MARION MEETS A MISSIONARY.
Marion made her way down to the dock, feeling almost dazed at what she
had seen. She was endeavoring to decide what was her duty in the matter.
She heard the clang of the bell as the ambulance dashed into Bellevue
Hospital yard, but she was too late to see more, for the great gate
closed as she reached it.
She took her permit from her pocket and glanced at it eagerly. It was
dated, so she knew she must use it that day, and, furthermore, it was
now five minutes of eleven, so there was no time to be spent in helping
Sallie.
“They’ll take good care of her, I am sure,” she whispered to herself,
“and, anyway, I can write to Silas as soon as I get up there. He can’t
be so bad but what he’ll come and get her.”
In less than five minutes she was on the dock, and here for a moment
Marion almost forgot poor Sallie. There were several policemen standing
around, as if waiting for something, and on the deck of the _Thomas
Brennan_, the ferryboat that was to convey her to Blackwell’s Island,
and which was moored to the dock, she could see several more men in
blue uniforms waiting.
As soon as Marion passed the dock entrance an officer came up to her.
Marion handed him her permit and he turned and nodded to the captain.
“Go right on deck, miss. The prisoners will stay down below,” he said,
kindly, as he led Marion over and helped her down the gangplank.
Marion glanced around the boat, which looked anything but attractive,
and was soon on the deck as the officer had directed her.
Just as she reached it a great covered wagon came lumbering down to the
dock.
“Here she comes at last! Here’s the ‘Black Maria!’” cried the captain;
then he gave some orders and at once all was activity.
Marion’s eyes were widely opened when she saw what followed, for there
were fourteen prisoners in the “Black Maria,” two of the worst ones
being handcuffed together.
In the quickest possible manner they were driven on to the boat, a
guard standing at each side of the gangplank to keep them from jumping
overboard.
As soon as they were all on, the order was given to start, and the boat
was soon ploughing its way up the East River and among the craft that
dotted the water.
“Is this a strange sight for you, miss?” asked a voice behind Marion.
The young girl turned quickly and confronted an elderly woman.
“It is, indeed,” said Marion promptly, “and it is about the saddest
sight that I ever dreamed of,” she added.
“Are you a nurse?” asked the woman again in a courteous manner.
“Not yet,” answered Marion, “but I am accepted on probation. I am on my
way to the Charity Hospital.”
The woman looked at her kindly, but Marion’s gaze was wandering. She
was trying to realize her extraordinary surroundings.
“Those are ‘ten-day’ men,” said the woman, as she saw Marion staring at
two of the deck hands on the steamer. “In other words, they have been
sent up for ten days and are allowed to work on the boat.”
Marion opened her eyes in absolute surprise. She had never before heard
of such an arrangement.
“Why, that is ever so much better than keeping them shut up,” she
said, quickly. “Poor fellows! I am sorry for them. They haven’t all got
bad faces.”
“And they are not all bad; now,” said the woman again. “I can assure
you, I have many good friends among the prisoners.”
Marion turned and looked at her with interest. She seemed to be both a
refined and an intelligent person.
“I am a Bible reader,” said the woman, smiling. “I visit some of the
islands every day, and my principal duty is to read the Bible to the
prisoners.”
Marion’s smile changed instantly into an expression of wonderment.
“Do they like that, madam?” she asked, a little bluntly.
“Some of them do,” said the woman, with a peculiar laugh, “but some are
very hardened. I can hardly get them to listen.”
“Well, I don’t wonder,” said the girl, with a heavy sigh. “I should
think that some parts of the Bible would make them feel decidedly
uncomfortable. Of course, there are many classes of criminals,” she
added, quickly. “There are those who sin through weakness and those who
are deliberately vicious. Then, of course, there are the others who sin
almost from necessity.”
The woman looked at her in a little surprise. She had not expected so
young a girl to be so serious on this subject.
“The good Word comforts each of these classes,” was her only answer.
“If they are truly sorry they will be forgiven.”
Marion’s next remark showed that she was thinking more than listening.
“Society is all to blame,” she said, very soberly. “If conditions were
right, there would be very few criminals, and none, I am sure, of
the last class I mentioned. If you could only read the Bible to our
lawmakers, madam, and to the rich men and women who are mighty and all
powerful.”
The woman smiled and looked at her curiously.
“Perhaps you are right,” she said, after a minute, “but we should rise
above conditions and not be slaves to them.”
“That is easier said than done,” said Marion, sharply. “When a man’s
strength is deficient he is not to blame for it.”
“They should have prayed for strength,” said the woman, devoutly, “and
at any rate they should not have fallen into sin. It is their own fault
that they are here doing penance for their wickedness.”
“Well, I am very sorry for them, anyway,” replied Marion, quickly,
“and I sincerely hope that you are able to comfort them, madam. To me
they look like poor creatures who have never had half a chance. No
doubt they would all have been honest if they could have earned decent
livings.”
She turned abruptly on her heel and walked away. Some way, it vexed her
to hear this woman blaming the poor creatures.
“Probably she was never hungry or in want in her life,” she thought,
angrily, “so what can she know of the temptations they have suffered?”
This glimpse of misery was making Marion depressed already. The faces
of the men haunted her, they were so pinched and eager.
She wandered across the boat and stood looking over the water, her
brain busy with the problems of how to help the poor creatures.
The woman did not come near her and Marion was glad of it. She wanted
to be alone and do a little hard thinking.
“I may be wrong in pitying them, but I can’t help it,” she thought.
“I am sure the struggle of life has been too hard for many of them.
I suppose that woman thinks I am a heathen, because I did not say I
thought they deserved what they were getting.”
A light ripple of laughter relieved her over-strained tension and for
the next few minutes the woman was forgotten.
Marion watched the prisoners land, with the guards beside them, and
then as they marched slowly toward the penitentiary, she left the boat
and started for the hospital.
It was all so strange, so almost alarming, this guarding and marching,
that for a minute she felt a sense of oppression in her soul. It was
as though she were breathing the air of a prison cell rather than the
breath of sweet liberty, which was her rightful possession.