AT about three o'clock
of the February afternoon, the blizzard began to swirl great clouds of snow
along the streets, sweeping it down from the roofs and up from the pavements
until the faces of pedestrians tingled and burned as from a thousand needle-prickings.
Those on the walks huddled their necks closely in the collars of their coats
and went along stooping like a race of aged people. The drivers of vehicles
hurried their horses furiously on their way. They were made more cruel by the
exposure of their positions, aloft on high seats. The street cars, bound
up-town, went slowly, the horses slipping and straining in the spongy brown
mass that lay between the rails. The drivers, muffled to the eyes, stood erect
and facing the wind, models of grim philosophy. Overhead the trains rumbled and
roared, and the dark structure of the elevated railroad, stretching over the
avenue, dripped little streams and drops of water upon the mud and snow beneath
it.
All the clatter of the
street was softened by the masses that lay upon the cobbles until, even to one
who looked from a window, it became important music, a melody of life made
necessary to the ear by the dreariness of the pitiless beat and sweep of the
storm. Occasionally one could see black figures of men busily shovelling the
white drifts from the walks. The sounds from their labor created new
recollections of rural experiences which every man manages to have in a
measure. Later, the immense windows of the shops became aglow with light,
throwing great beams of orange and yellow upon the pavement. They were
infinitely cheerful, yet in a way they accented the force and discomfort of the
storm, and gave a meaning to the pace of the people and the vehicles, scores of
pedestrians and drivers, wretched with cold faces, necks and feet, speeding for
scores of unknown doors and entrances, scattering to an infinite variety of
shelters, to places which the imagination made warm with the familiar colors of
home.
There was an absolute
expression of hot dinners in the pace of the people. If one dared to speculate
upon the destination of those who came trooping, he lost himself in a maze of
social calculations; he might fling a handful of sand and attempt to follow the
flight of each particular grain. But as to the suggestion of hot dinners, he
was in firm lines of thought, for it was upon every hurrying face. It is a
matter of tradition; it is from the tales of childhood. It comes forth with
every storm.
However, in a certain
part of a dark West-side street, there was a collection of men to whom these
things were as if they were not. In this street was located a charitable house
where for five cents the homeless of the city could get a bed at night and, in
the morning, coffee and bread.
During the afternoon of
the storm, the whirling snows acted as drivers, as men with whips, and at
half-past three, the walk before the closed doors of the house was covered with
wanderers of the street, waiting. For some distance on either side of the place
they could be seen lurking in doorways and behind projecting parts of
buildings, gathering in close bunches in an effort to get warm. A covered wagon
drawn up near the curb sheltered a dozen of them. Under the stairs that led to
the elevated railway station, there were six or eight, their hands stuffed deep
in their pockets, their shoulders stooped, jiggling their feet. Others always
could be seen coming, a strange procession, some slouching along with the
characteristic hopeless gait of professional strays, some coming with
hesitating steps wearing the air of men to whom this sort of thing was new.
It was an afternoon of
incredible length. The snow, blowing in twisting clouds, sought out the men in
their meagre hiding- places and skilfully beat in among them, drenching their
persons with showers of fine, stinging flakes. They crowded together,
muttering, and fumbling in their pockets to get their red, inflamed wrists
covered by the cloth.
Newcomers usually
halted at one of the groups and addressed a question, perhaps much as a matter
of form, "Is it open yet?"
Those who had been
waiting inclined to take the questioner seriously and become contemptuous.
"No; do yeh think we'd be standin' here?"
The gathering swelled
in numbers steadily and persistently. One could always see them coming, trudging
slowly through the storm.
Finally, the little
snow plains in the street began to assume a leaden hue from the shadows of
evening. The buildings upreared gloomily save where various windows became
brilliant figures of light that made shimmers and splashes of yellow on the
snow. A street lamp on the curb struggled to illuminate, but it was reduced to
impotent blindness by the swift gusts of sleet crusting its panes.
In this half-darkness,
the men began to come from their shelter places and mass in front of the doors
of charity. They were of all types, but the nationalities were mostly American,
German and Irish. Many were strong, healthy, clear- skinned fellows with that
stamp of countenance which is not frequently seen upon seekers after charity.
There were men of undoubted patience, industry and temperance, who in time of
ill- fortune, do not habitually turn to rail at the state of society, snarling
at the arrogance of the rich and bemoaning the cowardice of the poor, but who
at these times are apt to wear a sudden and singular meekness, as if they saw
the world's progress marching from them and were trying to perceive where they
had failed, what they had lacked, to be thus vanquished in the race. Then there
were others of the shifting, Bowery lodging-house element who were used to
paying ten cents for a place to sleep, but who now came here because it was
cheaper.
But they were all mixed
in one mass so thoroughly that one could not have discerned the different
elements but for the fact that the laboring men, for the most part, remained
silent and impassive in the blizzard, their eyes fixed on the windows of the
house, statues of patience.
The sidewalk soon
became completely blocked by the bodies of the men. They pressed close to one
another like sheep in a winter's gale, keeping one another warm by the heat of
their bodies. The snow came down upon this compressed group of men until,
directly from above, it might have appeared like a heap of snow-covered
merchandise, if it were not for the fact that the crowd swayed gently with a
unanimous, rhythmical motion. It was wonderful to see how the snow lay upon the
heads and shoulders of these men, in little ridges an inch thick perhaps in
places, the flakes steadily adding drop and drop, precisely as they fall upon
the unresisting grass of the fields. The feet of the men were all wet and cold
and the wish to warm them accounted for the slow, gentle, rhythmical motion.
Occasionally some man whose ears or nose tingled acutely from the cold winds
would wriggle down until his head was protected by the shoulders of his
companions.
There was a continuous
murmuring discussion as to the probability of the doors being speedily opened.
They persistently lifted their eyes toward the windows. One could hear little combats
of opinion.
"There's a light
in th' winder!"
"Naw; it's a
reflection f'm across th' way."
"Well, didn't I
see 'em lite it?"
"You did?"
"I did!"
"Well, then, that
settles it!"
As the time approached
when they expected to be allowed to enter, the men crowded to the doors in an
unspeakable crush, jamming and wedging in a way that it seemed would crack
bones. They surged heavily against the building in a powerful wave of pushing
shoulders. Once a rumor flitted among all the tossing heads.
"They can't open
th' doors! Th' fellers er smack up ag'in 'em."
Then a dull roar of
rage came from the men on the outskirts; but all the time they strained and
pushed until it appeared to be impossible for those that they cried out against
to do anything but be crushed to pulp.
"Ah, git away f'm
th' door!"
"Git outa
that!"
"Throw 'em
out!"
"Kill 'em!"
"Say, fellers,
now, what th' 'ell? Give 'em a chanct t' open th' door!"
"Yeh damned pigs,
give 'em a chanct t' open th' door!"
Men in the outskirts of
the crowd occasionally yelled when a boot-heel of one of frantic trampling feet
crushed on their freezing extremities.
"Git off me feet,
yeh clumsy tarrier!"
"Say, don't stand
on me feet! Walk on th' ground!"
A man near the doors
suddenly shouted: "O-o-oh! Le' me out-- le' me out!" And another, a
man of infinite valor, once twisted his head so as to half face those who were
pushing behind him. "Quit yer shovin', yeh"--and he delivered a
volley of the most powerful and singular invective straight into the faces of
the men behind him. It was as if he was hammering the noses of them with curses
of triple brass. His face, red with rage, could be seen; upon it, an expression
of sublime disregard of consequences. But nobody cared to reply to his
imprecations; it was too cold. Many of them snickered and all continued to
push.
In occasional pauses of
the crowd's movement the men had opportunity to make jokes; usually grim
things, and no doubt very uncouth. Nevertheless, they are notable--one does not
expect to find the quality of humor in a heap of old clothes under a snowdrift.
The winds seemed to
grow fiercer as time wore on. Some of the gusts of snow that came down on the
close collection of heads cut like knives and needles, and the men huddled, and
swore, not like dark assassins, but in a sort of an American fashion, grimly
and desperately, it is true, but yet with a wondrous under-effect, indefinable
and mystic, as if there was some kind of humor in this catastrophe, in this situation
in a night of snow-laden winds.
Once, the window of the
huge dry-goods shop across the street furnished material for a few moments of
forgetfulness. In the brilliantly-lighted space appeared the figure of a man.
He was rather stout and very well clothed. His whiskers were fashioned
charmingly after those of the Prince of Wales. He stood in an attitude of
magnificent reflection. He slowly stroked his moustache with a certain grandeur
of manner, and looked down at the snow-encrusted mob. From below, there was
denoted a supreme complacence in him. It seemed that the sight operated
inversely, and enabled him to more clearly regard his own environment,
delightful relatively.
One of the mob chanced
to turn his head and perceive the figure in the window. "Hello, lookit 'is
whiskers," he said genially.
Many of the men turned
then, and a shout went up. They called to him in all strange keys. They
addressed him in every manner, from familiar and cordial greetings to
carefully-worded advice concerning changes in his personal appearance. The man
presently fled, and the mob chuckled ferociously like ogres who had just
devoured something.
They turned then to
serious business. Often they addressed the stolid front of the house.
"Oh, let us in fer
Gawd's sake!"
"Let us in or
we'll all drop dead!"
"Say, what's th'
use o' keepin' all us poor Indians out in th' cold?"
And always some one was
saying, "Keep off me feet."
The crushing of the
crowd grew terrific toward the last. The men, in keen pain from the blasts,
began almost to fight. With the pitiless whirl of snow upon them, the battle
for shelter was going to the strong. It became known that the basement door at
the foot of a little steep flight of stairs was the one to be opened, and they
jostled and heaved in this direction like laboring fiends. One could hear them
panting and groaning in their fierce exertion.
Usually some one in the
front ranks was protesting to those in the rear: "O--o--ow! Oh, say, now,
fellers, let up, will yeh? Do yeh wanta kill somebody?"
A policeman arrived and
went into the midst of them, scolding and berating, occasionally threatening,
but using no force but that of his hands and shoulders against these men who
were only struggling to get in out of the storm. His decisive tones rang out
sharply: "Stop that pushin' back there! Come, boys, don't push! Stop that!
Here, you, quit yer shovin'! Cheese that!"
When the door below was
opened, a thick stream of men forced a way down the stairs, which were of an
extraordinary narrowness and seemed only wide enough for one at a time. Yet
they somehow went down almost three abreast. It was a difficult and painful
operation. The crowd was like a turbulent water forcing itself through one tiny
outlet. The men in the rear, excited by the success of the others, made frantic
exertions, for it seemed that this large band would more than fill the quarters
and that many would be left upon the pavements. It would be disastrous to be of
the last, and accordingly men with the snow biting their faces, writhed and
twisted with their might. One expected that from the tremendous pressure, the
narrow passage to the basement door would be so choked and clogged with human
limbs and bodies that movement would be impossible. Once indeed the crowd was
forced to stop, and a cry went along that a man had been injured at the foot of
the stairs. But presently the slow movement began again, and the policeman
fought at the top of the flight to ease the pressure on those who were going
down.
A reddish light from a
window fell upon the faces of the men when they, in turn, arrived at the last
three steps and were about to enter. One could then note a change of expression
that had come over their features. As they thus stood upon the threshold of
their hopes, they looked suddenly content and complacent. The fire had passed
from their eyes and the snarl had vanished from their lips. The very force of
the crowd in the rear, which had previously vexed them, was regarded from
another point of view, for it now made it inevitable that they should go
through the little doors into the place that was cheery and warm with light.
The tossing crowd on
the sidewalk grew smaller and smaller. The snow beat with merciless persistence
upon the bowed heads of those who waited. The wind drove it up from the
pavements in frantic forms of winding white, and it seethed in circles about
the huddled forms, passing in, one by one, three by three, out of the storm.