TAEES AND SKETCHES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5855, 24 April 1897, Page 1

TAEES AND SKETCHES.

IN THE NAME OF LIBERTY.

[By Florence Makryat.] Author of "A Fatal Silence," " Miss Harrington's Husband/ "Fighting the Air," "Her Father's Name," "A Beautiful Soul," " The Transformation of Hannah Stubbs," &c, &c. !

(All Bights Beserved.)

Chapter I. t;he unknown benefactor. It was winter. The season had been long and inclement, and the poor felt it keenly. An unusual spell of frost, extending over many weeks, had had a dire effect upon all kinds of trade ; work was at a standstill, and the labourers were in sore distress. At intervals along the streets might be met bands of the unemployed, shivering under their scanty clothing, and with faces on which mlvation had already set its mark, beating a muffled drum as they went, and carrying a white banner before them, inscribed with the motto, " Help the Unemployed." The sound of the muffled drum and the eight of the white banner with its black letters, so like a pall, impressed the spectators with the woird idea that the men were attending their own funeral obsequies. Their appeal was not, however, without its response. Many a wayfarer stepped aside to drop a few coppers into the wooden box, which was kept rattling to attract attention ; and the eyes of the band turned hungrily towards it, as the sound made them think of bed and supper. Especially were they helped by one man, who turned out of his way to add a substantial quota to the general contribution, doing it in a hurried and half -scared manner, as if he were ashamed, or dreaded public observation.

It waa in the East End of London— a quarter ohiefly dedicated to Jews and the lower class of Irish, and the stranger looked out of place amongst them; not that he bore an aristocratic or particularly wealthy appearance, for, on the contrary, he was a man of ordinary bearing and rather shabbily dressed/ But he looked eminently respectable, a quality rarely seen in that locality. He waa stout and of middle age ; his ahoulderß and chest were broad, though he only reached the middle height of Englishmen. His clothes were well worn, and of plain material ; he had a common knitted muffler round his throat and woollen gloves -upon his hands. But his face was one of rare benevolence ; his irongray hair curled crisply round a well-formed head, his clear blue eyes were full of pity for and sympathy with, the distress around him, hi 9 rather large nose and mouth with kindly curves attested an amiaßle and tender disposition. ' 7 . ;. The street was thronged with men and women, though the hour was as late as ten o'clock. Some were loitering ab6ut, notwithstanding the bitter cold, preferring the glow of the shop lamps and public"nouse illuminations to the squalor and gloom of their fireless and unlighted homes, whilst others hastened by with buckets and pails wherewith to procure water from the taps which the Company had opened nt the main for their convenience, all household pipes having been frozen for weeks past. But they looked miserable alike, as they asked each other how long this state of things was to last, and if they had not better be in their graves and quit of Want once and forever.

The benevolent stranger searched the countenance of each one he passed as though he were silently asking if he dared offer him relief, but the crowd stared back at him sullenly or savagely in return, having no power to read the expression of his sweet, sympathetic face. But he did not pass a Bingle object of charity whose public appeal gave him the right of succour.: Now it was a poor blind woman left out there to freeze so long as there was -a chance of her extracting a copper from the passers-by, then a thin, white girl hawking flowers or fusees, or a ragged urchin pushing a paralytic before him in abasketctair.

To all and each of these the stranger tendered assistance, furtively and hastily ; not in half -pence, but in good silver coin of the realm such as they had seldom handled before, stout half-crowns and heavy florins, which ensured them a good supper and a night's rest. Some of the recipients cried out to God to bles3 and reward the giver in their surprise, but he never tarried long enough to hear their expressions of gratitude, but was already speeding on another errand of mercy. As he beat a hasty retreat after one of these little episodes he ran straight up against the figure of a woman who was walking along the pavement, crying bo bitterly that she could not see where she was going. Crying loud and bitterly in a crowded street, in the heart of a great city, populated with human creatures like herself, and yet not a soul turned to look after her or stopped to inquire the cause of her distieas. She was quite a young woman — of two-and-twenty. Her thin, pale face, which had two wildly-staring hazel eyes in it, was crowned with an unusual quantity of rustcoloured hair, twisted untidily into a huge knot at the back of her head, her clothing consisted of a worn cotton dress, with an old shawl thrown over her shoulders.

When she ran up, thus unceremoniously, against the stranger, it seemed as if the ultimatum of her endurance was reached, for she swayed to one side, and casting herself down upon the nearest doorway, rocked backwards and forwards in her distress. One or two passers-by threw a hasty glance in her direction, but no one stopped to speak to her, except himself.

" I am afraid you are in trouble," he said gently ; " can Ibe of any use to you ?" The young woman shook her head without glancing at her interlocutor. " Forgive my pertinacity," he continued. " I know their are griefs in which no one can help us except God, but if it is distress like that we see around vs — that comes of this bitter season and the want of work — tell it me and let me try what I can do for you. 5 '

She looked up at him then with those wonderful hazel eyes of hers, and gained confidence from the tone of his voice and his kindly features.

" You— you are very good, good sir," i?ii3 filtered. "My husband has been out of work a luntf time— but it is not that exactly. I have lost my— my — baby ; and I was going to see if the guardians would bury it. I have been twice to-day already, but they always tell me to call again. We have been very unfortunate; we cannot afford to bttry it ourselves, and soso—" ' Eenewed sobs choked the remainder of her sentence. " But it is too late to see the Workhouse Guardians to-night." " I know that, sir ; but Mrs Beynolds— Mrs Eeynolds— she has lost hers, and she knows. I was— was— going to ask her ? " "Where do you live?" enquired the stranger. '• No 4, Littlehampton Street, sir.' "Let me gohoine with you and see if we cannot arrange this matter without the aid of the Guardians. You wouttL rather bury your little child yours«> I am oure."

She opened her eyea at tie suggestion.

" Oh, yes !if we could, of course ; but it costs so much money and it has been a terrible trial, sir, but my poor husband has been very unfortunate. It is not his fault, indeed — btit — we are starving ! " ' The admission seemed to have been wrung from her involuntarily, and as it escaped her a faint blush tinged her pale cheek.

" Then you have all the more need, of my assistance," said the stranger. " Look on me as a friend, who has more of this world's substance than he well knows what to do with, and wishes to share it with you and all who are in need. Show me your home. Let me have the pleasure of assisting you in this sad duty. Will you?"

" You are veryfgood," she repeated ; " I don't know what to say about it. I don't know what Maurice will say." " Is Maurice your husband ?"

" Yes ! But if you could come and speak to him yourself, sir — you may be au angel sent to save us in this sore perplexity !"

She dragged herself up as she spoke, but she was evidently so weak that she could hardly stand. Her body swayed to and fro, and she clutched at the railings for support. The stranger hailed a passing cab and put her in it.

" You are not fit to walk," he said ; " you must let me take care of you till you reach your home."

She did not answer him. She was rocking backwards and forwards again in the bitterness of her grief, and sobbing as if her heart would break. The stranger gave the cabman the address which had been given Mm, and when they arrived at the wretched-looking and dirty row of houses, which called itself Littlehampton Street, the girl darted from the cab and rushed upstairs, leaving him to follow her as he would.

He tarried a moment to give her time to announce his advent to her husband, and then climbed slowly up the ricketty uncarpeted staircase. At the open door of a room on the first landing stood a young man to receive him.

At the first glance the stranger saw that he was of a superior class to his neighbours — also, that, notwithstanding the disadvantages of being unshorn and clothed almost in rags, he was a singularly handsome young fellow of about five-ancl-twehty. He bowed as the stranger appeared, and said without any awkwardness :

"My s wife tells me, sir, that you have been good enough to make us some offers of assistance. I can hardly understand it, since we have no possible claim tipon your goodness, but if you will walk in, you can at least judge for yourself that whatever she may have told you of our need is true r

" You have one claim upon me, Mr — Mr — " commenced the stranger.

" My. name is Maurice Parrell, journalist and press writer, at your service," replied the other.

" You have one great claim upon me, Mr Parrell," recommenced the stranger, gently, " and that is the fact that you are my feilow-creatore, bom into the same world of trouble as myself, and subject to the same upa and downs of life. I have been very fortunate in money matters — more so a great deal than I deserve, or have any need qf — and I should be ashamed of my humanity if I kept all my wealth to myself. Come now!, tell me what you choose, and let us consult together as to the best means .of relieving your present difficulties."

He passed into the squalid room as he spoke — from which every article that could possibly be turned into money had been removed. From an inner apartment might be heard the weeping of the bereaved mother, kneeling beside the lifeles3 form of her first-born.

"Listen to that, sir, 5 ' said Maurice Farrell, with his teeth set, "that sound will almost furnish you with the whole tale of our misery. There lies my child, dead — starved to death — literally starved sir, as there is a God in Heaven — for my wife and I have been without solid food for days past, and existing on bread and tea for months, and whilst she was nursing her infant. What could he, do but die at her breast ? Poor child ! He is well out of it all!"

" But — excuse me, Mr Farrell — I can see you were not born to such surroundings, and you have told me you are a press writer. How have you contrived to come down to such a state of poverty ?"

"By the over-population of the nation/ 5 replied Farrell, excitedly. " I was brought up to work and support myself, and when I first married I was able to give my wife, a comfortable home. But it is this awful season, sir, which has affected all taofessions and trades alike, that has induced heads of offices and firms to do with as few men and as little labour as they can. Clerks and writers and agents have been dispensed with everywhere this winter. It is not only the labourers that are the Unemployed. The same cry has gone forth amongst all classes — and hundreds of men who once made a decent livelihood are now in the same position as myself — brought down to the very depths of poverty and starvation."

And as he concluded Maurice Farrell bent his head down upon his outstretched arms, that the stranger might not see the tears that had risen to his eyes.

"Mr .Fan-ell," said his companion, " I am not going to let you talk any more until you have taken some nourishment — after that, you shall tell me as much about your past life as you may think fit. But the first thing is to get food and wine for yourself and that poor girl there. What is it that you require most ? "

The young man almost laughed at the question — an effort which brought his worn features and hollow cheeks prominently into view.

" Food — blankets — fire ! " he murmured,

" Are you capable of getting them for yourself whilst I remain here, or shall I go on the errand? 55

" I am quite capable," replied Farrell, wearily.

The stranger placed a note for ten pounds in hia hands. He regarded it with surprise.

" You must have made a mistake, 5 ' he stammered; "do you know what this is that you have given me ?— -it is ten pounds ! "

"It is all right, my friend. Go and order what you require, to be sent home at once. , And don't worry about the burial of the poor infant there. I will see that it is carried oxit as it should be. 55

Maurice Farrell held out his hand— the stranger grasped it cordially. "I don't know how to thank you," said the young man ;" I never shalU— but you have saved both our lives. God bless you for it."

He wrung his hand again and disappeared. The stranger sat where he had left him, thoughtful and contented.

"And yet people blame me," he said to himself, "because I choose to dispense my charities myself instead of handing the money ever to a company of Governors or Guardians to spend on their public meetings and guzzle away at their public dinners. No ! no ! I prefer my own plan, and I will stick to it. I may make a mistake now and then, but I am sure that I relieve more distress than I should by the other plan. No one knows how many of these poor creatures die of want in their miserable homes, sooner than seek relict at the hands of those who insult them through their pampered servants before they give it ! My Helen !" he went on thinking, "my poor deserted Helen ! Who sought hor out, when she was sick and in want, and saved her lifo for her unworthy husband? No one! No one! They let

her die like a dog ; but nobody else shall do so while I can help it ! It is for her sake — for her sake."

But here a prolonged wail from the inner room of "My baby! Oh, my baby!" pierced the stranger's heart. He rose, and knocking gently at the intervening door, said:

" Mrs Farrell ! Your husband has gone out to buy a few things, and I am alone ! Won't you take pity on my solitude, and come and bear me company ?"

She appeared at the door then, haggard, swollen-eyed, and trembling. " I am sorry," she said, " I did not know that you were left alone. Forgive me, but lam so wretched. I eeem to be incapable of thinking of anything." " I sympathise deeply with your trouble. You are young to have sustained such a loss. But you must try and take comfort in the thought that your little child is safe in heaven."

"Do you believe in heaven ?" she said, wistfully.

"Most assuredly, as I hope you do,

also."

She did not answer, except by throwing open the door of the partition between the two rooms, and disclosing a bedstead, with out sheets or blankets, on which was stretched the wasted form of an infant a few months old.

" How can I believe in God or k3aven when I look at that ?" she cried wildly. "He was born so healthy, so beautiful and such a little while ago. I loved him, too, my darling little son ; I would have laid down my life for him. What does the heaven you speak of want with my baby, compared with me ! I, who nursed him in my arms night and day, and kept him close to my heart, to keep the cold away ? Yet he died — died, because I had no nourishment to give him, because my milk had all been starved out of me ! But you are a man ; how can you understand what I feel about it ? Even Maurice cannot do that !"

"But, indeed, I do, better than you think ; and you have all my sympathy in your trouble. I have suffered more, perhaps, than if I had stood by the corpse of my first-born. His mother and he both died whilst I was far away ; I did not have even the poor consolation of weeping over their bodies. And I had not always done my duty to them, either. I had the pangs of bitter remorse added to my natural grief. Thank God, Mrs Parrell, that you have no such feeling mingled with your sorrow, and be content to think of your little one in Paradise. It is better so. He is saved from so much misery by leaving this cold, cruel world."

But her grief was too recent for her to Clerive any comfort from his -conversation. She could" only sob and mourn over the destruction of her maternal hupes. The ' stranger closed the door softly and drew her into the front room. Here there was actually nothing to sit down ixpon, except two old packing cases propped against the bare wall.

Jane Farrell sank down upon one, her lips and face livid. The stranger feared she would faint before her husband returned with the notirishment necessary for her. But in a few minutes more he re-entered the room, followed by a porter carrying coals and wood, and laden himself with divers small parcels. "My poor Jane, you must drink some of this at once," said Maurice Farrell, as he uncorked a bottle of wine. "I bought wine, sir," he continued to tho stranger, as though he feared he might be thought eztravagent," because she is so much in need of stimulant ; and I am afraid malt liquor would be too heavy for her in her weakened condition. She has not tasted meat for weeks."

" You acted very wisely, Mr Farrell, 5 ' he replied, "and the sooner you administer it to her the better. She is half fainting."

" Poor girl ! " said the young man, as he kneltby his wife's side and tried to make her swallow a little wine, " our impoverished state and the loss of her little one have been altogether to much for her. Drink this, Jane, and try to eat, if only a few morsels. You will feel another woman after it. ' I/appetit vient de manger, 5 you know."

The stranger could not hept observing, even after so slight an acquaintance, how opposite were the temperaments of the husband and wife. Under the influence of renewed hope and expectation Maurice Farrell already appeared another creature from the depressed and shivering mortal who had welcomed his arrival there.

His dark eyes sparkled with excitement, his wavy hair was thrown back from a singularly massive brow, a brow that denoted energy and talent, if not genius, and his lithe, muscular frame was quivering with a suppressed agitation which in a woman would have culminated^ in hysteria.

But Jane could not reciprocate. What were food and drink to her. Her baby lay dead in the adjoining room.

The porter, who had carried the wood arid coals, soon kindled a good fire in the empty grate, which did more to revive the fainting woman than anything else. Maurice rubbed his frozen hands at the warm blaze, and laughed nervously— a laugh which made his hollow cheeks and deep-sunk eyes look more like those of a skull than before.

lhe food ho set upon the table was the worst possible wherewith to fill their weakened stomachs, but it was the best procurable at that time of night, from the larders and eating-houses. Bread and butter and cut ~ham and beef are luxuries for starving men, though not perhaps the most digestible food they could assimilate. But Fan-ell seemed fully able to appreciate them, eating with the voracity of a hungry wolf and hardly resting till he could eat no more. But Jane had only swallowed a few mouthf uls of bread soaked in wine, and would not have taken those had not the stranger almost forced therdidown her throat. She lay back against the Avail with closed eyes^ whilst her husband satisfied his cravings, but when another messenger arrived with a couple of blankets, Maurice wanted to persuade her to lie down on the bed and go to sleep. But when he mentioned it she glanced towards the room with a shudder, so they laid her on the floor before the fire with the blankets under her, and she remained there, silent but wakeful, whilst the men conversed together. " And now, sir, that I feel the strength to speak to you," commenced Maurice Parrell, as soon as his hunger was satisfied, " may I ask to whom I am indebted for this noble and most unexpected aid? Surely, never was a man so generously treated by a total stranger before. I feel that I owe my life and my wife's life to your goodness. The services of the remainder of my existence could not be too great a return."

"I think the goodness of your own heart makes you over-rate the obligation Mr Farrell," replied the stranger. "I am very happy indeed to have been able to assist you to-night, and lam ready to do more if you will tell me in what direction I can be most useful to you." " But your name ? " persisted the young man.

The stranger smiled,

"Would it make any difference in the value of my assistance if you knew my name ?" he said. "It is a fancy of mine to withhold it. I find that I can better help those who are in real need by this means, instead of being beset by a crowd of idlers and good-for-nothings. Were it

absolutely necessary, I should not refuse to satisfy your cnriosity, but. in the circumstances I would rather you thought of me only as your friend." " A friend whom, as I said before, we can never repay," murmured Farrell. " Don't be too sure of that ! We never know what lies before us, nor in what way we may require the assistance of our fellow-creatures. But I do not intend my help to end with this night's work. Tell me frankly who you .are, and what you have been doing, and I may. bo able to put you once more in the way of supporting yourself." " I am a journalist and press writer by profession, as I told you," replied the young man; "but I lost my place on .the paper for which I have worked for years, and have been unable to get an engagement since."

" What was the name of the paper ?" " The Constitutional Press." " And why were you dismissed from the staff ?"

Maurice Farrell coloured,

"Well, if you must know, sir, I worked for the Constitutional against my principles. I am not Conservative. And when the editor found out that I had contributed some articles to the Flag of Freedom he (very unfairly, as it seemed to me,) gave me my dismissal."

"The Flag of Freedom? . That is, of course, a Socialist organ ?" "Something of the sort, I believe," answered Farrell, carelessly. "I trust you are not a Socialist, Mr Farrell," said the stranger, gravely. "It is not necessary to coincide with all the theories of the papers you write for," replied the other, evasively. " When one writes to live, it is sometimes convenient to pocket one's principles. But if youfask me if I am on the side of the poor nian, and against those who fill their coffers- at his expense ; who fatten on the starvation wages which send the labourer and his children to their graves ; who would hound him to his death, whilst their carriage wheels pass over his beaten carcase — then I must say I am !"

"To be against the oppressors and on the side of the oppressed is the duty of every man and every Christian," said the stranger ; " but to be against the rich, simply because they are rich, is the act of a coward, and the outcome of envy and malice. It is Heaven and not we who has appointed to men their several stations in life, and their amount of riches. All that is left for them to do is to make sure that, when they pass over to another world, they will not be called to account for having kept their riches to themselves and taken no liQed of the necessities of their brethren."

"You are the last person with whom I could enter on such an argument, sir," said Farrell, "you who have proved in the most generous manner how you hold your ■wealth in trust for others. But though you are evidently a man cf means, you are not of the so-called upper classes. I feel therefore that! can talk freely to you. Do you mean me to understand that you consider it fair that, whilst the nobles of this country and the wealthy landowners possess acres upon acres, which they do not need, and do not know what to do with, hundreds of men should drop and die for want of bread — thousands of lives be quenched out for lack of food, like the life of my. poor infant in the next room ?"

Here a, low nioan from the weary woman ou the hearth proved that she was not oblivious of the subj ect of their conversation.

"Yes ! my poor girl," continued her husband, moodily, " you are a proof of their despotism, when a few of the crusts and a little of the meat they cast to their dogs would have kept the soul in the body you loved so well ! Look at the Irish landowners," he continued fiercely, "leaving their property to be looked after by agents, who care for no one and nothing, so as long as they, extract the rents from their unhappy tenants. They do their foul work, and deduct their commission, whilst the absentees live on English soil, spending their money on Englishmen ; fattening, as it were, on the blood and cries of their oppressed tenantry at home !"

The stranger looked thoughtful. " Yet, you are an Englishman !" he said, thoughtfully

"Not entirely," replied Farrell; "my father was, as lam told, an Irishman ; I never knew him. But I have the feelings of a man in my breast, whatever my nationality may be !"

" But have you ever witnessed the scenes you speak of, for yourself ?" enquired his companion. " Have you examined the other side of the question ? Spoken with Irish landlords who havo been compelled to fly their native country (which perhaps they loved from the bottom of their hearts) from dread of violence done to those who were dear to them, as your little son was dear to you ? Who have had to resign hah? their wealth in order to preserve their lives ? Who have been shot at, openly threatened, burned out of house and home by incendiaries ; forced, in fact, to relinquish the .place they loved and the country they were reared in, on account of being driven out of it, by those for whom they had done their utmost ? Believe me, my friend, there are two sides to this question, and the wi'ong done is not all to the tenantry."

" You speak feelingly ; you have Irish friends," said Farrell, inquisitively, " Perhaps ! " retiu'ned the stranger ; " but I should speak in the same way against any demonstration of animosity between the classes of any nation. It can only lead to rapine, bloodshed, and misery. The weakest must go to the wall. Let each man do his duty in this life, as it is set before him, and leave the issues of Fortune, as those of Life and Death, in the hands of the Almighty."

(To be continued.)