The state of affairs in Cedarville, it was plain, from the partial
glimpses I had received, was rather desperate. Desperate, I mean, as
regarded the various parties brought before my observation. An eating
cancer was on the community, and so far as the eye could mark its
destructive progress, the ravages were tearful. That its roots were
striking deep, and penetrating, concealed from view, in many
unsuspected directions, there could be no doubt. What appeared on the
surface was but a milder form of the disease, compared with its hidden,
more vital, and more dangerous advances.
I could not but feel a strong interest in some of these parties. The
case of young Hammond had, from the first, awakened concern; and now a
new element was added in the unlooked-for appearance of his mother on
the stage, in a state that seemed one of partial derangement. The
gentleman at whose office I met Mr. Harrison on the day before--the
reader will remember Mr. H. as having come to the "Sickle and Sheath"
in search of his son--was thoroughly conversant with the affairs of the
village, and I called upon him early in the day in order to make some
inquiries about Mrs. Hammond. My first question, as to whether he knew
the lady, was answered by the remark:
"Oh, yes. She is one of my earliest friends."
The allusion to her did not seem to awaken agreeable states of mind. A
slight shade obscured his face, and I noticed that he sighed
involuntarily.
"Is Willy her only child?"
"Her only living child. She had four; another son, and two daughters;
but she lost all but Willy when they were quite young. And," he added,
after a pause,--"it would have been better for her, and for Willy, too,
if he had gone to a better land with them."
"His course of life must be to her a terrible affliction." said I.
"It is destroying her reason," he replied, with emphasis, "He was her
idol. No mother ever loved a son with more self-devotion than Mrs.
Hammond loved her beautiful, fine-spirited, intelligent, affectionate
boy. To say that she was proud of him, is but a tame expression.
Intense love--almost idolatry--was the strong passion of her heart. How
tender, how watchful was her love! Except when at school, he was
scarcely ever separated from her. In order to keep him by her side, she
gave up her thoughts to the suggestion and maturing of plans for
keeping his mind active and interested in her society--and her success
was perfect. Up to the age of sixteen or seventeen, I do not think he
had a desire for other companionship than that of his mother. But this,
you know, could not last. The boy's maturing thought must go beyond the
home and social circle. The great world, that he was soon to enter, was
before him; and through loopholes that opened here and there he
obtained partial glimpses of what was beyond. To step forth into this
world, where he was soon to be a busy actor and worker, and to step
forth alone, next came in the natural order of progress. How his mother
trembled with anxiety, as she saw him leave her side! Of the dangers
that would surround his path, she knew too well; and these were
magnified by her fears--at least so I often said to her. Alas! how far
the sad reality has outrun her most fearful anticipations.
"When Willy was eighteen--he was then reading law--I think I never saw
a young man of fairer promise. As I have often heard it remarked of
him, he did not appear to have a single fault. But he had a dangerous
gift--rare conversational powers, united with great urbanity of manner.
Every one who made his acquaintance became charmed with his society;
and he soon found himself surrounded by a circle of young men, some of
whom were not the best companions he might have chosen. Still, his own
pure instincts and honorable principles were his safeguard; and I never
have believed that any social allurements would have drawn him away
from the right path, if this accursed tavern had not been opened by
Slade."
"There was a tavern here before the 'Sickle and Sheaf' was opened?"
said I.
"Oh, yes. But it was badly kept, and the bar-room visitors were of the
lowest class. No respectable young man in Cedarville would have been
seen there. It offered no temptations to one moving in Willy's circle.
But the opening of the 'Sickle and Sheaf' formed a new era. Judge
Hammond--himself not the purest man in the world, I'm afraid--gave his
countenance to the establishment, and talked of Simon Slade as an
enterprising man who ought to be encouraged. Judge Lyman and other men
of position in Cedarville followed his bad example; and the bar-room of
the 'Sickle and Sheaf' was at once voted respectable. At all times of
the day and evening you could see the flower of our young men going in
and out, sitting in front of the bar-room, or talking hand-and-glove
with the landlord, who, from a worthy miller, regarded as well enough
in his place, was suddenly elevated into a man of importance, whom the
best in the village were delighted to honor.
"In the beginning, Willy went with the tide, and, in an incredibly
short period, was acquiring a fondness for drink that startled and
alarmed his friends. In going in through Slade's open door, he entered
the downward way, and has been moving onward with fleet footsteps ever
since. The fiery poison inflamed his mind, at the same time that it
dimmed his noble perceptions. Fondness for mere pleasure followed, and
this led him into various sensual indulgences, and exciting modes of
passing the time. Every one liked him--he was so free, so
companionable, and so generous--and almost every one encouraged, rather
than repressed, his dangerous proclivities. Even his father, for a
time, treated the matter lightly, as only the first flush of young
life. 'I commenced sowing my wild oats at quite as early an age,' I
have heard him say. 'He'll cool off, and do well enough. Never fear.'
But his mother was in a state of painful alarm from the beginning. Her
truer instincts, made doubly acute by her yearning love, perceived the
imminent danger, and in all possible ways did she seek to lure him from
the path in which he was moving at so rapid a pace. Willy was always
very much attached to his mother, and her influence over him was
strong; but in this case he regarded her fears as chimerical. The way
in which he walked was, to him, so pleasant, and the companions of his
journey so delightful, that he could not believe in the prophesied
evil; and when his mother talked to him in her warning voice, and with
a sad countenance, he smiled at her concern, and made light of her
fears.
"And so it went on, month after month, and year after year, until the
young man's sad declensions were the town talk. In order to throw his
mind into a new channel--to awaken, if possible, a new and better
interest in life--his father ventured upon the doubtful experiment we
spoke of yesterday; that of placing capital in his hands, and making
him an equal partner in the business of distilling and cotton-spinning.
The disastrous--I might say disgraceful--result you know. The young man
squandered his own capital and heavily embarrassed his father.
"The effect of all this upon Mrs. Hammond has been painful in the
extreme. We can only dimly imagine the terrible suffering through which
she has passed. Her present aberration was first visible after a long
period of sleeplessness, occasioned by distress of mind. During the
whole of two weeks, I am told, she did not close her eyes; the most of
that time walking the floor of her chamber, and weeping. Powerful
anodynes, frequently repeated, at length brought relief. But, when she
awoke from a prolonged period of unconsciousness, the brightness of her
reason was gone. Since then, she has never been clearly conscious of
what was passing around her, and well for her, I have sometimes thought
it was, for even obscurity of intellect is a blessing in her case. Ah,
me! I always get the heart-ache, when I think of her."
"Did not this event startle the young man from his fatal dream, if I
may so call his mad infatuation?" I asked.
"No. He loved his mother, and was deeply afflicted by the calamity; but
it seemed as if he could not stop. Some terrible necessity appeared to
be impelling him onward. If he formed good resolutions--and I doubt not
that he did--they were blown away like threads of gossamer, the moment
he came within the sphere of old associations. His way to the mill was
by the 'Sickle and Sheaf'; and it was not easy for him to pass there
without being drawn into the bar, either by his own desire for drink,
or through the invitation of some pleasant companion, who was lounging
in front of the tavern."
"There may have been something even more impelling than his love of
drink," said I.
"What?"