the people of the abyss(深渊居民)-第20章
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well dressed and respectable。
〃What do you expect to do in the end？〃 I asked them。 〃You know
you're growing older every day。〃
〃Work'ouse；〃 said he。
〃Gawd blimey if I do；〃 said she。 〃There's no 'ope for me； I know； but
I'll die on the streets。 No work'ouse for me； thank you。 No； indeed；〃
she sniffed in the silence that fell。
〃After you have been out all night in the streets；〃 I asked； 〃what do
you do in the morning for something to eat？〃
〃Try to get a penny； if you 'aven't one saved over；〃 the man explained。
〃Then go to a coffee…'ouse an' get a mug o' tea。〃
〃But I don't see how that is to feed you；〃 I objected。
The pair smiled knowingly。
〃You drink your tea in little sips；〃 he went on； 〃making it last its
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longest。 An' you look sharp； an' there's some as leaves a bit be'ind 'em。〃
〃It's s'prisin'； the food wot some people leaves；〃 the woman broke in。
〃The thing；〃 said the man judicially； as the trick dawned upon me； 〃is
to get 'old o' the penny。〃
As we started to leave； Miss Haythorne gathered up a couple of crusts
from the neighbouring tables and thrust them somewhere into her rags。
〃Cawn't wyste 'em； you know；〃 said she； to which the docker nodded；
tucking away a couple of crusts himself。
At three in the morning I strolled up the Embankment。 It was a gala
night for the homeless； for the police were elsewhere； and each bench was
jammed with sleeping occupants。 There were as many women as men；
and the great majority of them； male and female； were old。 Occasionally a
boy was to be seen。 On one bench I noticed a family； a man sitting
upright with a sleeping babe in his arms； his wife asleep； her head on his
shoulder； and in her lap the head of a sleeping youngster。 The man's eyes
were wide open。 He was staring out over the water and thinking； which
is not a good thing for a shelterless man with a family to do。 It would not
be a pleasant thing to speculate upon his thoughts； but this I know； and all
London knows； that the cases of out…of…works killing their wives and
babies is not an uncommon happening。
One cannot walk along the Thames Embankment； in the small hours of
morning； from the Houses of Parliament； past Cleopatra's Needle； to
Waterloo Bridge； without being reminded of the sufferings； seven and
twenty centuries old； recited by the author of 〃Job〃：…
There are that remove the landmarks； they violently take away flocks
and feed them。
They drive away the ass of the fatherless； they take the widow's ox for
a pledge。
They turn the needy out of the way； the poor of the earth hide
themselves together。
Behold； as wild asses in the desert they go forth to their work； seeking
diligently for meat； the wilderness yieldeth them food for their children。
They cut their provender in the field； and they glean the vintage of the
wicked。
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They lie all night naked without clothing； and have no covering in the
cold。
They are wet with the showers of the mountains； and embrace the rock
for want of a shelter。
There are that pluck the fatherless from the breast； and take a pledge of
the poor。
So that they go about naked without clothing； and being an hungered
they carry the sheaves。Job xxiv。 2…10。
Seven and twenty centuries agone！ And it is all as true and apposite
to…day in the innermost centre of this Christian civilisation whereof
Edward VII。 is king。
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CHAPTER XIIIDAN CULLEN；
DOCKER
I stood； yesterday； in a room in one of the 〃Municipal Dwellings；〃 not
far from Leman Street。 If I looked into a dreary future and saw that I
would have to live in such a room until I died； I should immediately go
down； plump into the Thames； and cut the tenancy short。
It was not a room。 Courtesy to the language will no more permit it to
be called a room than it will permit a hovel to be called a mansion。 It
was a den； a lair。 Seven feet by eight were its dimensions； and the ceiling
was so low as not to give the cubic air space required by a British soldier
in barracks。 A crazy couch； with ragged coverlets； occupied nearly half
the room。 A rickety table； a chair； and a couple of boxes left little space
in which to turn around。 Five dollars would have purchased everything
in sight。 The floor was bare； while the walls and ceiling were literally
covered with blood marks and splotches。 Each mark represented a
violent deathof an insect； for the place swarmed with vermin； a plague
with which no person could cope single…handed。
The man who had occupied this hole； one Dan Cullen； docker； was
dying in hospital。 Yet he had impressed his personality on his miserable
surroundings sufficiently to give an inkling as to what sort of man he was。
On the walls were cheap pictures of Garibaldi； Engels； Dan Burns； and
other labour leaders； while on the table lay one of Walter Besant's novels。
He knew his Shakespeare； I was told； and had read history； sociology； and
economics。 And he was self… educated。
On the table； amidst a wonderful disarray； lay a sheet of paper on
which was scrawled： Mr。 Cullen； please return the large white jug and
corkscrew I lent youarticles loaned； during the first stages of his sickness；
by a woman neighbour； and demanded back in anticipation of his death。
A large white jug and a corkscrew are far too valuable to a creature of the
Abyss to permit another creature to die in peace。 To the last； Dan
Cullen's soul must be harrowed by the sordidness out of which it strove
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vainly to rise。
It is a brief little story； the story of Dan Cullen； but there is much to
read between the lines。 He was born lowly； in a city and land where the
lines of caste are tightly drawn。 All his days he toiled hard with his body；
and because he had opened the books； and been caught up by the fires of
the spirit； and could 〃write a letter like a lawyer；〃 he had been selected by
his fellows to toil hard for them with his brain。 He became a leader of
the fruit…porters； represented the dockers on the London Trades Council；
and wrote trenchant articles for the labour journals。
He did not cringe to other men； even though they were his economic
masters； and controlled the means whereby he lived； and he spoke his
mind freely； and fought the good fight。 In the 〃Great Dock Strike〃 he
was guilty of taking a leading part。 And that was the end of Dan Cullen。
From that day he was a marked man； and every day； for ten years and
more； he was 〃paid off〃 for what he had done。
A docker is a casual labourer。 Work ebbs and flows； and he works or
does not work according to the amount of goods on hand to be moved。
Dan Cullen was discriminated against。 While he was not absolutely
turned away （which would have caused trouble； and which would
certainly have been more merciful）； he was called in by the foreman to do
not more than two or three days' work per week。 This is what is called
being 〃disciplined；〃 or 〃drilled。〃 It means being starved。 There is no
politer word。 Ten years of it broke his heart； and broken…hearted men
cannot live。
He took to his bed in his terrible den； which grew more terrible with
his helplessness。 He was without kith or kin； a lonely old man；
embittered and pessimistic； fighting vermin the while and looking at
Garibaldi； Engels； and Dan Burns gazing down at him from the blood…
bespattered walls。 No one came to see him in that crowded municipal
barracks （he had made friends with none of them）； and he was left to rot。
But from the far reaches of the East End came a cobbler and his son；
his sole friends。 They cleansed his room； brought fresh linen from home；
and took from off his limbs the sheets； greyish…black with dirt。 And they
brought to him one of the Queen's Bounty nurses from Aldgate。
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She washed his face； shook up his conch； and talked with him。 It was
interesting to talk with himuntil he learned her name。 Oh； yes； Blank
was her name； she replied innocently； and Sir George Blank was her
brother。 Sir George Blank； eh？ thundered old Dan Cullen on his death…
bed； Sir George Blank； solicitor to the docks at Cardiff； who； more than
any other man； had broken up the Dockers' Union of Cardiff； and was
knighted？ And she was his sister？ Thereupon Dan Cullen sat up on his
crazy couch and pronounced anathema upon her and all her breed； and she
fled； to return no more； strongly impressed with the ungratefulness of the
poor。
Dan Cullen's feet became swollen with dropsy。 He sat up all day on
the side of the bed （to keep the water out of his body）； no mat on the floor；
a thin blanket on his legs； and an old coat around his shoulders。 A
missionary brought him a pair of paper slippers； worth fourpence （I saw
them）； and proceeded to offer up fifty prayers or so for the good of Dan
Cullen's soul。 But Dan Cullen was the sort of man that wanted his soul
left alone。 He did not care to have Tom； Dick； or Harry； on the strength
of fourpenny slippers； tampering with it。 He asked the missionary kindly
to open the windo
