Part 42 (1/2)
The missionary dropped his eyes. The flush and animation went out of his face.
”I leave you to judge for yourself,” he answered, after a brief silence, and in a voice that betrayed a feeling of disappointment. ”You have the fact before you in the board of health, prison, almshouse, police, house of refuge, mission and other reports that are made every year to the people. If they hear not these, neither will they believe, though one rose from the dead.”
”All is too dreadfully palpable for unbelief,” returned Mr. Dinneford.
”I only expressed a pa.s.sing thought.”
”My mind may take an unhealthy tone--does often, without doubt,” said Mr. Paulding. ”I wonder, sometimes, that I can keep my head clear and my purposes steady amid all this moral and physical disorder and suffering.
But exaggeration of either this evil or its consequences is impossible.
The half can never be told.”
Mr. Dinneford rose to go. As he did so, two little Italian children, a boy and a girl, not over eight years of age, tired, hungry, pinched and starved-looking little creatures, the boy with a harp slung over his shoulder, and the girl carrying a violin, went past on the other side.
”Where in the world do all of these little wretches come from?” asked Mr. Dinneford. ”They are swarming our streets of late. Yesterday I saw a child who could not be over two years of age tinkling her triangle, while an older boy and girl were playing on a harp and violin. She seemed so cold and tired that it made me sad to look at her. There is something wrong about this.”
”Something very wrong,” answered the missionary. ”Doubtless you think these children are brought here by their parents or near relatives. No such thing. Most of them are slaves. I speak advisedly. The slave-trade is not yet dead. Its abolition on the coast of Africa did not abolish the cupidity that gave it birth. And the 'coolie' trade, one of its new forms, is not confined to the East.”
”I am at a loss for your meaning,” said Mr. Dinneford.
”I am not surprised. The new slave-trade, which has been carried on with a secresy that is only now beginning to attract attention, has its source of supply in Southern Italy, from which large numbers of children are drawn every year and brought to this country.
”The headquarters of this trade--cruel enough in some of its features to bear comparison with the African slave-trade itself--are in New York.
From this city agents are sent out to Southern Italy every year, where little intelligence and great poverty exist. These agents tell grand stories of the brilliant prospects offered to the young in America. Let me now read to you from the published testimony of one who has made a thorough investigation of this nefarious business, so that you may get a clear comprehension of its extent and iniquity.
”He says: 'One of these agents will approach the father of a family, and after commenting upon the beauty of his children, will tell him that his boys ”should be sent at once to America, where they must in time become rich.” ”There are no poor in America.” ”The children should go when young, so that they may grow up with the people and the better acquire the language.” ”None are too young or too old to go to America.” The father, of course, has not the means to go himself or to send his children to this delightful country. The agent then offers to take the children to America, and to pay forty or fifty dollars to the father upon his signing an indenture abandoning all claims upon them. He often, also, promises to pay a hundred or more at the end of a year, but, of course, never does it.
”'After the agent has collected a sufficient number of children, they are all supplied with musical instruments, and the trip on foot through Switzerland and France begins. They are generally s.h.i.+pped to Genoa, and often to Ma.r.s.eilles, and accomplish the remainder of the journey to Havre or Calais by easy stages from village to village. Thus they become a paying investment from the beginning. This journey occupies the greater portion of the summer months; and after a long trip in the steerage of a sailing-vessel, the unfortunate children land at Castle Garden. As the parents never hear from them again, they do not know whether they are doing well or not.
”'They are too young and ignorant to know how to get themselves delivered from oppression; they do not speak our language, and find little or no sympathy among the people whom they annoy. They are thus left to the mercy of their masters, who treat them brutally, and apparently without fear of the law or any of its officers. They are crowded into small, ill-ventilated, uncarpeted rooms, eighteen or twenty in each, and pa.s.s the night on the floor, with only a blanket to protect them from the severity of the weather. In the mornings they are fed by their temporary guardian with maccaroni, served in the filthiest manner in a large open dish in the centre of the room, after which they are turned out into the streets to beg or steal until late at night.
”'More than all this, when the miserable little outcasts return to their cheerless quarters, they are required to deliver every cent which they have gathered during the day; and if the same be deemed insufficient, the children are carefully searched and soundly beaten.
”'The children are put through a kind of training in the arts of producing discords on their instruments, and of begging, in the whole of which the cruelty of the masters and the stolid submission of the pupils are the predominant features. The worst part of all is that the children become utterly unfitted for any occupation except vagrancy and theft.'
”You have the answer to your question, 'Where do all these little wretches come from?'” said the missionary as he laid aside the paper from which he had been reading. ”Poor little slaves!”
CHAPTER XXII.
_EDITH'S_ life, as we have seen, became lost, so to speak, in charities.
Her work lay chiefly with children, She was active in mission-schools and in two or three homes for friendless little ones, and did much to extend their sphere of usefulness. Her garments were plain and sombre, her fair young face almost colorless, and her aspect so nun-like as often to occasion remark.
Her patience and tender ways with poor little children, especially with the youngest, were noticed by all who were a.s.sociated with her.
Sometimes she would show unusual interest in a child just brought to one of the homes, particularly if it were a boy, and only two or three years old. She would hover about it and ask it questions, and betray an eager concern that caused a moment's surprise to those who noticed her. Often, at such times, the pale face would grow warm with the flush of blood sent out by her quicker heartbeats, and her eyes would have a depth of expression and a brightness that made her beauty seem the reflection of some divine beat.i.tude. Now and then it was observed that her manner with these little waifs and cast-adrifts that were gathered in from the street had in it an expression of pain, that her eyes looked at them sadly, sometimes tearfully. Often she came with light feet and a manner almost cheery, to go away with eyes cast down and lips set and curved and steps that were slow and heavy.
Time had not yet solved the mystery of her baby's life or death; and until it was solved, time had no power to abate the yearning at her heart, to dull the edge of anxious suspense or to reconcile her to a Providence that seemed only cruel. In her daily prayers this thought of cruelty in G.o.d often came in to hide his face from her, and she rose from her knees more frequently in a pa.s.sion of despairing tears than comforted. How often she pleaded with G.o.d, weeping bitter tears, that he would give her certainty in place of terrible doubts! Again, she would implore his loving care over her poor baby, wherever it might be.
So the days wore on, until nearly three years had elapsed since Edith's child was born.