Old Bill M— was a drunkard. Everybody knew it. People expected to see him
stagger as he walked; that was the common thing. As a young man he had
been the leader among his chums, and people thought he would make his mark
in the world. He had excelled most of his companions, but alas! it was not
in the things that make men noble and great. As people said, “The drink
was getting him.” He was a familiar figure in each of the three saloons in
A—. He was popular, for he was good-natured and jolly. He was still the
leader of a company, who called themselves the “bunch.” Each night they
made the rounds of the saloons, then at a late hour staggered homeward.
Yes, Old Bill was a drunkard. He had tried many times to quit. His friends
had warned him and advised him to quit. His wife had begged him a hundred
times, with tears running down her face. He had promised again and again,
had tried, over and over, to master the habit, but it held him fast. One
night when he went home, drunk as usual, he found his wife seriously ill.
Three days he watched by her bedside, and then the end came. In her dying
hour she laid her hand on his and asked him once more for her sake, and
his own, to quit drinking. Bill promised with hot tears falling like rain,
and he meant it with all his heart.
Two days later he followed her body to the church, and as he took his last
look at that still form, he vowed with all his strength of will never to
touch drink again. He walked silently back to his home, but it was not
home any more. He was heart-broken. What would he do? How could he bear
it? Presently two of his comrades came out to sympathize with him. After
talking a while, one pulled a bottle from his pocket, saying, “Here, Bill,
take a bit to brace you up.” “No, Jack,” he answered, “I’m going to quit
the stuff; I promised her I would.” “That’s all right,” said Jack, “but
you need a little now for your nerves.” He lifted the bottle to his own
lips, then held it uncorked in his hand. The odor entered Bill’s nostrils,
the old appetite asserted itself, and before he knew it he had seized the
bottle. A minute later it was empty! When Bill next came to realize what
was happening, it was a week later. He had been drunk all the time; he did
not even know what day it was; but when he realized what had happened, he
was stricken with remorse. He knew now, as never before, that drink was
his master.
Two years passed. His few belongings had been sold to pay the funeral
expenses; the remainder had gone for drink. Another family lived in the
home now. Mr. Wilson, a kind neighbor, had given him a home, and he worked
for him when he was sober enough. One evening as he was making his way to
the saloon as usual, he heard singing. “That’s strange,” he muttered;
“wonder what’s going on?” He turned and walked toward the singing and soon
found a large tent filled with people. “Queer-looking show,” he thought as
he approached the entrance. A pleasant-faced young man stepped up to him
and said, “Come in, Bill, and I will get you a good seat.” He mechanically
followed the usher in. The singing was good, and he enjoyed it. Presently
a man arose and, with tears running down his face, related that he had
been a drunkard, and that after years of trying to overcome the habit, he
had finally turned to God for help, and that he was now a free and happy
man. Bill understood the struggle part, but not the rest. He knew what it
meant to fail, and as he pondered he thought of his wife. Did she know how
he had broken his promise? Did she weep over him now as she used to?
Some one entered the pulpit and talked for a long time, but Bill did not
hear anything he said. Bill was thinking, thinking. There was a man who
had “beat the drink,” and he said the Lord had helped him. Bill wondered
if the Lord would help him. When the preacher finished, the first man rose
again; Bill straightened up and looked keenly. “Yes,” he thought, “he has
been a drinker all right, and a hard one; his face shows it.” The speaker
was inviting men to Christ for the help they needed.
Old Bill never quite knew how it happened, but he suddenly found himself
up in front holding the stranger’s hand and telling him that he wanted
help to quit drink. Side by side they knelt while the saved man earnestly
poured out his heart to God for the drunkard. Old Bill did not know how to
pray, he had never tried in his life, but he wanted help; all his soul
longed for it. He listened to the other man praying. He was asking for
just what Bill needed; his heart joined in. Yes, he wanted to quit
drinking; he wanted to be a good man, but he had to have help. The other
man prayed as though God were right close by, and Bill felt that He must
be, so he said: “Yes, God, I’ll quit it if you’ll help me. I’ll be a man
if you’ll help me, but I can’t do it by myself!” That was all, but he
meant it, and he felt that God would help him. A strange, quiet peace came
into his heart, and he really felt happy. He went home sober that night.
Some of the “bunch” outside the tent had seen Bill go forward, and soon
the news was in all the saloons. “He’ll be back by Saturday night,” they
said. But he did not come back. Instead he was in the meeting telling the
people what wonderful things God had done for him. He did not want strong
drink any more at all, he declared. The “bunch” did not believe this. They
laughed and made many prophecies; they waited week by week, but Old Bill
came to the saloon no more. Two years passed; Bill lived a joyful
Christian life and never tired of telling what the Lord had done for him.
He went out to a country schoolhouse, where he organized a Sunday-school
and labored zealously and successfully.
There were many temptations. At first the “bunch” laughed and made him the
butt of many rude jests, then they laid plans to trap him. One day one of
them stuck an open whisky-bottle under his nose, saying, “Smell it, Bill;
ain’t it a fine odor?” Bill stepped back, all smiles, and said quietly,
“Well, Tom, drink was my master a long time, but I have a better Master
now.” He went on his way unobstrusively but steadily, and finally won the
respect and confidence of all.
At last the end came; Old Bill was dead. There was a peaceful smile upon
his face, for his sun had gone down in splendor. The “bunch” followed him
to the grave. They could not quite understand even yet what had happened
to him. It was a wonderful change, and his life had won their respect, and
they followed him silently to his last resting-place. After the burial
they stood talking it over in a little group by themselves, “I thought the
drink had him sure,” said one; “I don’t see how he beat it.” “It was not
Bill who did it,” said a quiet voice behind them; “it was Jesus Christ.”
They turned and saw the pastor walking away. “Guess the parson must have
it right,” said one of them. “It was a pretty good job, too.”