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"For Father's Sake," or A Tale of New Zealand Life

Chapter XXIX

page 345

Chapter XXIX.

It has previously been mentioned that the main town in which Mr. and Mrs. Remay resided was at some distance from the harbour. Not that it was distant from the sea; but, being built further round the Bay, and on three imposing hills, which, although not pleasant for business people, gave it a picturesqueness for the idle pleasure-seeker, it was kept free of the scattered confusion attending ship exporting and importing. However, for some distance around the wharf there were houses and homes, with their accompanying men and women. The locality was low-lying and unhealthy, and the houses were of the poorest and dirtiest description. Two large buildings, one a wholesale store which looked like an enormous one-stall stable, the other the freezing works, not much better in appearance, several small shops, and one or two moderately tidy houses, were the only places of distinction, if such striking peculiarities can be called distinction. Yet we are slightly wrong. To say that these were the only places of distinction is not speaking correctly. In the midst of this meagre population three large hotels reared their imposing walls, and carried on their devastating practices; kept in luxury by people who fail to support themselves in bare necessities. Here, indeed, is a practical illustration to the havoc of drink; and it is a visible proof of that Colonial characteristic, "Where two or three houses are gathered together there you will see a hotel in the midst of them." The heart bleeds at the knowledge of this stain on the fair name of New Zealand. Who are the upholders of this drink page 346curse? The grimy-faced, scantily-clad children, the bloated blear-eyed parents, the shattered-glass rag-stuffed windows, the tottering doorstep, all rise up and disclose the effect; but the cause must be ascertained before the cure can be effected. And to discover a cause, especially one so complicated as this, needs much study and many failures. Before us stands the great class—man. Divide it into four parts. Wealthy, Poor, Influential, Lowly. Yet ever bear in mind that numbers from all four parts worship at the shrine of this Drink God, and that all are screened behind the cloak Christian Civilization. Thus day after day, and year after year, priest and people pay tribute to their god by sacrificing upon his altar all their better qualities and higher hopes; celebrating the ceremony by lifting the flagon to their lips and draining the filthy draught. "O God," in the bitterness of our souls we cry; "Is there no God in Israel, that thy people send to foreign lands for foreign gods?" But come, we are searching for the cause. Drill deeper and deeper into the services of this drink-worshipping nation. There in the inner court you perceive the poor deluded man performing his religious rites, and receiving his god's responses. He is from the wealthy class; has paid his tribute; and is now celebrating the ceremony. Presently he will adjourn to his couch, whither, perhaps, his wife has preceded him. Why should not the both receive their responses together? They are not very well, and think it best to remain quiet for a day or two.

A second man enters the inner court; but his clothes and gait mark him as from the opposite class. He enters and bows. Lo! he is a priest, for around him is gathered his family. He is not very strong, so is permitted a chair; and of course his people follow suit. There he sits in the midst of poverty and squalor, brandishing his pannikin of beer, and singing his drunken song; while page 347his wife and children clap their hands and join in the merry worship. They are all happy, very happy. Their mirth exceeds even that of their predecessor. The priest has paid his tribute long ago; it behoves him now to celebrate the ceremony, and to teach his children the service. "Czieup, my hearties!" he cries, throwing down his empty mug, and rising to his feet with the intention of dancing a jig. But the spirits have entered his brain; he reels, staggers, and would have fallen, but for the timely help of his half-intoxicated wife. The interference arouses the sleeping demon within. Supporting himself by holding on to the table, the man stands up, a beast personified, bursting to give vent to his brutal instinct. His fierce eyes fall upon his wife; but she, too, has been worshipping at Bacchus' shrine, and her trembling limbs refuse to help her escape. With profane oaths, blow after blow is rained upon the woman's body. The children, uttering terrified screams, flee from the house, and seek shelter from a neighbour. But soon the man grows tired of his brutal occupation, and after beating his wife black and blue, turns her out of doors. By this time his rage is spent. The responses have been rather more than his strength of mind was capable of receiving. He cringes and shivers, and slinks into the farthest corner. The least sound sends a shudder through him. He weeps like a baby. "Where is thy wife and children? Their blood cries unto thee from the ground." At the question, a cold perspiration breaks out over his brow. His face assumes a dogged haunted expression.

"They were drunk, and I turned them out;" said the wretched man covering his face with his hands.

"By what authority did you act so? Were you not worse than they?"

"Oh, no. I am not drunk. No one can say I am. I have never been drunk in my life." In his endeavour to page 348vindicate himself, the poor man rises. "Hiccough!" Ugh! A reel; and the quivering mass falls prostrate, to vomit up the costly, soul-bought poison.

Disperse! Leave him to his wallowing. He will soon copy his fellow-worshipper, by sleeping off the responses. But what of the wife and children? O Compassion! Compassion! Where art thou, that thou art not aroused at the thought of their abandonment? Ah! here is the answer, before even the neighbour's door is reached. The rattle of mugs, mingling with wailings; the shadow of hands waving half-drained bottles. What do they tell? And what does the whole story tell? What the whole worship? That the indulgers in this drink consumation are like babes. "They know not what they do." And after the manner of babes should they be treated. Why heed their lisping words, "We are happy. Let us alone. We are doing you no harm. We must live. This is the easiest way of getting a livelihood."

Awake! awake! O man and woman! Awake and put forth every effort to stem this awful current. Do you not see the poor prisoners stretching out their arms for aid? It is on you, who are grown up, as it were; who see and feel the darkness of such worship, that the responsibility of this crime rests. Neither the buyers nor the sub-sellers are to blame for the stain put upon our proud Island, for the allurements for both are great. It is you; you who calmly stand and mock at the poor supplicants.

"This must not be! This shall not be?" we cry; and as the shout rends the air, a Being of infinite tenderness appears before our gaze, He is standing at the open graves of intemperate men's souls. He is standing and weeping. "O, Father!" we cry; "how He loved them." Then the Being lifts up His glorious voice, and commands men and women to come forth and unloosen the napkins, and let the page 349dead free. At the sound of that voice, Satan trembles in his exalted seat; and the thick walls of his fortress shake beneath the shells of truth hurled at them by our Prohibitionists. Fight on! Fight on, and win! We know that those walls have taken years to build. What fortress worth storming has not? We know that the land whereon those fortresses are built is more solid and fertile than the soil of ordinary vice. But we also know that by the power of God, we shall prevail. For at the last shout of our seventh day's march those walls shall fall, and the chosen children shall enter in and take possession. Work and labour in the right spirit; the spirit of Pity and Holy Indignation; the spirit in which the Saviour worked and laboured; and nothing shall fail. All shall come to pass.

It was just such a neighbourhood Nellie entered; and it was among just such people her errand took her. And while she pauses in front of a grimy little shop, and looks up at the faded sign board, let us learn the brief history of this insignificant little building.

In the first place, it was built many years before by an energetic enterprising business man. He began business at the very bottom of the ladder, and for some years, like Caleb Balderstone in "The Bride of Lammermoor;" told as many lies, and invented as many ruses "for the credit of his honour," as would erect a second Tower of Babel. I hardly think he went so far as to light a fire on the roof of his house, but many were the "spit bearing the wild foul" he made off with; although for the matter of that, he never waited for them to get to the cooper's bickering fire, preferring rather to do his own cooking. And the cooking was as ludicrous as the procuring. It may be he inherited his culinary accomplishments from his Scotch great grand father, for this peculiar little man was what the vulgar would call "a Scotch Jew." After having as he termed it "released page 350the poor animal from the pangs of life," he dipped it in water, rolled it round and round in white clay, which he kept in a case at the back door, and which mystified his neighbours not a little; and deposited it among the glowing embers; then he closed the kitchen doors, and no one dare enter until the "divine afflatus" had finished its consultation. Naturally these little peculiarities, along with several others, marked him as singular. Many, indeed, looked askance at him, in their hearts hearing the voice of superstitious whispers. But he persevered in his work, and soon found himself a thriving business man, possessing a large boot manufacturing establishment, and commanding a brisk and extensive trade. Even then those early superstitions hung about him, placing him in awkward positions at times. For instance, his business necessitated his journeying to other towns, and it was with difficulty the skippers of the small coasting vessels could be persuaded to tranship him. He was looked upon as a modern Jonah, whom to have in the vessel was a direct challenge to the storm; singulary enough, two or three of these little boats had been wrecked while he was journeying by them, which perhaps gave rise to the superstition. Nevertheless, this funny little man was not so bad as he was painted, or at any rate everyone did not look upon him with the same repulsion; for one day he returned from one of these foreign visits, bringing with him a wife. Thus for many days he "grew like a green bay tree, spreading aloft his great branches," and drinking in the fragrant air of success. But the worm lay at the root eating its way into the vital parts, although for a time its direful presence remained concealed. Just as he was about to resign business, and spend the remainder of his days in retirement, a sudden illness laid him low; and a far more lasting place of rest, a far more satisfactory retirement, opened its door for him.

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Now the presence of the worm began to make itself felt. The business drooped. The capital became exhausted. Debts accumulated. Bankruptcy. A few days after the crash, a fire broke out in one of the rooms and consumed more than half the shop. How it originated no one knew for certain, although many suspected. The remaining portion of the once fine building was patched up and made habitable. And thus after the lapse of several years, it stood before the perplexed girl, a delapidated ugly little shop, with three or four hob-nailed boots, and about half-a-dozen pairs of laces all looking as if they came out of the Ark, blinking at her through the red screened window.

Satisfied with her inspection, Nellie stepped in, and tapped on the counter. An elderly woman appeared, and with a courteous "Good afternoon," asked in a strangely mellow voice, "what can I do for you Miss?"

Nellie was a little startled by the woman's appearance; naturally enough she had expected to see something in keeping with her surroundings. Then she remembered hearing that at one time this was the "Darling of society," and she well understood the reason of that application.

The woman was tall and stately, and moved and spoke with that quiet grace which is the heritage of birth alone. She was neatly dressed, even tastefully, and her hand, as it rested on the counter, though painfully thin, was well formed and white. But it was the expression of her face, and the music of her voice which struck one most. The latter was low, but clear and decided, and somehow gave you the impression that it had been trained for the hall. The former pale, strongly marked, expressive of deep sense, and, but for the peculiar restlessness of the eyes would have been reflective: and her grey hair, which was rather loosely braided, indicated a time when it clustered around a tender maidenly brow in soft raven ringlets.

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"I have some private business with you," said Nellie, in answer to the woman's question. "We can hardly converse without interruption, here," glancing around the tiny shop.

"Step this way please," and leading the way into the room she had just quitted, she offered Nellie a chair. "Excuse the untidiness Miss, but I have not had the heart to do anything much since my son—Perhaps you knew my son. A fine strapping young man, but not obedient to his mother. It nearly broke my heart when he left his home; just when I needed him most too. But there, I forgive him; may the Lord forgive him also. Pray that you might never know the pangs of mothers, Miss." She rather overdid herself, and there was something so hollow about her forgiveness, and her hope, that "The Lord would forgive him also," that Nellie's lip curled scornfully, and she wondered if the woman were one of those canting religious jades that infest the public streets, and barricade the private doors. The thick laden atmosphere plainly showed she was no Salvation Army member, and for the first time Nellie detected the traces of drink. This, by the way, was the latent worm. Presently the woman began to whine, and then her fortitude gave way. Throwing her arms across the table, and bowing her head upon them, she moaned: "O my son, my only boy. His father left me, and now he has left me. What shall I do? I am alone, alone."

"After all," thought Nellie, "the woman has a little motherly feeling left. Aunt told me she was a good kind woman, spoiled. She was all right so long as her husband was alive and able to keep a restraint upon her evil indulgence. After that—but there, we have all our failings. Yet it is dreadful to think of the consequences of our folly." Her heart softened toward the woman, and going over to the table, she placed a hand on the bowed shoulder, saying in a gentle voice: "I am sorry for your trouble, Mrs. page 353Maurice; it is about your son I am come to speak; I was with him at the last, and received his dying instructions."

Instantly the woman ceased her discordant wail, and sprang to her feet as if she had been subjected to a current of electricity. She turned to the startled girl a face hideous with its expression of cunning expectancy. "Has he left me any money?" she hissed; "Have you brought it?"

Nellie shrank back, her great eyes fixed on the woman's face; infinite disgust stirring in her soul. "Could this be the same woman? A moment before she had mourned, and that with sincerity, the bereavement of husband and son. She had uttered God's name and pretented to know his ways. Now she stood up a deified Judas; her better nature bartered at the shrine of gold. Nay, at what she had worshipped so long, and what the gold could buy. Nellie shuddered, and her voice was icy cold as she answered. "Your son has left you a small sum of money, but it is under restriction. You are to receive the interest, which will be barely enough to keep you in idleness during your life time. It is so disposed as to leave you no loop hole for indulging in what was your, and partly his own, ruin. After your death the capital goes to the hospital. However, my visit has nothing to do with money matters. You will hear the particulars from another source. Your son charged me to make known to you the truth concerning his last earthly act. Not, that he wished for any compliance toward himself from you, but that you might see in his death something beyond obliteration; and also, that when you come to meet your own end it might be a comfort to know that your son died honouring the name both you and he had, during life, made a hiss and by-word for every tongue. Sit down, Mrs. Maurice," commanded Nellie, pointing to the chair the woman had so suddenly quitted. "Sit down, and I will tell you my message." The page 354woman did as she was commanded, and Nellie, drawing her own chair forward, began.

"You are aware of the fact, I suppose, that your son gradually fell from the high position his father's affection and wealth had fitted him to fill. The ladder down which he slid all too quickly, you understand better than do I. The last step, which in reality was his first to a higher, was the insignificant post of a jockey. How much of the fall lies at your door, you best know. Perhaps a little lies at mine." The last few words seemed to have a soothing effect, and Nellie's voice grew softer as she remembered the bright flash in two deep blue eyes. Then she told to the mother the noble deed of her noble son. Told how Albert Maurice had refused to be bribed into dishonesty; but worn out by the persistency of his tempters, and crushed by the influence of his former dissipated life, he at last gave in. When the day dawned for the execution of this gigantic fraud, his better nature rose to the surface. As he rode out on to the course, he flung the silver down at the feet of the Pharisees, and refused to be a Judas, declaring he would win if possible. Then, when with beating heart, he found himself winning, passing the wished-for winner, his companion, out of revenge, struck him with his whip just as his horse was rising to the last hurdle. He swerved. Down came horse and rider, and on rode the cruel traitor. All this Nellie told, and much more. Told of a noble forgiveness, and a generous silence. Told that almost his last words were to allow no one else but his mother know of the fraud and of the results. Told that the slightest breath of the story getting abroad would lose her her income; that in the hour of death he shielded his murderer. Told, and showed, the diamond of self-sacrifice dug from the slums of evil influence.

The old woman's face softened a little, and she promised to respect her son's last wishes. But her main thoughts page 355seemed to be the income. "How did he come by the money, Miss?" asked she, after a few moments' pause.

"His life was well insured, and he has always managed to pay the premium," answered the girl.

"It was very good of Albert. But what use is it to me if I can't do as I please with it?"

Again that feeling of repulsion swept over the girl, and rising, she said in her freezing tone, "I presume our business is at an end, Mrs. Maurice. I expected to hear a word of commendation for your son's noble conduct. I am disappointed. How you could be the mother of so brave a man I cannot understand. I have but one word to say in parting. Have a care how you employ the remainder of your life. It will not be the same now as it was before. You drifted, and were more to be pitied than blamed. But this is a warning; and it has come to arrest your downward course. If you do not heed, then that drifting or failing becomes a sin, and you will have to atone accordingly. Good afternoon."

She turned and left the room and the shop; and that was the first and last time those two met and conversed. Their ways diverged, and they regarded one another with the feeling of an accidental acquaintance. Perhaps in the other world they will be drawn closer together by the personal presence of their introductory theme. But of ourselves we might add that never from that day was Mrs. Maurice seen the worse of liquor. On the outskirts of that little seaport, you will notice a neat little cottage almost smothered in vine. Over the mantelpiece of its tiny parlour is a large picture of a handsome young man, with dark features and raven curly hair, with square chin, short drooping moustache a shade lighter than his hair, and with strange fascinating eyes. He is dressed in jockey clothes, and is standing beside a noble looking horse. At his feet lies a dragon with a silver coin in its mouth, which it seems to be holding out to the young page 356man. But the white face of the young man is slightly turned towards the horse, and his foot rests upon the dragon's head. This picture is the only ornament in the room, indeed, it is almost the only article of furniture worth noticing. The sole inhabitant of this little palace is an elderly lady—she is a lady now, that you cannot help seeing at the first glance—and if you were to ask her about the picture, she would quietly say, "He is my son;" then her lips would be sealed, and you would get no more information regarding it.

The story of Albert Maurice's heroic conduct never eked out. It was buried like many another such like, beneath the stone which marked his earthly resting place. Nevertheless that story may have its resurrection, and in the Lamb's book of Life many shall see it written across the page which contains the record of his life's.