Saved as by Fire! CHAPTER 11.
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I had left my office a little earlier than usual in the afternoon, and was on my way homeward, when, on turning the corner of a Street, I saw Mr. Granger just in advance of me. He was walking slowly, with his head bent slightly forward. Quickening my pace, I soon joined him. As I laid my hand on his arm and spoke, he gave a startle, and when I looked into his face, I saw the color rising. There was something in his eyes which gave me a feeling of uneasiness. His manner was more repressed than cordial.
We walked together for the space of a few blocks, and then our ways parted. We had not, in our efforts to talk, touched upon any subject in which we found a mutual interest; and therefore our brief fellowship had been marked by constraint. What, followed our separation I learned long afterwards, and from the lips of Mr. Granger himself. I give the story in his own words:
"I had been fighting the old appetite desperately," said he; "fighting it for weeks, and being often on the very verge of defeat and surrender. But the awful condition into which I would be cast, if I fell into the enemy's power, held me to my post. I saw my home desolated, my wife broken-hearted, my children beggared — and I so loved them! I saw myself cast down again, and to a lower depth of misery and degradation, than any into which I had yet fallen. The horror that was before me, was appalling, and all the while I felt the peril increasing — my enemy growing stronger, and my power of resistance weaker.
"And now it seemed as if all Hell were against me. I could not look this way or that — go here nor there, but temptation met me face to face. Men who knew nothing of my past history, and some who knew it too well, invited me to drink. At dinners, at social gatherings, at private interviews with clients, at friendly meetings on the streets and in offices and stores — the glass was offered, or the invitation to drink given. I wearied of saying no, and began to feel ashamed of the weakness that so often brought on me a look of surprise, when I pushed the extended cup aside. In the street I could not walk for half a square without encountering a saloon which gave to appetite, a reminder through the sense of sight or smell. You may think it strange, but I have gone out of my way again and again, in order to avoid passing a certain drinking saloon, the very sight of which, more than any other, quickened my desire for liquor.
"Stronger and stronger became the pressure of the downward current, and my sense of danger greater. I looked this way and that for help, but saw no way of escape. All faith in my own manhood was fast leaving me, and I knew that the time must soon come, when some stronger sweep of the waters would bear me away.
"It was this feeling that drew me to church sometimes. But I went, always, under a kind of protest, and while there too often set my thought against what I heard, instead of opening my mind to the sacred influences of the place. I shall never forget the last Sunday on which I attended worship — I tried to stay away, and made many excuses to myself for remaining at home. But none of them prevailed. As I entered the church doors on that morning, I was conscious of a new feeling. As if I had stepped from an arena where I had been fighting for my life — into a place of rest and safety. My heart was touched and opened. The lessons from the Bible particularly impressed me; and many of the divine words seemed as if spoken for my assurance. I felt, as I had never felt before, that by the help of God I might stand fast; and I resolved to go to Him and ask Him for aid and support.
"I went out in the afternoon, saying to my wife that I was going to see Mr. Stannard. I wanted to have a talk with this good man about religion and the church, for I had great confidence in him. But I did not do as I intended; and here was my fatal error. When only a short distance from his house, I met a couple of friends riding out, and weakly yielded to their solicitations to go with them for a drive in the Park. As I entered the carriage, I was sensible of an opposite impression to that which I had felt in the morning. At church, it seemed to me as if I had passed from strife and peril — into a place of safety; but now, from a sphere of safety — into one of danger. But it was too late for me to recede. The carriage was in motion again and I once more adrift on a current too strong for my steadily lessening powers of resistance.
"A drive for an hour in the Park with pleasant friends, and then an invitation to drink at one of the restaurants. I took only ginger ale; but the smell of their stronger liquors was in my nostrils, and I felt an almost irrepressible desire to taste them. The very act of drinking with these friends, though what I took might only be a harmless beverage, had an evil influence on me.
"I would see Mr. Stannard in the evening, I thought, as I entered the carriage; but when evening came, my state of mind had undergone so complete a change, that the very thought of religious things was distasteful. For the two or three days that followed, it seemed as if I could not turn to the right hand nor to the left, without temptation. It was not greater than usual, perhaps; only I was weaker and more open to assault. The day at whose close I met you, as I was on my way homeward, had been marked not only by many incidents of warning, but by an unusual number of solicitations. I was weary and exhausted from incessant conflict; and what was worse, my mind was losing its balance, so that I could not hold it to the high considerations of honor, and duty, and love, which had hitherto influenced me. A cloud came down over it. Clear-seeing was gone. I felt only anirresistible craving. It was as if an evil spirit had taken possession of perception and feeling, and held them to a single thought and desire; the thought of liquor and the desire todrink. Was I not for the time insane and irresponsible? Could I help the fatal plunge I made?
"You remember our brief meeting. Scarcely had we parted, when a client for whom I was conducting an important suit, laid his hand on me, saying: 'Ah! This is fortunate, Granger. I missed you at your office. Some new facts, of great importance in our case, have come into my possession, and I wished you to have them with as little delay as possible.' He drew his arm in mine and we walked for a short distance, trying to converse. But the noise and confusion of the street interrupted us. As we were passing a drinking saloon, he said: 'Come; we'll get a quiet corner in here, and talk this matter over.' I went with him passively. We found a quiet corner. 'What will you have?' he said. I made a feeble effort to get to my lips the words, 'Nothing for me,' but failed, and in their stead, as if my organs of speech were controlled by another being, answered, 'Anything you please.' Beer was set before me, and I drank. You know the rest."
His client did not find him at his office on the next morning, nor in the court-room when the trial of his case, which had been opened on the previous day, was continued. The new facts which had been given to Granger were not put in evidence, and the associate counsel had, in his absence, to meet the issue without them. The result proved disastrous — the case was lost. But that was of small consideration, in comparison with the loss of the man who had been tempted at the moment when the power to resist was almost gone.
How rapid was the fall which came. It was an almost headlong plunge. The whole man seemed to give way. For over two weeks, it was a perpetual debauch with drink, and the end came only when the over-strained nerves and organs gave way, and he was prostrated by sickness. His recovery was followed by a speedy relapse into intemperance. As far as could be seen, there was no longer any effort on his part to resist the demon of alcohol, or to struggle against the stream which was bearing him down. In every conflict with this demon — he had in the end been beaten; and with each new rally — there had been loss of strength. What hope of victory in any new battle? He felt that there was none, and weakly abandoned himself to his fate.
Alas for the swift descent! Friends fell away from him. Clients removed their cases from his hands. Business forsook his office. More than half his time was spent in drinking-saloons — or in sleeping off the effects of drunkenness. Scarcely six months had elapsed when, in passing his residence on Spruce Street one day, I saw a notice on the door. The house was for rent. In the following week he moved away, his family dropping again out of the old circles.
Occasionally, after this, I met him on the street. The change in his appearance was sad to witness. Excessive drinking had swollen and distorted his face, robbing it of its fine intelligence. All the fire had gone out of his eyes. Meeting him on one occasion, I took his hand and said: "Granger, my dear man, this is all wrong. You will kill yourself."
A strange gleam shot across his face, and there was a brief disturbance in his manner. Then, with a short laugh, he replied: "All right. The sooner it's over, the better!"
"No, no. It's all wrong. Come around to my office. I want to talk to you."
"No, thank you. It won't be of any use; and besides, I've an engagement."
"It's never too late to mend," I urged. "Never too late to stop — "
"You don't know anything about it," he said, with some impatience of manner, interrupting me. "When the devil of drink gets you in his clutches, there's small chance left. Good-bye, and God bless you!" There was a break in his voice in the closing sentence.
Turning from me abruptly, he walked away. I heard, not long afterwards, that in order to keep her two younger sisters at school, his oldest daughter, Amy, a beautiful young girl, who made her appearance in society about a year before, had assumed the duties of a teacher in the school where they were being educated, and that Mrs. Granger was trying to get music students.
Next it was said that Granger had become abusive to his family. I could not believe this, for I knew something of the natural tenderness of his heart, and the strength of his old love for his wife and children. Even while under the influence of drink, I did not believe that he would be anything but kind to them. How great, therefore, was my surprise and sorrow, when, a few months later, the fact became known that his wife had left him on account of abusive treatment, and was living with her three daughters in the family of a relative.
Granger still had his law office, and was occasionally in court as counsel in some petty larceny, or assault and battery case, picking up a fee here and there, and managing to get money enough to supply the demands of his insatiate and steadily increasing appetite. But the time came when even this poor resource failed. When few, if any, were found willing to trust even the most trifling case to a man who might stand up in court on the day of trial so much intoxicated as to be unable to tell on which side of the case he was pleading.
In less than two years from the date of his last relapse into drunkenness, Granger had fallen so low that to get money for drink, he would stoop to any baseness or falsehood. Allshame, all sense of honor, all regard for the truth — had died out of him. He had become a miserable beggar, making his daily round among the law offices and through the court-rooms, soliciting the loan of a trifle here and a trifle there, from old friends and acquaintances, and taking rebuffs, curses, stern rebukes and pitiful remonstrances with but few signs of feeling. Promises of amendment, he would make without limit. If the asked-for loan were withheld under the plea that he would spend it for drink — he would not hesitate about making the most solemn asseveration that he had taken no liquor for days, and only needed to get something to eat, not having tasted food for one or two days, as this or that period happened to come to his lips. One lie with him, was as good as another, so that it served his purpose. And there had been a time when he would have felt his high sense of personal honor tarnished, by even a small prevarication! So had the robber demon of drink plundered the man! And not of honor alone; every moral sense had been stolen away, drugged into sleep, or wrested away from him.
I saw a crowd in the street one day, and crossed to see what it meant. As I came near, I observed a slender girl, who had been drawn into the group of men and women, moving back hastily, as if shocked by what she had witnessed in the center of the crowd. A white, almost terror-stricken face met my view as she turned. I was impressed by something familiar in its contour and expression. I saw it only for an instant, for the young girl fled past me as one affrighted, and went hurrying down the street. For a moment or two I stood looking after her swiftly-retreating form, wondering where I had seen her. All doubts were settled when, on pressing forward, I saw Alexander Granger sitting on the pavement and leaning back against a doorstep, so drunk that he could scarcely hold his head up; while a policeman was endeavoring to lift him to his feet. The girl was his daughter, Amy.
A few hours afterwards, as I stood on the steps of my own residence, about to enter, the door was drawn open from within, and I met the face of Granger's daughter again. The whiteness had not yet gone out of it. She gave a little startle at seeing me.
"Miss Granger, I believe," said I, with kind familiarity in my voice, extending my hand at the same time. I felt a tremor in the small, soft palm that was laid in mine for an instant, and then withdrawn. Tears were coming in the poor girl's eyes, and I saw that her lips were quivering. I stepped aside that she might pass, and in a moment she was gone.
Inside the door my own precious daughter, just Amy's age, met me, and laid her loving kisses on me. I could not trust myself to speak because of the tearful pity that was in my heart for the worse than fatherless girl who had just gone over the threshold of my happy home.
"What did Amy Granger want?" I asked, as, with an arm about my daughter, we went from the hall into the parlor.
"She's trying to get a place in the Mint, and she called to ask mother about it, and to see if you wouldn't sign her application."
"Why, of course I will. Did she leave it?"
"Yes. And she asked mother to ask you if you didn't know somebody else who would help her by signing it."
"Poor child!" I said, pityingly. "To be so robbed and wronged! Of course I'll do all in my power to help her. I'll see the Director of the Mint myself, and if there's a place vacant, I'll not leave a stone unturned but she shall have it."
"There's something so sweet about her," said my daughter. "So refined and modest, and gentle. Oh! it must be very hard. What an awful thing this drunkenness is! Why, father, dear," and the sweet girl drew her arms about my neck and laid her cheek against mine, "I would not have a moment's peace if you drank wine or beer every day, as some men do."
"You'd have cause for trouble, my darling, if that were so," I replied, "for no man who uses them, can be regarded as safe. I know of a dozen ruined homes that were once as secure and as happy as ours. It was alcohol that desolated them. And I know of many more that are in danger, and towards which ruin is walking with slow but steady steps."
She held her arms more tightly about my neck. When she lifted her cheek from mine, her eyes were wet with tears.
My efforts to secure a situation in the Mint for Miss Granger were not successful, another applicant for the vacant place getting the appointment. But my interest and that of my family, were thoroughly awakened in behalf of the girl, who not only desired independence for herself, but an opportunity to help her mother and younger sisters. The best that could be done for her in the beginning, was to secure the position of attendant in a photograph gallery at four dollars a week. It was accepted with thankfulness. Mrs. Granger, who had commenced giving lessons in music even before her separation from her husband, continued in the profession of teacher, and had students enough to give her a moderate income and keep her above absolute dependence on the relatives who had so kindly offered her a home in her sore extremity.
It was three or four months after we had succeeded in getting a place for Amy Granger, that, on coming home one day, I found her mother waiting to see me. I did not know her on first coming into the parlor, a year or two had so changed her, and when, on my entrance, she arose and introduced herself, I could scarcely believe it possible that the wife of Alexander Grander was before me.
"I've called to see you on account of my daughter," she said, after being seated again. Her manner was much embarrassed; and she was evidently trying to hide the distress from which she was suffering.
"What about Amy?" I asked.
"You were very kind in getting her into that photograph gallery," she answered, "and we were all so grateful."
"She hasn't lost her situation, I hope?"
Yes, she had lost it; I saw this in the mother's face.
"How did that happen?" I asked. "Didn't she give satisfaction?"
"Oh! yes, sir. It was all right so far as that went; and they had increased her pay to five dollars a week. But — "
I saw the tears flooding her eyes as the quiver in her voice checked her speech. "Amy couldn't come and tell you herself," she resumed, as she recovered her self-possession. "It was too hard for the poor child. But she wanted me to see you."
"Tell me all about it," I said, kindly. "I'm sure it was no fault of hers, poor child!"
"Indeed it was not, Mr. Lyon. It made her sick. She was in bed for two or three days; and she looks as if she'd come out of a long spell of sickness."
"She mustn't take it so to heart," I replied. "No doubt it can all be made right again."
"Oh! no, sir. She can't go back there any more."
"Why not, Mrs. Granger?"
"Because — because — " her voice breaking and quivering again. Then she recovered herself and said, with firmer speech: "It's on account of her father."
"It can't be possible," I spoke with some indignation, "that his misdeeds should stand in the way of her honest efforts at self-support! No one could be so cruelly unjust toward her as that."
Then the truth came out. Let me give the story as it came to me then — and follow out the sequel as it came to me afterwards.
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