WE will not trace, minutely, the particulars attendant on the headlong
downward course of Henry Ellis. The causes leading thereto have been
fully set forth, and we need not refer back to them. Enough, that the
fall was complete. The wretched man appeared to lose all strength of
mind, all hope in life, all self-respect. Not even a feeble effort was
opposed to the down-rushing torrent of disaster that swept away every
vestige of his business. For more than a week he kept himself so
stupefied with brandy, that neither friends nor creditors could get
from him any intelligible statement in regard to his affairs. In the
wish of the latter for an assignment, he passively acquiesced, and
permitted all his effects to be taken from his hands. And so he was
thrown upon the world, with his family, helpless, penniless, crushed in
spirit, and weak as a child in the strong grasp of an over-mastering
appetite, which had long been gathering strength for his day of
weakness.
Over the sad history of the succeeding five years let us draw a veil.
We have no heart to picture its suffering, its desolation, its
hopelessness. If, in the beginning, there was too much pride in the
heart of Mrs. Ellis, all was crushed out under the iron heel of grim
adversity. If she had once thought too much of herself, and too little
of her husband, a great change succeeded; for she clung to him in all
the cruel and disgusting forms his abandonment assumed, and, with a
self-sacrificing devotion, struggled with the fearful odds against her
to retain for her husband and children some little warmth in the humble
home where they were hidden from the world in which they once moved.
From the drunkard, angels withdraw themselves, and evil spirits come
into nearer companionship; hence, the bestiality and cruelty of
drunkenness. The man, changing his internal associates, receives by
inflex a new order of influence, and passively acts therefrom. He
becomes, for the time, the human agent by which evil spirits effect
their wicked purposes; and it usually happens that those who are
nearest allied to him, and who have the first claims on him for
support, protection, and love, are they who feel the heaviest weight of
infernal malice. The husband and father too often becomes, in the hands
of his evil associates, the cruel persecutor of those he should love
and guard with the tenderest solicitude. So it was in the case of Henry
Ellis. His manly nature underwent a gradually progressing change, until
the image of God was wellnigh obliterated from his soul. After the
lapse of five miserable years, let us introduce him and his family once
more to the reader.
Five years! What a work has been done in that time! Not in a pleasant
home, surrounded with every comfort, as we last saw them, will they be
found. Alas, no!
It was late in the year. Frost had already done its work upon the
embrowned forests, and leaf by leaf the withered foliage had dropped
away or been swept in clouds before the autumnal winds. Feebler and
feebler grew, daily, the sun's planting rays, colder the air, and more
cheerless the aspect of nature.
One evening,--it was late in November, and the day had been damp and
cold,--a woman, whose thin care-worn face and slender form marked her
as an invalid, or one whose spirits had been broken by trouble, was
busying herself in the preparation of supper. A girl, between twelve
and thirteen years of age, was trying to amuse a child two years old,
who, from some cause, was in a fretful humour; and a little girl in her
seventh year was occupied with a book, in which she was spelling out a
lesson that had been given by her mother. This was the family, or,
rather, a part of the family of Henry Ellis. Two members were absent,
the father and the oldest boy. The room was small, and meagerly
furnished, though every thing was clean and in order. In the centre of
the floor, extending, perhaps, over half thereof, was a piece of faded
carpet. On this a square, unpainted pine table stood, covered with a
clean cloth and a few dishes. Six common wooden chairs, one or two low
stools or benches, a stained work-stand without drawers, and a few
other necessary articles, including a bed in one corner, completed the
furniture of this apartment, which was used as kitchen and sitting-room
by the family, and, with a small room adjoining, constituted the entire
household facilities of the family.
"Henry is late this evening," remarked Mrs. Ellis, as she laid the last
piece of toast she had been making on the dish standing near the fire.
"He ought to have been here half an hour ago."
"And father is late too," said Kate, the oldest daughter, who was
engaged with the fretful child.
"Yes--he is late," returned Mrs. Ellis, as if speaking to herself. And
she sighed heavily.
Just then the sound of feet was heard in the passage without.
"There's Henry now," said Kate.
And in a moment after the boy entered. His face did not wear the
cheerful expression with which he usually met the waiting ones at home.
His mother noticed the change; but asked no question then as to the
cause.
"I wish father was home," said Mrs. Ellis. "Supper is all ready."
"I don't think it's any use to wait for him," returned Henry.
"Why not?" asked the mother, looking with some surprise at her son, in
whose voice was a covert meaning.
"Because he won't be home to supper."
"Have you seen him, Henry?"
Mrs. Ellis fixed her eyes earnestly upon her son.
"Yes, mother. I saw him go into a tavern as I was coming along. I went
in and tried to persuade him to come home with me. But he was angry
about something, and told me to go about my business. I then said--'Do,
father, come home with me,' and took hold of his arm, when he turned
quickly around, and slapped me in the face with the back of his hand."
The boy, on saying this, burst into tears, and sobbed for some time
violently.
"Oh, Henry! did he do that?"
Such was the mother's exclamation. She tried to control her feelings,
but could not. In a moment or two, tears gushed over her face.
The only one who appeared calm was Kate, Henry's oldest sister. She
uttered no expression of pain or surprise, but, after hearing what her
brother said, looked down upon the floor, and seemed lost in meditation.
"My poor children!" such were the thoughts that passed through the mind
of Mrs. Ellis. "If I could only screen you from these dreadful
consequences! If I only were the sufferer, I could bear the burden
uncomplainingly. Ah! will this cup never be full? Is there no hope? How
earnestly I have sought to win him back again, Heaven only knows."
From these reflections Mrs. Ellis was aroused by the voice of Kate, who
had arisen up and was taking from a nail in the wall her bonnet and an
old merino coat.
"Where is the tavern, Henry?" said she.
"What tavern?" answered the boy.
"The tavern where you saw father."
"In Second street."
"Why do you wish to know?" inquired Mrs. Ellis.
"I will go for him. He'll come home for me."
"No--no, Kate. Don't think of such a thing!" said Mrs. Ellis, speaking
from the impulse of the moment.
"It won't be of any use," remarked Henry. "Besides, it's very dark out,
sister, and the tavern where I saw him is a long distance from here.
Indeed I wouldn't go, Kate. He isn't at all himself."
The young girl was not in the least influenced by this opposition, but,
rather, strengthened in her purpose. She knew that the air was damp and
chilly, from an approaching easterly storm; and the thought of his
being exposed to cold and rain at night, in the streets, touched her
heart with a painful interest in her erring, debased, and fallen parent.
"It will rain to-night," said she, looking at her brother.
"I felt a fine mist in the driving wind just as I came near the door,"
replied Henry.
"If father is not himself, he may fall in the street, and perish in the
cold."
"I don't think there is any danger of that, sister. He will be home
after awhile. At any rate, there is little chance of your finding him,
for he won't be likely to remain long at the tavern where I left him."
"If I can't find him, so much the worse," replied the girl, firmly.
"But, unless mother forbids my going, I must seek him and bring him
home."
Kate turned her eyes full upon her mother's face, as she said this,
and, in an attitude of submission, awaited her reply.
"I think," said Mrs. Ellis, after a long silence, "that little good
will come of this; yet, I cannot say no."
"Then I will find him and bring him home," was the animated response of
Kate.
"You must not go alone," remarked Henry, taking up the cap he had a few
minutes before laid off.
"Wait for supper. It is all ready," said Mrs. Ellis. "Don't go out
until you have eaten something."
"No time is to be lost, mother," replied Kate. "And, then, I haven't
the least appetite."
"But your brother has been working hard all day, and is, of course,
tired and hungry."
"Oh, I forgot," said Kate. "But Henry needn't go with me. If he will
only tell me exactly where I can find father, that will be enough. I
think I'd better see him alone."
"Food would choke me now." Henry's voice was husky and tremulous.
"Come, sister," he added, after a pause, "if this work is done at all,
it must be done quickly."
Without a word more on either part, the brother and sister left the
room, and started on their errand.