{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_55316/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_55316","id":"gutenberg_55316","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55316","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - British","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Sociology","Poor -- England -- London"],"text":"THE BITTER CRY\n\nOF\n\nOUTCAST LONDON.\n\nAN INQUIRY INTO\n\nTHE CONDITION OF\n\nTHE ABJECT POOR.\n\nLONDON:\n\nJAMES CLARKE & CO.,\n13, FLEET STREET, E.C.\n\n\n* *We desire thankfully to acknowledge the assistance kindly\nafforded us in the pursuit of our investigations by the Secretary and\nAgents of the London City Mission, and also by the Rev. A. G. BROWN of\nthe East London Tabernacle, and his Missionaries.\n\nAll communications should be addressed to Rev. ANDREW MEARNS, London\nCongregational Union, Memorial Hall, Farringdon Street, E.C.\n\n\nTHE BITTER CRY\n\nOF\n\nOUTCAST LONDON.\n\n\nThere is no more hopeful sign in the Christian Church of to-day than the\nincreased attention which is being given by it to the poor and outcast\nclasses of society. Of these it has never been wholly neglectful; if it\nhad it would have ceased to be Christian. But it has, as yet, only\nimperfectly realised and fulfilled its mission to the poor. Until\nrecently it has contented itself with sustaining some outside\norganizations, which have charged themselves with this special function,\nor what is worse, has left the matter to individuals or to little bands\nof Christians having no organization. For the rest it has been satisfied\nwith a superficial and inadequate district visitation, with the more or\nless indiscriminate distribution of material charities, and with opening\na few rooms here and there into which the poorer people have been\ngathered, and by which a few have been rescued. All this is good in its\nway and has done good; but by all only the merest edge of the great dark\nregion of poverty, misery, squalor and immorality has been touched. We\nare not losing sight of the London City Mission, whose agents are\neverywhere, and whose noble work our investigations have led us to value\nmore than ever, but after all has been done the churches are making the\ndiscovery that seething in the very centre of our great cities,\nconcealed by the thinnest crust of civilization and decency, is a vast\nmass of moral corruption, of heart-breaking misery and absolute\ngodlessness, and that scarcely anything has been done to take into this\nawful slough the only influences that can purify or remove it.\n\nWhilst we have been building our churches and solacing ourselves with\nour religion and dreaming that the millennium was coming, the poor have\nbeen growing poorer, the wretched more miserable, and the immoral more\ncorrupt; the gulf has been daily widening which separates the lowest\nclasses of the community from our churches and chapels, and from all\ndecency and civilization. It is easy to bring an array of facts which\nseem to point to the opposite conclusion--to speak of the noble army of\nmen and women who penetrate the vilest haunts, carrying with them the\nblessings of the gospel; of the encouraging reports published by\nMissions, Reformatories, Refuges, Temperance Societies; of Theatre\nServices, Midnight Meetings and Special Missions. But what does it all\namount to? We are simply living in a fool's paradise if we suppose that\nall these agencies combined are doing a thousandth part of what needs to\nbe done, a hundredth part of what _could_ be done by the Church of\nChrist. We must face the facts; and these compel the conviction that\nTHIS TERRIBLE FLOOD OF SIN AND MISERY IS GAINING UPON US. It is rising\nevery day. This statement is made as the result of a long, patient and\nsober inquiry, undertaken for the purpose of discovering the actual\nstate of the case and the remedial action most likely to be effective.\nConvinced that it is high time some combined and organized effort was\nmade by all denominations of Christians, though not for denominational\npurposes, the London Congregational Union have determined to open in\nseveral of the lowest and most needy districts of the metropolis,\nsuitable Mission Halls, as a base of operations for evangelistic work.\nThey have accordingly made this diligent search, and some of the results\nare set forth in the following pages, in the hope that all who have the\npower may be stimulated to help the Union in the great and difficult\nenterprise which they have undertaken.\n\nTwo cautions it is important to bear in mind. First, the information\ngiven _does not refer to selected cases_. It simply reveals a state of\nthings which is found in house after house, court after court, street\nafter street. Secondly, there _has been absolutely no exaggeration_. It\nis a plain recital of plain facts. Indeed, no respectable printer would\nprint, and certainly no decent family would admit even the driest\nstatement of the horrors and infamies discovered in one brief visitation\nfrom house to house. _So far from making the worst of our facts for the\npurpose of appealing to emotion, we have been compelled to tone down\neverything, and wholly to omit what most needs to be known, or the ears\nand eyes of our readers would have been insufferably outraged._ Yet even\nthis qualified narration must be to every Christian heart a loud and\nbitter cry, appealing for the help which it is the supreme mission of\nthe Church to supply. It should be further stated that our\ninvestigations were made in the summer. The condition of the poor during\nthe winter months must be very much worse.\n\n\nNON-ATTENDANCE AT WORSHIP.\n\nIt is perhaps scarcely necessary to say of the hundreds of thousands who\ncompose the class referred to, that very few attend any place of\nworship. It is a very tame thing to say, and a very little thing\ncompared with what must follow, but it is needful to a proper statement\nof our case. Before going to the lower depths, where our investigations\nwere principally carried on, we find in the neighbourhood of Old Ford,\nin 147 consecutive houses, inhabited for the most part by the\nrespectable working class, 212 families, 118 of which never, under any\ncircumstances, attend a place of worship. Out of 2290 persons living in\nconsecutive houses at Bow-Common, only 88 adults and 47 children ever\nattend, and as 64 of these are connected with one Mission Hall, only 24\nout of the entire number worship elsewhere. One street off Leicester\nSquare contains 246 families, and only 12 of these are ever represented\nat the house of God. In another street in Pentonville, out of 100\nfamilies only 12 persons attend any sanctuary, whilst the number of\nattendants in one district of St. George's-in-the-East is 39 persons\nout of 4235. Often the numbers given of those who do attend include such\nas only go once or twice a year, at some charity distribution, so that\nour figures are more favourable than the actual facts. Constantly we\ncome across persons who have never been to church or chapel for 20\nyears, 28 years, more than 30 years; and some persons as old as 64 never\nremember having been in a place of worship at all. Indeed, with the\nexception of a very small proportion, the idea of going has never dawned\nupon these people. And who can wonder? Think of\n\n\nTHE CONDITION IN WHICH THEY LIVE.\n\nWe do not say the condition of their homes, for how can those places be\ncalled homes, compared with which the lair of a wild beast would be a\ncomfortable and healthy spot? Few who will read these pages have any\nconception of what these pestilential human rookeries are, where tens of\nthousands are crowded together amidst horrors which call to mind what we\nhave heard of the middle passage of the slave ship. To get into them you\nhave to penetrate courts reeking with poisonous and malodorous gases\narising from accumulations of sewage and refuse scattered in all\ndirections and often flowing beneath your feet; courts, many of them\nwhich the sun never penetrates, which are never visited by a breath of\nfresh air, and which rarely know the virtues of a drop of cleansing\nwater. You have to ascend rotten staircases, which threaten to give way\nbeneath every step, and which, in some places, have already broken\ndown, leaving gaps that imperil the limbs and lives of the unwary. You\nhave to grope your way along dark and filthy passages swarming with\nvermin. Then, if you are not driven back by the intolerable stench, you\nmay gain admittance to the dens in which these thousands of beings who\nbelong, as much as you, to the race for whom Christ died, herd together.\nHave you pitied the poor creatures who sleep under railway arches, in\ncarts or casks, or under any shelter which they can find in the open\nair? You will see that they are to be envied in comparison with those\nwhose lot it is to seek refuge here. Eight feet square--that is about\nthe average size of very many of these rooms. Walls and ceiling are\nblack with the accretions of filth which have gathered upon them through\nlong years of neglect. It is exuding through cracks in the boards\noverhead; it is running down the walls; it is everywhere. What goes by\nthe name of a window is half of it stuffed with rags or covered by\nboards to keep out wind and rain; the rest is so begrimed and obscured\nthat scarcely can light enter or anything be seen outside. Should you\nhave ascended to the attic, where at least some approach to fresh air\nmight be expected to enter from open or broken window, you look out upon\nthe roofs and ledges of lower tenements, and discover that the sickly\nair which finds its way into the room has to pass over the putrefying\ncarcases of dead cats or birds, or viler abominations still. The\nbuildings are in such miserable repair as to suggest the thought that if\nthe wind could only reach them they would soon be toppling about the\nheads of their occupants. As to furniture--you may perchance discover a\nbroken chair, the tottering relics of an old bedstead, or the mere\nfragment of a table; but more commonly you will find rude substitutes\nfor these things in the shape of rough boards resting upon bricks, an\nold hamper or box turned upside down, or more frequently still, nothing\nbut rubbish and rags.\n\nEvery room in these rotten and reeking tenements houses a family, often\ntwo. In one cellar a sanitary inspector reports finding a father,\nmother, three children and four pigs! In another room a missionary found\na man ill with small pox, his wife just recovering from her eighth\nconfinement, and the children running about half naked and covered with\ndirt. Here are seven people living in one underground kitchen, and a\nlittle dead child lying in the same room. Elsewhere is a poor widow, her\nthree children, and a child who had been dead thirteen days. Her\nhusband, who was a cabman, had shortly before committed suicide. Here\nlives a widow and her six children, including one daughter of 29,\nanother of 21, and a son of 27. Another apartment contains father,\nmother and six children, two of whom are ill with scarlet fever. In\nanother nine brothers and sisters, from 29 years of age downwards, live,\neat and sleep together. Here is a mother who turns her children into the\nstreet in the early evening because she lets her room for immoral\npurposes until long after midnight, when the poor little wretches creep\nback again if they have not found some miserable shelter elsewhere.\nWhere there are beds they are simply heaps of dirty rags, shavings or\nstraw, but for the most part these miserable beings huddle together upon\nthe filthy boards. The tenant of this room is a widow, who herself\noccupies the only bed, and lets the floor to a married couple for 2s.\n6d. per week. In many cases matters are made worse by the unhealthy\noccupations followed by those who dwell in these habitations. Here you\nare choked as you enter by the air laden with particles of the\nsuperfluous fur pulled from the skins of rabbits, rats, dogs and other\nanimals in their preparation for the furrier. Here the smell of paste\nand of drying match-boxes, mingling with other sickly odours, overpowers\nyou; or it may be the fragrance of stale fish or vegetables, not sold on\nthe previous day, and kept in the room overnight. Even when it is\npossible to do so the people seldom open their windows, but if they did\nit is questionable whether much would be gained, for the external air is\nscarcely less heavily charged with poison than the atmosphere within.\n\nWretched as these rooms are they are beyond the means of many who wander\nabout all day, picking up a living as they can, and then take refuge at\nnight in one of the common lodging-houses that abound. These are often\nthe resorts of thieves and vagabonds of the lowest types, and some are\nkept by receivers of stolen goods. In the kitchen men and women may be\nseen cooking their food, washing their clothes, or lolling about smoking\nand gambling. In the sleeping room are long rows of beds on each side,\nsometimes 60 or 80 in one room. In many cases both sexes are allowed to\nherd together without any attempt to preserve the commonest decency.\nBut there is a lower depth still. Hundreds cannot even scrape together\nthe two-pence required to secure them the privilege of herding in those\nsweltering common sleeping rooms, and so they huddle together upon the\nstairs and landings, where it is no uncommon thing to find six or eight\nin the early morning.\n\nThat people condemned to exist under such conditions take to drink and\nfall into sin is surely a matter for little surprise. We may rather say,\nas does one recent and reliable explorer, that they are \"entitled to\ncredit for not being twenty times more depraved than they are.\" One of\nthe saddest results of this over-crowding is the inevitable association\nof honest people with criminals. Often is the family of an honest\nworking man compelled to take refuge in a thieves' kitchen; in the\nhouses where they live their rooms are frequently side by side, and\ncontinual contact with the very worst of those who have come out of our\ngaols is a matter of necessity. There can be no question that numbers of\nhabitual criminals would never have become such, had they not by force\nof circumstances been packed together in these slums with those who were\nhardened in crime. Who can wonder that every evil flourishes in such\nhotbeds of vice and disease? Who can wonder that little children taken\nfrom these hovels to the hospital cry, when they are well, through dread\nof being sent back to their former misery? Who can wonder that young\ngirls wander off into a life of immorality, which promises release from\nsuch conditions? Who can wonder that the public-house is \"the Elysian\nfield of the tired toiler?\"\n\n\nIMMORALITY\n\nis but the natural outcome of conditions like these. \"Marriage,\" it has\nbeen said, \"as an institution, is not fashionable in these districts.\"\nAnd this is only the bare truth. Ask if the men and women living\ntogether in these rookeries are married, and your simplicity will cause\na smile. Nobody knows. Nobody cares. Nobody expects that they are. In\nexceptional cases only could your question be answered in the\naffirmative. Incest is common; and no form of vice and sensuality causes\nsurprise or attracts attention. Those who appear to be married are often\nseparated by a mere quarrel, and they do not hesitate to form similar\ncompanionships immediately. One man was pointed out who for some years\nhad lived with a woman, the mother of his three children. She died and\nin less than a week he had taken another woman in her place. A man was\nliving with a woman in the low district called \"The Mint.\" He went out\none morning with another man for the purpose of committing a burglary\nand by that other man was murdered. The murderer returned saying that\nhis companion had been caught and taken away to prison; and the same\nnight he took the place of the murdered man. The only check upon\ncommunism in this regard is jealousy and not virtue. The vilest\npractices are looked upon with the most matter-of-fact indifference.\nThe low parts of London are the sink into which the filthy and\nabominable from all parts of the country seem to flow. Entire courts are\nfilled with thieves, prostitutes and liberated convicts. In one street\nare 35 houses, 32 of which are known to be brothels. In another district\nare 43 of these houses, and 428 fallen women and girls, many of them not\nmore than 12 years of age. A neighbourhood whose population is returned\nat 10,100, contains 400 who follow this immoral traffic, their ages\nvarying from 13 to 50; and of the moral degradation of the people, some\nidea may be formed from an incident which was brought to our notice. An\nEast-end missionary rescued a young girl from an immoral life, and\nobtained for her a situation with people who were going abroad. He saw\nher to Southampton, and on his return was violently abused by the girl's\ngrandmother, who had the sympathy of her neighbours, for having taken\naway from a poor old woman her means of subsistence.\n\nThe misery and sin caused by drink in these districts have often been\ntold, but these horrors can never be set forth either by pen or artist's\npencil. In the district of Euston Road is one public-house to every 100\npeople, counting men, women and children. Immediately around our chapel\nin Orange Street, Leicester Square, are 100 gin-palaces, most of them\nvery large; and these districts are but samples of what exists in all\nthe localities which we have investigated. Look into one of these\nglittering saloons, with its motley, miserable crowd, and you may be\nhorrified as you think of the evil that is nightly wrought there; but\ncontrast it with any of the abodes which you find in the fetid courts\nbehind them, and you will wonder no longer that it is crowded. With its\nbrightness, its excitement and its temporary forgetfulness of misery, it\nis a comparative heaven to tens of thousands. How can they be expected\nto resist its temptations? They could not live if they did not drink,\neven though they know that by drinking they do worse than die. All kinds\nof depravity have here their schools. Children who can scarcely walk are\ntaught to steal, and mercilessly beaten if they come back from their\ndaily expeditions without money or money's worth. Many of them are taken\nby the hand or carried in the arms to the gin-palace, and not seldom may\nyou see mothers urging and compelling their tender infants to drink the\nfiery liquid. Lounging at the doors and lolling out of windows and\nprowling about street corners were pointed out several well-known\nmembers of the notorious band of \"Forty Thieves,\" who, often in\nconspiracy with abandoned women, go out after dark to rob people in\nOxford Street, Regent Street and other thoroughfares. Here you pass a\ncoffee-house, there a wardrobe shop, there a tobacconist's, and there a\ngrocer's, carrying on a legitimate trade no doubt, but a far different\nand more remunerative one as well, especially after evening sets\nin,--all traps to catch the unwary. These particulars indicate but\nfaintly the moral influences from which the dwellers in these squalid\nregions have no escape, and by which is bred \"infancy that knows no\ninnocence, youth without modesty or shame, maturity that is mature in\nnothing but suffering and guilt, blasted old age that is a scandal on\nthe name we bear.\"\n\nAnother difficulty with which we have to contend, and one in large\nmeasure the cause of what we have described, is the\n\n\nPOVERTY\n\nof these miserable outcasts. The poverty, we mean, of those who try to\nlive honestly; for notwithstanding the sickening revelations of\nimmorality which have been disclosed to us, those who endeavour to earn\ntheir bread by honest work far outnumber the dishonest. And it is to\ntheir infinite credit that it should be so, considering that they are\ndaily face to face with the contrast between their wretched earnings and\nthose which are the produce of sin. A child seven years old is known\neasily to make 10s. 6d. a week by thieving, but what can he earn by such\nwork as match-box making, for which 2\u00bcd. a gross is paid, the maker\nhaving to find his own fire for drying the boxes, and his own paste and\nstring? Before he can gain as much as the young thief he must make 56\ngross of match-boxes a week, or 1296 a day. It is needless to say that\nthis is impossible, for even adults can rarely make more than an average\nof half that number. How long then must the little hands toil before\nthey can earn the price of the scantiest meal! Women, for the work of\ntrousers finishing (_i.e._, sewing in linings, making button-holes and\nstitching on the buttons) receive 2\u00bdd. a pair, and have to find their\nown thread. We ask a woman who is making tweed trousers, how much she\ncan earn in a day, and are told one shilling. But what does a day mean\nto this poor soul? _Seventeen hours!_ From five in the morning to ten at\nnight--no pause for meals. She eats her crust and drinks a little tea as\nshe works, making in very truth, with her needle and thread, not her\nliving only, but her shroud. For making men's shirts these women are\npaid 10d. a dozen; lawn tennis aprons, 3d. a dozen; and babies' hoods,\nfrom 1s. 6d. to 2s. 6d. a dozen. In St. George's-in-the-East large\nnumbers of women and children, some of the latter only seven years old,\nare employed in sack-making, for which they get a farthing each. In one\nhouse was found a widow and her half idiot daughter making palliasses at\n1\u00bed. each. Here is a woman who has a sick husband and a little child to\nlook after. She is employed at shirt finishing at 3d. a dozen, and by\nthe utmost effort can only earn 6d. a day, out of which she has to find\nher own thread. Another, with a crippled hand, maintains herself and a\nblind husband by match-box making, for which she is remunerated on the\nliberal scale mentioned above; and out of her 2\u00bcd. a gross she has to\npay a girl a penny a gross to help her. Others obtain at Covent Garden\nin the season 1d. or 2d. a peck for shelling peas, or 6d. a basket for\nwalnuts; and they do well if their labour brings them 10d. or a shilling\na day. With men it is comparatively speaking no better. \"My master,\"\nsays one man visited by a recent writer in the _Fortnightly Review_,\n\"gets a pound for what he gives me 3s. for making.\" And this it is easy\nto believe, when we know that for a pair of fishing boots which will be\nsold at three guineas, the poor workman receives 5s. 3d. if they are\nmade to order, or 4s. 6d. if made for stock. An old tailor and his wife\nare employed in making policemen's overcoats. They have to make, finish,\nhot-press, put on the buttons, and find their own thread, and for all\nthis they receive 2s. 10d. for each coat. This old couple work from\nhalf-past six in the morning until ten at night, and between them can\njust manage to make a coat in two days. Here is a mother who has taken\naway whatever articles of clothing she can strip from her four little\nchildren without leaving them absolutely naked. She has pawned them, not\nfor drink, but for coals and food. A shilling is all she can procure,\nand with this she has bought seven pounds of coals and a loaf of bread.\nWe might fill page after page with these dreary details, but they would\nbecome sadly monotonous, for it is the same everywhere. And then it\nshould not be forgotten how hardly upon poverty like this must press the\nexorbitant demand for rent. Even the rack-renting of Ireland, which so\nstirred our indignation a little while ago, was merciful by comparison.\nIf by any chance a reluctant landlord can be induced to execute or pay\nfor some long-needed repairs, they become the occasion for new\nexactions. Going through these rooms we come to one in which a hole, as\nbig as a man's head, has been roughly covered, and how? A piece of\nboard, from an old soapbox, has been fixed over the opening by one nail,\nand to the tenant has been given a yard and a half of paper with which\nto cover it; and for this expenditure--perhaps 4d. at the\noutside--_threepence a week has been put upon the rent_. If this is\nenough to arouse our indignation, what must be thought of the following?\nThe two old people referred to above have lived in one room for 14\nyears, during which time it has only once been partially cleansed. The\nlandlord has undertaken that it shall be done shortly, and for the past\nthree months has been taking 6d. a week extra for rent for what he is\nthus _going to do_. This is what the helpless have to submit to; they\nare charged for these pestilential dens a rent which consumes half the\nearnings of a family, and leaves them no more than from 4d. to 6d. a day\nfor food, clothing and fire; a grinding of the faces of the poor which\ncould scarcely be paralleled in lands of slavery and of notorious\noppression. This, however, is not all; for even these depths of poverty\nand degradation are reached by the Education Act, and however beneficent\nits purpose, it bears with cruel weight upon the class we have\ndescribed, to whom twopence or a penny a week for the school fees of\neach of three or four children, means so much lack of bread.\n\nAmidst such poverty and squalor it is inevitable that one should be\nconstantly confronted with scenes of\n\n\nHEART-BREAKING MISERY--\n\nmisery so pitiful that men whose daily duty it has been for years to go\nin and out amongst these outcasts, and to be intimately acquainted with\ntheir sufferings, and who might, therefore, be supposed to regard with\ncomparatively little feeling that which would overwhelm an unaccustomed\nspectator, sometimes come away from their visits so oppressed in spirit\nand absorbed in painful thought, that they know not whither they are\ngoing. How these devoted labourers can pursue their work at all is a\nmarvel, especially when it is remembered that the misery they actually\nsee suggests to them the certain existence of so much more which no\nhuman eye discovers. Who can even imagine the suffering which lies\nbehind a case like the following? A poor woman in an advanced stage of\nconsumption, reduced almost to a skeleton, lives in a single room with a\ndrunken husband and five children. When visited she was eating a few\ngreen peas. The children were gone to gather some sticks wherewith a\nfire might be made to boil four potatoes which were lying on the table,\nand which would constitute the family dinner for the day. Or, take\nanother case, related by Rev. Archibald Brown, who, with his\nmissionaries is doing a noble work amongst the poor in the east of\nLondon. People had doubted the accuracy of reports presented by the\nmissionaries, and he accordingly devoted a considerable time to personal\nvisitation and inquiry. He found case after case proving that but little\nof the wretchedness had been told, and here is a _fair specimen_. At the\ntop of an otherwise empty house lived a family; the husband had gone to\ntry and find some work. The mother 29 years of age, was sitting on the\nonly chair in the place in front of a grate, destitute of any fire. She\nwas nursing a baby only six weeks old, that had never had anything but\none old rag round it. The mother had nothing but a gown on, and that\ndropping to pieces; it was all she had night or day. There were six\nchildren under 13 years of age. They were barefooted, and the few rags\non them scarcely covered their nakedness. In this room, where was an\nunclothed infant, the ceiling was in holes. An old bedstead was in the\nplace, and seven sleep in it at night, the eldest girl being on the\nfloor.\n\nThis is bad, but it is not the worst. In a room in Wych Street, on the\nthird floor, over a marine store dealer's, there was, a short time ago,\nan inquest as to the death of a little baby. A man, his wife and three\nchildren were living in that room. The infant was the second child who\nhad died, poisoned by the foul atmosphere; and this dead baby was cut\nopen in the one room where its parents and brothers and sisters lived,\nate and slept, _because the parish had no mortuary and no room in which\npost mortems could be performed_! No wonder that the jurymen who went to\nview the body sickened at the frightful exhalations. This case was given\nby Mr. G. R. Sims, in his papers on \"How the Poor Live;\" but all the\nparticulars are found in the dry newspaper reports of the inquest. In\nanother miserable room are eight destitute children. Their father died a\nshort time ago, and \"on going into the house to-day,\" says the\nmissionary, \"the mother was lying in her coffin.\" Here is a filthy\nattic, containing only a broken chair, a battered saucepan and a few\nrags. On a dirty sack in the centre of the room sits a neglected,\nragged, bare-legged little baby girl of four. Her father is a\nmilitiaman, and is away. Her mother is out all day and comes home late\nat night more or less drunk, and this child is left in charge of the\ninfant that we see crawling about the floor; left for six or eight hours\nat a stretch--hungry, thirsty, tired, but never daring to move from her\npost. And this is the kind of sight which may be seen in a Christian\nland where it is criminal to ill-treat a horse or an ass.\n\nThe child-misery that one beholds is the most heartrending and appalling\nelement in these discoveries; and of this not the least is the misery\ninherited from the vice of drunken and dissolute parents, and manifest\nin the stunted, misshapen, and often loathsome objects that we\nconstantly meet in these localities. From the beginning of their life\nthey are utterly neglected; their bodies and rags are alive with vermin;\nthey are subjected to the most cruel treatment; many of them have never\nseen a green field, and do not know what it is to go beyond the streets\nimmediately around them, and they often pass the whole day without a\nmorsel of food. Here is one of three years old picking up some dirty\npieces of bread and eating them. We go in at the doorway where it is\nstanding and find a little girl twelve years old. \"Where is your\nmother?\" \"In the madhouse.\" \"How long has she been there?\" \"Fifteen\nmonths.\" \"Who looks after you?\" The child, who is sitting at an old\ntable making match-boxes, replies, \"I look after my little brothers and\nsisters as well as I can.\" \"Where is your father? Is he in work?\" \"He\nhas been out of work three weeks, but he has gone to a job of two days\nthis morning.\" Another house visited contains nine motherless children.\nThe mother's death was caused by witnessing one of her children being\nrun over. The eldest is only fourteen years old. All live in one small\nroom, and there is one bed for five. Here is a poor woman deserted by\nher husband and left with three little children. One met with an\naccident a few days ago and broke his arm. He is lying on a shake-down\nin one corner of the room, with an old sack round him. And here, in a\ncellar kitchen, are nine little ones. You can scarcely see across the\nroom for smoke and dirt. They are without food and have scarcely any\nclothing.\n\nIt is heart-crushing to think of the misery suggested by such\nrevelations as these; and there is something unspeakably pathetic in the\nbrave patience with which the poor not seldom endure their sufferings,\nand the tender sympathy which they show toward each other. Where,\namongst the well-conditioned, can anything braver and kinder be found\nthan this? A mother, whose children are the cleanest and tidiest in the\nBoard School which they attend, was visited. It was found that, though\nshe had children of her own, she had taken in a little girl, whose\nfather had gone off tramping in search of work. She was propped up in a\nchair, looking terribly ill, but in front of her, in another chair, was\nthe wash-tub, and the poor woman was making a feeble effort to wash and\nwring out some of the children's things. She was dying from dropsy,\nscarcely able to breathe and enduring untold agony, but to the very\nlast striving to keep her little ones clean and tidy. A more touching\nsight it would be difficult to present; we might, however, unveil many\nmore painful ones, but must content ourselves with saying that the\nevidence we have gathered from personal observation more than justifies\nthe words of the writer before referred to, that \"there are (_i.e._, in\naddition to those who find their way to our hospitals) men and women who\nlie and die day by day in their wretched single rooms, sharing all the\nfamily trouble, enduring the hunger and the cold, and waiting without\nhope, without a single ray of comfort, until God curtains their staring\neyes with the merciful film of death.\"\n\n\nWHAT IT IS PROPOSED TO DO.\n\nThat something needs to be done for this pitiable outcast population\nmust be evident to all who have read these particulars as to their\ncondition--at least, to all who believe them. We are quite prepared for\nincredulity. Even what we have indicated seems all too terrible to be\ntrue. But we have sketched only in faintest outline. Far more vivid must\nbe our colours, deeper and darker far the shades, if we are to present a\ntruthful picture of \"Outcast London;\" and so far as we have been able to\ngo we are prepared with evidence, not only to prove every statement, but\nto show that these statements represent the general condition of\nthousands upon thousands in this metropolis. Incredulity is not the only\ndifficulty in the way of stirring up Christian people to help. Despair\nof success in any such undertaking may paralyse many. We shall be\npointed to the fact that without State interference nothing effectual\ncan be accomplished upon any large scale. And _it is_ a fact. These\nwretched people must live somewhere. They must live near the centres\nwhere their work lies. They cannot afford to go out by train or tram\ninto the suburbs; and how, with their poor emaciated, starved bodies,\ncan they be expected--in addition to working twelve hours or more, for a\nshilling, or less,--to walk three or four miles each way to take and\nfetch? It is notorious that the Artizans Dwellings Act has, in some\nrespects, made matters worse for them. Large spaces have been cleared of\nfever-breeding rookeries, to make way for the building of decent\nhabitations, but the rents of these are far beyond the means of the\nabject poor. They are driven to crowd more closely together in the few\nstifling places still left to them; and so Dives makes a richer harvest\nout of their misery, buying up property condemned as unfit for\nhabitation, and turning it into a gold-mine because the poor must have\nshelter somewhere, even though it be the shelter of a living tomb.\n\nThe State must make short work of this iniquitous traffic, and secure\nfor the poorest the rights of citizenship; the right to live in\nsomething better than fever dens; the right to live as something better\nthan the uncleanest of brute beasts. This must be done before the\nChristian missionary can have much chance with them. But because we\ncannot do all we wish, are we to do nothing? Even as things are\nsomething can be accomplished. Is no lifeboat to put out and no\nlife-belt to be thrown because only half a dozen out of the perishing\nhundreds can be saved from the wreck? The very records which supply the\nsad story we have been telling, give also proofs of what can be done by\nthe Gospel and by Christian love and tact and devotion. Gladly do many\nof these poor creatures receive the Gospel. Little match-box makers are\nheard singing at their toil, \"One more day's work for Jesus.\" \"If only\nmother was a Christian we should all be happy,\" said one; and on his\nmiserable bed, amidst squalor and want and pain, a poor blind man dies\nwith the prayer upon his lips, \"Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to Thy\nbosom fly.\" Another writes, \"You have filled my heart with joy, and my\nlittle room with sunshine.\" A second, who now regularly attends a place\nof worship, says, speaking of the visits of the missionary, \"Before he\ncame to visit me I used to sit and make match-boxes on Sunday, but a\nword now and then has enabled me to look up to the Lord. I don't feel\nlike the same person.\" Another who himself became a missionary to his\nown class, and exercised great power over them whenever he spoke, was\nable to say, \"I was as bad as any of you, but the Lord Jesus had mercy\nupon me, and has made me better and so happy.\" This man had been a\n\"coal-whipper\" of notoriously evil life, and was rescued through his\ncasually going into a room in one of the courts of which we have spoken,\nwhere a missionary was holding a meeting. Such results should rebuke our\nfaithlessness. Even in these dark and noisome places the lamp of Life\nmay be kindled; even from these miry spots bright gems may be snatched,\nworth all the labour and all the cost.\n\nIt is little creditable to us that all our wealth and effort should be\ndevoted to providing for the spiritual needs of those who are\ncomfortably conditioned, and none of it expended upon the abject poor.\nIt is true that we have not half done our duty to any class, but this\nfact is no justification of our having wholly neglected this rescue\nwork. To shut up our compassion against those who need it most, because\nwe have not yet done our duty to those who need it less, is a course\nthat we should find it hard to justify to our Master and Lord. His tones\nwere ever those of pitying love even to the most sinful outcast, but\nwould they not gather sternness as He met us with the rebuke: \"This\nought ye to have done, and not to have left the other undone\"? An\n\"exceeding bitter cry\" is this which goes up to heaven from the misery\nof London against the apathy of the Church. It is time that Christians\nopened their ears to it and let it sink down into their hearts. Many\npressing needs are taxing the resources of the London Congregational\nUnion, but the Committee feel that this work amongst the poor must no\nlonger be neglected, and that they must do all they can to arouse the\nChurches of their order to undertake their share of responsibility. They\nhave determined to take immediate action. Having selected three of the\nvery worst districts in London, from which many of the foregoing facts\nhave been gathered, they have resolved at once to begin operations in\nthe very heart of them. No denominational purpose will sway them,\nexcept that they will try to awaken their own denomination to a sense of\nits duty; but there will be no attempt to make Congregationalists or to\npresent Congregationalism. Deeper, broader and simpler must this work be\nthan any which can be carried on upon denominational lines. In such a\nforlorn hope there is no room for sectarianism. The Gospel of the love\nof Christ must be presented in its simplest form, and the one aim in\neverything must be to rescue and not to proselytize. Help will be\nthankfully welcomed from whatever quarter it may come, and help will be\nfreely given to other workers in the same field, if only by any means\nsome may be saved. It is impossible here and yet to give details as to\nthe methods which it is proposed to pursue; suffice it to say that in\neach district a Mission Hall will be erected, or some existing building\ntransformed into a Hall having appliances and conveniences requisite for\nthe successful prosecution of the Mission. Services and meetings of all\nkinds will be arranged, and, as far as possible, an agency for house to\nhouse visitation organized. An attempt must be made to relieve in some\nwise and practical, though very limited way, the abounding misery,\nwhilst care is taken to prevent the abuse of charity. In this matter the\ninjudicious and inexperienced may easily do more harm than good,\npauperising the people whom they wish to help, and making hypocrites\ninstead of Christians. To indicate what we mean we may mention one case\npointed out to us of a woman who attended three different places of\nworship on the Sunday and some others during the week, because she\nobtained charitable help from all. But we cannot on this account refuse\nto try some means of mitigating the suffering with which we come into\ncontact. Therefore this must be attempted along with whatever other\nmeans the Committee, in conference with those who have had long\nexperience of this work, may think likely to answer the end they have\nbefore them. Their hope is that at least some, even of the lowest and\nworst, may be gathered in; and their aim will be to make as many of\nthese as they can missionaries to the others; for manifestly those who\nhave been accustomed to speak to and work amongst a somewhat better\nsection of the community will not be so likely to labour successfully\namongst these outcasts as will those who have themselves been of their\nnumber. The three districts already fixed upon are, as it will be\nunderstood, intended only to afford a field for the immediate\ncommencement of this beneficent work. Other districts will be occupied\nas funds come in and the resources of the Committee are enlarged; but\neven the comparatively limited operations already undertaken will\nnecessitate so great an expenditure and require so much aid from those\nwho are qualified for the work, that they cannot wisely attempt more at\npresent. For not only will the cost and furnishing of Halls and of\ncarrying on the work be very large, but a relief fund will be needed as\nindicated above. The Committee, therefore, can only hope to carry\nforward with any success the project to which they have already put\ntheir hands, by the really devoted help of the churches which they\nrepresent.\n\n\nDESCRIPTION OF THE DISTRICTS.\n\nThe district known as Collier's Rents is one of the three to which\nattention will first be given, and the old chapel, long disused, is now\nin the builders' hands and will soon be ready for opening, not as a\nchapel, but as a bright, comfortable, and in every way suitable Hall. It\nwould be impossible to find a building better situated for working among\nthe very poor and degraded than this. It stands in a short street,\nleading out of Long Lane, Bermondsey, the locality in which were\nrecently found the bodies of nine infants, which had been deposited in a\nlarge box at the foot of some stairs in an undertaker's shop. There are\naround the Hall some 650 families, or 3250 people, living in 123 houses.\nThe houses are largely occupied by costermongers, birdcatchers, street\nsingers, liberated convicts, thieves and prostitutes. There are many low\nlodging-houses in the neighbourhood of the worst type. Some of them are\ntenanted chiefly by thieves, and one was pointed out which is kept by a\nreceiver of stolen goods. In some cases two of the houses are united by\nmeans of a passage which affords a ready method of escape in case of\npolice interference.\n\nTurning out of one of these streets you enter a narrow passage, about\nten yards long and three feet wide. This leads into a court eighteen\nyards long and nine yards wide. Here are twelve houses of three rooms\neach, and containing altogether 36 families. The sanitary condition of\nthe place is indescribable. A large dust-bin charged with all manner of\nfilth and putrid matter stands at one end of the court, and four\nwater-closets at the other. In this confined area all the washing of\nthese 36 families is done, and the smell of the place is intolerable.\nEntering a doorway you go up six or seven steps into a long passage, so\ndark that you have to grope your way by the clammy, dirt-encrusted wall,\nand then you find a wooden stair, some of the steps of which are broken\nthrough. Ascending as best you can, you gain admission to one of the\nrooms. You find that although the front and back of the house are of\nbrick, the rooms are separated only by partitions of boards, some of\nwhich are an inch apart. There are no locks on the doors and it would\nseem that they can only be fastened on the outside by padlock. In this\nroom to which we have come an old bed, on which are some evil-smelling\nrags, is, with the exception of a broken chair, the only article of\nfurniture. Its sole occupant just now is a repulsive, half-drunken\nIrishwoman. She is looking at some old ragged garments in hope of being\nable to raise something upon them at the pawnshop, and being asked if\nshe is doing this because she is poor, she gets into a rage and cries,\n\"Call me poor? I have got half a loaf of bread in the house, and a\nlittle milk;\" and then from a heap of rubbish in one corner, she pulls\nout a putrid turkey, utterly unfit for human food, which she tells us\nshe is going to cook for dinner. This woman has just \"done seven days\"\nfor an assault upon a police officer. We find that she has a husband,\nbut he spends almost all his money at the public-house. Rooms such as\nthis are let furnished (!) at 3s. 6d. and 4s. a week, or 8d. a night,\nand we are told that the owner is getting from 50 to 60 per cent. upon\nhis money.\n\nAnd this is a specimen of the neighbourhood. Reeking courts, crowded\npublic-houses, low lodging-houses and numerous brothels are to be found\nall around. Even the cellars are tenanted. Poverty, rags and dirt\neverywhere. The air is laden with disease-breeding gases. The\nmissionaries who labour here, are constantly being attacked by some\nmalady or other resulting from blood poisoning, and their tact and\ncourage are subjected to the severest tests. In going about these alleys\nand courts no stranger is safe if alone. Not long ago a doctor on his\nrounds was waylaid by a number of women, who would not let him pass to\nsee his patient until he had given them money; and a bible-woman,\nvisiting \"Kent Street,\" was robbed of most of her clothing. Even the\npolice seldom venture into some parts of the district except in company.\nYet bad as it is there are elements of hopefulness which encourage us to\nbelieve that our work will not be in vain. Many of its denizens would\ngladly break away from the dismal, degrading life they are leading, if\nonly a way were made for them to do so; as it is they are hemmed in and\nchained down by their surroundings in hopeless and helpless misery.\n\nSuch is Collier's Rents. To describe the other two localities where our\nwork is to be commenced, in Ratcliff and Shadwell, would, in the main,\nbe but to repeat the same heart-sickening story. Heart-sickening but\nsoul-stirring. We have opened but a little way the door that leads into\nthis plague-house of sin and misery and corruption, where men and women\nand little children starve and suffer and perish, body and soul. But\neven the glance we have got is a sight to make one weep. We shall not\nwonder if some, shuddering at the revolting spectacle, try to persuade\nthemselves that such things cannot be in Christian England, and that\nwhat they have looked upon is some dark vision conjured by a morbid pity\nand a desponding faith. To such we can only say, Will you venture to\ncome with us and see for yourselves the ghastly reality? Others, looking\non, will believe, and pity, and despair. But another vision will be seen\nby many, and in this lies our hope--a vision of Him who had \"compassion\nupon the multitude because they were as sheep having no shepherd,\"\nlooking, with Divine pity in His eyes, over this outcast London, and\nthen turning to the consecrated host of His Church with the appeal,\n\"Whom shall we send and who will go for us?\"\n\n_October, 1883._\n\n[Illustration: Decoration]\n\n\nPrinters: WARREN HALL & LOVITT, 88, Camden Road, N.W.\n\n\n     Oh, Thou, who once on earth, beneath the weight\n     Of our mortality, didst live and move,\n     The incarnation of profoundest love;\n     Who on the Cross that love didst consummate--\n     Whose deep and ample fulness could embrace\n     The poorest, meanest, of our fallen race:\n     How shall we e'er that boundless debt repay?\n     By long loud prayers in gorgeous temples said?\n     By rich oblations on Thine altars laid?\n     Ah, no! not thus Thou didst appoint the way.\n     When Thou wast bowed our human woe beneath,\n     Then, as a legacy, Thou didst bequeath\n     Earth's sorrowing children to our ministry--\n     And, as we do to them we do to Thee.\n\n     ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH.","title":"The Bitter Cry of Outcast London: An Inquiry into the Condition of the Abject Poor","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":8482}