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THE VICTORIA CROSS
I have found that it is not easy to get into the casual ward of the
workhouse。 I have made two attempts now； and I shall shortly make a
third。 The first time I started out at seven o'clock in the evening with
four shillings in my pocket。 Herein I committed two errors。 In the first
place； the applicant for admission to the casual ward must be destitute； and
as he is subjected to a rigorous search； he must really be destitute； and
fourpence； much less four shillings； is sufficient affluence to disqualify
him。 In the second place； I made the mistake of tardiness。 Seven
o'clock in the evening is too late in the day for a pauper to get a pauper's
bed。
For the benefit of gently nurtured and innocent folk； let me explain
what a ward is。 It is a building where the homeless； bedless； penniless
man； if he be lucky； may CASUALLY rest his weary bones； and then work
like a navvy next day to pay for it。
My second attempt to break into the casual ward began more
auspiciously。 I started in the middle of the afternoon； accompanied by
the burning young socialist and another friend； and all I had in my pocket
was thru'pence。 They piloted me to the Whitechapel Workhouse； at
which I peered from around a friendly corner。 It was a few minutes past
five in the afternoon but already a long and melancholy line was formed；
which strung out around the corner of the building and out of sight。
It was a most woeful picture； men and women waiting in the cold grey
end of the day for a pauper's shelter from the night； and I confess it almost
unnerved me。 Like the boy before the dentist's door； I suddenly
discovered a multitude of reasons for being elsewhere。 Some hints of the
struggle going on within must have shown in my face； for one of my
companions said； 〃Don't funk； you can do it。〃
Of course I could do it； but I became aware that even thru'pence in my
pocket was too lordly a treasure for such a throng； and； in order that all
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THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS
invidious distinctions might be removed； I emptied out the coppers。
Then I bade good…bye to my friends； and with my heart going pit…a…pat；
slouched down the street and took my place at the end of the line。
Woeful it looked； this line of poor folk tottering on the steep pitch to death；
how woeful it was I did not dream。
Next to me stood a short； stout man。 Hale and hearty； though aged；
strong…featured； with the tough and leathery skin produced by long years
of sunbeat and weatherbeat； his was the unmistakable sea face and eyes；
and at once there came to me a bit of Kipling's 〃Galley Slave〃：…
〃By the brand upon my shoulder； by the gall of clinging steel； By the
welt the whips have left me； by the scars that never heal； By eyes grown
old with staring through the sun…wash on the brine； I am paid in full for
service 。 。 。 〃
How correct I was in my surmise； and how peculiarly appropriate the
verse was； you shall learn。
〃I won't stand it much longer； I won't；〃 he was complaining to the man
on the other side of him。 〃I'll smash a windy； a big 'un； an' get run in for
fourteen days。 Then I'll have a good place to sleep； never fear； an' better
grub than you get here。 Though I'd miss my bit of bacey〃this as an
after…thought； and said regretfully and resignedly。
〃I've been out two nights now；〃 he went on； 〃wet to the skin night
before last； an' I can't stand it much longer。 I'm gettin' old； an' some
mornin' they'll pick me up dead。〃
He whirled with fierce passion on me： 〃Don't you ever let yourself
grow old； lad。 Die when you're young； or you'll come to this。 I'm tellin'
you sure。 Seven an' eighty years am I； an' served my country like a man。
Three good…conduct stripes and the Victoria Cross； an' this is what I get for
it。 I wish I was dead； I wish I was dead。 Can't come any too quick for
me； I tell you。〃
The moisture rushed into his eyes； but； before the other man could
comfort him； he began to hum a lilting sea song as though there was no
such thing as heartbreak in the world。
Given encouragement； this is the story he told while waiting in line at
the workhouse after two nights of exposure in the streets。
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As a boy he had enlisted in the British navy； and for two score years
and more served faithfully and well。 Names； dates； commanders； ports；
ships； engagements； and battles； rolled from his lips in a steady stream； but
it is beyond me to remember them all； for it is not quite in keeping to take
notes at the poorhouse door。 He had been through the 〃First War in
China；〃 as he termed it； had enlisted with the East India Company and
served ten years in India； was back in India again； in the English navy； at
the time of the Mutiny； had served in the Burmese War and in the Crimea；
and all this in addition to having fought and toiled for the English flag
pretty well over the rest of the globe。
Then the thing happened。 A little thing； it could only be traced back
to first causes： perhaps the lieutenant's breakfast had not agreed with
him； or he had been up late the night before； or his debts were pressing； or
the commander had spoken brusquely to him。 The point is； that on this
particular day the lieutenant was irritable。 The sailor； with others； was
〃setting up〃 the fore rigging。
Now； mark you； the sailor had been over forty years in the navy； had
three good…conduct stripes； and possessed the Victoria Cross for
distinguished service in battle； so he could not have been such an
altogether bad sort of a sailorman。 The lieutenant was irritable； the
lieutenant called him a namewell； not a nice sort of name。 It referred to
his mother。 When I was a boy it was our boys' code to fight like little
demons should such an insult be given our mothers； and many men have
died in my part of the world for calling other men this name。