The mastery of love : a narrative of settlement life

Front matter

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Preface

This book was not made ; it grew. It is not a novel, but a narrative. It is not the “ work ” of the author ; but a “ labor of love” for his odd moments — a by-product woven out of the scraps of time from a busy school life.

The purpose of the book is to make a study of some conditions through types of society. The only characters in this study who utterly fail in the school of life are the criminal who has grown old in crime and hypocrisy, the rich young man who is satisfied with his wealth and sinfulness, and others who have an inheritance and environment of evil that make their lives inexorable. The slum children and the youth — even the very worst in Hell’s Acre — so develop, as a rule, under the teachings of the truth and under the inspiration of Christian influence, that their growth in character seems wonderful.

The test of every life in Hell’s Acre and everywhere is the power and quality of one’s ruling love. The finest art and most sacred work is that of Miss Eishnell whose business is to transform lives by the power of love and of Christian personality so that they cease to be sinful and miserable and become unselfish, devoted and happy.

Preface

Through his knowledge of these “ types,” the author has come to understand better the classes that constitute the every-day life of modern society, to sympathize more deeply with the bitter hearted and to believe more strongly in the essential goodness of human nature.

He wrote the book just for the joy of working and for the help it may give to others. If the portrayal of these characters leads the reader to be more sympathetic towards the unfortunate and more grateful and happy in the love that has blessed his own life, the object of the author will have been accomplished.

James E. McCulloch.

Nashville^ Tenn,

Contents

I. The Settlement Opened in Hell’s Acre

II. Life in Hell’s Acre .....

III. Reality Winning the Worst

II Life In Helus Acee

ONE of the most important and interesting features of the settlement work was that of the Eeading-room Association. It was an organization of young men whose purpose was to afford the means of good reading, amusement and fellowship. Every night from seven to ten o’clock the room was kept open. A strenuous effort was being made to keep the young men in the reading-room where they would be away from the degrading influences of the cheap saloon and theatre. The place became quite popular. Large numbers of young men regularly spent a part or all of the evening there. The place became so attractive that the saloons found their patronage was falling off because many of their customers had become regular members of the association.

Finally some of the saloon-keepers undertook to break up these meetings at the settlement. Miss Kishnell knew nothing of the scheme till one evening when they were in the midst of some interesting games, Ed Banford appeared at the door. For a moment he stood on the threshold as if puzzled to know what to do. Some of the better young men in the room looked nervous, others began laughing, and one boy called out : “ Hello, 33

Bully, this ain’t no saloon.” These words angered Banford. He walked into the room swearing and threatening to break up the place. In the meantime one of the young men went to Miss Eishnell, who was sitting in the rear of the room and said : “That’s Ed Banford. You’d better leave the room.” She arose and walked deliberately towards the cursing man. Several boys called out in a subdued voice : “ Come back, Miss Eishnell, come back.” Banford didn’t seem to notice her approach. He was in the act of lifting a chair as if to strike the man who had guyed him at the door, when Miss Eishnell spoke to him in a strong but kind voice : “ Good-evening, sir. Isn’t this Mr. Banford ? ” For a moment the man didn’t say a word ; he scarcely moved. As he made no response to her question, she continued: “I heard of you some time ago and was hoping that you would come to our reading-room. W on’t you have a seat ? We are playing some games that you may like. ” Banford slowly and sullenly sat down in the chair that he held. Before he was even well in the chair Miss Eishnell called out to the boys to choose their partners for a game. While they were doing so^ she asked Banford what game he liked to play. He replied grimly : “ Euchre.” “ All right,” she said without a moment’s hesitation, “ we’ll have a game of euchre. Have you any cards ? ” With an oath he drew from his pocket a well-worn deck and threw them on the table. She called to two young men in the room to join her and Banford in the game. They gathered round the table, she and Banford being partners. As they were ready to begin, Banford insisted with an oath that he would not play unless stakes were put up. “ What ! ” said Miss Kishnell, “ you don’t gamble, do you, Mr. Banford ? Why, it is wrong to gamble ! ” He looked up as if amazed and for a moment wore a thoughtful look, and then said with a strained smile, “ Yes, sometimes.” “ Well, it’s wrong and you ought not to gamble,” came the words with a ringing emphasis that made the thing seem ten times more wrong.

The game proceeded. Miss Kishnell did her best to make it interesting. She observed later that the other men in the room were not playing much but were talking in groups and watching their game of cards. She wondered what the outcome would be ; for she had forbidden the men playing cards in the reading-room. She had actually burnt up several decks that had been brought into the room secretly by boys who wanted to play on the sly. How she herself was playing euchre ; the very game above all others that she had condemned ! She wondered if they would understand her object or whether they would distrust her ; but she knew there could be no hesitation on her part. The battle was on and she was determined to save the meanest man in Hell’s Acre. The game went merrily on until ten o’clock, when Miss Kishnell announced that it was time to close the reading-room. She insisted that all should come back the next evening and invited Banford to join the association. He promised to think about it and then they all filed out.

Miss Kishnell locked the door and hastened up-stairs to tell Miss Palmer what had happened. “ Ellen, am I gray ? ” Ellen looked up in surprise. “ I’ve lived ten years in two hours to-night. I have been playing euchre with Ed Banford ! ” Ellen jumped to her feet. “ Good heavens, Annette, you don’t mean it ! ” After Miss Kishnell had told the whole story Ellen was satisfied, but insisted that they should take extra precautions to see that the doors and windows were securely locked that night.

On one late winter afternoon about two weeks after the Banford episode the following incident occurred as reported by Miss Kishnell :

‘‘It was a cold, wet, winter afternoon. The mother’s meeting had been dismissed and a committee of young women was seated in our warm library discussing plans for furnishing a new club room, when there was borne to our ears a pathetic wail of distress. A peep from the window into the gathering darkness did not discover any one, and made me feel comfortable enough to sit down and resume the pleasant conversation. But again the cry came up to our ears, a cry in a thin, childish treble, so near, so pitiful as to leave no excuse for further delay.

“ Therefore my unwilling weary feet trudged down the dark steps through the long, cold schoolroom to the front door. And there, cuddling in the shelter of the doorway, was fragile, six-year-old Addie Dunn, a picture of abject poverty and misery. She was bareheaded, and the rain that saturated her tangled hair was making furrows down her dirty face. Her meagre clothing, a waistless skirt and sleeveless apron, was also saturated. Her sore bare feet were red with cold. As the door opened she crept in, saying : ‘ Is ye dot a bottle ? ’ In her benumbed hands she held the pieces of a broken bottle which she said she had been ‘ totin’ to Aunt Emmer’s to git some coal oil, and dropped and broke.’ Kothing but the promise of a new bottle would stop the crying, because the going home without bottle and oil would have brought down upon her such a tirade of cursing and such a sound thrashing that she trembled at the prospect. Poor, unfortunate, little illegitimate, brought here without any choice as to where and when, and how, and now made to suffer the wrath of an inhuman mother’s spite ! I knew her mother well, and perhaps for that very reason, though with considerable revulsion physically, I took Addie to a warm room, bathed her and dressed her in some clean, dry clothes, pinned a little mackintosh cape around her frail shoulders, and a bit of warm shawl over her head, placed some picture cards in one hand and a new bottle in the other, and sent her on her errand radiantly happy. As I turned and walked back to my room, my heart was filled with an indescribable peace and joy. I thanked God and began singing a hymn of praise ,* for it seemed I could all but hear the music of heaven.

“ One afternoon, while standing at the door, I saw Banford coming down the street. As he seemed to be sober, I decided to wait at the door to speak to him. When I asked him why he did not return to the reading-room he seemed pleased and said that he would come some time.”

A few nights after this invitation, he came. He entered the room so quietly that he was scarcely observed till he was seated. His face had a touch of excitement, not the flush of anger, but the look of fear or sadness. The men looked at him with evident misgivings. They cast expressive looks and smiles at each other as much as to say : “We are in for a rough house to-night, boys.” They were thinking of the cruel, cursing man that they had known in the saloon. He was the same man ; but now more like the cowed murderer in the prison cell than the deflant highwayman.

Miss Kishnell was not in the room when Banford entered. Usually the boys came early and amused themselves till she could come down. They not only felt their dependence on her to direct their exercises, but she was always the centre of interest and attraction. Whatever might be the game, or however busy or noisy the conversation and laughing, there was a hush of respect almost to the point of reverence whenever she entered the room. She was unusually late coming down this evening. A large company of men were present. The door had scarcely opened till every face was turned and each hastened to say : “ Good-evening, Miss Eishnell ! ” or “Good-evening, Miss Annette!” She bowed and smiled kindly as she spoke. There always seemed to be a peculiar charm about her movements. She had the art of expressing in her acts and looks the strength and sweetness of her inner life ; so that it was a delight just to see her walk across the room or stand on the platform to sing or speak.

But added to her natural beauty and charm she seemed to have this evening a new element of interest. It was an indefinable something that kept one seeking for the secret. She wore a plain black skirt and black silk pongee waist with white cuffs and a broad white collar that lay in soft, fluffy folds over her shoulders. In her light brown hair were two snowy white carnations. What was the secret of her new subtle power ? Was it her beauty or was it something specially striking in her costume ? Ulot that, for while these pleased, they made almost an unconscious impression compared with something spiritual. There was a hallowed influence that threw a spell over every one and made the place seem sacred because of her presence.

She moved about the room shaking hands till she came to Banford. Whether he too was inspired to honor her or whether he simply followed the example of the others, he arose when she approached. She shook hands and spoke with the grace and dignity of a very queen, and then sat down, talking to him interestedly. As she sat there conversing with that vulgar, profane, drunken criminal with his soiled clothes, uncombed hair and sin-blighted soul, the scene was like a consultation between the envoys of heaven and hell. There was a rifle aim purposefulness and even prayerful expression in her appearance, while he seemed nervous, excited and troubled. E^ow and then he smiled as if through a great grief. This conversation continued quite a while. Then Miss Eishnell excused herself and gave attention to directing the games.

All was moving pleasantly when suddenly Mrs. Sharpe entered the room in great excitement and made a “ bee line ” for Miss Eishnell. She whispered in her ear that Ed Banford was in the room and that she ought to send for a police for fear he might do some harm. She also came fearing that her son, Caxton, who was in the room, might become involved in a difficulty with Banford. Miss Eishnell asked Mrs. Sharpe to wait a few minutes since it would soon be time to close the room. She went to the piano, asking all present to join her in singing “ The Beautiful Isle of Somewhere.”

During the singing, Mrs. Sharpe stood close to Miss Eishnell at the piano as if to guard her from some suspected danger. When the song ended, the signal was given for the reading-room to be closed. As Miss Eishnell walked to the door and shook hands with some strangers and Banford as they passed out, Mrs. Sharpe appeared to be amazed.

The door was closed and Miss Eishnell turned to speak to Mrs. Sharpe who was standing in the room waiting in evident distress of mind. The door had scarcely closed when Mrs. Sharpe cried out : “ Lan’ sakes, child,” addressing Miss Kishnell, “ ain’t you skeered of that man ? ” “ What man ? ”

replied Miss Eishnell. “ Why, that man Banford. He’s the man I told you about. He is the man that went by here drunk, slingin’ the big knife. Don’t you know I told you about him ? Why, that man’s so crooked he could hide behind a cork-screw. I sometimes believe he’s the Old Hick himself.” Miss Kishnell replied : “ Mrs. Sharpe, I recall your visit. I remember what you said about Banford, and I resolved then that I would do my utmost to turn him from his sinful life to become a Christian. I have been praying for him every daj^ since. Before I came to the reading-room this evening, I heard that he was down here. So I lingered in prayer that God might baptize me with His pity and love for the sinful and that I might be enabled to make Banford feel the reality of the Christian spirit in my life. I have determined to lead him to become a Christian if it is the last thing I ever do.”

Mrs. Sharpe exclaimed : “ Lawsy mercy, child I Why don’t you try to convert the devil ? You could turn hell into a camp-meetin’ before that man gits religin ! ” “Well, Mrs. Sharpe, do you believe in prayer ? ” asked Miss Kishnell. “ Do you really believe God answers prayer ? ” There was some hesitation, then she replied emphatically: “ That I do, child. Before Caxton was born I prayed the Lord that he might not be another gal. ’Cause we had our hearts on havin’ a change. All our seven kids was gals. So when I saw another was a-comin’ I just prayed and prayed to the good Lord to hold up on gals and He did. And Caxton is that boy.” Here Miss Kishnell interrupted to say : “ Well, Mrs. Sharpe, I want you to help me pray that Banford will become a Christian. Won’t you?” With a promise from Mrs. Sharpe they bade each other good-night.

Mrs. Sharpe ran across the street to her home, eager to tell her husband what had happened. He had a great admiration for Miss Kishnell and was very credulous. When Mrs. Sharpe told him about Miss Kishnell’s earnest prayers for Banford and of her determination to work for his conversion, he felt sure something akin to the miraculous was about to take place. The next evening he made it a point to search for Banford in order that he might tell him of Miss Kishnell’s intercessions. He seemed to think that he was somewhat in the position of one who had been told the secret of a prophecy even before it was proclaimed to the public. He searched high and low but failed to locate Banford. Mr. Sharpe kept on the lookout and about a week later saw Banford standing in front of a saloon and went to him at once as if he had some important business engagement. Calling him aside, he told of Miss Kishnell’s prayers for him and of her determination to lead him to become a Christian. The man burst out into a forced laugh, almost hysterical. At the close of the conversation Mr. Sharpe made a very emphatic appeal in these words : “ Banford, remember that woman

is prayin’ fer you, and you had better git in shape, ’cause God’s on your trail.” With this he left him and walked on down the street, wondering what would be the effect of his first effort at personal work. For several nights Mr. Sharpe was the first at the reading-room, evidently expecting Banford.

A week passed, two weeks, and two months, but Banford was not seen nor even heard of by the members of the Keading-room Association.

Everybody seemed interested to know what had become of him. Some one reported that he had gone to Memphis to take a job in a factory. Others laughed at the idea, for he had never been known to work. It was generally agreed in the association that wherever he might be he was certainly not looking for work. Another conjecture was that the relatives of the negro whom he killed had threatened to shoot him and consequently he had left the city. After he had been gone for some time, the people of the community actually seemed to breathe easier because this terrible man was no longer seen on the streets.

Banford’s education was in the school of the street. By inheritance as well as by training, he was a criminal. Unfortunately, "too, public sentiment is all opposed to the proper development of the boys of the slum. The odds are all against them and always against them.

Banford is simply a type of thousands of slum boys who are the victims of a prejudiced public. People seem to assume that a boy is mean simply because he lives in a slum. They do not expect to find anything good in him, so his whole life is soon bent by that general expectation. The tendency of parents, of teachers, of police officers, and even of strangers is to misconstrue the motives and the actions of the street urchins. They forget that these children have not yet learned the difference between a fact and a fancy. They call the slum boy a liar because of his imagination, or a thief because of his effort at self-preservation. How can a slum child know correct standards of morality? His whole life is weighted down with a vicious inheritance, his moral sense is blighted, and the very air he breathes is so poisonous that he grows inevitably to be a criminal.

Sometimes a boy’s best efforts at courtesy, and service, and even personal sacrifice are but a miserable failure in the eyes of an adult, but he should at least be praised for the effort. Society has somehow grown into the pernicious way of thinking that a boy is a necessary evil till he has safely passed the period of adolescence. But the fact is that during these years more than at any other period of his life the good impulses are struggling for supremacy. Those who are hoping and working for the establishment of juvenile criminal courts realize that our laws in their present administration too often simply take knowledge of the overt act, and not of the motive ; consequently, grave errors are often made in the arrest, detention and condemnation of juvenile offenders.

The following very graphic illustration of the facts set forth in the preceding paragraph is told by Miss Kishnell :

“ The manager of the Boys’ Department of the Young Men’s Christian Association sent an invitation to our boys of the night school to spend an evening with them. Seventeen of the crudest, but not the most ungovernable, of our boys responded and I accompanied them. The personnel of the group included the following — Sheepie, the washedout blond ; Dinkey, the undersized fellow ; Sparrow, the brown-eyed pest ; Bully, the overbearing boy ; Christian, the long-faced, quiet lad ; Fizz, the soda-pop drinker ; Hunk, the inveterate chewer ; Pap, the bossie fellow ; Toddles, a bow-legged chap ; Piddlety, the idler, and Squint, the cross-eyed boy. A most enjoyable evening had been planned for the boys, with games, the phonograph, the privileges of the gymnasium and the swimming pool. The festivities were closed with a bountiful supper, at which the boys revealed their ignorance and lack of training by eating the fruit first, by insisting on knowing the ingredients of a nut salad before they would taste it, and by obstinately refusing to eat the chicken pie till ‘ dessert time.’ We started home at eleven o’clock. It was a raw winter night and our district was fully twenty-five blocks away. Still, as only three or four fellows had the necessary carfare, gang like, they all determined to ‘ foot it,’ and asked to be arranged in an orderly rank with a captain, and allowed to march soldier fashion. When they were safely off with promises of good behavior, I took a car and hurried to the settlement. I had been there but about twenty minutes when there was a vicious pull at the bell and an excited voice called me again and again.

“ Hastily going down, I found Alex Britt, the big sixteen-year-old boy who had been appointed captain of the group, standing there trembling in excitement. The puzzled look on my face brought forth the explanation of his call. ‘ Most of the boys is done been ’rested.’ ‘ What for ? ’ was my anxious inquiry. And he went on to say — ‘ Fer nuthin’, just nuthin’ ’tall. We were marchin’ ’long Front Street sayin’ hep-hep-hep, when a cop who had nuthin’ else to do come up and said, “ What devilment are yer up to now ? I’m goin’ to ’rest the last hide of yer.” Some of the boys got so skeert they begun runnin’. I told the perlice we had been to a party at the Y. M. C. A. and he said, “ The devil yer have ! ” and caught hold of Sheepie. Then I run, and all the rest run, but he caught some of the fellers.’

“ What a spell of weather ! Alex was dismissed with instructions to hasten home, and I went to the ’phone, called up police headquarters and found, sure enough, that five of the hapless boys had just been brought in with no other charge than that they were marching along the street at such a late hour, appearing to be up to some mischief, and could give no better account of their whereabouts than that they had been to the Y. M. C. A. My explanation, given to the sergeant, with reference to the Y. M. C. A. for confirmation, secured the release of the boys. The next night the boys expressed very fully and freely their indignation at not being believed, and vowed to get even with that policeman some way. Their conversation also brought out the fact that they believed the police, called ‘ Chiggers ’ or ‘ Dominickers,’ were paid so much for every arrest made, and that their whole business was to apprehend the unwary.

“ That was a case in which a juvenile criminal court would have stood for the protection and vindication of boys misapprehended. The following incident reveals the need of such a tribunal for the conviction and punishment of a child who was really a criminal of an advanced type.

“ Sally was a girl of only twelve years, of whom reports came to me again and again ‘ that she was going plum to the bad.’ Finally the grandmother and an uncle came to me asking that she be sent to the reform school; for she had run away from home and was then staying with people of very disreputable character. The child was visited several times in the hope of getting her to return home. The man who was boarding her said one day : ‘ If you ’uns don’t quit gravitating (aggravating) this gal, we ’uns ’ill make it hard fer yer.’ A day or so later, when I called to use my persuasive powers, he told me to leave in the following way : ‘ ’JSTnff has ben sed. Sally hain’t a-goin’ with yer as long as I can he’p it. You’d better take ter the hole the carpenter left ’ (pointing to the door). There was that in his voice that made me leave. So as a last resort, the aunt issued a warrant of arrest, and after several days’ search, Sally was found and brought by a policeman to the settlement to be carried to the reformatory.

“ That was in November. In a short time Sally’s father came and demanded that she be dismissed from the school to keep house for him. She came, stayed with him three weeks and ran away again, this time with a vicious boy to a low boarding-house. There I visited her, and with much persuasion got her to come to live with us to answer bells, ’phone, etc., for her board and clothing. Sally was put on her honor, began some studies and music lessons, became more gentle and pleasing in manner, and seemed to be satisfied and doing nicely.

“ During Christmas week while we were engaged in some decorating in the club rooms, Sally was sent to my room to bring the scissors from the dresser drawer. She returned in a few moments, looking excited, and stated that the house had been burglarized. An investigation showed that every drawer of dresser, stand and wardrobe and table, not only in my room but also in the other rooms, had been gone through, yet nothing was missing but $15.25 from what I had considered a very secret place in my dresser drawer. The news spread and a detective arrived shortly. He took in the situation at once and wanted to search Sally and a boy who was doing some painting in the schoolroom. This, to his amusement, I indignantly refused to have done, saying that they were to me as children, and I would protect their honor in the community by not even subjecting them to a false suspicion. However, at his earnest solicitation, I agreed to keep a ‘ close eye ’ on Sally for several days. During nearly two weeks the matter was frequently discussed in her presence, but only once did we detect any nervousness on her part. Then she was discovered one morning going through a private drawer, and at the same time some more money was missing.

“ My suspicions were for the first time aroused, and I questioned her very carefully and dealt very firmly with her. The whole matter was made known to the grandmother, uncle, and aunt^ whose vigilance was requested to help in either clearing or apprehending Sally. At the end of another week the grandmother came and with tears of shame told me that she had learned the whole disgraceful story, how that Sally had not only stolen the money but was then planning to run away again with that dreadful boy and marry. Indeed, for that very purpose had she stolen the money. Her appeal to me to prevent the second trouble by having Sally dealt with for the criminal offense was very pathetic. What was to be done ?

Sally was only fourteen years old, but truly educated in crime. A talk with her in the hope of getting a confession only brought forth a shower of curses upon myself and the grandmother, and made her leave that night for the former disreputable house. The next morning the city attorney, the judge of the city court, and the judge of the county court were consulted. Their advice was that I suffer Sally to be arrested, get her confession, let the city court turn the case over to the criminal court, then, as she was a minor, withdraw charges on the basis that the criminal court place her in the hands of the county judge to be sent again to the reformatory. With considerable reluctance, I agreed to pursue this course ; for it seemed to be the only hope of saving the child.