JOHN, JUN.'S WEDDING--BARTON'S MURDER--LUELLA SEALY'S
SUICIDE--GINSLING'S TRAGICAL DEATH.
The truth of the aphorism of Solomon--"Whoso diggeth a pit shall
fall therein"--is verified by multiplied examples the wide world
over every day of the year, and it received a very striking
verification in the events which we shall chronicle in this
chapter.
The reader will recollect that the leading mind among the
conspirators was John Sealy, Esq. He was the one who suggested the
infamous scheme, which was afterwards adopted, of leading as many
poor unfortunates as possible to drink. He did not calculate that
into the pit which was thus dug for others he himself, or some
member of his family, might possibly fall. But we anticipate.
His only son, John, jun., had been associating with low companions
and conducting himself in a manner that was not at all satisfactory
to him, John, sen., or to Mrs. and Miss Sealy; and, to crown all,
they had every reason to believe he was actually paying his
address to Miss Angelina Porter, a daughter of Old Joe Porter, who
kept the groggery. This, of course, was very distasteful even to Mr.
and Miss Sealy; but language would fail us in any attempt we might
make to delineate the utter consternation of the high-toned Mrs. Sealy
when she became satisfied that the rumor was founded on fact.
She had again and again remonstrated with him, but without effect,
as he had treated her remonstrances with good-natured contempt;
and when she resorted to harsher means and applied contumelious
epithets to his intended, he returned a Roland for her Oliver, so that
she, finding it was useless to try to influence him, sulkily retired
from the encounter.
But though baffled in that direction she was determined not to
give up; for she thought if she could not accomplish her object by
one method she would resort to another, and thus she might
possibly succeed. She, in fact, determined to address a letter to
Miss Porter, to see if she could not influence her. Acting upon
this impulse, the vain and foolish woman sent her a very insulting
epistle, such a one in fact as could only emanate from a coarse
and vulgar mind.
Miss Porter treated it with the contempt it merited, and did not
even mention to John, jun., that she had received it; and he might
have remained in blissful ignorance of his mother's folly had she
not in her insane fury spitefully said to him: "I have sent the
low, designing thing a letter, giving her to understand what we
think of her, and what she may expect if her schemes are
successful and she entraps you into marrying her."
That information drew the retort from the dutiful and affectionate
son that Angelina Porter was his mother's equal in every respect,
and that she need not "take on such airs" and make such a fuss,
because the former's father kept "a low groggery," as she termed
it, when she knew that her own father (that was his own maternal
grandfather) made all his money at the same business; "and you
know, mother," he added, "grandfather was not a bit superior in
any respect to Joe Porter, though you so affect to despise the
latter."
"You know you are saying what is not only false, but also
insulting to your own mother," she answered; and now she was
weeping bitterly. "I knew you had become low in your aims since
you had associated with the set you now think so much of, but I
did not think you had become so abandoned as to scandalize your
own dead grandfather."
"But, mother, you forget you are scandalizing one who is nearer to
me than grandfather was to you, and that you sent her a low,
scurrilous letter, full of bitter taunts and insults, which you
intended should annoy her."
"If she gets you," his mother answered, with a sneer, "I guess
she'll forget it. I want to inform you," she added, and she had
reserved this broadside for her final effort, "if you marry that
low creature I'll disown you, and I know your father will cut you
off with a shilling, and let you go to her and her low, drunken
sot of a father to find a living."
"You and father can do as you please and so shall I," he almost
savagely retorted; "but dad had better sweep his own doorstep
before he complains about his neighbor's being dirty, for he is
not very select in his own company; and if he does not keep a
groggery, those which are kept in this town have few more
attentive customers. I only know of one who can claim to excel him
in this respect, and that is he whom you have, by your schemes,
almost compelled poor Lou to accept as her affianced husband. I
mean that distinguished member of the bloatocracy, Stanley
Ginsling. Consistency is a jewel, mother, you know and if you are
consistent, you will not come down on me for marrying one whose
father you term 'a sot,' and at the same time scheme to ally your
daughter to one who is a perambulating whiskey barrel."
Mrs. Sealy did not try to answer her son; she felt, in fact, if
she were to attempt it, she could not possibly do justice to the
subject; so she gave him what she intended for a withering look,
gathered up the skirts of her dress, and swept majestically from
the room.
That evening she had a long consultation with her husband in
regard to the matter, the result of which was a very stormy
interview between the father and son, when the latter, having been
threatened with disinheritance if he did not break off from all
association with the Porter family, gave the father to understand
as it was a matter that more especially concerned himself, he
should observe his own mind in regard to it, and his father might
dispose of his property as it pleased him.
The climax was reached when the residents of Bay View--for that
was the name of their villa--heard that John, jun., and Angelina
Porter were married. He had, in fact, the license in his pocket at
the time he held his interview with his father, and had gone
directly after to the groggery of his intended father-in-law, and
having secured the services of the Rev. John Turnwell, the
ceremony was privately performed.
Porter and his son-in-law celebrated the wedding by getting
gloriously drunk. This caused the young bride intense pain; for
though she had been long accustomed to such scenes, it came closer
to her when her own husband was involved.
John, jun., did not go near his father's residence, nor indeed
take any steps towards reconciliation, for, he said, "the old man
will come around all right after awhile." He, for the time being,
kept bar for Joe Porter, and was one of his most bibulous, though
not one of his most profitable, customers. In fact, he was
generally intoxicated each day by noon, and before night was
stupidly drunk.
His father, who really thought as much of his boy as it was
possible for a man with such a nature as his to think of any one,
heard he was going rapidly to destruction, and felt some effort
must be made to save him. He had a conversation with his wife in
regard to the matter, and though she declared she would never
forgive her son for marrying into such a low family, as she knew
it would subject her to the cynical and sneering remarks of some
of the set with whom she associated, yet she concluded it was
better to make the best of the matter, and not, by a course of
coldness, drive him utterly to destruction; so she agreed with her
husband when he said he thought he had better go and see him, and,
if possible, wean him from his present debauch.
Mr. Sealy owned a farm of two hundred acres, which was situated on
the shores of the bay, about two miles east of Bayton. It had been
the old homestead, and he had always intended to will it to his
son; but since the memorable interview, when the latter had spoken
so defiantly, and then followed up his words by forming the
alliance against which his father had warned him, Mr. Sealy, in
his anger, determined to carry out his threat, and cut his son off
without a cent. But when he found he was likely, if left much
longer with his present surroundings, to degenerate into a
dissipated loafer, he relented, and now determined to offer it to
him if he would settle there immediately.
The fact was, that now the evil effects of drink was brought home
to him, and his only son was one of its victims, he suffered very
keenly indeed, and was willing to humiliate himself and make
considerable sacrifice to save him.
With this end in view, he went to Porter's quite early one
morning, for he was almost certain he would have to be there
before his son had an opportunity to indulge to any extent, if he
expected to find him sober.
When he arrived at the groggery Old Joe had just opened up, and
was taking his morning drink, which his trembling hand indicated
he sadly needed.
"Good morning, Joe," he said.
"Morning," replied Joe, gruffly, in answer to the salutation.
"Where is John, Mr. Porter?" This question was asked in Mr.
Sealy's blandest tones, for he was sufficiently acquainted with
human nature to perceive nothing would be gained by being cross.
"He hasn't come down yet."
"Will you kindly tell him I would like to see him?"
"Yes, I will. But won't you have a glass of something to drink as
an appetizer? You must have been up early."
As Porter spoke he handed down a black bottle labelled "Old Rye
Whiskey."
"I don't care if I do take a smile," Sealy replied. And taking the
bottle from Porter's hand he poured a tumbler half full, and drank
it down as if it were so much water.
"I will now run up-stairs and see if John has tumbled out yet,"
said Porter; and suiting the action to the word, his bloated face
and burly form disappeared through the door.
In a few moments John, jun., appeared, his face bearing palpable
traces of his last night's debauch.
I will not enter into a lengthy narrative of the interview between
father and son; suffice to say that everything was amicably
arranged, and in less than a month from the date of the interview,
John, jun., and his wife were settled in the old Sealy homestead.
For awhile Mrs. Sealy was cold and distant, but finally she became
reconciled, and frequently visited them with her daughter, who
from the first had treated her brother's wife with kindness,
having found her an amiable and well-disposed little thing, who
would have made some man a good wife. But she was not composed of
stern enough stuff to have influence upon her husband.
John, jun., certainly did not indulge in drink, after his removal
from his father-in-law's, to the same extent as he had previously
done, but yet he had got to be such a victim to the habit as now
to become intoxicated at every favorable opportunity, which not
only caused his wife excruciating pain, but was also the source of
annoyance and sorrow to his parents and sister. But though Mr.
Sealy was sorely troubled by his son's conduct, and was led to
realize, at least to some extent, the worry and shame that is
associated with having a near relative an habitual drunkard,
strange to say it did not seem to change his views in the least in
regard to the drink traffic, for he still remained as stern, and
uncompromising an opponent of teetotalism as ever.
It was about a month after John, jun., and his wife had commenced
housekeeping that Miss Sealy came to spend a week or two with
them. She, in fact, thought she might have a restraining influence
upon him, as he had genuine affection for her, whom he had always
found to be an affectionate sister and true friend.
While she was there, Stanley Ginsling, who, without loving, she
had been coaxed and badgered into recognizing as her affianced
husband, came to see her.
John, jun., had, previous to this time, frequently met him since
the day when, conversing with his mother, he had employed such
stinging epithets to express his opinion of him, but had now
changed his mind. In fact, he now thought he was rather a good
fellow, and had promised to use his influence to overcome his
sister's evident aversion.
Ginsling brought with him a flask of brandy. It was the same flask
that he used when tempting Richard Ashton at Charlotte, and he
and John, jun. indulged so freely of its contents as soon to be
considerably under its influence. Miss Sealy perceived the state
they were in, and blaming the former for leading her brother to
thus debase himself, gave him to understand his presence was
extremely distasteful to her, and that he might consider their
engagement broken off; for, no matter what influence might be
brought to bear, she had made up her mind, after what had just
transpired, she would never marry him.
Her brother, in his drunken foolishness, had gone in to
remonstrate with her; but now, thoroughly aroused, she had
requested him, in indignant terms, to mind his own business. "It
is bad enough," she said, "to be disgraced by a drunken brother,
without running with eyes open into greater misery and degradation.
I told him our engagement was broken, and I meant it."
John, jun.'s wife also rebelled. She had borne a great deal with
patience; but when Luella came in weeping bitterly, the former
rated her husband soundly, and told him, "If there was not a
change for the better she would leave him." The two women had then
retired to the parlor, and the two men went out into the kitchen
to smoke.
"I don't see what is the matter with Lou," said Ginsling; "she is
as cross as a badger. She gave me my walking-ticket, and told me
not to return again. I wonder if she has seen Barton lately?"
"I don't think so. I know he has not been permitted to go to the
old man's; though I heard dad say he has been seen several times
hanging around there, but he never goes near except he is drunk,
which now is pretty nearly all the time. I suppose you heard he
had lost his position in the bank?"
"Yes, I heard. The fact is, I told Smith, the manager, I was
surprised he had not turned him off long ago."
"I tell you what it is, Ginsling, he was pretty badly gone on Lou,
and I believe she liked the beggar. But I never took any stock in
him; and if I were the old man, and he came hanging round, I'd
shoot him like a dog."
"And so he should. I know, for my part, I would not be annoyed by
the drunken nuisance. I only want a good opportunity to pay a debt
I owe him, and then he shall have it with compound interest."
Ginsling was quite under the influence of liquor when he made the
remark in regard to Barton, and the one to whom he was talking was
far from sober. They could both see the mote in Barton's eye, but
failed to remove the beams from their own.
When Ginsling spoke of owing Barton a debt, he referred to an
incident which had occurred some time before. He had been one
evening in "The Retreat," which, my readers will remember, was
kept by Ben Tims; and while he was there William Barton had come
in, just enough intoxicated to be reckless, and Ginsling himself
was far from sober. The latter said something which the former
eagerly construed into an insult, and to which he replied by
knocking him down. Tims had then interfered, and led Barton into
another room, leaving Ginsling to stagger to his feet as best he
could. The latter, after picking himself up, went to the wash-room
and staunched the blood flowing from his nose, which Barton's blow
had made more bulbous than usual, washed all traces from his face,
and then left; but before he did so, he vowed he would be even
with him yet.
"You had better look out, Barton," said Tims; "that rascal will
have his revenge if you give him any chance, and I believe he is
as treacherous as he is cowardly. I'm glad you hit him though,
only I'd rather it hadn't happened in my place."
"He gave me an opportunity I was waiting for," replied Barton, now
seemingly almost sober. "I'll risk all the harm he is likely to do
me."
Tims knew very well how it was with the poor fellow, but he had
too much good taste to refer to it.
It was of this bar-room squabble Ginsling spake when he said he
"owed him a debt which he was determined to pay back to him with
interest."
John, jun., who was cognizant of the facts, remarked, "If he were
in his (Ginsling's) place, he'd be even with him yet."
"I can't help but suspect that he has seen Lou lately, and I am
half inclined to think she likes him yet; if she didn't, she would
not have used me as she has done to-night."
"She may have," said John, jun.; "but the reason she was so huffy
to-night was because you were drunk. But who's that?" he suddenly
exclaimed--"I believe it is Barton!"
As he spoke, he drew back his chair from the window, and gliding
therefrom, stealthily crept to where he could observe all Barton's
movements, but where the latter could not possibly see him.
Ginsling also arose as stealthily as possible, and glided behind
John, jun. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and they could see
almost as plainly as if it were day.
"Yes; it is Barton!" whispered Ginsling; "and I believe he is
drunk."
"I wonder what the idiot is going to do?" questioned John, jun.;
"here he comes towards the house."
"Let him come," said Ginsling; "I guess we will be ready for him."
Barton staggered towards the veranda--which extended around three
sides of the house--and after one or two attempts to step up on to
it, was at last successful; then, muttering to himself, he came
towards the window, where the two men were observing him.
"Hush!" said Ginsling, "he seems to be having an interesting
soliloquy, and possibly we may hear what he says."
In the dead stillness of the night Barton's low mutterings could
be heard distinctly:
"I am bound to see Luella," he said; "I know she loves me, for she
has told me so a hundred times, and she is too pure and good to
lie. I saw her coming here this morning, and I am determined to
see her and hear my fate from her own lips. Oh, Luella! I am sure
you love me, and if you will promise to be mine I will swear never
again to let a drop of liquor pass my lips."
He looked ghastly in the moonlight, his pale face with its
background of jet black hair hanging in tangled masses down upon
his shoulders giving him a weird appearance. He became fiercer in
his gesticulations as he continued his strange, wild soliloquy.
"I must know to-night from her own lips or I shall go mad."
"He's that already," whispered Ginsling. "Mad as a March hare."
"There will be no sordid father and mother to interfere with us
here! They want to sell you to that craven-hearted sot, Ginsling;
but he shall never have you, for before that shall happen I will
strangle him, even if I have to hang for it."
As he thus spoke he advanced closer to the window. But he suddenly
clasped his hand over his heart and exclaimed: "Oh, Luella, I'm
shot!" and the same instant, the report of a pistol sounded sharp
and clear on the still night air.
The shot was fired by Ginsling, who, maddened by the epithets
Barton had applied to him, had drawn a pistol, and, before John,
jun., could interfere, had fired through the window straight at
his advancing, antagonist.
"Oh! you have done for him, Ginsling," said his companion, "and we
will both be arrested for murder."
"But you can swear," replied Ginsling, "that he threatened to
murder me, and was advancing to break through the window."
Just then the front door opened, and Luella Sealy ran around the
house on the veranda to the spot where William Barton had fallen;
for, after receiving the shot, he sank gradually to the ground.
When she reached the spot her frantic screams sounded through the
house, and echoed and re-echoed over the quiet bay.
"Oh, William! my darling," she exclaimed, "has he murdered you?"
As she thus spoke she sat down upon the floor of the veranda, and
lifting his head into her lap kissed him, her fair hair hanging in
dishevelled masses as she did so.
Barton, however, was too far gone to respond by word, but Luella
could see by the light of the moon, that cast its flickering rays
on the scene, a look of joy for a moment illumine his eye and then
pass away forever: for William Barton was dead.
Luella Sealy was taken to her room that night a raving maniac. The
sight of any member of her family made her furious; and she
accused them in the fiercest tones of murdering her darling
William. After awhile she became more calm, seeming to be quietly
slumbering, and, under the circumstances, they thought it would be
safe to leave her for a short time. Her father, acting upon this
idea, left her alone for a few moments while he went to call his
daughter-in-law to come and remain with her; but when he returned
to her room she was gone. In a moment all was excitement, and
every part of the house was searched, but she could not be found.
As, however, they ran round the varanda they found her under the
window, on the spot where William Barton had been murdered, lying
cold and dead, with a ghastly gash in her neck, and her white
garments dyed red with her life-blood. A razor, the instrument
with which she had accomplished her self-destruction, was
clutched, with the grip of death, in her red right hand.
Ginsling was tried for the murder of Barton; but as John, jun.,
swore the latter was about to enter the house to attack him, and,
therefore, the shot was fired in self-defense, he got off with a
short imprisonment. But after leaving the jail he found that it
would be neither agreeable nor safe for him to reside longer in
Bayton, as almost all of the inhabitants shunned him, and the
friends of Barton vowed vengeance against him. He accordingly left
to reside in the town of M----. He did not live long after
leaving Bayton. He went down to the quay one night, when he was,
as usual, so intoxicated as to have a very unsteady gait.
Unheeding the warnings of a companion he would venture too near
the edge; a sudden gust of wind came, he was carried off his
equilibrium and fell into the lake. His companion did all he could
to save him, but as there was a storm raging at the time, his
efforts were unavailing. He said Ginsling's bloated face appeared
for a moment in the hollow of the waves, and with an agonizing
tone he cried to God to save him; then a huge wave, more mighty
than its fellows, engulfed him, and he sank in life to rise no
more. A few days after his corpse was found floating upon the
water. "Accidentally drowned" was the verdict at the inquest, and
he was buried in a nameless grave, with no loved one or friend to
drop a tear on his last resting-place.
Mr. and Mrs. Sealy were completely prostrated by what had
transpired, and retired from active life to hide their sorrows
from the world; they are, I believe, so living at the present
time.
John, jun., soon vacated the house by the bay, some of the more
ignorant saying he did so because it was haunted by the ghosts of
William Barton and Luella Sealy. The house is now standing idle,
and is known to the children of the neighborhood as the "haunted
house," and many say that, in the night, two white figures are
seen walking on the verandah, and that frequently the stillness is
broken by the sound of a pistol, and the agonizing shrieks of a
woman in the anguish of a terrible fear.