Well, he looked at us in just that way, and those nearest to him quailed. Then he lifted his voice.
‘Stop this ‘ere, now, or I’ll turn you the other wy, an’ march you out, an’ you’ll get no breakfast.’
I cannot convey by printed speech the insufferable way in which he said this, the self-consciousness of superiority, the brutal gluttony of power. He revelled in that he was a man in authority, able to say to half a thousand ragged wretches, ‘You may eat or go hungry, as I elect.’
To deny us our breakfast after standing for hours! It was an awful threat, and the pitiful, abject silence which instantly fell attested its awfulness. And it was a cowardly threat, a foul blow, struck below the belt. We could not strike back, for we were starving; and it is the way of the world that when one man feeds another he is the man’s master. But the centurion-I mean the adjutant-was not satisfied. In the dead silence he raised his voice again, and repeated the threat, and amplified it, and glared ferociously.
At last we were permitted to enter the feasting hall, where we found the ‘ticket men’ washed but unfed. All told, there must have been nearly seven hundred of us who sat down-not to meat or bread, but to speech, song, and prayer. From all of which I am convinced that Tantalus suffers in many guises this side of the infernal regions. The adjutant made the prayer, but I did not take note of it, being too engrossed with the massed picture of misery before me. But the speech ran something like this: ‘You will feast in paradise. No matter how you starve and suffer here, you will feast in paradise, that is, if you will follow the directions.’ And so forth and so forth. A clever bit of propaganda, I took it, but rendered of no avail for two reasons. First, the men who received it were unimaginative and materialistic, unaware of the existence of any Unseen, and too inured to hell on earth to be frightened by hell to come. And second, weary and exhausted from the night’s sleeplessness and hardship, suffering from the long wait upon their feet, and faint from hunger, they were yearning, not for salvation, but for grub. The ‘soul-snatchers’ (as these men call all religious propagandists) should study the physiological basis of psychology a little, if they wish to make their efforts more effective.
All in good time, about eleven o’clock, breakfast arrived. It arrived, not on plates, but in paper parcels. I did not have all I wanted, and I am sure that no man there had all he wanted, or half of what he wanted or needed. I gave part of my bread to the tramp royal who was waiting for Buffalo Bill, and he was as ravenous at the end as he was in the beginning. This is the breakfast: two slices of bread, one small piece of bread with raisins in it and called ‘cake,’ a wafer of cheese, and a mug of ‘water bewitched.’ Numbers of the men had been waiting since five o’clock for it, while all of us had waited at least four hours; and in addition, we had been herded like swine, packed like sardines, and treated like curs, and been preached at, and sung to, and prayed for. Nor was that all.
No sooner was breakfast over (and it was over almost as quickly as it takes to tell) than the tired heads began to nod and droop, and in five minutes half of us were sound asleep. There were no signs of our being dismissed, while there were unmistakable signs of preparation for a meeting. I looked at a small clock hanging on the wall. It indicated twenty-five minutes to twelve. Heigh ho, thought I, time is flying, and I have yet to look for work.
‘I want to go,’ I said to a couple of waking men near me.
‘Got ter sty fer the service,’ was the answer.
‘Do you want to stay?’ I asked.
They shook their heads.
‘Then let us go up and tell them we want to get out,’ I continued. ‘Come on.’
But the poor creatures were aghast. So I left them to their fate, and went up to the nearest Salvation Army man.
‘I want to go,’ I said. ‘I came here for breakfast in order that I might be in shape to look for work. I didn’t think it would take so long to get breakfast. I think I have a chance for work in Stepney, and the sooner I start, the better chance I’ll have of getting it.’
He was really a good fellow, though he was startled by my request. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘we’re goin’ to ‘old services, and you’d better sty.’
‘But that will spoil my chances for work,’ I urged. ‘And work is the most important thing for me just now.’
As he was only a private, he referred me to the adjutant, and to the adjutant I repeated my reasons for wishing to go, and politely requested that he let me go.
‘But it cawn’t be done,’ he said, waxing virtuously indignant at such ingratitude. ‘The idea!’ he snorted. ‘The idea!’
‘Do you mean to say that I can’t get out of here?’ I demanded. ‘That you will keep me here against my will?’
‘Yes,’ he snorted.
I do not know what might have happened, for I was waxing indignant myself; but the ‘congregation’ had ‘piped’ the situation, and he drew me over to a corner of the room, and then into another room. Here he again demanded my reasons for wishing to go.
‘I want to go,’ I said, ‘because I wish to look for work over in Stepney, and every hour lessens my chance of finding work. It is now twenty-five minutes to twelve. I did not think when I came in that it would take so long to get a breakfast.’
‘You ‘ave business, eh?’ he sneered. ‘A man of business you are, eh? Then wot did you come ‘ere for?’
‘I was out all night, and I needed a breakfast in order to strengthen me to find work. That is why I came here.’
‘A nice thing to do,’ he went on, in the same sneering manner. ‘A man with business shouldn’t come ‘ere. You’ve tyken some poor man’s breakfast ‘ere this morning, that’s wot you’ve done.’
Which was a lie, for every mother’s son of us had come in.
Now I submit, was this Christian-like, or even honest?- after I had plainly stated that I was homeless and hungry, and that I wished to look for work, for him to call my looking for work ‘business’, to call me therefore a business man, and to draw the corollary that a man of business, and well off, did not require a charity breakfast, and that by taking a charity breakfast I had robbed some hungry waif who was not a man of business.
I kept my temper, but I went over the facts again and clearly and concisely demonstrated to him how unjust he was and how he had perverted the facts. As I manifested no signs of backing down (and I am sure my eyes were beginning to snap), he led me to the rear of the building, where, in an open court, stood a tent. In the same sneering tone he informed a couple of privates standing there that ”ere is a fellow that ‘as business an’ ‘e wants to go before services.’
They were duly shocked, of course, and they looked unutterable horror while he went into the tent and brought out the major. Still in the same sneering manner, laying particular stress on the ‘business,’ he brought my case before the commanding officer. The major was of a different stamp of man. I liked him as soon as I saw him, and to him I stated my case in the same fashion as before.
‘Didn’t you know you had to stay for services?’ he asked.
‘Certainly not,’ I answered, ‘or I should have gone without my breakfast. You have no placards posted to that effect, nor was I so informed when I entered the place.’
He meditated a moment. ‘You can go,’ he said.
It was twelve o’clock when I gained the street, and I couldn’t quite make up my mind whether I had been in the army or in prison. The day was half gone, and it was a far fetch to Stepney. And besides, it was Sunday, and why should even a starving man look for work on Sunday? Furthermore, it was my judgment that I had done a hard night’s work walking the streets, and a hard day’s work getting my breakfast; so I disconnected myself from my working hypothesis of a starving young man in search of employment, hailed a bus, and climbed aboard.
After a shave and a bath, with my clothes all off, I got in between clean white sheets and went to sleep. It was six in the evening when I closed my eyes. When they opened again, the clocks were striking nine next morning. I had slept fifteen straight hours. And as I lay there drowsily, my mind went back to the seven hundred unfortunates I had left waiting for services. No bath, no shave for them, no clean white sheets and all clothes off, and fifteen hours straight sleep. Services over, it was the weary streets again, the problem of a crust of bread ere night, and the long sleepless night in the streets, and the pondering of the problem of how to obtain a crust at dawn.