Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad Part 10

Mr. Onendago Pump poked the fire, and continued to do so till a ragged little boy, without shoes, stockings or cap, came down the slippery steps, and asked for "two cents' worth of rum, and one cent's worth of crackers."

The proprietor of this subterraneous establishment threw aside an old wire that served as a poker, and demanded payment in advance.

The child handed him the three cents, received his rum and crackers, and left.

Mr. Pump, who for a long time had lived on appearances, could do so no longer; for, persisting in his opinion that brandy could not hurt him, he drank so much that bad soon supplanted good appearances, and his company was soon discarded.

Mr. Blinge would not have him about his premises, although the one drank as much as the other, and a great similarity existed between them.

He was turned out of the tavern, and, having purchased four s.h.i.+llings' worth of brandy, commenced business in the cellar we have alluded to, replenis.h.i.+ng his stock by daily applying to a neighboring pump; and, for every gill of brandy he drew from the tap, poured a gill of water in at the bung, and thus kept up a stock in trade.

In a short time, a collection of drinking loafers met daily at his place, and Dago Pump could see no difference between his respectability as proprietor of a bar-room, and his who, being owner of thousands, fitted up "oyster saloons," which places had suddenly sprung up in all large cities.

Edward had fallen; he had become what was termed a "common drunkard." His wife wept tears of anguish; she entreated; she begged him to reform. She prayed to Heaven for its aid; yet week pa.s.sed week, month followed month, on Time's unending course, and she was a drunkard's wife still. All friends had forsaken her. Friends! shall we call them such? No; they did not deserve the name. Their friends.h.i.+p only had an existence when fortune smiled; when a frown mantled its countenance, or a cloud intervened, they fled. Yet G.o.d was raising up friends for her, and from a cla.s.s of society from whom she little expected aid. G.o.d was working, in his mysterious way, a deliverance. He had heard the prayers that for many long years had gone up to his throne from thousands of wretched families; and, moved to pity, he was to show them that he was a G.o.d of mercy.

Othro Treves-where is he? Not in that elegant store; it long since pa.s.sed into other hands. Has he made his fortune, and retired? Such we might suppose to be the case, did we not know that he trusted to moderate drinking. Man might as well trust a leaky vessel to bear him across the ocean, as to trust that.

The clock struck twelve.

"'T is midnight," said a female voice, "and he has not come. G.o.d send repentance to his heart! Hope has almost failed me; yet I will hope on."

"Another gla.s.s of brandy for me," said a man, addressing Mr. Dago Pump.

"And rum for me," said another.

"Gin with a hot poker in it for me," said the third; and Mr. Pump poured out the poisons.

Half a dozen men stood in front of some rough boards that served as a "bar."

One of these-a tall, well-formed man-gazed fixedly upon the gla.s.ses, seemingly in deep thought.

"Stop!" he suddenly exclaimed. Mr. Pump nearly dropped the bottle.

It was as an electric shock to him: an ashy paleness came over his face. "Stop!" he again exclaimed. All eyes were fixed upon him. Some tried to laugh, but could not. Dago set down the bottle, and the gla.s.ses, half filled, stood upon the bench before him.

"I have been thinking," said he who had caused this strange effect, "is it right for us to drink that? It does us no good; it brings upon us much evil; that's what I've been a-thinking while 'twas being poured out."

"So have I," exclaimed another.

"And I," said a third. "I would have been worth fifty thousand dollars, this day, had I never touched stuff like that. I tell you what, coveys, let's come out."

"Hurra!" shouted yet another; "I've spent a good fortune in rum-shops. That's what I say; let's come out."

"Yes," said the first speaker, "let us come out. We have been in long enough;--in the gutter, in the grog-shop, in misery, in disgrace, in poverty, in jail, and in ruin. I say, let us come out, out of all these."

"Amen!" responded all.

"Let us come out," he continued; "but what can temperance folks do?

I have signed the pledge, and signed, and signed, but I cannot keep it. I had no friends; temperance folks never came to me. I have often thought that, if a friend would reach forth his hand, and help me from the gutter when I have lain there, I would do anything for such a friend. But when I am drunk they laugh at and jeer me. Boys stone and cuff me, and men stand by and laugh at their h.e.l.lish sport. Yes, those calling themselves 'friends of temperance' would laugh at me, and say, 'Miserable fool, nothing can save him! When such are dead, we can train up a generation of temperate people.' I am kicked and cuffed about like a dog, and not a hand is extended to relieve me. When I first tasted, I told him who gave it me the blame should rest on him if I fell. Where he is now, I know not; but, wherever he is, I know his is a miserable existence. Years have pa.s.sed since then, and here I am, a miserable drunkard. My wife-where is she? and my good old aunt-where is she? At home in that comfortless room, weeping over my fall, and praying for my reform. Brothers, let us arise; let us determine to be men-free men!"

"It is done," said one and all; and the keeper of the cellar dashed bottle after bottle against the wall.

"Yes, let us renounce these habits; they are hard to renounce; temptation is hard to resist."

"The present pledge is not safe for us," said the keeper of the cellar, as he took a demijohn of liquor up the steps, and emptied it in the gutter.

"Then let us have one of our own," said the first speaker. "Let it be called 'The Hope of the Fallen;' for we are indeed fallen, and this, our last refuge from more fearful evils, is our only hope. May it not disappoint us! May we cling to it as the drowning man grasps the rope thrown out for his rescue! And not for us alone shall this hope exist. Let us go to every unfortunate in our land, and speak kindly to him. Al, my friends, we know the value of a kind word. Let us lift him from the gutter, place him upon his feet, and say, 'Stand up! I myself also am a man.'"

Having said this, he sent out for pen, ink and paper, and a pledge was carefully drawn up, of which the following is a copy:

"We, whose names are hereunto affixed, knowing by sad experience that the use of wine, beer, cider, rum, brandy, gin, and all kinds of intoxicating drinks, is hurtful to man, beast and reptile, do hereby pledge ourselves most solemnly to abstain now, henceforth, and forever, from the use of them in whatever shape they may be presented; to neither eat, drink, touch, taste, nor handle them; and in every place, and on every occasion, to use our influence in inducing others to do the same."

The speaker was the first to place his name to this doc.u.ment; and the keeper of the cellar started when he read the name of "Edward Dayton."

"Is it possible!" said he, and, grasping his hand, he shook it most heartily.

Edward was as much astonished as he. Such a change had taken place that they could not at first recognize each other.

"Yes," said Edward, "you tempted me to drink. I forgive. I now tempt you to sign this pledge."

No words were required to induce all present to sign.

They all spake of their past lives, related the sorrows they had felt, the misery they had endured; and such was the interest manifested by each in listening to these plain, unvarnished tales, that they resolved upon meeting in that same place the next night.

The next day, the report spread like wild-fire about the city that drunkards themselves were reforming. Many doubted, and would not believe such to be the case.

"They are past reforming," said public opinion; "let them die; let us take care of the young."

CHAPTER IX.

They met in the same place the next night, but the next they did not. Their numbers had so increased that the cellar would not contain them; and they engaged a large hall, and gave public notice that a meeting would be held at which reformed drunkards would speak. Those who before doubted did so no more; yet from many the sneering, cold-hearted remark was heard, "They will not hold on."

At the hour appointed, hundreds thronged to the place, and hundreds departed, being unable to gain admittance. That night, nearly five hundred signed the new pledge, and new additions were made daily.

It had a power which no previous pledge had possessed; a power, with G.o.d's, aid, to bring man from the lowest depths of woe, place him on his feet, and tell him, "Sin no more."

The new society increased in numbers. In other cities the same feeling arose, and societies of the same kind were formed. The papers were filled with accounts of their meetings, and the cause spread, to the astonishment and grateful admiration of all.

Days of prosperity gladdened the heart of Edward. Joy took the place of sorrow in his family. He, like his thousands of brethren, had been s.n.a.t.c.hed as a brand from the burning, and stood forth a living monument to the truth that there was a hope for the fallen.

Twelve years have pa.s.sed since that ever-memorable night. Millions have become better men, and yet the pledge remains to exert its influence, and who can doubt that G.o.d directs its course?

'T is sending joy to the mourning, and many a wounded heart it heals. Is there a power that can exceed this? Is there another pledge that has effected as much good?