The bane of Bendon; a tale of New Hampshire in the days of the temperance excitement

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Contents

CHAPTER. TAGE.

1. — A Sad Death and a Strange Errand 5

3. — Seeking for Light • 17

Chapter I. A Sad Death And A Strange Errand

There lies in a long, wide valley in the southeastern part of New Hampshire a little country village by the name of Bendon. Broad streets shaded on either side with large old elms, and snug little houses here and there of an absolete style give to the town an old-fashioned appearance. To the east of it stretches a long line of vanishing hills; on the west are broad fields through which a clear stream wanders flowing far southward, and beyond these is a thick wood.

On the outskirts of the town, near the uplands, there lived, at the time of my story, in a small, dilapidated house, a family by the name of Wilson.

Mrs. Wilson was a kind-hearted, sweet-faced woman, but ever bore with her a sad, depressed look; occasioned not so much by pinching poverty, which was everywhere visible, as by the dissipation of her husband.

John Wilson, in former days, was regarded by all who knew him, as a hard-working and thrifty mechanic, and, as the phrase went. “ a model husband and an affectionate father.” Ere long, however, dark shadows seemed to settle on his home. Like many at that day he had been led to believe that no harm would come to him from a moderate use of strong drink, so he began in moderation; but the habit slowly grew upon him till finally he became a confirmed drunkard, and, as we shall see, met an untimely end.

Late one afternoon, having passed the day with two or three others of like character in drinking and carousing at the village tavern, he started for his home in a state of beastly intoxication. When he reached the railroad crossing which

A

THE BANE OF BENDON.

lay between his house and the town, he stumbled and fell, and being unable to rise, remained there in a drunken stupor.

Soon the express train, which was a little behind' time, came rushing along to the station. The engineer, looking out of his cab, caught a glimpse of the unfortunate man, and endeavored to stop his engine, but alas, it was too late! The ponderous wheels came thundering along and unfeelingly m crushed out the life of the poor inebriate! The schrill screech of the whistle and the sudden stoppage of the train drew a large number of people to the spot. With dimmed eyes they gazed for a moment on the lifeless form of their neighbor, and then with tender hands, bore him to his home at the foot of the hills. The little children playing in the garden saw the approaching crowd, and with frightened looks ran and told their mother. Instinctively dreading some terrible disaster, she dropped her work and ran to meet them. Heart-rending was the scene when beholding the form of her husband carried by a half dozen men, she cried out in despairing, piteous tones, “Oh, John! John! has it at last come to this!” “ He promised me but this morning he’d drink no more, but now he is dead, dead!”

Two days later a small procession wended its way through the streets to the cemetery, and John Wilson was laid away.

The name of one of the bearers who assisted in the burial of the late John Wilson was Simon Jones, or, as he was frequently called, “ Inquisitive Simon.” This sobriquet was given him because of his unconquerable habit of asking strange and sometimes apparently meaningless questions. Everything that occurred in the neighborhood, every floating bit of news, excited in him a desire to know the why, the how, and the wherefore. If a piece of property exchanged hands he knew no rest till he had mastered the details of the transaction; if a stranger came to town, he was sure to inquire as to the nature of his visit, and how long he intended to remain; if a shop-keeper gave short measure, or light weight, he was among the very first to detect it, and not slow

A SAD DEATH AND A STRANGE ERRAND.

either to speak about it. Doubtless men of this type serve an important purpose in this world of ours ; we think of them as human pointers scaring up the game for others to shoot at, a valuable work in its way. Was there ever a community, especially in New England, that did’nt have an inquisitive Simon?

Now, strange as it may seem, though Simon was characterized for his inquisitiveness, he was also respected for his real goodness of heart, which happy quality, many times saved him from the sharp rebuffs of those who were often annoyed by his impertinent questions. He was always touched by scenes of suffering and sorrow, and his sympathies were always on the side of the poor and neglected.

. That was the reason why he so willingly assisted in laying in its last resting place the remains of his unfortunate neighbor, and doing all in his power to alleviate the sufferings of his wife and children.

On the morning following the burial of John Wilson, Mrs. Jones said to her husband : “Simon, I believe I’ll go down and spend an hour or two with Mrs. Wilson.”

“ That’s right, Polly,” said he, in a sympathetic way, “go along, for if there ever was a time when she and her children needed sympathy and help, it is now.”

When Simon was left alone, he sat down with a book in his hand in front of a huge old fire-place, and tried to read. But it was of no use, he saw nothing in the pages before him; strange and perplexing thoughts were crowding in upon his brain in quick and rapid succession, and so, unconsciously, he closed the book and gazed upon the dying embers. There, in the changing glow of the coals, he fancied that he could see the long railway track, the rushing train, and even the body of the poor inebriate. Long these scenes flitted before him in all their ghastly forms, till at last, with a shiver, he closed his eyes that the vision might vanish away. “ The •liquor that caused this man’s death” he reasoned to himself, “ was sold in this community, and by the permit of this community; it was also known to this same community that this

THE BANE OF BENDON.

man’s appetite was beyond his control; therefore it seems to me that we are all in some sense and in some degree responsible for his horrible death ”

Now, if Simon had banished these thoughts and occupied his mind with his own individual cares, he would have been doing that which many thousands are doing under similar circumstances; but this would not satisfy him. He determined at once to seek an interview with some of his neighbors and lay this whole matter before them. Foolishly enough no doubt he imagined that he would have no difficulty in getting them to see the consequences of this liquor traffic, and perhaps thought that he might induce them to unite with him in its suppression. He little knew the difficulties in the way, nevertheless, he rose from his seat by the fire, and securely fastening the door behind him, started forth on his errand.

Chapter II. The New Firm

Andrews & Blackwell, extensive marble dealers, had done business together in the city of Boston for twenty-five years. At the end of this time Blackwell retired, and his place was filled by Henry Andrews. As soon as this change was effected the old sign which hung over the door of their place of business was taken down and replaced by a new and more expensive one, which read in golden letters, “ W. Andrews & Son. Marble afid Stone Dealers,” The office was large and commodious, and the furniture, like the sign outside, was new and attractive. On the walls of the room, besides various colored diagrams, there hung several drawings of mansions, and business blocks, underneath each of which was written in a large, bold hand, a statement that the stone or marble used in the building was quarried from such a quarry, at such a time, by Andrews & Blackwell.

The day that the new firm began business in the new office, Mr. Andrews would at times be quite talkative; then again he would remain for a half hour, or more, without speaking unless spoken to. During one of these silent moods Henry said: “Father, how do you like my selection of the furniture — you know you told me to make my own choice?”

“ I like it very well,” replied the old gentleman, “ but I have just been contrasting this office with the one I opened on this street some twenty-six years ago. The room was not half the size of this, and the furniture consisted of three chairs, a pine table, and a second-hand book case.”

THE BANE OF BENDON.

“ Were you and Mr. Blackwell *n business together then?’’'

“ No, my partner at that time was a gentleman who came to the city from Vermont. He called on me one day and proposed that we should go into business together; and as an. inducement he offered to furnish two-thirds of the money needed, and also agreed to an equal division of the profits. I thought the matter over that night, and the next morning accepted his proposition. Then we went up the coast some forty miles and leased a quarry. However, not long afterwards I discovered that my partner was addicted to the use of strong drink, and that much of the common fund was expended in that way, which accounted for the fact that some how we were making no money, although we could sell all the marble we quarried. So in view of these facts I proposed that we should close out the business at once. To this he would not consent, but offered to sell out his interest at cost. Mr. Blackwell at that time was our foreman. He had lately, through his wife, come in possession of a few thousand dollars, and was waiting for a good opportunity to go in business for himself; and so -he bought out my first partner, and that was the beginning of the firm of Andrews & Blackwell/’

Here the conversation was interrupted by a rap at the office door, and there entered a tall, neatly dressed stranger, who,, as might be judged from his looks, was about twenty-seven years of age. He had a frank, open countenance, in every line of which honesty and good nature beamed out. Yet his clear blue eye had a steady, earnest look withal, and the fine curves of his mouth added not a little to the indications of strong character plainly visible even in the subtle expressions which ever and anon flitted across his face when engaged in earnest conversation. Gentleness and determination were equally blended in his face.

“ Is this the office of Andrews & Son?” he inquired in a strong, rich voice.

“Yes, sir,” replied the old gentleman, wheeling his chair round till he faced the stranger, “ this is Andrews & Son.”

“I have called to see you” said the stranger, “in response to an advertisement in yesterday’s paper, which stated that you

THE NEW FIRM.

•11

wished to. employ a competent man to open a marble quarry.”

“Yes, sir, we had such an advertisement, and several have applied; but as yet we have engaged no one.”

“ Then, I am not too late, I suppose, in applying for the place?”

“ Oh no, sir,” said Andrews, “come inside the railing and take a seat.”

“ My name, said the young man, as he took a chair near the desk, “ is George Woodruff.” “ 1 have been connected in one way or another with the marble business nearly all my life, and as your advertisement requires, I can furnish you with references, some of which I have with me, and shall be pleased for you to examine.”

At this he handed Mr. Andrews, a large unsealed envelope.

“ With whom were you last, Mr. Woodruff ?” he asked laying the envelope on the desk beside him.

‘‘For the last two years” he replied. “I have had charge of a marble quarry some twenty miles up the Hudson, owned by Williams & Company, of New York; you know them I suppose?”

“Oh yes, 1 am well acquainted with the firm, we sold them several car loads of marble a short time ago.”

“And now, Mr. Woodruff,” continued the old gentleman, “may I ask why you left their employ ? You may think this question rather impertinent at this stage, but it is necessary for us to use the utmost precaution in securing a man exactly suited to the position you are applying for. The work of managing the quarry was formerly done by my partner, who has lately retired from the business. The man who takes his place must be something more than a mere mechanic; he must have sharp business qualifications combined with honesty and tact for managing men — you understand?”

“It is very right, Mr. Andrews, that you should use every possible precaution in your employment of a foreman, and I am ready also to answer your question. I wish first, however, to state that my connection with Williams & Company was in many respects very pleasant, and I think that my

THE BANE OF BENDON.

reference from them will convince you that I gave satisfaction. My reason for leaving their employment was simply this: “when we opened the quarry all went well for a time, but at the close of the first year I was obliged to discharge one of the men for drunkness. This man a few months after rented a house which was the property of the Company, and opened a saloon where many of the men gathered at night, and even on Sunday, and spent their money in drinking and carousing. I asked my employers to take some measures to close up this grogery, but they replied that if the men were promptly at their work at seven in the morning, and worked till six at night, it was all they cared for; and when they took this position, I resigned mine at the close of the second year.”

“ Oh! Do you claim, Mr. Woodruff, that a Company have the right or power to control the temperance sentiment of those who are in their employ? ”

“ W ell, sir, there are two ways of looking at that. I admit that according to law, every man may drink when he pleases, and neither you, nor I, have the legal power to prevent him; but, there are other laws, sir, than those found upon statute books. For instance, the law of self-protection; the humane regard for the interests of others, and many other laws which might be mentioned, all of which work for the well-being of society. An experience of many years has taught me, that one of the greatest, perhaps the greatest enemy, the laboring man has to battle with, is strong drink, therefore, I think it becomes the duty of the employers to remove as far as possible the temptation from the employed. My views, I know will be regarded by many as very extreme, but with all due regard for the opinions of others, I must stand by my convictions.”

“May I ask, Mr. Woodruff, how you come to have such positive convictions on this subject?”

Here the stranger paused, and there stole over his face such an expression of sadness, that for a moment Mr. Andrews was sorry he had asked the question.

“Your inquiry, sir,” he replied, “brings up a chain of events which I have wished a thousand times I might

THE NEW FIRM.

forever forget, but of course that’s impossible. My father at one time, as I have been told, carried on successfully a large stone and marble business. Being thrown, as a business man naturally would be, in the society of those who drank, more or less, he thought it no harm to occasionally drink with them. In this way, and before he was really aware of it, he had formed an appetite for strong drink. As this appetite increased, he became more and more unfit for business; and, as a result, he saw melt away before him all the hard earnings of previous years. After his failure in business, he obtained employment in a quarry as a foreman, but soon lost that position. He then went to work as a common laborer, and I was taken out of school to carry water for the men. After we had drawn our pay one Saturday night and were on our way home, he was persuaded by a fellow workman to stop at a tavern. One glass led to another, until he had spent not only his own wages but mine also. Late that night he was brought home in a drunken stupor from which he never awoke! And now, sir, with such recollections as these, you can not wonder that I am an avowed enemy to strong drink, and that my sympathies go out after those who are affected, directly or indirectly, by it.”

This statement was made in a clear and concise manner, and was intently listened to by both father and son.

“Mr. Woodruff,” said Andrews, “if you have no objections I will retain these references for the present and look over them at my leisure. Come to-morrow morning at ten o’clock, I will then give you a definite answer.”

To this Woodruff #cquiesced, thanked him and went out.

The door was hardly closed when the old gentleman said to his son: “Henry, look in the safe in the farther left hand corner, and bring me an old book I put in there a few days, ago.”

The son did as requested, and soon returned with a dogeared book bound in parchment.

Mr. Andrews opened it and immediately began reading —

“ This indenture entered into this , the first day op June, eighteen hundred and tzventy, betzveen W . Andrezvs op the first part, and John Woodru ff of the second part ”

THE BANE OF BEXDON.

“ There it is, my boy; the same name!”

“Well, what if it is, father, what does that signify?”

“ It signifies, to my mind,” remarked Mr. Andrews, as he closed the book and handed it back to his son, “ that in all probability that young man’s father was my first partner.' If his references are all right I think we had better engage him. What do you say?”

“ I am of the same opinion,” replied the son. He has certainly impressed me as being the very man we want. But what a strange thing that you should be a partner with the father, and then, after thirty years, should give employment to the son.”

“ Ah, well, this is a strange world, my boy, and strange things are happening in it every day, the strangest of which is the true, strange as that may seem.”

W hen Woodruff came out of the office he walked leisurely along in the direction of his hotel. He had purposed to return to New York that evening, but as Mr. Andrews had requested him to call the next day, and as he had agreed to do so, there was no alternative but to defer his return until after this second interview.

And now, as this young man is to play quite an important part in this story, it is necessary that the reader should know something more of his history.

Shortly after his father’s death, his mother, a refined but delicate woman, died of a broken heart. For years before her death she had taken special pains to instill into the mind of her child those principles which at this time were shaping his life and character. “ Never be induced my boy,” she would say time and time again, “as lon<f as you live, to drink the first drop of liquor; for then you can never become a drunkard. Right there is where the trouble came with your poor father. When he first commenced drinking I used to talk with him about it, but he only laughed and said, in his pleasant way, that there was no danger in his case. But poor man, he found to his sorrow and the sorrow of his family that there was. His appetite for liquor, when once formed, could never be broken, though I know he tried hard many times to conquer it. And when you grow to be a man, my

THE NEW FIRM.

son, do all you can to crush out this awful evil; but be kind and helpful to those who are suffering from it. This great world does’nt stop to think of the misery that strong drink brings upon all; the lives it destroys, the homes it makes desolate, and the hearts it makes sad. You will be laughed at many times, no doubt, by some, and even hated by others, but as long as you live don’t be ashamed to let it be known that you are on the side of Temperance.”

Blessed instruction that, and blessed was the fruit it bore.

After the death of Woodruff’s mother, he was taken to the home of an uncle, a large marble dealer in Vermont. There he received a good education and a thorough knowledge of the business. At the age of twenty-four, and at the advice of his uncle, he applied for and received the position which he had been holding for the last two years.

Whether or not he should now enter the employment of Andrews & Son remains to be seen.

As George Woodruff was passing along the street on the afternoon referred to, he saw directly in front of him, and walking in the same direction, a young lady. As they neared a corner he heard the shouts of men and the rumbling of wheels on a street running at right angles to the one on which they were walking. On reaching the corner he saw nearly in front of him and running at break-neck speed a hand engine drawn by a company of firemen. “Hurry up, men!” shouted the foreman, “let’s be the first at the fire.”

“Look out there, lady!” called a policeman from the opposite corner, “don’t try to cross now!”

Whether in the excitement the young lady had become confused, or whether she imagined that she could reach the opposite corner before the engine overtook her, Woodruff could not determine; but as she did not appear to stop, he saw at once that she was in great danger, and immediately stepping forward, laid his hand on her shoulder.

“Excuse me, Madam,” said he, “but don’t think of crossing now.”

“ Perhaps I had better wait,” she replied, stepping back to the curbing where Woodruff was standing. The waiting

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>' r as of short duration, for in a few seconds the engine hutried by, and the busy, noisy throng moved on.

To be alone in a great city, and in a state of expectancy, tends to make one restless and uncertain in his movements.

Woodruff was in high hopes of getting the situation he had applied for, but as yet all was undecided. He had thought the matter over several times, looking at it in various ways, as if counting the probable chances in his favor, but finally concluded that as nothing had been definitely settled, he would think of it no more, at least for the present.

After supper he left his hotel, and went out for a stroll. Up one street and down another he went, glancing carelessly into the shop windows as he passed by, but spoke to no one nor was spoken to. After wandering about for some time, he came to a wide street on which were many large and beautiful family residences. Passing one of these homes he saw, through an open window, the same young lady whom he had met on the street a few hours before, seated at a piano.

“Sing the same song you sang last night,” he heard some one say. To this she made some reply, but he did not catch the words.

In a moment more a sweet, melodious voice, sang in softest tone —

“ I shot an arrow into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song hi to the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For who has sight so keen and strong,

That it can follow the flight of song ?

Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke ;

And the song, from beginning to end,

I found again in the heart of a friend.”

The song was new to him, and the ladv a stranger; yet there was something in both that deeply impressed him.

Chapter III. Seeking For Light

The first person that Simon Jones resolved to call upon was Henry HefFman, the proprietor of the village hotel. If this individual ever had any conscientious scruples about selling liquor, they had long since been crowded out, for he had followed this line of business as a means of livlihood for over a quarter of a century. Some years ago his eldest son had fallen a victim to drink, and was now mouldering in a drunkard’s grave. His only daughter had become the wife of a drunkard. But after years of harrowing misery and constant dread, was at last compelled to seek again her father’s roof for shelter and protection. These things, instead of softening Heffman’s heart, served only to harden it, and he become, if possible, even more bitter in his denunciations against the few people in the community who were outspoken on the subject of Temperance.

“ Why,” said he, “ If they keep on agitating this question, they will ruin the whole country. They are not satisfied with the license system, they are even clamoring for prohibition. I had rather live under a king than be domineered over by these wild fanatics; It has come to a pretty pass that a man can’t take a social glass without being proscribed by these fellows Why, ten years ago, old Pastor Hendricks used to frequently stop at my house on his way to his church over the mountain, and I never found him too good to take a glass of wine, I tell you, and sometimes, something stronger, when he had a long, cold ride before him; but now you can’t go into a church on a Sunday without running the risk of listening to a long temperance lecture by some fanatic or other.”

THE BANE OF BENDON.

As this last remark was made, a haggard looking man, somewhat past midle life, who had been reclining on a bench in the farther end of the bar-room, rose up and said in a husky voice : “ Mr. Heffman, if I were in your place, I would’nt

borrow any trouble about preachers or churches either, for that matter. For I’ll vouch its been many a long day since you were inside a church or had anything to do with a minister. Don’t think, landlord, that I’ve turned temperance reformer ; oh no, I’m too far gone for that ; I can’t reform myself, let alone any one else. But one thing I do know rum’s been my greatest enemy, and what is true of me is true of you.”

“ Never you mind, Sam. Jackson,” replied Heffman, “I can look after my own interests without any of your advice or assistance. If you have made a fool of yourself by drinking too much you must’nt blame your neighbors.”

“Well, sir, I am not blaming them, and if I were in your place I would’nt either. All I’ve got to say is, that you sell rum and I drink it, but it occurs to me that it has been a loosing game for both of us.”

Then pulling his hat over his eyes he settled down in the corner again in a kind of half stupor.

As this little quarrel between the rum seller and his victim ended, the door opened, and Simon Jones, approaching the landlord, said :

“ Good morning, Mr. Heffman. I have called this morning to talk with you a little about the death of our neighbor Wilson.”

“ Do you mean John Wilson, who was run over by the car? ” said Heffman in a gruff manner.

“ Yes sir, he is the one I refer to.”

“ Well, Mr. Jones, I want you to distinctly understand that he was no neighbor of mine, he hasn’t been in my house over two or three times, within the last month, and I told him only last week that I wished he'd go away and not come back any more.”

“ Yes, but why did you request him to go? ”

SEEKING FOR LIGHT.

“I requested him to leave, sir, because he was injuring my business. Respectable people don’t want to see my house filled up with lazy loafers every time they come into it.”

“ Very true, Mr. HefFman, yet there was a time when this man was not a loafer, and there was also a time when he had money, friends, and respectability, why did you not tell him to leave then?”

HefFman, knowing Simon’s ability in propounding knotty questions, and being in no mood for answering them, cut the conversation short by saying:

“ Mr. Jones, if you have come into my house to read me a temperance lecture, or to blame me for the faults of others^ I tell you now you had better be about some other business! For the last few years you temperance folks have been trying to work up a prejudice among the people against us liquor men, and you have carried this thing so far as to drive some out of the business; but you won’t drive me, I tell you. I know what my rights are, and I’m going to defend them. My business is carried on under the sanction of law; my petition fora license was first signed by twelve free-holders; that petition was granted by the proper authorities appointed to attend to such matters; and now, sir, if you have any objections to this, go to them, and not to me; that’s all I’ve got to say about it.”