THE NATION'S DEFENDERS.
It was one of those prophetic days of early spring when heaven and earth
are filled with faint, far promises of the sunshine and verdure of the
summer, and when an expectant hush fills all the air, save as now and
then a breath of the awakening south wind stirs the faded memories of
last autumn's glories where the dried leaves cluster among the thickets
or in the fence corners.
The Thorn carriage occupied by Jean and the coachman, James, was rolling
along a stretch of suburban road.
Jean had just left the home of the Crowleys', and sat in a reverie of
sympathy and indignation. Personally she felt that she was absolutely
safe from any harm from the traffic in misery and death; but this very
fact made her more pitiful and more determined to use what influence and
power she could command against it. The carriage slowed up a bit where
the road divided.
"Which way, Miss Jean?"
"To the army post, James," and she continued her brown study, seeming to
notice nothing of the landscape until they entered the massive iron
gates of the reservation.
Just inside the gates, on either side, heavy cannons were grouped in
triangular fashion and surmounted with cones of cannon balls. At regular
intervals black sign-boards, bright with gilt lettering, gave notice
that just so far and no farther, and just so fast and no faster, the
public might travel in this well-arranged institution of the government.
The drive around the inclosure was a long one, and when the Thorn
carriage had reached the side farthest removed from the buildings, a
sudden jar and crash startled Jean, and suddenly she found herself lying
on the roadside.
Fortunately she was not hurt, and after she had brushed the dust from
her eyes and pinned a rent in her skirt she found that only a slight
break in the carriage had caused the accident. So after tying the horses
to a hitching post at some distance, James pushed the carriage to one
side, and with the broken part started to a blacksmith shop at no great
distance outside the post, Jean agreeing to wait for him, unless he
should be gone too long.
After James had disappeared behind the trees, Jean seated herself
comfortably on a bench near by, and with her head resting against a
majestic oak, gazed upward at the soft spring sky showing through the
brown network of the branches. A bird a great way off circled against
the floating clouds for a time and disappeared.
At one end of the inclosure the drill ground, checkered and bare, could
be seen. Through the trees the red brick walls of the houses in the
officers' quarters showed, while, looking in another direction, she
could see a number of stone buildings with porches running their entire
length, onto which opened many doors.
A little removed from all these was a common frame building, which,
judging by the number of soldiers gathered around it, was the popular
resort of the post. This was the canteen.
Jean's eyes fell with displeasure upon this. It seemed to her like a
dark blot upon an otherwise fair picture; like a grave mistake in an
otherwise well-ordered institution.
A couple of peafowl trailed their plumage over the dry brown grass
across the way from her, and in the slanting rays of the sun they looked
like brilliant jewels against the rough and dingy background. But their
harsh notes seemed at variance with their beauty, and this, too, made
Jean think of the government--a government born more beautiful than any
other, and reared in its infancy with the care of a child, yet
presenting to the world, by its administration, which is a government's
voice, an inconsistency appalling.
Far from broken axles and torn skirts Jean's thoughts traveled, until
she was brought to a sense of her surroundings by footsteps, and looking
up she saw that two soldiers had turned the curve that shut off the view
of the main road and were coming toward her.
One was a thick-set man of about middle age. He had that untidy
appearance that marks a slovenly person, and will appear even in a
soldier in spite of all wise and well-directed efforts on the part of a
government to keep him neat. His large, light gray, campaign hat was
pulled down well over his eyes and a short cob pipe was clinched between
his teeth.
The other man was younger and not as heavy. He wore a long coat, open
from the neck down, and his cap, set on one side of his head, left his
bleared and bloated face in full view.
As they came nearer the younger man staggered fearfully, and Jean knew
that he was intoxicated. A feeling, half fear and half loathing, took
possession of her as these two ill-visaged privates came nearer; but
supposing they would pass, she kept her seat.
"Take-a-hic-your pipe-a-hic-out, in-a-hic-the presence of-a-hic-ladies,"
the man in the long cloak said.
The thick-set man took his pipe from his teeth and knocked the ashes out
against the palm of his hand.
They were directly in front of Jean now.
The man in the long cloak made a tottering bow and addressed her.
"May a-hic we sit down?"
"Certainly," said Jean, the blood rushing to her face at their boldness,
and she hurriedly started to her feet.
"Keep-a-hic-your seat and-a-hic-don't get agitated;
we're-a-hic-gentle-mench."
The thick-set man had already seated himself, and the other man
followed his example, forcing Jean to a place by his side.
Judging the thick-set man to be the least intoxicated and more decent,
she appealed to him for protection. The lower part only of his face was
visible, but she saw that he laughed.
"He don't mean no harm. Keep still and he'll go on about his business,"
he assured her.
Jean's face blazed and her heart beat with the force of four.
The tall man emptied his mouth of tobacco juice and other fluids and
substances, and the sickening mixture fell so close to Jean's foot that
her boot was spattered. Then he wiped the dribbles on the back of his
hand and turned to her.
He bent so close that his hot, foul breath struck her with staggering
force and his bloated face almost touched her cheek.
"You're-a-hic-a little peach," he said, with a leer,
"and-a-hic-I'm-a-hic-a going to k-k-kiss you."
It was then Jean screamed with all her might, and at the same moment a
man sprang to her rescue from a light buggy that had rounded the bend of
the drive unobserved.
The thick-set man suddenly disappeared, but the other soldier, either
too drunk for rapid movement or too muddled to understand the gravity of
the situation, only rose to his feet and stood leering at Jean with
disgusting admiration.
The next instant he was felled to the earth and a broad-shouldered man
stood over him ready to render a second blow if occasion demanded.
The soldier made an attempt to rise.
"Lie there, you brute," the man cried, hotly, and the drunken fellow
obeyed.
"Nice-a-hic-way to treat a-hic-man that's
protecting-a-hic-the-a-hic-honor-a-hic, the honor of----" he muttered.
But the gentleman turned to the woman, and Jean, trembling with fear and
indignation, with crimson cheeks and flashing eyes, looked a second time
into the face of the gentlemanly liquor dealer.
"I am so glad you came!" she gasped, and held out her hand to him.
As they turned to his buggy the gentleman cast a glance back at the
prostrate soldier, who had crawled behind a bush to sleep until removed
to the guardhouse.
"Such creatures are a disgrace to a civilized government," he exclaimed,
with ill-concealed wrath.
"Our government is a disgrace to itself," she added. "It creates such
creatures by a legal process, and yonder is the factory," and she
pointed in the direction of the canteen.
"Canteen beer--canteen beer," she began again, with warmth, but stopped,
for she knew that she was very much excited and that she might not speak
wisely.
If she had opened an argument with the gentleman at her side she would
have found that he was well posted with the old arguments about the
canteen being an institution to keep the soldiers from the greed of evil
saloons outside the different posts, but her companion respected her
silence, and did not speak until they had passed the great iron gate,
when it became necessary.
"Now," said he, "if you will direct the way, and have no objections, it
will give me pleasure to see you safely home."
"I am Miss Thorn," said Jean, giving him her address.
"Miss Thorn? Perhaps you are related to Judge Thorn?"
"I am," replied Jean, smiling.
"That is nice. I have had the pleasure of meeting the judge, and I do
not know a man whom I would rather oblige. He is a man all men honor."
"I am his daughter," Jean said, proudly, "and I assure you my father
will feel under lasting obligations to you for your kindness to me this
afternoon, Mr. ----"
"Allison," the gentleman said.
"Allison?" It was Jean's turn to look surprised.
"Yes, madam. Allison--Gilbert Allison."
"Not of the firm of Allison, Russell & Joy?"
"The same, madam."
She looked at him with mingled wonder and regret. The firm name of
Allison, Russell & Joy to her mind was a synonym for heartless
destruction of happiness and life. The traffic itself was a great evil
generality, and as such met condemnation. But in generalities, as in
mountain ranges, there are specific points that tower out distinctively
for consideration. Such a pinnacle of iniquity this liquor firm had
seemed to Jean to be since her acquaintance with the Crowleys.
"You must be mistaken," she observed at length.
Gilbert Allison had been amused before. Now he laughed. "If I am
mistaken, life has been a vast mistake," he said, "for I have supposed
myself to be this same Allison for over thirty years. But why do you
think so?"
Jean shook her head sadly.
"I do not understand it at all," she said, gravely.
"I beg your pardon; but if you will explain to me the trouble, perhaps I
may be able to enlighten your understanding."
"I do not understand how the same person can be so kind and yet so
cruel. I do not understand how one person can risk his life to save a
life--for perhaps you saved mine to-day--and yet cause death, and you
have been the cause of death."
Jean spoke slowly and looked grave.
Mr. Allison felt like laughing again, but politely refrained.
"I have been accused of a number of things in my life," he said,
good-naturedly, "but, until to-day, murder has been omitted from the
list."
"There are different modes of procedure--but murder is murder after
all!"
"Certainly, but I was not aware that I had been connected with a
'procedure.'"
"Men deal out slow death for gold and trust its clinking rattle to still
the groans and cryings that they cause." Jean spoke reflectively, as if
to herself. "In savage countries where there is no Christianity, where
all is black, human life is sometimes offered as a sacrifice to gods.
Here in Christian America an altar is piled high with mother hearts and
manhood and immortal souls.
"This sacrifice goes on unceasingly; the altar fires are never out, and
the wail of the little ones and the groans of the crushed that go up
from this great altar only cause this god to laugh.
"This god is made of atoms. EVERY ATOM IS A MAN.
"All this time the Christian men of this Christian nation stand around
in a great circle, weeping and calling on a Christian's God to hasten
the day when this other god shall be ground to dust, meantime mocking
their God by legalizing this monstrous thing with their ballots."
Mr. Allison had probably never heard a young lady talk exactly as this
one talked, and yet he enjoyed it, and watched the motion of her hand as
she used it to impress her words.
"I am afraid I do not understand you even yet," he said, when she
paused. "Do you refer to the tariff or seal fisheries or female
suffrage or war or what?"
"I refer to the rum power in America. That is the god I mean. The most
heartless, depraved monopoly on earth, yet men and governments grovel in
the dust at its feet and cringe like dogs before its power."
Mr. Allison was silent, and she continued, presently, turning her face
to him.
"It has always seemed to me that the firm of Allison, Russell & Joy was
an important part of this great iniquity; partly, I presume, because I
happen to be acquainted with a family that has been utterly destroyed by
that firm. Tell me truly--have they, have YOU never heard wails and
cries and bitter prayers in the stillness of the night? Have you never
felt the burden of your _awful_ sin?"
Mr. Allison smiled.
"I am sure," he said, "I have never heard any weeping or wailing that I
have been aware of, and really I hope to be pardoned, but the burden
that you speak of has failed to make itself felt."
"Well, you will hear it some day. Even legal, licensed murder will have
its reckoning time. You will see a face some day; you will hear a voice
that will haunt you like the wail of a lost soul."
Mr. Allison shrugged his shoulders as if in apprehension.
"I hope not," he said; "but Miss Thorn, I am afraid you do not enjoy the
society of a liquor dealer."
"On general principles, no. And yet I have enjoyed yours very much this
afternoon, you may be sure. I thank you for it, and--I am sorry that you
are a 'man atom' of the great iniquity."
"I am sorry that you are sorry," he answered, and then the Thorn
homestead rose in view.
"I never was so frightened in my life," Jean said, as they drove in
front of the gate. "It seems that no one is safe from insult and injury
in a land where liquor is a legalized drink. I never thought that I
should fall a victim to it."
"Or be rescued by a liquor dealer."
"That is true," and Jean laughed merrily.
Then she thanked him again, and for half a minute he held her small,
gloved hand in his, as he assisted her from the buggy.
"It is I who am grateful that Fate allowed me to be the knight." Then he
lifted his hat gallantly, and Jean was gone, but her parting smile
stayed with him.