THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER
The fire which destroyed the Mississippi Valley Woolen Mills did such
damage in the ranks of the temperance reformers that for a few months
Crupp, Tomple, and several others had frequent cause to feel lonesome,
while poor Father Baguss fell back upon the church for that comfort
which, just after his first effort with Tappelmine, and before the
fire, he had frequently found in the society of his self-approving
brother stockholders. The mill was rebuilt, only a few of the owners
of stock refusing to be assessed for their proportion of the loss; the
mill made a very prosperous winter, and interested persons were not
averse to talking about it; but after Deacon Jones’ speech was noised
abroad, the mill was no longer a semi-holy topic of conversation,
which was allowable even on the church steps on Sundays. Some of the
men whose eyes had been opened toward themselves, on the occasion of
the fire, were honest enough to confess to themselves, and to bring
forth fruits meet for repentance; but the majority took refuge either
in open or secret sophistry, with the comforting impression that they
blinded others as effectually as they did themselves. The mass of the
people, however--those who neither subscribed to temperance funds, nor
mill stock, nor anything else, still looked on, and were plethoric of
encouragement and criticism. When appealed to for help, their logic
was simply bewildering, and almost as depraved as the same defensive
and offensive weapon is in politics. Tomple was the man to do such
work, said some, for he was the rich man of the village, and rich men
are only God’s stewards; others suggested Captain Crayme, who had
money, and who should be willing to spend considerable of it as a
thank-offering for his own providential deliverance from the thraldom
of drink. The irreligious thought that all such work should be done by
the church, if churches were good for anything but to shout in; while
the religious felt that the irreligious, among whom could be found
nearly every drinker in the village, should expend whatever money was
needed for the physical reformation of their kind. Where none of these
excuses seemed available, or wherever two or three conservatives of
differing views met together, there was always Crupp to fall back
upon; each man could grasp his own pocket-book with tender tenacity,
and declare to a sympathetic audience that the man who had coined his
money out of widows’ tears and orphans’ groans should by rights take
care of all the drunkards in the county, even until he was so reduced
in means as to be dependent upon public charity for his own support.
Thus matters stood when a year had elapsed since the memorable
temperance meeting, and Parson Wedgewell suggested that an anniversary
service would be only an ordinary and decent testimonial of respect to
Providence for his special mercies during the year. To the parson’s
surprise, Crupp who--though he had during the winter surprised every
one by joining Parson Wedgewell’s church, in spite of a very severe
course of questioning by the Examining Committee--was still a man of
action and a contemner of mere words--Crupp not only failed to oppose
such a meeting, but volunteered himself to write for Major Ben Bailey,
the gifted orator who had addressed the earlier meeting, and to pay the
orator’s expenses. Such offers were rarely made, even by the Barton
reformers, so by unanimous consent Crupp wrote to the great lecturer,
it being admitted by Tomple, Wedgewell, Baguss, and Jones, that Crupp’s
idea of informing the Major what had been done during the year was a
good one, and that it would enable the orator to modify his address
with special reference to existing circumstances. But Squire Tomple
and the parson were considerably astonished to see Crupp dash into the
Squire’s store one day, exhibiting an unusual degree of excitement, as
he unfolded a letter and remarked,
“He won’t come! Just listen to what he says!” And while the two other
reformers stood as if they saw the sky falling and did not despair of
catching it in their eyes and mouths, Crupp read:
“In replying to Mr. Crupp’s favor of the --th, Major Bailey can only
say, that while he should be glad to again meet the people among whom
so great an amount of good has been accomplished within the year, he
cannot see that he can render any service. Major Bailey’s efforts are
confined solely to the awakening of an interest in temperance; the
condition of affairs which Mr. Crupp reports as existing in Barton,
however, indicates a degree of interest which cannot be heightened by
any effort which the writer could put forth. What seems desirable at
Barton is such an informing of the general populace upon what has been
accomplished, upon the manner in which the work has been done, and the
comparatively small number of persons who have actively participated
in it, as shall convince the inhabitants that they did not fulfill
their whole duty toward temperance when a year ago they applauded the
utterances of the writer of these lines. Briefly, Major Bailey feels
that if he attended, he could contribute only such efforts as, under
the circumstances, would be entirely out of place.”
“Astonishing!” exclaimed Parson Wedgewell, with the eye of a man who
dreams.
“Threw away a job!” said Tomple, like the thrifty business man that he
was.
But the meeting was planned and widely advertised, and when, on the
evening appointed, the attendants looked over the room, they found
occasion for considerable attentive reflection.
Except that Major Ben Bailey, the gifted orator, was not present, the
meeting presented the same attractions which had drawn such a crowd to
its predecessor. The Barton Brass Band was there, and with some new
airs learned during the year; the Crystal Spring Glee Club was there;
there were the pastors of the four churches in Barton, and Squire
Tomple was in the chair as before. Besides, there were additional
attractions: Crupp, a year before, the man who was lending to liquor
selling an air of respectability, was upon the platform to the left
and rear of Squire Tomple; old Bunley, who a year before had been
responsible only as a container of alcohol, but now a respectable
citizen and book-keeper to Squire Tomple, occupied the secretary’s
chair; Tom Adams acted as usher in one of the side-aisles, and dragged
all the heavy drinkers up to front seats; Harry Wainright was there,
with a wife whose veil was not thick enough to hide her happiness; Fred
Macdonald, who had spent the evening of the other meeting in the Barton
House bar-room, was there; so was Tappelmine, appearing as ill at
ease as a porker in a strange field, but still there; while in a side
seat, close to the wall, sitting as much in the shadow of his wife as
possible, so as to guard his professional reputation, was Sam Crayme,
captain of the steamer _Excellence_. A number of “the boys” were there
also, and yet the church was not only not crowded, but not even full.
During the year temperance had been guided from the hearts to the
pockets of a great many, and this radical treatment had been fatal to
many an enthusiastic soul that had theretofore been blameless in its
own eyes. Those who attended heard some music, however, which was not
deficient in point of quality; they heard a short but live address from
old Parson Fish on the moral beauty of a temperate life, and an earnest
prayer from that one of the Barton pastors who had during the year done
nothing which justified the mention of his name in this history, and
then the audience saw Mr. Crupp advance to the front of the platform
and unfold a large sheet of paper, which he crumpled in one hand as he
spoke as follows:
“Ladies and gentlemen: having been requested, by the chairman of the
last meeting, to collect some statistics of the work accomplished in
Barton, during the past year, in the cause of temperance, I invite your
attention to the following figures:
“Population of township last year, three thousand two hundred and
sixty-five. Signatures to pledge, at last meeting, six hundred and
twenty-seven [applause]; signatures of persons who were in the habit
of drinking at time of signing, two hundred and thirty-one; number
of persons who have broken the pledge since signing, one hundred
and sixty [sighs and groans]; number of persons who have kept their
pledges, seventy-one [applause]; number reclaimed by personal effort
since meeting, forty-six [applause]; amount of money subscribed and
applied strictly for the good of the cause, and without hope of
pecuniary gain [a faint hiss or two], five thousand one hundred and
ninety dollars and thirty-eight cents [tremendous applause]; amount
which has been returned by the beneficiaries without solicitation,
twenty-seven dollars [laughter, hisses, and groans]. Of the amount
subscribed, _six-sevenths_ came from _five_ persons, who own less than
_one-fiftieth_ part of the taxable property of the township.”
The quiet which prevailed, as Mr. Crupp spoke these last words and took
his seat, was, if considered only _as_ quiet, simply faultless; but its
duration was greater and more annoying than things purely faultless
usually are, and there was a general sensation of relief when Squire
Tomple, who during the year had not made any public display of his
charities, and who was popularly supposed to care as much for a dollar
as any one, slowly got upon his feet.
“My friends,” said the Squire, “I’m more than ever convinced that
temperance is a good thing [hearty applause], and the reason I feel
so is, that during the year I’ve put considerable money into it; and
where the treasure is there shall the heart be also [dead silence].
I’ve made up my mind, that hurrahing and singing for temperance will
make a hypocrite out of a saint, if he don’t use money and effort at
the same time. I like a good song and a good time as much as anybody,
but I can’t learn of a single drinking man that they have reformed.
At our last meeting there was some good work _started_, by the use
of songs and speeches, and you have learned, from the report just
presented, how much lasting good they did. Money and work have done
the business, my friends; talk has helped, but alone by itself it’s
done precious little. This lesson has cost _me_ a great deal; and as
a business man, who believes that _every_ earthly interest is in some
way a business interest, I advise you to learn the same lesson for
yourselves before it is too late.”
Such a pail of cold water had never before been thrown upon Barton
hearts aglow with confidence, it struck the leader of the band so
forcibly that he rattled off into “Yankee Doodle,” to aid the meeting
in recovering its spirits; even after listening to this inspiriting
air, however, it was with a wistfulness almost desperate that the
audience scanned the countenance of Parson Wedgewell as he stepped to
the front of the platform.
“Beloved friends,” said the parson, “the result of the past year’s
work in this portion of the Lord’s vineyard has indeed been richly
blessed, and I shall ever count it as one of the precious privileges
of my life that I have been permitted to take part in it. [‘Hurrah
for the parson!’ shouted a man, who had but a moment before worn a
most lugubrious countenance.] I rejoice, not only that I have seen
precious sheaves brought to our Lord’s granary, but also because I
have beheld going into the field those who have heretofore stood idly
in the market-place, and because I have beheld the reapers themselves
receiving the reward of their labors. They have received souls for
their hire, dear friends, and I feel constrained to admit that if
each of those who came in at the eleventh hour received as much as
us, who have apparently borne the burden and heat of the day, they
were fully entitled to it by reason of the greater intelligence and
industry which they have displayed. For many years, my dear friends,
I have been among you as one sent by the Physician of souls; but it
is only within the past year that I have begun to comprehend that
the soul may be treated--very often _should_ be treated--through the
body; and that, though the fervent effectual prayer of the righteous
man availeth much, the exercise of that which was made in the likeness
and image of God is not to be idle. The mammon of unrighteousness has
been made the salvation of many, my dear friends; and it has, I verily
believe, guided toward heavenly habitations those who have applied it
to the necessities of others. But, dear brethren, the harvest truly is
plenteous, but the laborers are few; pray ye, therefore, the Lord of
the harvest that he will send forth laborers unto his harvest; but take
heed that ye follow the example of him, who, as he commanded us thus to
petition the throne of grace, ceased not to labor in the harvest field
himself; who fed when he preached, and healed when he exhorted.”
Harry Wainright pounded on the floor with his cane, hearing which, Tom
Adams brought his enormous hands together with great emphasis, and his
example was dutifully followed by the whole of his own family, which
filled two short side seats. Father Baguss shouted “Glory to God!” and
Deacon Jones ejaculated “That’s so!” but the hearers seemed disposed
to be critical, although the parson’s address had been couched in
language almost exclusively Scriptural. While they were engaged in
contemplation, however, old Bunley dropped a mellow cough and stepped
to the front.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said he, “it’s the style in this town, and
everywhere else, I suppose, to kick a man when he’s down, and then to
trample on him. I know _one_ man that’s been there, and knows all about
it. ’Twas his own fault he got there, and there were plenty who told
him he ought to get up; but how kicking and trampling were to help him
do it he could never see, and he made up his mind, that folks did as
they did because it suited them, not because it was going to do _him_
any good. So he’s been hating the whole townful for years, and doing
all the harm he could, not because he liked doing harm, but because
he never got a chance to do anything else. Suddenly, a couple of
gentlemen--I won’t mention names--came along, and gave the poor fellow
a hand, and gave him the first chance he’s had in years to believe in
human nature at all. And, all this time, everybody else around him was
acting in the way that this same poor fellow would have acted himself,
if he had wanted to play devil. The same couple of gentlemen went for
a good many other people, and acted in a way that you read about in
novels and the Bible (but mighty seldom see in town); and those fellows
believe in these two gentlemen, now, but they hate all the rest of you
like poison. I don’t suppose you like it, but truth is truth; you might
as well know what it is.”
Several people got up and went out, carrying very red faces with them;
but Fred Macdonald stood up and clapped his hands, and the Adams family
and Wainright helped him, while the broad boots of Father Baguss raised
a cloud of dust, which formed quite an aureole about Baguss himself as
he got up and remarked:
“Brethren and sisters: Squire Tomple hit the nail exactly on the head
when he said that hollerin’ an’ singin’ makes a hypocrite of a man
if he don’t open his pocket-book. If you don’t believe it, remember
me. If anybody ever liked his own more’n I did, he’s a curiosity. I
don’t _hate_ money a bit now, an’ I’m not goin’ to try to; but the
hardest case I ever got acquainted with was me, Zedekiah Baguss, when
I couldn’t dodge it any longer that I ought to spend money for a
feller-critter. I won’t name no names, brethren an’ sisters; but if
you’re huntin’ for any such game, don’t go to lookin’ up drunkards
until you smell around near home fust.”
“Reputation be blowed higher than a kite!” exclaimed Captain Crayme,
springing to his feet; “but I’ve got to say just a word here.
Gentlemen, I’m off my whiskey, and I’m going to stay off; but I might
be drinking yet, and have kept on forever, for all that any of you
that’s so pious and temperate ever cared. But one man thought enough of
me to come and talk to me--talk like a man, and not preach a sermon;
more than that, he not only talked--which the biggest idiot here might
have done just as well--but he stuck by me, and he brought me through.
Any of you might have done it, but none of you cared enough for me,
and yet I’m a business man, and I’ve got some property. How any _poor_
fellow down in the mud is ever to get up again, in such a place, I
don’t see; and yet Barton’s as good a town as I ever touch at.”
The interest of the meeting was departing, so were the attendants; but
the Reverend Timotheus Brown limped forward and exclaimed:
“Hear, then, the conclusion of the whole matter: ‘Not every one that
sayeth Lord, Lord, shall inherit the kingdom of heaven, but him that
doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven.’ There has been a
blessed change wrought in this town within a year, and work has done
it all. He who taught us to say ‘Our Father,’ made of every man his
brother’s keeper, and no amount of talk can undo what He did. A few men
in our midst have recognized their duty and have done it, or are doing
it; most of them, among them him who addresses you, have learned that
the beginning is the hardest part of the work, and that the laborer
receives his hire, though never in the way in which he expects it. Much
remains to be done, not only in raising the fallen, but in reforming
the upright; and, to get a full and fair view of the latter, there is
no way so successful as to go to work for others.”
Squire Tomple announced that the meeting was still open for remarks;
but, no one else availing themselves of the privilege offered, the
evening closed with a spirited medley from the brass band. Not every
one was silent and dismal, however; as the church emptied, Tomple,
Bunley, Crupp, Wedgewell, Brown, and the other pastors came down from
the platform, and were met at the foot of the steps by Baguss and
Deacon Jones, and there was a general hand-shaking. Tom Adams stood
afar off, looking curiously and wistfully at the party, noticing which,
Parson Wedgewell danced excitedly up to him, and dragged him into the
circle; there Tom received a greeting which somehow educated him, in
two or three minutes, to a point far beyond any that his head or heart
had previously reached. Then Fred Macdonald, who had intended to avoid
any action which might seem to make him one of the “old fellows” of
the village, suddenly lost his head in some manner which he could not
explain, and hurried off, caught Sam Crayme’s arm, and destroyed such
reputation as remained to the captain along the river, by bringing
the enterprising navigator into such a circle as he had never entered
before, but in which he soon found himself as much at home as if he
had been born there. Others, too--not many in number, to be sure--but
representing most of the soul Of the village, straggled timidly up to
the group, and were informally admitted to what was not conventionally
a love-feast, but approached nearer to one than any formal gathering
could have done.
Barton has never since known a monster temperance meeting; but the few
righteous men who dwell therein have proved to their own satisfaction,
and that of certain one-time wretches, that, in a successful temperance
movement, the reform must begin among those who never drink.