The Bobbin Boy Part 32

THE EARLY VICTIM

"I have just heard," said Nat one morning to a neighbor, "that James Cole was frozen to death last night while intoxicated. Is it true?"

"I had not heard of it," replied the neighbor. "Some people at the head of the street were conversing about something that had occurred as I pa.s.sed, but I did not understand what it was. Perhaps it was that. He has conducted badly for a year past, and I suppose he is a confirmed drunkard, although he is so young."

Just then Frank came along, and, before Nat had time to inquire, proceeded to say, "James Cole came very near freezing to death last night, and the physician thinks it is doubtful whether he will recover."

"How did it happen?" asked Nat.

"He spent last evening at one of the grog-shops, I don't know which, and staid drinking until it was very late; and he was badly intoxicated when he started for home, so that he did not get far before he fell down in the road, and was unable to get up. It was so late that no one came along until this morning, and there he laid senseless all the while, and was completely chilled through when Mr. Bates found him this morning."

"Then Mr. Bates found him?" said Nat.

"Yes; and he could scarcely tell whether he was dead or alive at first.

He carried him to his father's immediately, and sent for the doctor as quickly as possible."

"Do you know what time it was when he left the grog-shop?"

"No; but I heard it was very late."

"Well," added Nat, "a man who will sell James Cole liquor until he makes him drunk, and then send him home alone, on such a night as last night was, has no more feeling than a brute. If he should die, that rumseller would be the actual cause of his death."

"Certainly," answered Frank; "it would not have been half so bad to have robbed him of his money, and turned him away without any drink. But I wonder if Jim thinks now of the conversation we had with him about forming the Total Abstinence Society?"

"He has probably found out by this time," replied Nat, "that he can't stop drinking when he pleases, after an appet.i.te for it is acquired. He was very sure that he should never be a drunkard; and that was but little more than two years ago."

"I never expected he would be much, but I had no idea he would come to this so soon," added Frank. "I scarcely ever heard of a person going to ruin so quick."

"James was a very smart fellow, naturally," said Nat. "I once thought he was the most talented fellow of his age in town, and it would have turned out so if he had tried to make anything of himself."

"I think so, too," said Frank. "But he never wanted to be respectable.

He always seemed to glory in drinking. He was earning five dollars a day in the machine-shop when they turned him away, and was considered by far the best workman there. He lost his place on account of his intemperate habits; but it never seemed to trouble him. It is my opinion now, that he had a strong appet.i.te for intoxicating drinks at the time we organized the Total Abstinence Society, and for that reason he opposed it."

"His case will be a good defence of the temperance cause," continued Nat, "and I hope the rumsellers will never hear the last of it. I can scarcely see what a person can say in favor of the use and traffic in strong drink, with such an ill.u.s.tration of the evil before them."

The news of James's condition spread through the village, and many received it in a very exaggerated form. Some heard that he was dead, and others that he was near dying, the latter rumor not being far from the truth. Before night, however, it was announced that he was better, and there was hope of his recovery. All sorts of stories were put in circulation about the place of his drinking, and the circ.u.mstances attending it. The rumseller very justly came in for his share of condemnation, while he and his allies were disposed to say very little, for the simple reason that there was not much for them to say. Such an instance of degradation in the very dawn of manhood, when the dew of his youth was still upon the victim, was an unanswerable argument for the cause of temperance. He who could close his senses against such an appeal in behalf of sobriety, would take the side of error in spite of the plainest evidence to the contrary. It was not strange, then, that much was said at the fireside, in the streets and shops, and everywhere, concerning the event, nor that the foes of temperance were inclined to be unusually silent.

"Doctor! how is James Cole now?" inquired a gentleman who met him some three or four weeks after the fatal night of drunkenness.

"His case is hopeless," answered the doctor. "He has a hard cough, and to all appearance is in a quick consumption."

"Do you consider it the consequence of his exposure on that night?"

"Certainly, it can be nothing else. If it had been a very cold night he would have been frozen to death in the morning. I did not know that he had become so much of a drunkard until this happened."

"I did," replied the gentleman. "I have seen a good deal of him, and have known something of his habits. I was satisfied, when he was but sixteen or eighteen years of age, that he had an appet.i.te for liquor, and I am not surprised at the result."

"The poor fellow will soon know the worst," added the doctor. "He can't live many weeks at the longest."

"I hope it will prove a warning to the young here," said the gentleman.

"The fact is, I wonder sometimes that we do not have more of such cases when the temptations to drink are so common. But _one_ ought to be sufficient to move the whole town on the subject."

Not quite twelve weeks have elapsed since the foregoing incident occurred. The bell tolls out its solemn death-knell, and the sable hea.r.s.e is moving slowly on to the grave-yard. Sad, tearful mourners follow, to lay all that remains of James Cole--the son, and brother--in the silent "narrow house." For the demon-vice has done its worst, and loosed the silver chord, and his youthful spirit has gone before the drunkard's offended G.o.d. Alas! what painful memories throng the minds of beholders at the sight of the long, mournful procession on its way to the tomb! Never did a hea.r.s.e convey more blasted hopes or wasted powers, more abused and withered ties, or dishonored members, to the house of the dead. Within that coffin is the bright promise of youth, the strength of early manhood, parental expectations and love--all blighted by the breath of the destroyer, and laid in as sad a winding-sheet as ever wrapped a tenant of the grave. Oh! how great the woes of intemperance appear, when these appalling realities dash earthly hopes, and send the wretched victim away to that world "from whose bourne no traveller returns!" So thought many as the lifeless form of James Cole was consigned to its kindred dust.

"Another drunkard's grave," said the s.e.xton, as the stones rattled upon the coffin which he proceeded to cover, when the procession had retired; and his remark was addressed to a neighbor who stood by his side.

"Not exactly a drunkard's grave," was the reply. "James was intemperate, but he died of consumption."

"And was not that consumption the consequence of his drunkenness?"

inquired the s.e.xton.

"I suppose it was; still I thought we could hardly call this a drunkard's grave, though it is true enough."

"It is too painfully true," added the s.e.xton. "Would that it might be called otherwise; but it cannot be. When you and I are numbered with the dead, this spot will be known by all who have seen James Cole buried to-day, as the drunkard's grave. There are many of them in this yard, but _I_ never dug a sadder one than this."

"And I hope you never will another," said the man.

So the s.e.xton buried the sleeper, and turned away to his home. For more than twenty years his dust has been mingling with its native earth, without a stone to mark the spot, nor a flower to tell of hope. But his early companions, whose wiser choice and better resolves allied them to the cause of virtue, know where the early victim was laid, and call it the youthful DRUNKARD'S GRAVE.

CHAPTER x.x.x

THE END.

Let almost a quarter of a century pa.s.s, and inquire, where and what are Nat and his a.s.sociates now? We have advocated the sentiment throughout these pages, that the character and position of manhood are determined by boyhood and youth. How is it with the group of boys who have figured in the foregoing pages? Does the history of each one verify the truth we have taught? or is even one of the number an exception to the general principle stated?

We have already seen one of this number laid in a drunkard's grave,--the boy who thought he could take the social gla.s.s, according to the custom of the times, and still be safe,--the youth who had more confidence in his own strength to resist temptation, than he had in the wholesome counsels of superiors. How speedily the thoughts, habits, and corrupt principles of his youth, wrought his ruin!

Some distance back in the story, we lost sight of Samuel and Benjamin Drake,--the two disobedient, idle, reckless, unmanageable boys, at fifteen years of age. What has been their history? Alas! it is written in letters of shame! The following description of these boys, when they became young men, taken from the records of a State prison, will show that both of them have been there.

"Samuel Drake: 28 years old--blue eyes--sandy hair--light complexion. ---- Ma.s.s."

"Benjamin Drake: 22 years old--blue eyes--light hair--light complexion--scar on right instep. ----, Me."

We give the true record, except that we use the fict.i.tious names employed in this volume, and withhold the names of the towns from whence they were conveyed to prison.

Five years later to the records of the same prison was added the following:

"Samuel Drake: 33 years old--blue eyes--sandy hair--light complexion--second comer. ----, Ma.s.s."

By this it appears that Samuel was twice in the State prison by the time he was thirty-three years of age. What has been his course since that period is not exactly known, though report said, a few years ago, that he ended his life on board a pirate-s.h.i.+p.

But the reader is surprised, perhaps, that Benjamin should become the inmate of a prison; for the last we saw of him was when he was preparing for the ministry--a converted youth, as he thought, of seventeen years.