CHAPTER XX.
A WARNING.
So the short, bright autumn days and the long, chill evenings passed quickly and pleasantly away. All were busy and happy, and were beginning to find that in spite of conflicts and self-denials "wisdom's ways are pleasantness and all her paths are peace." The preparations for the Thanksgiving festival progressed rapidly, but before the time came to put the plans in execution a very terrible thing happened in Squantown. Faces turned white, voices were hushed, work was suspended at the mill, in the stores, and even upon farms. One home, where a loving mother bowed in deepest agony, was shrouded in gloom, while others were filled with the sympathy of mourning.
The Mountjoys first heard the news at Sunday-school, where Etta found her class so full of the horror that they could attend to nothing else. The stories of the girls were confused, and differed as to details, but their teacher elicited from them the facts, which were as follows:—
Harry Pemberton, one of the best hands in the mill, one of the pleasantest young fellows in Squantown, so the grown-up girls thought, the very idol of the widowed mother who had only him, had gone out with some companions on a Saturday night "spree" to a high cliff in the neighborhood. They carried with them a barrel of beer and some bottles of whiskey, of which, however, the others drank but little. A foolish bet was made between him and one of the elder men, as to which could drink the most "lager," and the others, soon tiring of the contest, left the two with the bet still undecided. The sequel was involved in mystery, for the other man, who was a stranger in the place, had disappeared, and when the bright autumn sun shone out on Sunday morning, it showed to the early passers-by the dead body of poor Harry, bruised, broken, and disfigured, at the foot of the cliff. Whether the beer they had taken made him and his companion quarrelsome and he was pushed over in a fight, or whether Harry, stupefied, fell asleep on the edge and rolled over in his unconsciousness, was never known. The boon companion never came back to testify, and the coroner's jury brought in a verdict of "accidentally killed."[2]
On Wednesday the mills were closed, that all might have an opportunity of attending the funeral services, which were intensely solemn and impressive. Harry had at one time been a member of Mr. James's Bible-class, and during the recent religious interest his former teacher and employer had more than once urged upon him to break away from the evil companions and bad influences by which he had allowed himself to be surrounded, and take his stand on the Lord's side, finding in the church and its associations help to become a noble and good man. At one time he had seemed to be almost persuaded, and his friend had great hopes of him, but his companions and their influence had proved to be too strong. He had gone back to his evil ways, trusting, perhaps, to "a more convenient season," which, alas! never came to him.
The clergyman detailed these facts to his hearers, among whom were, of course, all the young men of the place; and while delicately avoiding hazarding any suggestions as to the present or future condition of their unfortunate companion, pressed upon all present the importance of calling upon the Lord "while he may be found," and the awful risk of delay.
"No one could have supposed," said Mr. Morven, "when poor Harry trifled with the most important of all questions, his soul's salvation, and put off his final decision till some 'more convenient season,' that that season would never come to him."
Of all the young men of Squantown he had seemed the least likely to be suddenly called into eternity. Yet he had been, in a condition, too, in which any one would least like to be found when called suddenly to stand before God and answer for the deeds done in the body. Who would be called next? Was that one all ready? Therefore, he once more urged upon his hearers, "Prepare to meet thy God." Nor did the earnest pastor fail to draw attention to the lessons concerning the use of intoxicating liquors, in any form or degree, which the occasion so plainly afforded. It was not as an habitual drunkard that Harry Pemberton met his fate, nor was it from the use of what is usually denominated "strong drink." Lager beer, considered and spoken of by many as "a temperance beverage," was responsible for the mischief, and the thoughtless joke of careless young men had hurried one of them, known to all present as a boy of great promise, uncalled into the immediate presence of God. Perhaps a better object-lesson for total abstinence could not have been found, since it is the occasional drinkers, who are not as yet bound by the chains of almost irresistible habit, to whom alone such an appeal can be made with any prospect of success. Poor Harry had been precisely one of these, and probably no young man in Squantown had considered himself farther from meeting death as the result of intemperance.
This sad and sudden death made a great impression upon James Mountjoy. Always a perfectly temperate man, as became an earnest, devoted young Christian, he had never been known as a temperance man, that is, an advocate of total abstinence principles, and an active worker in the cause. But he now was deeply impressed with his responsibility and duty in this respect; and accustomed to turning good impressions at once to their legitimate results,—good actions,—he, with his father's full consent, called a meeting of all the men connected with the mill, that night, and presented to them a total-abstinence pledge, which he was the first man to sign.
"I have always," said he, "been opposed to such pledges. I thought a Christian communicant might be trusted to use all these things in moderation, and that it was, somehow, an undervaluing of his church privileges, to say nothing of his manhood, to bind himself by anything else. I will confess, also, to having occasionally enjoyed a glass of wine or champagne. But I have completely changed my mind. Who knows what might happen to me, in some unguarded moment, if I should continue to tamper with that which is in its very nature a deceiver? But, even supposing I were to escape all evil consequences, some one weaker or less favored than I am might be influenced by my example to take that which would injure him in body or soul. St. Paul said he would 'eat no more meat and drink no more wine while the world standeth,' if it should cause his brother to offend, so I have resolved that not another drop of anything that can intoxicate shall ever pass my lips, and if it will be any help for any of you to make or keep to a similar resolution, I will be the first to 'sign away my liberty,' as pledge-signing is foolishly called." And he wrote James Mountjoy in clear letters at the head of the paper.
A great cheer greeted the action, and many men and boys pressed forward to follow their young employer's example. Elderly men they were, some of them, who had tried again and again to break off a habit which they felt to be injuring them and defrauding their families, and who found a great moral support in being thus associated with others, one of whom stood in such relation to themselves. Others were young men who greatly admired and emulated Mr. James, and who had heretofore justified themselves in acquiring a taste for whiskey on the ground that the young gentleman was known occasionally to indulge in ale and champagne. And still others were boys, who liked to do what their elders did, by way of appearing manly, and whose adherence, given to the right side of the question, before they had had an opportunity of acquiring a taste for intoxicants, was a great gain on the side of righteousness.
Eric and Alfred were among these latter, and though neither had as yet spent an evening away from home, nor, to her knowledge, knew the taste of liquor, their mother, when she was told of it, gave hearty thanks that another safeguard against evil had been thrown around her boys.
Some of the men declined to sign the pledge, one saying in a surly manner that he was not going to be coerced into doing a thing of this kind. Mr. Mountjoy paid for his work, not his principles, and he should eat and drink just what he liked. To him James replied, pleasantly, that he did not wish to coerce any one. Those who were conscientiously opposed to signing a pledge would, of course, not be expected to do so, but he had no doubt he should have the unanimous support of all present in whatever efforts might be made to put down the growing evils of intemperance.
James Mountjoy never did anything by halves. He at once threw himself earnestly into the temperance reform; supplied himself with books and papers, and became thoroughly conversant with all phases of the question, wondering, as he did so, how as a Christian man he could so long have overlooked his duty in this matter. Resolved to do so no longer, he at once commenced a series of temperance meetings, inviting speakers and lecturers to come to Squantown and make the people intelligent total abstainers. He did not select so much men who were noted for their fervid oratory, nor yet reformed drunkards who often divert their audiences with amusing accounts of their past performances while under the influence of strong drink, but plain, common-sense business men, who put before their hearers in simple terms the evils that the manufacture, sale, and consumption of alcohol work to the purses, bodies, and souls of any community.
He also added to the library at the factory reading-room a number of valuable works on the nature and effects of alcohol; and before the winter was over had the pleasure of seeing a very marked change in the condition of the factory people as the result of his efforts.
——- [Footnote 2: An actual occurrence.]