"Your earnest appeals for the poor old man met with no words of
sympathy?"
"None."
"He has, indeed, fallen low. In the days of his prosperity, he had many
friends, so called. Adversity has shaken them all like dead leaves from
sapless branches."
"But why? This is not always so."
"Judge Hammond was a selfish, worldly man. People never liked him much.
His favoring, so strongly, the tavern of Slade, and his distillery
operations, turned from him some of his best friends. The corruption
and terrible fate of his son--and the insanity and death of his
wife--all were charged upon him in people's minds, and every one seemed
to turn from him instinctively after the fearful tragedy was completed.
He never held tip his head afterward. Neighbors shunned him as they
would a criminal. And here has come the end at last. He will be taken
to the poorhouse, to die there--a pauper!"
"And all," said I, partly speaking to myself, "because a man, too lazy
to work at an honest calling, must needs go to rum-selling."
"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," remarked the
officer with emphasis, as he turned from me to see that his directions
touching the removal of Mr. Hammond to the poor-house were promptly
executed.
In my wanderings about Cedarville during that day, I noticed a small
but very neat cottage, a little way from the centre of the village.
There was not around it a great profusion of flowers and shrubbery; but
the few vines, flowers, and bushes that grew green and flourishing
about the door, and along the clean walks, added to the air of taste
and comfort that so peculiarly marked the dwelling.
"Who lives in that pleasant little spot?" I asked of a man whom I had
frequently seen in Blade's bar-room. He happened to be passing the
house at the same time that I was.
"Joe Morgan," was answered.
"Indeed!" I spoke in some surprise. "And what of Morgan? How is he
doing?"
"Very well."
"Doesn't he drink?"
"No. Since the death of his child, he has never taken a drop. That
event sobered him, and he has remained sober ever since."
"What is he doing?"
"Working at his old trade."
"That of a miller?"
"Yes. After Judge Hammond broke down, the distillery apparatus and
cotton spinning machinery were all sold and removed from Cedarville.
The purchaser of what remained, having something of the fear of God, as
well as regard for man, in his heart, set himself to the restoration of
the old order of things, and in due time the revolving mill-wheel was
at its old and better work of grinding corn and wheat for bread. The
only two men in Cedarville competent to take charge of the mill were
Simon Slade and Joe Morgan. The first could not be had, and the second
came in as a matter of course."
"And he remains sober and industrious?"
"As any man in the village," was the answer.
I saw but little of Slade or his son during the day. But both were in
the bar-room at night, and both in a condition sorrowful to look upon.
Their presence, together, in the bar-room, half intoxicated as they
were, seemed to revive the unhappy temper of the previous evening, as
freshly as if the sun had not risen and set upon their anger.
During the early part of the evening, considerable company was present,
though not of a very select class. A large proportion were young men.
To most of them the fact that Slade had fallen into the sheriff's hands
was known; and I gathered from some aside conversation which reached my
ears, that Frank's idle, spendthrift habits had hastened the present
crisis in his father's affairs. He, too, was in debt to Judge Lyman--on
what account, it was not hard to infer.
It was after nine o'clock, and there were not half a dozen persons in
the room, when I noticed Frank Slade go behind the bar for the third or
fourth time. He was just lifting a decanter of brandy, when his father,
who was considerably under the influence of drink, started forward, and
laid his hand upon that of his son. Instantly a fierce light gleamed
from the eyes of the young man.
"Let go of my hand!" he exclaimed.
"No, I won't. Put up that brandy bottle--you're drunk now."
"Don't meddle with me, old man!" angrily retorted Frank. "I'm not in
the mood to bear anything more from YOU."
"You're drunk as a fool now," returned Slade, who had seized the
decanter. "Let go the bottle."
For only an instant did the young man hesitate. Then he drove his
half-clenched hand against the breast of his father, who went
staggering several paces from the counter. Recovering himself, and now
almost furious, the landlord rushed forward upon his son, his hand
raised to strike him.
"Keep off!" cried Frank. "Keep off! If you touch me, I'll strike you
down!" At the same time raising the half-filled bottle threateningly.
But his father was in too maddened a state to fear any consequences,
and so pressed forward upon his son, striking him in the face the
moment he came near enough to do so.
Instantly, the young man, infuriated by drink and evil passions, threw
the bottle at his father's head. The dangerous missile fell, crashing
upon one of his temples, shivering it into a hundred pieces. A heavy,
jarring fall too surely marked the fearful consequences of the blow.
When we gathered around the fallen man, and made an effort to lift him
from the floor, a thrill of horror went through every heart. A mortal
paleness was already on his marred face, and the death-gurgle in his
throat! In three minutes from the time the blow was struck, his spirit
had gone upward to give an account of the deeds done in the body.
"Frank Slade! you have murdered your father!"
Sternly were these terrible words uttered. It was some time before the
young man seemed to comprehend their meaning. But the moment he
realized the awful truth, he uttered an exclamation of horror. Almost
at the same instant, a pistol-shot came sharply on the ear. But the
meditated self-destruction was not accomplished. The aim was not surely
taken; and the ball struck harmlessly against the ceiling.
Half an hour afterward, and Frank Slade was a lonely prisoner in the
county jail!
Does the reader need a word of comment on this fearful consummation?
No; and we will offer none.