prompt:
Chapter: INTRODUCTORY

WHAT IS THE SALVATION ARMY?

If this question were put to the ordinary person of fashion or
leisure, how would it be answered?

In many cases thus: 'The Salvation Army is a body of people dressed up
in a semi-military uniform, or those of them who are women, in
unbecoming poke bonnets, who go about the streets making a noise in
the name of God and frightening horses with brass bands. It is under
the rule of an arbitrary old gentleman named Booth, who calls himself
a General, and whose principal trade assets consist in a handsome and
unusual face, and an inexhaustible flow of language, which he
generally delivers from a white motor-car wherever he finds that he
can attract the most attention. He is a clever actor in his way, who
has got a great number of people under his thumb, and I am told that
he has made a large fortune out of the business, like the late prophet
Dowie, and others of the same sort. The newspapers are always exposing
him; but he knows which side his bread is buttered and does not care.
When he is gone no doubt his family will divide up the cash, and we
shall hear no more of the Salvation Army!'

Such are still the honest beliefs of thousands of our instructed
fellow-countrymen, and of hundreds of thousands of others of less
degree belonging to the classes which are generally typified under the
synonym of 'the man in the street,' by which most people understand
one who knows little, and of that little nothing accurately, but who
decides the fate of political elections.

Let us suppose, however, that the questioner should succeed in
interesting an intelligent and fair-minded individual holder of these
views sufficiently to induce him to make inquiry into the facts
concerning this Salvation Army. What would he then discover?

He would discover that about five and forty years ago some impulse,
wherever it may have come from, moved a Dissenting minister, gifted
with a mind of power and originality, and a body of great strength and
endurance, gifted, also, with an able wife who shared his views, to
try, if not to cure, at least to ameliorate the lot of the fallen or
distressed millions that are one of the natural products of high
civilization, by ministering to their creature wants and regenerating
their spirits upon the plain and simple lines laid down in the New
Testament. He would find, also, that this humble effort, at first
quite unaided, has been so successful that the results seem to partake
of the nature of the miraculous.

Thus he would learn that the religious Organization founded by this
man and his wife is now established and, in most instances, firmly
rooted in 56 Countries and Colonies, where it preaches the Gospel in
33 separate languages: that it has over 16,000 Officers wholly
employed in its service, and publishes 74 periodicals in 20 tongues,
with a total circulation of nearly 1,000,000 copies per issue: that it
accommodates over 28,000 poor people nightly in its Institutions,
maintaining 229 Food Depots and Shelters for men, women, and children,
and 157 Labour Factories where destitute or characterless people are
employed: that it has 17 Homes for ex-criminals, 37 Homes for
children, 116 Industrial Homes for the rescue of women, 16 Land
Colonies, 149 Slum Stations for the visitation and assistance of the
poor, 60 Labour Bureaux for helping the unemployed, and 521 Day
Schools for children: that, in addition to all these, it has Criminal
and General Investigation Departments, Inebriate Homes for men and
women, Inquiry Offices for tracing lost and missing people, Maternity
Hospitals, 37 Homes for training Officers, Prison-visitation Staffs,
and so on almost _ad infinitum_.

He would find, also, that it collects and dispenses an enormous
revenue, mostly from among the poorer classes, and that its system is
run with remarkable business ability: that General Booth, often
supposed to be so opulent, lives upon a pittance which most country
clergymen would refuse, taking nothing, and never having taken
anything, from the funds of the Army. And lastly, not to weary the
reader, that whatever may be thought of its methods and of the noise
made by the 23,000 or so of voluntary bandsmen who belong to it, it is
undoubtedly for good or evil one of the world forces of our age.

Before going further, it may, perhaps, be well that I should explain
how it is that I come to write these pages. First, I ought to state
that my personal acquaintance with the Salvation Army dates back a
good many years, from the time, indeed, when I was writing 'Rural
England,' in connexion with which work I had a long and interesting
interview with General Booth that is already published. Subsequently I
was appointed by the British Government as a Commissioner to
investigate and report upon the Land Colonies of the Salvation Army in
the United States, in the course of which inquiry I came into contact
with many of its Officers, and learned much of its system and methods,
especially with reference to emigration. Also I have had other
opportunities of keeping in touch with the Army and its developments.

In the spring of 1910 I was asked, on behalf of General Booth, whether
I would undertake to write for publication an account of the Social
Work of the Army in this country. After some hesitation, for the lack
of time was a formidable obstacle to a very busy man, I assented to
this request, the plan agreed upon being that I should visit the
various Institutions, or a number of them, etc., and record what I
actually saw, neither more nor less, together with my resulting
impressions. This I have done, and it only remains for me to assure
the reader that the record is true, and, to the best of his belief and
ability, set down without fear, favour, or prejudice, by one not
unaccustomed to such tasks.

Almost at the commencement of my labours I sought an interview with
General Booth, thinking, as I told him and his Officers (the Salvation
Army is not mealy-mouthed about such matters) that at his age it would
be well to set down his views in black and white. On the whole, I
found him well and vigorous. He complained, however, of the difficulty
he was experiencing, owing to the complete loss of sight in one eye,
occasioned by an accident during a motor journey, and the possible
deprivation of the sight of the other through cataract.

Of the attacks that have been and are continually made upon the
Salvation Army, some of them extremely bitter, General Booth would say
little. He pointed out that he had not been in the habit of defending
himself and his Organization in public, and was quite content that the
work should speak for itself. Their affairs and finances had been
investigated by eminent men, who 'could not find a sixpence out of
place'; and for the rest, a balance-sheet was published annually. This
balance-sheet for the year ending September 30, 1909, I reprint in an
appendix.[1]

With regard to the Social Work of the Army, which in its beginning was
a purely religious body, General Booth said that they had been driven
into it because of their sympathy with suffering. They found it
impossible to look upon people undergoing starvation or weighed down
by sorrows and miseries that came upon them through poverty, without
stretching out a hand to help them on to their feet again. In the same
way they could not study wrongdoers and criminals and learn their
secret histories, which show how closely a great proportion of human
sin is connected with wretched surroundings, without trying to help
and reform them to the best of their abilities. Thus it was that their
Social operations began, increased, and multiplied. They contemplated
not only the regeneration of the individual, but also of his
circumstances, and were continually finding out new methods by which
this might be done.

The Army looked forward to the development of its Social Work on the
lines of self-help, self-management and self-support. Whenever a new
development came under consideration, the question arose--How is it to
be financed? The work they had in hand at present took all their
funds. One of their great underlying principles was that of the
necessity of self-support, without which no business or undertaking
could stand for long. The individual must co-operate in his own moral
and physical redemption. At the same time this system of theirs was,
in practice, one of the difficulties with which they had to contend,
since it caused the benevolent to believe that the Army did not need
financial assistance. His own view was that they ought to receive
support in their work from the Government, as they actually did in
some other countries. Especially did he desire to receive State aid in
dealing with ascertained criminals, such as was extended to them in
certain parts of the world.

Thus only a few weeks before, in Holland, the Parliament had asked the
Salvation Army to co-operate in the care of discharged prisoners and
gave a grant of money for their support. In Java the tale was the
same. There they were preparing estates as homes for lepers, and soon
a large portion of the leper population of that land would be in their
charge.

General Booth told me the story of a celebrated Danish doctor, an
optician, who became attracted to the Army, and, giving up his
practice and position, entered its service with his wife. They said
they wished to lead a life of real sacrifice and self-denial, and so,
after going through a training like any other Cadets, were sent out to
take charge of the medical work in Java. A recent report stated that
this Officer had attended 16,000 patients in nine months, and
performed 516 operations.

In Australia, the Government had handed over the work amongst the
Reformatory boys to the Army. In New Zealand, the Government had
requested it to take over inebriates, and was now paying a
contribution to that work of 10s. per head a week. There the Army had
purchased two islands to accommodate these inebriates, one on which
the men followed the pursuits of agriculture, fishing, and so forth,
and the other for the women. In Canada there was an idea that a large
prison should be erected, of which the Salvation Army would take
charge. He hoped that in course of time they would be allowed greatly
to extend their work in the English prisons.

General Booth pointed out to me with reference to their Social Work,
that it was necessary to spend large sums of money in finding
employment for men whom they had rescued. Here, one of their greatest
difficulties was the vehement opposition of members of the Labour
Party in different countries.

This party said, for example, that the Army ought to pay the Trade
Union rate of wage to any poor fellow whom they had picked up and set
to such labour as paper-sorting or carpentry. Thus in Western
Australia they had an estate of 20,000 acres lying idle. When he was
there a while ago, he asked the Officer in charge why he did not
cultivate this land and make it productive. The man replied he had no
labour; whereon the General said that he could send him plenty from
England.

'Yes,' commented the Officer, 'but the moment they begin to work here,
however inefficient or broken down they may be, we shall have to pay
them 7s. a day!'

This regulation, of course, makes it impossible to cultivate that
estate except at a heavy loss.

He himself had been denounced as the 'prince of sweaters,' because he
took in derelict carpenters at their Institution in Hanbury Street
(which I shall describe later), to whom he did not pay the Trade Union
wage, although that Institution had from the first been worked at a
loss. In this case he had made peace with the Parliamentary Committee
by promising not to make anything there which was used outside the
Army establishments. But still the attacks went on.

Passing from this subject, I asked General Booth if he had formed any
forecast of the future of the Salvation Army after his own death. He
replied that there were certain factors in the present position of the
Army which seemed to him to indicate its future growth and continuity.
Speaking impersonally, he said that the present General had become an
important man not by his own choice or through the workings of
ambition, but by the will of Providence. He had acquired a certain
standing, a great hold over his community, and an influence which
helped to concentrate and keep together forces that had grown to be
worldwide in their character. It was natural, therefore, that people
should wonder what would happen when he ceased to be.

His answer to these queries was that legal arrangements had been made
to provide for this obvious contingency. Under the provisions of the
constitution of the Army he had selected his successor, although he
had never told anybody the name of that successor, which he felt sure,
when announced, was one that would command the fullest confidence and
respect. The first duty of the General of the Army on taking up his
office was to choose a man to succeed him, reserving to himself the
power to change that man for another, should he see good reason for
such a course. In short, his choice is secret, and being unhampered by
any law of heredity or other considerations except those that appeal
to his own reason and judgment, not final. He nominates whom he will.

I asked him what would happen if this nominated General misconducted
himself in any way, or proved unsuitable, or lost his reason. He
replied that in such circumstances arrangements had been made under
which the heads of the Army could elect another General, and that what
they decided would be law. The organization of the Army was such that
any Department of it remained independent of the ability of one
individual. If a man proved incompetent, or did not succeed, his
office was changed; the square man was never left in the round hole.
Each Department had laws for its direction and guidance, and those in
authority were responsible for the execution of those laws. If for any
reason whatsoever, one commander fell out of the line of action,
another was always waiting to take his place. In short, he had no fear
that the removal of his own person and name would affect the
Organization. It was true, he remarked, that leaders cannot be
manufactured to order, and also that the Army had made, and would
continue to make, mistakes up and down the world. But those mistakes
showed them how to avoid similar errors, and how and where to improve.

As regarded a change of headship, a fresh individuality always has
charms, and a new force would always strike out in some new direction.
The man needed was one who would _do_ something. General Booth did not
fear but that he would be always forthcoming, and said that for his
part he was quite happy as to the future, in which he anticipated an
enlargement of their work. The Organization existed, and with it the
arrangements for filling every niche. The discipline of to-day would
continue to-morrow, and that spirit would always be ready to burst
into flame when it was needed.

In his view it was inextinguishable.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Dr. W. H. R. Rivers, a psychiatrist at a mental hospital in Craiglockhart, Scotland, silently reads a letter written by Siegfried Sassoon in July 1917. Sassoon's declaration, a "willful defiance of military authority," clearly and logically states his decision to stop fighting as a soldier in World War I. Sassoon believes that the purpose of the war has changed; what was once a war of liberation and defense has become one of aggression. He cites the suffering of the troops, the political insincerities, and the "callous complacence" of those at home as reasons for his protest. Rivers notices that Sassoon has signed the letter "S. Sassoon," conveniently leaving out his first name, Siegfried. Bryce and Rivers discuss the possibility of Sassoon becoming a patient at the Craiglockhart hospital for "shell-shocked" soldiers. Rivers expresses his reservations, doubting that Sassoon is really shell-shocked and hesitant to shelter a "coward" who just wants to escape the fighting. Rivers is also concerned that bringing Sassoon to Craiglockhart will bring bad publicity to the hospital. Eventually, however, Bryce talks Rivers into taking Sassoon as a patient. Sassoon, on a train on his way to the mental hospital, thinks of a meeting he had with his friend Robert Graves a week earlier. In that meeting, Graves told Sassoon he had received his declaration protesting the war. Graves advises Sassoon to give up his cause and not to make a martyr of himself. Though Graves believes that the war has become unjust, he urges Sassoon to go to the mental hospital rather than allow himself to be court-martialed. Graves has pulled some strings; by showing the military board some of Sassoon's letters in which he writes of hallucinations of corpses in Piccadilly Circus in London. These letters have been enough to convince the board to put Sassoon in a mental hospital. But Sassoon had hoped to be court-martialed so that he could bring more attention to his pacifist cause. Graves convinces him that he must go to the mental hospital. Rivers is at the window when Sassoon arrives at the door to the mental hospital. He looks at the report and thinks it strange that Sassoon should have thrown away his medal for saving life. During a raid of the trenches, Sassoon had remained under fire and had risked his life to bring in all the dead and wounded from the field. Rivers watches as Sassoon overcomes his fear and walks into the gloomy building


prompt:
Chapter: MEN'S SOCIAL WORK, LONDON

THE MIDDLESEX STREET SHELTER

The first of the London Institutions of the Salvation Army which I
visited was that known as the Middlesex Street Shelter and Working
Men's Home, which is at present under the supervision of Commissioner
Sturgess. This building consists of six floors, and contains sleeping
accommodation for 462 men. It has been at work since the year 1906,
when it was acquired by the Army with the help of that well-known
philanthropist, the late Mr. George Herring.

Of the 462 men accommodated daily, 311 pay 3d. for their night's
lodging, and the remainder 5d. The threepenny charge entitles the
tenant to the use of a bunk bedstead with sheets and an American cloth
cover. If the extra 2d. is forthcoming the wanderer is provided with a
proper bed, fitted with a wire spring hospital frame and provided with
a mattress, sheets, pillow, and blankets. I may state here that as in
the case of this Shelter the building, furniture and other equipment
have been provided by charity, the nightly fees collected almost
suffice to pay the running expenses of the establishment. Under less
favourable circumstances, however, where the building and equipment
are a charge on the capital funds of the Salvation Army, the
experience is that these fees do not suffice to meet the cost of
interest and maintenance.

The object of this and similar Shelters is to afford to men upon the
verge of destitution the choice between such accommodation as is here
provided and the common lodging-house, known as a 'kip house,' or the
casual ward of a workhouse. Those who avail themselves of these
Shelters belong, speaking generally, to the destitute or nearly
destitute classes. They are harbours of refuge for the unfortunates
who find themselves on the streets of London at nightfall with a few
coppers or some other small sum in their pockets. Many of these social
wrecks have sunk through drink, but many others owe their sad position
to lack or loss of employment, or to some other misfortune.

For an extra charge of 1d. the inmates are provided with a good
supper, consisting of a pint of soup and a large piece of bread, or of
bread and jam and tea, or of potato-pie. A second penny supplies them
with breakfast on the following morning, consisting of bread and
porridge or of bread and fish, with tea or coffee.

The dormitories, both of the fivepenny class on the ground floor and
of the threepenny class upstairs, are kept scrupulously sweet and
clean, and attached to them are lavatories and baths. These lavatories
contain a great number of brown earthenware basins fitted with taps.
Receptacles are provided, also, where the inmates can wash their
clothes and have them dried by means of an ingenious electrical
contrivance and hot air, capable of thoroughly drying any ordinary
garment in twenty minutes while its owner takes a bath.

The man in charge of this apparatus and of the baths was one who had
been picked up on the Embankment during the past winter. In return for
his services he received food, lodging, clothes and pocket-money to
the amount of 3s. a week. He told me that he was formerly a commercial
traveller, and was trying to re-enter that profession or to become a
ship's steward. Sickness had been the cause of his fall in the world.

Adjoining the downstairs dormitory is a dining and sitting-room for
the use of those who have taken bed tickets. In this room, when I
visited it, several men were engaged in various occupations. One of
them was painting flowers. Another, a watch repairer, was apparently
making up his accounts, which, perhaps, were of an imaginary nature. A
third was eating a dinner which he had purchased at the food bar. A
fourth smoked a cigarette and watched the flower artist at his work. A
fifth was a Cingalese who had come from Ceylon to lay some grievance
before the late King. The authorities at Whitehall having investigated
his case, he had been recommended to return to Ceylon and consult a
lawyer there. Now he was waiting tor the arrival of remittances to
enable him to pay his passage back to Ceylon. I wondered whether the
remittances would ever be forthcoming. Meanwhile he lived here on
7-1/2d. a day, 5d. for his bed and 2-1/2d. for his food. Of these and
other men similarly situated I will give some account presently.

Having inspected the upper floors I descended to the basement, where
what are called the 'Shelter men' are received at a separate entrance
at 5.30 in the afternoon, and buying their penny or halfpennyworth of
food, seat themselves on benches to eat. Here, too, they can sit and
smoke or mend their clothes, or if they are wet, dry themselves in the
annexe, until they retire to rest. During the past winter of 1909 400
men taken from the Embankment were sheltered here gratis every night,
and were provided with soup and bread. When not otherwise occupied
this hall is often used for the purpose of religious services.

I spoke at hazard with some of those who were sitting about in the
Shelter. A few specimen cases may be interesting. An old man told me
that he had travelled all over the world for fifty years, especially
in the islands of the South Pacific, until sickness broke him down. He
came last from Shanghai, where he had been an overseer on railway
work, and before that from Manila. Being incapacitated by fever and
rheumatism, and possessing 1,500 dollars, he travelled home,
apparently via India and Burma, stopping a while in each country.
Eventually he drifted to a lodging-house, and, falling ill there, was
sent to the Highgate Infirmary, where, he said, he was so cold that he
could not stop. Ultimately he found himself upon the streets in
winter. For the past twelve months he had been living in this Shelter
upon some help that a friend gave him, for all his own money was gone.
Now he was trying to write books, one of which was in the hands of a
well-known firm. He remarked, pathetically, that they 'have had it a
long time.' He was also waiting 'every day' for a pension from
America, which he considered was due to him because he fought in the
Civil War.

Most of these poor people are waiting for something.

This man added that he could not find his relatives, and that he
intended to stop in the Shelter until his book was published, or he
could 'help himself out.'

The next man I spoke to was the flower artist, whom I have already
mentioned, whose work, by the way, if a little striking in colour, was
by no means bad, especially as he had no real flowers to draw from. By
trade he was a lawyer's clerk; but he stated that, unfortunately for
him, the head partner of his firm went bankrupt six years before, and
the bad times, together with the competition of female labour in the
clerical department, prevented him from obtaining another situation,
so he had been obliged to fall back upon flower painting. He was a
married man, but he said, 'While I could make a fair week's money,
things were comfortable, but when orders fell slack I was requested to
go, as my room was preferable to my company, and being a man of
nervous temperament I could not stand it, and have been here ever
since'--that was for about ten weeks. He managed to make enough for
his board and lodging by the sale of his flower-pictures.

A third man informed me that he had opened twenty-seven shops for a
large firm of tobacconists, and then left to start in business for
himself; also he used to go out window-dressing, in which he was
skilled. Then, about nine years ago, his wife began to drink, and
while he was absent in hospital, neglected his business so that it
became worthless. Finally she deserted him, and he had heard nothing
of her since. After that he took to drink himself. He came to this
Shelter intermittently, and supported himself by an occasional job of
window-dressing. The Salvation Army was trying to cure this man of his
drinking habits.

A fourth man, a Eurasian, was a schoolmaster in India, who drifted to
this country, and had been for four years in the Colney Hatch Asylum.
He was sent to the Salvation Army by the After Care Society. He had
been two years in the Shelter, and was engaged in saving up money to
go to America. He was employed in the Shelter as a scrubber, and also
as a seller of food tickets, by which means he had saved some money.
Also he had a L5 note, which his sister sent to him. This note he was
keeping to return to her as a present on her birthday! His story was
long and miserable, and his case a sad one. Still, he was capable of
doing work of a sort.

Another very smart and useful man had been a nurse in the Army Medical
Corps, which he left some years ago with a good character.
Occasionally he found a job at nursing, and stayed at the Shelter,
where he was given employment between engagements.

Yet another, quite a young person, was a carman who had been
discharged through slackness of work in the firm of which he was a
servant. He had been ten weeks in the Institution, to which he came
from the workhouse, and hoped to find employment at his trade.

In passing through this building, I observed a young man of foreign
appearance seated in a window-place reading a book, and asked his
history. I was told that he was a German of education, whose ambition
it is to become a librarian in his native country. He had come to
England in order to learn our language, and being practically without
means, drifted into this place, where he was employed in cleaning the
windows and pursued his studies in the intervals of that humble work.
Let us hope that in due course his painstaking industry will be
rewarded, and his ambition fulfilled.

All these cases, and others that I have no space to mention, belonged
to the class of what I may call the regular 'hangers-on' of this
particular Shelter. As I visited it in the middle of the day, I did
not see its multitude of normal nightly occupants. Of such men,
however, I shall be able to speak elsewhere.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Now that Sassoon has arrived at the hospital, he meets with Rivers to talk over tea. Having tea gives Rivers a chance to evaluate the mental state of his patient. The two men have a pleasant conversation. Sassoon tells Rivers that the medical board has been rigged; the decision to send him to a mental hospital was made before the Board even evaluated him. It is easier for the Board to pass his letter off as madness rather than admit that it represents a valid charge against the government. Sassoon admits that he does not have any religious reason for opposing the war; he is merely horrified at the senseless brutality of it. Sassoon tells Rivers about some of his hallucinations about corpses, and about some of the things he was asked to do in the war. He admits that he no longer hates the Germans. Rather, he hates the complacent civilians at home who allow the war to go on, completely blind to the atrocities it entails. Sassoon asks Rivers if he thinks that he is mad; Rivers replies no, of course not. Nevertheless, Rivers informs Sassoon that he cannot be impartial; as a psychiatrist in the mental hospital, it is his duty to convince Sassoon to return to the war. At dinner that night, Rivers admits to Bryce that he likes Sassoon very much. He finds him impressive and completely in his right state of mind. Sassoon finds it hard to make conversation with the other patients, who have actual "shell- shock. At dinner, a "thin, yellow-skinned" man named Burns starts to vomit. He is removed and taken to his room by the nurses, or VADs. Rivers goes to visit Burns, who is extremely thin and has not been able to eat since he arrived. In the war, Burns was thrown into the air by a shell and landed face first in the gas-filled stomach of a German corpse. When he awoke, he realized that his nose and mouth were filled with rotting flesh; he has not been able to eat since. Rivers reflects that Burns's suffering has been without dignity.


prompt:
Chapter: THE SPA ROAD ELEVATOR

BERMONDSEY

The next Institution that I inspected was that of a paper-sorting
works at Spa Road, Bermondsey, where all sorts of waste paper are
dealt with in enormous quantities. Of this stuff some is given and
some is bought. Upon delivery it goes to the sorters, who separate it
out according to the different classes of the material, after which it
is pressed into bales by hydraulic machinery and sold to merchants to
be re-made.

These works stand upon two acres of land. Parts of the existing
buildings were once a preserve factory, but some of them have been
erected by the Army. There remain upon the site certain
dwelling-houses, which are still let to tenants. These are destined to
be pulled down whenever money is forthcoming to extend the factory.

The object of the Institution is to find work for distressed or fallen
persons, and restore them to society. The Manager of this 'Elevator,'
as it is called, informed me that it employs about 480 men, all of
whom are picked up upon the streets. As a rule, these men are given
their board and lodging in return for work during the first week, but
no money, as their labour is worth little. In the second week, 6d. is
paid to them in cash; and, subsequently, this remuneration is added to
in proportion to the value of the labour, till in the end some of them
earn 8s. or 9s. a week in addition to their board and lodging.

I asked the Officer in charge what he had to say as to the charges of
sweating and underselling which have been brought against the
Salvation Army in connexion with this and its other productive
Institutions.

He replied that they neither sweated nor undersold. The men whom they
picked up had no value in the labour market, and could get nothing to
do because no one would employ them, many of them being the victims of
drink or entirely unskilled. Such people they overlooked, housed, fed,
and instructed, whether they did or did not earn their food and
lodging, and after the first week paid them upon a rising scale. The
results were eminently satisfactory, as even allowing for the
drunkards they found that but few cases, not more than 10 per cent,
were hopeless. Did they not rescue these men most of them would sink
utterly; indeed, according to their own testimony many of such
wastrels were snatched from suicide. As a matter of fact, also, they
employed more men per ton of paper than any other dealers in the
trade.

With reference to the commercial results, after allowing for interest
on the capital invested, the place did not pay its way. He said that a
sum of L15,000 was urgently required for the erection of a new
building on this site, some of those that exist being of a
rough-and-ready character. They were trying to raise subscriptions
towards this object, but found the response very slow.

He added that they collected their raw material from warehouses, most
of it being given to them, but some they bought, as it was necessary
to keep the works supplied, which could not be done with the gratis
stuff alone. Also they found that the paper they purchased was the
most profitable.

These works presented a busy spectacle of useful industry. There was
the sorting-room, where great masses of waste-paper of every kind was
being picked over by about 100 men and separated into its various
classes. The resulting heaps are thrown through hoppers into bins.
From the bins this sorted stuff passes into hydraulic presses which
crush it into bales that, after being wired, are ready for sale.

It occurred to me that the dealing with this mass of refuse paper must
be an unhealthy occupation; but I was informed that this is not the
case, and certainly the appearance of the workers bore out the
statement.

After completing a tour of the works I visited one of the bedrooms
containing seventy beds, where everything seemed very tidy and fresh.
Clean sheets are provided every week, as are baths for the inmates. In
the kitchen were great cooking boilers, ovens, etc., all of which are
worked by steam produced by the burning of the refuse of the sorted
paper. Then I saw the household salvage store, which contained
enormous quantities of old clothes and boots; also a great collection
of furniture, including a Turkish bath cabinet, all of which articles
had been given to the Army by charitable folk. These are either given
away or sold to the employes of the factory or to the poor of the
neighbourhood at a very cheap rate.

The man in charge of this store was an extremely good-looking and
gentlemanly young follow of University education, who had been a
writer of fiction, and once acted as secretary to a gentleman who
travelled on the Continent and in the East. Losing his employment, he
took to a life of dissipation, became ill, and sank to the very
bottom. He informed me that his ideals and outlook on life were now
totally changed. I have every hope that he will do well in the future,
as his abilities are evidently considerable, and Nature has favoured
him in many ways.

I interviewed a number of the men employed in these works, most of
whom had come down through drink, some of them from very good
situations. One had been the superintendent of a sewing-machine
company. He took to liquor, left his wife, and found himself upon the
streets. Now he was a traveller for the Salvation Army, in the
interests of the Waste-Paper Department, had regained his position in
life, and was living with his wife and family in a comfortable house.

Another was a grocer by profession, all of whose savings were stolen,
after which he took to drink. He had been three months in the works,
and at the time of my visit was earning 6s. a week with food and
lodging.

Another had been a Barnardo boy, who came from Canada as a ship's
steward, and could find nothing to do in England. Another was a
gentleman's servant, who was dismissed because the family left London.

Another was an auctioneer, who failed from want of capital, took to
drink, and emigrated to Canada. Two years later he fell ill with
pleurisy, and was sent home because the authorities were afraid that
his ailment might turn to consumption. He stated that at this time he
had given up drink, but could obtain no employment, so came upon the
streets. As he was starving and without hope, not having slept in a
bed for ten nights, he was about to commit suicide when the Salvation
Army picked him up. He had seen his wife for the first time in four
years on the previous Whit Monday, and they proposed to live together
again so soon as he secured permanent employment.

Another had been a soldier in the Seaforth Highlanders, and served in
the Egyptian Campaign of 1881, and also in the American Army.
Subsequently he was employed as a porter at a lodging-house at a
salary of 25s. a week, but left because of trouble about a woman. He
came upon the streets, and, being unable to find employment, was
contemplating suicide, when he fell under the influence of the Army at
the Blackfriars Shelter.

All these men, and others whom I spoke to at random but have no space
to write of, assured me that they were quite satisfied with their
treatment at the works, and repudiated--some of them with
indignation--the suggestion that I put to them tentatively that they
suffered from a system of sweating. For the most part, indeed, their
gratitude for the help they were receiving in the hour of need was
very evident and touching.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Graves arrives at Craiglockhart. Sassoon warmly welcomes him and sends him to speak to Rivers. Graves tells Rivers some background about Sassoon and how he got Sassoon to agree to enter the war hospital. While Graves was recovering from a war wound in a hospital on the Island of Wight, he received Sassoon's protest of the war in letter form. Graves decided that he needed to help his friend get out of the mess he was in. Graves thought that Sassoon had made a big mistake: "I could see at once it wouldn't do any good, nobody would follow his example. He'd just destroy himself for no reason. So Graves decided to help his friend, if not his cause. He convinced Sassoon that there was no way that the army would ever court-martial him , and encouraged him to go to Craiglockhart. Graves pointed out to the Board how advantageous it would be to simply say that Sassoon was mad. He told them what a brave platoon commander Sassoon was, how the men worshipped him, and how he loved the men. Graves pointed out all the courageous acts Sassoon committed as a soldier, and in the end, he convinced the Board to commit Sassoon to a mental hospital. Although Graves admits that he lied to Sassoon, he feels justified in his actions. He believes that, as a soldier, a man should do his duty and be faithful to his "contract" even if he has changed his mind about the reasons or the justifications for the war. Graves feels that Sassoon did not go about changing peoples' minds in the right way. Furthermore, Graves feels that well- known intellectual pacifists like Bertrand Russell and Ottoline Morrell were simply using Sassoon for their own ends. Graves is happy to have Sassoon out of their influence. After Graves leaves his office, Rivers reads three of Sassoon's poems. He reflects that Sassoon, in writing war poetry, acts in a way opposite to most patients. Whereas most war veterans try as hard as they can to forget their war experiences, Sassoon is intent on remembering and communicating his war memories. By attempting to further his cause, Sassoon may have aided his own mental health


prompt:
Chapter: THE GREAT PETER STREET SHELTER

WESTMINSTER

This fine building is the most up-to-date Men's Shelter that the
Salvation Army possesses in London. It was once the billiard works of
Messrs. Burroughes and Watts, and is situated in Westminster, quite
near to the Houses of Parliament. I visited it about eight o'clock in
the evening, and at its entrance was confronted with the word 'Full,'
inscribed in chalk upon its portals, at which poor tramps, deprived of
their hope of a night's lodging, were staring disconsolately. It
reminded me of a playhouse upon a first-night of importance, but,
alas! the actors here play in a tragedy more dreadful in its
cumulative effect than any that was ever put upon the stage.

This Shelter is wonderfully equipped and organized. It contains
sitting or resting-rooms, smoking-rooms, huge dormitories capable of
accommodating about 600 sleepers; bathrooms, lavatories, extensive
hot-water and warming apparatus, great kitchens, and butteries, and so
forth. In the sitting and smoking-rooms, numbers of derelict men were
seated. Some did nothing except stare before them vacantly. Some
evidently were suffering from the effects of drink or fatigue; some
were reading newspapers which they had picked up in the course of
their day's tramp. One, I remember, was engaged in sorting out and
crumpling up a number of cigar and cigarette ends which he had
collected from the pavements, carefully grading the results in
different heaps, according to the class of the tobacco (how strong it
must be!) either for his own consumption or for sale to other
unfortunates. In another place, men were eating the 1d. or 1/2d.
suppers that they had purchased.

Early as it was, however, the great dormitories were crowded with
hundreds of the lodgers, either in bed or in process of getting there.
I noticed that they all undressed themselves, wrapping up their rags
in bundles, and, for the most part slept quite naked. Many of them
struck me as very fine fellows physically, and the reflection crossed
my mind, seeing them thus _in puris naturalibus_, that there was
little indeed to distinguish them from a crowd of males of the upper
class engaged, let us say, in bathing. It is the clothes that make the
difference to the eye.

In this Shelter I was told, by the way, that there exists a code of
rough honour among these people, who very rarely attempt to steal
anything from each other. Having so little property, they sternly
respect its rights. I should add that the charge made for
accommodation and food is 3d. per night for sleeping, and 1d. or 1/2d.
per portion of food.

The sight of this Institution crowded with human derelicts struck me
as most sad, more so indeed than many others that I have seen, though,
perhaps, this may have been because I was myself tired out with a long
day of inspection.

The Staff-Captain in charge here told me his history, which is so
typical and interesting that I will repeat it briefly. Many years ago
(he is now an elderly man) he was a steward on board a P. and O.
liner, and doing well. Then a terrible misfortune overwhelmed him.
Suddenly his wife and child died, and, as a result of the shock, he
took to drink. He attempted to cut his throat (the scar remains to
him), and was put upon his trial for the offence. Subsequently he
drifted on to the streets, where he spent eight years. During all this
time his object was to be rid of life, the methods he adopted being to
make himself drunk with methylated spirits, or any other villainous
and fiery liquor, and when that failed, to sleep at night in wet grass
or ditches. Once he was picked up suffering from inflammation of the
lungs and carried to an infirmary, where he lay senseless for three
days. The end of it was that a Salvation Army Officer found him in
Oxford Street, and took him to a Shelter in Burne Street, where he was
bathed and put to bed.

That was many years ago, and now he is to a great extent responsible
for the management of this Westminster Refuge. Commissioner Sturgess,
one of the head Officers of the Army, told me that their great
difficulty was to prevent him from overdoing himself at this
charitable task. I think the Commissioner said that sometimes he would
work eighteen or twenty hours out of the twenty-four.

One day this Staff-Captain played a grim little trick upon me. I was
seated at luncheon in a Salvation Army building, when the door opened,
and there entered as dreadful a human object as I have ever seen. The
man was clad in tatters, his bleeding feet were bound up with filthy
rags; he wore a dingy newspaper for a shirt. His face was cut and
plastered over roughly; he was a disgusting sight. He told me, in
husky accents, that drink had brought him down, and that he wanted
help. I made a few appropriate remarks, presented him with a small
coin, and sent him to the Officers downstairs.

A quarter of an hour later the Staff-Captain appeared in his uniform
and explained that he and the 'object' were the same person. Again it
was the clothes that made the difference. Those which he had worn when
he appeared at the luncheon-table were the same in which he had been
picked up on the streets of London. Also he thanked me for my good
advice which he said he hoped to follow, and for the sixpence that he
announced his intention of wearing on his watch-chain. For my part I
felt that the laugh was against me. Perhaps if I had thought the
Salvation Army capable of perpetrating a joke, I should not have been
so easily deceived.

This Staff-Captain gave me much information as to the class of
wanderers who frequent these Shelters, He estimated that about 50 per
cent of them sink to that level through the effects of drink. That is
to say, if by the waving of some magic wand intoxicants and harmful
drugs should cease to be obtainable in this country, the bulk of
extreme misery which needs such succour, and it may be added of crime
at large, would be lessened by one-half. This is a terrible statement,
and one that seems to excuse a great deal of what is called 'teetotal
fanaticism.' The rest, in his view, owe their fall to misfortune of
various kinds, which often in its turn leads to flight to the delusive
and destroying solace of drink. Thus about 25 per cent of the total
have been afflicted with sickness or acute domestic troubles. Or
perhaps they are 'knocked out' by shock, such as is brought on by the
loss of a dearly-loved wife or child, and have never been able to
recover from that crushing blow. The remainder are the victims of
advancing age and of the cruel commercial competition of our day. Thus
he said that the large business firms destroy and devour the small
shopkeepers, as a hawk devours sparrows; and these little people or
their employes, if they are past middle age, can find no other work.
Especially is this the case since the Employers' Liability Acts came
into operation, for now few will take on hands who are not young and
very strong, as older folk must naturally be more liable to sickness
and accident.

Again, he told me that it has become the custom in large businesses of
which the dividends are falling, to put in a man called an
'Organizer,' who is often an American.

This Organizer goes through the whole staff and mercilessly dismisses
the elderly or the least efficient, dividing up their work among those
who remain. So these discarded men fall to rise no more and drift to
the poorhouse or the Shelters or the jails, and finally into the river
or a pauper's grave. First, however, many spend what may be called a
period of probation on the streets, where they sleep at night under
arches or on stairways, or on the inhospitable flagstones and benches
of the Embankment, even in winter.

The Staff-Captain informed me that on one night during the previous
November he counted no less than 120 men, women, and children sleeping
in the wet on or in the neighbourhood of the Embankment. Think of
it--in this one place! Think of it, you whose women and children, to
say nothing of yourselves, do not sleep on the Embankment in the wet
in November. It may be answered that they might have gone to the
casual ward, where there are generally vacancies. I suppose that they
might, but so perverse are many of them that they do not. Indeed,
often they declare bluntly that they would rather go to prison than to
the casual ward, as in prison they are more kindly treated.

The reader may have noted as he drove along the Embankment or other
London thoroughfares at night in winter, long queues of people waiting
their turn to get something. What they are waiting for is a cup of
soup and, perhaps, an opportunity of sheltering till the dawn, which
soup and shelter are supplied by the Salvation Army, and sometimes by
other charitable Organizations. I asked whether this provision of
gratis food did in fact pauperize the population, as has been alleged.
The Staff-Captain answered that men do not as a rule stop out in the
middle of the winter till past midnight to get a pint of soup and a
piece of bread. Of course, there might be exceptions; but for the most
part those who take this charity, do so because if is sorely needed.

The cost of these midnight meals is reckoned by the Salvation Army at
about L8 per 1,000, including the labour involved in cooking and
distribution. This money is paid from the Army's Central Fund, which
collects subscriptions for that special purpose.

'Of course, our midnight soup has its critics,' said one of the
Officers who has charge of its distribution; 'but all I know is that
it saves many from jumping into the river.'

During the past winter, that is from November 3, 1909, to March 24,
1910, 163,101 persons received free accommodation and food at the
hands of the Salvation Army in connexion with its Embankment Soup
Distribution Charity.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Rivers meets with Anderson, a former surgeon in the war who is now a patient at Craiglockhart. Anderson tells Rivers about one of his dreams, in which his father-in-law waved a snake at him and he was tied down with corsets. He offers that this dream might mean that he considers the hospital an emasculating experience. Anderson's breakdown occurred when he was treating a French soldier who had escaped from the German lines; he treated the soldier's minor wounds but missed the major one, and he watched as the man bled to death on the table. Days later, Anderson broke down and collapsed on the floor in a pool of his own urine. Since then, he has been having horrible nightmares that keep him and his entire floor awake during the night. Anderson now has a disinclination for the practice of medicine, although he realizes that when he returns home, he must practice medicine to support his family. Sassoon and Graves go swimming in the pool. Sassoon has a wound in his shoulder and Graves has a wound in his thigh. Sassoon reflects on how lucky he is when he thinks of the boy in the bed next to him in the military hospital who had a horrible "hole between the legs. With no privacy in the hospital, all the patients had to watch his dressings be changed every day. Later that afternoon, Sassoon meets with Rivers for their scheduled session. He explains that he never meant he really wanted to kill Lloyd George  as Graves implied; that comment was merely for rhetorical effect. Sassoon tells Rivers that both his brother and father are dead. He never knew his father well, as he left home when Sassoon was five, and died when he was eight. Sassoon never went to the funeral, though he was told that it was Jewish, and foreign to him. Sassoon was educated at Marlborough and Cambridge, but he never felt able to catch up on his education. Most importantly, Rivers discovers from this session that Sassoon is extremely uncomfortable being safe and out of danger. He feels contempt for those who live in safety while others fight for them. That night, Burns looks outside the window. It is pouring rain, but he feels the need to go out, so he puts on his coat and boards a bus heading away from the city. He rides as far into the Scottish countryside as the bus will take him, uncertain of where to go. He stumbles along a field and comes across a tree that feels slimy. When he looks up, he sees that dead animals are hanging from all the branches. He starts to run, but then he turns around to face his fear. One by one, he unties the animals and arranges them in a circle around the tree. Then he removes his clothes and lies down naked in the middle of the circle. He feels that, despite the rain and the cold, this is the right place. Later, he returns to the hospital to the patience and comfort of Dr. Rivers.


prompt:
Chapter: THE FREE BREAKFAST SERVICE

BLACKFRIARS SHELTER

On a Sunday in June I attended the Free Breakfast service at the
Blackfriars Shelter. The lease of this building was acquired by the
Salvation Army from a Temperance Company. Behind it lay contractors'
stables, which were also bought; after which the premises were rebuilt
and altered to suit the purposes to which they are now put, the
stabling being for the most part converted into sleeping-rooms.

The Officer who accompanied me, Lieut.-Colonel Jolliffe, explained
that this Blackfriars Shelter is, as it were, the dredger for and the
feeder of all the Salvation Army's Social Institutions for men in
London. Indeed, it may be likened to a dragnet set to catch male
unfortunates in this part of the Metropolis. Here, as in the other
Army Shelters, are great numbers of bunks that are hired out at 3d. a
night, and the usual food-kitchens and appliances.

I visited one or two of these, well-ventilated places that in cold
weather are warmed by means of hot-water pipes to a heat of about 70
deg., as the clothing on the bunks is light.

I observed that although the rooms had only been vacated for a few
hours, they were perfectly inoffensive, and even sweet; a result that
is obtained by a very strict attention to cleanliness and ample
ventilation. The floors of these places are constantly scrubbed, and
the bunks undergo a process of disinfection about once a week. As a
consequence, in all the Army Shelters the vermin which sometimes
trouble common lodging-houses are almost unknown.

I may add that the closest supervision is exercised in these places
when they are occupied. Night watchmen are always on duty, and an
Officer sleeps in a little apartment attached to each dormitory. The
result is that there are practically no troubles of any kind.
Sometimes, however, a poor wanderer is found dead in the morning, in
which case the body is quietly conveyed away to await inquest.

I asked what happened when men who could not produce the necessary
coppers to pay for their lodging, applied for admission. The answer
was that the matter was left to the discretion of the Officer in
charge. In fact, in cases of absolute and piteous want, men are
admitted free, although, naturally enough, the Army does not advertise
that this happens. If it did, its hospitality would be considerably
overtaxed.

Leaving the dormitories, I entered the great hall, in which were
gathered nearly 600 men seated upon benches, every one of which was
filled. The faces and general aspect of these men were eloquent of
want and sorrow. Some of them appeared to be intent upon the religious
service that was going on, attendance at this service being the
condition on which the free breakfast is given to all who need food
and have passed the previous night in the street. Others were gazing
about them vacantly, and others, sufferers from the effects of drink,
debauchery, or fatigue, seemed to be half comatose or asleep.

This congregation, the strangest that I have ever seen, comprised men
of all classes. Some might once have belonged to the learned
professions, while others had fallen so low that they looked scarcely
human. Every grade of rag-clad misery was represented here, and every
stage of life from the lad of sixteen up to the aged man whose
allotted span was almost at an end. Rank upon rank of them, there they
sat in their infinite variety, linked only by the common bond of utter
wretchedness, the most melancholy sight, I think, that ever my eyes
beheld. All of them, however, were fairly clean, for this matter had
been seen to by the Officers who attend upon them. The Salvation Army
does not only wash the feet of its guests, but the whole body. Also,
it dries and purifies their tattered garments.

When I entered the hall, an Officer on the platform was engaged in
offering up an extempore prayer.

'We pray that the Holy Spirit may be poured out upon these men. We
pray, O God, that Thou wilt help them to take fresh courage, to find
fresh hope, and that they may rise once again to fight the battle of
life. We pray that Thou mayst bring to Thy feet, this morning, such as
shall be saved eternally.'

Then another Officer, styled the Chaplain, addressed the audience. He
told them that there was a way out of their troubles, and that
hundreds who had sat in that hall as they did, now blessed the day
which brought them there. He said: 'You came here this morning, you
scarcely knew how or why. You did not know the hand of God was leading
you, and that He will bless you if you will listen to His Voice. You
think you cannot escape from this wretched life; you think of the past
with all its failures. But do not trouble about the years that are
gone. Seek the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all other
things shall be added unto you. Then there will be no more wandering
about without a friend, for I say to you that God lives, and this
morning you will hear from others, who once were in a similar
condition to yourself, what He has done for them.'

Next a man with a fine tenor voice, who, it seems, is nicknamed 'the
Yorkshire Canary,' sang the hymn beginning, 'God moves in a mysterious
way.' After this in plain, forcible language he told his own story. He
said that he was well brought up by a good father and mother, and lost
everything through his own sin. His voice was in a sense his ruin,
since he used to sing in public-houses and saloons and there learnt to
drink. At length he found himself upon the streets in London, and
tramped thence to Yorkshire to throw himself upon the mercy of his
parents. When he was quite close to his home, however, his courage
failed him, and he tramped back to London, where he was picked up by
the Salvation Army.

This man, a most respectable-looking person, is now a clerk in a
well-known business house. In his own words, 'I knelt down and gave my
heart to God, and am to-day in a good situation.'

Next a Salvation Army soldier spoke. Four years before he had attended
the Sunday morning meeting in this hall and 'found the friendship of
God. He has helped me to regain the manhood I had lost and to do my
duty. For two years now I have helped to support an invalid sister
instead of being a burden to every one I knew, as once I was.'

After the singing of the hymn, 'Rock of Ages,' another man addressed
the meeting. He had been a drunkard, a homeless wanderer, who slept
night after night on the Embankment till fortune brought him to this
service and to the Penitent-Form. Since that time, two and a half
years before, no drink had passed his lips, and once again, as he
declared, he had become 'a self-respecting, respectable citizen.'

Then a dwarf whom I had seen at work in the Spa Road Elevator, and who
once was taken about the country to be exhibited as a side show at
fairs and there fell a victim to drink, gave his testimony.

Another verse, 'Could my tears for ever flow,' and after it, in rapid
succession, spoke a man who had been a schoolmaster and fallen through
drink and gambling; a man who, or whose brother, I am not sure which,
had been a Wesleyan preacher, and who is now employed in a Life
Assurance Company; a man who had been a prisoner; a man who had been a
confirmed drunkard, and others.

Always it was the same earnest, simple tale of drink and degradation,
passed now for ever; of the Penitent-Form; of the building up of a new
self, and of position regained.

More singing and an eloquent prayer which seemed to move the audience
very much, some of them to tears; an address from a woman Salvation
Army Officer, who pleaded with the people in the name of their
mothers, and a brief but excellent sermon from Commissioner Sturgess,
based upon the parable of the Marriage of the King's Son as recorded
in the 22nd chapter of St. Matthew, and of the guests who were
collected from the highways and byways to attend the feast whence the
rich and worldly had excused themselves.

Then the great and final invocation to Heaven to move the hearts of
these men, and the invitation to them to present themselves at the
Penitent-Form. Lastly a mighty, thundering hymn, 'Jesu, Lover of my
soul,' and the ending of the long drama.

It was a wonderful thing to see the spiritually-faced man on the
platform pleading with his sordid audience, and to watch them stirring
beneath his words. To see, also, a uniformed woman flitting to and fro
among that audience, whispering, exhorting, invoking--a temptress to
Salvation, then to note the response and its manner that were stranger
still. Some poor wretch would seem to awaken, only to relapse into a
state of sullen, almost defiant torpor. A little while and the leaven
begins to work in him. He flushes, mutters something, half rises from
his seat, sits down again, rises once more and with a peculiar,
unwilling gait staggers to the Penitent-Form, and in an abandonment of
grief and repentance throws himself upon his knees and there begins to
sob. A watching Officer comes to him, kneels at his side and, I
suppose, confesses him. The tremendous hymn bursts out like a paean of
triumph--

     Just as I am, without one plea,

it begins, the rest I forget or did not catch.

Now the ice is broken. Another comes and another, and another, till
there is no more room at the Penitent-Bench. They swarm on to the
platform which is cleared for them, and there kneel down, and I
observed the naked feet of some of them showing through the worn-out
boots.

So it goes on. At length the great audience rises and begins to
depart, filing one by one through a certain doorway. As they pass,
Officers who have appeared from somewhere wait for them with
outstretched arms. The most of them brush past shaking their heads and
muttering. Here and there one pauses, is lost--or rather won. The
Salvation Army has him in its net and he joins the crowd upon the
platform. Still the hymn swells and falls till all have departed save
those who remain for good--about 10 per cent of that sad company.

[Illustration: SEEKING THE HOMELESS AT MIDNIGHT.]

It is done and the catcher feels that he has witnessed the very
uttermost of tragedies, human and spiritual.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mere common 'revivalism'! the critic will say, and it may be so. Still
such revivalism, if that is the term for it, must be judged by its
fruits. I am informed that of those who kneel here experience shows
that but a small percentage relapse. The most of them become what in
the Salvation Army cant--if one chooses so to name it--is known as
'saved.'

This means that from drunkards and wastrels stained with every sort of
human fault, or even crime, they are turned into God-fearing and
respectable men who henceforward, instead of being a pest to society
and a terror to all those who have the misfortune to be connected with
them, become props of society and a comfort and a support to their
relatives and friends.

Thus is the mesh of mercy spread, and such is its harvest.

The age of miracles is past, we are told; but I confess that while
watching this strange sight I wondered more than once that if this
were so, what that age of miracles had been like. Of one thing I was
sure, that it must have been to such as these that He who is
acknowledged even by sceptics to have been the very Master of mankind,
would have chosen to preach, had this been the age of His appearance,
He who came to call sinners to repentance. Probably, too, it was to
such as these that He did preach, for folk of this character are
common to the generations. Doubtless, Judea had its knaves and
drunkards, as we know it had its victims of sickness and misfortune.
The devils that were cast out in Jerusalem did not die; they reappear
in London and elsewhere to-day, and, it would seem, can still be cast
out.

I confess another thing, also; namely, that I found all this drama
curiously exciting. Most of us who have passed middle age and led a
full and varied life will be familiar with the great human emotions.
Yet I discovered here a new emotion, one quite foreign to a somewhat
extended experience, one that I cannot even attempt to define. The
contagion of revivalism! again it will be said. This may be so, or it
may not. But at least, so far as this branch of the Salvation Army
work is concerned, those engaged in it may fairly claim that the tree
should be judged by its fruits. Without doubt, in the main these
fruits are good and wholesome.

I have only to add to my description of this remarkable service, that
the number netted, namely, about 10 per cent of those present, was, I
am told, just normal, neither more nor less than the average. Some of
these doubtless will relapse; but if only _one_ of them remains really
reformed, surely the Salvation Army has vindicated its arguments and
all is proved to be well worth while. But to that one very many
ciphers must be added as the clear and proved result of the forty
years or so of its activity. Whatever may be doubtful, this is true
beyond all controversy, for it numbers its converts by the thousand.

       *       *       *       *       *

The congregation which I saw on this particular occasion seemed to me
to consist for the most part of elderly men; in fact, some of them
were very old, and the average age of those who attended the
Penitent-Form I estimated at about thirty-five years. This, however,
varies. I am informed that at times they are mostly young persons. It
must be remembered--and the statement throws a lurid light upon the
conditions prevailing in London, as in other of our great cities--that
the population which week by week attends these Sunday morning
services is of an ever-shifting character. Doubtless, there are some
_habitues_ and others who reappear from time to time. But the most of
the audience is new. Every Saturday night the highways and the hedges,
or rather the streets and the railway arches yield a new crop of
homeless and quite destitute wanderers. These are gathered into the
Blackfriars Shelter, and go their bitter road again after the rest,
the breakfast, and the service. But as we have seen here a substantial
proportion, about 10 per cent, remain behind. These are all
interviewed separately and fed, and on the following morning as many
of them as vacancies can be found for in the Paper Works Elevator or
elsewhere are sent thither.

I saw plenty of these men, and with them others who had been rescued
previously; so many, indeed, that it is impossible to set out their
separate cases. Looking through my notes made at the time, I find
among them a schoolmaster, an Australian who fought in South Africa, a
publican who had lost L2,000 in speculation and been twelve months on
the streets, a sailor and two soldiers who between them had seen much
service abroad, and a University man who had tried to commit suicide
from London Bridge.

Also there was a person who was recently described in the newspapers
as the 'dirtiest man in London.' He was found sitting on the steps of
a large building in Queen Victoria Street, partly paralysed from
exposure. So filthy and verminous was he, that it was necessary to
scrape his body, which mere washing would not touch. When he was
picked up, a crowd of several hundred people followed him down the
street, attracted by his dreadful appearance. His pockets were full of
filth, amongst which were found 5s. in coppers. He had then been a
month in the Shelter, where he peels or peeled potatoes, etc., and
looked quite bright and clean.

Most of these people had been brought down by the accursed drink,
which is the bane of our nation, and some few by sheer misfortune.

Neither at the service, nor afterwards, did I see a single Jew, for
the fallen of that race seem to be looked after by their fellow
religionists. Moreover, the Jews do not drink to excess. Foreigners,
also, are comparatively scarce at Blackfriars and in the other
Shelters.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Rivers is introduced to Prior, a new patient in the hospital who refuses to speak. Prior writes on a pad, in block letters only, saying that he does not remember what happened to him and that there is nothing physically wrong with him. He is hostile to Rivers. Sassoon says goodbye to Graves and leaves the hospital for a short walk through the town. Despite what Rivers has said about Sassoon hating safety, Sassoon is happy to go to bed each night in white sheets knowing that he will wake the next morning. Rivers goes home and prepares his nightly bath. He constantly thinks about the hospital and the welfare of his patients. He resents the luxury Sassoon has to object to the war. Though Rivers wants nothing more than for the war to end so that he may return to his research in Cambridge, he understands that it should not be left to another generation to fight German militarism. Rivers goes to sleep. Later he wakes from a nightmare and record what happened in his dream. He dreamt that he was recording the hypersensitivity to pain on the arm of his friend Henry Head. To his surprise, Head suddenly turned the scalpel on him and jabbed it into Rivers's own arm. Rivers realizes what the content of his dream was about. Years ago, he had been working with Head on research to study nerve regeneration after accidental injury. Head offered himself as the subject of study, and Rivers assisted him in severing the radial nerve, suturing it back together, and recording the growth over a five-year period. The essence of his dream is his strong feeling of dislike of inflicting pain. Rivers concludes that the dream must refer to his aversion against inflicting any pain on his patients. By encouraging his patients to talk about their traumatic experiences, Rivers forces them to relive their pain. Furthermore, as this method is experimental, he does not even know if this is helping them. Rivers realizes that by encouraging his patients to express their feelings, he weakens the basis of manliness upon which both he and they have been raised


prompt:
Chapter: THE EX-CRIMINALS

On the afternoon of the Sunday on which I visited the Blackfriars
Shelter, I attended another service, conducted by Commissioner
Sturgess, at Quaker Street.

Here the room was filled by about 150 men, all of whom had been
rescued, and were then working in the various Shelters or elsewhere. I
may say that I have seldom seen a congregation of more respectable
appearance, and never one that joined with greater earnestness in a
religious service.

I will take this opportunity to observe that the Salvation Army
enforces no religious test upon those to whom it extends its
assistance. If a man is a member of the Church of England or a Roman
Catholic, for instance, and wishes to remain so, all that it tries to
do is to make him a good member of his Church. Its only _sine qua non_
is that the individual should show himself ready to work zealously at
any task which it may be able to find for him.

The rest of that afternoon I spent in interviewing ex-criminals who
were then in the charge of the Salvation Army. To give details of
their cases in this book is impossible. Here I will only say,
therefore, that some of these had been most desperate characters, who
had served as much as thirty or forty years in various prisons, or
even been condemned to death for murder. Indeed, the nineteen men whom
I interviewed had, between them, done 371 years of what is known as
'time.'

I cannot honestly report that I liked the looks of all these gentry,
or believed everything that they told me. For instance, when such
people swear that they have been wrongly convicted, an old lawyer and
magistrate like myself, who knows what pains are taken by every
English Court to safeguard the innocent, is apt to be sceptical.
Still, it should be added that many of these jailbirds are now to all
appearance quite reformed, while some of them are doing well in more
or less responsible positions, under the supervision of the Army.

The Salvation Army Officers have authority from the Home Office to
visit the various prisons, where the inmates are informed that those
who are desirous of seeing them must give in their names. Then on a
certain day, the Officer, who, under Commissioner Sturgess, is
responsible for the Prison work of the Army in England, appears at the
Wandsworth or the Pentonville Prison, or wherever it may be. There he
finds, perhaps, as many as 150 men waiting to see him, the total
number of ex-prisoners who pass through the hands of the Army in
England averaging at present about 1,000 per annum. He interviews
these men in their cells privately, the prison officials remaining
outside, and stops as long with each of them as he deems to be
needful, for the Governors of the prisons give him every opportunity
of attaining the object of his work. This Officer informed me that his
conversation with the prisoners is not restricted in any way. It may
be about their future or of spiritual matters, or it may have to do
with their family affairs.

The details of each case are carefully recorded in a book which I saw,
and when a convict is discharged and given over to the care of the
Army, a photograph and an official statement of his record is
furnished with him. This statement the Army finds a great help, as in
dealing with such people it is necessary to know their past in order
to be able to guard against their weak points.

The Government authorities have now begun to seek the aid of the Army
in certain special cases. If they feel that it is unnecessary to
retain a man any longer, they will sometimes hand him over, should the
Salvation Army Officers be willing to take him in and be responsible
for him. General Booth and his subordinates think that if this system
were enlarged and followed up, it would result in the mitigation or
the abbreviation of many sentences, without exposing the public to
danger.

In discussing this matter with them, I ventured to point out that it
would be a bad thing if the Army became in any way identified with the
prison Authorities, and began, at any rate in the mind of the criminal
classes, to wear the initials G.R. instead of those of the Army upon
their collars. This was not disputed by Commissioner Sturgess, with
whom I debated the question.

What the Army desires, however, is that the Government should
subsidize this work in order to enable it to support the ex-convicts
until it can find opportunity to place them in positions where they
can earn their own bread. The trouble with such folk is that,
naturally enough, few desire to employ them, and until they are
employed, which in the case of aged persons or of those with a very
bad record may be never, they must be fed, clothed, and housed.

After going into the whole subject at considerable length and in much
detail, the conclusion which I came to was that this work of the
visitation of prisoners by Salvation Army Officers, and the care of
them when released either on or before the completion of their
sentences, is one that might be usefully extended, should the Home
Office Authorities see fit so to do. There is no doubt, although it
cannot guarantee success in every case, that the Salvation Army is
peculiarly successful in its dealings with hardened criminals.

Why this is so is not easy to explain. I think, however, that there
are two main reasons for its success. The first is that the Army takes
great care never to break a promise which it may make through any of
its Officers. Thus, if a man in jail is told that his relatives will
be hunted up and communicated with, or that an application will be
made to the Authorities to have him committed to the care of the Army,
or that work will be found for him on his release, and the like, that
undertaking, whatever it may be, is noted in the book which I have
mentioned, and although years may pass before it can be fulfilled, is
in due course carried out to the letter. Now, convicts are shy birds,
who put little faith in promises. But when they find that these are
always kept they gain confidence in the makers of them, and often
learn to trust them entirely.

The second and more potent reason is to be found in the power of that
loving sympathy which the Army extends even to the vilest, to those
from whom the least puritanical of us would shrink. It shows such men
that they are not utterly lost, as these believe; that it, at any
rate, does not mark them with a figurative broad arrow and consign
them to a separate division of society; that it is able to give them
back the self-respect without which mankind is lower than the beast,
and to place them, regenerated, upon a path that, if it be steep and
thorny, still leads to those heights of peace and honour which they
never thought to tread again.

This is done not by physical care and comfort, though, of course,
these help towards the desired end, but by its own spiritual means, or
so it would appear. Its Officers pray with the man; they awake his
conscience, which is never dead in any of us; they pour the blessed
light of hope into the dark places of his soul; they cause him to hate
the past, and to desire to lead a new life. Once this desire is
established, the rest is comparatively simple, for where the heart
leads the feet will follow; but without it little or nothing can be
done. Such is the explanation I have to offer. At any rate, I believe
it remains a fact that among the worst criminals the Salvation Army
often succeeds where others have failed.

Another point that should not be overlooked in this connexion is that
it must be a great comfort to the sinner and an encouragement of the
most practical sort to find, as he sometimes will, that the hands
which are dragging him and his kind from the mire, had once been as
filthy as his own. When the worker can say to him, 'Look at me; in
bygone days I was as bad as or worse than you'; when he can point to
many others whose vices were formerly notorious, but who now fill
positions of trust in the Army or outside of it, and are honoured of
all men; then the lost one, emerging, perhaps, for the fifth or sixth
time from the darkness of his prison, sees by the light of these
concrete examples that the future has promise for us all. If _they_
have succeeded why should _he_ fail? That is the argument which comes
home to him.

There remains a matter to be considered. Let us suppose that as time
goes by the Authorities become more and more convinced of the value of
the Army's prison work, and pass over to its care criminals in
ever-increasing numbers, as they are doing in some other countries and
in the great Colonies, what will be the effect upon the Army itself?
Will not this mass of comparatively useless material clog the wheels
of the great machine by overlading it with a vast number of
ex-prisoners, some of whom, owing to their age or other circumstances,
are quite incapable of earning their livelihood, and therefore must be
carried till their deaths? When I put the query to those in command,
the answer given was that they did not think so, as they believed that
the Army would be able to turn the great majority of these men into
respectable, wage-earning members of society.

Thus of those who have been sent to it lately from the prisons, it
has, I understand, been forced to return only two, because these men
would not behave themselves, and proved to be a source of danger and
contamination to others. As regards the residuum who are incapacitated
by age or weakness of mind or body, General Booth and his Officers are
of opinion that the Government should contribute to their support in
such places as the Army may be able to find for them to dwell in under
its care.

I hope that these forecasts, which after all are made by men of great
experience who should know, may not prove to be over-sanguine. Still
it must be remembered that in England alone there are, I am told, some
30,000 confirmed criminals in the jails, not reckoning the 5,000 who
are classed as convicts. If even 20 per cent of these were passed over
to the care of the Army, with or without State grants in aid of their
support, this must in the nature of things prove a heavy burden upon
its resources. When all is said and done it is harder to find
employment for a jailbird, even if reformed, than for any other class
of man, because so damaged a human article has but little commercial
value in the Labour market.

If, however, the Salvation Army is prepared to face this gigantic
task, it may be hoped that it will be given an opportunity of showing
what it can do on a large scale, as it has already shown upon one more
restricted. Prison reform is in the air. The present system is
admitted more or less to have broken down. It has been shown to be
incompetent to attain the real end for which it is established; that
is, not punishment, as many still believe, for this hereditary idea is
hard to eradicate, but prevention and, still more, reformation.

The 'Vengeance of the Law' is a phrase not easy to forget; but among
humane and highly-civilized peoples the word Vengeance should be
replaced by another, the best that I can think of is--Regeneration.
The Law should not seek to avenge--that may be left to the savage
codes, civil and religious, of the dark ages. Except in the case of
the death sentence, which is not everywhere in favour, it should seek
to regenerate.

If, then, among other agencies, the Salvation Army is able to prove
beyond cavil that it can assist our criminal system to attain this
noble end, ought not opportunity to be given it in full measure? Is it
too much to hope that when the new Prison Act, of which the substance
has recently been outlined by the Home Secretary, comes to be
discussed, this object may be kept in view and the offer of the
Salvation Army to co-operate in the great endeavour may not be lightly
thrust aside? If its help is found so valuable in the solution of this
particular problem in other lands, why should it be rejected here, or,
rather, why should it not be more largely utilized, as I know from
their own lips, General Booth and his Officers hope and desire?[2]

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The next morning, Rivers speaks with Prior, who has gotten his voice back in the night. He says that his voice comes and goes, but he does not know why. Prior is a difficult patient; he does not want to talk about his dreams or his experiences because he sees no reason to churn up memories. When Rivers gets up to leave, Prior becomes more cooperative. He tells Rivers a little about what he remembers. In the war, he would have to stand in a dugout in No Man's Land--the neutral ground between the English and German trenches--for forty-eight hours at a time, just to "protect" the land. The Germans would do their best to bomb the men in the hole the entire time. The last thing Prior remembers is being carried out of the hole. Rivers then meets with Sassoon for their scheduled appointment. Sassoon claims Bertrand Russell did not influence him, and that his first introduction to pacifism was several books by a man named Edward Carpenter. Sassoon is a great fan of Carpenter, who also wrote a book called The Intermediate Sex. Sassoon skirts around the issue, but implies that he is a homosexual. Rivers claims to be familiar with that book as well. Rivers advises Sassoon to be careful about letting his secret out, as there are many people who would use his personal life to discredit his political views. Mr. Prior, Billy Prior's father, comes in to see Rivers. Mr. Prior has nothing but contempt for his son. He thinks that his mother made him too ambitious, and now he is ruined. He is not happy that his son joined the army or became an officer; he thinks Billy should have stayed with his own class. Mr. Prior says he would have more sympathy for his son if he had been hit by a bullet. After Mr. Prior leaves, Mrs. Prior comes in to talk to Rivers. She has much sympathy for her son, and she tells Rivers much about their personal life. She believes that Billy blames her for trying to better him and separate him from the "common people. Mr. Prior resents his son's education, and Mrs. Prior senses competition between them. Mr. Broadbent, another patient, comes to see Rivers and ask him for a leave of absence, as his mother is sick. Rivers doubts that there is any sick mother, as Broadbent is known for doing things in the hospital just to get attention. He tells Broadbent to speak with Bryce about it. Rivers is frustrated by all these interruptions. Later that night, Rivers finds Prior watching the cinema on the first floor of the hospital. His asthma is very bad, and his wheezing is loudly audible. Rivers brings Prior into the sick bay to examine him. Prior tells Rivers that he did not want his father to come barging in as he did. Prior does not like his father, who he admits used to hit his mother when Prior was too young to stop it. Prior says his asthma was better in France than it ever was at home.


prompt:
Chapter: THE MEN'S WORKSHOP HANBURY STREET, WHITECHAPEL

This Salvation Army carpentering and joinery shop has been in
existence for about fifteen years, but it does not even now pay its
way. It was started by the Army in order to assist fallen mechanics by
giving them temporary work until they could find other situations.

The manager informed me that at the beginning they found work for
about thirty men. When I visited the place some fifty hands were
employed--bricklayers, painters, joiners, etc., none of whom need stop
an hour longer than they choose. From 100 to 150 men pass through this
Workshop in a year, but many of them being elderly and therefore
unable to obtain work elsewhere, stop for a long while, as the Army
cannot well get rid of them. All of these folk arrive in a state of
absolute destitution, having even sold their tools, the last
possessions with which a competent workman parts.

The Parliamentary Committee of the Labour Party and the Trade Unions
have recently stirred up a great agitation, which has been widely
reported in the Press, against the Hanbury Street Workshop, because
the Army does not pay the Union rate of wages. As a result the Army
now declines all outside contracts, and confines its operations to the
work of erecting, repairing, or furnishing its own buildings.

Here it may be stated that these complaints seem to be unreasonable.
The men employed have almost without exception been taken off the
streets to save them from starvation or the poorhouse. Often enough
they are by no means competent at their work, while some of them have
for the time being been rendered practically useless through the
effects of drink or other debaucheries. Yet it is argued with violence
that to such people, whom no business firm would employ upon any
terms, the Army ought to pay the full Trade Union rate of wages. When
every allowance is made for the great and urgent problems connected
with the cruel practice of 'sweating,' surely this attitude throws a
strange light upon some of the methods of the Trade Unions?

The inference seems to be that they would prefer that these derelicts
should come on the rates or starve rather than that the Army should
house and feed them, giving them, in addition, such wage as their
labour may be worth. Further comment seems to be needless, especially
when I repeat that, as I am assured, this Hanbury Street Institution
never has earned, and does not now earn, the cost of its upkeep.

It is situated in the heart of a very poor district, and is rather a
ramshackle place to look at, but still quite suitable to its purposes.
I have observed that one of the characteristics of the Salvation Army
is that it never spends unnecessary money upon buildings. If it can
buy a good house or other suitable structure cheap it does so. If it
cannot, it makes use of what it can get at a price within its means,
provided that the place will satisfy the requirements of the sanitary
and other Authorities.

All the machines at Hanbury Street are driven by electric power that
is supplied by the Stepney Council at a cost of 1_d_. per unit for
power and 3_d_. per unit for lighting.

An elderly man whom I saw there attending to this machinery, was
dismissed by one of the great railway companies when they were
reducing their hands. He had been in the employ of the Salvation Army
for seven years and received the use of a house rent free and a wage
of 30_s_. a week, which probably he would find it quite impossible to
earn anywhere else.

The hours of employment are from 6.30 a.m. to 5.30 p.m. if the man is
engaged on outside work, or to 6 p.m. if he labours in the workshop,
and the men are paid at various rates according to the value of their
work, and whether they are boarded and lodged, or live outside. Thus
one to whom I spoke, who was the son of a former mayor of an important
town, was allowed 3_s._ a week plus food and lodging, while another
received 9_s._ a week, 5_s._ of which was sent to his wife, from whom
he was separated. Another man, after living on the Army for about two
years, made charges against it to the Carpenters' and Joiners' Union.
He returned and apologized, but had practically to be kept under
restraint on account of his drinking habits.

Another man spent twenty years in jail and then walked the streets. He
is now a very respectable person, earns 27_s._ 6_d._ a week, and lives
outside with his wife and family. Another was once convicted of
cruelty to his children, whom he placed under the boards of the
flooring while he went out to drink. These children are now restored
to him, and he lives with them. Another among those with whom I
happened to speak, was robbed by a relative of L4,000 which his father
left to him. He was taken on by the Army in a state of destitution,
but I forget what he earned. Another, the youngest man in the Works,
came to them without any trade at all and in a destitute condition,
but when I saw him was in charge of a morticing machine. He had
married, lived out, and had been in the employ of the Army for five
years. His wage was 27_s._ 6_d._ a week. Two others drew as much as L2
5_s._ 11_d._ each, living out; but, on the other hand, some received
as little as 3_s._ a week with board and lodging.

Amongst this latter class was a young Mormon from Salt Lake City, who
earned 4_s._ 6_d._ a week and his board and lodging. He had been in
the Elevator about three months, having got drunk in London and missed
his ship. Although he attended the Salvation Army meetings, he
remained a Mormon.

In these Works all sorts of articles are manufactured to be used by
other branches of the Salvation Army. Thus I saw poultry-houses being
made for the Boxted Small Holdings; these cost from L4 5_s._ to L4
10_s._ net, and were excellent structures designed to hold about two
dozen fowls. Further on large numbers of seats of different patterns
were in process of manufacture, some of them for children, and other
longer ones, with reversible backs, to be used in the numerous Army
halls. Next I visited a room in which mattresses and mattress covers
are made for the various Shelters, also the waterproof bunk bedding,
which costs 7_s._ 9_d._ per cover. Further on, in a separate
compartment, was a flock-tearing machine, at which the Mormon I have
mentioned was employed. This is a very dusty job whereat a man does
not work for more than one day in ten.

Then there were the painting and polishing-room, the joinery room, and
the room where doors, window frames, and articles of furniture are
constructed; also special garden benches, cleverly planned so that the
seat can be protected from rain. These were designed by a young lady
whom I chance to know in private life, and who, as I now discovered
for the first time, is also a member of the Salvation Army.

Such is the Hanbury Street Workshop, where the Army makes the best use
it can of rather indifferent human materials, and, as I have said,
loses money at the business.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Sassoon wakes up during the night to the sound of screams and running footsteps. Screaming patients are very common at Craiglockhart, and he is thankful that his own roommate does not scream. Nevertheless, Sassoon fears Craiglockhart more than the front; its patients have stammers, stumbling walks, and a look of being "mental. The next morning, Rivers visits Prior in his room and finds him reading one of the books Rivers published years ago. Prior is the one who was screaming the previous night. He apologizes to Rivers and admits that he wants to impress him. Rivers tells Prior that such a feeling is very common. They begin talking about how Prior "fit in" on the front. Prior laughs at the thought that there are no class distinctions on the front; a soldier is judged by what he wears, what he carries, and where he sleeps. They talk for a while about how stupid the military mind is; Prior tells a story about how a man was flogged just for smoking a cigarette. After Rivers gets frustrated with Prior for refusing to discuss his dreams, Prior once again requests hypnosis. Rivers insists he will only do hypnosis if all other methods fail. Rivers and Sassoon reads the daily newspaper. Sassoon's letter has been read in the House of Commons, but after it is announced that he is in a mental hospital, many members of Parliament dismiss his letter as written by a crazy man. Sassoon is angered at the complacency of the British people; they do not even care if a boy who is not even old enough to enlist is killed. After talking a bit more with Rivers, Sassoon leaves. Rivers begins writing Sassoon's medical history for the hospital records. He notes that Sassoon's view of the war differs from that of the ordinary pacifist in that "he would no longer object to the continuance of the War if he saw any reasonable prospect of a rapid decision. He does not include any mention of Sassoon's homosexuality in the report. That evening, Rivers sits around the table with the other psychiatrists to discuss the cases. They ask him to speak about Sassoon. Richards tells them the facts, and Brock, another doctor, suggests that perhaps they should just leave Sassoon alone. Rivers disagrees; he feels it is his duty to convince Sassoon to go back to the front, since his grief and horror should not be allowed to dominate his actions