CHILD-SLAVERY IN NEW YORK CITY.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XII, Issue 17, 15 August 1884, Page 19

CHILD-SLAVERY IN NEW YORK CITY.

(From Jolm SmintorCs Paper.) In close proximity to the St. John's Park Depot, where long lines of freight cars or loaded trucks are constantly in motion — in a street leading down to the Hudson River, and where numberless families live in three and four-story houses — tn«re is a six-storey brick building, with windows which would do credit to a prison or fortress, but are too small for any building in which human beings are supposed to need light and air. Between the windows, and running around the front and one side of the building, is painted : " Manufacturers of the Peerless Tin Tank, Japanned Tin Ware. Ginna and Co." The whirr and buzz and hum of machinery came through the open windows this bright May day, but no human being was visible. I had often heard that boys were engaged in this Blaughter-house on dangerons work, and thought I might be able to see for myself. The front door was shut, and as I entered I heard a bell ring somewhere inside. No getting beyond the entrance here. A strong wooden fence surrounded three sides of the inclosure, and on the other was a door leading into an office. Hanging up alongside of this door was a framed and glazed copy oE " Rules and regulations to be observed by the employees.'' No one putting in an appearancp, I conned these rules, and discovered that every one had to be inside the building when the whistle blew at 7 a.m. ; that a half-hour's grace would be allowed at 12 o'clock, and that at 12.30 the whistle would again blow, when every one must be on hand, and that 5.30 was closing time ; also that any one not on hand on Monday morning or the day after a holiday would forfeit his situation ; and also that no one was permitted to leave the building during working hours without permission from the superintendent. While reading this interesting document a billious-looking man of about thirty-five came out, and to him I expressed my desire to visit the factory. "We do not allow visitors," said he. "It is against our rule 3." " Why ? " I asked. '•We don't want anyone to know our business.""Did you ever have a Health Inspector around hero 1 " " Never did." " Now, lam engaged in obtaining statistics on child labour in this city, and for that purpose insist oa going throagh the factory ," With that I produced my authority. " I don't care. You can't go through withont a warrant. I don't care what you are, you can't go through." "You are the ? " " Superintendent." Accosting a puny, pale lad of about fifteen, who was standing outside, I asked him if he worked in this slave-pen. " I don't now. I left there to-day. I was ia the soldering room. But there are little bits of fellows on the machines. Wait a little and you'll see them. They only make about two and a half a week and sometimes they're fined nearly all their wages. They have to pay for everything they spoil, and sometimes they don"t haee much to draw on Monday. Accidents? Yes, plenty of them. Sometimes a boy gets his thumb or finger taken off ; sometimes his arm smashed. Oh, they have to be careful, you bet. They're always wauting boys, but they don't stay long." Just then the whistle announced quitting-time, and men, boyii and girls came trooping out — the youngsters in greater proportion. Some of them did not seem to be twelve years of age — ragged, most of them. One of them without shoes or stockings. Poor little chaps 1 many of them not yet in their teens, whose lives seemed to bs cast in the hardest of places. The wear and tear of life had begun early with them, and it did not seem strange to me that they were dwarfed in body. As they came out they were opening their envelopes and counting the proceeds of their sixty hours' work. The faces were a study for an artist, dissatisfaction and disappointment prevailed. A bond of sympathy existed between the little fellows as they compared notes ; and as they moved slowly away, I felt a curse rising in my heart on a system which doomed little children to such a life,