Part 3 (1/2)

As far as the squalor of the men and their surroundings was concerned, although it was at first something of a shock to me, I did not allow myself to be disconcerted on its account. I had no desire or ambition to be a mere dilettante Socialist, and as dirt and squalor had to be faced, well, I was ready to face them. A famous Russian writer has described a strange phase through which the Russian youth pa.s.sed not many years since, the ”V. Narod” (”To the People!”) movement, when young men and girls by the thousands, some belonging to the highest cla.s.ses in society, fled from their families, tore themselves free from all domestic and conventional yokes, persuaded that it was their duty to serve the cause of the ma.s.ses, and that in no way could they better accomplish this object than by settling in the people's midst, living their life, taking part in their work. I was pa.s.sing through a similar phase of mental evolution.

I felt a strong desire to free myself from all the ideas, customs, and prejudices which usually influence my cla.s.s, to throw myself into the life and the work of the ma.s.ses. Thus it was that I worked hard to learn how to compose and print, that I might be of use to the Cause in the most practical manner of all--the actual production of its literature.

Thus it was also that I resolutely hardened myself against any instinctive sentiments of repulsion which the unclean and squalid surroundings of the people might raise in me. I remember reading an article by Tolstoi which appeared in the English press, dealing with the conditions of the Russian _moujik_, in which he clearly and uncompromisingly stated that in order to tackle the social problem, it is necessary to tackle dirt and vermin with it. If you desire to reach your _moujik_ you must reach him _a travers_ his dirt and his parasites: if you are disinclined to face these, then leave your _moujik_ alone. It was in fact a case of ”take me, take my squalor.” I determined to take both.

Dr. Armitage left me at the corner of Oxford Circus, but before I had taken many steps farther, I heard him suddenly turn round, and in an instant he had come up with me again.

”By the way, Isabel,” he exclaimed, ”I was quite forgetting to mention something I had done, to which I trust you will not object. You know how full up my place is just now with hard-up comrades. Well I took the liberty to send on to you a young Scotchman, I forget his name, who has just tramped up from the North; a most interesting fellow, rather taciturn, but with doubtless a good deal in him. He had nowhere to pa.s.s the night, poor chap, and no money, so I told him that if he waited on your doorstep some time after midnight you would be certain to give him a night's lodgings when you returned. Did I do right?” and the doctor's kindly face beamed with the look of a man who expected approbation.

”Ye--es,” I gasped out, somewhat taken aback, ”quite right, of course;”

for I felt that any hesitation would be feeble, a mere relic of bourgeois prejudice.

And, sure enough, on reaching my domicile, I found installed on the doorstep a most uncouth and villainous-looking tramp. Taciturn he certainly was, for he scarcely opened his mouth to say ”Good-evening,”

and indeed during the three days of his residence with me he hardly ever articulated a sound. As I was getting out my latch-key the local policeman chanced to pa.s.s: ”That fellow has been hanging about for the last hours, miss,” he said to me. ”Shall I remove him for you?”

”Certainly not,” I replied firmly, and opening the door, I requested my unknown comrade to enter. I can still see in my mind's eye that constable's face. It looked unutterable things.

After conducting the tramp to the pantry, and letting him loose on a cold pigeon-pie and other viands, and finally installing him on the study sofa, I retired to my own apartment, well prepared to enjoy a good night's rest.

This was destined, however, to be of short duration. Towards 6.30 I was roused from sleep by a loud rat-tat at the front door and, the servants not being up at such an hour, and suspecting that this early visit was in some way connected with the Anarchists, I hastily slipped on a wrapper and ran downstairs.

On opening the door I found one of the members of the previous night's meeting, the taciturn hero of the potato tragedy.

”It's rather early to disturb you,” he began, ”but I came to let you know that last night, after you had all gone, Comrades Banter and O'Flynn were arrested.”

”Arrested!” I exclaimed, as yet unused to such incidents; ”why, what on earth are they charged with?”

”Well,” answered Carter, ”the charge is not yet very clear, but so far as we can understand, it is in some way connected with the Myers business. They are charged with manufacturing explosives, or something of the sort. The fact is, the police and Jacob Myers are at the bottom of the whole matter, and Banter, O'Flynn, and Augustin have all played into their hands.”

”Come in here,” I interrupted, leading the way to the dining-room. ”Let us sit down and talk the matter over together;” and we entered, Carter casting a distinctly disapprobatory glance at the ”bourgeois luxury” of this apartment.

As soon as we were seated my companion returned to the question of the moment. ”I fear,” he said, ”that it is rather a serious affair for the comrades. That Myers is a police emissary there can no longer be any reasonable doubt, and the death of his brother is clear proof that he has not been wasting his time lately. And it is only too likely that the same hand which provided Augustin with explosives may have placed similar material in the possession of Banter and O'Flynn.”

”How abominable!” I exclaimed indignantly.

”Yes, but Anarchists should not be stupid enough to take any one into their confidence in such matters,” returned Carter. ”It is merely encouraging _mouchards_ and police plots. However, the question now is--What can be done to help the comrades out of the mess?”

”I am willing to do my best,” I answered; ”only tell me how I can be of use.”

”You can be of great use, if you care to be,” answered Carter. ”A barrister must be procured to defend them, witnesses must be found, money procured (and here he cast a side-glance at my plate), and some one ought to interview the comrades in Holloway, and take some food to the poor fellows.”

”I am quite willing to do my best in all these matters,” I answered enthusiastically.

Carter stayed some little while longer instructing me in the various things I was to do, and then left me, retiring presumably to his double bed again, for I saw no more of him till long after the trial was over.

He had handed the work over to me, and doubtless felt that so far as he was personally concerned his responsibilities were at an end.

As soon as the morning papers arrived I scanned them eagerly and from them learned further particulars of the arrest. A widespread conspiracy was suspected, the object of which was to blow up the West End of London, and leaders were devoted to the denunciation of the Anarchists and their infamous teachings. Explosives, it was alleged, had been found in the possession of the arrested men, ”evidently destined to carry into effect the deadly work which was only stopped by the hand of G.o.d in Queen's Park three weeks ago.”

Having disposed of a hasty breakfast, I left the house, and my morning was spent in places which were new and strange to me--Holloway Jail, the Old Jewry, and the Middle Temple. Holloway Prison was my first destination, for before any other steps could be taken it was necessary to ascertain what views the prisoners themselves held as to the course to be adopted in their defence.

I awaited my turn in the prison waiting-room along with a motley crowd of other visitors--burglars' and forgers' wives, pickpockets' mates, and the mother of a notorious murderer among others. Their language was not very choice when addressing the jailers, but sympathetic enough when talking among themselves and inquiring of one another, ”What's your man up for?” or, ”How did your mate get copped?” I felt painfully conscious of the tameness of my reply: ”It's a friend: incitement to murder.” How far more respectable murder itself would have sounded in the midst of such superior crime!