Author: Stephen Crane
Release Date: February, 1996 [EBook #447] [This
edition was posted on December 25, 2002] [Most recently
updated: August 14, 2003]
Edition: 12
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** Start of the project gutenberg
EBOOK, Maggie: A girl of the
streets ***
This etext was created by Judith Boss, Omaha, Nebraska.
Chapter I
A very little boy stood upon a heap of gravel for
the honor of Rum Alley. He was throwing stones
at howling urchins from Devil’s Row who were
circling madly about the heap and pelting at him.
His infantile countenance was livid with fury.
His small body was writhing in the delivery of great,
crimson oaths.
“Run, Jimmie, run! Dey’ll get yehs,”
screamed a retreating Rum Alley child.
“Naw,” responded Jimmie with a valiant
roar, “dese micks can’t make me run.”
Howls of renewed wrath went up from Devil’s
Row throats. Tattered gamins on the right made
a furious assault on the gravel heap. On their
small, convulsed faces there shone the grins of true
assassins. As they charged, they threw stones
and cursed in shrill chorus.
The little champion of Rum Alley stumbled precipitately
down the other side. His coat had been torn
to shreds in a scuffle, and his hat was gone.
He had bruises on twenty parts of his body, and blood
was dripping from a cut in his head. His wan
features wore a look of a tiny, insane demon.
On the ground, children from Devil’s Row closed
in on their antagonist. He crooked his left
arm defensively about his head and fought with cursing
fury. The little boys ran to and fro, dodging,
hurling stones and swearing in barbaric trebles.
From a window of an apartment house that upreared
its form from amid squat, ignorant stables, there
leaned a curious woman. Some laborers, unloading
a scow at a dock at the river, paused for a moment
and regarded the fight. The engineer of a passive
tugboat hung lazily to a railing and watched.
Over on the Island, a worm of yellow convicts came
from the shadow of a building and crawled slowly along
the river’s bank.
A stone had smashed into Jimmie’s mouth.
Blood was bubbling over his chin and down upon his
ragged shirt. Tears made furrows on his dirt-stained
cheeks. His thin legs had begun to tremble and
turn weak, causing his small body to reel. His
roaring curses of the first part of the fight had
changed to a blasphemous chatter.
In the yells of the whirling mob of Devil’s
Row children there were notes of joy like songs of
triumphant savagery. The little boys seemed to
leer gloatingly at the blood upon the other child’s
face.
