Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER NINE.

  HOW THE POOR ARE SUCCOURED.

  "I am obliged to you, Mr Seaward, for coming out of your way to seeme," said Sir Richard Brandon, while little Di brought their visitor achair. "I know that your time is fully occupied, and would not haveasked you to call had not my friend Mr Brisbane assured me that you hadto pass my house daily on your way to--to business."

  "No apology, Sir Richard, pray. I am at all times ready to answer acall whether of the poor or the rich, if by any means I may help myLord's cause."

  The knight thought for a moment that he might claim to be classed amongthe poor, seeing that his miserable pittance of five thousand barelyenabled him to make the two ends meet, but he only said:

  "Ever since we had the pleasure of meeting at that gathering of raggedchildren, my little girl here has been asking so many questions aboutpoor people--the lower orders, I mean--which I could not answer, that Ihave asked you to call, that we may get some information about them.You see, Diana is an eccentric little puss," (Di opened her eyes verywide at this, wondering what "eccentric" could mean), "and she has gotinto a most unaccountable habit of thinking and planning about poorpeople."

  "A good habit, Sir Richard," said the missionary. "`Blessed are theythat consider the poor.'"

  Sir Richard acknowledged this remark with a little bow. "Now, we shouldlike to ask, if you have no objection, what is your chief object in themission at--what did you say its name--ah! George Yard?"

  "To save souls," said Mr Seaward.

  "Oh--ah--precisely," said the knight, taken somewhat aback by the natureand brevity of the answer, "that of course; but I meant, how do youproceed? What is the method, and what the machinery that you put inmotion?"

  "Perhaps," said the missionary, drawing a small pamphlet from hispocket, "this will furnish you with all the information you desire. Youcan read it over to Miss Diana at your leisure--and don't return it; Ihave plenty more. Meanwhile I may briefly state that the missionpremises are in George Yard, High Street, Whitechapel, one of the worstparts of the east of London, where the fire of sin and crime rages mostfiercely; where the soldiers of the Cross are comparatively few, andwould be overwhelmed by mere numbers, were it not that they areinvincible, carrying on the war as they do in the strength of Him whosaid, `Lo, I am with you alway.'

  "In the old coaching days," continued Mr Seaward, "this was a greatcentre, a starting-point for mail-coaches. For nigh thirty years themission has been there. The `Black Horse' was a public-house in GeorgeYard, once known to the magistrates as one of the worst gin-shops andresort of thieves and nurseries of crime in London. That public-houseis now a shelter for friendless girls, and a place where sick childrenof the poor are gratuitously fed."

  From this point the missionary went off into a graphic account ofincidents illustrative of the great work done by the mission, andsucceeded in deeply interesting both Diana and her father, though thelatter held himself well in hand, knowing, as he was fond of remarking,that there were two sides to every question.

  Checking his visitor at one point, he said, "You have mentioned raggedschools and the good that is done by them, but why should not theschool-boards look after such children?"

  "Because, Sir Richard, the school-boards cannot reach them. There areupwards of 150,000 people in London who have never lived more than threemonths in one place. No law reaches this class, because they do notstay long enough in any neighbourhood for the school-board authoritiesto put the law into operation. Now, nearly three hundred of thechildren of these wanderers meet in our Free Ragged Day Schools twice aday for instruction. Here we teach them as efficiently as we can insecular matters, and of course they are taught the Word of God, and toldof Jesus the Saviour of sinners; but our difficulties are great, forchildren as well as parents are often in extremest poverty, the formersuffering from hunger even when sent to school--and they never stay withus long. Let me give you an instance:--

  "One morning a mother came and begged to have her children admitted.She had just left the workhouse. Three children in rags, that did notsuffice to cover much less to protect them, stood by her side. She didnot know where they were to sleep that night, but hoped to obtain alittle charing and earn enough to obtain a lodging somewhere. She couldnot take the children with her while seeking work--Would we take themin? for, if not, they would have to be left in the streets, and as theywere very young they might lose themselves or be run over. We took themin, fed, sympathised with, and taught them. In the afternoon the motherreturned weary, hungry, dejected. She had failed to obtain employment,and took the children away to apply for admission to a casual ward."

  "What is a casual ward, Mr Missionary?" asked Di.

  "Seaward, my love,--his name is not Missionary," said Sir Richard.

  "A casual ward," answered the visitor, "is an exceedingly plain roomwith rows of very poor beds; mere wooden frames with canvas stretched onthem, in which any miserable beggars who choose to submit to the rulesmay sleep for a night after eating a bit of bread and a basin of gruel--for all which they pay nothing. It is a very poor and comfortlessplace--at least you would think it so--and is meant to save poor peoplefrom sleeping, perhaps dying, in the streets."

  "Do some people sleep in the streets?" asked Di in great surprise.

  "Yes, dear, I'm sorry to say that many do."

  "D'you mean on the stones, in their night-dresses?" asked the child withincreasing surprise.

  "Yes, love," said her father, "but in their ordinary clothes, not intheir night-dresses--they have no night-dresses."

  Little Di had now reached a pitch of surprise which rendered her dumb,so the missionary continued:

  "Here is another case. A poor widow called once, and said she would beso grateful if we would admit her little girl and boy into the schools.She looked clean and tidy, and the children had not been neglected. Shecould not afford to pay for them, as she had not a penny in the world,and applied to us because we made no charge. The children were admittedand supplied with a plain but nourishing meal, while their mother wentaway to seek for work. We did not hear how she sped, but she hadprobably taken her case to God, and found Him faithful, for she hadsaid, before going away, `I know that God is the Father of thefatherless, and the husband of the widow.'

  "Again, another poor woman came. Her husband had fallen sick. Tillwithin a few days her children had been at a school and paid for, butnow the bread-winner was ill--might never recover--and had gone to thehospital. These children were at once admitted, and in each caseinvestigation was made to test the veracity of the applicants.

  "Of course," continued the missionary, "I have spoken chiefly about theagencies with which I happen to have come personally in contact, but itmust not be supposed that therefore I ignore or am indifferent to theother grand centres of influence which are elsewhere at work in London;such as, for instance, the various agencies set agoing and superintendedby Dr Barnardo, whose _Home for Working and Destitute Boys_, in StepneyCauseway, is a shelter from which thousands of rescued little ones goforth to labour as honest and useful members of society, instead ofdying miserably in the slums of London, or growing up to recruit theranks of our criminal classes. These agencies, besides rescuingdestitute and neglected children, include _Homes for destitute girls_and for _little boys_ in Ilford and Jersey, an _Infirmary for sickchildren of the destitute classes_ in Stepney, _Orphan Homes, Ragged andDay schools, Free dinner-table to destitute children, Mission Halls,Coffee Palaces_, and, in short, a grand net-work of beneficentagencies--Evangelistic, Temperance, and Medical--for the conduct ofwhich is required not far short of One Hundred Pounds a day!"

  Even Sir Richard Brandon, with all his supposed financial capacities,seemed struck with the magnitude of this sum.

  "And where does Dr Barnardo obtain so large an amount?" he asked.

  "From the voluntary gifts of those who sympathise with and consider thepoor," replied Seaward.

  "Then," he added, "there is that noble work carrie
d on by Miss Rye ofthe _Emigration Home for Destitute Little Girls_, at the Avenue House,Peckham, from which a stream of destitute little ones continually flowsto Canada, where they are much wanted, and who, if allowed to remainhere, would almost certainly be _lost_. Strong testimony to the valueof this work has been given by the Bishops of Toronto and Niagara, andother competent judges. Let me mention a case of one of Miss Rye'slittle ones, which speaks for itself.

  "A little girl of six was deserted by both father and mother."

  "Oh! _poor_ little thing!" exclaimed the sympathetic Di, with an amazingseries of pitiful curves about her eyebrows.

  "Yes, poor indeed!" responded Seaward. "The mother forsook her first;then her father took her on the tramp, but the little feet could nottravel fast enough, so he got tired of her and offered her to aworkhouse. They refused her, so the tramping was continued, and at lastbaby was sold for three shillings to a stranger man. On taking hispurchase home, however, the man found that his wife was unwilling toreceive her; he therefore sent poor little baby adrift in the streets ofLondon!"

  "_What_ a shame!" cried Di, with flashing orbs.

  "Was it not? But, when father and mother cast this little one off, theLord cared for it. An inspector of police, who found it, took it to hiswife, and she carried it to Miss Rye's Home, where it was at oncereceived and cared for, and, doubtless, this little foundling girl isnow dwelling happily and usefully with a Canadian family."

  "How nice!" exclaimed Di, her eyes, lips, and teeth bearing eloquentwitness to her satisfaction.

  "But no doubt you have heard of Miss Rye's work, as well as that of MissAnnie Macpherson at the Home of Industry, and, perhaps, contributedto--"

  "No," interrupted Sir Richard, quickly, "I do not contribute; but pray,Mr Seaward, are there other institutions of this sort in London?"

  "Oh! yes, there are several, it would take me too long to go into thedetails of the various agencies we have for succouring the poor. Thereis, among others, The Church of England `_Central Home for Waifs andStrays_,' with a `Receiving House' for boys in Upper Clapton, and onefor girls in East Dulwich, with the Archbishop of Canterbury for itsPresident. Possibly you may have heard of the `_Strangers' Rest_,' inSaint George Street, Ratcliff Highway, where, as far as man can judge,great and permanent good is being constantly done to the souls ofsailors. A sailor once entered this `Rest' considerably the worse fordrink. He was spoken to by Christian friends, and asked to sign thepledge. He did so, and has now been steadfast for years. Returningfrom a long voyage lately, he went to revisit the _Rest_, and there, atthe Bible-class, prayed. Part of his prayer was--`God bless theStrangers' Rest. O Lord, we thank Thee for this place, and we shallthank Thee to all eternity.' This is a sample of the feeling with whichthe place is regarded by those who have received blessing there. In thesame street, only a few doors from this Rest, is the `_Sailor's WelcomeHome_.' This is more of a home than the other, for it furnishes lodgingand unintoxicating refreshment, while its devoted soul-loving manager,Miss Child, and her assistant workers, go fearlessly into the very densof iniquity, and do all they can to bring sailors to Jesus, and inducethem to take the pledge against strong drink, in which work they are,through God's blessing, wonderfully successful. These two missionswork, as it were, into each other's hands. In the `Rest' are heldprayer-meetings and Bible-classes, and when these are dismissed, thesailors find the open door of the `Welcome Home' ready to receive them,and the inmates there seek to deepen the good influence that has beenbrought to bear at the meetings--and this in the midst of one of thevery worst parts of London, where temptation to every species of evil isrampant, on the right-hand and on the left, before and behind.

  "But, Sir Richard, although I say that a grand and extensive work ofsalvation to soul, body, and spirit is being done to thousands of men,and women, and children, by the agencies which I have mentioned, and bymany similar agencies which I have not now time to mention, as well asby the band of City Missionaries to which I have the honour to belong, Iwould earnestly point out that these all put together only scratch thesurface of the vast mass of corruption which has to be dealt with inthis seething world of London, the population of which is, as you areaware, equal to that of all Scotland; and very specially would I remarkthat the work is almost exclusively carried on by the _voluntarycontributions_ of those who `consider the poor!'

  "The little tract which I have given you will explain much of thedetails of this great work, as carried on in the George Yard Mission.When you have read that, if you desire it, I will call on you again.Meanwhile engagements compel me to take my leave."

  After luncheon, that day, Sir Richard drew his chair to the window, butinstead of taking up the newspaper and recommending his little one tovisit the nursery, he said:

  "Come here, Di. You and I will examine this pamphlet--this littlebook--and I'll try to explain it, for reports are usually very dry."

  Di looked innocently puzzled. "Should reports always be wet, papa?"

  Sir Richard came nearer to the confines of a laugh than he had reachedfor a long time past.

  "No, love--not exactly wet, but--hm--you shall hear. Draw the stoolclose to my knee and lay your head on it."

  With his large hand on the golden tresses, Sir Richard Brandon began toexamine the record of work done in the George Yard Mission.

  "What is this?" he said. "_Toy Classes_,--why, this must be somethingquite in your way, Di."

  "Oh yes, I'm sure of that, for I adore toys. Tell me about it."

  "These toy classes are for the cheerless and neglected," said theknight, frowning in a businesslike way at the pamphlet. "Sometimes somany as eighty neglected little ones attend these classes. On oneoccasion, only one of these had boots on, which were very old, much toolarge, and both lefts. When they were seated, toys and scrap-books werelent to them. There were puzzles, and toy-bricks, and many other thingswhich kept them quite happy for an hour. Of course the opportunity wasseized to tell them about Jesus and His love. A blessed lesson whichthey would not have had a chance of learning at home--if they had homes;but many of them had none. When it was time to go they said--`Can't westay longer?'

  "The beginning of this class was interesting," said Sir Richard,continuing to read. "The thought arose--`gather in the most forlorn andwretched children; those who are seldom seen to smile, or heard tolaugh; there are many such who require Christian sympathy.' The thoughtwas immediately acted on. A little barefooted ragged boy was sent intothe streets to bring in the children. Soon there was a crowd round theschool-door. The most miserable among the little ones were admitted.The proceedings commenced with prayer--then the toys were distributed,the dirty little hands became active, and the dirty little faces beganto look happy. When the toys were gathered up, some could not be found,so, at the next meeting, some of the bigger children were set to watchthe smaller ones. Presently one little detective said: `Please,teacher, Teddy's got a horse in his pocket,' and another said that Sallyhad an elephant in her pinafore! Occasion was thus found to show theevil of stealing, and teach the blessedness of honesty. They soon gaveup pilfering, and they now play with the toys without desiring to takethem away."

  "How nice!" said Di. "Go on, papa."

  "What can this be?" continued Sir Richard, quoting--"_Wild Flowers ofthe Forest Day Nursery_. Oh! I see--very good idea. I'll not read it,Di, I'll tell you about it. There are many poor widows, you must know,and women whose husbands are bad, who have no money to buy food andshelter for themselves and little ones except what they can earn eachday. But some of these poor women have babies, and they can't work, youknow, with babies in their arms, neither can they leave the babies athome with no one to look after them, except, perhaps, little sisters orbrothers not much older than themselves, so they take their babies tothis Cradle-Home, and each pays only twopence, for which small sum herbaby is taken in, washed, clothed, warmed, fed, and amused by kindnurses, who keep it till the mother returns from her work to get it backagain. Isn't th
at good?"

  "Oh! yes," assented Di, with all her heart.

  "And I read here," continued her father, "that thousands of the infantsof the poor die every year because they have not enough food, or enoughclothing to keep them warm."

  "Oh _what_ a pity!" exclaimed Di, the tears of ready sympathy rushinghot into her upturned eyes.

  "So you see," continued Sir Richard, who had unconsciously, as it were,become a pleader for the poor, "if there were a great many nurseries ofthis kind all over London, a great many little lives would be saved."

  "And why are there not a great many nurseries of that kind, papa?"

  "Well, I suppose, it is because there are no funds."

  "No what? papa."

  "Not enough of money, dear."

  "Oh! _what_ a pity! I wish I had lots and lots of money, and thenwouldn't I have Cradle-Homes everywhere?"

  Sir Richard, knowing that he had "lots and lots" of money, but had nothitherto contributed one farthing to the object under consideration,thought it best to change the subject by going on with the George YardRecord.

  But we will not conduct the reader through it all--interesting thoughthe subject certainly is. Suffice it to say that he found the accountclassed under several heads. Under "_Feeding the Hungry_," forinstance, he learned that many poor children are entirely without food,sometimes, for a whole day, so that only two courses are open to them--to steal food and become criminals, or drift into sickness and die.From which fate many hundreds are annually rescued by timely aid atGeorge Yard, the supplies for which are sent by liberal-mindedChristians in all ranks of life--from Mr Crackaby with his 150 pounds ayear, up through Mr Brisbane and his class to the present Earl ofShaftesbury--who, by the way, has taken a deep interest and lent ablesupport to this particular Mission for more than a quarter of a century.But the name of Sir Richard Brandon did not appear on the roll ofcontributors. He had not studied the "lower orders" much, except from apolitico-economical-argumentative after-dinner-port-winey point of view.

  Under the head of "_Clothing necessitous Children_," he found that someof the little ones presented themselves at the school-door in such anet-work of rags, probably infected, as to be unfit even for a RaggedSchool. They were therefore taken in, had their garments destroyed, andwere supplied with new clothes. Also, that about 1000 children betweenthe ages of three and fourteen years were connected with theInstitution--scattered among the various works of usefulness conductedfor the young.

  Under "_Work among Lads_," he found that those big boys whom one seesidling about corners of streets, fancying themselves men, smoking withobvious dislike and pretended pleasure, and on the highroad to the jailand the gallows--that those boys were enticed into classes opened forcarpentry, turning, fretwork, and other attractive industrial pursuits--including even printing, at a press supplied by Lord Shaftesbury. This,in connection with evening classes for reading, writing, andarithmetic--the whole leading up to the grand object and aim of all--thesalvation of souls.

  Under other heads he found that outcast boys were received, sheltered,sent to Industrial Homes, or returned to friends and parents; thattemperance meetings were held, and drunkards, male and female, soughtout, prayed for, lovingly reasoned with, and reclaimed from this perhapsthe greatest curse of the land; that Juvenile Bands of Hope were formed,on the ground of prevention being better than cure; that lodging-houses,where the poorest of the poor, and the lowest of the low do congregate,were visited, and the gospel proclaimed to ears that were deaf to nearlyevery good influence; that mothers' meetings were held--one of them atthat old headquarters of sin, the "Black Horse," where counsel andsympathy were mingled with a Clothing Club and a Bible-woman; that therewere a Working Men's Benefit Society, Bible-Classes, Sunday-School, aSewing-Class, a Mutual Labour Loan Society, a Shelter for HomelessGirls, a library, an Invalid Children's Dinner, a bath-room andlavatory, a Flower Mission, and--hear it, ye who fancy that a pennystands very low in the scale of financial littleness--a Farthing Bank!All this free--conducted by an unpaid band of considerably over ahundred Christian workers, male and female--and leavening thefoundations of society, without which, and similar missions, there wouldbe very few leavening influences at all, and the superstructure ofsociety would stand a pretty fair chance of being burst up or blown toatoms--though the superstructure is not very willing to believe thefact!

  In addition to all this, Sir Richard learned, to his great amazement,that the Jews won't light their fires on the Sabbath-day--that is, onour Saturday--that they won't even poke it, and that this abstinence isthe immediate cause of a source of revenue to the un-Jewish poor, whomthe Jews hire to light and poke their fires for them.

  And, lastly, Sir Richard Brandon learned that Mr George Holland, whohad managed that mission for more than quarter of a century, wasresolved, in the strength of the Lord, to seek out the lost and rescuethe perishing, even though he, Sir Richard, and all who resembled him,should refuse to aid by tongue or hand in the glorious work of rescuingthe poor from sin and its consequences.