, in any way, sold to us on very favourable
terms.
When acquired and stocked, it is calculated that this land, if culti-
vated by spade husbandry, will support at least two persons per
acre. The ordinary reckoning of those who have had experience
with allotments gives five persons to three acres. But, even sup-
posing that this calculation is a little too sanguine, we can still
reckon a farm of 500 acres supporting, without any outside assist-
ance, say, 750 persons. But, in this Scheme, we should have many
advantages not possessed by the simple peasant, such as those
resulting from combination, market gardening, and the other forms
of cultivation already referred to, and thus we should want to place
two or three times this number on that quantity of land.
By a combination of City and Town Colonies, there will be a
market for at least a large portion of the products. At the rate of
oiu* present consumption in the London Food Dep6ts and Homes
THE FINANCIAL ASPECT OF THE FARM. 249
for the Destitute alone, at least 50 acres would be required for
potatoes alone, and every additional Colonist would be an additional
consumer.
There will be no rent to pay, as it is proposed to buy the land right
out. In the event of a great rush being made for the allotments
spoken of, further land might be rented, with option of purchase.
Of course, the continuous change of labourers would tell against
the profitableness of the undertaking. But this would be proportionally
beneficial to the country, seeing that everyone who passes through
the institution with credit makes one less in the helpless crowd. ,
The rent of Cottages and Allotments would constitute a small
return, and at least pay interest en the money invested in them.
The labour spent upon the Colony would be constantly in-
creasing its money value. Cottages would be built, orchards
planted, land enriched, factories run up, warehouses erected, while
other improvements would be continually going forward. All the
labour and a large part of the material would be provided by the
Colonists themselves.
It may be suggested that the workers would have to be main-
tained during the progress of these erections and manufactures, the
cost of which would in itself amount to a considerable sum. True,
and for this the first outlay would be required. But after this every
cottage erected, every road made, in short every structure and im-
provement, would be a means of carrying forward the regenerating
process, and in many cases it is expected will become a source of
income.
As the Scheme progresses, it is not irrational to expect that
Government, or some of the varied Local Authorities, will assist
in the working out of a plan which, in so marked a manner,
will relieve the rates and taxes of the country.
The salaries of Officers would be in keeping with those given
in the Salvation Army, which are very low.
No wages would be paid to Colonists, as has been described,
beyond pocket money and a trifle for extra service.
Although no permanent invaUd would be knowingly taken into
the Colonies, it is fair to assume that there will be a certain number,
and also a considerable residuum of naturally indolent, half-witted
people, incapable of improvement, left upon our hands. Still, it is
thought that with reformed habits, variety of employment, and
careful ^oversight, such may be made to earn their own maintenancei
260 HOW MUCH WILL IT COST T
at least, especially when it is borne in mind that unless they work,
so far as they have ability, they cannot remain in the Colony.
If the Household Salvage Scheme which has been explained in
Chapter II. proves the success we anticipate, there can be no question
that great financial assistance will be rendered by it to the entire
scheme when once the whole thing has been brought into work-
ing order.
THE FINANCIAL ASPECT OF THE COLONY OVER-SEA.
Let us now turn to the Colony Over-Sea, and regard it also from
the financial standpoint. Here we must occupy ourselves chiefly
with the preliminary outlay, as we could not for a moment contem-
plate having to find money to assist it when once fairly established.
The initial expense will, no doubt, be somewhat heavy, but not beyond
a reasonable amount.
The land required would probably be given, whether we go to
Africa, Canada, or elsewhere ; anyway, it would be acquired on
such easy terms as would be a near approach to a gift.
A considerable sum would certainly be necessary for effecting
the first settlements. There would be temporary buildings to erect,
land to break up and crop; stock, farm implements, and furniture
to purchase, and other similar expenses. But this would not be
undertaken on a large scale, as we should rely, to some extent, on
the successive batches of Colonists more or less providing for
themselves, and in this respect working out their own salvation.
The amount advanced for passages, outfit money, and settlement
would be repaid by instalments by the Colonists, which woxjld in turn
serve to pay the cost of conveying others to the same destination.
Passage and outfit money would, no doubt, continue to be some
difficulty. £S per head, say to Africa — £5 passage money, and £i
for the journey across the country — is a large sum when a considerable
number are involved ; and I am afraid no Colony would be reached
at a much lower rate. But I am not without hope that the
Government might assist us in this direction.
Taking up the entire question, that is of the three Colonies, we /
are satisfied that the sum named will suffice to set to work an
agency which will probably rescue from lives of degradation and
immorality an immense number of people, and that an income of some-
thing like ;£"30,cxx) will keep it afloat. But supposing that a much
larger amount should be required, by operations greatly in advance
\-
V
A MILLION STERLING I 261
of those here spoken of, which we think exceedingly probable, it is not
unreasonable to expect that it will be forthcoming, seeing that caring
for the poor is not only a duty of universal obligation, a root
principle of all religion, but an instinct of humanity not likely to
be abolished in our time. We are not opposed to charity as such,
but to the mode of its administration, which, instead of permanently
relieving, only demoralises and plunges the recipients lower in the
mire, and so defeats its own purpose.
" What I " I think I hear some say, " a million sterling ! how can
ally man out of Bedlam dream of raising such a sum ? " Stop a
little ! A million may be a great deal to pay for a diamond or a
palace, but it is a mere trifle compared with the sums which Britain
lavishes whenever Britons are in need of deliverance if they happen
to be imprisoned abroad. The King of Ashantee had captive some
British subjects — not even of English birth — in 1869. John Bull
despatched General Wolseley with the pick of the British army, who
smashed Kofiee Kalkallee, liberated the captives, and burnt Coomassie,
and never winced when the bill came in for ;^7 50,000. But that was
a mere trifle. When King Theodore, of Abyssinia, made captives of
a couple of British representatives, Lord Napier was despatched to
rescue. He marched his army to Magdala, brought back the prisoners,
and left King Theodore dead. The cost of that expedition was over
nine millions sterling. The Egyptian Campaign, that smashed
Arabi, cost nearly five millions. The rush to Khartoum, that arrived
too late to rescue General Gordon, cost at least as much. The
Afghan war cost twenty-one millions sterling. Who dares then to
say that BritsSn cannot provide a milHon sterling to rescue, not one
or two captives, but a million, whose lot is quite as doleful as that of
the prisoners of savage kings, but who are to be found, not in the
land of the Soudan, or in the swamps of Ashantee, or in the Moun-
tains of the Moon, but here at our very doors ? Don't talk to
me about the impossibility of raising the million. Nothing is
impossible when Britain is .in earnest. All talk of impossibility only
means that you don't believe that the nation cares to enter upon a
serious campaign against the enemy at our gates. When John Bull
goes to the wars he does not count the cost. And who dare deny
that the time has fully come for a declaration of war against the
Social Evils which seem to shut out God from this our world ?
Section 3.— SOME ADVANTAGES STATED.
This Scheme takes into its embrace all kinds and classes of men
who may be in destitute circumstances, irrespective of their character
or conduct, and charges itself with supplying at once their
temporal needs; and then aims at placing them in a permanent
position of comparative comfort, the only stipulation made being a
willingness to work and to conform to discipline on the part of
those receiving its benefit.
While at the commencement, we must impose some limits with
respect to age and sickness, we hope, when fairly at work, to be
able to dispense with even these restrictions, and to receive any
unfortunate individual who has only his misery to recommend him
and an honest desire to get out of it.
It will be seen that, in this respect, the Scheme stands head and
shoulders above any plan that has ever been mooted before, seeing
that nearly all the other charitable and remedial proposals more or
less confess their utter inability to benefit any but what they term
the " decent " working man.
This Scheme seeks out by all manner of agencies, marvellously
adapted for the task, the classes whose welfare it contemplates,
and, by varied measures and motives adapted to their circum-
stances, compels them to accept its benefits.
Our Plan contemplates nothing short of revolutionising the
character of those whose faults are the reason for their destitution.
We have seen that with fully fifty per cent, of these their own
evil conduct is the cause of their wretchedness. To stop short with
them of anything less than a real change t)f heart will be to
invite and ensure failure. But this we are confident of effecting —
anyway, in the great majority of cases, by reasonings and per-
suasions, concerning both earthly and heavenly advantages, by
the power of man, and by the power of God.
A FRESH START IN LIFE. 253
By this Scheme any man, no ftialtfi? hov/ deeply he may have
fallen in self-respect and the esteem of all about him, may re-enter
life afresh, with the prospect of re-eistablishing his character when
lost, or perhaps of establishing a character for the first time, and
so obtaining an introduction to decent employment, and a claim for
admission into Society as a good citizen. While many of this crowd
are absolutely without a decent friend, others will have, on that
higher level of respectability they once occupied, some relative, or
friend, or employer, who occasionally thinks of them, and who, if
only satisfied that a real change has taken place ih the prodigal, will
not only be willing, but delighted, to help them once more.
By this Scheme, we believe we shall be able to teach habits of
economy, household management, thrift, and the like. There are
numbers of men who, although suffering the direst pangs of poverty,
know little or nothing about the value of money, or the prudent use of
it ; and there are hundreds of poor women who do not know what a
decently-managed home is, and who could not make one if they had
the most ample means and tried ever so hard to accomplish it,
having never seen anything but dirt, disorder, and misery in their
domestic history. They could not cook a dinner or prepare a meal
decently if their lives were dependent on it, never having had a
chance of learning how to do it. But by this Scheme we hope to
teach these things.
By this Plan, habits of cleanliness will be created, and some
knowledge of sanitary questions in general will be imparted.
This Scheme changes the circumstances of those whose poverty
is caused by their misfortune.
To begin with, it finds work for the unemployed. This is the
chief need. The great problem that has for ages been puzzling
the brains of the political economist and philanthropist has been —
" How can we find these people work ? " No matter what other
helps are discovered, without work there is no real ground for
hope. Charity and all the other ten thousand devices are only
temporary expedients, altogether insufficient to meet the necessity.
Work, apart from the fact that it is God*s method of supplying
the wants of man*s composite nature, is an essential to his
well-being in every way — and on this Plan there is work,
honourable work — none of your demoralising stone-breaking,
or oakum-picking business, which tantalises and insults poverty.
Every worker will feel that he is not only occupied for his own
254 SOME ADVANTAGES STATED.
benefit, but that any advantage reaped over and above that which
he gains himself will serve to lift some other poor wretch out
of the gutter.
There would be work within the capacity of all. Every gift
could be employed. For instance, take five persons*on the Farm —
a baker, a tailor, a shoemaker, a cook, and an agriculturist. The
baker would make bread for all, the tailor garments for all, the
shoemaker shoes for all, the cook would cook for all, and the
agriculturist dig for all. Those who know anything which would
be useful to the inhabitants of the Colony will be set to do it, and
those who are ignorant of any trade or profession will be taught one.
This Scheme removes the vicious and criminal classes out of the
sphere of those temptations before which they have invariably fallen
in the past. Our experience goes to show that when you have, by
Divine grace, or by any consideration of the advantages of a good
life, or the disadvantages of a bad one, produced in a man circum-
stanced as those whom we have been describing, the resolution to
turn over a new leaf, the temptations and difficulties he has to
encounter will ordinarily master him, and undo all that has been
done, if he still continues to be surrounded by old companions and
allurements to sin.
Now, look at the force of the temptations this class has to fight
against. What is it that leads people to do wrong — people of all
classes, rich as well as poor? Not the desire to sin. They do
not want to sin ; many of them do not know what sin is, but they
have certain appetites or natural likings, the indulgence of which is
pleasant to them, and when the desire for their unlawful gratification is
aroused, regardless of the claims of God, their own highest interests,
or the well-being of their fellows, they are carried away by them ;
and thus all the good resolutions they have made in the past come
to grief.
For instance, take the temptation which comes through the natural
appetite, hunger. Here is a man who has been at a religious
meeting, or received some good advice, or, perhaps, just come out
of prison, with the memories of the hardships he has suffered fresh
upon him, or the advice of the chaplain ringing in his ears. He
has made up his mind to steal no more, but he has no means
of earning a livelihood. He becomes hungry. What is he to do ?
A loaf of bread tempts him, or, more likely, a gold chain which he
can turn into bread. An inward struggle commenceS| he tries tb
MINIMISE THE TEMPTATIONS. 255
stick to his bargain, but the hunger goes on gnawing within, and
it may be there is a wife and children hungry as well as himself;
so he yields to the temptation, takes the chain, and in turn the
policeman takes him.
Now this man does not want to do wrong, and still less docs
he want to go to prison. In a sincere, dreamy way he desires
to be good, and if the path were easier for him he would
probably walk in it.
Again, there is the appetite for drink. That man has no
thought of sinning when he takes his first glass. Much less
does he- want to get drunk. He may have still a vivid recollec-
tion of the unpleasant consequences that followed his last spree,
but the craving is on him ; the pubHc-house is there handy ; his
companions press him ; he yields, and falls, and, perhaps, falls to
rise no more.
We might amplify, but our Scheme proposes to take the poor
slave right away from the public-houses, the drink, and the com-
panions that allure him to it, and therefore we think the chances
of reformation in him are far greater.
Then think of the great boon this Scheme will be to the
children, bringing them out of the slums, wretched hovels, and
filthy surroundings in which they are being reared for lives of
abomination of every description, into the fields, amongst the green
trees and cottage homes, where they can grow up with a chance
of saving both body and soul.
Think again of the change this Scheme will make for these poor
creatures from the depressing, demoralising surroundings, of the
sightly, filthy quarters in which they are huddled together, to the
pure air and sights and sounds of the country. There is much
talk about the beneficial influence of pictures, music and litera-
ture upon the multitudes. Money, like water, is being poured
forth to supply such attractions in Museums, People^s Palaces,
and the like, for the edification and amelioration of the social
condition of the masses. But " God made the country, man
made the town," and if we take the people to the pictures of divine
manufacture, that must be the superior plan.
Again, the Scheme is capable of illimitable application. The
plaister can be made as large as the wound. The wound is certainly
a very extensive one, and it seems at first sight almost ridiculous for
any private enterprise to attempt dealing with it. Three millions of
256 SOME ADVANTAGES STATED.
people, living in little short of perpetual misery have to be reached
and rescued out of this terrible condition. But it can be done, and
this Scheme will do it, if it is allowed a fair chance. Not all at
once ? True 1 It will take time, but it will begin to tell on the
festering mass straight away. Within a measurable distance we
ought to be able to take out of this black sea at least a hundred
individuals a week, and there is no reason why this number should^
not go on increasing.
An appreciable impression on this gulf of misery would be imme-
diately made, not only for those who are rescued from its dark
waters, but for those who are left behind, seeing that for every
hundred individuals removed, there is just the additional work
which they performed for those who remain. It might not be much,
but still it would soon count up. Supposing three carpenters are
starving on employment which covered one-third of their time, if
you take two away, the one left will have full employment. But it
will be for the public to fix, by their contributions, the extent of
our operations.
The benefits bestowed by this Scheme will be permanent in dura-
tion. It will be seen that this is no temporary expedient, such as, alasl
nearly every effort hitherto made on behalf of these classes has been.
Relief Works, Soup Kitchens, Enquiries into Character, Emigration
Schemes, of which none will avail themselves, Charity in its
hundred forms. Casual Wards, the Union, and a hundred other
Nostrums may serve for the hour, but they are only at the best
palliatiojis. But this Scheme, I am bold to say, offers a sub-
stantial and permanent rempdy.
In relieving one section of the community, our plan involves no
interference with the well-being of any other. (See Chapter VII.
Section 4, " Objections.")
This Scheme removes the all but insuperable barrier to an in-
dustrious and godly life. It means not only the leading of these
lost multitudes out of the " City of Destruction " into the Canaan
of plenty, but the lifting of them up to the same level of advantage
with the more favoured of mankind for securing the salvation of
their souls.
Look at the circumstances of hundreds and thousands of the
classes of whom we are speaking. From the cradle to the grave, might
not their influence in the direction of Religious Belief be summarised
]d one sentence, ** Atheism made easy" Let my readers imagine theiiv
THE PEOPLE MUST BE HELPED. ' 257
to have been a similar lot. Is it not possible that, under such cir-
cumstances, they might have entertained some serious doubts as
to the existence of a benevolent God who would thus allow His
creatures to starve, or that they would have been so preoccupied with
trieir temporal miseries as to have no heart for any concern abouv
the next life ?
Take a man, hungry and cold, who does not know where his
next meal is coming from ; nay, who thinks it problematical whether
it will come at all. We know his thoughts will be taken up entirely
with the bread he needs for his body. What he wants is a dinner.
The interests of his soul must wait.
Take a woman with a starving family, who knows that as soon
as Monday comes round the rent must be paid, or else she and
her children must go into the street, and her little belongings be
impounded. At the present moment she is without it. Are not
her thoughts likely to wander in that direction if she slips into a
Church or Mission Hall, or Salvation Army Barracks ?
I have had some experience on this subject, and 'have been
making observations with respect to it ever since the day I made
my first attempt to reach these starving, hungry, crowds — just
over forty-five years ago — and I am quite satisfied that these
multitudes will not be saved in their present circumstances. All
the Clergymen, Home Missionaries, Tract Distributors, Sick
Visitors, and everyone else who care about the Salvation of the
poor, may make up their minds as to that. If these people are
to believe in Jesus Christ, become the Servants of God, and
escape the miseries of the wrath to come, they must be helped
out of their present social miseries. They must be put into a
position in which they can work and eat, and have a decent room
to live and sleep in, and see something before them besides a
long, weary, monotonous, grinding round of toil, and anxious care
to keep themselves and those they love barely alive, with nothing
at the further end but the Hospital, the Union, or the Madhouse. If
Christian Workers and Philanthropists will join hands to effect this
change it will be accomplished, and the people will rise up and bless
them, and be saved ; if they will not, the people will curse thero
and perish.
Section 4.— SOME OBJECTIONS MET.
Objections must be expected. They are a necessity with regard
to any Scheme that has not yet been reduced to practice, and
simply signify foreseen difficulties in the working of it. We freely
admit that there are abundance of difficulties in the way of work-
ing out the plan smoothly and successfully that has been laid
down. But many of these we imagine will vanish when we come
to close quarters, and the remainder will be surmounted by
courage and patience. Should, however, this plan prove the
success we predict, it must eventually revolutionise the condition
of the starving sections of Society, not only in* this great metro-
polis, but throughout the whole range of civilisation. It must
therefore be worthy not only of a careful consideration but of per-
severing trial.
Some of these difficulties at first sight appear rather serious.
Let us look at them.
Objection /. — // is suggested that the class of people for whose
benefit the Scheme is designed would not avail themselves of it.
When the feast was prepared and the invitation had gone forth,
it is said that the starving multitudes would not come ; that though
labour was offered them in the City, or prepared for them on the
Farm, they would prefer to rot in their present miseries rather
than avail themselves of the benefit provided.
In order to gather the opinions of those most concerned, we
consulted one evening, by a Census in our London Shelters,
two hundred and fifty men out of work, and all suffering severely
in consequence. We furnished a set of questions, and obtained
answers from the whole. Now, it must be borne in mind that these
men were under no obligation whatever to make any reply to our
enquiries, much less to answer them favourably to our plan, of
which they knew next to nolYviu^.
WILLINGNESS TC LVORK. 259
These two hundred and fifty men were mostly in the prime of
life, the greater portion of them being skilled workmen; an
examination of the return papers showing that out of the entire
number two hundred and seven were able to work at their trades
had they the opportunity.
The number of trades naturally varied. There were some of ail
kinds : Engineers, Custom House Officers, Schoolmasters, Watch
and ClockmakerSp Sailors, and men of the different branches of
the Building traclc ; also a number of men who hava been in
business on their own account.
The average amount of wages earned by the skilled mechanics
when regularly employed was 33B. per week ; the money earned by
the unskilled averaged 22s. per week.
They could not be accounted lazy, as most of them, when .ot
employed at their own trade or occupation, had proved their willing-
ness to work oy getting jobs at anything that turned up. Ct> looking
over the Hst v/e sr.w that one who hr,d been a Custom House Officer
had recently acted as Carpenter's Labourer; a Type-founder had
been glad to work at Chimney Sweeping ; the Schoolmaster, able tc
speak five languages, who 1^ his prosperous days had owned a farm,
was glad to do odd jobs as a Bricklayer's Labourer ; a Gentleman's
Valet, \r\o once earned £$ a week, had come so low down in the
world that he was glad to act as Sandwich man for the magnificeSK:
£;um o£ fourtecr.pence a day, and that, only as an occasional nffakfo
In the 1 was a dyer and cleaner, married, with a wife and nino
children, w.^o hr.d been able to earn 40s. a week, but had done no
r^;iii?4r li^rk for three years out of the last ten.
W <• ;hc following question to the entire number: — "If you
were JJ2 en a farm, and se*^ to work at anything you could do^
and supplied with food, lodging, and clothing, with a view to
gettii., you on to your feet, would you be wiUing to do all you
could ? "
V r3i:ponse, the whole 250 replied in the affirmative, with one
exception, and on enquiry we elicited that, being a sailor, the
man was afraid he would not know how to do the work.
On being interrogated as to their willingness to grapple with the
hard labour on the land, they said : " Why should we not ? Look
at us. Can any plight be more miserable than ours ?"
Why no' inr'^eci ? A glance at them would certainly make it
imp 'bh fo. any thoughtful • person to assign a rational reason
260 SOME OBJECTIONS MET.
for their refusal — in rags, swarming with vermin, hungry, many of
them living on scraps of food, begged or earned in the most
haphazard fashion, without sufficient clothing to cover their poor
gaunt limbs, most of them without a shirt. They had to start out
the next morning, uncertain which way to turn to earn a crust for
dinner, or the fourpence necessary to supply them again with the
humble shelter they had enjoyed that night. The idea of their
refusing employment which would supply abundantly the necessaries
of life, and give the prospect of becoming, in process of time, the owner
of a home, with its comforts and companionships, is beyond concep-
tion. There is not much question that this class will not. only accept
the Scheme we want to set before them, but gratefully do all in their
power to make it a success.
II. — Too many would come.
This would be very probable. There would certainly be too many
apply. But we should be under no obligation to take more than
was convenient. The larger the number of applications the wider
the field for selection, and the greater the necessity for the enlargement
of our operations.
III. — They would run away.
It is further objected that if they did come, the monotony of the
life, the strangeness of the work, together with the absence of the
excitements and amusements with which they had been entertained in
the cities and towns, would render their existencie unbearable. Even
when left to the .streets, there is an amount of life and action in the
city which is very attractive. Doubtless some would run away,
but I don't think this would be a large proportion. The change
would be so great, and so palpably advantageous, that I think
they would find in it ample compensation for the deprivation of
any little pleasureable excitement they had left behind them in
the city. For instance, there would be —
A Sufficiency of Food.
The friendliness and sympathy of their new associates. There would be
abundance of companions of similar tastes and circumstances — not
all pious. It would be quite another matter to going single-handed
on to a farm, or into a melancholy family.
Then there would be the prospect of doing well for themselves in the
future, together with all the religious life, meetings, music^ and
freedom of the Salvation Army.
But what says our experience ?
THEY WOULD RUN AWAYT 261
If there be one class which is the despair of the social reformer, it
is that whifih m variously described, but which we may term the lost
women oi our streets. From the point of view of the industrial
oi^aniser, tney suffer from almost every fault that human material
can possess, 'lliey are, with some exceptions, untrained to labour,
demoralised by a life of debauchery, accustomed to the wildest
license, emancipated from all discipline but that of starvation, given
to drink, ana, lor the most part, impaired in health. If, therefore,
any considerable number of this class can be shown to be ready to
submit themselves voluntarily to discipline, to endure deprivation
of drink, and to apply themselves steadily to industry, then example
will go a long way towards proving that even the worst description
of humanity, when intelligently, thoroughly handled, is amenable to
discipline, and wiUing to work. In our British Rescue Homes we
receive considerably over a thousand unfortunates every year ; while
all over the world, our annual average is two thousand. The work
has been in progress for three years — long enough to enable us to
test very fully the capacity of the class in question to reform.
With us there is no compulsion. If any girl wishes to remain, she
remai^is. If she wishes to go, she goes. No one is detained a day
or an hour longer than they choose to stay. Yet our experience
shows that, as a rule, they do not run away. Much more restless
and thoughtless and given to change, as a class, than men, the
girls do not, in any considerable numbers, desert. The average
of our London Homes^ for .the last three years, gives only 14 per
cent as leaving on therr own account, while for the year 1889
only 5 per cent. And the entire number, who have either left
or been dismissed* during that year, amounts only to 13 per cent,
on the whole.
IV. — They would not work.
Of course, to such as had for years been leading idle lives,
anything like work and exhaustive labour would be very
trying and wearisome, and a little patience arid coaxing might be
required to get them into the way of it. Perhaps some would be
hopelessly beyond salvation in this respect, and, until the time comes,
if it ever does arrive, when the Government will make it a crime
for an abled-bodied man to beg when there is an opportunity for
him to engage in remunerative work, this class will wander abroad
preying upon a generous public. It will, however, only need to be
known that any man can obtain work if he ^wants it, for those
262 80ME OBJECTIONS MET.
who have by their lioerality maintained men and women in idle-
ness to cease doing so. And when it comes to this pass, that a
man cannot eat without working, of the two evils he will choose the
latter, preferring labour, however unpleasant it may be to his
tastes, to actual starvation.
It must be borne in mind that the penalty of certain expulsion,
which all would be given to understand would be strictly enforced
would have a good influence in inducing the idlest to give work a fair
trial, and once at it I should not despair of conquering the aver-
sion altogether, and eventually bbing able to transform and pass
these once lazy loafers as real industrious members of Society.
Again, any who have fears on this point may be encouraged
by contrasting the varied and ever-changing methods of labour we
should pursue, with the monotonous and uninteresting grind of many
of the ordinary employments of the poor, and the circumstances by
which they are surrounded.
Here, again, we fall back upon our actual experience in reclamation
work. In our Homes for Saving the Lost Women we have no
difficulty of getting them to work. The idleness of this section of
the social strata has been before referred to ; it is not for a moment
denied, and there can be no question, as to its being the cause of
much of their poverty and distresc. But from early mom until the
lights are out at night, all is a round of busy, and, to a great extent,
very uninteresting labour ; while the girls have, as a human induce-
ment, only domestic service to look forward to — of which they are
in no way particularly enamoured — and yet here is no mutiny, no
objection, no unwillingness to work ; in fact they appear well
pleased to be kept continually at it. Here is a report thnt teaches
the same lesson.
A small Bookbinding Factory is worked in connection with the Rescue Homes
in London. The folder; and stitchers are gi.ls saved from the streets, but who,
for various reasons, were found unsuitable foi domestic service. The Factory
has solved the problem of employment for some of the most difficult cases.
Two of the girls at present employed there are crippled, while one is supporting
herself and two young children.
While learning the work they live in the Rescue Homes, and the few
shillings Chey are able to earn are paid into the Home funds. As soon as they
are able to earn I28. a week, a lodging is found for them (with Salvationists, if
possible), and they are placed entirely upon their ovm resources. The majority
of girls v/orLing at this trade in London are living in the family, and 6s., 78., and
8s. '>. week make an acceptable addition to the Home income ; but our girls who
\ -
WOULD THEY HAVE THE PHYSIQUE ? ' 263
are gfUtrgfy dependent upon their own earnings must make an average wage ok
I2S. a week at least. In order that they may do this we are obliged to pay
higher wages than other employers. For instance, we give from 2id. to 3d. a
thousand more than the trade for binding small pamphlets ; nevertheless, after
the Manager, a married man, is paid, and a man for the superintendence of the
machines, a profit of about ;^5oo has been made, and the work is imfromng.
They are all paid piecework.
Eighteen women are supporting themselves in this way at present, and con-
ducting themselves most admirably. One of their number acts as forewoman,
and conducts the Prayer Meeting at 12.30, the Two-minutes' Prayer after meals,
etc. Their continuance in the factory is subject to their good behaviour — ^both
at home as well as at work. In one instance only have we hcul any trouble at
aU^ and in this solitary case the girl was so penitent she was forgiven^ and has
done well ever since. I think that, without exception, they are Salvation
Soldiers, and will be found at nearly every meeting on the Sabbath, etc. The
binding of Salvation Army publications — " The Deliverer," " All the World,"
the Penny Song Books, etc., almost keep us going. A little outside work for the
end of the months is taken, but we are not able to make any profit generally, it
is so badly paid.
It will be seen that this is a miniature factory, but still it is a
factory, and worked on principles that will admit of illimitable
extension, and may, I think, be justly regarded as an encouragement and
an exemplification of what may be accomplished in endless variations.
V. — Again, it is objected that the class whose benefit we contemplate
would not have physical ability to work on a farm, or in the open air.
How, it is asked, would tailors, clerks, weavers, seamstresses
and the destitute people, born and reared in the slums and poverty-
hovels of the towns and cities, do farm or any other work that has
to do with the land ? The employment in the open air, with
exposure to every kind of weather which accompanies it, would, it
is said, kill them off right away.
We reply, that the division of labour before described would
render it as unnecessary as it would be undesirable and uneco-
nomical, to put many of these people to dig or to plant. Neither
is it any part of our plan to do so. On our Scheme we have
shown how each one would be appointed to that kind of work for
which his previous knowledge and experience and strength best
adapted him.
Moreover, there can be no possible comparison between the
conditions' of health enjoyed by men and women wandering about
264 SOME OBJECTIONS MET.
homeless, sleeping in the streets or in the fever-haunted lodging-
houses, or living huddled up in a single room, and toiling twelve
and fourteen hours in a sweater's den, and living in comparative
comfort in well-warmed and ventilated houses, situated in the open
country, with abundance of good, healthy food.
Take a man or a woman out into the fresh air, give them proper
exercise, and substantial food. Supply them with a comfortable
home, cheerful companions, and a fair prospect of reaching a position
of independence in this or some other land, and a complete renewal
of health and careful increase of vigour will, we expect, be one
of the first great benefits that will ensue.
VI. — // is objected that we should be left with a considerable resuiuum
of half-wittedy helpless people.
Doubtless this would be a real difficulty, and we should have to
prepare for it. We certainly, at the outset, should have to
guard against too many of this class being left upon our
hands, although we should not be ^compelled to keep anyone.
It would, however, be painful to have to send them back to
the dreadful life from which we had rescued them. Still,
however, this would not be so ruinous a risk, looked at
financially^ as some would imagine. We could, we think, maintain
them for 4s. per week, and they would be very weak indeed in
body, and very wanting in mental, strength if they were not able
to earn that amount in some one of the many forms of emplo3rment
which the Colony would open up.
VII. — Again, it will be objected that some efforts of a similar
character have failed. For instance^ co-operative enterprises in farm^
ing have not succeeded.
True, but so far as I can ascertain, nothing of the character I
am describing has ever been attempted. A large number of
Socialistic communities have been established and come to grief
in the United States, in Germany, and elsewhere, but they have
all, both in principle and practice, strikingly differed from what
we are proposing here. Take one particular alone, the great
bulk of these societies have not only been fashioned without any
regard to the principles of Christianity, but, in the vast majority
of instances, have been in direct opposition to them; and the
only communities based on co-operative principles that have sur-
vived the first few months of their existence have been based
upon Christian truth. If not absolute $UQCQ§$es, there have been
WILL THEY SUBMIT TO DISCIPLINE ? 265
some very remarkable results obtained by efforts partaking some-
what of the nature of the one I am setting forth. (See that of
Ralahine, described in Appendix.)
VIII. — It is further objected that it would be impossible to maintain
order and enforce good discipline amongst this class of people.
We are of just the opposite opinion. We think that it would —
nay, we are certain of it, and we speak as those who have had
considerable experience in dealing with the lower classes of
Society. We have already dealt with this difficulty. We may say
further —
That we do not propose to commence with a thousand people
in a wild, untamed state, either at home or abroad. To the
Colony Over-Sea we should send none but those who have had a
long period of training in this country. The bulk of those sent
to the Provincial Farm would have had some sort of trial in the
different City Establishments. We should only draft them on to
the Estate in small numbers, as we were prepared to deal with
them, and I am quite satisfied that without the legal methods of
maintaining order that are acted upon so freely in workhouses
and other similar institutions, we should have as perfect obedience
to Law, as great respect for authority, and as strong a spirit of
kindness pervading all ranks throughout the whole of the com-
munity as could be found in any other institution in the land.
It will be borne in mind that our Army system of government
largely prepares us, if it does not qualify us, for this task. Anyway,
it gives us a good start. All our people are trained in habits of
obedience, and all our Officers are educated in the exercise of
authority. The Officers throughout the Colony would be almost
exclusively recruited from the ranks of the Army, and everyone of
them would go to the work, both theoretically and practically,
familiar with those principles which are the essence of good
discipline.
Then we can argue, and that very forcibly, from the actual
experience we have already had in dealing with this class. Take
our experience in the Army itself. Look at the order of our Soldiers.
Here are men ana women, who have no temporal interest whatever
at stake, receiving no remuneration, often sacrificing their earthly
interests by their union with us, and yet see how they fall into line,
and obey- orders in the promptest manner, even when such orders
go right in the teeth of their temporal interests.
266 SOME OBJECTIONS MET.
" Yes," it will be replied by some, ** this is all very excellent
so far as it relates to those who are altogether of your own way of
thinking. You can command them as you please, and they will
obey, but what proof have you given of your ability to control and
discipline those who are not of your way of thinking ?
*' You can do that with your Salvationists because they are saved,
as you call it. When men are born again you can do anything with
them. But unless you convert all the denizens of Darkest England,
what chance is there that they will be docile to your discipline ? If
they were soundly saved no doubt something might be done. But
they are not saved, soundly or otherwise ; they are lost. What
reason have you for believing that they will be amenable to
discipline?"
I admit the force of this objection ; but I have an answer, and an
answer which seems to me complete. Discipline, and .that of the
most merciless description, is enforced upon multitudes of these
people even now. Nothing that the most authoritative organisation
of industry could devise in the excess of absolute power, could
for a moment compare with the slavery enforced to-day in the dens
of the sweater. It is not a choice between liberty and discipline that
confronts these unfortunates, but between discipline mercilessly
enforced by starvation and inspired by futile greed, and discipline
accompanied with regular rations and administered solely for their
own benefit. What liberty is there for the tailors who have to sew
for sixteen to twenty hours a day, in a pest-hole, in order to earn
ten shillings a week ? There is no discipline so brutal as that of the
sweater ; there is no slavery so relentless as that from which we
seek to deliver the victims. Compared with their normal condition
of existence, the most rigorous discipline which would be needed
to secure the complete success of any new individual organisation
would be an escape from slavery into freedom.
You may reply, *' that it might be so, if people understood their own
interest. But as a matter of fact they do not understand it, and that
they will never have sufficient far-sightedness to appreciate the
advantages that are offered them."
To this I answer, that here also I do not speak from theory,
I lay before you the ascertained results of years of experience.
More than two years ago, moved by the misery and despair
of the unemployed, I opened the Food and Shelter Depots in
London already described. Here are a large number of men
IS THE SCHEME TOO BIQ t 267
every night, many of them of the lowest type of casuals who
crawl about the streets, a certain proportion criminals, and
about as difficult a class to manage as I should think could be
got together, and while there will be 200 of them in a single
building night after night, from the first opening of the doors in the
evening until the last man has departed i^ the morning, there shall
scarcely be a word of dissatisfaction ; anyway, nothing in the shape
of angry temper or bad language. No policemen are required ;
indeed two or three nights' experience will be sufficient to turn the
regular frequenters of the place of their own free will into Officers
of Order, glad not only to keep the regulations of the place, but to
enforce its discipline upon others.
Again, every Colonist, whether in the City or elsewhere, would
know that those who took the interests of the Colony to heart,
were loyal to its authority and principles, and laboured indus-
triously in promoting its interests, would be rewarded accordingly
by promotion to positions of influence and authority, which
would also carry with them temporal advantages, present an^
prospective. •
But one 0/ our main hopes would be in the apprehension by the
Colonists of ':he fact that all our efforts were put forth on their
behalf. Every man and woman on the place would know
that this enterprise was begun and carried on solely for their
benefit, and that of the other members of their class, and that
only their own good behaviour and co-o]'>eration would ensure
their reaping a personal share in su:h benefit. Still our expectations
would be largely based on h'^ creation of a spirit of unselfish
interest in the community.
IX. Agaifty it is objected that the Scheme is too vast to be attempted by
voluntary enterprise; it ought to be taken up and carried out by
the Gavommenf. itself, ^
Perhaps so, but there is no very near probability of Grovernment
undertaking it, and we are not qi'itc sure whether such an attempt
would prove a success if it were made. But seeing that neither
Governments, nor Society, nor individuals have stood forward to
undertake what God has made appear to us £0 be so vitally impor-
tant a work, and as He has given us the willingness, and in many
important senses the ability, we ara ..ixipared, if the financial help
is furnished, cO make r. determined effort, not only to undertake but
to carsn; it forward to a triumphant success.
268 SOME OBJECTIONS MET.
X. — It is objected that the classes we seek to benefit are wo
ignorant and depraved for Christian effort , or for effort of at^y kifut, to
reach and reform, —
Look at the tramps, the drunkards, the harlots, the criminall. How
confirmed they are in their idle and vicious habits. It will M said,
indeed has been already said by those with whom I have con-
versed, that I don't know them; which statement cannot, I think,
be maintained, for if I don't know them, who does ?
I admit, however, that thousands of this class are very lar gone
from every sentiment, principle and practice of right concuct.
But I argue that these poor people cannot be mi^lh mot't
unfavourable subjects for the work of regeneration than are many
of the savages and heathen tribes, in the conversion of ^hoai
Christians universally believe ; for whom they beg large sums
of money, and to whom they send their best and bravest people.
These poor people are certainly embraced in the Divine plan of
mercy. To their class, the Saviour especially gave His attention when
he was on the earth, and for them He most certainly died on the Cross.
Some of the best examples of Christian faith and practice, and
some of the most successful workers for the benefit of mankind,
have sprung from this class, of which we have instances re-
corded in the Bible, and any number in the history of the Church
and of the Salvation Army.
It may be objected that while this Scheme would undoubtedly
assist one class of the community by making steady, industrious
workmen, it must thereby injure another class by introducing so many
new hands into the labour market, already so seriously overstocked.
To this we reply that there is certainly an appearance of force in
this objection ; but it has, I think, been already answered in the fore-
going pages. Further, if the increase of workers, which this Scheme
will certainly bring about, was the beginning and the end of it, it
would certainly present a somewhat serious aspect. But, even on
that supposition, I don't see how the skilled worker could leave his
brothers to rot in their present wretchedness, though their rescue
should involve the sharing of a portion of his wages.
(i) But there is no such danger, seeing that the number of extra
hands thrown on the British Labour Market must be necessarily
inconsiderable.
(2) The increased production of food in our Farm and Colonial
operations must indirectly benefit the working man.
DRAINING LABOUR MARKETS. 269
(3) The taking out of the labour market of a large number of
incUviduals who at present have only partial work, while benefiting
them, must of necessity afford increased labour to those left behind.
(4) While every poor workless individual made into a wage earner
will of necessity have increased requirements in proportion. For
instance, the drunkard who has had to manage with a few bricks, a
soap box, and a bundle of rags, will want a chair, a table, a bed, and
at least the other necessary adjuncts to a furnished home, however
sparely fitted up it may be.
There is no question but that when our Colonisation Scheme is
fairly afloat it will drain off, not only many of those who are in the
morass, but a lai^e number who are on the verge of it. Nay, even
artisans, earning what are considered good wages, will be drawn by
the desire to improve their circumstances, or to raise their children
under more favourable surroundings, or from still nobler motives, to
leave the old country. Then it is expected that the agricultural
labourer and the village artisan, who are ever migrating to the great
towns and cities, will give the preference to the Colony Over-Sea,
and so prevent that accumulation of cheap labour which is considered
to interfere so materially with the maintenair^ of a high wages
standard
wr^^m^ ^
Section 5.— RECAPITULATION.
I have now passed in review the leading features of the
Scheme, which I put forward as one thai is calculated to considerably
contribute to the amelioration of the condition of the lowest
stratum of our Society. It in no way professes to be complete
in all its details. Anyone may at any point lay his finger on
this, that, or the other ferturc of the Scheme, and show some
void that must be fiUec. in if it is to work with effect. There is
one thing, however, that can be safely said in excuse for the
shortcomings of the Scheme, and that is that if you wait until
you get an ideally perfect plan you will have to wait untfl the
Millennium, and then you will not need it. My suggestions, crude
though they may be, have, nevertl :less, one ebment that will in
time supply all deficiencies. There is lifc in ihem, witl. b'fc there
is the promise and power of adaptation to all the innumerable
and varying circumstances c^ the a. .s with which we have to
deal. Where there it: f ) there is infinite power of adjustment
This is no cast-iron Scheme, r d in a single bri.m an ' then set
up as a standard lo which ' must conform. It is a sturdy plant;
which has its roots dee down i** the nature* and circum^^ :X3es oC
men. Nay, I believe ii?. th^ very heart of God Himsolf. I; has
already grown much^ and y if dui ; nurtured nd tended, gro.\7
still further, until from it, as '':<om « #- ol mustard-seed in
the parable, there shall ipnug ip a grgry, tree whooc branches
shall overshadow all tho eartho
Once more let me say, I claim n: ) patent rights in any part of this
Scheme. Indeed, I do ,]ot know what in it is original and what is not.
Since formulating some of the plans, which I had thought were new
under the sun, I have discovered that they have been already tried
in different parts of the world, and that with great promise. It may
be so with others, and in thiC) I rejoxe. I plead for no exclusive-
HAVE YOU A BETTER PLAN ? 2 71
ness. The question is much too serious for such fooling as
that. Here are millions of our fellow-creatures perishing
amidst the breakers of the sea of life, dashed to pieces
on sharp rocks, sucked under by eddying whirlpools, suffo-
cated even when they think they have reached land by treacherous
quicksands ; to save them from this imminent destruction I suggest
that these things should be done. If you have any better plan than
mine for effecting this purpose, in God's name bring it to the light
and get it carried out quickly. If you have not, then lend me a
hand with mine, as I would be only too glad to lend you a hand with
yours if it had in it greater promise of successful action than mine.
In a Scheme for the working out of social salvation the great, the
only, test that is worth anything is the success with which they
attain the object for which they are devised. An ugly old tub of
a boat that will land a shipwrecked sailor safe on the beach is worth
more to him than the finest yacht that ever left a slip-way incapable
of effecting the same object. The superfine votaries of culture may
recoil in disgust from the rough-and-ready suggestions which I have
made for dealing with the Sunken Tenth, but mere recoiling is no
solution. If the cultured and the respectable and the orthodox
and the established dignitaries and conventionalities of Society
pass by on the other side we cannot follow their example.
We may not be priests and Levites, but we can at least
play the part of the Good Samaritan. The man who went
down to Jericho and fell among thieves was probably a very
improvident, reckless individual, who ought to have known
better than to go roaming alone through defiles haunted by banditti,
whom he even led into temptation by the careless way in which he
exposed himself and his goods to their avaricious gaze. It was, no
doubt, largely his own fault that he lay there bruised and senseless,
and ready to perish, just as it is largely the fault of those whom we
seek to help that they lie in the helpless plight in which we find
them. But for all that, let us bind up their wounds with such balm
as we can procure, and, setting them on our ass, let us take them to
our Colony, where they may have time to recover, and once more set
forth on the journey of life.
And now, having said this much by way of reply to some of my
critics, I will recapitulate the salient features of the Scheme. I laid
down at the beginning certain points to be kept in view as embodying
those invariable laws or principles of political economy, without due
872 RECAPITULATION.
regard to which no Scheme can hope for even a chance of success.
Subject to these conditions, I think my Scheme will pass muster. It
is lai^ enough to cope with the evils that will confront us ; it is
practicable, for it is already in course of applicatio\i, and it is capable
of indefinite expansion. But it would be better to pass the whole
Scheme in its more salient features in review once more.
The Scheme will seek to convey benefit to the destitute classes in
various ways altogether apart from their entering the Colonies. Men
and women may be very poor and in very great sorrow, nay, on
the verge of actual starvation, and yet be so circumstanced as to be
unable to enrol themselves in the Colonial ranks. To these
our cheap Food Dep6ts, our Advice Bureau, Labour Shops, and
other agencies will prove an unspeakable boon, and will be likelj
by such temporary assistance to help them out of the deep gulf in
which they are struggling. Those wno need permanent assistance
will be passed on to the City Colony, and taken directly under our
control. Here they will be employed as before described. Many
will be sent off to friends ; work will be found for others in the City
or elsewhere, while the great bulk, after reasonable testing as to
their sincerity and willingness to assist in their own salvation, will
be sent on to the Farm Colonies, where the same process of
reformation and training will be continued, and unless employment
is otherwise obtained they will then be passed on to the Over-Sea
Colony.
All in circumstances of destitution, vice, or criminality will receive
casual assistance or be taken into the Colony, on the sole conditions
of their being anxious for deliverance, and willing to work for it,
and to conform to discipline, altogether irrespective of character,
ability, religious opinions, or anything else.
No benefit will be conferred upon any individual except under
extraordinary circumstances, without some return being made in
labour. Even where relatives and friends supply money to the
Colonists, the latter must take their share of work with their
comrades. We shall not have room for a. single idler throughout all
our borders.
The labour allotted to each individual will be chosen in view of his
past employment or ability. Those who have any knowledge of
agriculture will naturally be put to work on the land ; the shoemaker
will make shoes, the weaver cloth, and so on. And when there is no
knowledge of any handicraft, the aptitude of the individual and the
N
HAND LABOUR. 273
necessities of the hour will suggest the sort of work it would be
most profitable for such an one to learn.
Work of all descriptions will be executed as far as possible by
hand labour. The present rage for machinery has tended to pro-
duce much destitution by supplanting hand labour so exclusively
that the rush has been from the human to the machine. We want,
as far as is practicable, to travel back from the machine to the
human.
Each member of the Colony would receive food, clothing, lodging,
medicine, and all necessary care in case of sickness.
No wages would be paid, except a trifle by way of encouragement
for good behaviour and industry, or to those occupying positions of
trust, part of which will be saved in view of exigencies in our Colonial
Bank, and the remainder used for pocket money.
The whole Scheme of the three Colonies will for all practical
purposes be regarded as one ; hence the training will have in view
the qualification of the Colonists for ultimately earning their
livelihood in the world altogether independently of our assistance,
or, failing this, fit them for taking some permanent work within our
borders either at home or abroad.
Another result of this unity of the Town and Country Colonies
will be the removal of one of the difficulties ever connected with the
disposal of the products of unemployed labour. The food from the
Farm would be consumed by the City, while many of the things
manufactured in the City would be consumed on the Farm.
The continued effort of all concerned in the reformation of these
people will be to inspire and cultivate those habits, the want of
which has been so largely the cause of the destitution and vice of
the past.
Strict discipline, involving careful and contiguous oversight,
would be necessary to the maintenance of order amongst so large
a number of people, many of whom had hitherto lived a wild and
licentious life. Our chief reliance in this respect, would be upon the
spirit of mutual interest that would prevail.
The entire Colony would probably be divided into sections, each
under the supervision of a sergeant — one of themselves — working
side by side with them, yet responsible for the behaviour of all.
The chief Officers of the Colony would be individuals who had
given themselves to the work, not for a livelihood, but from a desire
to be useful to the sufiering pocM*. They would be selected
s
274 RECAPITULATION.
at the outset from the Army, and that on the ground of their
possessing certain capabilities for the position, such as knowledge
of the particular kind of work they had to superintend, or their being
good disciplinarians and having the faculty for controlling men and
being themselves influenced by a spirit of love. Ultimately the
Officers, we have no doubt, would be, as is the case in all our other
operations, men and women raised up from the Colonists themselves,
and who will consequently, possess some special qualifications for
dealing with those they have to superintend.
Tne Colonists will be divided into two classes : the 1st, the class
which receives no wages will consist of : —
(a) The new arrivals, whose ability, character, and habits
are as yet unknown.
(b) The less capable in strength, mental caHbre, or other
capacity.
{c) The indolent, and those whose conduct and character
appeared doubtful. These would remain in this class, until
sufficiently improved for advancement, or are pronounced so
hopeless as to justify expulsion.
The 2nd class would have a small extra allowance, a part of
which would be given to the workers for private use, and a part
reserved for future contingencies, the payment of travelling expenses,
etc. From this class we should obtain our petty officers, send out
hired labourers, emigrants, etc., etc.
Such is the Scheme as I have conceived it. Intelligently applied,
and resolutely persevered in, I cannot doubt that it will produce a
great and salutary chancre in the condition of many of the most
hopeless of our fellow countrymen. Nor is it only our fellow
countrymen to whom it is capable of application. In its salient
features, with such alterations as are necessary, owing to differences
of climate and of race, it is capable of adoption in every city in the
world, for it is an attempt to restore to the masses of humanity that are
, crowded together in cities, the human and natural elements of life
which they possessed when they lived in the smaller unit of the
village or the market town. Of the extent of the need there can be
no question. It is, perhaps, greatest in London, where the masses of
population are denser than those of any other city ; but it exists
equally in the chief centres of population in the new Englands that
have sprung up beyond the sea, as well as in the larger cities of
Europe. It is a remarkable fact that up to the present moment the
STARVING IN MELBOURNE. 275
most eager welcome that has been extended to this Scheme reaches
us from Melbourne, where our officers have been compelled to b^n
operations by the pressure of public opinion and in compliance with
the urgent entreaties of the Government on one side and the leaders
of the working classes on the other before the plan had been
elaborated, or instructions could be sent out Tor their guidance.
It is rather strange to hear of distress reacHing starvation point in
a city like Melbourne, the capital of a great new country which
teems with natural wealth of every kind. But Melbourne, too, has
its unemployed, and in no city in the Empire have we been more
successful in dealing with the social problem than in the capital of
Victoria. The Australian papers for some weeks back have been
filled with reports of the dealings of the Salvation Army with the
unemployed of Melbourne. This was before the great Strike.
The Government of Victoria practically threw upon our officers the
task of dealing with the unemployed. The subject was debated in
the House of Assembly, and at the close of the debate a subscription
was taken up by one of those who had been our most strenuous
opponents, and a sum of ;f400 was handed over to our officers to dis-
pense in keeping the starving from perishing. Our people have
found situations for no fewer than i,776 persons, and are dispensing
meals at the rate of 700 a day. The Government of Victoria
has long been taking the lead in recognising the secular uses of the
Salvation Army. The following letter addressed by the Minister
of the Interior to the Officer charged with the oversight of this
part of our operations, indicates the estimation in which we are
held :—
Goverament ot Victoria, Chief Secretary's Office,
Melbourne.
July ^h, 1889.
Superintendent Salvation Army Rescue Work.
Sir, — In compliance with your request for a letter of introduction which may
be of use to you in England, I have much pleasure in stating from reports
furnished by Officers of my Department, I am convinced that the work you have
been engaged on during the past six years has been of material advantage to the
community. You have rescued from crime some who, but for the counsel and
assistance rendered them, might have been a permanent tax upon the State, and
you have restrained from further criminal courses others who had already suffered
legal punishment for their misdeeds. It has given me pleasure to obtain from
the Executive Council authority for you to apprehend children found in Brothels,
and to take charge of such children after formal committal. Of the great value
276 RECAPITULATION.
of this branch of your work there can be no question. It is evident that the
attendance of yourself and your Officers at the police-courts and lock-ups has
been attended with beneficial results, and your invitation to our largest jails has
been highly approved by the head of the Department. Generally speaking, I
may say that your policy and procedure have been commended by the Chief
Officers of the Government of this Colony, who have observed your -work.
I have the honour to be, Sir,
Your obedient Servant,
(Signed) Alfred Deakin.
The Victorian Parliament has voted an annual grant to our funds,
not as a religious endowment, but in recognition of the service which
we render in the reclamation of criminals, and what may be called,
if I may use a word which has been so depraved by. Continental
abuse, the moral police of the city. Our Officer in Melbourne has an
official position which opens to him almost every State institution
and all the haunts of vice where it may be necessary for him to make
his way in the search for girls that have been decoyed from home
or who have fallen into evil courses.
It is in Victoria also that a system prevails of handing over first
offenders to the care of the Salvation Army Officers, placing them
in recognizance to come up when called for. An Officer of the
Army attends at every Police Court, and the Prison Brigade is
always on guard at the gaol doors when the prisoners are discharged.
Our Officers also have free access to the prisons, where they can
conduct services and labour with the inmates for their Salvation.
As Victoria is probably the most democratic of our colonies,
and the one in which the working-class has supreme
control, the extent to which it has by its government
recognised the value of our operations is sufficient to
indicate that we have nothing to fear from the opposition of the
democracy. In the neighbouring colony of New South Wales a lady
has already given us a farm of three hundred acres fully stocked, on
which to begin operations with a Farm Colony, and there seems
some prospect that the Scheme will get itself into active shape at the
other end of the world before it is set agoing in London. The eager
welcome which has thus forced the initiative upon our Officers in
Melbourne tends to encourage the expectation that the Scheme will
be regarded as no quack application, but will be generally taken up
and quickly set in operation all round the world.
CHAPTER VIII.
A PRACTICAL .CONCLUSION.
Throughout this book I have more constantly used the first
personal pronoun than ever before in anything I have written. I
have done this deliberately, not from egotism, but in order to make
it more clearly manifest that here is a definite proposal made by an
individual who is prepared, if the means are furnished him, to carry
it out. At' the same time I want it to be clearly understood that it
is not in my own strength, nor at my own charge, that I purpose to
embark upon this great undertaking. Unless God wills that I
should work out the idea of which I believe He has given me the
conception, nothing can come of any attempt at its execution but
confusion, disaster, and disappointment. But if it be His will — and
whether it is or not, visible and manifest tokens will soon be forth-
coming — who is there that can stand against it? Trusting in Him
for guidance, encouragement, and support, I propose at once to enter
upon this formidable campaign.
I do not run without being called. I do not press forward to fill
this breach without being urgently pushed from behind. Whether
or not, I am called of God, as well as by the agonising cries of
suffering men and women and children. He will make plain to me,
and to us all ; for as Gideon looked for a sign before he, at the
bidding of the heavenly messenger, undertook the leading of the
chosen people against the hosts of Midian, even so do I look for a
sign. Gideon's sign was arbitrary. He selected it. He dictated
his own terms ; and out of compassion for his halting faith, a sign
was given to him, and that twice over. First, his fleece was dry
when all the country round was drenched with dew ; and, secondly,
his fleece was drenched with dew when all the country round
was dry.
278 A PRACTICAL CONCLUSION.
1 ' ^-
The sign for which I ask to embolden me to go forwards is single,
not double. It is necessary and not arbitrary, and it is one which
the veriest sceptic or the most cynical materialist will recognise as
sufficient. If I am to work out the Scheme I have outlined in this
book, I must have ample means for doing so. How much would be
required to establish this Plan of Campaign in all its fulness, over-
shadowing all the land with its branches laden with all manner of
pleasant fruit, I cannot even venture to form a conception. But I
have a definite idea as to how much would be required to set it fairly
in operation.
Why do I talk about commencing ? We have already begun, and
that with considerable effect. Our hand has been forced by circum-
stances. The mere rumour of oUr undertaking reaching the Anti-
podes, as before described, called forth such a demonstration of
approval that my Officers there were compelled to begin action with-
out waiting orders from home. In this country we have been working
on the verge of the deadly morass for some years gone by, and not
without marvellous effect. We have our Shelters, our Labour Bureau,
our Factory, our Inquiry Officers, our Rescue Homes,pur Slum Sisters,
and other kindred agencies, all in good going order. The sphere of
these operations may be a limited one; still, what we have done already
is ample proof that when I propose to do much more I am not speak-
ing without my book ; and though the sign I ask for may not be
given, I shall go struggling forward on the same lines ; still, to
seriously take in hand the work which I have sketched out — to esta-
blish this triple Colony, with all its affiliated agencies, I must have, at
least, a hundred thousand pounds.
A hundred thousand pounds 1 That is the dew on my fleece. It
is not much considering the money that is raised by my poor people
for the work of the Salvation Army. The proceeds of the Self-
Denial Week alone last year brought us in ;£'20,ooo. This year it
will not fall short of ;f 2 5,000. If our poor people can do so much
out of their poverty, I do not think I am making an extravagant
demand when I ask that out of the millions of the wealth of the
world I raise, as a first instalment, a hundred thousand pounds, and
say that I cannot consider myself effectually called to undertake this
work unless it is forthcoming.
It is in no spirit of dictation or arrogance that I ask the sign. It
is a necessity. Even Moses could not have taken the Children of
Israel dry-shod through the Red Sea unless the waves had divided.
THE SIGN^I WANT. 279
That was the sign which marked out his duty, aided his faith, and
determined his action. The sign which I seek is somewhat similar.
Money is not everything. It is not by any means the main thing.
Midas, with all his millions, could no more do the work than he
could win the battle of Waterloo, or hold the Pass of Thermopylae.
But the millions of Midas are capable of accomplishing great and
mighty things, if they be sent about doing good under the direction
of Divine wisdom and Christ-like love.
How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the Kingdom
of Heaven I It is easier to make a hundred poor men sacrifice their
lives than it is to induce one rich man to sacrifice his fortune, or
even a portion of it, to a cause in which, in his half-hearted fashion,
he seems to believe. When I look over the roll of men and women
who have given up friends, parents, home prospects, and everything
they possess in order to walk bare-footed beneath a burning sun in
distant India, to live on a handful of rice, and die in the midst of the
dark heathen for God and the Salvation Army, I sometimes marvel
how it is that they should be so eager to give up all, even life itself,
in a cause which has not power enough in it to induce any reasonable
number of wealthy men to give to it the mere superfluities and
luxuries of their existence. From those to whom much is given much
is expected ; but, alas, alas, how little is realised ! It is still the
widow who casts her all into the Lord's treasury — the wealthy deem it a
preposterous suggestion when we allude to the Lord's tithe, and count it
boredom when we ask only for the crumbs that fall from their tables.
Those who have followed me thus far will] decide for themselves
to what extent they ought to help me to carry out this Project, oi
whether they ought to help me at all. I do not think that any
sectarian differences or religious feelings whatever ought to be
imported into this question. Supposing you do not like my Salva-
tionism, surely it is better for these miserable, wretched crowds to
have food to eat, clothes to wear, and a home in which to lay
their weary bones after their day's toil is done, even though the
change is accompanied by some peculiar religious notions and prac-
tices, than it would be for them to be hungry, and naked, and
homeless, and possess no religion at all. It must be infinitely pre-
ferable that they should speak the truth, and be virtuous, industrious,
and contented, even if they do pray to God, sing Psalms, and go
about with red jerseys, fanatically, as you call it, '* seeking for the
millennium " — than that they should remain thieves or harlots, with
280 A PRACTICAL CONCLUSION.
no belief in God at all, a burden to the Municipality, a curse to
Society, and a danger to the State.
That you do not like the Salvation Army, I venture to say, is no
Justification for withholding your sympathy and practical co-opera-
tion in carrying out a Scheme which promises so much blessedness -
to your fellow-men. You may not like our government, our methods,
our faith. Your feeling towards us might perhaps be duly described
by an observation that slipped unwittingly from the tongue of a
somewhat celebrated leader in the evangelistic world sometime ago,
who, when asked what he thought of the Salvation Army, replied
that " He did not like it at all, but he believed that God Almighty
did." Perhaps, as an agency, we may not be exactly of your way of
thinking, but that is hardly the question. Look at that dark ocean,
full of human wrecks, writhing in anguish and despair. How to
rescue those unfortunates is the question. The particular character
of the methods employed, the peculiar uniforms worn by the life-
boat crew, the noises made by the rocket apparatus, and the
mingled shoutings of the rescued and the rescuers, may all be
contrary to your taste and traditions. But all the,se objections and
antipathies, I submit, are as nothing compared with the delivering of
the people out of that dark sea.
If among my readers there be any who have the least conception
that this scheme is put forward by me from any interested motives
by all means let them refuse to contribute even by a single penny to
what would be, at least, one of the most shameless of shams. There
may be those who are able to imagine that men who have been
literally martyred in this cause have faced their death for the sake of
the paltry coppers they collected to keep body and soul together.
Such may possibly find no difficulty in persuading themselves that «
this is but another attempt to raise money to augment that mythical
fortune which I, who never yet drew a penny beyond mere out-of-
pocket expenses from the Salvation Army funds, am supposed to be'
accumulating. From all such I ask only the tribute of their abuse,
assured that the worst they say of me is too mild to describe the infamy
of my conduct if they are correct in this interpretation of my motives.
There appears to me to be only two reasons that will justify any
man, with a heart in his bosom, in refusing to co-operate with me
in this Scheme : —
I. That he should have an honest and intelligent conviction thai U
cannot be carried out with any rec^onable measure of success; or,
IS IT IMPOSSIBLE r 281
2. That he (the objector) is prepared with some other plan which will
as effectually accomplish the end it contemplates.
Let me consider the second reason first. If it be that you have
some plan that promises more directly to accomplish the deliverance
of these multitudes than mine, I implore you at once to bring it out.
Let it see the light of day. Let us not only hear your theory, but
see the evidences which prove its practical character and assure its
success. If your plan will bear investigation, I shall then consider you
to be relieved from the obligation to assist me — nay, if after full con-
sideration of your plan I find it better than mine, I will give up mine,
turn to, and help you with all my might. But if you have nothing to
offer, I demand your help in the name of those whose cause I plead.
Now, then, for your first objection, which I suppose can be
expressed in one word — " impossible." This, if well founded, is
equally fatal to my proposals. But, in reply, I may say — How do
you know ? Have you inquired ? I will assume that you have read
the book, and duly considered it. Surely you would not dismiss so
important a theme without some thought. And though my arguments
may not have sufficient weight to carry conviction, you must admit
them to be of sufficient importance to warrant investigation. Will
you therefore come and see for yourself what has been done already,
or, rather, what we are doing to-day. Failing this, will you send
someone capable of judging on your behalf. I do not care very much
whom you send. It is true the things of the Spirit are spiritually
discerned, but the things of humanity any man can judge, whether
saint or sinner, if he only possess average intelligence and ordinary
bowels of compassion.
I should, however, if I had a choice, prefer an investigator who
has some practical knowledge of social economics, and much more
should I be pleased if he had spent some of his own time and a little
of his own money in trying to do the work himself. After such
investigation I am confident there could be only one result.
There is one more plea I have to offer to those who might seek to
excuse themselves from rendering any financial assistance to the
Scheme. Is it not worthy at least of being tried as an experiment ? Tens
of thousands of pounds are yearly spent in " trying " for minerals,
boring for coals, sinking- for water, and I believe there are those
who think it worth while, at an expenditure of hundreds of thousands
of pounds, to experiment in order to test the possibility of
making a tunnel under the sea between this country and
282 A PRACTICAL CONCLUSION.
France. Should these adventurers fail in- their varied opera-
tions, they have, at least, the satisfaction of knowing, though
hundreds of thousands of pounds have been expended, that they
have not been wasted, and they will not complain ; because
they have at least attempted the accomplishment of that which they
felt ougHt to be done ; and it must be better to attempt a duty,
though we fail, than never to attempt it at all. In this book we do
think we have presented a sufficient reason to justify the expenditure
of the money and effort involved in the making of this experiment.
And though the effort should not terminate in the grand success
which I so confidently predict^ and which we all must so ardently
desire, still there is bound to be, not only the satisfaction of having
attempted some sort of deliverance for these wretched people, but
certain results which will amply repay every farthing expended in
the experiment.
I am now sixty-one years of age. The last eighteen months,
during which the continual partner of all my activities for now nearly
forty years has laid in the arms of unspeakable suffering, has added
more than many many former ones, to the exhaustion of my term ot
service. I feel already something of the pressure which led the
dying Emperor of Germany to say, " I have no time to be weary."
If I am to see the accomplishment in any considerable degree of
these life-long hopes, I must be enabled to embark upon the enter-
prise without delay, and with the world-wide burden constantly upon
me in connection with the universal mission of our Army I cannot
be expected to struggle in this matter alone.
But I trust that the upper and middle classes are at last being
awakened out of their long slumber with regard to the permanent
improvement of the lot of those who have hitherto been regarded as
being for ever abandoned and hopeless. Shame indeed upon England
if, with the example presented to us nowadays by the Emperor
and Government of Germany, we simply shrug our shoulders, and
pass on again to our business or our pleasure leaving these wretched
multitudes in the gutters where they have lain so long. No, no, no ;
time is short. Let us arise in the name of God and humanity, and
wipe away the sad stigma from the British banner that our horses
are better treated than our labourers.
It will be seen that this Scheme contains many branches. It
is probable that some of my readers may not be able to endorse the
fian as^^ whole, while heartily approving of some of its features;
HOW TO SUBSCRIBE. 283
and to the support of what they do not heartily approve they may not
be willing to subscribe. Where this is so, we shall be glad for them
to assist us in carrying out those portions of the undertaking which
more especially command their sympathy and commend themselves
to their judgment. For instance, one man may believe in the
Over-Sea Colony, but feel no interest in the Inebriates* Home ;
another, who may not care for emigration, may desire to furnish a
Factory or Rescue Home > a third may wish to give us an estate,
assist in the Food and Shelter work, or the extension of the Slum
Brigade. Now, although I regard the Scheme as one and
indivisible — from which you cannot take away any portion without
impairing the prospect of the whole — it is quite practicable to
administer the money subscribed so that the wishes of each donor
may be carried out. Subscriptions may, therefore, be sent in for the
general fund of the Social Scheme, or they can be devoted to any of
the following distinct funds : —
1. The City Colony.
2. The Farm Colony.
3. The Colony Over-Sea.
4. The Household Salvage
Brigade.
5. The Rescue Homes for
Fallen Women.
6. Deliverance for the
Drunkard.
7. The Prison Gate Brigade.
8. The Poor Man's Bank.
9. The Poor Man's Lawyer.
10. Whitechapel-by-the-Sea.
Or any other department suggested by the foregoing.
In making this appeal I have, so far, addressed myself chiefly to
those who have money ; but money, indispensable as it is, has never
been the thing most needful. Money is the sinews of war ; and, as
society is at present constituted, neither carnal nor spiritual wars
can be carried on without money. But there is something more
necessary still. War cannot be waged without soldiers. A
Wellington can do far more in a campaign than a Rothschild.
More than money — a long, long way — I want men ; and when I say
men, I mean women also — men of experience, men of brains, men of
heart, and men of God.
In this great expedition, though I am starting for territory which is
familiar enough, I am, in a certain sense, entering an unknown land.
My people will be new at it. We have trained our soldiers to the
saving of souls, we have taught them Knee- drill, we have instructed
them in the art and mystery of dealing with the consciences and hearts
of men ; and that will ever continue the main business of their lives.
284 A PRACTICAL ^ONCLIICIOW
To save the soul, to regenerate the Hfe, and to inspire the spirit with
the undying love of Christ is the work to which all other duties must
ever be strictly subordinate in the Soldiers of the Salvation Army.
But the new sphere on which we are entering will call for faculties
other than those which have hitherto been cultivated, and for know-
ledge of a different character ; and those who have these gifts, and
who are possessed of this practical information, will be sordy
needed. '
Already our world-wide Salvation work engrosses the energies of
every Officer whom we command. With its extj^nsion wc have
the greatest difficulty to keep pace ; and, when this Scheme has to
be practically grappled with, we shall be in greater straits than ever.
True, it will find employment for a multitude of energies and talents
which are now lying dormant, but, nevertheless, this extension will
tax our resources to the very utmost. In view of this, reinforce-
ments will be indispensable. We shall need the best brains, the
largest experience, and the most undaunted energy of the
community.
I want Recruits, but I cannot soften the conditions in order to
attract men to the Colours. I want no comrades on these terms,
but those who know our rules and are prepared to submit to our
discipline : who are one with us on the great principles which deter-
mine our action, and whose hearts are in this great vork for the
amelioration of the hard lot of the lapsed and lost. These I will
welcome to the service.
It may be that you cannot deliver an open-air address, or conduct
an indoor meeting. Public labour for souls has hitherto been outside
your practice. In the Lord's vineyard, however, are many labourers,
and all are not needed to do the same thing. If you have a practical
acquaintance with any of the varied operations of which I have
spoken in this book ; if you are familiar with agriculture, understand
the building trade, or have a practical knowledge of almost any form
of manufacture, there is a place for you.
We cannot offer you great pay, social position, or any glitter and
tinsel of man's glory ; in fact, we can promise little more than rations,
plenty of hard work, and probably no little of worldly scorn ; but if
on the whole you believe you can in no other way help your Lord so
well and bless humanity so much, you will brave the opposition of
friends, abandon earthly prospects, trample pride under foot, and
come out and follow Him in this New Crusade.
YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. 286
To you who believe in the remedy here proposed, and the
soundness of these plans, and have the ability to assist me, I now
confidently appeal for practical evidence of the faith that is in you.
The responsibility is no longer mine alone. It is yours as much as
mine. It is yours even more than mine if you withhold the means by
which I may carry out the Scheme, I give what I have. If you
give what you have the work will be done. If it is not done, and
the dark river of wretchedness rolls on, as wide and deep as ever,
the consequences will lie at the door of him who holds back.
I am only one man among my fellows, the same as you. The
obligation to care for these lost and perishing multitudes does not
rest on me any more than it does on you. To me has been given
the idea, but to you the means by which it may be realised. The
Plan has now been published to the world ; it is for you to say
whether it is to remain barren, or whether it is to bear fruit in
unnumbered blessings to all the children of men.
APPENDIX.
1. The Salvation Army— A Sketch— The Position of the Forces, October, 1890
2. Circular, Registration Forms, and Notices now issued by the Labour Bureau
3. Count Rumford's Bavarian Experience.
4. The Co-operative Experiment at Ralahine.
5. Mr. Carlyle on the Regimentation of the Out-of-Worics.
6. ** CArisHoMiiy and CvuilizatUm* by the Rev. Dr. Barxy.
APPENDIX.
THE SALVATION ABMY.
THX POSITION OF OUB FOBCBS.
OcroBBB, 1890.
or
Oorpt Out- Penoni
or potto, wholly
SodtUM.
\
106
108
963
817
The United Kingdom ... 1376
Fnuvse ... ..•
Switzerland
Sweden
United Statee ...
anede ... ...
Australia-
Victoria
South Australia
New SouthWalet
Tasmania
Queensland
Sew Zealand
India
Ceylon
Holland
Denmark
Norway ... ...
Germany ...
Belgium ... ... ...
Finland ... ... ...
The Argentine Bepublio
South Africa and St.
ueMoa I.. ... ...
engaged
in the'
Work.
4606
71
41
67
76
1066
1081
}
870
66
60
40
83
46
16
4
8
2
466
09
61
6
7
6
Total abroad...
... 1400
... 8874
18
896
906
186
419
181
87
188
76
81
18
16
168
4910
9416
Qrand total ...
THB SUPPLY ("TftADB") DBPABTMBNT.
At Home. Abroad.
Buildings oocupied— At Home,
6 ; AbrafeMl» 88 .». ••• ...
Offloen ... ••• ... ••• 68 ... 16
|bn|^yte ••• . •»» •*• *• 997 •.• 66
THB PBOFBBTT DBPABTMBHT.
P n p e rtjf wno Voted in theArmjf;^
The United Kingdom .<
Frsnoe and Switzerland .
Sweden « •<
Norway •
The United States ... :
Canada
Australia
New Zealand
India ••. .
Holland • .
Denmark ... ...
South Africa.
Total ...
»•*
••♦
4877,609
10.009
18,698
11,676
6,601
96,786
66,861
14,796
6,687
7,186
8,840
10,401
£6U,616
Value of trade effects, stock, maohineiy, and
goods on hand, £130,000 additional.
SOCIAL WOBK OF THB ABMT.
Bescue homes (fallen women)... « 88
Slum Posts ... ... ... ... ••• ••• 88
Prison GNtte Brigades ... • ••• 10
Food Depots ... ... ..• »• ••• 4
Shelters for the Destitute ... »• m« 6
Inebriates' Home .« m* 1
Factory for the " out of work" ^ I
Labour Bureaux ... %.• ••• 8
Officers and others managing those branches 884
SALVATION AND SOCIAL BBFOBM
LITBBATUBB.
At Cicm-
home. Abroad. lation.
Weekly Newspapers ... 8 ... 84 ... 81.000,000
Monthly Magazines ... 3 ... 18 ... 8.409,000
Total
.. 6
98,469,060
Total
seo
70
T
iv
APPENDIX.
Total annual circolation of the above 88^400,000
Total annual circolation of other
pablicationi 4,000,000
Total annual droulation of Army
literature 87,400,000
The Uhited KmeDOM—
" The War Cry** ... . ... ... 800,000 weekly.
*< The Yoong Soldier " ... 126,750 .,
"AU the World" 50,000 monthly.
" The Deliverer" ... 48,000 „
GBNBBAL STATBMBNTS AND STATISTIC^.
Aooom- Annual
modation. ooit.
Training Garriaons for Offi-
cers (United Kingdom)... 38 400 £11,500
Do. Do. (Abroad)... 88 760
Large Vans for Evange-
lising the VillagesCknown
as Cavalry Forts) 7
Homes of Best for Officers 94 S40 10,000
Indoor Meetings, held
weekly ... 88,861
Open-air Meetings held
w^kly (chiefly in
Bngland and Colonics)
31,467
Total Meetings held weekly 49,818
84
Nmnber of Houses visited
weekly (Great Britain
only).....' 54,000
Number of Countries and Colonies
occupied ... ... ... ... * ...
Number of Languages in which Litera-
ture is issued 15
Number of Languages in which Sah ation
is preached by the Officers ... ... SO
Number of Local (Non-Commisdoned
Officers) and Bandsmen ... 38,060
Number of Scribes and Office Bmploy^ 471
Average weekly reception 6t telegrams,
600, and letters, 5,400, at Uie London
Headquarters.
Sum raised annually from all sources by
the Army £750,000
Balancb Sheets, duly audited by chartered
accountants, are issued annually in connection
with the International Headquarters. See the
Annual Beport of 1889— *' Apostolic Warfare."
Balance Sheets are also produced quarterly at
eveiy Corps in the world, audited and signed
by the Local Officen. Divisional Balance Sheets
Issued monthly and anditedby a Special Depart-
ment at Headquarters.
Duly and independently audited Balance
Sheets are also issued annually from eveiy
Territorial Headquarters.
THB AUXILIABT LHAGUB.
The Salvation Army International AaxUiary
Lsague is composed
1.— Of persons who, without necessarily en-
dorsing or approving of every single method
used by the Salvation Army, are sufficiently in
sympathy with its great work of reclaiming
drunkards, rssooing the fallen— in a word,
mmnff ths lott—tm to give it their pbatsbs,
TSWLWSGEi AVD MOITET.
3.— Of persons who, althouj^ seeing sye^
^ye with the Army, yet are unable to join it.
owing to being actively engaged in the work ef
their own denominations, or by reason bf bad
health or other infirmities, which forbid their
taking any active part in Christian work.
Persons are enrolled either as Subscribing of
Collecting Auxiliaries.
The League comprises persons of influence and
ition, members of nearly all denominations,
and many ministers.
PAMFHLBTS.— Auxiliaries wiU always be
supplied gratis with copies of our Ar^iin^ii im-
port and Balance Sheet and other pamphlets
for distribution on application to Headquarters.
Some of our Auxiliaries have materially helped
us in this way by distributing our literature at
the seaside and elsewhere, and by making
arrangements for the regular supply of waiting
rooms, hydropathics, and hotiBls, thus helping
to dispel the lurejudice under which many
persons unacquainted with the Army are found
to labour.
**Jlll she Wobu)" is posted free legularly
each month to Auxiliaries.
For further information, and for full partieu-
lars of the work of The Salvation Army, apidy
personally or by letter to GBNBBAL BOOTH,
or to the Financial Secretary at International
Headquarters, 101, Queen Victoria St., London,
B.C., to whom i|lso oonMbutions should be
sent.
Cheques and Bostal Ordsis crossed "OUy
THE SALVATION ARBIYt A SKETCH.
BY AN OFFICER OF SEVENTEEN TEARS* STANDINO,
IVhaf is the SalvaHon Army f
It is an Organisation existing to effect a radical revolution in the spiritual
cbndition of the enormous majority of the people of all lands. Its aim is to
produce a change not Only in the opinions, feelings, and principles of these vast
populations, but to alter the whole course of their lives^ so that instead ot
spending their time in frivolity and pleasure^seeking, if not in the grossest forms
of vice, they shall spend it in the service of their generation and in the worship
6( God. So far it has mainly operated in professedly Christian countries, where
the overwhelming majority of the people have ceased, publicly, at any rate, to
worship Jesus Christ, or to submit themselves in any way to His authority. To
what extent has the Army succeeded ?
Its flag is now flying in 34 countries or colonies, where, under the leader-
ship of nearly 10,000 men and women, whose lives are entirely given up to the
work, it is holding some 49,800 religious meetings every week, attended by
millions of persons, who ten years ago would have laughed at the idea of pray-
ing. And these operations are but the means for further extension, as will be
* seen, especially when it is remembered that the Army has its 27 weekly news-
papers, of which no less than 31,000,000 copies are sold in the streets, public-
houses, and popular resorts of the godless majority. From its, ranks it is
therefore certain that an ever-increasing multitude of men and women must
eventually be won.
That all this has not amounted to the creation ot a mere passing gust of
feeling, may best be demonstrated perhaps from the fact that the Army has
ackmmulated no less than £77SyOOO worth of property, pays rentals amount-
ing to ;^220,ooo per annum for its meeting places, and has a total income from
1^ sources of three-quarters of a million per annum.
•K^w consider from whence all this has sprang.
It 18 only twenty-five years since the author of this volume stood absolute^
«]one in the East of London, to endeavour to Christianise its irreligious
vi APPENDIX.
multitudes, without the remotest conception in his own mind of the possibility
of any such Organisation being created.
Consider, moreover, through what opposition the Salvation Army has ever
had to make its way.
In each country it has to fiace universal prejudice, distrust, and contempt, and
often stronger antipathy still. This opposition has generally found expression
in systematic, Governmental, and Police restriction, followed in too many cases
by imprisonment, and by the condemnatory outpourings of Bishops, Clergy,
Pressmen and others, naturally followed in too many instances by the oaths
and curses, the blows and inSults of the populace. Throtigh all this, in country
after country, the Army makes its way to the position of universal respect,
that respect, at any rate, which is shown to those who have conquered.
And of what material has this conquering host been made ?
Wherever the Army goes it gathers into its meetings, m the first instance, a
crowd of the most debased, brutal, blasphemous elements that can be found
who, if permitted, interrupt the services, and if they see the slightest sign of
police tolerance for their misconduct, frequently fall upon the Army officers or
their property with violence. Yet a couple of Officers face such an audience
with the absolute certainty of recruiting out of it ah Army Corps. Many
thousands of those who are now most prominent in the ranks of the Army
never knew what it was to pray before they attended its services ; and large
numbers of them had settled into a profound conviction that everything
connected with religion was utterly false. It is out of such materia^ that God
has constructed what is admitted to be one ot the most fervid bodies of
believers ever seen on the face of the earth.
Many persons in looking at the progress of the Army have shown a stratige
want of discernment in talking and writing as though all this had been done in a
most haphazard fashion, or as though an individual could by the mere effort of
his will produce such changes in the lives of others as he chose. The slightest
reflection will be sufficient we are sure to convince any impartial individual that
the gigantic results attained by the Salvation Army could only be reached by
steady unaltering processes adapted to this end. And what are the processes
by which this great Army has been made ?
I. The foundation of all the Army's success, looked at apart from its divine
source of strength, is its continued direct attack upon those whom it seeks to
bring under the influence of the Gospel The Salvation Army Officer, instead of
standing upon some dignified pedestal, to describe the fallen condition of hit
fellow men, in the hope that though far from him, they may thus, by mom
ajTSterious process, come to a better life, goes down into the street, aa4 fiMm
door to door, and from room to room, lays his hands on those who are spiritually
sick, and leads them to the Almighty Healer. In its forms of ^>eech and writiiq;
THE SALVATION ARMY: A SKETCH. vll
the Army constantly exhibits this same characteristic. Instead of propounding
religious theories or pretending to teach a system of theology, it speaks much
after the fashion of the old Prophet or Apostle, to each individual, about his or
her sin and duty, thus bringing to bear upon each heart and conscience the
light and power from heaven, by which alone the world can be transformed.
2. And step by step, along with this human contact goes unmistakably
something that is not human.
The puzzlement and self-contradiction of most critics of the Army springs
undoubtedly from the fact that they are bound to account for its success without
admitting that any superhuman power attends its ministry, yet day after day,
and night after night, the wonderful facts go on multipljring. The man who
last night was drunk in a London slum, is to-night standing up for Christ on an
Army platform. The clever sceptic, who a few weeks ago was interrupting the
speakers in Berlin, and pouring contempt upon their claims to a personal
knowledge of the unseen Saviour, is to-day as thorough a believer as any of
them. The poor girl, lost to shame and hope, who a month ago was an out-
cast of Paris, is to-day a modest devoted follower of Christ, working in a
humble situation. To those who admit we are right in saying "this is
the Lord's doing," all is simple enough, and our certainty that the dregs
of Society can become its ornaments requires no further explanation.
3. All these modem miracles would, however, have been comparatively useless
but for the Army's system of utilising the gifts and energy of our converts to the
uttermost. Suppose that without any claim to Divine power the Army had
succeeded in raising up tens of thousands of persons, formerly unknown and
unseen in the community, and made them into Singers, Speakers, Musicians, and
Orderlies, that would surely in itself have been a remarkable fact. But not only
have these engaged in various labours for the benefit of the community. They have
been filled with a burning ambition to attain the highest possible degree of uieful-
ness. No one can wonder that we expect to see the same process carried on suc-
cessfuUy amongst our new friends of the Casual Ward and the Slum. And if the
Army has been able to accomplish all this utilisation of human talents for the
highest purposes, in spite of an almost universally prevailing contrary practice
amongst the Churches, what may not its Social Wing be expected to do, with
the example of the Army before it ?
4. The maintenance of all this system has, of course, been largely due to
the unqualified acceptance of military government and discipline. But for this,
we cannot be blind to the fact that even in our own ranks difficulties would
every day arise as to the exaltation to front seats of those who were formerly
persecutors and injurious. The old feeling which would have kept Paul
suspected, in the background, after his conversion is, unfortunately,
a part ot the conservative groundwork of human nature that con-
vlH APPENDIX.
tinues to exist everywhere, and which has to be overcome by rigid dis-
cipline in order to secure that everywhere and always, the new convert should
be made the most of for Christ. But our Army system is a great indis-
putable fact, so much so that our enemies sometimes reproach us with it. That
it should be possible to create an Army Organisation, and to secure faithful
execution of duty daily is indeed a wonder, but a wonder accomplished, just as
completely amongst the Republicans ot America and France, as amongst the
militarily trained Germans, or the subjects of the British monarchy. It is
notorious that we can send an officer from London, possessed of no extra-
ordinary ability, to take command of any corps in the world, with a certainty
that he will find soldiers eager to do his bidding, and without a thought
of disputing his commands, so long as he continues faithful to the orders and
regulations under which his men are enlisted.
5. But those show a curious ignorance who set down our successes to this
discipline, as though it were something of the prison order, although enforced
without any of the power lying either behind the prison warder or the Catholic
priest. On the contrary, wherever the discipline of the Army has been
endangered, and its regular success for a time interrupted, it has been through
an attempt to enforce it without enough of that joyous, cheerful spirit of love
which is its main spring. Nobody can become acquainted with our soldiers in
any land, without being almost immediately struck with their extraordinary
gladness, and this joy is in itself one of the most infectious and influential
elements of the Army's success. But if this be so, amid the comparatively well
to do, judge of what its results- are likely to be amongst the poorest and most
wretched I To those who have never known bright days, the mere sight of a
happy face is as it were a revelation and inspiration in one.
6. But the Army's success does not come with magical rapidity ; it depends,
like that of all real work, upon infinite perseverance.
To say nothing of the perseverance of the Officer who has made the saving ot
men his life work, and who, occupied and absorbed with this great pursuit, may
naturally enough be expected to remain faithful, there are multitudes of our
Soldiers who, after a hard day's toil for their daily bread, have but a few hours ot
leisure, but devote it ungrudgingly to the service of the War. Again and again,
when the remains of some Soldier are laid to rest, amid the almost universal
respect of a town, which once knew him only as an evil-doer, we hear it said that
• this man, since the date of his conversion, from five to ten years ago, has seldom
been absent from his post, and never without good reason for it. His duty may
have been comparatively insignificant, " only a door-keeper," " only a War Cry.
seller," yet Sunday after Sunday, evening after evening, he would be present, no
matter who the commanding officer might be, to do his part, bearing with the un-
ruly, breathing hope into the distressed, and showing unwavering faithfulness to alL
THE SALVATION ARMY: A SKETCH. Ix
The continuance of these processes of mercy depends largely upon leader-
ship, and the creation and maintenance of this leadership has been one of the
marvels of the Movement. We have men to-day looked up to and reverenced
over wide areas of country, arousing multitudes to the most devoted service,
who a few years ago were champions of iniquity, notorious in nearly every form
of vice, and some of them ringleaders in violent opposition to the Army. We
have a right to believe that on the same lines God is going to raise up just
such leaders without measure and without end. ^
Beneath, behind, and pervading all the successes of the Salvation Army is a
force against which the world may sneer, but without which the world's
miseries cannot be removed, the force of that Divine love which breathed on
Calvary, and which God is able to communicate by His spirit to human
hearts to-day.
It is pitiful to see intelligent men attempting to account, without the
admission of this great fact, for the self-sacrifice and success of Salvation
Officers and Soldiers. If those who wish to understand the Army would only
take the trouble to spend as much as twenty-four hours with its people,
how different in almost every instance would be the conclusions arrived at.
Half-an-hour spent in the rooms inhabited by many of our officers would
be sufficient to convince, even a well-to-do working man, that life could
not be lived happily in such circumstances without some superhuman power,
which alike sustains and gladdens the soul, altogether independently of earthly
surroundings.
The Scheme that has been propounded in this volume would, we are quite
satisfied, have no chance of success were it not for the fact that we have such a
vast supply of men and women who, through the love of Christ ruling in their
hearts, are prepared to look upon a life of self-sacrificing effort for the benefit
of the vilest and roughest as the highest of privileges. With such a force at
command, we dare to say that the accomplishment of this stupendous under-
taking is a foregone conclusion, if the material assistance which the Army does
not possess is forthcoming.
THE SALVATION ARMY SOCIAL REFORM WING.
Temporary Headquarters —
36,* Upper Thames Street, London, E.C
Objects. — The bringing together 01 employers and workers for their mutual
advantage. Making known the wants of each to each by providing a ready
method of communication.
Plan of Operation. — ^The opening of a Central Registry Office, which for
the present will be located at the above address, and where registers will be
kept free of charge wherein the wants of both employers and workers will be
recorded, the registers being open for consultation by all interested. •
Public Waiting Rooms (for male, and female), to which the unemployed may
come for the purpose of scanning the newspapers, the insertion of advertise-
ments for employment in all newspapers at lowest rates. Writing tables, &c,
provided for their use to enable them to write applications for situations or
work. The receiving of letters (replies to applications for employment) for
unemployed workers.
The Waiting Rooms will also act as Houses-of-Call, where employers can
meet and enter into engagements with Workers of all kinds, by appointment or
otherwise, thus doing away with the snare that awaits many of the unemployed,
who have no place to wait other than the Public House, which at present is
almost the only *' house-of-call " for Out-of-Work men.
By making known to the public generally the wants ot the unemployed by
,means of advertisements, by circulars, and direct application to employers, the
issue of labour statistics with information as to the number of unemployed who
are anxious for work, the various trades and occupations they represent, &c., &c.
The opening of branches of the Labour Bureau as fast as funds and
opportunities permit, in all the large towns and centres of industry throughout
Great Britain.
In connection with the Labour Bureau, we propose to deal with both skilled
and unskilled workers, amongst the latter forming such agencies as " Sandwich "
Board Men's Society, Shoe Black, Carpet Beating, While-washing, Window
THE LABOUR BUREAU. XI
Cleaning, Wood Chopping, and other Brigades, all of which will, with many
others, be put into operation as far as the assistance of the public (in the shape
of applying for workers of all kinds) will afford us the opportunity.
A Domestic Servants' Agency will also be a branch of the Bureau, and a
Home For Domestic Servants out of situation is also in contemplation. In this
and other matters funds alone are required to commence operations.
All communications, donations, etc, should be addressed as above, marked
«' Labour Bureau," etc
xii APPENDIX.
CENTRAL LABOUR BUREAU.
LOCAL AGENTS AND CORRESPONDENTS' DEPARTMENT.
Dear Comrade, — The enclosed letter, which has been sent to our Officers
throughout the Field, will explain the object we have in view. Your name has
been suggested to us as one whose heart is thoroughly in sympathy with any
effort on behalf of poor suffering humanity. We are anxious to have in con-
nection with each of our Corps, and in every locality throughout the Kingdom,
some sympathetic, level-headed comrade, acting as our Agent or local Corres-
pondent, to whom we could refer at all times for reliable information, and who
would take it as work of love to regularly communicate useful information
respecting the social condition of things generally in their neighbourhood.
Kindly reply, giving us your views and feelings on the subject as soon as
possible, as we are anxious to organise at once. The first business on hand is
for us to get information of those out of work and employers requiring
workers, so that we can place them upon our registers, and make known the
wants both of employers and employes.
We shall be glad of a communication from you, giving us some facts as to
the condition of things in your locality, or any ideas or suggestions you would
like to give, calculated to help us in connection with this good work.
I may say that the Social Wing not only comprehends the labour question,
but also prison rescue and other branches of Salvation work, dealing with
broken-down humanity generally, so that you can see what a great blessing you
may be to the work of God by co-operating with us.
Believe me to be.
Yours affectionately for the Suffering and Lost, etc
LOCAL AGENTS' DEPARTMENT. xlll
%''*'r
LOCAL AGENTS AND CORRESPONDENTS* DEPARTMENT.
PROPOSITION FOR LOCAL AGENT, CORRESPONDENT, ETC
Name
Address
Occupation.
If a Soldier, what Corps ?,
If not a Soldier, what Denomination ?.
If spoken to on the subject, what reply they have made ?
Signed
Corps.
Date 189 .
Kindly return this as soon as possible, and we will then place ourselves in
communication with the Comrade you propose for this position.
.1
xiv APPENDIX.
TO EMPLOYERS OF LABOUR
M
I
We beg fo bring to your notiee the fact that the Salvation Army has
opened at the above address (in connection with the Social Reform Wing),
a Labour Bureau for the Registration of the wants of all classes of Labour, for
both employer and employ^ in London and throughout the Kingdom, our
object being to place in communication with each other, for mutual advantage,
those who want workers and those who want work.
Arrangements have been made at the above address for waiting rooms, where
employers can see unemployed men and women, and where the latter may have
accommodation to write letters, see the advertisements in the papers, &c., &c
If you are in want of workers of any kind, will you kindly fill up the enclosed
form and return it to us ? We will then have the particulars entered up, and
endeavour to have your wants supplied. All applications, I need hardly assure
you, will have our best attention, whether they refer to work of a permanent or
temporary character.
We shall also be glad, through the information office of Labour Department,
to give you any further information as to our plans, &c., or an Officer will wait
upon you to receive instructions for the supply of workers, if requested.
As no charge will be made for registration ot either the wants of employers
or the wants of the unemployed, it will be obvious that a considerable outlay
will be necessary to sustain these operations in active usefulness, and that
therefore financial help will be greatly needed.
We shall gratefully receive donations, froip the smallest coin up, to help to cover
the cost of working this department We think it right to say that only in
special cases shall we feel at liberty to give personal recommendation^. This,
however, will no doubt be understood, seeing that we shall have to deal with
very large numbers who are total strangers to us.
Please address all communications or donations as abovCi marked " Central
Labour Bureau," etc
A CRUSADE AGAINST "SWEATING." ?Cf
WE PROPOSE TO ENTER UPON A CRUSADE AGAINST
"SWEATING." WILL YOU HELP US?
Dear Sir, — In connection with the Social Reform Wing a Central Labour
Bureau has been opened, one department of which will deal especially with
that class of labour termed " unskilled," from amongst whom are drawn Board-
men, Messengers, Bill Distributors, Circular Addressers, Window
Cleaners, White^washers, Carpet Beater^ &c., &c
It is veiy important that work given to these workers and others not enumer-
ated, should be taxed as little as possible by the Contractor, or those who act
between the employer and the worker.
In all our operations in this capacity we do not propose to make profit out of
those we benefit ; paying over the whole amount received, less say one half-
penny in the shilling, or some such small sum which will go towards the
expense of providing boards for " sandwich " boardmen, the hire of barrows,
purchase of necessary tools, &c., &c.
We are very anxious to help that most needy class, the "boardmen," many of
whom are " sweated " out of their miserable earnings ; receiving often as low as
one skilling for a days toil
We appeal to all who sympathise with suffering hubianity,
especially Religious and Philanthropic individuals and Societies, to assist us in
our efforts, by placing orders for the supply of Boardmen, MessengerSi^ Bilk
distributors, Window-cleaners and other kinds of labour in our hands. Our
charge for " boardmen *' will be 25. 2^., including boards, the placing and proper
supervision of the men, &c. Two shillings, at least, will go direct to the men ;
most of the hirers of boardmen pay this, and some even more, but often not
more than one-half reaches the men.
We shaU be gla4 to fprwanl ^o.u further information of pur plans, or will send
a representative to further explain, or to take orders, on receiving notice from
fou to that effect.
Believe me to be,
ToMia laithfully, •Cc
XVi APPENDIX.
CENTRAL LABOUR BUREAU.
TO THE UNEMPLOYED. — BCALE AND FEMALE.
NOTICE.
A Free Registry, for all kinds of unemployed labour, has. been opened at the
above address*
If you want work, call and make yourself and your wants known.
Enter your name and address and wants on the Registers, or fill up form
below, and hand it in at above address.
Look over the advertising pages of the papers provided. Tables with pens
and ink are provided for you to write for situations.
If you live at a distance, fill up this form giving all particulars, or references,
jxA forward to Commissioner Smith, care of the Labour Bureau.
Name___^ ^
Address .
Kind of work wanted.
Wages you ask
THE LABOUR BUREAU.
xvii
Name.
Age.
During past lo years have you
had regular employment ?
How long for ?
What kind of work ?
What work can you do ?
What have you worked at at
odd times ?
How much did you earn when
regularly employed ?
How much did you earn when
irregularly employed ?
Are you married?
Is wife Hving?
How many children and ages ?
If you were put on a Farm to
work at anything you could
do, and were supplied with
food, lodging, and clothes,
with view to getting you
OD your feet, would you do
Mllyou could?
HOW BEGGARY WAS ABOLISHED IN BAVARIA BY COUNT
RUMFORD.
Count Rumford was an American officer who served with considerable
distinction in the Revolutionary War in that country, and afterwards settled in
England. From thence he went to Bavaria, where he was promoted to the
chief command of its army, and also was energetically employed in the Civil
Government Bavaria at this time literally swarmed with beggars, who were
not only an eyesore and discredit to the nation, but a positive injury to the
State. The Count resolved upon the extinction of this miserable profession,
and the following extracts from his writings describe the method by which he
accomplished it : —
" Bavaria, by the neglect of the Government, and the abuse of the kindness
and charity of its amiable people, had become infested with beggars, with whom
mingled vagabonds and thieyes. They were to tlie body politic what parasites
and vermin ar^ to people and dwellings — ^breeding by the same lazy neglect"
-H[Page 14.)
" In Bavaria there were laws which made provision for the poor, but they
stiffered them to fall into neglect. Beggary had become general"
—(Page 15.)
" In short,** says Count Rumford, " these detestable vermin swarmed every-
where ; and not only their impudence and clamorous importunity virere bound-
less, but they had recourse to the most diabolical arts and the most horrid crimes
in the prosecution of their infamous trade. They exposed and tortured their
own children, and those they stole for the purpose, to extort contributions from
the charitable.** — (Page 15.)
" In the large towns beggary was an organised imposture, with a sort ot
government and police of its own. Each beggar had his beat, with orderly
successions and promotions, as with other governments. There were battles to
^e«ide conflicting daims, -and a good beat was not unfrequently a marriage
portion or a thumping legacy.** — (P^c 16.)
HOW BEGGARY WAS ABOLISHED IN BAVARIA. xlx
-I _ ■ I ■ III ■! I I II
" He saw that it was not enough to forbid beggary by law or to punish it by
imprisonment. The beggars cared for neither. The energetic Yankee States-
man attacked the question as he did problems in physical science. He studied
beggary and beggars. How would he deal with one individual beggar ? Send
him for a month to prison to beg again as soon as he came out ? That is no
remedy. The evident course was to forbid him to beg, but at the same time to
give him the opportunity to labor ; to teach him to work, to encourage him to
honest industry. And the wise ruler sets himself to provide food, comfort, and
work for eveiy beggar and vagabond in Bavaria, and did it."
—(Page )
" Count Rumford, wise and just, sets himself to reform the whole class of
beggars and vagabonds, and convert them into useful citizens, even those who
had sunk into vice and crime.
" * What,* he asked himself, * is, after the necessaries of life, the first condition
of comfort ? ' Cleanliness, which animals and insects prize, which in man affects
his moral character, and which is akin to godliness. The idea that the soul is
defiled and depraved by what is unclean has long prevailed in all ages. Virtue
never dwelt long with filth. Our bodies are at war with everything that defiles
them.
" His first step, after a thorough study and consideration of the subject, was
to provide in Munich, and at all necessary points, large, airy, and even elegant
Houses of Industry, and store them with the tools and materials of such manu-
factures as were most needed, and would be most useful. Each house was
provided with a large dining-room and a cooking apparatus sufficient to furnish
an economical dinner to every worker. Teachers were engaged for each kind
of labour. Warmth, light, comfort, neatness, and order, in and around these
houses, made them attractive. The dinner eveiy day was gratis, provided at
first by the Government, later by the contributions of the citizens. Bakers
brought stale bread ; butchers, refuse meat ; citizens, their broken victuals— all
rejoicing in being freed from the nuisance of beggary. The teachers of handi-
crafts were provided by the Government And while all this was free, every-
one was paid the full value for his labour. You shall not beg ; but here is com-
fort, food, work, pay. There was no ill-usage, no harsh language ; in five years
not a blow was given even to a child by his instructor.
" When the preparations for this great experiment had been silently completed,
. the army — the right arm of the governing power, which had been prepared for
.the work by its own thorough reformation — ^was called into action in aid of the
.police and the civil magistrates. Regiments of cavalry were so disposed as to
furnish every town with a detachment, with patrols on every highway, and squads
in the villages, keeping the strictest order and discipline, paying the utmost
defere|i(;e to the civil authorities, and avoiding all offence to the people;
U
XX APPENDIX.
instructed when the order was given to arrest every beggar, vagrant, and deserter,
and bring them before the magistrates. This military police cost nothing extra
to the country beyond a few cantonments, and this expense to the whole country
was less than ;£3,ooo a-year.
"The 1st of January, 1790 — New Year's Day, from time immemorial the
beggars' holiday, when they swarmed in the streets, expecting everyone to
give — the commissioned and non-commissioned officers of three regiments of
infantry were distributed early in the morning at different points of Munich to
wait for orders. Lieutenant-General Count Rumford assembled at his residence
the chief officers of the army and principal magistrates of the city, and com-
municated to them his plans for the campaign. Then, dressed in the uniform
of his rank, with his orders and decorations glittering on his breast, setting an
example to the humblest soldier, he led them into the street, and had scarcely
reached it before a beggar approached, wished him a ' Happy New Year,' and
waited for the expected alms. ' I went up to him,' says Count Rumtord, 'and
laying my hand gently on his shoulder, told him that henceforth begging would
not be permitted in Munich ; that if he was in need, assistance would be given
him ; and if detected begging again, he would be severely punished.' He was
then sent to the Town Hall, his name and residence inscribed upon the register,
and he was directed to repair to the Military House of Industry next morning,
where he would find dinner, work, and wages. Every officer, every magistrate,
every soldier, followed the example set them ; every beggar was arrested, and in
one day a stop was put to beggary in Bavaria. It was banished out of the kingdom.
"And now let us see what was the progress and success of this experiment.
It seemed a risk to trust the raw materials of industry — ^wool, flax, hemp,
etc. — to the hands of common beggars ; to render a debauched and depraved
class orderly and useful, was an arduous enterprise. Of course the greater,
nuxiiber made bad work at the beginning. For months they cost more than
they came to. They spoiled more horns than they made spoons. Employed
first in the coarser and ruder manufactures, they Were advanced as they im-
proved, and were for some time paid more than they earned — ^paid to encourage
good will, eflfort, and perseverance. These were worth any sum. The poor
people saw that they were treated with more than justice — with kindness. It
was very evident that it was all for their good. At first there was confusion,'
but no insubordination. They were awkward, but not insensible to kindness.
The aged, the weak, and the children were put to the easiest tasks. The
younger children were paid simply to look on until they begged to join in the'
work, which seemed to them like play. Everything around them was
made cleaiiy quiet, orderly, and pleasant. Living at their own homes, they
came at a fixed hour in the morning. They had at nOon a hot, nourishing dinner
of soup and bread. Provisions were either contributed or bought wholesale, and
HOW BEGGARY WAS ABOLISHED IN BAVARIA. xxl
the economies of cookery were carried to the last point of perfection. Count
Rumford had so planned the cooking apparatus that three women cooked a
dinner for one thousand persons at a cost, though wood was used, of 4^d. for
fuel ; and the entire cost of the dinner for 1,200 was only £1 7s. 6^d., or about
one-third of a penny for each person ! Perfect order was kept — at work, at
meals, and everywhere. As soon as a company took its place at table, the food
having been previously served, all repeated a short prayer. * Perhaps,' says
Couiit Rumfordj *I ought to ask pardon for mentioning so old-fashioned a
custom, but I own I am old-fashioned enough myself to like such things.'
" These poor people were generously paid for their labour, but something more
than cash pa3rment was necessary. There was needed the feeling of emulation,
the desire to excel, the sense of honour, the love of glory. Not only pay, but
rewards, prizes, distinctions, were given to the more deserving. Peculiar care
wa« taken with the children. They were first paid simply for being present,
idle lookers-on, until they begged with tears to be allowed to work. ' How
sweet those tears were to me,* says Count Rumford, * can easily be imagined.'
Certain hours were spent by them in a school, for which teachers were
provided.
" The effect of these measures was very remarkable. Awkward as the people
were, they were not stupid, and learned to work with unexpected rapidity. More
wonderful was the change in their manners, appearances and the veiy expres-
sion of their countenances. Cheerfulness and gratitude replaced the gloom of
misery and the sullenness of despair. • Their hearts were softened ; they were
most grateful to their benefactoi for themselves, still more for their children.
These worked with their parents, forming little industrial groups, whose affec-
tion excited the interest of every visitor. Parents were happy in the industry
and growing intelligence of their children, and the children were proud of their
own achievements.
" The great experiment was a complete and triumphant success. When Count
Rumford wrote his account of it, it had been five years in operation ; it was,
financially, a paying speculation, and had not only banished beggaiy, but had
wrought an entire change in the manners, habits, and very appearance of the
most abandoned and degraded people in the kingdom."
- ("Count Rumford," pages 18-24.)
" Are the poor ungrateful ? Count Rumford did not find them so. When,
from the exhaustion of his great labours, he fell dangerously ill, these poor
people whom he had rescued from lives of shame and misery, spontaneously
assembled, formed a procession, and went in a body to the Cathedral ' to offer
their united prayers for his recovery. When he was absent in Italy, and
supposed to be dangerously ill in Naples, they set apart a certain time evexy
xxir APPENDIX.
day, after woik hours, to pray for their benefactor. After an absence of fifteea
months, Count Rumford returned with renewed health to Munich — a city where
there was work for eveiyone, and not one person whose wants were not provided
for. When he visited the military workhouse, the reception given him by these
poor people drew tears from the eyes of all present. A few days after he
entertained eighteen hundred of them in the English garden- a festival at which
30^000 of the citizens of Munich assisted."
(" Count Rumford, pages 24-25.)
THE CO-OPERATIVE EXPERIMENT AT RALAHINE.
"The outrages of the *Whitefeet/ *Lady Clare Boys/ and • Terry Alts*
(labourers) far exceeded those of recent occurrence ; yet no remedy but force
was attempted, except by one Irish landlord, Mr. John Scott Vandeleur, of
Ralahine, county Clare, late high sheriff of his county. Early in 1831 his family
had been obliged to take flight, in charge of an armed police force, and his
steward had been murdered by one of the labourer^, having been chosen by lot
at a meeting held to decide who should perpetrate the deed. Mr. Vandeleur
came to England to seek someone who would aid him in organising the
labourers into an agricultural and manufacturing association, to be conducted
on co-operative principles, and he was recommended to Mr. Craig, who, at great
sacrifice of his position and prospects, consented to give his services.
'' No one but a man of rare zeal and courage would have attempted so
apparently hopeless a task as that which Mr. Craig undertook. Both the men
whom he had to manage — ^the Teny Alts who had murdered their master's
steward — and their surroundings were as little calculated to give confidence in
the success of the scheme as they well could be. The men spoke generally the
Irish language, which Mr. Craig did not understand, and they looked upon him
with suspicion as one sent to worm out of them the secret of the murder
recently committed. He was consequently treated with coldness, and worse
than that. On one occasion the outline of his grave was cut out of the pasture
near his dwelling, and he carried his life in his hand. After a time, however, he
won the confidence of these men, rendered savage as they had been by
ill-treatment.
*' The farm was let by Mr. Vandeleur at a fixed rent, to be paid in fixed
quantities of farm produce, which, at the prices ruling in 1830-31, would bring
in £(po^ which included interest on buildings, machinery, and live stock
provided by Mr. Vandeleur. The rent alone was ;^7oo. As the farm consisted
of 618 acres, only 268 of which were under tillage, this rent was a very high
one — a fact which was acknowledged by the landlord. All profits after payment
of rent and interest belonged to the members, divisible at the end of the year if
desired. They started a cd-operative store to supply themselves with food and
clothing, and the estate was managed by a committee of the members, who paid
every male and female member wages for their labour in labour notes which
were exchangeable at the store for goods or cash. Intoxicating drink or tobacco
were prohibited. The committee each day allotted each man his duties. The
xxiv APPENDIX.
members worked the land partly as kitchen garden and fruit orchards, and
partly as dairy farm, stall feeding being encouraged and root crops grown for
the cattle. Pigs, poultry, &c., were reared. Wages at the time were only 8d
per day for men and 5d. for women, and the members were paid at these rates.
Yet, as they lived chiefly on potatoes and milk produced on the farm, which, as
well as mutton and pork, were sold to them at extremely low prices, they saved
money or rather notes. Their health and appearance quickly improved, so much
so that, with disease raging round them, there was no case of death or serious
illness among them while the experiment lasted. . The single men lived together
in a large building, and the families in cottages. Assisted by Mrs. Craig, the
secretary carried out the most enlightened system of education for the young,
those old enough being alternately employed on the farm and in the school.
Sanitary arrangements were in a high state of perfection, and physical and
moral training were most carefully attended to. In respect of these and other
social arrangements, Mr. Craig was a man much before his time, and he has
since made himself a name in connection with their application in various parts
of the country.
"The 'New System, as the Ralahine experiment was called, though at first
regarded with suspicion and derision, quickly gained favour in the district, so
that before long outsiders were extremely anxious to become members of the
association. In January, 1832, the community consisted of fifty adults and
seventeen children. The total number afterwards increased to eighty-one.
Everything was prosperous, and the members of the association were
not only benefited themselves, but their improvement exercised a
beneficent influence upon the people m their neighbourhood. It was hoped
that other landlords would imitate the excellent example of Mr. Vandeleur,
especially as his experiment was one profitable to himself^ as weU as calculated
to produce peace and contentment in disturbed Ireland. Just when these hopes
were raised to their highest degree of expectancy, the happy, community at
Ralahine was broken up through the ruin and flight of Mr. Vandeleur, who had
lost his property by gambling. Everything was sold o£f, and the labour notes
saved by the members would have been worthless had not Mr. Craig, with noble
self-sacrifice, redeemed them out of his own pocket
" We have given but a very scanty description of the system pursued at
Ralahine. The arrangements were in most respects admirable, and reflected
the greatest credit upon Mr. Craig as an organiser and administrator. To his
wisdom, energy, tact, and forbearance the success of his experiment was in
great measure due, and it is greatly to be regretted that he w^ not in a
position to repeat the attempt under more fav urable circumstances."
(" Histoxy of a Co-operative Farm.")
CARLYLE ON THE SOCIAL OBLIGATIONS OF THE NATION
FORTY-FIVE YEARS AGO.
Inserted at the earnest request of a friend^ who was struck by the coincidence of
some ideas y similar to those of this volume^ set forth so long ago, hut as yet
remaining unrealised, and which I had never read,
EXTRACTS FROM "PAST AND PRESENT."
"A Prime Minister, even here in England, who shall dare believe the
heavenly omens, and address himself like a man and hero to the great dumb-
struggling heart of England, and speak out for it, and act out for it, the God's-
Justice it is writhing to get uttered and perishing for want of — ^yes, he too will
see awaken round him, in passionate, burning, all-defiant loyalty, the heart of
England, and such a ' support ' as no Division-List or Parliamentary Majority
was ever yet known to yield a man 1 Here as there, now as then, he who can
and dare trust the heavenly Immensities, all earthly Localities are subject to
him. We will pray for such a man and First-Lord ; — ^yes, and far better, we
will strive and incessantly make ready, each of us, to be worthy to serve and
second such a First-Lord I We shall then be as good as sure of his arriving ;
sure of many things, let him arrive or not.
! " Who can despair of Governments that passes a Soldier's Guard-house, or
meets a red-coated man on the streets? That a body of men could be got
together to kill other men when you bade them : this, d priori^ does it not seem
one of the impossiblest things? Yet look, behold it: in the stolidest of
Do-nothing Governments, that impossibility is a thing done."
— (Carlyle, " Past and Present," page 223.)
" Strange, interesting, and yet most mournful to reflect on. Was this, then,
of all the things mankind had some talent for, the one thing important to learn
well, and bring to perfection ; this of successfully killing one another ? Truly,
you have learned it well, and carried the business to a high perfection. It is
incalculable what, by arranging, commanding, and regimenting you can make oil
men. These thousand straight-standing, firm-set individuals, who shouldeii
arms, who march, wheel, advance, retreat ; and are, for your behoof a magazine)
charged with fiery death, in the most perfect condition of potential activity^
Few months ago, till the persuasive sergeant came, what were they? Multiform:
ragged losels, runaway apprentices, starved weavers, thievish valets ; an entirely*
broken population, fast tending towards the treadmill But the persuasive^
fierfl^eant camc^ bv tao of drum enlisted' or formed lists of them took hftartil\<
xxvl APPENDIX.
to drilling them ; and he and you have made them ' this ! Most potent
effectual for all work whatsoever, is wise planning, firm, combining, and
commanding among men. Let no man despair of Governments who look on
these two sentries at the Horse Guards and our United Service clubs. I could
conceive an Emigration Service, a Teaching Service, considerable varieties of
United and Separate Services, of the due thousands strong, all effective as this
Fighting Service is ; all doing their work like it — which work, much more than
fighting, is henceforth the necessity of these new ages we are got into I Much
lies among us, convulsively, nigh desperately, struggling to be bom.**
— (" Past and Present," page 224.)
" It was well, all this, we know ; and yet it was not well Forty soldiers, I am
told, will disperse the largest Spitalfields mob ; forty to ten thousand, that is the
proportion between drilled and undrilled. Much there is which cannot yet be
organised in this world, but somewhat also which can — somewhat also which
must When one thinks, for example, what books are become and becoming
for us, what operative Lancashires are become ; what a Fourth Estate and
innumerable virtualities not yet got to be actualities are become and becoming,
one sees organisms enough in the dim huge future, and ^United Services'
quite other than the redcoat one ; and much, even in these years, struggling to
be born I " •—(" Past ana rresent," page 226.
" An effective * Teaching Service,* I do consider that there must be ; some
education secretary, captain-general of teachers, who will actually contrive to
get us taught. Then again, why should there not be an * Emigration Service,'
and secretary with adjuncts, with funds, forces, idle navy ships, and ever-
increasing apparatus, in fine an effective system of emigration, so that at length
before our twenty years of respite ended, every honest willing workman who
found England too strait, and the ' organisation of labour ' not yet sufficiently
advanced, might find likewise a bridge built to carry him into new western
lands, there to 'organise' with more elbow room some labour for himself?
There to be a real blessing, raising new com for us, purchasing new webs and
hatchets from us ; leaving us at least in peace ; instead of staying here to be a
physical-force Chartist, unblessed and no blessing I Is it not scandalous to con-
sider that a Prime Minister could raise within the year, as I have seen it done, a
hundred and twenty millions sterling to shoot the French ; and we are stopped
short for want of the hundredth part of that to keep the English living ? The
bodies of the English living, and the souls of the English living, these two
* Services,' an Education Service and an Emigration Service, these with others,
will have actually to be organised.
" A free bridge for emigrants ! Why, we should then be on a par with America
itself, the most favoured of all lands that have no government ; and we should
have, besides, so many traditions and mementos of priceless things which
CARLYLE ON THE SOCIAL OBLIOATIONS. xxvil
Anisrica has cast away. We could proceed deliberately to ' organise labour not
doomed to perish unless we effected it within year and day every willing
worker that proved superfluous, finding a bridge ready for him. This verily will
have to be done ; the time is big with this. Our little Isle is grown
too narrow for us ; but the world is wide enough yet for another six thousand
years. England's sure markets will be among new colonies of Englishmen in all
quarters of the Globe. All men trade with all men when mutually convenient,
and are even bound to do it by the Maker of Men. Our friends of China, who
guiltily refused to trade in these circumstances — had we not to argue with them,
in cannon-shot at last, and convince them that they ought to trade ? ' Hostile
tariffs ' will arise to shut us out, and then, again, will fall, to let us in ; but the
sons of England — speakers of the English language, were it nothing more — will
in all times have the ineradicable predisposition to trade with England. Mycale
was the Pan-Ionian — rendezvous of all the tribes of Ion — for old Greece ; why
should not London long continue the All Saxon Homey rendezvous of all the
' Children of the Harz-Rock,' arriving, in select samples, from the Antipodes
and elsewhere, by steam and otherwise, to the * season ' here ? What a future !
Wide as the world, if we have the heart and heroism for it, which, by Heaven's'*'
blessing, we shall.
" Keep not standing fixed and rooted,
Briskly venture, briskly roam ;
Head and hand, where'er thou foot itf
And stout heart are still at home.
In what land the sun does visit
Brisk are we, what e'er betide ;
To give space for wandering is it
That the world was made so wide.
"Fourteen hundred years ago it was a considerable. ' Emigration Service,' never
doubt it, by much enlistment, discussion, and apparatus that we ourselves
arrived in this remarkable island, and got into our present difficulties among
others. " — (" Past and Present," pages 228-230.)
" The main substance of this immense problem of organising labour, and first
of all of managing the working classes, will, it is very clear, have to be solved
by those who stand practically in the middle of it, by those who themselves
work and preside over work. Of all that can be enacted by any Parliament in
regard to it, the germs must already lie potentially extant in those two classes
who are to obey such enactment. A human chaos in which there is no light,
you vainly attempt to irradiate by light shed on it ; order never can arise there."
— (•' Past and Present," pages 231-32.)
** Look around you. Your world-hosts are all in mutiny, in confusion, destitu-
tion ; on the eve of fiery wreck and madness. They will not narch farther for
you, on the sixpence a day and supply-and-demand principle : they will not; nor
ought they ; nor can they. Ye shall reduce th«m to order ; begin reducing them
xxvHI APKNDIX.
ta order, to just subordination; noble loyalty in return for noble guidaniee.
Their souls are driven nigh mad ; let yours be sane and never saner. Not as a
bewildered bewildering mob, but as a firm regimented mass, with real captains
over them, will these men march any more. All human interests, combined
human endeavours, and social growth in this world have, at a certain stage of
their development, required organising; and work, the greatest of human
interests, does not require it.
** God knows the task will be hard, but no noble task was ever easy. This task
will wear away your Hves and the lives of your sons and grandsons ; but for
what purpose, if not for tasks like this, were lives given to men ? Ye shall
cease to count your thousand-pound scalps ; the noble of you shall cease ! Nay,
the very scalps, as I say, will not long be left, if yqu count only these. Ye shall
cease wholly to be barbarous vulturous Choctaws, and become noble European
nineteenth-century men. Ye shall know that Mammon, in never such gigs and
flunky ' respectabilities ' in not the alone God ; that of himself he is but a
devil and even a brute-god.
" Difficult ? Yes, it will be difficult. The short-fibre cotton ; that, too, was
difficult. The waste-cotton shrub, long useless, disobedient as the thistle by
the wayside ; have ye not conquered it, made it into beautiful bandana webs,
white woven shirts for men, bright tinted air garments wherein flit goddesses ?
Ye have shivered mountains asunder, made the hard iron pliant to you as putty ;
the forest-giants — marsh-jotuns — bear sheaves of golden grain ; ^gir — the
Sea-Demon himself stretches his back for a sleek highway to you, and on
Firehorses and Windhorses ye career. Ye are most strong. Thor, red-bearded,
with his blue sun-eyes, with his cheery heart and strong thunder-hammer, he
and you have prevailed. Ye are most strong, ye Sons of icy North, of the far
East, far marching from your rugged Eastern Wildernesses, hitherward from the
gray dawn of Time! Ye are Sons of the yi>/««-land; the land of Difficulties
Conquered. Difficult ? You must try this thing. Once try it with the under-
Standing that it will and shall have to be done. Try it as you try the paltrier
thing, making of money! I will bet on you once more, against all Jotiins,
Tailor-gods, Double-barrelled Law-wards, and Denizens of Chaos whatsoever ! "
— ('• Past and Present," pages 236-37.)
" A question here arises : Whether, in some ulterior, perhaps not far-distant
stage of this * Chivalry of Labour,' your Master- Worker may not find it
possible, and needful, to grant his Workers permanent interest in his enter-
prise and theirs? So that it become, in practical result, what in essential
act and justice it ever is, a joint enterprise ; all men, from the
Chief Master down to the lowest Overseer and Operative, economically
as well as loyally concerned for it? Which question I do not answer.
The answer, here or else far, is perhaps, Yes ; arid yet one knows the
/
CARLYLE ON THE SOCIAL 6BLI6ATI6N6. xxlx
dilleulties. Despotism is essential in most enterprises ; I am told they do not
t^Hnate * freedom of debate on board a seventy-four. Republican senate and
pMucite would not answer well in cotton mills. And yet, observe there too,
Freedom — not nomad's or ape*s Freedom, but man's Freedom ; this is indis-
pensable. We must have it, and will have it ! To reconcile Despotism with
Freedom — well, is that such a mystery ? Do you not already know the way ?
It is to make your Despotism just. Rigorous as Destiny, but just, too, as
Destiny and its Laws. The Laws of God; all men obey these, and have no
* Freedom ' at all but in obeying them. The way is already known, part of the
way ; and courage and some qualities are needed for walking on it."
— (** Past and Present," pages 241^42.)
" Not a hay-game is this man's life, but a battle and a march, a warfare with
principalities and powers. No idle promenade through fragrant orange-groves
and green flowery spaces, waited on by the choral Muses and rosy Hours. It
is a stem pilgrimage through burning sandy solitudes, through regions of thick-
ribbed ice. He walks among men, loves men with inexpressible soft pity, as
they cannot love him, but his soul dwells in solitude in the uttermost parts of
creation. In green oases by the palm-tree wells he rests a space, but anon he
has to journey forward, escorted by the Terrors and the Splendours, the Arch-
demons and Archangels. All Heaven, all Pandemonium are his escort. The
start kten-glancing from the Intensities send tidings to him ; the graves, silent
with their dead, from the Eternities. Deep calls for him unto Deep."
['' Past and Present," page 249.)
THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND THE SOCIAL QUESTION.
The Rev. Dr. Barry read a |feiper at the Catholic Conference on June 30th,
1890, from which I take the following extracts as illustrative of the rising
feeling on this subject in the Catholic Church. The Rev. Dr. Barry b€igan
by defining the proletariat as those who have only one possession — their
labour. Those who have no land, and no stake in the land, no house, and no
home except the few sticks of furniture they significantly call by the name; no
right to employment, but at the most a right to poor relief ; and who, until the
last 20 years, had not even a right to be educated unless by the charity of their
** betters." The class which, without figure of speech or flights of rhetoric, is
homeless, landless, propertyless in our chief cities — that I call the proletariat.
Of the proletariat he declared there were hundreds of thousands growing lip
outside the pale of all churches.
He continued : For it is frightfully evident that Christianity has not kept pace
with the population ; that it has lagged terribly behind ; that, in plain words,
we have in our midst a nation of heathens to whom the ideals, the practices,
and the commandments of religion are things unknown — as little realised in the
miles on miles of tenement-houses, and the factories which have produced them,
as though Christ had never lived or never died. How could it be otherwise ?
The great mass of men and women have never had time for religion. You
cannot expect them to work double-tides. With hard physical labour, from
morning till night in the surroundings we know and see, how much mind
and leisure is left for higher" things on six days of the week ? . . .
We must look this matter in the face. I do not pretend to establish the
proportion between different sections in which these things happen. Still less
am I willing to lay the blame on those who' are houseless, landless, and
propertyless. What I say is that if the Government of a country allows
millions of human beings to be thrown into such conditions of living and
working as we have seen, these are the consequences that must be looked for.
" A child," said the Anglican Bishop South, "has a right to be bom, and not to be
damned into the world." Here have been millions of children literally "damned into
the w«rld,* keither their heads nor their hands trained to anything useful, their
YHE CAtHOLiC CHUftCH A THE SOCIAL QUESTION, xxxl
♦^■^— ■ ■ ■■ I ■ I -I ■ — ■ ■ ■ ■ I - ■ ■ I ■■--■- I ■ ■ ■ ■ M I ■ I ■■ I ■ I ■■ ^-^^^ - ^ — ■■ ■ ■ M !■ ■ ■ I ^Ml — I I !■■■■■■■ 1^1 ■!■ a,
miserable subsistence a thing to be fought and scrambled for, their homes
reeking dens under the law of lease-holding which has produced outcast London
and horrible Glasgow, their right to a playground and amusement curtailed to
the running gutter, and their great *' object-lesson " in life the drUnken parents
who end so often in the prison, the hospital, and the workhouse. We need not
be astonished if these not only are not Christians, but have never understood
why they should be. . . .
The social condition has created this domestic heathenism. Then the social
condition must be changed. We stand in need of a public creed — of a social,
and if you will understand the word, of a lay Christianity. This work cannot
be done by the clergy, nor within the four walls of a church. The field of battle
lies in the school, the home, the street, the tavern, the market, and wherever
men come together. To make the people Christian they must be restored to
their homes, and their homes to them.
y<
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