TALE THREE. A STORY OF THE CHICAGO GHETTO.

The wind howled, then carrying with it bits of paper, flurries of snow and great quantities of smoke and soot, it seemed to sink into the darkness with a dismal moan, which resembled the wailing of some great wild beast in search of its mate.

Shops with their dim lights, which looked like tiny sparks clinging to a black wall, lined the street; tin signs creaked and crashed like miniature thunder; small pieces of shutters flopped against the sides of the weather beaten houses, only to swing into the breeze with each fresh gust, there to quiver on their rusty hinges until a weird, screeching, grating sound denoted that age and elements were victors and one more piece of some antiquated structure had cast anchor and would soon be used to infuse warmth into the body of some poor, unfortunate dweller in the immediate vicinity. The uncertainty of the board walks in this locality caused the pedestrian, whose lot it was to venture here for the first time, to use great care in setting down and picking up his feet.

Half-clad children were there; some with small and precious packages of edibles clutched tightly in their begrimed and reddened hands, some laboring with a plank, which on account of the frozen slush that stuck to it, made it twice their weight; some fighting and sprawling in the filth of the narrow street for the possession of a two-pound lump of coal, that had been jostled from a wagon, while many of them clung tenaciously to the threadbare, misfit garments in which they were clad, with an apparent fear that the wind would use the tattered rags in whipping them to death. The flickering rays of the few and irregular gas lamps which the city had placed at long intervals, did not add cheer to the locality; they only made it more possible for a stranger to realize to a greater extent the squalor which existed there.

Such is a poorly drawn picture of the Ghetto of Chicago.

When compared to the commodious home on the lake front, with its coils of pipes conducting steam into every nook and corner, making even the cellar a place of comfort, the rich rugs, the substantial furnishing of oak and mahogany, the bright lights, the dear little mother, the happy children, the music, pictures and flowers, the well filled larder and comfortable clothing we all enjoy, it is inclined to cause one to forget to complain.

It was no pleasant task, but it was a duty. I have set out to tell the life story of twenty different women, and to get these stories from the lips of the principals, it behooves me to appear to them in person, even though at times I am compelled to freeze myself against all humanity; and, again, so stirred with pity and aroused with sympathy, that I have frequently come away from hovels with just enough change in my pockets for car fare home.

This night, after searching for blocks and burning many matches in a vain endeavor to find the number which I had been given, I was led to the point of my investigation by an old man, who was on his way home from his day’s begging and peddling. He was a kindly Hebrew. “Dis is de blace,” said he, with an instinctive stretching out of the right hand, palm upward. “Bud, meester, I don’t tink dey vill be ad home,” he added, as I laid a half dollar in the still outstretched hand.

“Ah, oh vait! I vill see for you.”

With that he shambled around the side of the tumble-down house, while I stamped my feet on the frozen cinders to keep up circulation, all the time thinking the old man was correct, for there was no sign of life anywhere about the house. Finally he came back.

“Yes, dey vas dere, but you see, meester, Saturday nights iss a bat time to found ’em home.”

“Why?”

“Oh, it iss a goot time to find tings; so many grocery wagons on de streets und der vas some stores vat gif de peebles de rotten cabbages, und abbles und lots of vilted tings. You see, meester, we haf a hard time to eat.”

The old man was an artist. His eyes shone with that everlasting thrift so characteristic of his race, and somehow I could not get away without handing him another quarter. Then, receiving his instructions as to getting into the house, I took up that part of my labor. I managed to keep myself separated from the piles of ashes and tin cans until I reached a rear door. The house was on the corner and was a basement affair, the first part being brick up to the level of the street, from that on up to the top it was frame. The house had been built before the street was filled in, so that when that operation took place one side and one end of the brick wall, being the parts of the house that were exposed to the street, had become submerged in a mixture of old bricks, pieces of bottles, mud and other rubbish that was from time to time scraped off the business portion of the street.

It was difficult to distinguish my hard and vigorous rapping from the violent rattle of the door. Finally I heard a sound as though something was being dragged across the floor, then the door was pulled half way open and I was asked to enter.

A tin lamp with a badly smoked chimney (or rather part of a chimney, for a large hole in the side represented nearly one-third of the surface) caused flickering, gloomy shadows to move about the room; a rough pine box with shelves served for a cupboard, in which there were a few battered tin pans, some broken handled knives and bent forks; a pile of straw in the corner, with some soiled remnants of blankets and quilts served for a bed. The warmth of the room was furnished by a badly broken cook stove; pieces of wood and coal mixed, laid on the grate, while in the oven and on the top of the stove were frozen chunks of mud with small pieces of coal all through them; wood covered with snow and ice, which had been put there to thaw out, so as to be usable; the formation of the sizzling steam as the water ran from this store of fuel did nothing to add a pleasant odor to that which arose from the conglomeration of filth which had been gathered from street and alley and was being roasted until it should give up bits of coal, which were as rare and precious to the half frozen inmates of this hole in the ground, as the bright shining metal is to the gold miner as he sees his piles of quartz crushed in the process of separation.

“Is this Mrs. Densmore?” I asked, as I shook the snow from my long ulster.

“No, this ain’t Mis Dinsmore,” growled the voice of the woman who stood in front of me.

“I am sorry,” said I, “for I wanted to find her very much.”

“Well, I guess you won’t find her.”

“Can you tell me where she is?”

“No, an’ if I could I wouldn’t. What do you want of her, anyway? Hain’t she had enough trouble, without some new thing bobbin’ up?”

“I fear you misunderstand me; I want to see her for her own good.”

“Yes, I s’pose so. I know what you want and you won’t git her, neither. She’s all I got, an’ she loves me, if I am pore and miserable.”

I expressed my surprise at her remarks and followed up with the assurance that I knew she was the object of my search, but I said:

“If you will tell me where I can get something to eat, I will first satisfy the inner man, then I want to have a long talk with you.”

“My Lord, man, you don’t spect to find nothin’ to eat here, do you? Fer if you do, sir, you’re much mistaken. In the first place this hain’t no hotel nor ‘caffey.’ Why, we hain’t had a square meal in three months; fact; not sence her monkey died.”

“Whose monkey? Who is ‘her’?”

“Oh, that’s it, eh? Well, I guess you know.”

“No, indeed, I don’t know what you mean, but if you will tell me where to find something fit for a man to take into his stomach, I will go and eat and bring you something.”

“Oh, will you? Well, jes’ go to the next corner south, turn to the left and you will find ‘Peggy Pete’s’ place; I guess you can git about anything you want.”

Following her directions, I soon found myself in a shop where every conceivable thing that a man could think of, was kept for sale. A stenciled bill of fare occupied a conspicuous place above the oilcloth covered lunch counter, telling in detail what was ready to serve; everything from tripe, all along, including such delicacies as pickled pig’s feet, fried liver, wienerwursts and winding up with the announcement that hot soup could be obtained at ten cents per gallon.

The proprietor was a one-eyed, one-legged man of fat and greasy proportions and when I ordered a pound of ham, three loaves of bread, a pound of butter, a dozen eggs, some coffee, and finished by calling for cream, he looked at me in a way that surely strained his one organ of vision.

“Goin’ to eat it here?” he asked, as he limped around selecting the articles as I ordered them.

“No, I will take them along.” At this information he shot a quick gleaming look at me, then hastily grabbing the packages off the counter, laid them back on the shelf safely out of my reach, as he said, “Anything else?”

“Yes, I want you to make me a gallon of soup, good oyster soup, and put lots of oysters in it.”

“Now look here, feller, you needn’t git smart,” said the robust and reddened merchant.

Then, as he pointed to the sign, he added: “That means shank soup. You can’t come no shenanigan on me; if you want oyster soup, yew can have it, but it will cost yer fifty cents per gal.”

“All right; I want it.”

A wait of twenty minutes and the soup was ready.

“Now, let me have some crackers, and how much do I owe you?” said I, as I slowly counted a few pieces of silver which I drew from my pocket.

“A dollar forty,” said the man, as he reached out for the money with one hand, while the other rested affectionately on the little pile of bundles as they lay beside the gallon apple can into which he had poured the soup.

“Come in again,” said he, as he saw me start to leave after putting six silver quarters into his hand and not waiting for change. Then a thought struck me.

“Have you any lamp chimneys?”

“Yes, good ones, too; fifteen, or two for a quarter.”

“Give me two,” said I.

“Guess your jist settin’ up housekeepin’, ain’t yer?” said Pete, as he hobbled ahead of me to open the door. Having noticed the landmarks, I found my way back without difficulty. If I lied when I told the woman that I had lunched at “Peggy Pete’s” it was my own lie and I will suffer for it.

My first move was to place one of the glass cylinders on the lamp. The improvement in the light added a cheeriness, which was partly in keeping with the steaming oyster soup. With the better light I was able to obtain a more distinct view of the woman.

Tall, dark and gaunt, her claw-like hands jerked nervously as she hastily unwrapped the packages. Her hair was black as a raven’s wing; her high forehead showed unmistakable signs of intelligence; the rest of her face, save the little piercing black eyes, which now and then flashed with joy and hunger, was horribly misshapen; a huge scar, as from a burn, covered one whole side of her face, while the other was so badly distorted by something of the same nature, which drew her mouth down and back so far on one side, that her molars were plainly visible. She was devoid of eyelashes and her brows only remained in spots. Yet, in spite of her surroundings, her uncouth language, her privations and want, a kindly light shone out of those eyes of ebony, as she said:

“Man, I believe you’re all right; anyways you know about what a hungry one wants. This seems like old times,” she added, as she unrolled the generous slices of ham.

No persuasion was needed to induce her to eat and I fully enjoyed the spectacle. The feast added much amiability to her versatile nature.

Finally she said: “Lord, I wisht the kid was here.”

“Who is the kid, tell me,” I said.

“Maybe I will, sometime, but tell me, what did you want of Mrs. Densmore?”

“I want you to tell me all about yourself.”

“And honor bright, now, it ain’t the kid ye want?”

“No, bless me, no; I don’t want anybody’s kid.”

“Well, you see, it was this way: I married young, married a man who was as handsome as he was mean. I was considered a beautiful girl and he thought he loved me, but he was so jealous that he was miserable. We lived happy for two years. I may as well say right here that I had a sister who was a beautiful blonde, and I being dark we were a great contrast. I loved my sister so devotedly that when we discovered that sooner or later I would become a mother we asked her to come and live with us. She had a friend who called frequently, a perfect gentleman, but my husband grew so jealous and finally became so enraged that he drove him from the house. Then my sister left. The rest of the time, up to the birth of my child, I spent in tears. I was almost killed to think my husband would be so brutal and so ill treat my dear sister.

“At last the little fairy came, and with her came more suffering and misery for me. My husband flew into a vicious rage, for my baby was a blonde, as perfect as an angel. My husband was neither light nor dark. My sister’s friend was light. My husband charged me with infidelity, disowned the child, and one day in a fit of anger, he threw her from me hurling her against a red hot stove. The burn caused a scar on her little back, which she carries to this day.”

Great tears rolled down the scarred face and splashed on those long talon shaped fingers. Then, with a shiver, she continued:

“The Bible says something about, if one marries a man to stick to him. My people all tried to get me to leave him, but woman-like I left them and my baby. I proposed to go where no one knew us and begin life over. He said if I would leave the ‘brat,’ he would go.

“We came to Chicago, but the same bitter feeling still existed in him. The evil mind brooded and the heart became affected until our lives were the lives of beasts. He lost one position after another. He began to drink and beat me terribly. Oh, sir, I would have stood all that, if he had only loved me. I would have willingly starved for bread if my heart could have had one morsel on which it might be sustained.

“Finally we took a large house and began to take roomers. We did well for a while; then things began to go wrong and he suggested that we rent rooms to people for immoral purposes. My soul revolted against it, sir; indeed it did, but I consented! Oh, sir, many’s the time I’ve cried when I would see some sweet faced girl come to our house, for, sir, I could not help thinking that some day my baby would grow up and she might become the prey of some vulture.”

As she progressed with her narrative she dropped the uncouth language of the locality in which she lived. The hot soup and the light, together with the living over the better times, seemed to have taken her out of herself for the time being.

“My husband drifted from one bad crowd of associates to another. At last he was arrested and convicted of stealing and was sentenced to the penitentiary. The disgrace which this brought upon me was so terrible that it overwhelmed me. I lost all respect for everything and everybody. I removed from the semi-respectable district into the more notorious and better advertised portion of the city, and became the landlady of one of the most notorious resorts of the day. I made many friends among the class into which this life had thrown me. I developed into a woman of beauty. I had fine clothes and precious gems; money came easily and was spent with a lavish hand. Still I maintained a business presence of mind which gained for my house a reputation of good order. One of the inmates of my place was a beautiful blonde. She was proud and set herself up as being the most bewitching woman in Chicago. She had a dear friend, a very wealthy man, who called on her with great regularity. One night, in a jest, he put his arm around me and remarked that he was tired of blondes, anyway. All the fury that God allowed one woman to possess, arose in that blonde when he said that. She swore and tore and raved like one possessed of demons. After that she and I quarreled often. I would not have taken her lover. I did not like him, but I could not get her to understand. It all ended by her forcing her friend to take a magnificent house next door to mine. It was lavishly furnished and I soon had a rival in business that made that quarter of Chicago more famous than ever.

“One day I met her admirer on the street, the first time I had ever talked with him since the gun was fired which had kept me in an incessant battle. He told me many things that she had said of me, which, in addition to the insults she had heretofore heaped upon me, made me boil.

“Eighteen years had passed since my heart had been transformed from the organ of anticipation to the soul of a young mother, and a woman can grow very hard in that time; she can nerve herself to do anything at anyone’s cost, in order to crush a rival. I forgot all the goodness I had ever known. I did not want this man myself, but I wanted to sting his inamorata so as to cause her the most intense pain and mortification. I proposed to him that if he would abandon this woman I would get him a nice young girl.

“‘Agreed,’ said he, ‘I will do that and it won’t be long till you’ll have the business of the block all your way again, for when I turn the ‘old girl’ down, the whole gang will quit her house.’

“With thoughts of revenge and the anticipation of an increased bank account, I began the search for a candidate for the position of mistress to my enemy’s friend. It did not take me long. I was on the train one day, when I met a young girl, beautiful, graceful, fresh, but sad. My practical eye soon sized up the situation and I made friends with her. She explained to me that she was coming to Chicago to seek a position. Then, slowly, but as surely as the snake coils itself around the helpless, bleating kid, so did I spin my web of Hell around her. ‘Now,’ I said, after I had made all arrangements, ‘I don’t want to know your real name, for I don’t like to lie if anyone should ask for you.’

“Ha, ha! Only think of it, sir! I was too good to lie!”

The wild glitter of the black eyes made me think of a snake, as the woman writhed and twisted and uttered her maniacal screeches.

“Well, I brought her in, as the saying goes. I took her to the dressmaker’s and in a week’s time she was ready to show. I notified the man. That night the scenes of revelry and debauchery outdid all former efforts. Men and women sang and danced, wine flowed and money was spent in the most reckless manner. The little girl easily outclassed all others. The wine soon caused her to cast aside her modesty, which was a part of her, and she was the merriest one of the lot. It was three o’clock when I assisted the man to undress her and put her into the best bed in the house, then I left for my own room. Night after night these scenes followed. Great was my glee when a carriage would come down the street and boldly drive up to the door. I was so delighted that I became bold and proceeded to return some of my now unpopular neighbor’s taunts and jeers. It was no uncommon thing for men to bring strange women to my place, so I was not surprised when, one evening about nine o’clock, I saw a veiled woman alight from a carriage and come to my door. The maid announced, ‘A lady to see you, madame.’ I went forward, and just as I pulled the door open a hand shot out from under the long cape and I felt a blinding, burning sensation spread over my face. I ran inside. Everything that was convenient was applied, and when the doctor came he told me it was acid. That is how I got the scars. I went to the hospital. The little girl came to see me daily. She spent as much time with me as the nurses would allow and in that way we became deeply attached to each other. I put her in charge of my affairs, and by her sweet ways she won the esteem and admiration of all the girls. We had little trouble in tracing the acid thrower. Next morning after it occurred my unfriendly neighbor was found dead in her room. A note pinned to her pillow told all. She had done me, then drank poison.

“I recovered; that is, so far as you can see, but I was too badly disfigured for publicity, so I left my entire place in the hands of the little girl and opened a home for women during confinement.

“Things ran on this way for two years. I had many bright but wayward girls in my care during that time. The little girl’s visits were less frequent to me and I had not seen her for months, when she came to me one day and told me she was to become a mother. I took her in, of course, and the former resort was rented. The time arrived for her expected illness. The baby was a bright girl. The little mother hung between life and death for days. She, in her delirium, roamed everywhere, called many by name, and spoke of places she had known. One day during her ravings I attempted to arrange her bed more comfortably, and in order to do so was compelled to turn her over. I discovered that her back and shoulders were covered with a rash. I thought a tepid bath would be just the thing, so I slipped her gown down and laid bare her back. I saw a scar. Believe me or not, mister, that acid felt cooling on my face compared to the pain which now fired me within and without. My daughter! I was able to be up and around the house when she regained her senses. She asked for her baby. I don’t know why, but I lied to her. I was not too good to lie this time.”

The gurgle which emitted from the woman’s throat at this juncture was a poor excuse for a laugh.

“Yes, I lied; I told her it had died; and to think it was then in the nursery with several others, and the jolliest, cunningest one of the lot!

“The little mother got well and strong and she got a good position and a man, a real man, fell heels over head in love with her, and now they are married. Now she has three sweet children.”

“Do you ever see your daughter?”

At this question the small black eyes snapped, and the haggard woman started.

“Don’t say that, mister, please; ’cause nobody knows.

“Yes, I see her twice a week. She has a beautiful home and for the sake of old times she has me come and clean her room twice a week. She says I do it so much better than her regular servants. Oh, mister, you don’t know how long and faithful I work in that room.”

“And the other little girl; her first baby?”

“Oh, the kid?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you see, I’m trying to raise her right, for now you see I know right from wrong. She is nearly ten. A year ago a drunken man came down here and brought a monkey. He mistreated it so that it bit him and broke away. It ran to the kid and nothing could get it to leave, so the man told her to keep it, and he took rather a fancy to her in his drunken way and took her up town and bought her an organ. From that on we lived real well, but during the first cold snap the fire went out one night and when we got up ‘Pranks’ was froze to death. Since then she has begged a ‘right smart.’”

“Does she ever see her mother?”

“Sometimes; not often, though, mister. I took her with me onct jes’ after the coal oil man’s little girl died and his wife give me all her clothes, ’cause she said I’d been there and helped so much. So I kind a dressed the little one up and took her over, and while I worked she played with her—I mean with the other children, and when I got ready to start home I like to never got her to come. She cried most all night, so I don’t take her no more, but she’s gone over there now. I was over there today and done the cleaning and the ‘lady’ (that’s what I always call her) said if I would send the little one over she would give her a suit or two of her older girl’s underclothes. You see her girl’s younger than the kid, but she’s fatter, so I guess they’ll fit. Lord, I wish she’d come, mister, for now I’ve told you all and you’ll be goin’ and it’ll be awful lonesome here.”

“I will wait until she comes, if you don’t object.”

“No, I will be glad, and I guess I’d better put this soup on and warm it, for she’ll be cold and hungry.”

A few moments and a rattle at the door announced the “kid’s” coming. She was a sweet-faced child, but the beauty which would have been visible under favorable circumstances was marred by the pinched, drawn expression which always attends want. Without ado, or bashfulness, she unrolled a bundle, shouting, “Look Granny, two for you and two for me. The lady had some of her own that was too big and she said you could have ’em.”

And there, under the rays of light shed from the tin lamp, I saw articles of silk underwear with a monogram on the waistband, the same which adorned an invitation to a party for one night next week, which I had received that morning and now carried in my pocket.