VIEWLESS FETTERS
Although Mr. Jocelyn had retired so early and slept heavily until
an hour that at the farmhouse was late, the reader knows that
his sleep was not the natural repose which brings freshness and
elasticity. His wife and Mildred, however, did not know this, and
his languor, continued drowsiness, and depression, which even much
effort could not disguise, confirmed their dread of an impending
illness. He saw their anxiety, and took advantage of their fears
to hide his weakness.
"Yes," he sighed, in response to their gentle solicitude as he pushed
away his almost untasted breakfast, "I suppose my health has been
impaired by worry of mind and the heat in town. I'm better, though,
than I have been. I don't see how you are going to endure the city."
They both assured him, however, that they would not even consider
any other arrangement except that already agreed upon, and urged
that he should return to town that very day, his wife adding that
just as soon as he had secured rooms within their means she would
join him and prepare them for the family.
"Oh, Nan," he again said dejectedly, "it's a cruel fate which
compels me to take you to a tenement-house in August."
"It would be far more cruel to leave me here," his wife answered
earnestly. "I could be happy anywhere if you were your old natural
self once more. Millie and I can both see that struggling alone
and brooding by yourself over your troubles is not good for you,"
and her gentle but determined purpose carried the day.
Mr. Jocelyn was then directed to a somewhat distant field, where
he found Roger, who readily agreed to take him to the steamboat
landing in the afternoon. Lifting his eyes from his work a few
moments afterward, the young man saw that his visitor, instead of
returning to the house, had sat down under a clump of trees and
had buried his face in his hands.
"There's a screw loose about that man," he muttered. "He's too uneven.
Yesterday at dinner he was the most perfect gentleman ever I saw;
in the afternoon he had a fit of pompous hilarity and condescension;
then came abstraction, as if his mind had stepped out for a time;
and now, after twelve hours of sleep, instead of feeling like
a lark, he looks as though he might attend his own funeral before
night, and walks as if his feet were lead. He mopes there under
the trees when he has but a few more hours with his family. If I
had such a wife and such a daughter as he has, I'd cut a swath for
them, no matter what stood in the way."
But Roger's censure was slight compared with that which Mr. Jocelyn
visited upon himself; and in order to understand his feelings and
conduct, it will be necessary to relate some experiences which
occurred after the departure of his family to the country. Throughout
the entire winter he had been under a severe strain of business
anxiety, and then had come the culminating scenes of failure,
loss of income, and enforced and unhappy separation. His natural
depression had been so increased by the meagre prospect of finding
employment which would yield his family an adequate support, that
even his increased and more frequent indulgence in his morphia
powders failed to give sufficient hopefulness and courage, while at
the same time they began to produce some serious disorders in his
system. There is a class of diseases which rarely fails to attack
one whose system is reduced and enfeebled, and neuralgia began
to bind across his forehead a daily pressure of pain that at last
became intolerable. Ordinary remedies not giving speedy relief,
his physician injected into his arm a few drops of the solution
of morphia. Thus far he had never used the drug in solution
hypodermically, and he was much surprised by the agreeable effects
of a very much smaller quantity than he had been accustomed to
use on any one occasion, and his morphia hunger--already firmly
established--immediately suggested that the little syringe might
become a far more potent agent than the powders. Therefore he
induced the physician to give him an order for the instrument, and
to explain more fully the methods of its use, saying that attacks
of neuralgia were generally rather obstinate in his case, and that
he had neither the time nor the means to seek his services very
often.
The physician's few words of warning made but slight impression
upon the infatuated man at the time. Mr. Jocelyn remembered only
that he had an intolerable pain in his head and a heavy weight upon
his heart. Many a time during the long civil war he had smilingly
led charges wherein the chances of death were greater than those
of life, but neither then nor since had he ever displayed any great
aptitude for quiet endurance and self-control. Now every day was
precious, and he felt he could not give himself up to pain and
patient waiting until the disease could be conquered in a slow,
legitimate way, when by a wound no more than a pin-prick he could
obtain courage, happiness, and prospects illimitable.
Having obtained the syringe and a vial of the solution of morphia,
he injected into his arm a much larger quantity than the physician
would have dreamed of employing. Not only did the unendurable
anguish pass away within a few brief moments, but the world was
transfigured; life's grim outlook became full of the richest promise,
and discouragement and dread vanished utterly. So far from fearing
that he could not provide for his family, he was sure that he
could win for them abundance and luxury. A dozen avenues to fortune
opened before him, and he felt that his only task was to choose,
believing that in some indefinite yet easily discerned way he
would achieve more than falls to the lot of most men to accomplish.
Instead of a long, sleepless night like those which had preceded,
his waking dreams ended in quiet and equally pleasant visions--then
oblivion, which did not pass away until the morning sun was shining.
But with the new day came a new access of pain and gloom, and the
aid of the magic little instrument was invoked once more. Again
within a few moments the potent drug produced a tranquil elysium
and a transformed world of grand possibilities. With a vigor which
seemed boundless, and hopes which repeated disappointments could
not dampen, he continued his quest for employment until in the
declining day his spirits and energy ebbed as strangely as they had
risen in the morning, and after another night of dreams and stupor
he awoke in torture. The powerful stimulant enabled him to repeat
the experiences of the previous day, and for two or three weeks
he lived in the fatal but fascinating opium paradise, gradually
increasing the amount of morphia that his system, dulled by habit,
demanded. In the meantime, by the lavish use of quinine he gradually
banished his neuralgia with its attendant pain.
It is well known to those familiar with the character of opium that
its effects are greatly enhanced at first by any decided change in
the method of its use; also that its most powerful and immediate
influences can be produced solely by the hypodermic needle, since
by means of it the stimulant is introduced at once into the system.
When taken in powders, the glow, the serenity, and exaltation come
on more slowly, and more gradually pass away, causing alternations
of mood far less noticeable than those produced by immediate
injection of the poison. Therefore it was not at all strange that
Mr. Jocelyn's family should remain in complete ignorance of the
habit which was enslaving him, or that his behavior failed to excite
the faintest suspicion of the threatening influences at work. There
is no vice so secret as that of the opium slave's, none that is in
its earlier stages more easily and generally concealed from those
who are nearest and dearest. The changes produced in Mr. Jocelyn
were very gradual, and seeing him daily even his loving wife did
not note them.
During the period of unnatural exaltation that has been described
he had accepted agencies which promised thousands if he could sell
millions of dollars' worth of goods, and after the subtle morphia
had infused itself through his system nothing seemed easier; but
dreams are not realities, and after grand hopes unfulfilled, and
futile efforts, he would sink into a despondency from which nothing
could lift him save the little syringe that he carried hidden next
to his heart. As its magic never failed him, he went on for a time,
blind to the consequences. At last he began to grow more alarmed
than ever before at the ascendency of the drug and his dependence
upon it, but when he tried to discontinue its use he found that he
had been living so long under the influence of a powerful stimulant
that without it he sank like a stone. Then came the usual compromise
of all weak souls--he would gradually decrease the amount and then
the frequency of its use; but, as is generally the case, he put off
the beginning of sturdy self-denial until the morrow, and almost
every day he poisoned his system with that which also poisoned and
demoralized his soul. He dimly saw his danger, but did not realize
it. With the fatuity of all self-indulgent natures he thought the
day would come when, with better prospects and health renewed, he
would throw away the spell which bound him and become a free man,
but day after day passed and he did not; his appetite began to
flag and his energy also; he would sit dreaming for hours when he
might have been at work. At best his agencies would give him but a
scanty revenue, although pushed with extraordinary skill and vigor.
As it was, they yielded him little more than personal support, and
he began to entertain the hope that if he could only obtain regular
employment he could then resume his old regular habits. Therefore
he had agreed to accept a position which was little more than
a foothold, and yet if he would go to work with a determined and
patient industry he might, by means of it, win more than he had
lost.
Could he do this? The Sunday he had just spent with his family had
awakened him as never before to a sense of his bondage. Even with
the society of those he loved to enliven and sustain he had felt
that he could not get through the day without the help of the
stimulant upon which he had grown so dependent. While at church
it was not the clergyman's voice he heard, but a low yet imperious
and incessant cry for opium. As he rode home, smiling upon his wife
and children, and looking at the beautiful and diversified country,
between them and the landscape he ever saw a little brass instrument
gauged at four or five times the amount that the physician had
at first inserted in his arm. At the dinner table he had spoken
courteously and well on many subjects, and yet ever uppermost in
his mind was one constant thought--opium. The little diabolical
thing itself seemed alive in his pocket, and made its faint yet
potent solicitation against his heart. At last he had muttered, "I
will just take a little of the cursed stuff, and then I must begin
to break myself in dead earnest."
The reader knows what followed. Moreover, he was led to fear that
the alternations of mood caused by injections of morphia would be
so great that they could not fail to excite remark. Although the
new day brought every motive which can influence a man, Mr. Jocelyn
found the path to freedom so steep and difficult that the ascent
seemed well-nigh impossible. His muscles were relaxed, his whole
frame so weary and limp that he even dreaded the effort required
to return to the house where his family was waiting for him. But
the physical oppression was nothing to that which weighed upon his
mind. The sense of misery and discouragement was paralyzing, and
he was fairly appalled by his lack of energy. And yet he felt his
need of power and resolution as keenly as he realized his feebleness.
He knew that he had appeared unnatural to his wife and children,
and that while they now ascribed his behavior to the long strain
he had been under, their loving and charitable blindness could not
last if he often exhibited before them such variable moods and
conditions. Therefore he felt that he must overcome the habit before
they were together permanently, for to permit them to discover his
vile weakness in this time of their great need would be a mortal
wound to his pride. All his manhood revolted at the bare thought.
Their trust, their love, their dependence and unrepining courage
in meeting poverty and privation with him imposed the strongest
and most sacred of obligations, and his high sense of honor--which
hitherto had been his religion--made failure to meet these
obligations the most awful disaster that could overwhelm him. The
means of escaping from his wretchedness and dejection--from the
horrible lassitude of body and soul--could be grasped in a moment,
and the temptation to use them and become within a few minutes
a strong, sanguine, courageous man was almost irresistible; but
he knew well that such an abrupt change from the heavy, dull-eyed
condition in which they had seen him at the breakfast table could
not fail to arouse suspicion; and should they once discern his
crime--for crime he now regarded it--he feared his self-respect
would be so destroyed that he would never have the pride and strength
for the struggle now clearly foreseen; therefore, with the instinct
of self-preservation, and from the impulse of all his native and
long-fostered Southern pride, he resolved that they must never know
his degradation. He must rally his shattered forces, spend the few
hours before his departure with his family in a way to lull all
fears and surmises; then when away by himself he would tug at his
chain until he broke it. Summoning the whole strength of his will
he returned to the house, and succeeded fairly well.
Could he break his chain? The coming pages of this book will reveal
his struggle and its termination. Alas! it is no fancy sketch, but
a record of human experience that is becoming sadly frequent. The
hunger for opium had grown upon Mr. Jocelyn by its almost constant
use for nearly two years. During weeks of pain he had almost
lived upon the drug, saturating his system with it. It had come to
him like an angel of light, lifting him on buoyant pinions out of
suffering and despondency, but the light was fading from the wings
and brow of this strong spirit, and it was already seen to be an
angel of darkness.
At this time Mr. Jocelyn might have escaped from his thraldom, but
would he? The world is full of people who are proud and self-respecting
in the extreme, who are honorable and virtuous, good and kindly
at heart, but whose wills are nerveless, though they may go safely
through life without suspecting the truth; but if they fall under
the influence of an evil habit--if they pass under this mightiest
and darkest of all spells, opium hunger--they may learn their
weakness in despair.
Mr. Jocelyn, however, had no thought of despair; he was only
surprised, humiliated, and somewhat alarmed; he was satisfied that
he must drift no longer, and in perfect sincerity resolved to make
the most of his brief separation from his family, hoping that with
a physician's advice he could speedily overcome his morbid craving
and distressing need. He left the farmhouse with the resolution that
he would never touch the drug again, believing that before a week
expired the horrible depression, both mental and physical, would
so far pass away as to excite no further suspicion.
For an hour he rode at Roger's side, rigid, taciturn, and pale; for
except when heated by exercise his wonted ruddy color was passing
away from the effects of the poison. Roger drove around to the
large hotel, which was not much out of their way, and said, "Mr.
Jocelyn, will you please take the lines a few moments? I have an
errand here, but it won't keep me long."
Having transacted his business he stood in the office door watching
a young man who sauntered toward him. The stranger was almost as
tall as himself, but much slighter. While his carriage was easy
and graceful, it was marked by an air of lassitude and weariness,
and his step lacked firmness. A heavy mustache relieved his face
from effeminacy, but his large, dark eyes were dull and apathetic.
Suddenly they lighted up with recognition; he hesitated, and then
hastily advanced toward Mr. Jocelyn, but his steps were speedily
checked, for the moment the gentleman recognized him he bowed very
coldly and turned haughtily away. The young man flushed deeply,
stood still a moment in irresolution, and then with a swift glance
into Roger's interested face turned and quickly disappeared. Before
Roger could resume his place in the wagon the proprietor of the
hotel came out and called him back; something had been forgotten.
This interruption was fatal to Mr. Jocelyn's good resolutions. Vinton
Arnold, who had won his daughter's affection, but who seemingly had
not the manhood to be faithful in her adversity, was the one whom
he had repulsed, and the thought of his wealth and luxury, while
he was on his way to seek a home in a tenement for his beautiful
child, so maddened him that he drove recklessly to an adjacent
shed, which shielded him from observation, snatched out his fatal
syringe, and in a moment the poison was diffusing itself through
all his system. He had returned again before Roger, who had been
detained some moments, reappeared, but now his heavy eyes were
bright and fiery, and his tongue unloosed.
"Did you see that young man to whom I refused to speak?" he asked
as they drove away.
"Yes."
"Well, he's a white-livered scoundrel. He's a type of your
Northern gentlemen. A Southern man would starve rather than act so
pusillanimously. Of course I'm not going to talk of family secrets,
or say anything not befitting a high-toned gentleman, but I taught
that snob how a man of honor regards his cowardice and cold-bloodedness.
He was one of our fair-weather friends, who promptly disappeared
when the sky clouded. Here he is, dawdling around a high-priced
hotel, while I'm on my way to seek rooms in a tenement for those
to whom he is not worthy to speak; but the time shall come, and
speedily, too, when even on the base plane of money--the sole claim
of his proud family for consideration--we shall meet him and scorn
him as his superiors. I have plans, business prospects--" and he
launched forth into such a vague, wild statement of his projects
that Eoger looked at him in silent amazement, half doubting his
sanity.
In his haste Mr. Jocelyn had not carefully gauged his syringe, and
the over-amount of morphia thrown into his system so stimulated him
that his words appeared exceedingly irrational to the young man,
whose judgment was based on unusual shrewdness and common-sense. He
was greatly puzzled by the sudden change in his companion. It was
evident that he had not been drinking, for his breath was untainted
and his utterance was natural. But his face was flushed, and he
seemed possessed by a strange, unbalanced mental exaltation which
led him to speak as no sensible man ought in any circumstances,
and certainly not to a stranger. Roger therefore interrupted him
saying, "I shall respect your confidence, Mr. Jocelyn, and will
never repeat what you have said. Please let me suggest, however,
that it would be wise not to speak so frankly to others, since they
might take advantage of you."
"Please let me assure YOU," resumed Mr. Jocelyn, with the most
impressive dignity, "that I am a man of the world, and that I have
seen a great deal of the world. I can read men as you would read
a book. If you were not trustworthy I should know it at a glance.
Did you not see how I treated that young jackanapes? His wealth and
elegance did not impose upon me in the least. You are trustworthy.
You have a large, aspiring mind, and yet you know your station; you
would not dream of presuming. What does it signify that we are poor
for the moment? True Southern blood is in our veins, and I have a
dozen plans for securing large wealth. When that day comes I shall
remember those who basely turned their backs on us in our brief
obscurity;" and thus he rambled on, while Roger listened coldly
and in silence.
"There is method is his madness," he said to himself; "he is not
so daft but that he hints broadly I must keep my station and not be
'presuming.' His proud daughter hints as much still more plainly.
Well, we'll see whose dreams find the larger fulfilment--his or
mine."
By the time they reached the landing the sun was low in the west,
and his companion had become comparatively silent, dreamy, and
abstracted. Half an hour later Roger went on board of the boat with
some solicitude to see how he was faring. Mr. Jocelyn started out
of what appeared a deep reverie as Roger addressed him, and said,
after a moment's thought, "Please say to my family that you left
me well, and safely on my way," and with a quiet and rather distant
bow he resumed his absorbing thoughts.
The steamer moved away, but instead of returning directly home Roger
went back to the hotel. Even amid the hallucinations of opium the
father had too much instinctive delicacy to mention Mildred's name
or to make any reference to Arnold's intentions; but the quick-witted
fellow gained the impression that the elegant young stranger had
been a welcome and favored suitor in the past better days, and he
had a consuming wish to see and study the kind of man that he surmised
had been pleasing to Mildred. As he rode along, pity for the girl
took the place of resentment. "Not our plain little farmhouse, but
the fashionable hotel, is the place where she would feel the most
at home," he thought. "And yet she is going to a tenement-house!
There, too, she'll stay, I fear, for all that her father will ever
do for her. If he's not off his balance, I never saw a man that
was."