A FORTUNE MADE BY TEETOTALISM.
VEGETARIANISM has made many people rich, but much more money has been
made by men who have given up the practice of drinking beer, or wine, or
spirits, and have profitably invested the money which would have
otherwise been spent at the public-house. In every town and city and
village in the land, there are men who, by their temperance, have thus
raised themselves into a condition of comparative wealth and
independence. I have met with hundreds of such men. Let me give, as an
illustration, the career of Mr. James M‘Currey, who claims to be the
teetotal father of the Rev. Dr. Robert Maguire. M‘Currey was born in
Glasgow, as far back as 1801, and he is now, in the year 1878, a fine
hearty-looking old man, with apparently many years of usefulness before
him. His parents were working people, and when M‘Currey first went to
work as a lad, his chief employment was to fetch in the drink for the
men, and for his reward to have a sup for himself. No wonder the lad at
times drank, and, as he says, worked hard in the workshop, and worked
with equal energy at the devil’s workshop, the public-house.
Fortunately, he married a good wife, who was no friend to the whiskey;
and owing to her influence he left off going to the public-house; but
even then, when he came to London and got good work, he took occasionally
to drinking. He writes—
“I dearly loved my wife and child, but drink came between me, and them.
Ever, on my senses returning, my remorse was horrible, more than I could
bear. I longed to get away from my work—from London, anywhere. Hard
times came; years of trial to my wife, of reproach to me, in which I was
miserable when drunk, and more miserable when sober.” Happily, in
1828–9, he became a Christian man, and a very earnest one; but even then
he had not taken the pledge, and had much trouble in consequence.
Unfortunately, he was at work in Theobald’s Road, and when the men were
paid they used to go to the public-house to get change, and M‘Currey went
with the rest. One day, just as he was going through the passage of the
inn, the head foreman, who was in the parlour, saw him passing, and said—
“‘Come in here, M‘Currey;’ and in the next moment he had handed me a
glass of brandy-and-water, which was lying before him on the table. He
then said—
“‘Sit down and have a pipe.’
“Being called upon to do this by a man in his position, I did so, for I
thought to myself I cannot very well say ‘No.’ The tempter came in an
insidious form, and I fell before his wiles. That night I was taken home
drunk to my wife. She was fit to go beside herself with grief. There
was I lying drunk in the house, where, for a long time past, we had been
so comfortable. I, who had been one of the visitors of the Strangers’
Friend; I, who had gone to Guy’s Hospital to talk to people about their
soul’s eternal salvation; there was I, lying drunk. It was a dreadful
fall for me. I went to my class-leader about it. He said—
“‘Well, Brother M‘Currey, what is the matter?’
“I told him; but there he was, the man to whom I had gone for advice,
sitting with a bottle of gin on the table, and a jug of spring water. He
filled up some and handed it to me. He said—
“‘You see, Mr. M‘Currey, you take too much; take a little now and it will
steady your nerves;’ for I was trembling like a leaf.
“‘It is the accursed little, sir, that is the stumblingblock to me.’
“‘Never mind; you take a little of this, and don’t be tempted to take too
much.’”
We need not say that Mr. M‘Currey took some of what was offered him; but
he was glad to leave his class-leader’s presence, and church, and
neighbourhood, and he went to work at Chelsea. There he met with a
teetotaller, who persuaded him to go to a temperance meeting. He did,
and became a teetotaller. The struggle at first was long and severe.
Times were bad, and he had to borrow tools to go to work with. He had
also at that time (1837) much opposition to encounter from his
fellow-workmen, who often injured his clothes and his tools, and were
ready to do him all the harm they could. At length he borrowed a
sovereign, and commenced selling coke in the streets till better days
came round, and in a little while he commenced his career as a
master-builder. It is thus he writes in his interesting autobiography:—
“There is a very noble verse of my countryman, Robert Burns, which I have
ever heard with admiration:—
“‘To catch Dame Fortune’s golden smile,
Assiduous wait upon her,
And gather gear by every wile
That’s justified by honour.
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Not for a train attendant,
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.’
“That motive seems to me to be right for both worlds. Honest
independence leads to true Christian manliness.”
At that time Buckingham Palace was under repairs. M‘Currey writes—“I was
one of those employed on this important structure. I very frequently
used to be working for the Baroness Burdett Coutts, Lord Paget, and
others in the same rank of life. When I was at work one Saturday, some
one came in and said that her Majesty was expected home, and that the
apartments which she occupied must be finished by a certain time that was
named; and, in order to get them done by the appointed time, my employer,
a Mr. Evans, said I must work all Sunday. I said—
“‘I will not work at all on Sunday, though I am prepared to work till
midnight every other day to get the work done, or I am willing to come at
two o’clock in the morning on Monday, and work till it is finished.’
“He said, ‘You are not a loyal subject.’
“‘Yes, I am; and if anybody were to tell me the palace was on fire, and
her Majesty inside, I would risk my life to save her; but I won’t risk my
soul for the sake of working on Sundays.’
“The consequence of all this was, that I got my discharge, and from that
moment I began to get on, on my own account. This was one of God’s
blessings in disguise. When I came home my wife said—
“‘Never mind about it;’ and we kneeled down and prayed, and we opened the
hymn-hook at the very hymn where it says—
“‘Ye fearful saints fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.’
“I was really encouraged by this. It seemed like the omen of mercy and
goodness, which has ever since followed me in my path through life.
“When I left working at her Majesty’s palace, I, under the circumstances
mentioned, had arrived at a turning-point in my worldly fortunes.
Shakspeare has said, that ‘there is a tide in the affairs of men, which,
taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;’ and I believe the tide of my
fortunes came at this time; and, through the blessing of God, it was
taken at the flood. If it has not led me on to fortune, it has at least
led me to a position of comfort and respectability, which at one period
of my life I would have deemed it impossible for me, by any amount of
diligence, to attain. I was without work and without friends, though,
thanks to teetotalism, I had a little money deposited in a place where I
could easily get it, the savings-bank at Chelsea. It was in the year
1849 that I went to see Mr. Thomas Cubitt, whom I desire to mention with
gratitude and respect. I told him my circumstances, and that I wanted to
build a house.
“‘Well,’ he said, ‘take a piece of ground for half-a-dozen houses.’
“‘I am frightened to go too far at first,’ I replied.
“‘Very well,’ he said; ‘there is nothing like making sure steps. You are
our temperance man,’ he added; ‘I remember you well.’
“This was the commencement of my rise in the world above the position of
a common journeyman. Mr. Cubitt offered me bricks upon credit,
sufficient to get the roof on, if I could find money for the rest. I had
£65 of my own, the savings of three years’ teetotalism; and to work I
went, and soon got the skeleton of the house up, on the piece of ground
he granted in Wellington Street, Pimlico. Although I used to rise with
the lark, I was, nevertheless, at a teetotal meeting every night; while
on Sunday I was lecturing all day long. I would not give up my
temperance work for any manor anything. My son and myself used to get up
at four o’clock in the morning, and make up a batch of mortar, so as to
be able to set the labourers to work when they came. We had two
labourers to assist us, and now and then I took on a man, just to give
him a little help to bide over the hard time immediately succeeding his
signing the pledge. At times I used to go away, and perhaps my son with
me, to another job, which would bring in a little money. When I got the
roof on I was in a terrible fix. I had spent all my money; and though
Mr. Cubitt was ready to give me all I wanted, yet I did not know him as I
do now. I got into very low spirits; but as, in leaving her Majesty’s
palace, I had made that a matter of prayer, so also did I do with this.
My wife also prayed, and thus the matter was left, apparently, no better
than before.
“One day I went down to my work as usual, and, on looking up the street,
which was then beginning to form, I saw Mr. Robert Alsop coming along—the
very man who brought two policemen to take me in charge for holding
meetings at the ‘White Stiles,’ Chelsea. He did this partly on his own
account, and partly because the people sent a petition to have me removed
from the spot. It may be as well to give a little account of what
transpired when Mr. Alsop brought the two policemen.
“‘I give,’ he said, ‘this man in charge. I have told him that the people
about here are much offended. We cannot allow this disturbance to go on,
and a letter has been sent on this subject. I therefore give him in
charge.’
“‘Then,’ said I, ‘I give Mr. Alsop in charge; and I dare you to take me
without taking him.’
“The policemen were in a fog—likewise Mr. Alsop.
“‘Well, sir,’ said one of them, at last, ‘it appears Mr. M‘Currey knows
what he is doing. We know nothing about the case; and, if you force us
to take this man in charge, we must take you too.’
“Mr. Alsop considered for a little. He did not know what to do. The
people and the policemen were alike awaiting his decision. If he
persisted, he must he conveyed, like a culprit, along with me; and he
knew well that I cared little what was done, for by this time the roads
to the various station-houses were getting pretty familiar. If, on the
contrary, he retired from the conflict, he must do so with the ridicule
of all about him. I think he chose the wisest course. He walked away
amidst the derisive laughter of the crowd.
“This, then, was the man whom God, and God alone, had sent to relieve me
from my embarrassment. I stood in front of the house as Mr. Alsop came
by, thinking what on earth I should do, but never for a moment dreaming
that he was likely to be a customer.
“‘What will be the amount?’ said Mr. Alsop, pausing in his walk, and
looking up at the house.
“I said, ‘When it is finished, and you have a good tenant, I will sell it
to you for £380. It has a sixteen-feet frontage, and is twenty-six feet
deep.’
“‘Who is the tenant to be?’
“‘I will be your tenant. I will take it for five or seven years.’
“‘Well, I will think of it. I will call and see thee to-morrow.’
“As usual, I made it a matter of prayer. The reader may be sure that I
kept a good look-out for my customer the next day, but did not let him
see that I was at all anxious about the matter.
“‘Have you thought about what I said?’
“God knows I had not slept for thinking of it.
“‘Yes, I have; and I will take £380 for it, and be your tenant for three,
five, or seven years. I am going to leave my present house.’
“‘I will give you £330,’ he said.
“‘Very well, I will take that. You know it is usual to pay a deposit?’
“‘Oh, yes; how much do you want? I have brought a bank cheque.’
“‘£150 would be enough.’
“‘You can have more—say £200.’
“‘Very well, that will do.’
“‘He filled up the cheque for the last-mentioned amount, and we parted
for the time. I was in the highest spirits. My difficulties had
vanished. With this cheque I could command all the remaining materials
that I wanted. I went to Mr. Cubitt’s office, got the boards for the
floor, and everything else, and set the carpenters to work, early and
late. At last it was finished. Before this, however, I took ground for
two more houses, which Mr. Alsop also bought. The first one I lived in
myself for seven years. This was the very man who had given me in charge
nine months before.
“I went on building and building until I gave up taking ground for one or
two houses, but took it for ten, then fifteen, then twenty, and then for
twenty-seven. All one side of Bessborough Street was built by me. My
son was an immense help to me. Of course, as might have been expected,
my career was not one of uninterrupted prosperity. Things went very hard
with me once or twice; but my troubles were chiefly owing to the
political commotion of the times, which disturbed trade and unsettled
men’s minds. The Chartist riots did me some harm, as did also the
Feargus O’Connor disturbances, and some trade disputes.
“It was during the time of the Chartist disturbances that my troubles
reached their climax, and that I really thought that results, for which I
had so long laboured, were about to be removed from my reach for ever.
One day, when I was really unable to say how my engagements were to be
met, one of my foremen came and said there was a gentleman waiting to see
me about a house. I said—
“‘Don’t bother! no one wants to buy a house in these times.
“‘But he is a decent-looking man,’ said the foreman.
“‘It’s no good. I see no hope of getting out of the present
difficulties, and I shall have to discharge you all.’
“‘I advise you to see the man. He looks a business man.’
“I went to see the gentleman, who was no other than the father of Dr.
Moore. As it happened, this was another turn in my life.
“‘What do you want for this house?’
“‘Seven hundred guineas.’
“‘Well, I will come and look at it on Sunday with my son.’
“‘I can’t show it to you then. I don’t do business on a Sunday.’
“‘Very well; I don’t know that I can come again.’
“The next day, which was Sunday, passed in a very uncomfortable manner.
Listening to the sermon, even the thought flashed before me as to whether
I had not better have made the appointment; but it was dismissed at once.
I was almost glad when the Sunday was over. The next day I really had an
impression that he would come, and I said so to my wife. She agreed with
me.
“At half-past ten that morning, to my great delight, the ’bus stopped at
the corner of the street, and the young doctor and his father alighted.
“‘I have told my son,’ said the doctor, ‘that you wouldn’t let us see
your house on the Sunday, and we both say you did quite right. If a man
can’t do without working on a Sunday, he will never do with it. I went
to sea when I was fourteen years of age, and have travelled the world
almost twice over, and I have done my business without working on
Sunday.’
“He looked at the house, and liked it very well, and then said—
“‘I will give you the money in Dutch consols.’
“‘Well, doctor, I don’t know what Dutch consols really are; I want 700
guineas in British money.’
“He left me, the matter being still rather uncertain; but the next day he
came to see me again, and I took him into my parlour. He said—
“‘I have the money ready—£50 for a deposit. I have brought it in money,
as, perhaps, you will like it better that way.’
“‘Thank you; I will give you a receipt.’
“‘No,’ he said, ‘you needn’t. I know your countrymen are a respectable
lot but for the drink, and I know you will not want to be paid twice.’
“The business was settled, and a friendship sprang up between myself and
the old gentleman, which lasted until he died. The arrangements for his
funeral were entrusted to me, and were carried out without any of the men
employed being allowed to partake of intoxicating drinks. In this way
those disgraceful scenes which so frequently are associated with funerals
were altogether avoided, and I was subsequently complimented by Dr.
Moore, jun., on the highly respectable way in which the arrangements were
carried out.”
But poor M‘Currey, when he had become well-to-do and happy in his
surroundings, had much to do from intemperance in others. His eldest son
fell a victim, and so did several members of his wife’s family. One son,
who became a teetotaler when his father prospered in the world,
unfortunately, in the course of his business, met with an accident in
falling from a building, which caused his death at the early age of
forty-one. “After providing for his family, he did not forget,” says the
_Temperance Record_, “the benevolent institutions of his country. He has
left £100 each to St. George’s, Westminster, and Consumptive Hospitals;
£100 to the Strangers’ Friend Society, and £600 to the total abstinence
cause.” One of old M‘Currey’s converts said to him one day, “You
inoculated me into teetotalism, on the White Stiles, Chelsea, at a time
when I had not a sixpence. I signed the pledge at one of your open-air
meetings there, fifteen years ago, and am doing well, as you may judge
from the fact that I have now three houses.” It is thus clear that, in
many quarters, teetotalism has not only saved men from ruin, but has made
them rich as well. In the career of Mr. David Davies, M.P., we have a
remarkable illustration of this fact. He was once a “navvy;” he is now
(1878) a man of wealth, and a member of parliament.