In a low, damp, dark cellar, behold a man washing the glasses of a
groggery. His ragged dress and uncombed hair, his shabby and dirty
appearance, do not prevent us from seeing indications of his once
having been in better circumstances, and that nature never designed
that he should be where he now is.
Having rinsed a few cracked tumblers, he sat down beside a red-hot
cylinder stove, and, bending over till his head rested upon his
hands, he, in a half-audible voice, talked to himself.
"Here 't is, eighteen forty-some years since I saw that Dayton cove;
eh, gone by the board? The daily papers say he was up for a common
drunkard; but, being first time, was lectured and sent home. Plaguy
poor home his, I reckon! Wonder if the lecture did him as much good
as Old Batter's did me. Ah! he liked that brandy, and said I should
bear the blame if he was ruined; but he an't that yet. Here I am,
ten times worse off than he is, and I an't ruined. No! Mr. Dago Pump
is a man yet. Well, well! what shall I say?-business awful dull, and
it's damp and dark here; I feel cold 'side of this red-faced stove."
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
shillings' worth of brandy, commenced business in the cellar we have
alluded to, replenishing 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 passed
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
friendship only had an existence when fortune smiled; when a frown
mantled its countenance, or a cloud intervened, they fled. Yet God
was raising up friends for her, and from a class of society from
whom she little expected aid. God 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 God of mercy.
Othro Treves-where is he? Not in that elegant store; it long since
passed 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. God
send repentance to his heart! Hope has almost failed me; yet I will
hope on."
"Another glass 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 glasses,
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
glasses, 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 hellish
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
passed 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 document; 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."