 Section 23. More Crusades. Part 1. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Tom Hirsch. I have now sketched out briefly the leading features of the threefold scheme by which I think a way can be opened out of darkest England, by which its forlorn denizens can escape into the light and freedom of a new life. But it is not enough to make a clear, broad road out of the heart of this dense and matted jungle forest. Its inhabitants are in many cases so degraded, so hopeless, so utterly desperate, that we shall have to do something more than make roads. As we read in the parable, it is often not enough that the feasts be prepared and the guests be bidden. We must needs go into the highways and byways and compel them to come in. So it is not enough to provide our city colony and our farm colony, and then rest on our oars as if we had done our work. That kind of thing will not save the lost. It is necessary to organize rescue expeditions, to free the miserable wanderers from their captivity, and bring them out into the larger liberty and the fuller life. Talk about Stanley and Eamon. There is not one of us but has had an Eamon somewhere or other in the heart of darkest England whom he ought to sally forth to rescue. Our Eamons have the devil for their Mahadi, and when we get to them we find that it is their friends and neighbors who hold them back, and they are oh so irresolute. It needs each of us to be as indomitable as Stanley, to burst through all obstacles, to force our way right to the center of things, and then to labor with the poor prisoner of vice and crime with all our might. But had not the expeditionary committee furnished the financial means whereby a road was open to the sea, both Stanley and Eamon would probably have been in the heart of darkest Africa to this day. This scheme is our Stanley expedition. The analogy is very close. I propose to make a road clear down to the sea, but alas our poor Eamon. Even when the road is open he halts and lingers in doubts. First he will, and then he won't, and nothing less than the irresistible pressure of a friendly and stronger purpose will constrain him to take the road which has been opened for him at such a cost of blood and treasure. I now therefore proceed to sketch some of the methods by which we shall attempt to save the lost and to rescue those who are perishing in the midst of darkest England. A Slum Crusade, Our Slum Sisters When Professor Huxley lived as a medical officer in the east of London, he acquired a knowledge of the actual condition of the life of many of its populace, which led him long afterwards to declare that the surroundings of the savages of New Guinea were much more conducive to the leading of a decent human existence than those in which many of the east enders live. Alas, it is not only in London that such lairs exist in which the savages of civilization lurk and breed. All the great towns in both the old world and the new have their slums, in which huddled together in festering and verminous filth men, women, and children. They correspond to the lepers who thronged the Lazar houses of the Middle Ages. As in those days, St. Francis of Assisi and the heroic band of saints who gathered under his orders were waned to go and lodge with the lepers at the city gates, so the devoted souls who have enlisted in the Salvation Army take up their quarters in the heart of the worst slums. But whereas the friars were men, our slumber-gade is composed of women. I have a hundred of them under my orders, young women, for the most part, quartered all of them in outposts in the heart of the devil's country. Most of them are the children of the poor who have known hardship from their youth up. Some are ladies born and bred, who have not been afraid to exchange the comfort of a west end drawing-room for service among the vilest of the vile and a residence in small and feted rooms whose walls were infested with vermin. They lived the life of the crucified for the sake of the men and women for whom he lived and died. They form one of the branches of the activity of the army upon which I dwell with deepest sympathy. They are at the front. They are at close quarters with the enemy. To the dwellers in decent homes who occupy cushioned pews in fashionable churches there is something strange and quaint in the language they hear read from the Bible, language which habitually refers to the devil as an actual personality, and to the struggle against sin and uncleanness as if it were a hand-to-hand death wrestle with the legions of hell. To our little sisters who dwell in an atmosphere heavy with curses, among people sodden with drink, in quarters where sin and uncleannliness are universal, all these Biblical sayings are as real as the quotations of yesterday's price of counsels are to a city-man. They dwell in the midst of hell, and in their daily warfare with a hundred devils it seems incredible to them that anyone can doubt the existence of either one or the other. The slum sister is what her name implies, the sister of the slum. They go forth in apostolic fashion, two and two living in a couple of the same kind of dens or rooms as are occupied by the people themselves, differing only in the cleanliness and order in the few articles of furniture which they contain. Here they live all the year round, visiting the sick, looking after the children, showing the women how to keep themselves and their homes decent, often discharging the sick mother's duties themselves, cultivating peace, advocating temperance, counseling in temporalities, and ceaselessly preaching the religion of Jesus Christ to the outcasts of society. I do not like to speak of their work. Words fail me, and what I say is so unworthy the theme. I prefer to quote two descriptions by journalists who have seen these girls at work in the field. The first is taken from a long article which Julia Hayes Percy contributed to the New York world, describing a visit paid by her to the slum quarters of the Salvation Army in Cherry Hill Alley's, in the Whitechapel of New York. Twenty-four hours in the slums, just a night and a day, yet into them were crowded such revelations of misery, depravity and degradation as having once been gazed upon, life can never be the same afterwards. Around and above this blighted neighborhood flows the tide of active, prosperous life. Men and women travel past in streetcars by the elevated railroad and across the bridge, and take no thought of its wretchedness, of the criminals bred there, and of the disease engendered by its foulness. It is a fearful menace to the public health, both moral and physical, yet the multitude is as heedless of danger as the peasant who makes his house and plants green vineyards and olives above Vizuvian fires. We are almost as careless and quite as unknowing as we pass the bridge in the late afternoon. Our immediate destination is the Salvation Army barracks in Washington Street, and we are going finally to the Salvation Officers, two young women who have been dwelling and doing a noble mission work for months in one of the worst corners of New York's most wretched quarter. These officers are not living under the ages of the army, however. The blue, bordered flag is furled out of sight. The uniforms and poke-bonnets are laid away, and there are no drums or tambourines. The banner over them is love of their fellow creatures, among whom they dwell upon an equal plain of poverty, wearing no better clothes than the rest, eating coarse and scanty food, and sleeping upon hard cots or upon the floor. Their lives are consecrated to God's service among the poor of the earth. One is a woman in the early prime of vigorous life, the other a girl of eighteen. The elder of these devoted women is awaiting us at the barracks to be our guide to slumdom. She is tall, slender, and clad in a coarse brown gown, mended with patches. A big gingham apron artistically rent in several places is tight about her waist. She wears an old plaid woolen shawl and an ancient brown straw hat. Her dress indicates extreme poverty. Her face denotes perfect peace. This is M., says Mrs. Ballington Booth, and after this introduction we sally forth. More and more wretched grows the district as we penetrate further. M. pauses before a dirty, broken, smoke-dimmed window through which in a dingy room are seen a party of ruffs, dark-looking men, drinking and squabbling at a table. They are our neighbors in the front. We enter the hallway and proceed to the rear room. It is tiny, but clean and warm. A fire burns on the little cracked stove, which stands up bravely on three legs with a brick eking out its support at the fourth corner. A tin lamp stands on the table, half a dozen chairs, one of which has arms, but must have renounced its rockers long ago, and the packing-box, upon which we deposit our shawls, constitute the furniture. Opening from this is a small dark bedroom, with one cot made up in another folded against the wall. Against a door which must communicate with the front room, in which we saw the disagreeable-looking men's setting, is a wooden table for the handbasin. A small trunk and a barrel of clothing complete the inventory. Im's sister in the slumwork gives us a sweet, shy welcome. She is a Swedish girl with fair complexion and crisp, bright hair, peculiar to the Scandinavian blonde type. Her head reminds me of a grenzen that hangs in the lube, with its low knot of rippling hair which fluffs out from her brow and frames a dear little face with soft, childish outlines. A nay retrusé, a tiny mouth like a crushed pink rose, and wistful blue eyes. This girl has been a salvationist for two years. During that time she has learned to speak, read, and write English, while she has constantly labored among the poor and wretched. The house where we find ourselves was formerly notorious as one of the worst in the Cherry Hill District. It has been the scene of some memorable crimes, and among them that of the Chinaman who slew his Irish wife after the manner of Jack the Ripper on the staircase leading to the second floor. A notable change has taken place in the tenements since Maddie and M have lived there, and their gentle influence is making itself felt in the neighboring houses as well. It is nearly eight o'clock when we sally forth. Each of us carries a handful of printed slips, bearing a text of Scripture and a few words of warning to lead the better life. These furnishing excuse for entering places where otherwise we could not go, explains M. After arranging a rendezvous we separate. Maddie and Liz go off in one direction, and M and I in another. From this our progress seems like a descent into Tartarus. M pauses before a miserable-looking saloon, pushes open the low, swinging door, and we go in. It is a low-ceiling room, dingy with dirt, dim with the smoke, nuzzy eating with the fumes of sour beer and bile liquor. A sloppy bar extends along one side, and opposite is a long table, with indescribable viennes littered over it, interspersed with empty glasses, battered hats, and cigar stumps. A motley crowd of men and women jostle in the narrow space. M speaks to the soberest looking of the lot. He listens to her words, others crowd about. Many accept the slips we offer, and gradually as the throng separates to make way we gain the further end of the apartment. M's serious, sweet, saint-like face I follow like a star. All sense of fear slips from me, and a great pity fills my soul as I look upon the various types of wretchedness. As the night wears on, the whole apartment seems to wake up. Every house is a light. The narrow sidewalks and filthy streets are full of people. Miserable little children with sin-stamped faces dart about like rats. Little ones who ought to be in their cribs shift for themselves, and sleep on cellar doors and areas, and under carts. A few vendors are abroad with their wares, but the most of the traffic going on is of a different description. Along Water Street are women conspicuously dressed in gaudy colors. Their heavily painted faces are bloated or pinched. They shiver in the raw night air. Liz speaks to one who replies that she would like to talk, but dare not, and as she says this an old hag comes to the door and cries, Get along, don't hinder her work. During the evening a man to whom M has been talking has told her, You ought to join the Salvation Army. They are the only good women who bother us down here. I don't want to lead that sort of life, but I must go where it is light and warm and clean after working all day, And there isn't any place but this to come to," exclaimed the man. You will appreciate the plea to-morrow when you see how the people live, M says, As we turn our steps towards the Tenement Room, which seems like an oasis of peace and purity after the howling desert we have been wandering in. M and Maddie brew some oatmeal-gruel in, being chilled and faint, we enjoy a cup of it. Liz and I share a cot in the Outer Room. We are just going to sleep when agonized cries ring out through the night, Then the tones of a woman's voice pleading pitifully reach our ears. We are unable to distinguish her words, but the sound is heart-rending. It comes from one of those dreadful water-street houses, and we all feel that a tragedy is taking place. There is a sound of crashing blows, and then silence. It is customary in the slums to leave the house door open perpetually, Which is convenient for tramps, who creep into the hallways to sleep at night, Thereby saving the few pence it costs to occupy a spot in the cheap lodging-houses. M and Maddie keep the corridor without their room beautifully clean, And so it has become a special favorite stamping-ground for these vagrants. We were told this when Maddie locked and bolted the door and then tied the keys and the door handle together, So we understand why there are shuffling steps along the corridor, bumping against the panels of the door, And heavily breathing without, during the long hours of the night. All day M and Maddie have been toiling among their neighbors, And the night before last they sat up with a dying woman. They are worn out and sleep heavily. Liz and I lay awake and wait for the coming of the morning. We are too oppressed by what we have seen and heard to talk. In the morning Liz and I peep over into the rear houses where we heard those dreadful shrieks in the night. There is no sign of life, but we discover enough filth to breed diphtheria and typhoid throughout a large section. In the area below our window there are several inches of stagnant water, In which is heaped a mass of old shoes, cabbage heads, garbage, rotten wood, bones, rags and refuse, and a few dead rats. We understand now why M keeps her room full of disinfectants. She tells us that she dare not make any appeal to the sanitary authorities, Either on behalf of their own or any other dwelling for fear of antagonizing the people who consider such officials as their natural enemies. The first visit we pay is up a number of eccentric little flights of shaky steps interspersed with twists of passageway. The floor is full of holes. The stairs have been patched here and there, but look perilous and sway beneath the feet. A low door on the landing is opened by a bundle of rags and filth, out of which issues a woman's voice in husky tones, bidding us enter. She has legrip. We have to stand very close together, for the room is small and already contains three women, a man, a baby, a bedstead, a stove, and indescribable dirt. The atmosphere is rank with impurity. The man is evidently dying. Seven weeks ago he was gripped. He is now in the last stages of pneumonia. Em has tried to induce him to be removed to the hospital, and he gasps out his desire to die in comfort in my own bed. Comfort. The bed is a rack heaped with rags. Sheets, pillowcases, and nightclothes are not in vogue in the slums. A woman lies asleep on the dirty floor with her head under the table. Another woman, who has been sharing the night watch with the invalid's wife, is finishing her morning meal, in which roast oysters on the half-shell are conspicuous. A child that appears never to have been washed totals about the floor and tumbles over the sleeping woman's form. M gives it some gruel, and ascertains that its name is Christine. End of Section 23. Recording by Tom Hirsch. Section 24. More Crusades, Part 2. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Hirsch. The dirt, crowding, and smells in the first place are characteristic of a half a dozen others we visited. We penetrate to garrets and descend into cellars. The rear houses are particularly dreadful. Everywhere there is decaying garbage laying about. And the dead cats and rats are evidence that there are mighty hunters among the gemmans of the fourth ward. We find a number ill from the grip and consequent maladies. None of the sufferers will entertain the thought of seeking a hospital. One probably voices the opinion of the majority when he declares that they'll wash you to death there. For these people a bath possesses more terror than the gallows or the grave. In one room, with a wee window, lies a woman dying of consumption. Wasted, wan, and wretched, lying on rags and swarming with vermin. Her little son, a boy of eight years, nestles beside her. His cheeks are scarlet, his eyes feverishly bright, and he has a hard cough. It's the chills, mum, says the little chap. Six beds stand close together in another room. One is empty. Three days ago a woman died there and the body has just been taken away. It hasn't disturbed the rest of the inmates to have death present there. A woman is lying on the wrecks of a bedstead, slats and posts sticking out in every direction from the rags on which she reposes. It broke under me in the night, she explains. A woman is sick and wants Liz to say a prayer. We kneel on the filthy floor. Soon all my faculties are absorbed in speculating which will arrive first. The A-men or the B-flat, which is winding its way toward me. This time the bug does not get there, and I enjoy grinding him under the sole of my slum shoe when the prayer has ended. In another room we find what looks like a corpse. It is a woman in an opium stupor. Drunken men are brawling around her. Returning to our tenement, M and Liz meet us and we return to our experience. The minor details vary slightly, but the story is the same piteous tale of wall everywhere. And crime abounding conditions which only change to a prison, a plunge in the river, or the potter's field. The dark continent can show no lower depth of degradation than that sounded by the dwellers of the dark alleys in Cherry Hill. There isn't a vice missing in that quarter. Every sin in the decalogue flourishes in that feeder of penitentiaries and prisons. And even as its moral fullness permeates and poisons the veins of our social life, so the malarial filth with which the locality reeks must sooner or later spread disease and death. An awful picture, truly, but one which is to me irradiated with the love-light which shone in the eyes of M's serious, sweet, saint-like face. Here is my second. It was written by a journalist who had just witnessed the scene in Whitechapel. He writes, I had just passed Mr. Barnett's church when I was stopped by a small crowd at a street corner. There were about thirty or forty men, women and children standing loosely together. Some others were lounging on the opposite side of the street round the door of a public house. In the center of the crowd was a plain-looking little woman in Salvation Army uniform with her eyes closed, praying the dear Lord that he would bless these dear people and save them, save them now. Moved by curiosity I pressed through the outer fringe of the crowd, and in doing so I noticed a woman of another kind, also invoking heaven, but in an altogether different fashion. Two dirty tramp-like men were listening to the prayer, standing the while smoking their short-cutty pipes. For some reason or other they had offended the woman, and she was giving them a piece of her mind. They stood stolidly silent while she went at them like a fiend. She had been good-looking once, but was now horribly bloated with drink, and excited by passion. I heard both voices at the same time. What a contrast! The prayer was over now, and a pleading earnest address was being delivered. You are wrong, said the voice in the center. You know you are. All this misery and poverty is a proof of it. You are prodigals. You have got away from your father's house, and you are rebelling against him every day. Can you wonder that there is so much hunger and oppression and wretchedness allowed to come upon you? In the midst of it all your father loves you. He wants you to return to him, to turn your backs upon your sins, abandon your evil doings, give up the drink and the service of the devil. He has given his son Jesus Christ to die for you. He wants to save you. Come to his feet. He is waiting. His arms are open. I know the devil has got fast hold of you, but Jesus will give you grace to conquer him. He will help you to master your wicked habits and your love of drink. But come to him now. God is love. He loves me. He loves you. He loves us all. He loves us all. He wants to save us all. Clear and strong the voice, eloquent with the fervor of intense feeling, rang through the little crowd, past which streamed the ever-flowing tide of east end life. And at the same time that I heard this pure and passionate invocation to love God and be true to man, I heard a voice on the outskirts, and it said this, You swine, I'll knock the beetles out of you. None of your impudence to me, your eyes. What do you mean by telling me that? You know what you had done. Now you're going to the Salvation Army. I'll let them know you dirty rascal. The man shifted his pipe. What's the matter? Matter screamed the virgo-horsley. Your life. Don't you know what's the matter? I'll matter you, yah-hound. By God I will as sure as I'm alive. Matter, you know what's the matter. And so she went on, the man standing silently smoking until at last she took herself off, her mouth full of oaths and cursing to the public house. It seemed as though the presence and the spirit of the words of the officer who still went on with the message of mercy had some strange effect upon them, which made these poor wretches impervious to the taunting, bitter sarcasms of this brazen, blatant virgo. God is love. Was it not then the accent of God's voice that sounded there above the din of the street and the swearing of the slums? Yea, verily, and that voice ceases not and will not cease so long as the slum sisters fight under the banner of the Salvation Army. To form an idea of the immense amount of good, temporal, and spiritual which the slum sister is doing, you need to follow them into the kennels where they live, preaching the gospel with the mop and the scrubbing brush, and driving out the devil with soap and water. One of our slum posts, where the officers' rooms were on the ground floor, about fourteen other families lived in the same house. One little water closet in the backyard had to do service for the whole place. As for the dirt, one officer writes, It is impossible to scrub the homes. Some of them are in such a filthy condition. When they have a fire the ashes are left to accumulate for days. The table is very seldom, if ever, properly cleaned. Dirty cups and saucers lie about it together with bits of bread, and if they have bloaters the bones and heads are left on the table. Sometimes there are pieces of onions mixed up with the rest. The floors are in a very much worse condition than the street pavements. And when they are supposed to clean them they do it with about a pint of dirty water. When they wash, which is rarely, for washing to them seems an unnecessary work, they do it in a quart or two of water, and sometimes boil the things in some old saucepan in which they cook their food. They do this simply because they have no larger vessel to wash in. The vermin fall off the walls and ceiling on you while you're standing in the rooms. Some of the walls are covered with marks where they have killed them. Many people in the summer sit on the doorsteps all night. The reason for this being that their rooms are so close from the heat and so unendurable from the vermin that they prefer staying out in the cool night air. But as they cannot stay anywhere long without drinking, they send for beer from the neighboring public, alas, never far away, and pass it from one doorway to another, the result being singing, shouting, and fighting up till three and four o'clock in the morning. I could fill volumes with stories of the war against vermin, which is part of this campaign in the slums, but the subject is too revolting to those who are often indifferent to the agonies their fellow creatures suffer, so long as their sensitive ears are not shocked by the mention of so painful a subject. Here, for instance, is a sample of the kind of region in which the slum sisters spend themselves. In an apparently respectable street near Oxford Street, the officers were visiting one day when they saw a very dark staircase leading into a cellar, and thinking it possible that someone might be there, they attempted to go down, and yet the staircase was so dark they thought it impossible for anyone to be there. However, they tried again and groped their way along in the dark for some time until at last they found the door and entered the room. At first they could not discern anything because of the darkness, but after they got used to it they saw a filthy room. There was no fire in the grate, but the fireplace was heaped up with ashes, an accumulation of several weeks at least. At one end of the room there was an old sack of rags and bones partly emptied upon the floor, from which there came a most unpleasant odor. At the other end lay an old man very ill. The apology for a bed on which he lay was filthy and had neither sheets nor blankets. His covering consisted of old rags. His poor wife, who attended on him, appeared to be a stranger to soap and water. These slum sisters nursed the old people, and on one occasion undertook to do their washing, and they brought it home to their copper for this purpose. But it was so infested with vermin that they did not know how to wash it. Their landlady, who happened to see them, forbade them ever to bring such stuff there any more. The old man, when well enough, worked at his trade which was tailoring. They had two shillings and six pence per week from the parish. Here is a report from the headquarters of our slumber-gade as to the work which the slum sisters have done. It is almost four years since the slum work started in London. The principal work done by our first officers was that of visiting the sick, cleansing the homes of the slumbers, and of feeding the hungry. The following are a few of the cases of those who have gained temporarily, as well as spiritually, through our work. Mrs. W. of Hagerston Slum, heavy drinker, wrecked home, husband and drunkard, placed dirty and filthy, terribly poor, saved now over two years, home A1, plenty of employment at Cane Chair Bottoming, has been now saved also. Mrs. R. Drury Lane Slum, husband and wife, drunkards, husband, very lazy, only worked when starved into it. We found them both out of work, home furnitureless, in debt. She got saved and our last is prayed for him to get work. He did so and went to it. He fell out again a few weeks after and beat his wife. She sought employment at Charing and Office Cleaning, got it and has been regularly at work since. He too got work. He is now a tea-totaler. The home is very comfortable now and they are putting money in the bank. A.M. in the dials, was a great drunkard, thriftless, did not go to the trouble of seeking work, was in a slum meeting, heard the captain speak on Seek First the Kingdom of God, called out and said, Do you mean that if I ask God for work he will give it me? Of course she said yes. He was converted that night, found work and is now employed in the guest works, Old Kent Road. Jimmy is a soldier in the borough slum, was starving when he got converted through being out of work. Through joining the army he was turned out of his home. He found work and now owns a coffee stall in Billingsgate Market and is doing well. Sergeant Ier of Merilabon Slum, used to drink, lived in a wretched place in the famous Charles Street, had work at two places, at one of which he got five shellinges a week and the other ten shellinges when he got saved. This was starvation wages on which to keep himself, his wife and four children. At the ten shellinges a week work he had to deliver drink for a spirit merchant. Feeling condemned over it he gave it up and was out of work for weeks. The brokers were put in but the Lord rescued him just in time. The five shellinges a week employer took him afterwards at 18 shellinges and he is now earning 22 shellinges and has left the ground floor slum tenement for a better house. H. Nine Elm Slum was saved on Easter Monday, out of work several weeks before. As a laborer seems very earnest in terrible distress. We allow his wife two shellinges six pence a week for cleaning the hall to help them. In addition to that she gets another two shellinges six pence for nursing and on that husband wife and a couple of children pay the rent of two shellinges a week and drag out an existence. I have tried to get work for this man but have failed. T. of Rotherheith Slum was a great drunkard, is a carpenter, saved about nine months ago but having to work in a public house on a Sunday he gave it up. He has not been able to get another job and has nothing but what we have given him for making seats. M.O.Y., now a soldier of the Marilaban Slum Post, was a wild young slumber when we opened in the borough. Could be generally seen in the streets, wretchedly clad, her sleeves turned up, idle, only worked occasionally. Got saved two years ago, had terrible persecution in her home. We got her a situation where she has been for nearly eighteen months and is now a good servant. Lodging House, Frank. At twenty-one came into the possession of seven hundred fifty pounds but through drink and gambling lost it all in six or eight months and for over seven years he has tramped about from Portsmouth through the south of England and south Wales from one lodging house to another, often starving, drinking when he could get any money. Thriftless, idle, no heart for work. We found him in a lodging house six months ago, living with a fallen girl. Got them both saved and married. Five weeks after he got work as a carpenter at thirty shillings a week. He has a home of his own now and promises well to make an officer. The officer who furnishes the above reports goes on to say, I can't call the wretched dwelling home to which drink had brought brother and sister X. From a life of luxury they drifted down by degrees to one room in a slum tenement surrounded by drunkards and the vilest characters. Their lovely half-starved children were compelled to listen to the foulest language and hear fighting and quarreling and alas alas not only to hear it in the adjoining rooms but witness it within their own. For over two years they have been delivered from the power of the cursed drink. The old rookery is gone and now they have a comfortably furnished home. Their children give evidence of being truly converted and have a lively gratitude for their father's salvation. One boy of eight said, last Christmas day I remember when we had only dry bread for Christmas but today we had a goose and two plum footings. Brother X was dismissing disgrace from his situation as commercial traveler before his conversion. Today he is chief man next to his employer in a large business house. He says, I am perfectly satisfied that very few of the lowest strata of society are unwilling to work if they could get it. The wretched hand-to-mouth existence many of them have to live disheartens them and makes life with them either a feast or a famine and drives those who have brains enough to crime. The results of our work in the slums may be put down as, first, a marked improvement in the cleanliness of the homes and children, disappearance of vermin and a considerable lessening of drunkenness. Second, a greater respect for true religion and especially that of the Salvation Army. Third, a much larger amount of work is being done now than before our going there. Fourth, the rescue of many fallen girls. Fifth, the shelter work seems to us a development of the slum work. In connection with our scheme we propose to immediately increase the number of these slum sisters and to add to their usefulness by directly connecting their operations with the colony, enabling them thereby to help the poor people to conditions of life more favorable to health, morals and religion. This would be accomplished by getting some of them employment in the city, which must necessarily result in better homes and surroundings or in the opening up for others of a straight course from the slums to the farm colony. End of Section 24. Recording by Tom Hirsch. Section 25. The Traveling Hospital. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Hirsch. Of course, there is only one real remedy for this state of things and that is to take the people away from the wretched hobbles in which they sicken, suffer and die with less comfort and consideration than the cattle and the stalls and styes of many a country's choir. And this is certainly our ultimate ambition, but for the present distress something might be done on the lines of district nursing, which is only in very imperfect operation. I have been thinking that if a little van drawn by a pony could be fitted up with what is ordinarily required by the sick and dying and trot around amongst these abodes of desolation with a couple of nurses trained for the business, it might be of immense service without being very costly. They could have a few simple instruments so as to draw a tooth or a lancin abscess and what was absolutely requisite for simple surgical operations. A little oil stove for hot water to prepare a poultice or a hot ferment or a soap wash and a number of other necessaries for nursing could be carried with ease. The need for this will only be appreciated by those who know how utterly bereft of all the comforts and conveniences for attending to the smallest matters in sickness which prevails in these abodes of wretchedness. It may be suggested, why don't the people when they are ill go to the hospital to which we simply reply that they won't. They cling to their own bits of rooms and to the companionship of the members of their own families, brutal as they often are, and would rather stay and suffer and die in the midst of all the filth and squalor that surrounds them in their own dens than go to the big house which to them looks very like a prison. The sufferings of the wretched occupants of the slums that we have been describing when sick and unable to help themselves makes the organization of some system of nursing them in their own homes a Christian duty. Here are a handful of cases gleaned almost at random from the reports of our slum sisters which will show the value of the agency above described. Many of those who are sick have often only one room and often several children. The officers come across many cases where with no one to look after them they have to lie for hours without food or nourishment of any kind. Sometimes the neighbors will take them in a cup of tea. It is really a mystery how they live. A poor woman in Drury Lane was paralyzed she had no one to attend to her. She lay on the floor on a stuffed sack and an old piece of cloth to cover her. Although it was winter she very seldom had any fire she had no garments to wear and but very little to eat. Another poor woman who was very ill was allowed a little money by her daughter to pay her rent and get her food but very frequently she had not the strength to light a fire or to get herself food. She was parted from her husband because of his cruelty. Often she lay for hours without a soul to visit or help her. Edgerton McClellan found a man lying on a straw mattress in a very bad condition. The room was filthy. The smell made the officer feel ill. The man had been lying for days without having anything done for him. A cup of water was by his side. The officers vomited from the terrible smells of this place. Frequently sick people are found who need the continual application of hot poultices but who are left with a cold one for hours. In Merlebong the officers visited a poor old woman who was very ill. She lived in an underground back kitchen with hardly a ray of light and never a ray of sunshine. Her bed was made up on some egg boxes. She had no one to look after her except a drunken daughter who very often when drunk used to knock the poor old woman about very badly. The officers frequently found that she had not eaten any food up to twelve o'clock not even a cup of tea to drink. The only furniture in the room was a small table, an old fender and a box. The vermin seemed to be innumerable. A poor woman was taken very ill but having a small family she felt she must get up and wash them. While she was washing the baby she fell down and was unable to move. Fortunately a neighbor came in soon after to ask some question and saw her lying there. She at once ran and fetched another neighbor. Thinking the poor woman was dead they got her into bed and sent for a doctor. He said she was in consumption and required quiet and nourishment. This the poor woman could not get on account of her children. She got up a few hours afterwards. As she was going downstairs she fell down again. The neighbor picked her up and put her back to bed where for a long time she lay thoroughly prostrated. The officers took her case in hand, fed and nursed her, cleaned her room and generally looked after her. In another dark slum the officers found a poor old woman in an underground back kitchen. She was suffering with some complaint. When they knocked at the door she was terrified for fear it was the landlord. The room was in a most filthy condition never having been cleaned. She had a penny paraffin lamp which filled the room with smoke. The old woman was at times totally unable to do anything for herself. The officers looked after her. Regeneration of our criminals, the prison gate brigade. Our prisons ought to be reforming institutions which should turn men out better than when they entered their doors. As a matter of fact they are often quite the reverse. There are few persons in this world more to be pitied than the poor fellow who has served his first term of imprisonment or finds himself outside the jail doors without a character and often without a friend in the world. Here again the process of centralization gone on a pace of late years however desirable it may be in the interests of administration tells with disastrous effects on the poor riches who are its victims. In the old times when a man was sent to prison the jail stood within a stone's throw of his home. When he came out he was at any rate close to his old friends and relations who would take him in and give him a helping hand to start once more a new life. But what has happened owing to the desire of the government to do away with as many local jails as possible the prisoners when convicted are sent long distances by rail to the central prisons and on coming out find themselves cursed with the brand of the jailbird. So far from home character gone and no one to fall back upon for counsel or to give them a helping hand. No wonder it is reported that vagrancy has much increased in some large towns on account of discharged prisoners taking to begging having no other resource. In the competition for work no employer is likely to take a man who is fresh from jail nor are mistresses likely to engage a servant whose last character was her discharge from one of her majesty's prisons. It is incredible how much mischief is often done by well-meaning persons who in struggling towards the attainment of an excellent end such for instance as that of economy and efficiency in prison administration forget entirely the bearing which their reforms may have upon the prisoners themselves. The Salvation Army has at least one great qualification for dealing with this question I believe. I am in the proud position of being at the head of the only religious body which has always some of its members in jail for conscience sake. We are also one of the few religious bodies which can boast that many of those who are in our ranks have gone through terms of penal servitude. We therefore know the prison at both ends. Some men go to jail because they are better than their neighbors. Most men because they are worse. Martyrs, patriots, reformers of all kinds belong to the first category. No great cause has ever achieved a triumph before it has furnished a certain quota to the prison population. The repeal of an unjust law is seldom carried until a certain number of those who are laboring for the reform have experienced in their own persons the hardships of fine and imprisonment. Christianity itself would never have triumphed over the paganism of ancient Rome had the early Christians not been enabled to testify from the dungeon and the arena as to the sincerity and serenity of soul with which they could confront their persecutors and from that time down to the successful struggles of our people for the right of public meeting at white church and elsewhere the Christian religion and the liberties of men have never failed to demand their quota of martyrs for the faith. When a man has been to prison in the best of causes he learns to look at the question of prison discipline with a much more sympathetic eye for those who are sent there even for the worst offenses than judges and legislators who only look at the prison from the outside. A fellow feeling makes one wondrous kind and it is an immense advantage to us in dealing with the criminal classes that many of our best officers have themselves been in a prison cell. Our people, thank God, have never learnt to regard a prisoner as a mere convict. A-234 He is ever a human being to them who is to be cared for and looked after as a mother looks after her ailing child and present there seems to be but little likelihood of any real reform in the interior of our prisons. We have therefore to wait until the men come outside in order to see what can be done Our work begins when that of the prison authorities ceases. We have already had a good deal of experience in this work both here and in Bombay, in Ceylon, in South Africa, in Australia and elsewhere and as the net result of our experience we proceed now to set forth the measures we intend to adopt some of which are already in successful operation. One, we propose the opening of homes for this class as near as possible to the different jails. One for men has just been taken at King's Cross and will be occupied as soon as it can be got ready. One for women must follow immediately. Others will be required in different parts of the metropolis and contiguous to each of its great prisons. Connected with these homes will be workshops in which the inmates will be regularly employed until such time as we can get them work elsewhere, for this class must also work not only as a discipline but as the means for their own support. Two, in order to save as far as possible first offenders from the contamination of prison life and to prevent the formation of further evil companionships and the recklessness which follows the loss of character entailed by imprisonment we would offer in the police and criminal courts to take such offenders under our wing as we're anxious to come and willing to accept our regulations. The confidence of both magistrates and prisoners would, we think, soon be secured. The friends of the latter would be mostly on our side and the probability, therefore, is that we should soon have a large number of cases placed under our care on what is known as suspended sentence to be brought up for judgment when called upon the record of each sentence to be wiped out on report being favorable of their conduct in the Salvation Army home. Three, we should seek access to the prisons in order to gain such acquaintance with the prisoners as would enable us the more effectually to benefit them on their discharge. This privilege, we think, would be accorded us by the prison authorities when they became acquainted with the nature of our work and the remarkable results which followed it. The right of entry into the jails has already been conceded to our people in Australia where they have free access to and communion with the inmates and are going their sentences. Prisoners are recommended to come to us by the jail authorities who also forward to our people information of the date and hour when they leave in order that they may be met on their release. Four, we propose to meet the criminals at the prison gates with the offer of immediate admission to our homes. The general rule is for them to be met by their friends or old associates who ordinarily belong to the same class. Anyway, it would be an exception to the rule where they not all alike believers in the comforting and cheering power of the intoxicating cup. Hence, the public house is invariably adjourned to where plans for further crime are often decided upon straight away resulting frequently before many weeks are passed in the return of the liberated convict to the confinement from which he has just escaped. Having been accustomed during confinement to the implicit submission of themselves to the will of another, the newly discharged prisoner is easily influenced by whoever first gets hold of him. Now we propose to be beforehand with these old companions by taking the jailbird under our wing and setting before him an open door of hope the moment he crosses the threshold of the prison assuring him that if he is willing to work and comply with our discipline he never need no want any more. Five, we shall seek from the authorities the privilege of supervising and reporting upon those who are discharged with tickets of leave so as to free them from the humiliating and harassing duty of having to report themselves at the police stations. Six, we shall find suitable employment for each individual if not in possession of some useful trade or calling we will teach him one. Seven, after a certain length of residence in these homes if consistent evidence is given of a sincere purpose to live an honest life he will be transferred to the farm colony unless in the meanwhile friends or old employers take him off our hands or some other form of occupation is obtained in which case he will still be the object of watchful care. We shall offer to all the ultimate possibility of being restored to society in this country or transferred to commence life afresh in another. With respect to results we can speak very positively for although our operations up to the present except for a short time some three years ago have been limited and unassisted by the important accessories above described yet the success that has attended them has been most remarkable the following are a few instances which might be multiplied J.W. was met at prison gate by the captain of the home and offered help he declined to come at once as he had friends in Scotland who he thought would help him but if they failed he promised to come it was his first conviction and he had six months for robbing his employer his trade was that of a baker in a few days he presented himself at the home and was received in the course of a few weeks he professed conversion and gave every evidence of the change for four months he was cook and baker in the kitchen and at last a situation as second hand was offered for him with the story ends there J.S. Sergeant Major of the Congress Hall Corps that is three years ago he is there today saved and satisfactory a thoroughly useful and respectable man J.P. was an old defender he was met at mill bank on the expiration of his last term five years and brought to the home where he worked at his trade a tailor eventually he got a situation in his since married he has now a good home the confidence of his neighbors is well saved and a soldier of the Hecney Corps C.M. old defender and penal servitude case was induced to come to the home got saved was there for a long period offered for the work and went into the field was lieutenant for two years and eventually married he is now a respectable mechanic and soldier of the Corps in Derbyshire J.W. was manager in a large west end millenary establishment he was sent out with two ten pound packages of silver to change on his way he met a companion and was induced to take a drink in the tavern the companion made an excuse to go outside and did not return and W. found one of the packages had been abstracted from his outside pocket he was afraid to return and he camped with the other into the country whilst in a small town he strolled into a mission hall there happened to be a hitch in the proceedings the organist was absent a volunteer was called for and W. being a good musician offered to play it seems the music took hold of him in the middle of the him he walked out and went to the police station and gave himself up he got six months when he came out he saw that Happy George and ex-jailbird was announced at the Congress Hall he went to the meeting and was induced to come to the home he eventually got saved and today he is at the head of a mission work in the provinces Old Dam was a penal servitude case and had had several long sentences he came into the home and was saved he managed the boot-making there for a long time he has since gone into business at Hackney and is married he is a four-year standing a thorough respectable tradesman and a salvationist Charles C. has done in the aggregate 23 years penal servitude was out on license and got saved at the Hall Barracks at that time he had neglected to report himself and had destroyed his license taking an assumed name when he got saved he gave himself up and was taken before the magistrate who instead of sending him back to fulfill his sentence gave him up to the Army he was sent to us from Hall by our representative and is now in our factory and doing well he is still under police supervision for five years H. Kelso also a licensed man he had neglected to report himself and was arrested while before the magistrate he said he was tired of dishonesty and would go to the Salvation Army if they would discharge him he was sent back to penal servitude application was made by us to the home secretary on his behalf and Mr. Matthews granted his release he was handed over to our officers at Bristol brought to London and is now in the factory saved and doing well E. W. belongs to Birmingham is in his 49th year and has been in and out of prison all his life he was at Redhill Reformatory five years and his last term was five years penal servitude the chaplain at Pentonville advised him if he really meant reformation to seek the Salvation Army on his release he came to Thames Street was sent to the workshop and professed Salvation the following Sunday at the shelter this is three months ago he is quite satisfactory, industrious, contented and seemingly godly A. B. gentlemen loafer, good prospects, drink and idleness broke up his home killed his wife and got him into jail Presbyterian minister, friend of his family tried to reclaim him but unsuccessfully he entered the prison gate home became thoroughly saved distributed hand-bills for the home and ultimately got work in a large printing and publishing works after three years service he now occupies a most responsible position is an elder in the Presbyterian church restored to his family and the possessor of a happy home W. C. a native of London a good-for-nothing lad idle and disillute when leaving England his father warned him that if he didn't alter he'd end his days on the gallows served various sentences on all sorts of charges over six years ago we took him in hand admitted him into prison gate-for-gate home where he became truly saved he got a job of painting which he had learned in jail and has married a woman who had formerly been a procurus but had passed through our rescued sinner's home and there became thoroughly converted together they have braved the storms of life both working diligently for their living they have now a happy little home of their own and are doing very well F. X. the son of a government officer a drunkard, gambler, forger and all-around blackard served numerous sentences for forgery on his last discharge was admitted into prison gate-for-gate home where he stayed about five months and became truly saved although his health was completely shattered from the effects of his sinful life he steadfastly resisted all temptations to drink and kept true to God through advertising in the war cry he found his lost son and daughter who are delighted with the wonderful change in their father they have become regular attendants at our meetings in the temperance hall he now keeps a coffee stall, is doing well and properly saved G. A. 72 spent twenty-three years in jail last sentence two years for burglary was a drunkard, gambler and swearer met on his discharge by the prison gate-for-gate admitted into home where he remained four months and became truly saved he is living a consistent godly life and is in employment C. D. aged 64 opium smoker, gambler, blackard separated from wife and family and eventually landed in jail was met on his discharge and admitted into prison gate-for-gate home was saved and is now restored to his wife and family for his affection and his employment S. T. was an idle, loafing, thieving, swearing, disreputable young man who lived when out of jail with the low prostitutes of Little Bork Street was taken in hand by our prison gate-for-gate officers who got him saved then found him work after a few months he expressed a desire to work for God and although a cripple and having to use a crutch such was his earnestness that he was accepted and has done good service as an army officer his testimony is good and his life consistent he is indeed a marvel of divine grace M. J., a young man holding a high position in England got into a fast set thought a change to the colonies would be to his advantage started for Australia with 200 pounds odd of which he spent a good portion on board ship in drink soon dissipated the balance on landing and woke up one morning to find himself in jail with delirium tremens on him no money, his luggage lost and without a friend on the whole continent on his discharge he entered our prison gate-home became converted and is now occupying a responsible position in a colonial bank B. C., a man of good birth, education and position drank himself out of home and friends and into jail on leaving which he came to our home was saved exhibiting by an earnest and truly consistent life the depth of his conversion being made instrumental while with us in the salvation of many drink himself had come to utter destitution and crime through drink he is now in a first-class situation getting 300 pounds a year wife and family restored the possessor of a happy home and the love of God shed abroad in it I do not produce these samples which are but a few taken at random from the many for the purpose of boasting the power which has wrought these miracles not in me nor in my officers it is power which comes down from above but I think I may fairly point to these cases in which our instrumentality has been blessed to the plucking of these brands from the burning as affording some justification for the plea to be enabled to go on with this work on a much more extended scale if any other organization religious or secular can show similar trophies as the result of such limited operations as ours have hitherto been among the criminal population I am willing to give place to them all that I want is to have the work done end of section 25 recording by Tom Hirsch section 26 effectual deliverance for the drunkard this labor box recording is in the public domain recording by Tom Hirsch the number, misery, and hopeless condition of the slaves of strong drink of both sexes have been already dealt with at considerable length we have seen that there are in Great Britain one million of men and women or thereabouts completely under the domination of this cruel appetite the utter helplessness of society to deal with the drunkard has been proved again and again and confessed on all hands by those who have had experience on the subject as we have before said the general feeling of all those who have tried their hands at this kind of business is one of despair they think the present race of drunkards must be left to perish that every species of effort having proved vain the energies expended in the endeavor to rescue the parents will be laid out to greater advantages upon the children there is a great deal of truth in all this our own efforts have been successful in a very remarkable degree some of the bravest, most devoted and successful workers in our ranks are men and women who were once the most abject slaves of the intoxicating cup instances of this have been given already we might multiply them by thousands still when compared with the ghastly array which the drunken army presents today those rescued are comparatively few the great reason for this is the simple fact that the vast majority of those addicted to the cup are its veritable slaves no amount of reasoning or earthly or religious considerations can have any effect upon a man who is so completely under the mastery of this passion that he cannot break away from it although he sees the most terrible consequences staring him in the face the drunkard promises and vows but promises and vows in vain occasionally he will put forth frantic efforts to deliver himself but only to fall again in the presence of the opportunity the insatiable crave controls him he cannot get away from it it compels him to drink whether he will or not and unless delivered by an almighty hand he will drink himself into the drunkard's grave and a drunkard's hell our annals team with successful records affected from the ranks of the drunken army the following will not only be examples of this but will tend to illustrate the strength and madness of the passion which masters the slave to strong drink Barbara she had sunk about as low as any woman could when we found her from the age of 18 when her parents had forced her to throw over her sailor sweetheart and marry a man with good prospects she had been going steadily down she did not love her husband and soon sought comfort from the little public house only a few steps from her own door quarrels in her home quickly gave place to fighting angry curses and oaths and soon her life became one of the most wretched in the place her husband made no pretense of caring for her and when she was ill and unable to earn money by selling fish in the streets he would go off for her few months leaving her to keep the house and support herself and babies as best she could out of her twenty years of married life ten were spent in these on and off separations and so she got to live for only one thing drink it was life to her and the mad craving grew to be irresistible the woman who looked after her at the birth of her child refused to fetch her whiskey so when she had done all she could and then left the mother to rest Barbara crapped out of bed and crawled slowly down the stairs over the way to the tap room where she sat drinking with the baby not yet an hour old in her arms so things went on until her life got so unbearable that she determined to have done with it taking her two eldest children with her she went down to the bay and deliberately threw them both into the water jumping in herself after them a mother mother dinna dun me well her little three-year-old Sarah but she was determined and held them under the water till seeing a boat put out to the rescue she knew that she was discovered too late to do it now she thought and holding both children swam quickly back to the shore a made-up story about having fallen into the water satisfied the boatman and Barbara returned home dripping and baffled but little Sarah did not recover from the shock and after a few weeks her short life ended and she was laid in the cemetery yet another time goaded to desperation she tried to take her life by hanging herself but a neighbor came in and cut her down unconscious but still living she became a terror to all the neighborhood and her name was the byword for daring and desperate actions but our open-air meetings attracted her she came to the barracks, got saved and was delivered from her love of drink and sin from being a dread her home became a sort of house of refuge in the little low street where she lived other wives as unhappy as herself would come in for advice and help anyone knew that Barbie was changed and loved to do all she could for her neighbors a few months ago she came up to the captains in great distress over a woman who lived just opposite she had been cruelly kicked and cursed by her husband who had finally bolted the door against her and she had turned to Barbie as the only hope and of course Barbie took her in with her rough and ready kindness got her to bed kept out the other women who crowded round to sympathize and declaim against the husband's brutality was both nurse and doctor for the poor woman till her child was born and laid in the mother's arms and then to Barbie's distress she could do no more for the woman not daring to be absent longer got up as best she could and crawled on hands and knees down the little steep steps across the street and back to her own door but Barbie exclaimed the captain horrified you should have nursed her and kept her until she was strong enough but Barbie answered by reminding the captain of John's fearful temper and how it might cost the woman her life to be absent from her home more than a couple of hours the second is the case of Maggie she had a home but seldom was sober enough to reach it at nights she would fall down on the doorsteps until found by some passer by or a policeman in one of her mad freaks her own companion happened to offend her he was a little hunchback and a fellow drunkard but without a moment's hesitation Maggie seized him and pushed him head foremost down the old fashioned wide sewer of the Scotch town had not someone seen his heels kicking out and rescued him he would surely have been suffocated one winter's night Maggie had been drinking heavily and fighting too as usual and she staggered only as far on her way home as the narrow chain pier here she stumbled and fell and lay along on the snow the blood oozing from her cuts and her hair spread out in a tangled mass at five in the morning some factory girls crossing the bridge to their work came upon her lying stiff and stark amidst the snow and darkness to rouse her from her drunken sleep was hard but to raise her from the ground was still harder the matted hair and blood had frozen fast to the earth and Maggie was a prisoner after trying to free her in different ways and receiving as a reward volleys of abuse and bad language one of the girls ran for a kettle of boiling water and by pouring it all around her they succeeded by degrees in melting her onto her feet again but she came to our barracks and got soundly converted and the captain was rewarded for nights and days of toil by seeing her a saved and sober woman all went right till a friend asked her to his house to drink his health and that of his newly married wife I wouldn't ask you to take anything strong he said drink to me with this lemonade and Maggie not suspecting drank and as she drank tasted in the glass her old enemy whiskey the man laughed at her dismay but a friend rushed off to tell the captain I may be in time she has not really gone back and the captain ran to the house on its strings as she ran it's no good keep away I don't want to see your captain well Maggie let me have some more oh I'm on fire inside but the captain was firm and taking her to her home she locked herself in with the woman and sat with the key in her pocket while Maggie half mad with craving paced the floor like a caged animal threatening and intriguing by terms never while I live was all the answer she could get so she turned to the door and busied herself there a moment or two a clinking noise the captain started up to see the door open and Maggie rushed through it accustomed to stealing and all its dodges she had taken the lock off the door and was away to the nearest public house down the stairs captain after her into the gin palace but before the astonished publican could give her the drink she was clamoring for the bonnet was by her side if you dare to serve her I'll break the glass before it reaches her lips she shall not have any and so Maggie was coaxed away and shielded till the passion was over and she was herself again but the man who gave her the whiskey durst not leave his house for weeks the ruffs got to know of the trap he had laid for her and would have lynched him could they have got hold of him the third is the case of Rose Rose was ruined, deserted and left to the streets when only a girl of thirteen by a once well-to-do man who is now we believe closing his days in a workhouse in the north of England fatherless, motherless and you might almost say friendless Rose trod the broad way to destruction with all its misery and shame for twelve long years her wild, passionate nature writhing under the rung suffered sought forgetfulness in the intoxicating cup and she soon became a notorious drunkard seventy-four times during her career she was dragged before the magistrates and seventy-four times with one exception she was punished but the seventy-fourth time she was as far off reformation as ever the one exception happened on the Queen's Jubilee Day on seeing her well-known face again before him the magistrate inquired how many times has this woman been here before the police superintendent answered fifty times the magistrate remarked in somewhat grim humor then this is her jubilee and moved by the coincidence he let her go free so Rose spent her jubilee out of prison it is a wonder that the dreadful, drunken, reckless dissipated life she lived did not hurry her to an early grave it did affect her reason and for three weeks she was locked up in Lancaster Lunatic Asylum having really gone mad through drink and sin in evidence of her reckless nature it is said that after her second imprisonment she vowed she would never again walk to the police station consequently when in her wild orgies the police found it necessary to arrest her they had to get her to the police station as best they could sometimes by requisitioning a wheelbarrow or a cart or the use of a stretcher and sometimes they had to carry her right out on one occasion towards the close of her career when driven to the last named method four policemen were carrying her to the station and she was extra violent screaming, plunging and biting when either by accident or design one of the policemen let go of her head and it came in contact with the curb stone causing the blood to pour forth in a stream as soon as they placed her in the cell the poor creature caught the blood in her hands and literally washed her face with it on the following morning she presented a pitiable sight and before taking her into the court the police wanted to wash her but she declared she would draw any man's blood who attempted to put a finger upon her they had spilled her blood and she would carry it into the court as a witness against them on coming out of jail for the last time she met with a few salvationists beating the drum and singing oh the lamb, the bleeding lamb, he was found worthy Rose, struck with the song and impressed with the very faces of the people followed them, saying to herself I never before heard anything like that or seen such happy looking people she came into the barracks her heart was broken she found her way to the penitent form and Christ with his own precious blood washed her sins away she arose from her knees and said to the captain it is all right now three months after her conversion a great meeting was held in the largest hall in the town where she was known to almost every inhabitant there were about three thousand people present Rose was called upon to give her testimony to the power of God to save a more enthusiastic wave of sympathy never greeted any speaker than that which met her from that crowd every one of whom was familiar with her past history after a few broken words in which she spoke of the wonderful change that had taken place a cousin who, like herself, had lived a notoriously evil life came to the cross Rose is now a war cry sergeant she goes into the brothels and gin palaces and other haunts of vice from which she was rescued and sells more papers than any other soldier the superintendent of police, soon after her conversion told the captain at the core that in rescuing Rose a more wonderful work had been done than he had seen in all the years gone by S. was a native of Lancashire the son of poor but pious parents he was saved when sixteen years of age he was first an evangelist then a city missionary for five or six years and afterwards a Baptist minister he then fell under the influence of drink resigned and became a commercial traveler but lost his birth through drink he was then an insurance agent and rose to be superintendent but was again dismissed through drink during his drunken career he had delirium tremens four times attempted suicide three times sold up six homes was in the workhouse with his wife and family three times his last contrivance for getting drink was to preach mock sermons and offer mock prayers in the tap rooms after one of these blessed bonus performances in a public house on the words are you saved he was challenged to go to the salvation barracks he went and the captain who knew him well at once made for him to plead for his soul but S. knocked him down and rushed back to the public house for more drink he was however so moved by what he had heard that he was unable to raise the liquor to his mouth although he made three attempts he again returned to the meeting and again quitted it for the public house he could not rest and for the third time he returned to the barracks as he entered the last time the soldiers were singing depth of mercy can there be mercy still reserved for me can my God his wrath forbear me the chief of sinners spare this song impressed him still further he wept and remained in the barracks under deep conviction until midnight he was drunk all the next day vainly trying to drone his convictions the captain visited him at night but was quickly thrust out of the house he was there again next morning and prayed and talked with S. for nearly two hours poor S. was in despair he persisted that there was no mercy for him after a long struggle however hope sprang up he fell upon his knees confessed his sins and obtained forgiveness when this happened his furniture consisted of a soapbox for a table and starch boxes for chairs his wife himself and three children had not slept in the bed for three years he has now a happy family a comfortable home and has been the means of leading numbers of other slaves of sin to the saviour and to a truly happy life similar cases describing the deliverance of drunkards from the bondage of strong drink could be produced indefinitely there are officers marching in our ranks today who were once gripped by this fiendish fascination who have had their fetters broken and are now free men in the army still the mighty torrent of alcohol fed by ten thousand manufactures sweeps on bearing with it I have no hesitation in saying the foulest, bloodiest tide that ever flowed from earth to eternity the church of the living god ought not and to say nothing about religion the people who have any humanity ought not to rest without doing something desperate to rescue this half of a million who are in the eddying maelstrom we purpose therefore the taking away of the people from the temptation which they cannot resist we would to God that the temptation could be taken away from them that every house licensed to send forth the black streams of bitter death were closed and closed forever but this will not be we fear for the present at least while in one case drunkenness may be resolved into a habit in another it must be accounted a disease what is wanted in the one case therefore is some method of removing the man out of the sphere of the temptation and in the other for treating the passion as a disease as we should any other physical affection bringing to bear upon it every agency hygienic and otherwise calculated to affect the cure the del rental homes in which on the order of a magistrate and by their own consent inebriates can be confined for a time have been a partial success in dealing with this class in both respects but they are admittedly too expensive to be of any service to the poor it could never be hoped that working people of themselves or with the assistance of their friends would be able to pay two pounds a week for the privilege of being removed away from the licensed temptations to drink which surround them at every step moreover could they obtain admission they would feel themselves anything but at ease amongst the class who availed themselves of these institutions we propose to establish homes which will contemplate the deliverance not of ones and twos but of multitudes and which will be accessible to the poor or to persons of any class choosing to use them this is our national vice and it demands nothing short of a national remedy anyway one of proportions large enough to be counted national to begin with there will be city homes into which a man can be taken watched over kept out of the way of temptation and if possible delivered from the power of this dreadful habit in some cases persons would be taken in who are engaged in business in the city in the day being accompanied by an attendant to and from the home in this case of course adequate remuneration for this extra care would be required country homes which we shall conduct on the deliverable principle that is taking persons for compulsory confinement they binding themselves by a bond confirmed by a magistrate they would remain for a certain period the general regulations for both establishments would be something as follows one there would be only one class in each establishment if it was found that the rich and the poor did not work comfortably together separate institutions must be provided two all would alike have to engage in some remunerative form of employment outdoor work would be preferred but indoor employment would be arranged for those whom it was most suitable and in such weather and at such times of the year when garden work was impracticable three a charge of ten shillings per week would be made this could be remitted when there was no ability to pay it the usefulness of such homes is too evident to need any discussion there is one class of unfortunate creatures who must be objects of pity to all who have any knowledge of their existence and that is those men and women who are being continually dragged before the magistrates of whom we are constantly reading in the police reports whose lives are spent in and out of prison at an enormous cost to the country and without any benefits to themselves we should then be able to deal with this class it would be possible for a magistrate instead of sentencing the poor wrecks of humanity to the 64th and 120th term of imprisonment to send them to this institution by simply remanding them to come up for sentence when called for how much cheaper such an arrangement would be for the country end of section 26 recording by Tom Hirsch section 27 a new way of escape for lost women the rescue homes this LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Tom Hirsch perhaps there is no evil more destructive of the best interests of society or confessedly more difficult to deal with immediately than that which is known as the social evil we have already seen something of the extent to which this terrible scourge has grown and the alarming manner in which it affects our modern civilization we have already made an attempt at grappling with this evil having about 13 homes in Great Britain accommodating 307 girls under the charge of 132 officers together with 17 homes abroad open for the same purpose the whole although a small affair compared with the vastness of the necessity nevertheless constitutes perhaps the largest and most efficient effort of its character in the world it is difficult to estimate the results that have been already realized by our varied operations apart from these homes probably hundreds if not thousands have been delivered from lives of shame and misery we have no exact return of the number who have gone through the homes abroad but in connection with the work in this country about 3000 have been rescued in our living lives of virtue the success has not only been gratifying on account of the blessing it has brought these young women the gladness it has introduced to the homes to which they have been restored and the benefit it has bestowed upon society but because it has assured us that much greater results of the same character have been realized by operations conducted on a larger scale and under more favorable circumstances with this view we propose to remodel and greatly increase the number of our homes both in London and the provinces establishing one in every great center of this infamous traffic to make them very largely receiving houses where the girls will be initiated into the system of reformation tested as to the reality of their desires for deliverance and started forward on the highway of truth, virtue and religion from these homes large numbers as at present would be restored to their friends and relatives while some would be detained in training for domestic service and others passed on to the farm colony on the farm they would be engaged in various occupations in the factory at book binding and weaving in the garden and glass houses amongst fruit and flowers in the dairy making butter in all cases going through a course of housework which will fit them for domestic service at every stage the same process of moral and religious training on which we specially rely will be carried forward there would probably be a considerable amount of intermarriage amongst the columnists and in this way a number of these girls would be absorbed into society a large number would be sent abroad as domestic servants in Canada the girls are taken out of the rescue homes as servants with no other reference than is gained by a few weeks residence there and are paid as much as three pounds a month wages the scarcity of domestic servants in the Australian colonies western states of America, Africa and elsewhere is well known and we have no doubt that on all hands our girls with 12 months character will be welcomed the question of outfit and passage money being easily arranged for by the persons requiring their services advancing the amount with an understanding that it is to be deducted out of their first earnings then we have the colony overseas which will require the service of a large number very few families will go out who will not be very glad to take a young woman with them not as a menial servant but as a companion and friend by this method we should be able to carry out rescue work on a much larger scale at present two difficulties very largely block our way one is the costliness of the work the expense of rescuing a girl on the present plan cannot be much less than seven pounds that is if we include the cost of those with whom we fail and on whom the money is largely thrown away seven pounds is certainly not a very large sum for the measure of benefit bestowed upon the girl by bringing her off the streets and that which is bestowed on society by removing her from her evil course still when the work runs into thousands of individuals the amount required becomes considerable on the plan proposed we calculate that from the date of their reaching the farm colony they will earn nearly all that is required for their support the next difficulty which hinders our expansion in this department is the one of suitable and permanent situations although we have been marvelously successful so far having at this hour probably twelve hundred girls in domestic service alone still the difficulty in this respect is great families are naturally shy at receiving these poor unfortunates when they can secure the help they need combined with unblemished character and we cannot blame them then again it can easily be understood that the monotony of domestic service in this country is not altogether congenial to the tastes of many of these girls who have been accustomed to a life of excitement and freedom this can be easily understood to be shut up seven days a week with little or no intercourse either with friends or with the outside world beyond that which comes of the weekly church service or night out with nowhere to go as many of them are tied off from the Salvation Army meetings becomes very monotonous and in hours of depression it is not to be wondered at if a few break down in their resolutions and fall back into their old ways on the plan we propose there is something to cheer these girls forward life on the farm will be attractive from there they can go to a new country and begin the world afresh with the possibility of being married and having a little home of their own some day with such prospects we think they will be much more likely to fight their way through seasons of darkness and temptation than as at present the plan will also make the task of rescuing the girls much more agreeable to the officers engaged in it they will have this future to dwell upon as an encouragement to persevere with the girls and will be spared one element at least in the regret they experience when a girl falls back into old habits namely that she earned the principal part of the money that has been expended upon her that girls can be rescued and blessedly saved even now despite all their surroundings we have many remarkable proofs of these take one or two as examples JW was brought by our officers from a neighborhood which has by reason of the atrocities perpetrated in it obtained an unenviable renown even among similar districts of equally bad character she was only nineteen a country girl she had begun the struggle for life early as a worker in a large laundry and at thirteen years of age was led away by an inhuman brute the first false step taken her course on the downward road was rapid and growing restless and anxious for more scope than that afforded in a country town she came up to London for some time she lived the life of extravagance and show known to many of this class for a short time having plenty of money fine clothes and luxurious surroundings until the terrible disease seized her poor body and she soon found herself deserted homeless and friendless an outcast of society when we found her she was hard and impenitent difficult to reach even with the hand of love but love won and since that time she has been in two or three situations a consistent soldier of an army corps and a champion war cry seller a ticket of leave woman A.B. was the child of respectable working people Roman Catholics but was early left an orphan she fell in with bad companions and became addicted to drink going from bad to worse until drunkenness robbery and harritry brought her to the lowest depths she passed seven years in prison and after the last offense was discharged with seven years police supervision failing to report herself she was brought before the bench the magistrate inquired whether she had ever had a chance in a home of any kind she is too old no one will take her was the reply but a detective present knowing a little about the Salvation Army stepped forward and explained to the magistrate that he did not think the Salvation Army refused any who applied she was formally handed over to us in a deplorable condition her clothing the scantiest and dirtiest for over three years she has given evidence of a genuine reformation during which time she has industriously earned her own living a wild woman in visiting a slum in a town in the north of England our officers entered a hole unfit to be called a human habitation more like the den of some wild animal almost the only furniture of which was a filthy iron bedstead a wooden box to serve for table and chair while an old tin did duty as a dustbin the inhabitant of this wretched den was a poor woman who fled into the darkest corner of the place as our officer entered this poor wretch was the victim of a brutal man who never allowed her to venture outside the door keeping her alive by the scantiest allowance of food her only clothing consisted of a sack tied round her body her feet were bare her hair matted and foul presenting on the hole such an object as one could scarcely imagine living in a civilized country she had left a respectable home forsaken her husband and family and sunk solo that the man who then claimed her boasted to the officer that he had bettered her condition by taking her off the streets we took the poor creature away washed and clothed her and changed in heart and life she is one more added to the number of those who rise up to bless the Salvation Army workers end of section 27 recording by Tom Hirsch