CHAPTER XXXV.
JOHN, JUN.'S WEDDING—BARTON'S MURDER—LUELLA SEALY'S SUICIDE—GINSLING'S TRAGICAL DEATH.
The truth of the aphorism of Solomon—"Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein"—is verified by multiplied examples the wide world over every day of the year, and it received a very striking verification in the events which we shall chronicle in this chapter.
The reader will recollect that the leading mind among the conspirators was John Sealy, Esq. He was the one who suggested the infamous scheme, which was afterwards adopted, of leading as many poor unfortunates as possible to drink. He did not calculate that into the pit which was thus dug for others he himself, or some member of his family, might possibly fall. But we anticipate.
His only son, John, jun., had been associating with low companions and conducting himself in a manner that was not at all satisfactory to him, John, sen., or to Mrs. and Miss Sealy; and, to crown all, they had every reason to believe he was actually paying his address to Miss Angelina Porter, a daughter of Old Joe Porter, who kept the groggery. This, of course, was very distasteful even to Mr. and Miss Sealy; but language would fail us in any attempt we might make to delineate the utter consternation of the high-toned Mrs. Sealy when she became satisfied that the rumor was founded on fact. She had again and again remonstrated with him, but without effect, as he had treated her remonstrances with good-natured contempt; and when she resorted to harsher means and applied contumelious epithets to his intended, he returned a Roland for her Oliver, so that she, finding it was useless to try to influence him, sulkily retired from the encounter.
But though baffled in that direction she was determined not to give up; for she thought if she could not accomplish her object by one method she would resort to another, and thus she might possibly succeed. She, in fact, determined to address a letter to Miss Porter, to see if she could not influence her. Acting upon this impulse, the vain and foolish woman sent her a very insulting epistle, such a one in fact as could only emanate from a coarse and vulgar mind.
Miss Porter treated it with the contempt it merited, and did not even mention to John, jun., that she had received it; and he might have remained in blissful ignorance of his mother's folly had she not in her insane fury spitefully said to him: "I have sent the low, designing thing a letter, giving her to understand what we think of her, and what she may expect if her schemes are successful and she entraps you into marrying her."
That information drew the retort from the dutiful and affectionate son that Angelina Porter was his mother's equal in every respect, and that she need not "take on such airs" and make such a fuss, because the former's father kept "a low groggery," as she termed it, when she knew that her own father (that was his own maternal grandfather) made all his money at the same business; "and you know, mother," he added, "grandfather was not a bit superior in any respect to Joe Porter, though you so affect to despise the latter."
"You know you are saying what is not only false, but also insulting to your own mother," she answered; and now she was weeping bitterly. "I knew you had become low in your aims since you had associated with the set you now think so much of, but I did not think you had become so abandoned as to scandalize your own dead grandfather."
"But, mother, you forget you are scandalizing one who is nearer to me than grandfather was to you, and that you sent her a low, scurrilous letter, full of bitter taunts and insults, which you intended should annoy her."
"If she gets you," his mother answered, with a sneer, "I guess she'll forget it. I want to inform you," she added, and she had reserved this broadside for her final effort, "if you marry that low creature I'll disown you, and I know your father will cut you off with a shilling, and let you go to her and her low, drunken sot of a father to find a living."
"You and father can do as you please and so shall I," he almost savagely retorted; "but dad had better sweep his own doorstep before he complains about his neighbor's being dirty, for he is not very select in his own company; and if he does not keep a groggery, those which are kept in this town have few more attentive customers. I only know of one who can claim to excel him in this respect, and that is he whom you have, by your schemes, almost compelled poor Lou to accept as her affianced husband. I mean that distinguished member of the bloatocracy, Stanley Ginsling. Consistency is a jewel, mother, you know and if you are consistent, you will not come down on me for marrying one whose father you term 'a sot,' and at the same time scheme to ally your daughter to one who is a perambulating whiskey barrel."
Mrs. Sealy did not try to answer her son; she felt, in fact, if she were to attempt it, she could not possibly do justice to the subject; so she gave him what she intended for a withering look, gathered up the skirts of her dress, and swept majestically from the room.
That evening she had a long consultation with her husband in regard to the matter, the result of which was a very stormy interview between the father and son, when the latter, having been threatened with disinheritance if he did not break off from all association with the Porter family, gave the father to understand as it was a matter that more especially concerned himself, he should observe his own mind in regard to it, and his father might dispose of his property as it pleased him.
The climax was reached when the residents of Bay View—for that was the name of their villa—heard that John, jun., and Angelina Porter were married. He had, in fact, the license in his pocket at the time he held his interview with his father, and had gone directly after to the groggery of his intended father-in-law, and having secured the services of the Rev. John Turnwell, the ceremony was privately performed.
Porter and his son-in-law celebrated the wedding by getting gloriously drunk. This caused the young bride intense pain; for though she had been long accustomed to such scenes, it came closer to her when her own husband was involved.
John, jun., did not go near his father's residence, nor indeed take any steps towards reconciliation, for, he said, "the old man will come around all right after awhile." He, for the time being, kept bar for Joe Porter, and was one of his most bibulous, though not one of his most profitable, customers. In fact, he was generally intoxicated each day by noon, and before night was stupidly drunk.
His father, who really thought as much of his boy as it was possible for a man with such a nature as his to think of any one, heard he was going rapidly to destruction, and felt some effort must be made to save him. He had a conversation with his wife in regard to the matter, and though she declared she would never forgive her son for marrying into such a low family, as she knew it would subject her to the cynical and sneering remarks of some of the set with whom she associated, yet she concluded it was better to make the best of the matter, and not, by a course of coldness, drive him utterly to destruction; so she agreed with her husband when he said he thought he had better go and see him, and, if possible, wean him from his present debauch.
Mr. Sealy owned a farm of two hundred acres, which was situated on the shores of the bay, about two miles east of Bayton. It had been the old homestead, and he had always intended to will it to his son; but since the memorable interview, when the latter had spoken so defiantly, and then followed up his words by forming the alliance against which his father had warned him, Mr. Sealy, in his anger, determined to carry out his threat, and cut his son off without a cent. But when he found he was likely, if left much longer with his present surroundings, to degenerate into a dissipated loafer, he relented, and now determined to offer it to him if he would settle there immediately.
The fact was, that now the evil effects of drink was brought home to him, and his only son was one of its victims, he suffered very keenly indeed, and was willing to humiliate himself and make considerable sacrifice to save him.
With this end in view, he went to Porter's quite early one morning, for he was almost certain he would have to be there before his son had an opportunity to indulge to any extent, if he expected to find him sober.
When he arrived at the groggery Old Joe had just opened up, and was taking his morning drink, which his trembling hand indicated he sadly needed.
"Good morning, Joe," he said.
"Morning," replied Joe, gruffly, in answer to the salutation.
"Where is John, Mr. Porter?" This question was asked in Mr. Sealy's blandest tones, for he was sufficiently acquainted with human nature to perceive nothing would be gained by being cross.
"He hasn't come down yet."
"Will you kindly tell him I would like to see him?"
"Yes, I will. But won't you have a glass of something to drink as an appetizer? You must have been up early."
As Porter spoke he handed down a black bottle labelled "Old Rye
Whiskey."
"I don't care if I do take a smile," Sealy replied. And taking the bottle from Porter's hand he poured a tumbler half full, and drank it down as if it were so much water.
"I will now run up-stairs and see if John has tumbled out yet," said Porter; and suiting the action to the word, his bloated face and burly form disappeared through the door.
In a few moments John, jun., appeared, his face bearing palpable traces of his last night's debauch.
I will not enter into a lengthy narrative of the interview between father and son; suffice to say that everything was amicably arranged, and in less than a month from the date of the interview, John, jun., and his wife were settled in the old Sealy homestead.
For awhile Mrs. Sealy was cold and distant, but finally she became reconciled, and frequently visited them with her daughter, who from the first had treated her brother's wife with kindness, having found her an amiable and well-disposed little thing, who would have made some man a good wife. But she was not composed of stern enough stuff to have influence upon her husband.
John, jun., certainly did not indulge in drink, after his removal from his father-in-law's, to the same extent as he had previously done, but yet he had got to be such a victim to the habit as now to become intoxicated at every favorable opportunity, which not only caused his wife excruciating pain, but was also the source of annoyance and sorrow to his parents and sister. But though Mr. Sealy was sorely troubled by his son's conduct, and was led to realize, at least to some extent, the worry and shame that is associated with having a near relative an habitual drunkard, strange to say it did not seem to change his views in the least in regard to the drink traffic, for he still remained as stern, and uncompromising an opponent of teetotalism as ever.
It was about a month after John, jun., and his wife had commenced housekeeping that Miss Sealy came to spend a week or two with them. She, in fact, thought she might have a restraining influence upon him, as he had genuine affection for her, whom he had always found to be an affectionate sister and true friend.
While she was there, Stanley Ginsling, who, without loving, she had been coaxed and badgered into recognizing as her affianced husband, came to see her.
John, jun., had, previous to this time, frequently met him since the day when, conversing with his mother, he had employed such stinging epithets to express his opinion of him, but had now changed his mind. In fact, he now thought he was rather a good fellow, and had promised to use his influence to overcome his sister's evident aversion.
Ginsling brought with him a flask of brandy. It was the same flask that he used when tempting Richard Ashton at Charlotte, and he and John, jun. indulged so freely of its contents as soon to be considerably under its influence. Miss Sealy perceived the state they were in, and blaming the former for leading her brother to thus debase himself, gave him to understand his presence was extremely distasteful to her, and that he might consider their engagement broken off; for, no matter what influence might be brought to bear, she had made up her mind, after what had just transpired, she would never marry him.
Her brother, in his drunken foolishness, had gone in to remonstrate with her; but now, thoroughly aroused, she had requested him, in indignant terms, to mind his own business. "It is bad enough," she said, "to be disgraced by a drunken brother, without running with eyes open into greater misery and degradation. I told him our engagement was broken, and I meant it."
John, jun.'s wife also rebelled. She had borne a great deal with patience; but when Luella came in weeping bitterly, the former rated her husband soundly, and told him, "If there was not a change for the better she would leave him." The two women had then retired to the parlor, and the two men went out into the kitchen to smoke.
"I don't see what is the matter with Lou," said Ginsling; "she is as cross as a badger. She gave me my walking-ticket, and told me not to return again. I wonder if she has seen Barton lately?"
"I don't think so. I know he has not been permitted to go to the old man's; though I heard dad say he has been seen several times hanging around there, but he never goes near except he is drunk, which now is pretty nearly all the time. I suppose you heard he had lost his position in the bank?"
"Yes, I heard. The fact is, I told Smith, the manager, I was surprised he had not turned him off long ago."
"I tell you what it is, Ginsling, he was pretty badly gone on Lou, and I believe she liked the beggar. But I never took any stock in him; and if I were the old man, and he came hanging round, I'd shoot him like a dog."
"And so he should. I know, for my part, I would not be annoyed by the drunken nuisance. I only want a good opportunity to pay a debt I owe him, and then he shall have it with compound interest."
Ginsling was quite under the influence of liquor when he made the remark in regard to Barton, and the one to whom he was talking was far from sober. They could both see the mote in Barton's eye, but failed to remove the beams from their own.
When Ginsling spoke of owing Barton a debt, he referred to an incident which had occurred some time before. He had been one evening in "The Retreat," which, my readers will remember, was kept by Ben Tims; and while he was there William Barton had come in, just enough intoxicated to be reckless, and Ginsling himself was far from sober. The latter said something which the former eagerly construed into an insult, and to which he replied by knocking him down. Tims had then interfered, and led Barton into another room, leaving Ginsling to stagger to his feet as best he could. The latter, after picking himself up, went to the wash-room and staunched the blood flowing from his nose, which Barton's blow had made more bulbous than usual, washed all traces from his face, and then left; but before he did so, he vowed he would be even with him yet.
"You had better look out, Barton," said Tims; "that rascal will have his revenge if you give him any chance, and I believe he is as treacherous as he is cowardly. I'm glad you hit him though, only I'd rather it hadn't happened in my place."
"He gave me an opportunity I was waiting for," replied Barton, now seemingly almost sober. "I'll risk all the harm he is likely to do me."
Tims knew very well how it was with the poor fellow, but he had too much good taste to refer to it.
It was of this bar-room squabble Ginsling spake when he said he "owed him a debt which he was determined to pay back to him with interest."
John, jun., who was cognizant of the facts, remarked, "If he were in his (Ginsling's) place, he'd be even with him yet."
"I can't help but suspect that he has seen Lou lately, and I am half inclined to think she likes him yet; if she didn't, she would not have used me as she has done to-night."
"She may have," said John, jun.; "but the reason she was so huffy to-night was because you were drunk. But who's that?" he suddenly exclaimed—"I believe it is Barton!"
As he spoke, he drew back his chair from the window, and gliding therefrom, stealthily crept to where he could observe all Barton's movements, but where the latter could not possibly see him. Ginsling also arose as stealthily as possible, and glided behind John, jun. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and they could see almost as plainly as if it were day.
"Yes; it is Barton!" whispered Ginsling; "and I believe he is drunk."
"I wonder what the idiot is going to do?" questioned John, jun.; "here he comes towards the house."
"Let him come," said Ginsling; "I guess we will be ready for him."
Barton staggered towards the veranda—which extended around three sides of the house—and after one or two attempts to step up on to it, was at last successful; then, muttering to himself, he came towards the window, where the two men were observing him.
"Hush!" said Ginsling, "he seems to be having an interesting soliloquy, and possibly we may hear what he says."
In the dead stillness of the night Barton's low mutterings could be heard distinctly:
"I am bound to see Luella," he said; "I know she loves me, for she has told me so a hundred times, and she is too pure and good to lie. I saw her coming here this morning, and I am determined to see her and hear my fate from her own lips. Oh, Luella! I am sure you love me, and if you will promise to be mine I will swear never again to let a drop of liquor pass my lips."
He looked ghastly in the moonlight, his pale face with its background of jet black hair hanging in tangled masses down upon his shoulders giving him a weird appearance. He became fiercer in his gesticulations as he continued his strange, wild soliloquy.
"I must know to-night from her own lips or I shall go mad."
"He's that already," whispered Ginsling. "Mad as a March hare."
"There will be no sordid father and mother to interfere with us here! They want to sell you to that craven-hearted sot, Ginsling; but he shall never have you, for before that shall happen I will strangle him, even if I have to hang for it."
As he thus spoke he advanced closer to the window. But he suddenly clasped his hand over his heart and exclaimed: "Oh, Luella, I'm shot!" and the same instant, the report of a pistol sounded sharp and clear on the still night air.
The shot was fired by Ginsling, who, maddened by the epithets Barton had applied to him, had drawn a pistol, and, before John, jun., could interfere, had fired through the window straight at his advancing, antagonist.
"Oh! you have done for him, Ginsling," said his companion, "and we will both be arrested for murder."
"But you can swear," replied Ginsling, "that he threatened to murder me, and was advancing to break through the window."
Just then the front door opened, and Luella Sealy ran around the house on the veranda to the spot where William Barton had fallen; for, after receiving the shot, he sank gradually to the ground. When she reached the spot her frantic screams sounded through the house, and echoed and re-echoed over the quiet bay.
"Oh, William! my darling," she exclaimed, "has he murdered you?"
As she thus spoke she sat down upon the floor of the veranda, and lifting his head into her lap kissed him, her fair hair hanging in dishevelled masses as she did so.
Barton, however, was too far gone to respond by word, but Luella could see by the light of the moon, that cast its flickering rays on the scene, a look of joy for a moment illumine his eye and then pass away forever: for William Barton was dead.
Luella Sealy was taken to her room that night a raving maniac. The sight of any member of her family made her furious; and she accused them in the fiercest tones of murdering her darling William. After awhile she became more calm, seeming to be quietly slumbering, and, under the circumstances, they thought it would be safe to leave her for a short time. Her father, acting upon this idea, left her alone for a few moments while he went to call his daughter-in-law to come and remain with her; but when he returned to her room she was gone. In a moment all was excitement, and every part of the house was searched, but she could not be found. As, however, they ran round the varanda they found her under the window, on the spot where William Barton had been murdered, lying cold and dead, with a ghastly gash in her neck, and her white garments dyed red with her life-blood. A razor, the instrument with which she had accomplished her self-destruction, was clutched, with the grip of death, in her red right hand.
Ginsling was tried for the murder of Barton; but as John, jun., swore the latter was about to enter the house to attack him, and, therefore, the shot was fired in self-defense, he got off with a short imprisonment. But after leaving the jail he found that it would be neither agreeable nor safe for him to reside longer in Bayton, as almost all of the inhabitants shunned him, and the friends of Barton vowed vengeance against him. He accordingly left to reside in the town of M——. He did not live long after leaving Bayton. He went down to the quay one night, when he was, as usual, so intoxicated as to have a very unsteady gait. Unheeding the warnings of a companion he would venture too near the edge; a sudden gust of wind came, he was carried off his equilibrium and fell into the lake. His companion did all he could to save him, but as there was a storm raging at the time, his efforts were unavailing. He said Ginsling's bloated face appeared for a moment in the hollow of the waves, and with an agonizing tone he cried to God to save him; then a huge wave, more mighty than its fellows, engulfed him, and he sank in life to rise no more. A few days after his corpse was found floating upon the water. "Accidentally drowned" was the verdict at the inquest, and he was buried in a nameless grave, with no loved one or friend to drop a tear on his last resting-place.
Mr. and Mrs. Sealy were completely prostrated by what had transpired, and retired from active life to hide their sorrows from the world; they are, I believe, so living at the present time.
John, jun., soon vacated the house by the bay, some of the more ignorant saying he did so because it was haunted by the ghosts of William Barton and Luella Sealy. The house is now standing idle, and is known to the children of the neighborhood as the "haunted house," and many say that, in the night, two white figures are seen walking on the verandah, and that frequently the stillness is broken by the sound of a pistol, and the agonizing shrieks of a woman in the anguish of a terrible fear.