Out of Work

Front matter

BY JOHN LAW AUTHOR OF "A CITY GIRL," ETC, ETC. LONDON : SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO., PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 1888. Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylcsbury. TO JOHN LAW OF LAURISTON " Poverty is the parent of a thousand mental and moral evils. What is still worse, to be insured or oppressed, when habitual, lowers the whole tone of the character. One bad action leads to others, both in the agent himself, the bystanders, and in the sufferers.- All bad qualities are strengthened by habit, and all vices and follies tend to spread. Intellectual defects generate moral, and moral intellectual ; and every intellectual or moral defect generates others, and so on without end." John Stuart Mill. CONTENTS.

Part I. Chap

PAGE I. A WESLEYAN CHAPEL .... I II. A PRETTY METHODIST . . . . 1 6 III. VICTORIA PARK 38 IV. A DOCK-LABOURER 54 V. POLLY IN CLASS 69 VI. JOS LOOKS FOR WORK . . . -79 VII. POLLY AT A JUBILEE GATHERING . . 92 VIII. A DOSS-HOUSE 103 IX. PENNILESS 114 X. WORK AT THE DOCKS . . . . 1 CONTENTS. VIII

Part II. Chap

PAGE XI. THE CLASS-LEADER COMES TO TEA . 1 38 XII. NO WORK ANYWHERE . . . . 1 52 XIII. TRAFALGAR SQUARE .... 164 XIV. THE CASUAL WARD OF A WORKHOUSE . I79 XV. THE RIOTS I95 XVI. UNCLE COHEN ON THE SITUATION 209 XVII. SHE JILTS HIM 217 XVIII. HIS LAST NIGHT IN LONDON . . . 228 XIX. A LONG WALK 242 XX. THE SQUIRREL 253 XXI. HIS MOTHER'S GRAVE .... 269 XXII. PEACE AT LAST

PART I. CHAPTER

I. A WESLEYAN CHAPEL. IT was the day after the Queen's visit to the East End. Whitechapel was gay with flags. Mile End had coloured banners, and festoons of red, yellow, green, and blue paper flowers "all along the line." About seventeen hours earlier Her Majesty had been enthusiastically welcomed by crowds of West End visitors at the London Hospital and the great breweries. Cheers from the lungs of medical students still I echoed in the air ; scents from the pockethand kerchiefs of brewers' wives and doctors' daughters rose upwards. Reporters were busy at work concocting stories of the royal progress through the East End for the Monday papers ; artists were preparing for the illustrated weekly papers pictures of Whitechapel as • it may possibly appear in the Millennium. No one would speak about the hisses which the denizens of the slums had mingled with faint applause as Her Majesty neared her destina tion ; no one would hint that the crowd about the Palace of Delight had had a sullen, ugly look which may a year or so hence prove dangerous.

The ladies on their way to the Queen's Hall, who had leant back languidly in their carriages, heedless of ragged men, hungry women, and little dirty children, the blase frequenters of Hyde Park and the clubs, who had glanced carelessly at the people as they accompanied their wives and daughters to the People's Palace, would be quoted by reporters as philanthropic persons intent on ministering to the poor by the unction of their presence, and represented by the artists as so many unselfish ladies and gentlemen, who had given A WESLEY AN CHAPEL. 3 up an afternoon's pleasure-hunting in order to gratify the eyes of under-paid men and over worked women by their shining hats and charming bonnets. It was Sunday morning, about eleven o'clock, so the bells of churches and chapels were calling upon people to forget earth and think of heaven.

Some way down a street at the back of the Commercial Road, the doors of a Wesleyan chapel stood wide open. A man, dressed in black, was on the stone steps which led to the entrance. He had a book in his hand, and his thumb marked the third page. He was watching the congregation, waiting to conduct a stranger to a place, if any stranger came to join in " morning worship," to supply Bibles and Wesleyan hymn-books, and to keep watch over the younger portion of the congregation who might chance to bring nuts and oranges into chapel. The chapel was square, and built of brick. Its walls were whitewashed ; its doors were painted black. Between the doors, on the wall which faced the stone steps, was an almanack, with Mr. Wesley's portrait in the centre, and pictures of saintly men like Watson and Fletcher at the four corners of it.

There is, said the almanack, only one con dition previously required of those who wish to become Methodists; namely, "a desire to flee from the wrath to come, and be saved from their sins." Sinners who conform to this receive a ticket of membership ; they are enrolled as members of the Methodist Society, which is " a company of men having the form, and seeking the power, of godliness ; united in order to pray together, to receive the word of exhortation, and to watch over one another in love, that they may help each other to work out their salvation." The man who stood at the entrance of the chapel was a steward, and well known to the congregation. They greeted him as they passed, laughing and talking, through the door, to take their places in pews with narrow knee boards and neat wooden boxes which held Bibles and hymn-books.

The outside of the chapel was ugly ; the inside was hideous. A gallery ran along the walls, north, south, and east, halfway between the floor and the ceiling. West was the organloft, with tiers of seats for the singers. Beneath the organ-loft was the pulpit, furnished with armchairs, cushions, and footstools. Two flights of steps, covered with bright blue carpet, led down from, the pulpit into the body of the chapel. Beneath the pulpit were the Com munion Table, the Font, and a door com municating with the vestry. The chapel had been built to hold five hundred people, but that Sunday morning only two hundred men, women, and children had come to worship in it. These two hundred formed a well-fed, well-dressed little company, cheerful and contented, as people ought to be who are in a " state of grace," who know that, whatever may happen to the unsaved, their own souls are safe.

Perhaps this feeling of security in some measure accounted for the careless behaviour of the Methodists, the nodding and smiling they indulged in after a prayer had been said, and places had been found in Bibles and hymn books. People who are on good terms with the Deity, and accustomed to treat Him with fraternal intimacy, may well dispense with the bowing and scraping which seem good in the eyes of Puseyites and Catholics. Besides, the nonchalance about the souls of others which Mr. Wesley's doctrines palliate, relieves the saved from undue responsibility concerning those who refuse to flee from the wrath to come, who, being born in sin and shapen in wickedness, must be left to perish. " If there be any among us who observe not the rules of our faith and practice, who habi tually break any of them, let it be made known unto them who watch over that soul, as they that must give account," says Mr. Wesley.

" We will admonish him of the error of his ways : we will bear with him for a season. But then, if he repent not, he hath no more place among us. We have delivered our own souls." Presently, among this tidy, self-complacent little congregation, appeared a man in tattered clothes and battered-in bat. He passed the steward, who looked suspiciously at him, as though his pocket might contain gunpowder and his hat hold dynamite. As he walked into the chapel, men stared at him and women drew away their dresses. He went to a seat close under the pulpit. There he stood for a minute. His trousers were made of fustian, and tied under the knee with pieces of rope. His long, loose brown coat was patched with sacking, bits of leather, cotton, and cloth. His dirty shirt had no wristbands, no collar, only frayed ends of cotton and shreds of print, which hung about his arms and neck.

Round his throat he wore a bit of red flannel, which he had most likely found in some dustheap, and on his feet were old boots, which he had probably received as a present from a kind-hearted ven dor of rags in Houndsditch. His face had a sodden look, as though he were hopeless of life and callous of his appearance. His eyes were swollen by drink ; his hands trembled ; his legs shook. He sat down and buried his head on his arms, so the steward who had followed him into chapel did not trouble to offer him Bible or hymn-book. Ten minutes later the vestry door opened, and the ministers of the circuit came through the rails which enclosed the Communion Table. They mounted the staircase that led to the pulpit. The elder, Mr Meek, ran quickly up the steps. He was followed more sedately by Mr. Stry, the subordinate minister.

Mr. Meek's movements were animated by a buoyant spirit ; but Mr. Stry had not found his experience of life tally with his convictions ; he was dyspeptic. The two ministers had possibly been chosen to work together on account of the perfect con trast which they presented to the eyes, if not to the minds, of their congregation. Mr. Meek was short, broad, and stout, with dark hair parted low on his forehead, and thick black whiskers and moustache covering his mouth and cheeks. His eyes twinkled, and, but for the presence of Mr. Stry, it is just possible that he might have been guilty of making puns in the pulpit. His prayers were thanksgivings, praises of the Almighty Who had made this world such a pleasant place to live in, Who had promised to convert earthly joy into heavenly bliss. He thanked God for " creation, preser. vation, and all the blessings of this life," and above all for the free gift of salvation ; namely, of eternal happiness, which His servants had only gratefully to accept without exerting them selves much to get it.

Mr. Stry was tall, thin, and angular. His face was marked by smallpox. His sandy hair grew very upright, his sandy beard was cut in a sharp point. He had neither whiskers nor moustache, so the curious twitching of his upper lip was visible, giving a clue to his dyspeptic temperament. Mr. Stry did not flatter the Deity. He reminded Him of His duties, and implored Him to pour out His wrath on all but His chosen people, to punish all save the elect. The wickedness of the nations, the depravity of human nature, were the chief topics of his sermons ; and entreaties to the Almighty that He would not forget justice in mercy, or spare the wicked, formed the staple of his prayers, mixed with allusions to the lost, Satan, and eternal punishment. Mr. Stry seated himself in an armchair, and Mr. Meek having taken his place before a large Bible on the reading desk, and smiled upon the gallery above and the pews beneath, gave out a hymn, which he read verse by verse, before the congregation began to sing it.

" God, the offended God, most high, Ambassadors to rebels sends, His messengers His place supply, And Jesus begs us to be friends. While the wicked are confounded, Doomed to flames and .woe unbounded, Call ?ne with Thy saints surrounded," O God of love ! The man in rags did not stand up with the congregation to sing the hymn ; but when it was finished he raised his head and looked round for a minute. Then he buried his head on his arms again. He was sitting close to the pulpit, and the big Bible hid him from view, so Mr. Meek did not know that a stranger was present. The minister only saw familiar faces, faces of people whose joys and sorrows he was well acquainted with, as he placed his fat right hand over his fat left wrist, and offered up a thanksgiving to the Deity when the hymn was finished.

Mr. Stry read chapters from the Bible, and gave notice of meetings to be held during the week, also of the times fixed for classes, and details concerning a tent mission and the next lovefeast. Some more hymns were sung ; another prayer was said, during which the congregation ejaculated " Praise the Lord ! " and " Amen." Then Mr. Meek gave out a text, and began to talk confidentially with his hearers upon a subject which had engaged his thoughts during the past week. He bent over the pulpit with a smile on his face. Suddenly the smile vanished, and he drew back. He had seen the man in rags ; or rather, he had caught sight of a tattered coat and some grisly hair, and a figure bowed so low that the head would have touched the knees, but for the black hands which sup ported it. The. minister recovered himself in a minute, and fixing his eyes on the gallery repeated the text : — " And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient."

" Dear friends," said the minister, " my mind has lately been much exercised on the subject of sceptics. I am convinced, I know it to be true, that a man without a creed is a man, must be a man, without principles for practical godliness ; yet I am bound to admit that I often come across men possessing no religion, men having no creed, who apparently live unselfish, upright lives, who appear to be good fathers, husbands, and citizens. I have searched the Holy Scriptures for an answer to these things, knowing that a high and complete morality is impossible without faith in God, and that salvation can only be obtained by belief in original sin, Divine inspiration, eternal re wards and punishments, and the other doctrines of the christian religion. And I have been vouchsafed an answer to my questioning ; for I have found that it does not do to judge sceptics as individuals.

We must read the fate of unbelievers in the history of nations. The natural man may appear good when we see him isolated from his fellows ; but directly unbelievers become a power in a nation, we see them in their real colours, drunkards, blasphem ers, given up to a reprobate mind, doing those things which are not convenient. Without belief in God and eternal life a man is not capable of real godliness ; the appearance of it may be there, but do not believe in appear ances. The strength of morality is God ; and a nation without God is sure to become like Sodom and Gomorrah, my friends, like Sodom and Gomorrah. As a proof of this you have but to look around you. Behold England seated high above the nations of the earth, behold our beloved country famed for its strength, honoured for its wealth, envied for its great possessions !

Our princes are clothed in scarlet. Our Queen rules over a kingdom upon which the sun never sets, she is Empress of India, Protectress of Burmah, Benefactress of Egypt, and Royal Mother of the Colonies. All these things have been given us because we are a God-fearing nation. The smile of God is upon us, because Sunday by Sunday our thanksgivings and praises ascend to Him as incense. So He vouchsafes us His blessing. He fills us with corn and wine. He " " Sir," asked a voice, " 'ave you ever been , _ ,i ungry r It was the ragged man who put the question. He was standing up where Mr. Meek could see him, and his red, inflamed eyes were fixed on the minister's complacent countenance. His voice was deep and gruff; it had no music in it. "'Ave you ever been 'ungry?" he repeated, determined to have an answer, " "ungry?"

"I do not know what pain means in that sense, my friend," said Mr. Meek, with a stutter. " I was speaking of corn and wine figuratively, you know — ah! figur-a-tive-ly." "'Ave you ever been 'ungry?" the man persisted. Mr. Stry slid down the pulpit steps and went to the ragged questioner, who, after a few words, took up his hat and went out of chapel. He looked neither to the right nor to the left, as he walked between the pews full of astonished, indignant Methodists. His face had a look of dogged, hopeless wretchedness, which he could only shake off in the gin-shop. He went to a public-house directly he was outside the chapel, and waited at the door, with his hat over his eyes, and his fingers clasped tightly on the penny with which Mr. Stry had silenced his questions. The panegyric of the godly nation fell flat after the ragged man had departed.

Mr. Meek tried to revive his eloquence, but a weight seemed to hang on his tongue, as he spoke of the Queen's Jubilee, the Royal thanksgiving in Westminster Abbey, the glory and the pageant with which the godly nation was about to celebrate a prosperous period of English history. He fell back on the wickedness of unbelievers, and painted a gloomy picture of England's fate if unbelief ever obtruded its Gorgon head among us. He begged his con gregation to live worthy of their calling, worthy of the Gospel, worthy of their country, worthy of the Lord, worthy of His kingdom of glory, with longsuffering and joyfulness, in the unity of the spirit and the bond of peace. The school children grew restless, the singers fidgeted with their books, and every one seemed relieved when the minister finished his discourse and gave out the final hymn, — " Righteous God !

Whose vengeful phials, All our fears and thoughts exceed. Big with woes and fiery trials, Hanging, breaking o'er our head. While Thou visitest the nations, Thy selected people spare. Arm our cautioned souls with patience, Fill our humbled hearts with prayer." Alleluia !

Chapter II

A PRETTY METHODIST. AMONG the Methodists, but almost last of all to leave the chapel, were a mother and daughter who had occupied seats in the gallery facing the pulpit. For twenty years Mrs. Elwin had sat in the same pew Sunday after Sunday ; and for fifteen years, at least, her daughter had accompanied her. Polly Elwin could remember the day when she first climbed the steps to the gallery, holding on to her father's finger, and stood on a footstool staring at the strange scene about her. She could recol lect sitting with the school children to the left of the organ loft, and she could recall the Sunday on which she (dressed in black) had placed mourning cards in the pews of her mother's friends, cards with black edges, which said that her father had gone to his rest, and that henceforth she and her mother must live and work by themselves.

She knew each member of the congregation by name, and could say who had been christened, who had been married, and who had been converted during the last two years without making a single mistake. Moreover, she kept a mental register of all the new bonnets and dresses, and silently convicted their wearers, as the case might be of slovenliness or extravagance. She partook regularly of the lovefeasts, was a member of the Extension of Methodism Society, collected money for the Worn-out Ministers, and Ministers' Widows' Auxiliary Fund, and seldom failed in class, unless she was really ill. She never stayed away from chapel because she had a headache. As she followed her mother that morning her eyes were fixed on the ground. It was a habit of hers, that looking down. The habit suited her face, it was so modest.

But when she raised her eyes one felt dis appointed. Her eyes were blue and small, with light brown lashes, very like her mother's eyes, but less keen and determined. There were signs about her that both face and figure would resemble Mrs. Elwin twenty years hence ; although now the soft pink cheeks were round and dimpled, the white throat had no hard lines about it, the light brown hair lay wavy and thick on her forehead, and the small nose and mouth had not developed into hard ness. The neat red dress and black jacket fitted her slight figure, the black straw hat trimmed with red velvet suited her complexion ; and all three increased the effect produced by her drooping eyelids. Mrs. Elwin's figure was plump. Her face had what is called " a comely look." The roses had matured rather than faded in her cheeks, for a bright colour made her appear ten years younger than she really was, and people often told her " we took you and your daughter for sisters."

Her shrewd blue eyes could grow soft sometimes, for instance, when the minister was paying her a visit. Her mouth was drawn in, and the upper lip fell at the corner, perhaps from the want of teeth she had had extracted, perhaps from the struggle of life, a struggle in which she had come to the front soon after her marriage with Mr. Elwin. (Marriage generally results in the survival of the fittest ; which fact cannot be grumbled at, since it is a law of existence that the weakest must go to the wall, and a dogma, established by experience, that mind rules matter, no matter how strong matter may be.) Mrs. Elwin wore a purple silk dress, one of those old-fashioned colours that put to shame our modern tints ; and she carried an Indian shawl on her shoulders, fastened at the neck with a large brooch.

The brooch con tained a portrait of " the late lamented Mr. Elwin." So she called him. The mother and daughter walked slowly out of chapel, a little behind the rest of the con gregation, for Mrs. Elwin did not " hold " with gossip after " Divine worship." Moreover, " she kept herself to herself ; " and it was a favourite question among the Methodists why Mrs. Elwin fancied herself better than other people, a frequently repeated wish that she should one day learn "those who think much of themselves are generally but lightly esteemed by their neighbours." Polly nodded to one or two friends, but Mrs. Elwin took little notice of anybody as she passed through the gates and went into an open space beside the chapel. Here she was wont "to take the air" for a few minutes before she returned home ; a luxury she could indulge in because she kept a servant, and consequently was not obliged to hurry back to her house directly the sermon was finished.

She seated herself on a bench to admire the stunted shrubs and sickly looking plants, to point out the lilacs which were beginning to put forth thin bunches of flowers, and the laburnum hanging over the fountain in the centre of a grass plot. A young woman passed by carrying a large bunch of rhubarb ; and Mrs. Elwin remarked that "those sort of folks never will learn how wrong it is to buy victuals on the Sabbath." An old man tottered by, the inmate of a workhouse, and Mrs. Elwin shook her head over him, saying, " It's wrong enough to drink on weekdays, but to drink on the Lord's day is downright wicked." Then the mother and daughter dis cussed the ragged man who had disturbed the minister, and agreed that the steward ought not to have given him a seat in chapel. " Considering all that's done for those sort of folks, it's a wonder they ain't better," said Mrs. Elwin.

" But there, I do believe if Queen Victoria herself were to come among them, they'd take no account of her ; they'd go on drinking and fighting, they'd take no notice," " I thought she looked tired yesterday," remarked Polly, "and Jos said she looked cross." " Joseph Coney don't know what he's talking about," answered her mother sharply. " It's hard on a woman of her years to go gadding about. She'll be glad when this Jubilee business is over and done with, so she can keep quiet." The colour deepened in Polly's cheeks. But she did not look at her mother. She remained silent, with her eyes fixed on the ground. A clock struck one. " Uncle Cohen will be waiting for us," said Mrs. Elwin ; " it's time to go home." They went through back streets, full of trucks covered with unwholesome looking fishes, fishes whose names are unknown in polite society, whose huge heads and minute bodies are only appreciated in Whitechapel.

Tubs of pickled cucumbers stood on movable tables, and by these were stalls covered with cockles, pigs' feet, and large tins full of eel-broth. The inhabitants of the slums were holding a Sunday picnic, indulging in dainty East End dishes, which they bought at a low price, and washed down with draughts from a neighbouring public-house. "Hokey-pokey! who'll buy it?" cried a man. He was wheeling a tin down the middle of the road, a tin full of ice, cut in squares and wrapt in paper. The ragged boys and girls flocked round him, for they enjoyed ice-cream more than sour cucumbers, and hokey-pokey seldom made its appearance on week-days, but always came on Sundays to furnish a dessert to the picnic, an "end-up" to the out-door repast. How the dirty little feet danced ! How the grimy little hands clapped !

" Hokey-pokey ! who'll buy it ? " opened doors as if by magic, and brought longing faces to the windows. More than one small child crept into a public house to plead for a penny out of "daddy's" pocket ; and when a kick was the answer, a cry of pain mixed with bitter disappointment was heard, as the hokey-pokey man disappeared round a corner into another street. Mrs. Elwin was so much accustomedto these sights, she scarcely heaved a sigh as she passed the stalls and the people. But when she reached the road her house stood in, and caught sight of some children inside the gate which led to her front door, she quickened her steps. The little miscreants were chasing sunbeams on the clean white steps ; a most innocent amusement, but one which left traces of dirty fingers and black toes, to say nothing of the mud they thought fit to throw at the dancing spots, spots which eluded their hands and feet, at which they spat.

" This is the way you keep the Sabbath, is it ? " cried Mrs. Elwin, boxing the ears of a boy, and catching hold of a girl by the hair. of her head. "Where do you think you'll go to when you die, you bad, wicked children ? Have you no mothers to teach you nothing ?" She stopped, out of breath, and as the children escaped, she turned to vent her wrath upon her maidservant, who had opened the door while she was dealing with the little Sabbath-breakers. " Mary Anne," she exclaimed, " it's all your fault. The many times I've told you not' to leave that gate open! I've spoken till I'm tired of speaking. Do you hear me ? " There was little doubt that Mary Anne heard Mrs. Elwin, but her look of indifference gave reason to suppose that she was deaf or stupid. She turned away, leaving the enraged lady to recover from what she called " Missus's Sunday temper.".

She followed Polly, who had gone upstairs to take off her hat and -jacket in a small bedroom at the top of the house. While the pretty Methodist smoothed the soft fair hair on her forehead, Mary Anne threw herself upon the bed, and rocked her body backwards and forwards without speaking. What's the matter?" inquired Polly. I'm sick hon't," said the little maidservant. Sick of what ? " "Sick of bein' myself. It's Mary Hanne here, and Mary Hanne there ; it's nothing but Mary Hanne heverywhere. I wish I wasn't Mary Hanne. I wish I was hanybody helse." " You shouldn't talk like that," replied Polly, still looking into the glass and smoothing her hair. "You should be content with the place God has put you in, and not give way to wicked feelings." " It's hall very well for you to talk," re sponded Mary Anne.

"You can go to seethe Queen and heverything. You promised you'd get back yesterday in time for me to see the hold lady, and you didn't do it. You was along with your sweetheart." " I tried my best to get back," said Polly ; " the crowd was so thick, Jos told me I mustn't be in a hurry. It wasn't my fault." " Mary Anne ! " called Mrs. Elwin. " Hat it hagain," groaned Mary Anne, slowly getting off the bed, " hat it halways. Oh dear ! I wish I wasn't Mary Hanne. I wish I was you, I wish I wasn't meself." "Mary Anne! Mary Anne!" cried Mrs. Elwin. "Mary Hanne! Mary Hanne!" mocked the little maidservant. "I'm a-comin', missus. Them haddocks hall right." She stretched herself, and turned to show Polly a boot with a hole in it. " A needle stuck in my foot this morning," she said, "look how my foot's a-bleedin'.

I guess if missus do let me hout to-night, I can't walk. It hurts hawful when I walks about." Then she left Polly to meditate on the depravity of girls like herself, and went down stairs to dish up dinner in a small dark hole called " the kitchen." She did nearly all the housework, — no light task, as Mrs. Elwin took in lodgers, — and she had at least ten rooms to do, and fifteen people to attend to. Mrs. Elwin superintended ; Polly did needlework. So Mary Anne was everybody's servant. She scrubbed and cooked, she swept and dusted, she made beds and carried up water, she sometimes gave the rooms what she called " a turn-hout." Half an hour before she went to bed she dressed herself and washed her face ; the rest of the day she wore rags, and had her hair in curl papers. Her supreme delight was to un curl her hair just before bedtime, wash her hands and face, put on a clean apron, and sit down for what she called " half an hour's quiet."