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

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

  SIR RICHARD VISITS THE BEEHIVE, AND SEES MANY SURPRISING THINGS.

  "My dear Mrs Loper," said Mrs Twitter over a cup of tea, "it is verykind of you to say so, and I really do think you are right, we have donefull justice to our dear wee Mita. Who would ever have thought,remembering the thin starved sickly child she was the night that Sambrought her in, that she would come to be such a plump, rosy, lovelychild? I declare to you that I feel as if she were one of my own."

  "She is indeed a very lovely infant," returned Mrs Loper. "Don't youthink so, Mrs Larrabel?"

  The smiling lady expanded her mouth, and said, "very."

  "But," continued Mrs Twitter, "I really find that the entire care ofher is too much for me, for, although dear Mary assists me, her studiesrequire to be attended to, and, do you know, babies interfere withstudies dreadfully. Not that I have time to do much in that way atpresent. I think the Bible is the only book I really study now, so, yousee, I've been thinking of adding to our establishment by getting a newservant;--a sort of nursery governess, you know,--a cheap one, ofcourse. Sam quite agrees with me, and, as it happens, I know a verynice little girl just now--a very very poor girl--who helps us so nicelyon Sundays in George Yard, and has been recommended to me as a mostdeserving creature. I expect her to call to-night."

  "Be cautious, Mrs Twitter," said Mrs Loper. "These _very_ poor girlsfrom the slums of Whitechapel are sometimes dangerous, and, excuse me,rather dirty. Of course, if you know her, that is some security, but Iwould advise you to be very cautious."

  "Thank you, my dear," said Mrs Twitter, "I usually am very cautious,and will try to be so on this occasion. I mean her to be rather a sortof nursery governess than a servant.--That is probably the girl."

  She referred to a rather timid knock at the front door. In anothersecond the domestic announced Hetty Frog, who entered with a somewhatshy air, and seemed fluttered at meeting with unexpected company.

  "Come in, Hetty, my dear; I'm glad to see you. My friends here knowthat you are a helper in our Sunday-schools. Sit down, and have a cupof tea. You know why I have sent for you?"

  "Yes, Mrs Twitter. It--it is very kind. Our Bible-nurse told me, andI shall be so happy to come, because--but I fear I have interrupted you.I--I can easily come back--"

  "No interruption at all, my dear. Here, take this cup of tea--"

  "And a crumpet," added Mrs Larrabel, who sympathised with the spirit ofhospitality.

  "Yes, take a crumpet, and let me hear about your last place."

  Poor Hetty, who was still very weak from her recent illness, and wouldgladly have been excused sitting down with two strangers, feltconstrained to comply, and was soon put at her ease by the kindly toneand manner of the hostess. She ran quickly over the chief points of herlate engagements, and roused, without meaning to do so, the indignationof the ladies by the bare mention of the wages she had received for theamount of work done.

  "Well, my dear," said the homely Mrs Twitter, "we won't be so hard onyou here. I want you to assist me with my sewing and darning--of whichI have a very great deal--and help to take care of baby."

  "Very well, ma'am," said Hetty, "when do you wish me to begin myduties?"

  "Oh! to-morrow--after breakfast will do. It is too late to-night. Butbefore you go, I may as well let you see the little one you are to havecharge of. I hear she is awake."

  There could be no doubt upon that point, for the very rafters of thehouse were ringing at the moment with the yells which issued from anadjoining room.

  "Come this way, Hetty."

  Mrs Loper and Mrs Larrabel, having formed a good opinion of the girl,looked on with approving smiles. The smiles changed to glances ofsurprise, however, when Hetty, having looked on the baby, uttered a moststartling scream, while her eyes glared as though she saw a ghostlyapparition.

  Seizing the baby with unceremonious familiarity, Hetty struck MrsTwitter dumb by turning it on its face, pulling open its dress, glancingat a bright red spot on its back, and uttering a shriek of delight asshe turned it round again, and hugged it with violent affection,exclaiming, "Oh! my blessed Matty!"

  "The child's name is not Matty; it is Mita," said Mrs Twitter, onrecovering her breath. "What _do_ you mean, girl?"

  "Her name is _not_ Mita, it is Matty," returned Hetty, with a flatnessof contradiction that seemed impossible in one so naturally gentle.

  Mrs Twitter stood, aghast--bereft of the power of speech or motion.Mrs Loper and Mrs Larrabel were similarly affected. They soonrecovered, however, and exclaimed in chorus, "What _can_ she mean?"

  "Forgive me, ma'am," said Hetty, still holding on to baby, who seemed tohave an idea that she was creating a sensation of some sort, withoutrequiring to yell, "forgive my rudeness, ma'am, but I really couldn'thelp it, for this is my long-lost sister Matilda."

  "Sister Matilda!" echoed Mrs Loper.

  "Long-lost sister Matilda!" repeated Mrs Larrabel.

  "This--is--your--long-lost sister Matilda," rehearsed Mrs Twitter, likeone in a dream.

  The situation was rendered still more complex by the sudden entrance ofMr Twitter and his friend Crackaby.

  "What--what--what's to do _now_, Mariar?"

  "Sister Matilda!" shouted all three with a gasp.

  "Lunatics, every one of 'em," murmured Crackaby.

  It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to add that a full explanation ensuedwhen the party became calmer; that Mrs Twitter could not doubt theveracity of Hetty Frog, but suspected her sanity; that Mrs Frog wassent for, and was recognised at once by Mr Twitter as the poor womanwho had asked him such wild and unmeaning questions the night on whichhe had found the baby; and that Mr and Mrs Twitter, Mrs Loper, MrsLarrabel, and Crackaby came to the unanimous conclusion that they hadnever heard of such a thing before in the whole course of their unitedlives--which lives, when united, as some statisticians would take apride in recording, formed two hundred and forty-three years! Poor MrsTwitter was as inconsolable at the loss of her baby as Mrs Frog wasoverjoyed at the recovery of hers. She therefore besought the latter toleave little Mita, _alias_ Matty, with her just for one night longer--only one night--and then she might come for her in the morning, for, youknow, it would have been cruel to remove the child from her warm crib atthat hour to a cold and comfortless lodging.

  Of course Mrs Frog readily consented. If Mrs Frog had known theevents that lay in the womb of the next few hours, she would sooner haveconsented to have had her right-hand cut off than have agreed to thatmost reasonable request.

  But we must not anticipate. A few of our _dramatis personae_ took bothan active and an inactive part in the events of these hours. It istherefore imperative that we should indicate how some of them came to bein that region.

  About five of the clock in the afternoon of the day in question, SirRichard Brandon, his daughter and idol Diana, and his young friendStephen Welland, sat in the dining-room of the West-end mansionconcluding an early and rather hasty dinner. That something was pendingwas indicated by the fact that little Di sat accoutred in her hat andcloak.

  "We shall have to make haste," said Sir Richard, rising, "for I shouldnot like to be late, and it is a long drive to Whitechapel."

  "When do they begin?" asked Welland.

  "They have tea at six, I believe, and then the meeting commences atseven, but I wish to be early that I may have a short conversation withone of the ladies of the Home."

  "Oh! it will be so nice, and such fun to see the dear little boys. Howmany are going to start for Canada, to-night, papa?"

  "About fifty or sixty, I believe, but I'm not sure. They are sent offin batches of varying size from time to time."

  "Is the demand for them so great?" asked Welland, "I should have thoughtthat Canadian farmers and others would be afraid to receive into theirdwellings what is often described as the scum of the London streets."

  "They were afraid at first, I am told, but soon discovered that thelittle fellows who came from Miss Ma
cpherson's Home had been subjectedto such good training and influences before leaving that they almostinvariably turned out valuable and trustworthy workmen. No doubt thereare exceptions in this as in every other case, but the demand is, itseems, greater than the supply. It is, however, a false idea thatlittle waifs and strays, however dirty or neglected, are in any sensethe scum of London. Youth, in all circumstances, is cream, and onlyturns into scum when allowed to stagnate or run to waste. Come, now,let us be off. Mr Seaward, the city missionary, is to meet us afterthe meeting, and show you and me something of those who have fallen verylow in the social scale. Brisbane, who is also to be at the meeting,will bring Di home. By the way, have you heard anything yet about thatpoor comrade and fellow-clerk of yours--Twitter, I think, was his name--who disappeared so suddenly?"

  "Nothing whatever. I have made inquiries in all directions--for I had agreat liking for the poor fellow. I went also to see his parents, butthey seemed too much cut up to talk on the subject at all, and knewnothing of his whereabouts."

  "Ah! it is a very sad case--very," said Sir Richard, as they alldescended to the street. "We might, perhaps, call at their houseto-night in passing." Entering a cab, they drove away.

  From the foregoing conversation the reader will have gathered that theparty were about to visit the Beehive, or Home of Industry, and that SirRichard, through the instrumentality of little Di and the citymissionary, had actually begun to think about the poor!

  It was a special night at the Beehive. A number of diamonds with someof their dust rubbed off--namely, a band of little boys, rescued fromthe streets and from a probable life of crime, were to be assembledthere to say farewell to such friends as took an interest in them.

  The Hive had been a huge warehouse. It was now converted, with butslight structural alteration, into a great centre of Light in thatmorally dark region, from which emanated gospel truth and Christianinfluence, and in which was a refuge for the poor, the destitute, thesin-smitten, and the sorrowful. Not only poverty, but sin-in-rags, wassure of help in the Beehive. It had been set agoing to bring, not therighteous, but sinners, to repentance.

  When Sir Richard arrived he found a large though low-roofed room crowdedwith people, many of whom, to judge from their appearance, were, likehimself, diamond-seekers from the "west-end," while others wereobviously from the "east-end," and had the appearance of men and womenwho had been but recently unearthed. There were also city missionariesand other workers for God in that humble-looking hall. Among them satMr John Seaward and George Brisbane, Esquire.

  Placing Di and Welland near the latter, Sir Richard retired to a cornerwhere one of the ladies of the establishment was distributing tea to allcomers.

  "Where are your boys, may I ask?" said the knight, accepting a cup oftea.

  "Over in the left corner," answered the lady. "You can hardly see themfor the crowd, but they will stand presently."

  At that moment, as if to justify her words, a large body of boys roseup, at a sign from the superintending genius of the place, and began tosing a beautiful hymn in soft, tuneful voices. It was a goodly array ofdusty diamonds, and a few of them had already begun to shine.

  "Surely," said Sir Richard, in a low voice, "these cannot be the ragged,dirty little fellows you pick up in the streets?"

  "Indeed they are," returned the lady.

  "But--but they seem to me quite respectable and cleanly fellows, not atall like--why, how has the change been accomplished?"

  "By the united action, sir, of soap and water, needles and thread,scissors, cast-off garments, and Love."

  Sir Richard smiled. Perchance the reader may also smile; nevertheless,this statement embodied probably the whole truth.

  When an unkempt, dirty, ragged little savage presents himself, or ispresented, at the Refuge, or is "picked up" in the streets, his case ispromptly and carefully inquired into. If he seems a suitablecharacter--that is, one who is _utterly_ friendless and parentless, orwhose parents are worse than dead to him--he is received into the Home,and the work of transformation--both of body and soul--commences. Firsthe is taken to the lavatory and scrubbed outwardly clean. His elfinlocks are cropped close and cleansed. His rags are burned, and a newsuit, made by the old women workers, is put upon him, after which,perhaps, he is fed. Then he is sent to a doctor to see that he isinternally sound in wind and limb. If passed by the doctor, he receivesa brief but important training in the rudiments of knowledge. In all ofthese various processes Love is the guiding principle of the operator--love to God and love to the boy. He is made to understand, and to_feel_, that it is in the name of Jesus, for the love of Jesus, and inthe spirit of Jesus--not of mere philanthropy--that all this is done,and that his body is cared for _chiefly_ in order that the soul may bewon.

  Little wonder, then, that a boy or girl, whose past experience has beenthe tender mercies of the world--and that the roughest part of theworld--should become somewhat "respectable," as Sir Richard put it,under such new and blessed influences.

  Suddenly a tiny shriek was heard in the midst of the crowd, and a sweetlittle voice exclaimed, as if its owner were in great surprise--

  "Oh! oh! there is _my_ boy!"

  A hearty laugh from the audience greeted this outburst, and poor Di,shrinking down, tried to hide her pretty face on Welland's ready arm.Her remark was quickly forgotten in the proceedings that followed--butit was true.

  There stood, in the midst of the group of boys, little Bobby Frog, withhis face washed, his hair cropped and shining, his garments untattered,and himself looking as meek and "respectable" as the best of them.Beside him stood his fast friend Tim Lumpy. Bobby was not, however, oneof the emigrant band. Having joined only that very evening, and beencropped, washed, and clothed for the first time, he was there merely asa privileged guest. Tim, also, was only a guest, not having quiteattained to the dignity of a full-fledged emigrant at that time.

  At the sound of the sweet little voice, Bobby Frog's meek look wasreplaced by one of bright intelligence, not unmingled with anxiety, ashe tried unavailingly to see the child who had spoken.

  We do not propose to give the proceedings of this meeting in detail,interesting though they were. Other matters of importance claim ourattention. It will be sufficient to say that mingled with thesemi-conversational, pleasantly free-and-easy, intercourse thatensued, there were most interesting short addresses from thelady-superintendents of "The Sailors' Welcome Home" and of the"Strangers' Rest," both of Ratcliff Highway, also from the chief of theRagged schools in George Yard, and several city missionaries, as well asfrom city merchants who found time and inclination to traffic in thegood things of the life to come as well as in those of the life that nowis.

  Before the proceedings had drawn to a close a voice whispered:

  "It is time to go, Sir Richard." It was the voice of John Seaward.

  Following him, Sir Richard and Welland went out. It had grown dark bythat time, and as there were no brilliantly lighted shops near, theplace seemed gloomy, but the gloom was nothing to that of the filthylabyrinths into which Seaward quickly conducted his followers.

  "You have no occasion to fear, sir," said the missionary, observing thatSir Richard hesitated at the mouth of one very dark alley. "It would,indeed, hardly be safe were you to come down here alone, but most of 'emknow me. I remember being told by one of the greatest roughs I everknew that at the very corner where we now stand he had _many_ and many atime knocked down and robbed people. That man is now an earnestChristian, and, like Paul, goes about preaching the Name which he oncedespised."

  At the moment a dark shadow seemed to pass them, and a gruff voice said,"Good-night, sir."

  "Was that the man you were speaking of?" asked Sir Richard, quickly.

  "Oh no, sir," replied Seaward with a laugh; "that's what he was oncelike, indeed, but not what he is like now. His voice is no longergruff. Take care of the step, gentlemen, as you pass here; so, now wewill go into this lodging. It is one of the common lodging-h
ouses ofLondon, which are regulated by law and under the supervision of thepolice. Each man pays fourpence a night here, for which he is entitledto a bed and the use of the kitchen and its fire to warm himself andcook his food. If he goes to the same lodging every night for a week hebecomes entitled to a free night on Sundays."

  The room into which they now entered was a long low chamber, whichevidently traversed the whole width of the building, for it turned at aright angle at the inner end, and extended along the back to someextent. It was divided along one side into boxes or squares, after thefashion of some eating-houses, with a small table in the centre of eachbox, but, the partitions being little higher than those of a church-pew,the view of the whole room was unobstructed. At the inner angle of theroom blazed a coal-fire so large that a sheep might have been easilyroasted whole at it. Gas jets, fixed along the walls at intervals, gavea sufficient light to the place.

  This was the kitchen of the lodging-house, and formed the sitting-roomof the place; and here was assembled perhaps the most degraded andmiserable set of men that the world can produce. They were not all ofone class, by any means; nor were they all criminal, though certainlymany of them were. The place was the last refuge of the destitute; thesocial sink into which all that is improvident, foolish, reckless,thriftless, or criminal finally descends.

  Sir Richard and Welland had put on their oldest great-coats andshabbiest wideawakes; they had also put off their gloves and rings andbreastpins in order to attract as little attention as possible, butnothing that they could have done could have reduced their habilimentsto anything like the garments of the poor creatures with whom they nowmingled. If they had worn the same garments for months or years withoutwashing them, and had often slept in them out of doors in dirty places,they might perhaps have brought them to the same level, but nototherwise.

  Some of the people, however, were noisy enough. Many of them weresmoking, and the coarser sort swore and talked loud. Those who had oncebeen in better circumstances sat and moped, or spoke in lower tones, orcooked their victuals with indifference to all else around, or ate themin abstracted silence; while not a few laid their heads and arms on thetables, and apparently slept. For sleeping in earnest there were roomsoverhead containing many narrow beds with scant and coarse covering,which, however, the law compelled to be clean. One of the roomscontained seventy such beds.

  Little notice was taken of the west-end visitors as they passed up theroom, though some dark scowls of hatred were cast after them, and a fewglanced at them with indifference. It was otherwise in regard toSeaward. He received many a "good-night, sir," as he passed, and akindly nod greeted him here and there from men who at first looked as ifkindness had been utterly eradicated from their systems.

  One of those whom we have described as resting their heads and arms onthe tables, looked hastily up, on hearing the visitors' voices, with anexpression of mingled surprise and alarm. It was Sammy Twitter, withhands and visage filthy, hair dishevelled, eyes bloodshot, cheekshollow, and garments beyond description disreputable. He seemed thevery embodiment of woe and degradation. On seeing his old friendWelland he quickly laid his head down again and remained motionless.

  Welland had not observed him.

  "You would scarcely believe it, sir," said the missionary, in a lowtone; "nearly all classes of society are occasionally represented here.You will sometimes find merchants, lawyers, doctors, military men, andeven clergymen, who have fallen step by step, chiefly in consequence ofthat subtle demon drink, until the common lodging-house is their onlyhome."

  "Heaven help me!" said Sir Richard; "my friend Brisbane has often toldme of this, but I have never quite believed it--certainly never realisedit--until to-night. And even now I can hardly believe it. I see no onehere who seems as if he ever had belonged to the classes you name."

  "Do you see the old man in the last box in the room, on the left-handside, sitting alone?" asked Seaward, turning his back to the spotindicated.

  "Yes."

  "Well, that is a clergyman. I know him well. You would never guess itfrom his wretched clothing, but you might readily believe it if you wereto speak to him."

  "That I will not do," returned the other firmly.

  "You are right, sir," said Seaward, "I would not advise that youshould--at least not here, or now. I have been in the habit of readinga verse or two of the Word and giving them a short address sometimesabout this hour. Have you any objection to my doing so now? It won'tdetain us long."

  "None in the world; pray, my good sir, don't let me disarrange yourplans."

  "Perhaps," added the missionary, "you would say a few words to--"

  "No, no," interrupted the other, quickly; "no, they are preaching to_me_ just now, Mr Seaward, a very powerful sermon, I assure you."

  During the foregoing conversation young Welland's thoughts had been verybusy; ay, and his conscience had not been idle, for when mention wasmade of that great curse strong drink, he vividly recalled the day whenhe had laughed at Sam Twitter's blue ribbon, and felt uneasy as to howfar his conduct on that occasion had helped Sam in his downward career.

  "My friends," said the missionary aloud, "we will sing a hymn."

  Some of those whom he addressed turned towards the speaker; others paidno attention whatever, but went on with their cooking and smoking. Theywere used to it, as ordinary church-goers are to the "service." Themissionary understood that well, but was not discouraged, because heknew that his "labour in the Lord" should not be in vain. He pulled outtwo small hymn-books and handed one to Sir Richard, the other toWelland.

  Sir Richard suddenly found himself in what was to him a strange anduncomfortable position, called on to take a somewhat prominent part in areligious service in a low lodging-house!

  The worst of it was that the poor knight could not sing a note.However, his deficiency in this respect was more than compensated byJohn Seaward, who possessed a telling tuneful voice, with a gratefulheart to work it. Young Welland also could sing well, and joinedheartily in that beautiful hymn which tells of "The wonderful words oflife."

  After a brief prayer the missionary preached the comforting gospel, andtried, with all the fervour of a sympathetic heart, to impress on hishearers that there really was Hope for the hopeless, and Rest for theweary in Jesus Christ.

  When he had finished, Stephen Welland surprised him, as well as hisfriend Sir Richard and the audience generally, by suddenly exclaiming,in a subdued but impressive voice, which drew general attention:

  "Friends, I had no intention of saying a word when I came here, but, Godforgive me, I have committed a sin, which seems to force me to speak andwarn you against giving way to strong drink. I had--nay, I _have_--adear friend who once put on the Blue Ribbon."

  Here he related the episode at the road-side tavern, and his friend'sterrible fall, and wound up with the warning:

  "Fellow-men, fellow-sinners, beware of being laughed out of goodresolves--beware of strong drink. I know not where my comrade is now.He may be dead, but I think not, for he has a mother and father who prayfor him without ceasing. Still better, as you have just been told, hehas an Advocate with God, who is able and willing to save him to theuttermost. Forgive me, Mr Seaward, for speaking without being asked.I could not help it."

  "No need to ask forgiveness of me, Mr Welland. You have spoken on theLord's side, and I have reason to thank you heartily."

  While this was being said, those who sat near the door observed that ayoung man rose softly, and slunk away like a criminal, with a face ashypale and his head bowed down. On reaching the door, he rushed out likeone who expected to be pursued. It was young Sam Twitter. Few of theinmates of the place observed him, none cared a straw for him, and theincident was, no doubt, quickly forgotten.

  "We must hasten now, if we are to visit another lodging-house," saidSeaward, as they emerged into the comparatively fresh air of the street,"for it grows late, and riotous drunken characters are apt to be metwith as they stagger home."

/>   "No; I have had enough for one night," said Sir Richard. "I shall notbe able to digest it all in a hurry. I'll go home by the Metropolitan,if you will conduct me to the nearest station."

  "Come along, then. This way."

  They had not gone far, and were passing through a quiet side street,when they observed a poor woman sitting on a door-step. It was MrsFrog, who had returned to sit on the old familiar spot, and watch theshadows on the blind, either from the mere force of habit, or becausethis would probably be the last occasion on which she could expect toenjoy that treat.

  A feeling of pity entered Sir Richard's soul as he looked on the poorlyclothed forlorn creature. He little knew what rejoicing there was inher heart just then--so deceptive are appearances at times! He wenttowards her with an intention of some sort, when a very tall policemanturned the corner, and approached.

  "Why, Giles Scott!" exclaimed the knight, holding out his hand, whichGiles shook respectfully, "you seem to be very far away from your beatto-night."

  "No, sir, not very far, for this is my beat, now. I have exchanged intothe city, for reasons that I need not mention."

  At this point a belated and half-tipsy man passed with his donkey-cartfull of unsold vegetables and rubbish.

  "Hallo! you big blue-coat-boy," he cried politely to Giles, "wot d'yecall _that_?"

  Giles had caught sight of "_that_" at the same moment, and darted acrossthe street.

  "Why, it's fire!" he shouted. "Run, young fellow, you know thefire-station!"

  "_I_ know it," shouted the donkey-man, sobered in an instant, as hejumped off his cart, left it standing, dashed round the corner, anddisappeared, while Number 666 beat a thundering tattoo on SamuelTwitter's front door.