Wretchedness and degradation--Clothes, credit, and reputation all lost--The
prodigal's return to his father's house--Familiar scenes--The beauty of
nature--My lack of feeling--A wild horse--I ride him to Raleigh and get
drunk--A mixture of vile poison--My ride and fall--The broken stirrups--My
father's search--I get home once more--Depart the same day on the wild
horse--A week at Lewisville--Sick--Yearnings for sympathy.
My condition now grew worse from day to day. I descended step by step
to the lowest depths of wretchedness and degradation. Often my only
sleeping-place was the pavement, or a stairway, or a hall leading to some
office. I lost my clothes, pawning most of them to the rum-sellers, until I
was unfit to be seen, so few and dirty and ragged were the garments which I
could still call my own. In ten years I have lost, given away, and pawned
over fifty suits of clothes. Within the three years just past I have had
six overcoats that went the way of my reputation and peace of mind.
I left Rushville at the time of which I am writing, but not until it was
out of my power to either buy or beg a drop of liquor--not until my
reputation was destroyed and everything else that a true man would
prize--and then, like the prodigal who had wallowed with swine, I returned
to my father's house--the home of my childhood, around which lay the scenes
which were imprinted on my mind with ineffaceable colors. But I had
destroyed the sense which should have made them comforting to me. I have no
doubt that nature is beautiful--that there are fine souls to whom she is a
glorious book, on whose divine pages they learn wisdom and find the highest
and most exalting charms. But I, alas, am dead to her subtle and sacred
influences. However, I might have been benefited by my stay at home, had it
been difficult for me to find that which my appetite still craved; but it
was not so. Falmouth and Raleigh and Lewisville were still within easy
reach, and not only at these, but at many other places could liquor be
procured, and I got it. The curse was on me. My condition became such that
it was unsafe to send me from home on any business. I can recall times when
I left horses hitched to the plow or wagon and went on a spree, forgetting
all about them, for weeks. I had left home firm in the resolve to not touch
a drop of liquor under any circumstances, and so thoroughly did I believe
that I would not, that I would have staked my soul on a wager that I would
keep sober. But the sight of a saloon, or of some person with whom I had
been on a drunk, or even an empty beer keg, would rouse my appetite to such
an extent that I gave up all thoughts of sobriety and wanted to get drunk.
I always allowed myself to be deceived with the idea that I would only get
on a moderate drunk this time, and then quit forever. But the first drink
was sure to be followed by a hundred or a thousand more.
Once while in a state of beastly intoxication at Rushville, my father came
for me and took me home in a wagon, and for two weeks I scarcely stirred
outside of the house. But the house which should have been a paradise to me
was made a prison by reason of my desires for the hell-created liberty of
entering saloons and associating with men as reckless as myself. I became
morose, nervous, and uneasy. I took a horseback ride one morning and would
not admit to myself that I cared less for the ride than to feel that I
could go where I could get liquor. I did not want to drink, but like the
moth which returns by some fatal charm again and again to the flames which
eventually consume it, I could not resist the temptation to go where I
could lay my hands on the curse. There was on the farm, among the horses,
one that was unusually wild, which had hitherto thrown every person that
mounted it. The only way it could be managed at all was with a rough
curb-bitted bridle, and even then each rein had to be drawn hard. If there
was any one thing on which I prided myself at that time it was my
proficiency in riding horses. I determined on mastering this horse, and
early one morning I mounted his back. I got along without a great amount of
difficulty in keeping my seat until I got to Raleigh. Here I dismounted and
sat in the corner groceries for an hour or more, talking to acquaintances.
Finally, like the dog returning to his vomit, I crossed the street and went
into a saloon. Had the door opened into the vermilion lake of fire I would
have passed through it if I had been sure of getting a drink, so sudden and
uncontrollable was the appetite awakened. Only a few minutes before I had
with religious solemnity assured two young men who were keeping a dry goods
store there that I had quit drinking forever. To test me, I suppose, one of
them had said to me that he had some excellent old whisky, and wanted me to
try a little of it, and offered me the jug. I carried it to my mouth, and
took a swallow. It was a villainous compound of whisky, alcohol and drugs
of various kinds, which he sold in quart bottles under the name of some
sort of bitters which were warranted to cure every disease: and I will add
that I believe to this day that they would do what he said they would, for
I do not think any human being, bird, or beast, unless there is another
Quilp living, could drink two bottles of it in that number of days and not
be beyond the need of further attention than that required to prepare him
for burial. It was the sight of the jug and the taste of the poison slop
which it contained that aroused my appetite and scattered my resolves to
the tempest. Once in the saloon I drank without regard to consequences, and
without caring whether the horse I rode was as jaded and tame as Don
Quixote's ill-favored but famous steed, or as wild and unmanageable as the
steed to which the ill-starred Mazeppa was lashed. I did not stop to
consider that a clear head and steady hand were necessary to guide that
horse and protect my life, which would be endangered the moment I again
mounted my horse. Ordinarily I would have gone away and left the horse to
care for itself, but I remembered the character of the horse, and with a
drunken maniac's perversity of feeling I would not abandon it. I designed
getting only so drunk, and then I would show the folks what a young man
could really do. On leaving the saloon I returned to the jug, which
contained the mixture described, and which would have called up apparitions
on the blasted heath that would have not only startled the ambitious thane,
but frightened the witches themselves out of their senses.
I took one full drink--what is called in the vernacular of the bar room a
"square" drink--from the jug, and that, uniting with the saloon slop, made
me a howling maniac. I have forgotten to mention that I got a quart of as
raw and mean whisky in the saloon as was ever sold for the sum which I gave
for it--fifty cents. It was about nine o'clock at night when I bethought me
of the horse which I had sworn to ride home that evening. I untied the
beast with some difficulty, and led him to a mounting block. I got on the
block, and, after putting my foot securely in the stirrup, fell into the
saddle, I was too drunk to think further, and so permitted the horse to
take whatever course suited it best. It took the road toward home, but not
as quietly as a butterfly would have started. He flew with furious speed,
onward through the night, bearing me as if I had only been a feather. I did
not, for I could not, attempt to control him. It was a race with death, and
the chances were in death's favor long before we reached the home stretch.
Possibly I might have ridden safely home had the road been a straight one,
but it was not, and, on making a short turn, I was thrown from the saddle,
but my feet were securely fastened in the stirrups, and so I was dragged
onward by the animal, which did not pause in its mad career, but rather
sped forward more wildly than ever. I was dragged thus over a quarter of a
mile, and would undoubtedly have been killed had not one and then the other
stirrup broken. I lay with my feet in the detached stirrups until near
morning, wholly unconscious and dead, I presume, to all appearances. It was
quite a while after I came to my senses before I could realize what had
happened, who, and what, and where I was, and then my knowledge was too
vague to enable me to determine anything definitely. I crawled to a house
which was near by, fortunately, and remained there during the morning. I
was badly, but not dangerously, injured. The skin was torn from one side of
my face, and three of my fingers were disjointed. I was bruised all over,
and cut slightly in several places. How I escaped death is a miracle, but
escape it I did. The horse went on home and was found early in the morning,
with the stirrup leathers dangling from the saddle. When the family saw the
horse they at once were of the opinion that I had been killed, and my
father took the road to Raleigh immediately, thinking to find my dead body
on the way. Fearing that they would discover the horse and be frightened
about me, I started home, and had not gone far when I met my father. As
soon as he saw me walking in the road, he burst into tears. I did not dare
look as he rode up to me, but continued walking, and he rode slowly past
me. I could hear his sobs, but was too much overcome with shame to speak. I
walked on toward home as fast as I could, and my heart-broken but happy
father followed slowly in my rear. When I got within sight of the house my
sister saw me and ran to meet me, crying: "Oh, we thought you were killed
this time--I was sure you were killed. It is so dreadful to think of!" etc.
She was crying and laughing in a breath. My feelings were such as words can
not describe. I wanted the earth to open and swallow me up. I suffered a
thousand deaths. This is only one of a hundred similar debauches, each more
deplorable and humiliating in its consequences than the last.
At times, as the waters of the awful sea called the Past dash over me, I
almost die of strangulation. I pant and gasp for breath, and shudder and
tremble in my terror. My spree on this occasion was not yet over; my
appetite was burning and raging, and notwithstanding my almost miraculous
escape from a drunken death, I watched my opportunity, like a man bent on
self-destruction, and again mounted the same horse and started for Raleigh.
But my father had preceded me, and given orders at the saloon and elsewhere
that I should not be allowed more liquor. I was determined to satisfy my
appetite, and with this purpose subjugating every other, I went on to
Lewisville, where I remained for more than a week, drinking day and night.
Finally one of my brothers, hearing of my whereabouts, came after me and
took me home. I was so completely exhausted the moment that the liquor
began to die out that I had to go to bed, and there I remained for some
time. After such debauches the physical suffering is intense and great; but
it is little in comparison with the tortures of the mind. After such a
spree as the one just mentioned, it has generally been out of my power to
sleep for a week or longer after getting sober. I have tossed for hours and
nights upon a bed of remorse, and had hell with all its flames burning in
my heart and brain. Often have I prayed for death, and as often, when I
thought the final hour had come, have I shrunk back from the mysterious
shadow in which flesh has no more motion. Often have I felt that I would
lose my reason forever, but after a period of madness, nature would be
merciful and restore me my lost senses. Often have I pressed my hands
tightly over my mouth, fearing that I would scream, and as often would a
low groan sound in my blistered throat, the pent up echo of a long maniacal
wail. Often have I contemplated suicide, but as often has some benign power
held back my desperate hand; once, indeed, I tried to force the gates of
death by an attempt to take my own life, but, heaven be forever praised! I
did not succeed, for the knife refused to cut as deep as I would have had
it. I thought I would be justifiable in throwing off by any means such a
load of horror and pain as I was weighed down with. Who would not escape
from misery if he could? I argued. If the grave, self-sought, would hide
every error, blot out every pang, and shield from every storm, why not seek
it?
They have in certain lands of the tropics a game which the people are said
to watch with absorbing interest. It is this: A scorpion is caught. With
cruel eagerness the boys and girls of the street assemble and place the
reptile on a board, surrounded with a rim of tow saturated with some
inflammable spirit. This ignited, the torture of the scorpion begins.
Maddened by the heat, the detested thing approaches the fiery barrier and
attempts to find some passage of escape, but vain the endeavor! It retreats
toward the center of the ring, and as the heat increases and it begins to
writhe under it, the children cry out with pleasure--a cry in which, I
fancy, there is a cadence of the sound which sends a thrill of delight
through hell--the sound of exultation which rises from the tongues of
bigots when the martyr's soul mounts upward from the flames in which his
body is consumed. Again the scorpion attempts to escape, and again it is
turned back by that impassable barrier of fire. The shouts of the children
deepen. At last, finding that there is no way by which to fly, the hated
thing retreats to the center of its flaming prison and stings itself to
death. Then it is that the exultation of the crowd of cruel tormentors is
most loudly expressed. But do not infer from what I have said that I look
with favor on suicide under any circumstances. That I do not do, but I
would have you look at society and some of its victims.
See what barriers of flame are often thrown around poor, despairing,
miserable men! Listen to that indifference and condemnation, and this wail
of agony! Can you wonder that the outcast abandons hope and plunges the
knife into his heart? He is driven to madness, and feeling that all is
lost, he commits an act which does indeed lose everything for him, for it
bars the gates of heaven against him. Before he had nothing on earth; now
he has nothing in paradise. Alas for those who triumph over the fall of a
fellow creature. God have mercy on those who exult over the wretchedness of
a victim of alcohol! Woe to those who ridicule his efforts to escape, and
who mock him when he fails. Do they not help to shape for him the dagger of
self-destruction? What ingredients of poison do they not mix with the fatal
drink which deprives him of breath? With what threads do they strengthen
the rope with which he hangs himself! Where should the most blame rest,
where does it most rest in the eyes of God--with society which drives him
forth a depraved and friendless creature? or with himself no longer
accountable for his acts? O the agony of feeling that on the whole face of
the earth there is not a face that will look upon you in kindness, nor a
heart that will throb with compassion at sight of your misery! I know what
this agony is, for in my darkest hours I have looked for pity and strained
my ears to catch the tones of a kindly voice in vain. But let me hasten to
say, lest I be misunderstood, that since I commenced to lecture, I have had
the support and active help of thousands of the very best men and women in
the land. I doubt that there was ever a man in calamity trying to escape
from terrors worse than those of death who had more aid than has been
extended to me. Could prayers and tears lift one out of misfortune and
wretchedness I would long ago have stood above all the tribulations of my
life. I desire to have every man and woman that has bestowed kindness on
me, if only a word or look, know that I remember such kindness, and that I
long to prove that it was not thrown away. Every day there rises before me
numberless faces I have met from time to time, each beautiful with the
love, sympathy, and pity which elevates the human into the divine. There
are others, I regret to say, that pass before me with dark looks and
scowls. I know them well, for they have sought to discourage and drag me
down. Their tongues have been quick to condemn and free to vilify me. I
seek no revenge on them. I forgive as wholly and freely as I hope to be
forgiven. May God soften their tiger hearts and melt their hyena souls.