Every house is alight;the narrow sidewalks and filthy streets are full of people.Miserable little children,with sin-stamped faces,dart about like rats;little ones who ought to be in their cribs shift for themselves,and sleep on cellar doors and areas,and under carts;a few vendors are abroad with their wares,but the most of the traffic going on is of a different deion.Along Water Street are women conspicuously dressed in gaudy colours.Their heavily-painted faces are bloated or pinched;they shiver in the raw night air.Liz speaks to one,who replies that she would like to talk,but dare not,and as she says this an old hag comes to the door and cries:
"Get along;don't hinder her work!During the evening a man to whom Em has been talking has told her:--"You ought to join the Salvation Army;they are the only good women who,bother us down here.I don't want to lead that sort of life;but I must go where it is light and warm and clean after working all day,and there isn't any place but this to come to"exclaimed the man."You will appreciate the plea to-morrow when you see how the people live,"Em says,as we turn our steps toward the tenement room,which seems like an oasis of peace and purity after the howling desert we have been wandering in.Em and Mattie brew some oatmeal gruel,and being chilled and faint we enjoyed a cup of it.
Liz and I share a cot in the outer room.We are just going to sleep when agonised cries ring out through the night;then the tones of a woman's voice pleading pitifully reach our ears.We are unable to distinguish her words,but the sound is heart-rending.It comes from one of those dreadful Water Street houses,and we all feel that a tragedy is taking place.There is a sound of crashing blows and then silence.
It is customary in the slums to leave the house door open perpetually,which is convenient for tramps,who creep into the hall-ways to sleep at night,thereby saving the few pence it costs to occupy a "spot"in the cheap lodging houses.Em and Mat keep the corridor without their room beautifully clean,and so it has become an especial favourite stamping ground for these vagrants.We were told this when Mattie locked and bolted the door and then tied the keys and the door-handle together.So we understand why there are shuffling steps along the corridor,bumping against the panels of the door,and heavily breathing without during the long hours of the night.