Columbia Democrat And Bloomsburg General Advertiser

THE RECLAIMED.
BY JOHN B. GOUGH.

There is no power on earth will make a man a fiend like the power of drink. One circumstance in my own reminiscences I will give to you. I was asked by an individual to go and see the hardest case then in town. I said :

"I have no right to go and see him; he will say to me, 'Who sent you to me? who told you I was a drunkard? You mind your own business and I will mine; you wait till you are sent for; and when I want you I will send for you.' I have no right," I said, "to go to him."

"Well," said he, "he is a hard case; he beat a daughter of his, fourteen years of age, with a shoemaker's strap, so that she will carry the mark to her grave."

"He's a brute," said I.

"His wife is very ill now with a fever, and the doctor thinks she cannot get over it: the man has not been drinking for some days, and if you can get at him now I think you might do him good."

I thought I would go. I knocked at the door; he came to open it. He had been to one or two of our meetings. The moment he saw me he knew me. Said he-

"Mr. Gough, I believe?"

"Yes, that is my name; would you be good enough to give me a glass of water, if you please?"

"Certainly," said he, "come in."

So I got in. I sat on one side of the table and he on the other. There were two children in the room playing together, and a door half way open that led into the room where the wife was ill. I sat and talked with him about everything I could think of but the subject; I talked of trade and crops, railroads and money matters, and then drinking, and he headed me off again. I looked and I thought I saw a malicious twinkle in his eye, as much as to say, "Young man, you are not up to your business yet."

I was about to give it up: but, I think providentially, I saw the children. I said to him:

"You've got two bright looking children there, sir."

"O! yes, yes; bright little things."

"You love your children, don't you?" said I.

"Bless the children, to be sure I love them."

"Would you do anything to benefit your children?" I asked.

He looked at me as if he thought something was coming after.

"Well, to be sure, sir; a man ought to do everything to benefit his children."

Then I stood up, so that I might get out of the door as speedily as possible, and said :

"Don't be angry with me; I am going to ask you a plain and simple question; you know who I am, therefore, you won't be angry? Suppose you never use any more intoxicating liquor, don't you think your children would be better off?"

"Well well," said he, "you have got me this time."

"You have got a good wife haven't you?" said I.

"Yes, sir, as good a woman as ever a good man had for a wife."

"And you love your wife?"

"To be sure I do; it is natural that a man should love his wife."

"And you would do anything you could to please your wife?"

"Well, I ought to."

"Suppose you were to sign a temperance pledge, would that please her?"

"By thunder, I rather think it would; I could not do the thing that would please my wife like that. If I was to put my name down there, why, the old woman would be up and about her business in two weeks."

"As she is sick," said I, "then you will do it."

"Yes, I guess I will do it."

And he at once opened a closet, took out pen and ink, and I spread out the pledge, and he wrote his name.

The children had been listening with eyes, ears and mouth wide open, while we were talking about temperance. They knew what a drunken father was; they knew what the principle of abstinence would do for him; and when he had signed, one said to the other-

"Father has signed the pledge!"

"Oh, my!" said the other, "now I'll go and tell my mother;" and away she ran into the other room.

But the mother had heard it, and I listened to her calling,

"Luke! Luke! come here a moment."

Said he, "Come in here along with me; come in and see my wife."

I went and stood by her bedside. The face was ghastly pale, the eye large and sunk deep in its socket; and with her long thin and bony fingers she griped my hand, and with the other took the hand of her husband, and began telling me what a good husband she had.

"Luke," said she, "is a kind husband and a good father; he takes care of the children, and is very kind to them; but the drink, O! the drink makes terrible difficulty."

That difficulty! God only and the crushed wife of the intemperate man know anything about it.

The man shook like a leaf; he snatched his hand from the grasp of his wife, tore down her night dress from her shoulder, and said-

"Look at that!" and on her thin neck, close to her shoulder, was a bad mark.

Said he, "look at that!" and when I saw the mark of a bruise, I felt my flesh creep.

Said he, "Look at that, sir! I did it three days before she was taken down upon her bed, and she has told you that she has a good husband. Am I? Am I a good husband to her? God Almighty forgive me!" and he bowed over that woman and wept like a child, griped the bed clothes in his hands, and hid his face in them. And she laid her thin hand upon his head and said-

"Don't cry, Luke; don't, please don't; you wouldn't have struck me if it had not been for the drink. Mr. Gough, don't believe him; he is as good a man as ever lived. Don't cry, Luke."