JEAN THE ABOLITIONIST.
"Come in, father, and make yourself comfortable." It was Jean speaking,
as she stood in the glow of the library lamp. "I have been waiting for
you. You need not cast your eye around for the paper; you will not find
it until my case has had a hearing."
Judge Thorn sank into the great easy chair before the fire with an air
of forced resignation, and the young woman continued:
"It is quite necessary nowadays, you know, for women to have 'ideas.' I
have ideas on social and moral questions, but I do not know just where I
belong when it comes to politics."
The judge lifted his hands with a show of expostulation.
"So our Jean would be a politician," he cried. "Oh, the times! Oh, the
customs!"
"Not quite so bad as that, father," replied the young woman, smiling but
serious; "but I am in downright earnest. The making, the unmaking and
the enforcing of law are politics, and every American woman should have
an interest in these things. Every thinking woman must have an interest
in them. I must know more of politics."
"You are right," said her father, thoughtfully; "you are right. I do not
believe a woman should get out of her sphere, but a woman's influence is
mighty, and inasmuch as all law and reform come through the ballot box,
there can be no harm in her giving an intelligent hearing to politics."
"Then, father, please listen to me for a few minutes; I want to tell you
what has set me to thinking along these lines. Two weeks ago you brought
Maggie Crowley here. I went to see her in her room the next morning, and
she told me her story. Her mother was sick, the children were hungry and
cold, so she started out to find the father before he had spent his
money for drink.
"When she finally found him, she found him in a saloon in the act of
handing over his last dollar to pay for liquor that others had drunk as
well as himself. She got the dollar some way and started home, when, as
she said, she fell. The dollar rolled into the street and a passerby
picked it up and pocketed it, in spite of the fact that she told him
that it was hers, and that it was the last.
"I shall never forget the way she looked when she came to this part of
her story. Her eyes brimmed with tears and her voice was lost in a great
big sob. She begged me, for the love of heaven, to go to her mother, who
must be half-crazed with grief because of her disappearance, and to take
her something to eat.
"So Mrs. Floyd fixed a basket of lunch and we went. A lump rose in my
throat when I went into that place. It was cold, very cold. Maggie's
mother was lying on a bed in one corner of the room, with one thin quilt
over her, and a tiny moaning baby at her breast. Sitting on a box near
the bed were two children, a small boy and a girl. They were huddled
under a fragment of blanket. The boy was crying for something to eat and
his sister was trying bravely to comfort him.
"There was not a spark of fire nor a crumb of food about the place. When
Mrs. Floyd opened the basket and the children saw what it contained,
they bounded toward it like wolves, and the woman reached out her thin
hand and said, eagerly: 'Give me some quick! I'm nearly starved, and the
baby is so weak--my breasts are dry.'
"I took off my glove and felt her hand, and I really thought she must be
frozen; but she said she had been that way so much she was growing used
to it.
"We stopped on our way home and ordered some coal, and later made a raid
on our closets and pantry and made up a load of stuff to take back. I
sent some good blankets and quite an assortment of clothing, so that by
night they were fairly comfortable.
"I went again the next day to see how they were getting along and to
give them news of Maggie, and while I was there the father came home for
the first time. He was over his spell of intoxication, but was weak, and
tottered like an old man. His eyes were bloodshot, and on the whole he
was not a very prepossessing looking gentleman, but I could not help
feeling sorry for him. It seemed so sad to see a being, created in the
image of God, such a miserable wreck.
"Casting his eye hurriedly around the room, he went to the bedside and
asked for Maggie. His wife told him how she had gone for him, how she
fell, and the rest of the story, and then he told his tale, and--can you
believe it, father--that man kicked the girl out of the door--kicked his
own daughter down the steps into the storm that night, and gave her the
injury from which she lies here under our roof now.
"My blood boiled, fairly boiled. I could feel it bubbling. His wife
turned her face to the tiny baby, and I could see her frame shake under
the cover. The man knelt beside the bed and wept, too, and again I was
sorry, with a sort of contempt mixed in, for the man.
"After a time his wife turned to him, and, resting her thin hand on his
head, spoke kindly to him, and referred him to the Lord for the strength
that he so sorely lacked. The man did pray, and I am sure he was in
earnest; and he asked his wife's forgiveness and took a solemn oath that
he would never touch another cursed drop."
"Good," ejaculated the judge.
"Good?" echoed Jean. "Wait, I have not finished yet. I went there
several times. I liked to go. It made me happy to see the look that was
coming into the woman's eyes. She took two half-dollar pieces from
under the pillow one morning, and proudly displayed them, telling me it
was the first time in a year her husband had given her so much. She said
she had hoped in vain, so many times, for him to reform that she had
given up hope, but that now she really believed poor Maggie's misfortune
would prove their blessing. They have not always been poor. Once, when
they were younger, they owned a nice home and the husband occupied a
good position. But he chose for his associates men who spent a good part
of their time in a certain fashionable downtown saloon, and to be social
he drank with them. He was not a man who could drink a great deal and
not become intoxicated, so, when he began to lie around drunk, they
pushed him out.
"Mrs. Crowley says the starting point of all their poverty and sorrow
and shame was on the threshold of the respectable gilt and glass palace
that bears over its doors the names of Allison, Russell & Joy. She knows
the place well. I think those gentlemen would not be pleased to hear the
things she says of them; for certain it is her husband would never have
been a drunkard if it had been necessary for him to have learned the
habit in a low grog shop."
Jean paused a second and looked at her father, but he seemed unaware of
her gaze, and she continued:
"Then I went in to-day to tell them that Maggie would be home in a few
days, and I found a change. The girl Cora was on the bed with her
mother. The blankets and sheets had disappeared. The few pieces of
furniture that the room contained were scattered in disorder. I will try
to tell the rest of the story as Mrs. Crowley told it to me. I will
never forget, father, the helpless despair that sounded in her voice and
manner as she talked.
"'Ah, Miss Thorn!' she said, wearily, 'It's all over--all gone. I should
have known better than to have hoped again; but hope is so sweet!
Yesterday morning my husband seemed more like himself than he has for
years. He kissed us when he went away and promised to be home early. We
were all very happy. He is such a kind, good man when he is himself. Oh!
if only he had never crossed the threshold of that gilded trap of hell.
Those men's names burn in my mind. I wonder if such men as Allison,
Russell and Joy have hearts.
"'Cora fixed supper, and then we waited. He did not come; but I felt so
sure some way that he would that I was not uneasy. The children finally
had to eat alone. About 9 o'clock he came. Dear Miss Thorn, if you have
never seen a raving, frenzied man, pray God you never may. This was the
way he came home. He had had just enough of liquor to fire up a gnawing,
burning pain and not enough to satisfy him. He came directly to the bed
and demanded the money he had given me in the morning. I told him it was
gone. He swore an oath, and asked me where. I told him Johnnie had spent
it for food. He swore another awful oath, and took up a stick of wood,
with which he began to beat the boy.
"'When you are a mother you can better imagine than I can describe how I
felt, lying helpless in bed, and seeing a man, my own husband, so
cruelly beating my innocent child. Cora, poor Cora, went bravely to her
brother's rescue, and her father, God forgive him, beat her until the
blood came from his blows, and she fell to the floor, and then he kicked
her.
"'I could stand this no longer. I sprang from the bed, but I was weak. I
could do nothing, and he, the man who promised before God to protect me,
kicked me, too. It seemed to me then that his boot-toe pierced my heart.
Johnnie ran out to call some one in, but before he returned my husband
had taken the blankets and other things that he could pawn and had gone.
"'Perhaps you think it strange for me to tell these things to you, but
my heart is bursting and my brain is on fire with such misery that I
must talk. Come and see what a man can do when crazed with rum--a good
father when he is himself--and in a Christian country! Where are the
preachers and the people who call themselves God's people, that they do
not drive away forever the cause of all this?'
"I looked at the girl Cora; and I wish, father, that she might be put on
exhibition in some public show window downtown, conspicuously labeled,
'A specimen of the work done by a father when under the effects of
Christian America's legal poison.'
"She was literally covered with wounds and her legs were so swollen she
could not walk.
"Now, father, get out your list of political parties, examine the
candidates, and put me where I belong. This is a question that must come
into politics, as all reforms come through the ballot-box, and I must
give my influence to that political party or power making this a
clear-cut issue. I am an Abolitionist."
"A what?"
"An Abolitionist."
"How is that?"
"Simply enough: I stand for the everlasting abolition of the liquor
traffic. It is quite the proper thing for the daughter of a Republican
to be an Abolitionist."
Judge Thorn laughed.
"You put your case plain enough," he said. "There is small room to doubt
how you stand, but I think that you will see that abolition in this case
would be impracticable. You know, my girl, in these days a half-loaf is
better than no bread. Political parties, like the grass of the field,
sprout up and die away. There are but two real parties. The fight on
leading issues is between them. All that is necessary for you to do is
to read the platforms of these two parties and make your choice.
Listen!"
He took down a political almanac from one of the library shelves.
"We are opposed," he read "to all sumptuary laws as an interference
with the individual rights of the citizen."
Jean sat rocking slowly, with her hands clasped behind her head. As her
father read her forehead wrinkled. After he had finished, she waited as
if expecting something more, then said:
"Is that all?"
"That is all."
"Then it occurs to me, if I can understand plain English, that this
party proposes to do nothing to stop the terrible drink curse. Bring on
another. That is not my party."
Judge Thorn read again, and this time with an air of profound
satisfaction:
"The first concern of all good government is the virtue and sobriety of
the people and the purity of the home."
Jean's face lit up, and she looked eagerly toward her father.
"We cordially sympathize," read on the judge, "with all wise and
well-directed efforts for the promotion of temperance and morality."
Jean sat looking into the fire. Her father waited a few seconds, then
she turned her face to him.
"And what do they propose to do?"
"Do?"
"Yes, DO! The cordial sympathy of the whole Republican party does not
make Mrs. Crowley any happier nor take any of the soreness out of
Cora's body, nor do anything toward curing poor Maggie; and I cannot
see how 'cordial sympathy' is going to shut up any saloons or keep Mr.
Crowley from getting drunk again. So far, so good, but read on. I am
anxious to learn what this party proposes to DO to promote 'temperance
and morality.'"
"That is all the platform contains on the subject," said Judge Thorn.
"Individuals are left to their own judgment as to the best methods to be
used in the restriction of the evil, although the policy of the party is
well known."
"It is?"
"High license."
"Does high license promote temperance and morality?"
"Certainly: high license closes a great many saloons entirely, and puts
the business in the hands of men who run respectable places."
"Respectable places!" quoted Jean, thoughtfully.
The judge looked at the fire in silence.
"And, father," persisted the earnest girl, "do statistics prove that
fewer licenses are issued in cities where high license laws are in
effect and that there is a decrease in crime and poverty?"
"To be sure. It must be so, for Republicans, as a rule, are the
temperance people and, as a rule, they indorse high license. But you
have heard the reading, 'All wise and well-directed _efforts_,' one is
at liberty to substitute no license by local option, or any other
restrictive measure he deems wise."
"Is there room on this broad platform for any liquor dealers?"
"Quite a number; and here again may be seen the higher moral tone of the
party, for nine times out of ten it is the better class of dealers who
are allied with it."
Jean leaned back in her chair and rocked. As she mused she rocked more
and more slowly, and when she stopped abruptly her father knew the
verdict was ready.
"Well, father, this much is settled: I do not believe in high license.
In the first place, I think it dishonest to let the rich man, who can
afford to do so, pay for the privilege of making more money and shut out
the poor man, who is trying to earn a living, because he is not already
rich. In the second place, it occurs to my mind, more so after knowing
Mrs. Crowley, that if license laws could be so arranged as to wipe out
the 'respectable' places, the low ones would soon follow. Public
sentiment would not tolerate them, and if it did, the coming generation
would not be lured to destruction by glitter and music.
"In the third place," and the girl sprang to her feet and stood looking
her father full in the face, "a man who labored fearlessly for the
overthrow of human slavery when public opinion pointed the finger of
scorn at him, said to me not long since: 'Regulations and restrictions
put on such a vice by the government are but its terms of partnership.'"
It took Judge Thorn half a minute to recognize his words. Then he
laughed.
"Jean, child, you are getting sharp. Your logic is all right, but you
must remember times have changed. This is different."
"I cannot see, father, that the moral issue is any different. Of the two
great evils, intemperance is certainly a greater curse than ever slavery
was; for while it has all the pain and heartaches and sorrow of every
description that accompanies slavery, the worst feature of it is that
hell is filling up with souls that drink their doom when they drain the
wine cup. I think I understand myself, father, and I say again, I am an
Abolitionist. Bring on some other party platform."
"There are no others but the labor organizations and the 'cranks.'"
"What do the labor people say?"
"They regard intelligence, virtue and temperance, important as they are,
as secondary to the great material issues now pressing for solution."
"And the 'cranks,' as you call them?"
"They have no policy, and their politics consists in trying to undo all
the temperance legislation they get through other parties because it
does not come through theirs. As a political party they are the most
fanatical and narrow-minded that history takes account of. Indeed, I
doubt not that, in certain instances, their obstinate opposition to men
and measures has been little short of criminal. But I will read:
"'We favor the legal prohibition by state and national legislation of
the manufacture, importation and sale of alcoholic beverages.'"
"Eureka!" she shouted. "I am not alone. How many others like me?"
"A quarter of a million, I presume," he answered, a trifle grimly.
"And must I take my stand in politics away from my dear father, who is
so wise and just?"
"You are young, Jean, and impulsive. You will see the matter in a
different light when you have given the subject more thought. I am old
now. For over half a century I have studied the affairs of men, and I
tell you the time is not now expedient for such an issue to be forced to
the front."
"When will it be?"
"When sentiment is strong enough behind the movement to enforce the
law."
"Strange," mused Jean. "One might almost imagine, by the amount of
resolving that has been done in the last few years, that sentiment was
strong enough to sink the traffic five miles deep in the ocean of
righteous indignation. I tell you, father, sentiment is the prime
essential of the whole thing; but as long as it floats around
everywhere, like moonshine, what is it good for? We need concentration
and crystallization now. In other words, I believe in a party of
embodied sentiment."