 | CHAPTER IV.
THE INFECTED DISTRICT. Ellen Norbury, or, The adventures of an orphan |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
THE INFECTED DISTRICT.
That portion of Philadelphia lying between South and
Fitzwater, Fifth and Seventh streets, is mainly composed
of low, miserable, dilapidated hovels—for they scarcely
deserve the name of dwellings—which are filled to repletion
with the poorest, lowest, and most degraded class of human
beings—beings, many of them, so far down in the scale of
society, (if we may use that term in this connection,) that
the very heathen of foreign lands would rise in the comparison.
It is the very hot-bed of vice, the most hideous in
all its many forms—the very sink of pollution and misery,
the most loathsome in all their aspects. None live here
who can live elsewhere; and many there are here who cannot
be said to live at all—but rather who drag on a woeful
existence, and die as it were by inches. White and black,
male and female, young and old, are here, in some instances,
crowded into a cold, damp, slimy, underground apartment,
a dozen in a place not large enough to lodge one decently,
and really not fit to be used as a dog-kennel. Murderers,
robbers, house-breakers, thieves of every description, and
convicts just released from our penitentiaries, here congregate,
with others scarce less vile and depraved. Here
flourish gambling hells of the lowest order; policy offices,
which, with a show of fairness, rob many a poor wretch of
the pittance which might have procured bread to save him
and his family from immediate starvation; and last, though
not least, the most abominable of groggeries, where the
by the maddening poison dealt out at a cent a glass.
And such is the passion for strong drinks among this
class of our population—who either seek to raise a false
courage for some desperate deed, or become oblivious to the
cares and troubles which oppress them—that the master-fiends
who deal out the poison, flourish and wax fat upon
the miseries of their fellows, even as rank weeds shoot up
from noxious, slimy beds and the foulest excrements.
These groggeries are frequented by both sexes, by all
shades of colour, and by all ages—for the young are ever
ready to follow any example of vice set them by their
seniors—and here the work of degradation and depravity
is carried forward to its most frightful extent. As the
maddening poison enters the lips, oaths the most blasphemous,
and obscenity the most vile, issue from them; and
then, in a close, foul apartment, reeking with fetid breaths
and rank tobacco smoke, begins a scene of debauchery,
which not unfrequently ends in a frightful tragedy, the
details of which would make the blood curdle.
Remember, that the stuffs sold here, under the names of
brandy, gin, et cetera, cannot, from their price, contain
one tithe of pure liquor; but are almost entirely composed
of such drugs as will give out a sharp, fiery taste; and are
really a compound of poisons so deadly, that the smallest
quantity of one taken separately would produce instant
death. And this mixture is poured down the callous
throats of the poor wretches, till their stomachs warm and
burn with the corroding draughts, their blood becomes
heated and feverish, their brains begin to reel with delirium,
and their worst passions, excited and set in motion, without
reason to regulate, run wild with the most fiendish desires.
A few more glasses, perhaps, by stupefying all the senses,
put them beyond the power of doing harm; but the wretch
is now let loose upon the street, a howling maniac,
and wo to him or her who crosses his reeling path and mad
desires!
Go where you will through this locality, and the very
dregs of wo start up and stare you in the face. On the
streets you behold faces pale and haggard from want, with
eyes wild and hollow; or faces red and bloated from liquor,
with eyes swollen, bleared, and bloodshot; forms thin, attenuated,
and skeleton-like; or forms rotund and barrel-shaped,
which seem to be walking masses of living corruption;
and in all cases, matted hair, filthy skins, and dirty,
ragged coverings.
Within the noisome hovels, so far from being better, it
is even fearfully worse. Here, in winter especially, are
wretches without food—without fire—without rags, even, in
some cases, to cover their nakedness—actually starving and
freezing to death. Here infants are born into the world,
and forced out of it for want of the most common necessaries
of life. Here drunken husbands beat their wives,
drunken mothers beat their children, while depraved and
drunken children sometimes return the blows and beat one
another. Here cracked voices, hoarse from untimely exposure
and the unhealthy damps in which they live, give
forth no words but those of obscenity and blasphemy.
Here murders are committed which never see the light, and
deeds are done which the chaste pen cannot record. Here
disease takes hold of its victims, and runs riot, and leaves
its most disgusting aspects in its train.
Appropriately has this locality been named the “Infected
District;” and those who wish to conquer the contagious
diseases of the city, should begin by planting their
sanitary and medical batteries so as to rake this loathsome
spot.
What enjoyment has life in these awful dens to compensate
for the pains and miseries which attend it? And yet
most of these beings cling to it as tenaciously as if there
were no other and better state of existence. Another and
better state of existence, do we say? Alas! they know of
no other—they scarcely hope for another. They have no
hope beyond the present. They know nothing of the consolations
of the true Christian. They do not know that
such a being as God exists. His holy name is only used as
a by-word for emphatic affirmation or frightful malediction.
They may have their superstitions of a something after
death; but they are vague, undefined, irrational, the offspring
of ignorance and fear. They have no books—they
could not read if they had—and if they have any time unemployed,
they drink themselves drunk to get rid of it.
We think we hear some honest individual exclaim:
“This is all very shocking, but not true—it really exists
only in the imagination of the writer. What! Philadelphia
—the City of Brotherly Love—with her broad, clean, rectangular
streets—her splendid mansions—her stately edifices
—her lofty churches—and her sober, moral, philanthropic
population—to contain within her limits such a plague spot
as this? Impossible!”
Nay, sir, we tell you that what we have stated is true—
but must at the same time tell you, that not a hundredth
part of the truth has been stated—nor will it be, even when
this work shall have passed from our hands.
We do not ask you to believe us, if you will only take
the trouble to ascertain the truth for yourselves. We have
named the locality, and we invite you to visit it, and prove
our assertions right or wrong. Doubtless good would result
from your visit; for if you have a heavy purse and a
feeling heart—if you are one who desires to see your fellows
happy rather than miserable—if, in short, you are a Christian,
the few philanthropic hearts, who have, God bless them!
already begun the work of reformation in this vile quarter.
It was in the very centre of the abominable locality we
have been describing, that little Ellen found herself when
she gained the street for the purpose recorded at the close
of the preceding chapter. It was Christmas day—a day of
general rejoicing to thousands—but there was little of real
joy to be found in a quarter where poverty, drunkenness
and crime reigned almost absolutely. A few ragged children
were playing in the deep snow that had fallen, and a
few miserable beings, of larger growth, with thin, tattered
garments, and dark, dirty, bloated faces, were crawling
along, here and there, shivering with the cold.
Little Ellen, a stranger in this place, looked shudderingly
around her, with the bottle in her hand, not knowing
whither to go to obey the command of her new mistress.
While standing thus, undecided, a hunchback boy, a few
years her senior, crossed over the street, and thus accosted
her, with a smile:
“A merry Christmas to you, my charming little lady!
what can I do for you?”
Ellen looked at him, and timidly shrunk back. His stature,
owing to his deformity, was about the same as her
own; but his person was large for his height, and he appeared
to be healthy and very strong for his age. His features
were regular, bright and animated, particularly his
black eyes, which sparkled with an intellect of no common
order. His smile too was winning, though by it he displayed
uneven, dirty teeth. Neither his face nor hands
were clean; and his garments, which appeared to have
been picked up at different places, were torn and soiled, as
if he had been in the habit of sleeping in them in damp,
filthy lodgings. An old moth-eaten cap, with the front
hair. A kind of sack-coat, buttoned across the breast, but
not so as to entirely conceal the bosom of a dirty shirt, came
down to his very heels; and a pair of trousers, a world too
large, with the legs rolled up to a suitable length, were fastened
around and above his waist with strings. A large
old boot on one foot, and a shoe on the other, completed
his attire; though in picturing to yourself his personal appearance,
you must not forget the hump on his back,
which, with his short neck and bent head, rose almost to
the level of his cap, and made him a very unsightly object.
But as if repenting of her first design, or to compensate
him for the hideousness of his form, nature had endowed
him with an intellect beyond his years, and given him a
smooth, musical voice; by which, with his comely, expressive
features, he could, if he chose, render himself
very agreeable. Shrewd, cunning, and an apt scholar,
though without book education, he had, in his intercourse
with the better classes—for he sometimes peddled small
articles about the different hotels, carried trunks, and ran
of errands for the wealthy—picked up a language, which,
for its purity and grammatical construction, was so much
superior to the low, obscene, and profane slang of his associates
in this vile region, that they, in sportive derision,
had affixed to him the sobriquet of Nabob Hunchy, which
had been subsequently shortened to Nob Hunchy, and
finally to plain Nob.
Now the peculiarities of this poor youth—his deformity,
his comely features, his intellectuality, his soft, musical
voice, and his superior language—had made him an object
of deep interest to many a kind, sympathetic heart; and
many a silver coin had been given him in pity, and more
than one had attempted to reform him and permanently
better his condition. But without being a decided villain,
thrown away; for he had a passion for strong drink, which
consumed nearly every coin that came into his possession.
To get drunk was the chief aim of his existence; and no
moral persuasion, no judicious correction, no self-resolution,
could effect a reform. Drunkenness was in his nature, a
fixed fact—a part, as it were, of his very being—probably
inherited with the life principle. As surely as the sun set
upon him with money in his pocket, so surely it rose upon
him in a state of filthy intoxication. Twenty times already
had he been sent to the County Prison for inebriety—but
he only got out to get back again for the same offence.
In view of all these things, it is not unreasonable to suppose
that the bottle carried by Ellen, with the hope of
getting a taste of his favorite poison, had caught his attention
and attracted him to her side.
Perceiving that Ellen, in shrinking back, regarded him
with compassion, mingled with aversion, he said, in a soft,
gentle tone, with another winning smile:
“Come, my little lady, you are as pretty as I am ugly—
but God made us both, and probably we both have kind
hearts—you have, at least.”
Ellen was touched by his language, his kind manner,
and gentle voice; and she answered somewhat mechanically,
with her eyes fixed upon his black, sparkling orbs:
“What do you want with me?”
“Why, you seem to be a stranger here—at least I never
saw you before—and perhaps I can be of service to you.
You are going somewhere with that bottle.”
“Oh, yes—I want to get a pint of the best brandy, for
my mistress,” replied Ellen, quickly—“but I don't know
where to go.”
On hearing this, the eyes of the Hunchback sparkled
with pleasure.
“Come with me,” he said, “and I will show you a first-rate
place, where you can get liquor good enough for the
President.”
Ellen hesitated a little at first; but not knowing better
what to do, she finally set off under the guidance of her
strange companion.
“Hello!” shouted a boy, from a group of three or four
on the opposite side of the street—“there goes Nob for a
new drunk, by —!”
“I say, little gal,” called out another, “don't let him
git a swig at that ther' bottle, or he'll see the bottom!”
“He'd spile a barrel, that ther' Nob!” cried another,
rounding off with an oath.
A shout of laughter, and a shower of snow-balls, one of
which struck Ellen on the back, followed this last remark.
“See here!” said the Hunchback, turning round and
shaking his first at the juvenile party; “the next one of
you that throws a snow-ball this way, will have to settle
the matter with me—and you know I don't forget.”
He was answered by a shout of derision; but no one
had the temerity to disregard this warning—for Nabob
Hunchy was strong, muscular, active, and courageous, and,
when his blood was up, a perfect tiger. Besides, as he
said, he never forgot an offence, as many a boy, bigger
than himself, could testify, who had been severely punished,
days, and even weeks, after the provocation.
“Don't mind those boys,” he said to little Ellen, in a
kindly tone, as they picked their way along through the
snow; “they are bad boys, never had good bringing up, and
don't know any better; but they shall not harm you while
I'm about.”
To hear him speak, one might have thought him a pattern
of morality, invested with a legal power of protection.
Entering Sixth street, they walked on a short distance,
and then turned down Small—a street more vile and
wretched in its appearance than any Ellen had yet seen.
Here were a few drunken men and women, and several
groups of noisy boys, the most of the latter engaged in
snow-balling each other. Ellen began to grow alarmed—
the more so, that she perceived her companion and herself
were objects of general notice, and that their appearance
together excited universal derision and ridicule.
“There goes drunken Nob!” cried one.
“A regular rum cove!” cried another.
“What's he got in tow?” queried a third.
“It's an angel, by Jiminy!” said a fourth.
“Old Nick's son towing an angel!” yelled a fifth.
“Let's cool Old Nick's son with snow-balls!” vociferated
a sixth.
At this there was a shout of approval, mingled with loud
laughter, and followed by a shower of the frozen missiles,
several of which struck Ellen and her companion, but without
doing either any injury. Ellen's alarm, however, was
increased at this fresh display of general dislike for her
unfortunate guide, and she exclaimed, hurriedly:
“Oh! let us go back! I'm so afraid.”
“Never you fear—I'll take care of you,” was the reply;
“and besides, we are almost to the place.”
As they hurried along, the boys hooted; and a group,
with a tall youth acting as leader, finally interrupted their
peaceful progress.
“I say, Nob,” began the tall lad, striding up to the
Hunchback, and speaking in a dictatorial tone, “what is
you going to do with this yere little gal?”
“That is my business—stand out of the way!” said the
deformed boy, a bright, sullen light gleaming from his
black eye.
“Ho! ho! I'll hev to teach you manners to your betters!”
replied the other, seizing the collar of Nabob Hunchy.
As quick as lightning, the latter sprung back, and then
striking the tall youth with his head in the pit of the
stomach, stretched him at full length upon his back.
“A fight! a fight! hooray!” cried several voices, in
tones of delight.
But the Hunchback knew too well his advantage to let
the affair end in a fight; and so, gnashing his teeth with
fury, he leaped at once upon his fallen insulter, and
literally ground his face beneath his feet, thus putting an
end to the expected combat.
“Who next?” cried the deformed champion, glaring
furiously around upon the youthful bystanders, all of whom
shrunk back, with looks of dismay.
Taking advantage of the momentary awe which his unexpected
success had occasioned, the Hunchback instantly
seized the hand of the terrified Ellen, and darted forward.
Before she had time to recover from her surprise, alarm,
and confusion of ideas, she found herself pushed into a
dark, gloomy apartment, crowded with human beings, and
rank with the fumes of tobacco.
| CHAPTER IV.
THE INFECTED DISTRICT. Ellen Norbury, or, The adventures of an orphan | |