nocked
over, and the child (it was found dead in the morning) suffocated with
the weight of bodies felled in the melee. The noise and cries of murder
brought the police rushing in, and most of them were dragged off to the
Station; and the next day being Sunday, I wandered homeless and
friendless into Sheriff street. Poor English was taken in charge by the
officers. They kept him over Monday to see if any one would come up and
claim him. No one came for him; no one knew more of him than that he
went by the name of English; no one ever heard him say where he came
from--he never said a word about my mother, or whether he had a relation
in the world. He was carted off to Potter's Field and buried. That was
the last of poor English.

"We seldom got much to eat in the Points, and I had not tasted food for
twenty-four hours. I sat down on the steps of a German grocery, and was
soon ordered away by the keeper. Then I wandered into a place they
called Nightmare's Alley, where three old wooden buildings with
broken-down verandas stood, and were inhabited principally by butchers.
I sat down on the steps of one, and thought if I only had a mother, or
some one to care for me, and give me something to eat, how happy I
should be. And I cried. And a great red-faced man came out of the house,
and took me in, and gave me something to eat. His name was Mike
Mullholland, and he was good to me, and I liked him, and took his name.
And he lived with a repulsive looking woman, in a little room he paid
ten dollars a month for. He had two big dogs, and worked at day work, in
a slaughter-house in Staunton street. The dogs were known in the
neighborhood as Mullholland's dogs, and with them I used to sleep on the
rags of carpet spread for us in the room with Mullholland and his wife,
who I got to calling mother. This is how I took the name of Mullholland.
I was glad to leave the Points, and felt as if I had a home. But there
was a 'Bottomless Pit' in Sheriff street, and though not so bad as the
one at the house of the 'Nine Nations,' it gave out a deal of gin that
the Mullhollands had a liking for. I was continually going for it, and
the Mullhollands were continually drinking it; and the whole
neighborhood liked it, and in 'Nightmare's Alley' the undertaker found a
profitable business.

"In the morning I went with the dogs to the slaughter-house, and there
fed them, and took care of the fighting cocks, and brought gin for the
men who worked there