THE DEATH OF THE DRUNKARD.
During my journey back to Rockland, I did not again meet with the
stranger, although I looked for him at every station, and when at last I
stepped from the cars at Canandaigua, I must confess to a feeling of
disappointment. I had expected Herbert to meet me, but he was not there.
I was just wondering what I should do in case he failed to come, when my
attention was attracted towards a tall, athletic-looking young man, who
was inspecting my trunk, which stood upon the platform. Fearful lest my
best clothes should be carried off before my very face, I started
quickly forward, demanding what he was doing with my baggage.
The stranger stood up, and fixed upon me a pair of singularly handsome,
hazel eyes, which had in them an expression so penetrating that I
quailed beneath them; while at the same time there swept over me a
strange, undefined feeling as if somewhere in a dream, perchance, I had
met that glance before.
“Are you Miss Lee?” he asked, and the tones of his voice thrilled me
like an echo of the past.
I replied in the affirmative; and without once taking his eyes from my
face, he said, “I am Henry Watson, Mr. Langley’s hired man. He sent me
for you, and the wagon is at the other door.”
Mechanically I followed him to the place designated, and then, as if I
had been a feather, he took me in his arms and placed me in the wide
chair, wrapping the buffalo-robes around me, and in various ways seeing
that I was comfortable. He did not seem to me like a hireling, for his
language was good, his manners gentlemanly, and ere we were half-way to
Breeze Hill I was very much prepossessed in his favor, except, indeed,
that he would look at me so much. He was quite talkative, asking me of
my parents, of my brothers, and appearing much gratified when I told him
how well Charlie was doing as clerk in a dry goods store in Worcester.
“And Mr. Langley is only your cousin by marriage?” he said at last.
“Have you any other male cousins?” he asked.
“I had a boy cousin once,” I said, “but he is probably dead, for we have
not heard from him in six long years.”
Forgetful that Mr. Watson was to me an entire stranger, I very briefly
told him the story of “Cousin Will,” who returned not with the vessel
which bore him away, and who had deserted the ship at Calcutta. For many
days they searched for him in vain, and at last left him alone in that
far off land, where he had probably met an early death.
“He must have been a wild boy, and I dare say you felt relieved to be
rid of him,” said Mr. Watson, who had appeared deeply interested in my
story.
“Yes, he was wild,” I replied, “but I liked him very, very much, and
cried myself sick when he went away.”
Again the stranger’s eyes fell upon me with a look I could not fathom. I
grew uneasy, and was not sorry when about sunset we turned into the
long, shady avenue which led up to the house. As if by magic, a wondrous
change had been wrought in my absence; for everything around the
building wore an air of neatness and thrift, which betokened that there
was now a _head_ to manage and direct. Herbert, too, was perfectly
sober, while Anna’s face was far happier than when I last saw her. The
cause of this she explained to me the first moment we were alone.
Herbert had signed the pledge! Had become a sober man, and all through
the exertions of Mr. Watson, whom she pronounced an angel in disguise.
And, truly, his influence over Herbert was wonderful; for never did an
anxious mother watch over her sickly child more carefully than Mr.
Watson watched over his employer, shielding him from temptation, and
gently leading him in the path of rectitude; until the wine-flush on his
cheek gave way to a hue of health; the redness of his eyes was gone, and
conscious of the victory he had achieved, he stood forth again in all
the pride of his manhood, sober, virtuous, and happy.
Such was the state of things, when, early in April, we received
invitations to attend a wedding party at the house of Judge Perkins,
whose broad acres and heavy purse of gold had purchased for him a fair
young girl, just his eldest daughter’s age! It was to be a splendid
affair, for all the _élite_ of Rockland were bidden, and, as a matter of
course, _I_ forthwith commenced looking over my wardrobe, and declaring
I had nothing to wear! Anna, on the contrary, did not seem at all
interested, and when I questioned her for her indifference, she replied,
“What if they have _wine_, and Herbert should drink?”
“They wouldn’t have wine,” I told her, for Judge Perkins was a staunch
temperance man, and it was not probable that he would do anything so
inconsistent with his profession.
After a time she became convinced that her fears were groundless, and
began with me to anticipate the expected pleasure. Henry Watson was not
invited, but he carried us to the door, going himself to the hotel to
wait until we were ready to return. Just as he was leaving us he
whispered a few words to Herbert, who replied, gaily, “Never fear for
me. Judge Perkins isn’t the man to throw temptation in my way.”
Ah, would it had been so! Would that the sparkling champagne, the ruby
wine, and the foaming ale had not graced that marriage feast, for then,
perchance, _one grave_ at least would not have been made so soon, nor
the widow’s weeds worn by my sister ere the bloom of youth had faded
from her brow.
I saw her cheek pale as we entered the supper-room, but when amid the
din and uproar which succeeded the drawing of the corks, Herbert stood
firm to his pledge, refusing to drink, though urged to do so, the color
came back to her face, and her eye proudly followed her husband, whose
easy manners made him a favorite, and who, with ready tact, moved among
the guests, doing far more towards their entertainment than the master
of the house himself. He was standing near the bride, a beautiful young
creature, with a sunny face and radiant smile. Diamonds were wreathed in
her shining curls, and shone upon her snowy arms, while the costly veil
almost swept the floor, and enveloped her slight form like a misty
cloud. Very affable and polite had she been to Herbert, and now as he
approached her, she took from the table two goblets of wine, and passing
one to him, said, “Mr. Langley, I am sure, will not refuse to drink with
_me_, the bride?”
To refuse would have seemed uncourteous; and so, with a hasty glance at
his wife, he drank the health of the lovely woman, who, in an angel’s
guise, unconsciously tempted him to ruin. Involuntarily, Anna gasped as
if for breath, while she started quickly forward to stay the rash act;
but she was too late, and with a faint moan of anguish, she turned away
to hide her tears. One taste awoke the slumbering demon, and set his
veins on fire; and when at midnight Mr. Watson came for us, he took the
insensible man in his arms and placed him in the wagon, beside the
weeping wife, whose fond hopes were now wrecked for ever.
From that time Herbert made no further attempt at reform, but night
after night, came reeling home, sometimes singing a bacchanalian song,
and again rending the air with curses, until at last poor Anna learned
to tremble at the sound of his footsteps; for he daily grew more and
more violent and unmanageable, defying every one save Mr. Watson, who
possessed over him a singular power. Thus the spring and summer passed
away, and when the autumn came few would have recognized the once
handsome Herbert Langley in the bloated creature, who, weak and feeble,
lay all day long in bed, begging for “brandy—more brandy” to fan the
flame which was feeding upon his vitals. Sometimes in his fits of frenzy
he would spring upon the floor, and shriek for us to save him from the
crawling serpents, which, with forked tongues and little green eyes,
hissed at him from all parts of the room. Again he would say that the
spirit of the murdered maiden was before him, whispering to him
unutterable things concerning the drunkard’s home beyond the grave,
while goblins of every conceivable form beckoned him to come and join
their hideous dance.
Once, when he was more quiet than usual, he said to me, “Rose, do you
remember what I once told you about my mother’s joining the church and
reading her prayers?”
I replied in the affirmative, and he continued—“Do you know I’d give the
world, were it mine, if I could hear her pray for me once more. It would
cool my scorching brain, and if I dare pray for myself, I know I should
be healed; but I cannot, for the moment I attempt it, there are legions
of imps who flit and grin before my face, while one, larger and more
unseemly than the rest, shouts in my ears, ‘LOST, LOST, TO ALL
ETERNITY!’ there—look, don’t you hear it?” and, shivering with fright,
he covered his head with the bed-clothes.
But I heard nothing save the heaving swell of the waves, and the sullen
roar of the lake, which came in through the open window, seeming to his
disordered imagination an accusing spirit from another world. At last
looking up timidly and speaking low, as if fearful of being overheard,
he said, “Is there a Prayer Book in the house?”
I answered in the affirmative. Raising himself upon his elbow, and
glancing fearfully around, he continued, “Bring it quick, while they are
away, and put it under my pillow. Who knows but it may operate like a
spell!”
I complied with his request, and brought the book, which he placed under
his head, saying, “There—now I can pray, and God won’t let them mock me,
will he, think?”
I could only weep as he folded his long white hands one over the other,
and said reverently the prayer taught him years and years before,
commencing with—
“Now I lay me down to sleep,” etc.
As if the words, indeed, had a soothing power, he almost instantly fell
into a deep sleep, from which he awoke refreshed, and better than he had
been for several days. They said he could not live; and though it was a
painful task, Anna wrote to his mother apprising her of his danger, and
bidding her hasten, if she would see him again.
During the few remaining weeks of his life he was subject to strange
fancies. For a time the Prayer Book beneath his pillow had the effect of
keeping him comparatively quiet; but, anon, it lost its power, and one
day he awoke with a fearful shriek. The imps, as he called them, had
again returned, and were mockingly taunting him with the victory he
vainly imagined he had obtained.
“Keep off, ye devils!” he shouted, drawing the volume from beneath his
pillow, and holding it to view. “Keep off; for, see, this book is full
of prayers, which my mother has said. _My mother!_ Do you hear? Ha! They
laugh at the idea, and well they may. Had she learned to pray sooner, I
might not have been the vile thing that I am. But _she_ taught me to
_drink_. _She_ set the example; so go to _her_ with those horrid faces,
besmeared with the smoke of the pit.”
There was a bitter groan, and then the wretched woman, his mother, fell
half fainting upon a chair. She had just arrived, and eager to see her
boy, had entered the room in time to hear what he said. He knew her in a
moment, and starting upright in bed, exclaimed, “Woman, look—this is
your work—the result of your example. There was a time, long ago—how
long ago it seems—but there _was_ a time, I say, when I loathed the very
smell of the liquors, which daily graced our table. By little and by
little that loathing was overcome. _You_ drank and called it good; and
what one’s mother says is true. So I, too, tasted and tasted again until
here I am, Herbert Langley, husband of Anna Lee, ruined body and
soul—body and soul! What do you say to that, mother?”
He sank back upon the bed exhausted; while Aunt Charlotte, who had
swooned entirely away, was taken from the room. The shock was too great
for her, and for two days she did not again venture into his presence.
The next time, however, that she saw him, his mood had changed, and
winding his feeble arms around her neck, he wept like a child, asking
her to take from his heart the worm which was knawing there. Oh, how I
pitied the heartbroken woman! for I well knew she would gladly have lain
down her life could that have saved her son. For three days longer he
lingered, and then there came the closing scene, which haunted me for
months.
He had been restless during the night, muttering incoherently, and
occasionally striking at the fancied shapes which surrounded him; but
towards morning he grew more violent, and at last with a shriek which
chilled my blood, he sprang from the bed, and pointing towards the
window, whispered, “Hark! Don’t you hear it?—_music from the infernal
regions!_ They are come, every demon of them, for me. It’s a grand
turnout. There! Don’t you see them with their flaming eyes looking
through the windows, and that shriveled hag, whose hair is curling
snakes! See! She beckons me with her bony claws, and says I am to be
_her_ son. Do you hear that mother? _Her son!_ Go back!” he shouted,
leaping towards the window. “You don’t get me this time. I won’t die
yet. Give me the Prayer Book, and let me hurl it at her head—that’ll
settle her, I reckon.”
He would have gone through the window, had not Mr. Watson taken him in
his arms and borne him back to the bed, where he held him fast, soothing
him as best he could by assuring him there were no such unearthly
objects in the room as he supposed.
“I know it,” said Herbert, for a moment comparatively rational. “I know
what it is. It is DELIRIUM TREMENS, and I know what causes it, too;
shall I tell you?”
Mr. Watson nodded, and Herbert continued: “_Cider, beer, wine,
brandy_—DEATH: that’s the programme which keeps the fire of hell
eternally burning. Where is my boy—Anna’s boy and mine?” he asked after
a pause.
“Do you wish to see him,” asked Mr. Watson.
“See him? Yes. I want to do one good deed before I die. _I would kill
him_—murder my only child, and send him to Heaven, where rumsellers
never go—where women, with witching eyes and luring words, never tempt
men to drink. Bring him in: why do you loiter?” turning to Anna. “Is it
that you would have him live to be the wreck I am—to curse the mother
who bore him and the day he was born! Bring him quick, I tell you, for
time hastens, and in the distance I hear the clank of the hag’s
footsteps.”
“Oh, Herbert, Herbert, my poor husband,” was all Anna could say, as she
wound her arms around his neck and laid her colorless cheek against his
fevered brow.
In a moment he grew calm, and drawing her to his bosom, his tears fell
like rain upon her face, while he called her his “wounded dove,” and
asked her forgiveness for all he had made her suffer. “You will live
with mother when I am gone,” he said. “You and Jamie. God forbid that I
should harm our beautiful boy; but I would see him once more. Don’t be
afraid,” he added, as he saw her hesitate. “I will not hurt him.”
Disengaging herself from her husband’s embrace, Anna glided from the
room, to which she soon returned, leading little Jamie, now two years of
age. Very lovingly the dying man looked upon his son, and then laying
his shaking hand upon the golden curls, he said, “God keep you, my boy,
from being what I am; and if a drunkard’s blessing can be of any avail,
you have mine, my precious, precious child.”
“Would you like to kiss him?” asked Aunt Charlotte; to which he replied,
“No, no; I am too polluted to touch aught so pure. But take him away,”
he continued, growing excited. “Take him away, for the demon on my
pillow is again whispering of murder.”
Hastily the wondering child was taken from the room, and then Herbert
fell into a disturbed slumber, in which he seemed to be holding converse
with beings of another world, inquiring of them if they had enough to
drink, and chiding the rich man for asking _water_, when he might as
well call for _brandy_!
About noon he awoke and inquired for me. With some trepidation I
approached him, for his eyes were those of a madman; but he meditated no
harm, and only asked if I supposed that the Prayer Book laid upon the
outside of his pillow, where the hag could see it, would have the effect
of keeping her away.
“Perhaps so,” I said, at the same time placing it so that his heavy
brown hair fell partially on it.
“Now, will some one pray—mother, you?” and his eyes turned imploringly
towards the half crazed woman, who essayed to pray for the departing
spirit.
“That’ll do—that’ll do,” he exclaimed, interrupting her. “It’s of no use
spending your breath for me. It’s too late—too late—so the hag says, and
she’s coming again, with myriads on myriads of fiends; but they can’t
hurt me as long as this is here,” and his hand clutched convulsively for
the book which lay beside him.
“The hymn book—the hymn book—bring that too,” he gasped, while a cold
perspiration stood thickly upon his forehead.
It was brought and placed on the opposite side of his head.
“’Twon’t do—’twon’t do,” he sobbed. “All the hymns Dr. Watts ever wrote
can’t help me, for they come nearer and nearer, as wolves hover round
their prey. Is there no help, no escape?” he cried, with the energy of
despair; adding, as a sudden look of joy lit up his ghastly features,
“Yes—the BIBLE! Strange I have not thought of that before. The Bible
will keep them at bay. Bring it, Anna, quick, for they are almost here.”
She obeyed; and grasping the word of God eagerly in his hands, he
laughed aloud, saying, “Now, do your worst, ye fiends incarnate. The
Bible will save me.”
There was a moment of perfect silence; and then, with a groan so full of
anguish that I involuntarily stopped my ears to shut out the fearful
sound, the Bible was loosed from the clammy hands, which for a brief
instant fought fiercely in the empty air, and then dropped lifeless at
his side.
HERBERT WAS DEAD!
* * * * *
At the foot of the garden, near the long avenue where the shadow of the
maple trees would fall upon his grave, and the moan of the lake be
always heard, we buried him; and then, the broken-hearted Anna, widowed
thus early, went back to her accustomed duties, performing each one
quietly and gently, but without a smile upon her white, stony face, or a
tear in her large mournful blue eyes. Aunt Charlotte, too, utterly
crushed and wretched, went back to her city home, having first won a
promise from Anna that in the autumn she would follow her. And then we
were left alone with our great sorrow, wholly dependent, as it were,
upon Mr. Watson, for support and counsel.
There had always been about him a mystery I could not fathom, and
greatly was I surprised when one evening, a week after Herbert’s death,
he asked me to go with him to his room, as there was something he wished
to tell me. I complied with his request, and was soon seated in the
large willow chair near the table on which lay many works of our best
authors, for he possessed a taste for literature, and devoted all his
leisure moments to study. Drawing a seat to my side, he said, taking my
hand in his, “Rosa, what do you think I am going to tell you?”
I tried to wrest my hand from his grasp, for the unwonted liberty
angered me. But he held it fast, smiling at my fruitless endeavors, and
after a moment continued: “Why do you try to remove your hand from mine?
I have held it many a time, and I have a right so to do—a _cousin’s_
right. Look at me, Rosa, don’t you know me?”
Involuntarily I started to my feet, gazing earnestly upon him, then with
a cry of joy I threw my arms around his neck, exclaiming, “_Cousin Will!
Cousin Will!_”
It was indeed he, come back to us when we had thought of him as dead. A
few words will suffice to tell his story. Perfectly disgusted with sea
life, he had deserted at Calcutta, where he kept himself secreted until
the vessel sailed. But it was not his wish to remain there long, and the
first time an English ship was in port he offered to work his passage to
Liverpool. The offer was accepted, and while we were mourning over his
supposed death he was threading the smoky streets of London, doing
sometimes one thing and sometimes another, but always earning an honest
livelihood.
“Never, for a moment,” said he, “did I forget your family, but I have
fancied they were glad to be rid of me, and hence my silence. When at
last I returned again to New York, I went one day to a reading-room,
where I accidentally came across Mr. Langley’s advertisement, and
something prompted me to answer it in person. If I had ever heard of him
before, I had forgotten it; consequently I neither recognized him nor
his wife, who has changed much since I saw her; but when I accidently
heard them speak of “Rosa,” and “Meadow Brook,” my curiosity was roused,
and I became aware of the relationship existing between us. Why I have
kept it a secret so long I can hardly tell, except that there was about
it, to me, a kind of pleasing excitement, and then, too, I fancied that
Mr. Langley would not so well bear restraint and direction from me if he
supposed me an interested party; but _he_ has gone, and concealment on
that score is no longer necessary. I have told you my story, Rosa, and
now it is for you to say whether I am again received and loved as the
“Cousin Will” of olden time.”
He was a big, tall man, six feet two inches high, while I was a young
girl scarcely yet seventeen; but notwithstanding all this, I threw my
arms around his sun-burnt neck and kissed his sun-burnt cheek as I had
often done before. This was my answer, and with it he was satisfied.
After leaving his room I went directly to my sister, to whom I repeated
the strange story I had heard. She was pleased and gratified, but her
faculties were too much benumbed for her to manifest any particular
emotion, though as time wore on I could see how much she leaned upon him
and confided in his judgment. It seemed necessary for her to remain in
Rockland through the summer, and as she would not consent to my leaving
her, I was rather compelled to stay; although almost weekly there came
to us letters from home urging our return, and at last, near the middle
of September, we one day received a letter from Charlie, which, owing to
some delay, had been on the road two whole weeks. In it he wrote that
our father had failed rapidly within a few days and we must come quickly
if we would again see him alive, adding that he talked almost constantly
of _Rose_, asking if they thought she would come.
Oh, how vividly I recalled the past, remembering with anguish the harsh
words I had uttered when last I saw him. It was true I had once written,
imploring pardon for my fault, and Lizzie, who answered my letter, had
said “Father bade me say that you were freely forgiven;” but still I
felt that I could not let him die until I had heard my forgiveness from
his own lips. It was impossible for Anna to accompany me, and, as
William would not leave her, I started alone, my heart filled with many
dark forebodings, lest I should be too late.