Musing thus, I returned to my friend, and we went out together and sat about half an hour on some public seats. The open air refreshed us, and once more we returned to get our breakfast. I found a cup and saucer with difficulty, for by this time most were in requisition. Every one had her own provisions, but they all seemed to live from hand to mouth; there was nowhere to keep them, and there were complaints that they were stolen. Bread and butter, tea, bacon, or ham, or an egg, were the staple diet. There were no forks, only a very common blunt knife to be had for the penny, and tin spoons rusty with use. The walls were bare, except for a print of the infant Christ bearing a cross, over the kitchen mantelpiece. "Oh, Christ!" was a favourite exclamation. The language was often foul. The girls chatted together also about their previous night's experiences, but mostly in groups of two or three exchanging confidences. We asked A—— to join us, and she offered me an egg, and went out and fetched herself some tea, butter, and crumpets. We were now going to make a struggle for this girl's salvation, but it was very difficult to do so without exciting suspicion. We tried to persuade her to go to B——. I had written overnight to secure a place for her; but she would not do this, or go home, fearing her father's wrath. She was also wretched after her previous night's indulgence, and ashamed of herself, and in a difficult irresolute state. Reference to her mother made her weep, and this attracted attention. The woman of the house came, without any apparent reason, and borrowed her shawl. We asked her to go out with us, and her shawl was not returned, but a small grey one was lent her.
I spoke to the little dark young woman, and she gratefully received an address to which she might apply for help after her confinement.
We succeeded in getting A—— to give us her mother's address, and promised to write for her. With this, I think, we should have been content, but she offered to go out with us after all a little way, and we hoped to persuade her. We knew of a Shelter near by, and we actually succeeded in getting her there; but she would not remain, and we had to let her return, fearing that she would probably drink again to drown recollection. We spent altogether nearly two hours in trying to get her to some satisfactory resolution. Meanwhile the girls were talking, laughing, singing, or dancing about the room. Two were particularly playful; both handsome girls, but already dissipated in looks. Both had an abundance of fair hair, apparently "all their own." One girl sportively asked one of them to "lend her her hair." I thought she was joking, but presently she crossed the room, and untwisted a lock of hair from the head of one of them and twisted it up and fixed it on her own! It was many shades fairer, and was speedily returned to its owner. These two girls were constantly striking up bits of comic songs, or larking with one another or dancing "the cake walk."
I fear in our endeavour to secure our young friend we lost other opportunities. But it was a continually-changing scene. Most sat round comparatively quiet; some, very weary, lay on the forms or lolled on one another; some smoked cigarettes, some talked, and one or two were washing their clothes in another room. One girl took off her stockings to wash them. There were one or two strikingly handsome girls—one had a face that reminded me of some painting I had seen—but the majority were only good-looking when rouge and powder had effaced dissipation or accentuated their good points; by morning light they looked flabby, coarse, and unhealthy. One girl, Joy, with a pink-and-white complexion that bore the light, had to go to the Lock Hospital. Apparently most of these girls had outgrown the fear of this or of prison. "Bless you! they don't mind being 'pinched,'" said one woman; "it gives them a rest." Here, then, was womanhood devoid of fear! Social restraints had vanished—as with the tramp, so with the harlot![116]
The only fear left was that of each other's opinion, and this had sufficient force to draw back to "the life" the one we wished to rescue. On her soul lay the knowledge of the horror of respectable society towards what she had become, and the attraction of the fellowship of those who would receive her freely. We succeeded in getting her to go out with us in a small borrowed shawl, and we coaxed her to a place where she would have received shelter till her friends were communicated with. But it was no use—she must go to her friends. Persuasion was useless. We would have taken her with us, but she would go back. All we could do was to give her the address of a friend and take that of her parents, in the hope of a chance to save her.
It is, I believe, hardly possible to rescue a girl deep in harlotry, though it might be possible to steer poor souls who have passed disillusionment to some harbour of refuge where moral purity was to be recovered. They must "get their living." Who would knowingly employ them? The national recognition of the right of the individual to employment and subsistence seems to me to be the remedy for the harlot as for the tramp. The harlot is the female tramp, driven by hard social conditions to primitive freedom of sex relationship.[117]
III. The Third Night.
During the week that intervened before we could again visit, we succeeded in finding out that there was a "welcome home" for the wanderer. Armed with a letter from her mother, but with some misgivings as to success, we went to the lodging-house, intending to see her quietly; but when we reached the door the woman in charge stood there. We asked for the girl by name. She said she was not there; that a letter had come for her, but they had not been able to give it to her, as she had left. We asked where she had gone. She did not know. Baffled, but uncertain as to whether she was telling the truth, we stood hesitating, when who should come to the door but the girl herself! The woman was so nonplussed that she gave way and invited us in! We gave the girl her mother's letter, and watched her read it. The girl's face changed, softened. She cried, but she only said, "My sister has written it," when an elderly woman came and began talking to us. As the girl was opposite us we could no longer speak privately. After a while, however, she changed her place so as to get near me, and we began talking, but a young woman also came and asked if she were going out with her. We did not wish to attract too much attention, so it was only by degrees we could tell her we were ready to send her away next morning, having had the money to do so given us.
She made difficulties about being ashamed to go home in dirty clothes. We asked her to wash them. She said if she left them to dry overnight they would be stolen. We told her to exchange them for others. She wanted to go out and get money for some things, and go home well dressed. We were not sure as to what might happen if she did this, and urged her to give up "the life" for her mother's sake and meet us in the morning. Fearing too much pressure would act in the wrong direction, we decided to leave her, trusting to God to bring her to the right decision. This He did, for she went out and had "bad luck," and received only two halfpennies!
We set out once more to search for lodgings, intending to make straight for a street we had heard of by name. We took a penny tram-ride to the heart of the town, and asking directions of a woman, got a very bad impression from her of the street whither we were bound, a mild recommendation to one lodging-house, and a warm one, coupled with an invitation, to the one whither she was going. However, we "preferred the worst," and so with thanks we left her. When, however, after a long walk we found the street, it was narrow and unsavoury, and the lodging-houses were all small cottages. We looked through open doors at a few interiors—and flinched! We knew what they would be like only too well![118] Besides, as we wanted to see as much "life" as possible, we preferred a larger one. We could be sure of what these low-class ones were, if a slightly better one was unsatisfactory. So we sought a street near by, which we had also heard mentioned, and which, being a principal thoroughfare, was flanked by houses of a larger type, once inhabited by the well-to-do, but which now had descended to be lodging-houses.