CHAPTER VI. INFERNO.
They were grim years, those three during which Mary Turner served hersentence in Burnsing. There was no time off for good behavior. The girllearned soon that the favor of those set in authority over her couldonly be won at a cost against which her every maidenly instinctrevolted. So, she went through the inferno of days and nights in adreariness of suffering that was deadly. Naturally, the life there wasaltogether an evil thing. There was the material ill ever present inthe round of wearisome physical toil, the coarse, distasteful food, thehard, narrow couch, the constant, gnawing irksomeness of imprisonment,away from light and air, away from all that makes life worth while.
Yet, these afflictions were not the worst injuries to mar the girlconvict's life. That which bore upon her most weightily and incessantlywas the degradation of this environment from which there was never anyrespite, the viciousness of this spot wherein she had been cast throughno fault of her own. Vileness was everywhere, visibly in the faces ofmany, and it was brimming from the souls of more, subtly hideous. Thegirl held herself rigidly from any personal intimacy with her fellows.To some extent, at least, she could separate herself from theircorruption in the matter of personal association. But, ever present,there was a secret energy of vice that could not be escaped sosimply--nor, indeed, by any device; that breathed in the spiritualatmosphere itself of the place. Always, this mysterious, invisible, yethorribly potent, power of sin was like a miasma throughout the prison.Always, it was striving to reach her soul, to make her of its own. Shefought the insidious, fetid force as best she might. She was not evilby nature. She had been well grounded in principles of righteousness.Nevertheless, though she maintained the integrity of her character,that character suffered from the taint. There developed over the girl'soriginal sensibility a shell of hardness, which in time would surelycome to make her less scrupulous in her reckoning of right and wrong.
Yet, as a rule, character remains the same throughout life as to itsprime essentials, and, in this case, Mary Turner at the end of her termwas vitally almost as wholesome as on the day when she began the servingof the sentence. The change wrought in her was chiefly of an externalsort. The kindliness of her heart and her desire for the seemly joys oflife were unweakened. But over the better qualities of her naturewas now spread a crust of worldly hardness, a denial of appeal to hersensibilities. It was this that would eventually bring her perilouslyclose to contented companioning with crime.
The best evidence of the fact that Mary Turner's soul was not fatallysoiled must be found in the fact that still, at the expiration of hersentence, she was fully resolved to live straight, as the saying iswhich she had quoted to Gilder. This, too, in the face of sure knowledgeas to the difficulties that would beset the effort, and in the face ofthe temptations offered to follow an easier path.
There was, for example, Aggie Lynch, a fellow convict, with whom shehad a slight degree of acquaintance, nothing more. This young woman, acriminal by training, offered allurements of illegitimate employment inthe outer world when they should be free. Mary endured the companionshipwith this prisoner because a sixth sense proclaimed the fact that herewas one unmoral, rather than immoral--and the difference is mighty. Forthat reason, Aggie Lynch was not actively offensive, as were most of theothers. She was a dainty little blonde, with a baby face, in which wereset two light-blue eyes, of a sort to widen often in demure wonder overmost things in a surprising and naughty world. She had been convicted ofblackmail, and she made no pretense even of innocence. Instead, she wasinclined to boast over her ability to bamboozle men at her will. Shewas a natural actress of the ingenue role, and in that pose she couldunfailingly beguile the heart of the wisest of worldly men.
Perhaps, the very keen student of physiognomy might have discoveredgrounds for suspecting her demureness by reason of the thick, levelbrows that cast a shadow on the bland innocence of her face. For therest, she possessed a knack of rather harmless perversity, a fairsmattering of grammar and spelling, and a lively sense of humor withinher own limitations, with a particularly small intelligence in otherdirections. Her one art was histrionics of the kind that made anindividual appeal. In such, she was inimitable. She had been reared in acriminal family, which must excuse much. Long ago, she had lost trackof her father; her mother she had never known. Her one relation was abrother of high standing as a pickpocket. One principal reason of hersuccess in leading on men to make fools of themselves over her, to theireverlasting regret afterward, lay in the fact that, in spite of all thegross irregularities of her life, she remained chaste. She deserved nocredit for such restraint, since it was a matter purely of temperament,not of resolve.
The girl saw in Mary Turner the possibilities of a ladylike personalitythat might mean much financial profit in the devious ways of which shewas a mistress. With the frankness characteristic of her, she proceededto paint glowing pictures of a future shared to the undoing of ardentand fatuous swains. Mary Turner listened with curiosity, but she was inno wise moved to follow such a life, even though it did not necessitateanything worse than a fraudulent playing at love, without physicaldegradation. So, she steadfastly continued her refusals, to the greatastonishment of Aggie, who actually could not understand in the least,even while she believed the other's declaration of innocence of thecrime for which she was serving a sentence. But, for her own part, suchinnocence had nothing to do with the matter. Where, indeed, could bethe harm in making some old sinner pay a round price for his folly? Andalways, in response to every argument, Mary shook her head in negation.She would live straight.
Then, the heavy brows of Aggie would draw down a little, and the babyface would harden.
"You will find that you are up against a hell of a frost," she woulddeclare, brutally.
Mary found the profane prophecy true. Back in New York, she experienceda poverty more ravaging than any she had known in those five lean yearsof her working in the store. She had been absolutely penniless for twodays, and without food through the gnawing hours, when she at last foundemployment of the humblest in a milliner's shop. Followed a blessedinterval in which she worked contentedly, happy over the meager stipend,since it served to give her shelter and food honestly earned.
But the ways of the police are not always those of ordinary decency. Indue time, an officer informed Mary's employer concerning the fact ofher record as a convict, and thereupon she was at once discharged. Theunfortunate victim of the law came perilously close to despair then.Yet, her spirit triumphed, and again she persevered in that resolveto live straight. Finally, for the second time, she secured a cheapposition in a cheap shop--only to be again persecuted by the police, sothat she speedily lost the place.
Nevertheless, indomitable in her purpose, she maintained the struggle.A third time she obtained work, and there, after a little, she toldher employer, a candy manufacturer in a small way, the truth as to herhaving been in prison. The man had a kindly heart, and, in addition,he ran little risk in the matter, so he allowed her to remain. When,presently, the police called his attention to the girl's criminalrecord, he paid no heed to their advice against retaining her services.But such action on his part offended the greatness of the law's dignity.The police brought pressure to bear on the man. They even called in theassistance of Edward Gilder himself, who obligingly wrote a very severeletter to the girl's employer. In the end, such tactics alarmed theman. For the sake of his own interests, though unwillingly enough, hedismissed Mary from his service.
It was then that despair did come upon the girl. She had tried with allthe strength of her to live straight. Yet, despite her innocence,the world would not let her live according to her own conscience. Itdemanded that she be the criminal it had branded her--if she were tolive at all. So, it was despair! For she would not turn to evil, andwithout such turning she could not live. She still walked the streetsfalteringly, seeking some place; but her heart was gone from the quest.Now, she was sunken in an apathy that saved her from the worst pangsof misery. She had suffered so much, so poignantly,
that at last heremotions had grown sluggish. She did not mind much even when her tinyhoard of money was quite gone, and she roamed the city, starving....Came an hour when she thought of the river, and was glad!
Mary remembered, with a wan smile, how, long ago, she had thought withamazed horror of suicide, unable to imagine any trouble sufficientto drive one to death as the only relief. Now, however, the thing wassimple to her. Since there was nothing else, she must turn to that--todeath. Indeed, it was so very simple, so final, and so easy, after theagonies she had endured, that she marveled over her own folly in nothaving sought such escape before.... Even with the first wild fancy, shehad unconsciously bent her steps westward toward the North River. Now,she quickened her pace, anxious for the plunge that should set the termto sorrow. In her numbed brain was no flicker of thought as to whatevermight come to her afterward. Her sole guide was that compellingpassion of desire to be done with this unbearable present. Nothing elsemattered--not in the least!
So, she came through the long stretch of ill-lighted streets, crossedsome railroad tracks to a pier, over which she hurried to the far end,where it projected out to the fiercer currents of the Hudson. There,without giving herself a moment's pause for reflection or hesitation,she leaped out as far as her strength permitted into the coil ofwaters.... But, in that final second, natural terror in the face ofdeath overcame the lethargy of despair--a shriek burst from her lips.
But for that scream of fear, the story of Mary Turner had ended thereand then. Only one person was anywhere near to catch the sound. And thatsingle person heard. On the south side of the pier a man had just tiedup a motor-boat. He stood up in alarm at the cry, and was just in timeto gain a glimpse of a white face under the dim moonlight as it sweptdown with the tide, two rods beyond him. On the instant, he threw offhis coat and sprang far out after the drifting body. He came to it in afew furious strokes, caught it. Then began the savage struggle to saveher and himself. The currents tore at him wrathfully, but he foughtagainst them with all the fierceness of his nature. He had strengtha-plenty, but it needed all of it, and more, to win out of the river'shungry clutch. What saved the two of them was the violent temper of theman. Always, it had been the demon to set him aflame. To-night, therein the faint light, within the grip of the waters, he was moved toinsensate fury against the element that menaced. His rage mounted, andgave him new power in the battle. Maniacal strength grew out of supremewrath. Under the urge of it, he conquered--at last brought himself andhis charge to the shore.
When, finally, the rescuer was able to do something more than gaspchokingly, he gave anxious attention to the woman whom he had broughtout from the river. Yet, at the outset, he could not be sure that shestill lived. She had shown no sign of life at any time since he hadfirst seized her. That fact had been of incalculable advantage to himin his efforts to reach the shore with her. Now, however, it alarmed himmightily, though it hardly seemed possible that she could have drowned.So far as he could determine, she: had not even sunk once beneath thesurface. Nevertheless, she displayed no evidence of vitality, thoughhe chafed her hands for a long time. The shore here was very lonely; itwould take precious time to summon aid. It seemed, notwithstanding, thatthis must be the only course. Then just as the man was about to leaveher, the girl sighed, very faintly, with an infinite weariness, andopened her eyes. The man echoed the sigh, but his was of joy, since nowhe knew that his strife in the girl's behalf had not been in vain.
Afterward, the rescuer experienced no great difficulty in carryingout his work to a satisfactory conclusion. Mary revived to clearconsciousness, which was at first inclined toward hysteria, but thisphase yielded soon under the sympathetic ministrations of the man. Hisrather low voice was soothing to her tired soul, and his whole airwas at once masterful and gently tender. Moreover, there was aninexpressible balm to her spirit in the very fact that some one was thusministering to her. It was the first time for many dreadful years thatany one had taken thought for her welfare. The effect of it was like adraught of rarest wine to warm her heart. So, she rested obediently ashe busied himself with her complete restoration, and, when finally shewas able to stand, and to walk with the support of his arm, she wentforward slowly at his side without so much even as a question ofwhither.
And, curiously, the man himself shared the gladness that touchedthe mood of the girl, for he experienced a sudden pride in hisaccomplishment of the night, a pride that delighted a starved part ofhis nature. Somewhere in him were the seeds of self-sacrifice, theseeds of a generous devotion to others. But those seeds had been leftundeveloped in a life that had been lived since early boyhood outsidethe pale of respectability. To-night, Joe Garson had performed, perhaps,his first action with no thought of self at the back of it. He hadrisked his life to save that of a stranger. The fact astonished him,while it pleased him hugely. The sensation was at once novel andthrilling. Since it was so agreeable, he meant to prolong the glow ofself-satisfaction by continuing to care for this waif of the river. Hemust make his rescue complete. It did not occur to him to question hisfitness for the work. His introspection did not reach to a point ofsuspecting that he, an habitual criminal, was necessarily of a sort tobe most objectionable as the protector of a young girl. Indeed, had anyone suggested the thought to him, he would have met it with a sneer, tothe effect that a wretch thus tired of life could hardly object to anyone who constituted himself her savior.
In this manner, Joe Garson, the notorious forger, led the dripping girleastward through the squalid streets, until at last they came to anadequately lighted avenue, and there a taxicab was found. It carriedthem farther north, and to the east still, until at last it came to ahalt before an apartment house that was rather imposing, set in a streetof humbler dwellings. Here, Garson paid the fare, and then helpedthe girl to alight, and on into the hallway. Mary went with him quiteunafraid, though now with a growing curiosity. Strange as it all was,she felt that she could trust this man who had plucked her from death,who had worked over her with so much of tender kindliness. So, shewaited patiently; only, watched with intentness as he pressed the buttonof a flat number. She observed with interest the thick, wavy gray ofhis hair, which contradicted pleasantly the youthfulness of hisclean-shaven, resolute face, and the spare, yet well-muscled form.
The clicking of the door-latch sounded soon, and the two entered, andwent slowly up three flights of stairs. On the landing beyond the thirdflight, the door of a rear flat stood open, and in the doorway appearedthe figure of a woman.
"Well, Joe, who's the skirt?" this person demanded, as the man and hischarge halted before her. Then, abruptly, the round, baby-like face ofthe woman puckered in amazement. Her voice rose shrill. "My Gawd, if itain't Mary Turner!"
At that, the newcomer's eyes opened swiftly to their widest, and shestared astounded in her turn.
"Aggie!" she cried.