Riding into the city one day on the overland stage I looked far ahead and
there I saw a man coming down the middle the road. The highway was ankle
deep with dust, and I surely thought the man was drunk. I remarked to the
stage driver: “There comes a blind man;” and then I laughed, for I still
thought the man was intoxicated.
As we drew near I could see the man feeling his way with a heavy cane. He
was blind, and I had laughed at his blindness! But, as God is my judge, I
did not know it until after we drew so near to him that I could see his
cane.
The blind man heard the stage approach and stepped to the side of the
road for us to pass. And then I recognized the poor fellow—it was Peter
Paul. I knew him thirty years ago, when his diminishing eyesight warned
him that total blindness was near at hand.
Mentally Peter is far below the average, but he realizes that society
owed him sufficient brotherly love to make an attempt to save him from
the awful calamity of total blindness. He was a poor cigarmaker, and
barely earned a livelihood. He had no money to pay for treatment that
would help his poor eyes.
Think of it, in a land of Christian civilization a man is left to walk
in literal darkness right at our door, while zealous men and women send
thousands of dollars to so-called heathen lands, to save the people there
from so-called mental blindness. Justice and common sense should teach
us to save the literally blind man at our door first, and then go out to
enlighten the blinded mental eyes of the heathen. Charity begins at home:
if charity jumps over human suffering at home, and goes far abroad to do
spectacular work in the name of religion, both charity and religion are
misplaced.
I spoke to the blind man as the stage passed, and the response came so
very promptly that any one could see how gladly he received the greetings
of a human voice. And then came the words that showed so plainly that
the blind always feel a sense of danger when walking alone: “Am I near
the river bridge?” I told him how far it was to the bridge as the stage
whirled by, and then I turned and watched the poor fellow feeling his way
down the dusty road.
He carried a big box strapped to his shoulders in which he took cigars
to the town to sell, or trade for goods. He long ago married a widow who
lived in a village twenty miles north of the city, where he had been born
and reared. He still manufactured a poor variety of domestic cigars, and
when a stock accumulated beyond the local trade he would load a dozen
boxes on his back and start for the city, stopping to peddle his goods in
every little hamlet along the road.
Many good people ridiculed the idea of Peter Paul enjoying the society
of a wife. They thought it an extravagant idea. He should be denied
all this, because of his calamity. Men who value woman’s love next to
nothing, simply laughed at Peter. He could get along so easily without
such a luxury. But I tell you, dear reader, the man who puts no value on
woman’s love has more of the animal in him than true manhood. He makes
the poorest citizen of all men. And Peter Paul, though stone blind, has
as much right to value woman’s love as any other living man. His world
is dark enough, God knows, without denying him the one ray of light and
happiness that falls across his midnight road.
Perhaps the stage driver wondered why I was so silent during the rest of
the ride into town, but I could not erase blind Peter Paul from my mind.
Not only Peter, but in the city he had a brother and sister who were
blind. These two lived and kept house, being assisted by good neighbors
to obtain the necessaries of life. They inherited weak eyes from their
maternal parent, and through poverty and neglect they were allowed to
drift into absolute blindness without a single effort on the part of
society to save them from the awful calamity.
Seems to me that whatever knowledge science has gained in the treatment
of human eyes should be a free gift to humanity. If ever a public fund
was needed to save the unfortunate from such a calamity of darkness,
surely the treatment of the eyes should be as free as the salvation of
Jesus Christ.
I shut my eyes and see poor old Peter feeling his way down the dusty
road, with a big box strapped to his back, and I can not help but believe
that God is holding society guilty of brutal neglect. Seems to me that
when blind Peter Paul goes feeling his way to the gates of heaven many of
his sins will be taken from his back and charged up to society.