Loud and long rang the single church-bell at Backley, but its industry was entirely unnecessary, for the single church at Backley was already full from the altar to the doors, and the window-sills and altar-steps were crowded with children. The Backleyites had been before to the regular yearly temperance meetings, and knew too well the relative merits of sitting and standing to wait until called by the bell. Of course no one could afford to be absent, for entertainments were entirely infrequent at Backley; the populace was too small to support a course of lectures, and too moral to give any encouragement to circuses and minstrel troupes, but a temperance meeting was both moral and cheap, and the children might all be taken without extra cost.
For months all the young men and maidens at Backley had been practising the choruses of the songs which the Temperance Glee Club at a neighboring town was to sing at the meeting. For weeks had large posters, printed in the reddest of ink, announced to the surrounding country that the parent society would send to Backley, for this especial occasion, one of its most brilliant orators, and although the pastor made the statement (in the smallest possible type) that at the close of the entertainment a collection would be taken to defray expenses of the lecturer, the sorrowing ones took comfort in the fact that certain fractional currency represented but a small amount of money. The bell ceased ringing, and the crowd at the door attempted to squeeze into the aisles; the Backley Cornet Quartette played a stirring air; Squire Breet called the meeting to order, and was himself elected permanent Chairman; the Reverend Mr. Genial prayed earnestly that intemperance might cease to reign; the Glee Club sang several songs, with rousing choruses; a pretended drunkard and a cold water advocate (both pupils of the Backley High School), delivered a dialogue in which the pretended drunkard was handled severely; a tableau of "The Drunkard\'s Home" was given; and then the parent society\'s brilliant orator took the platform.
The orator was certainly very well informed, logical and convincing, besides being quite witty. He proved to the satisfaction of all present that alcohol was not nutritious; that it awakened a general and unhealthy physical excitement; and that it hardened the tissues of the brain. He proved by reports of analyses, that adulteration, and with harmful materials, was largely practiced. He quoted from reports of police, prison and almshouse authorities, to prove his statement that alcohol made most of our criminals. He unrolled a formidable array of statistics, and showed how many loaves of bread could be bought with the money expended in the United States for intoxicating liquors; how many comfortable houses the same money would build; how many schools it would support; and how soon it would pay the National Debt.
Then he drew a moving picture of the sorrow of the drunkard\'s family and the awfulness of the drunkard\'s death, and sat down amid a perfect thunder of applause.
The faithful beamed upon each other with glowing and expressive countenances; the Cornet Quartette played "Don\'t you go, Tommy"; the smallest young lady sang "Father, dear father, come Home with me Now"; and then Squire Breet, the Chairman, announced that the meeting was open for remarks.
A derisive laugh from some of the half-grown boys, and a titter from some of the misses, attracted the attention of the audience, and looking round they saw Joe Digg standing up in a pew near the door.
"Put him out!" "It\'s a shame!" "Disgraceful!" were some of the cries which were heard in the room.
"Mr. Digg is a citizen of Backley," said the Chairman, rapping vigorously to call the audience to order, "and though not a member of the Association, he is entitled to a hearing."
"Thank you, Mr. Chairman," said Joe Digg, when quiet was restored; "your words are the first respectful ones I\'ve ever heard in Backley, an\' I do assure you I appreciate \'em. But I want the audience to understand I ain\'t drunk—I haven\'t had a cent for two days, an\' nobody\'s treated me."
By this time the audience was very quiet, but in a delicious fever of excitement. A drunkard speaking right out in a temperance meeting!—they had never heard of such a thing in their lives. Verily, Backley was going to add one to the roll of modest villages made famous by unusual occurrences.
"I \'spose, Mr. Chairman," continued Joe Digg, "that the pint of temp\'rance meetin\'s is to stop drunkenness, an\' as I\'m about the only fully developed drunkard in town, I\'m most likely to know what this meetin\'s \'mounted to."
Squire Breet inclined his head slightly, as if to admit the correctness of Joe Digg\'s position.
"I believe ev\'ry word the gentleman has said," continued the drunkard, "and"—here he paused long enough to let an excitable member exclaim "Bless the Lord!" and burst into tears—"and he could have put it all a good deal stronger without stretchin\' the truth. An\' the sorrer of a drunkard\'s home can be talked about \'till the Dictionary runs dry, an\' then ye don\'t know nothin\' \'bout it. But hain\'t none of ye ever laughed \'bout lockin\' the stable door after the hoss is stolen? That\'s just what this temp\'rance meetin\' an\' all the others comes to."
A general and rather indignant murmur of dissent ran through the audience.
"Ye don\'t believe it," continued Joe Digg, "but I\'ve been a drunkard, an\' I\'m one yet, an\' ye all got sense enough to understan\' that I ort to know best about it."
"Will the gentleman have the kindness to explain?" asked the lecturer.
"I\'m a comin\' to it, sir, ef my head\'ll see me through," replied the drunkard. "You folks all b\'leeve that its lovin\' liquor that makes men drink it; now, \'taint no sech thing. I never had a chance to taste fancy drinks, but I know that every kind of liquor I ever got hold of was more like medicine than anything nice."
"Then what do they drink for?" demanded the excitable member.
"I\'ll tell you," said Joe, "if you\'ll have a little patience. I have to do it in my own way, for I ain\'t used to public speakin\'. You all know who I am. My father was a church-member, an\' so was mother. Father done day\'s work, fur a dollar\'n a quarter a day. How much firewood an\' clothes an\' food d\'ye suppose that money could pay for? We had to eat what come cheapest, an\' when some of the women here wuz a sittin\' comfortable o\' nights, a knittin\' an\' sewin\' an\' readin\', mother wuz hangin\' aroun\' the butchershop, tryin\' to beat the butcher down on the scraps that wasn\'t good enough for you folks. Soon as we young \'uns was big enough to do anything we wuz put to work. I\'ve worked for men in this room twelve an\' fourteen hours a day. I don\'t blame \'em—they didn\'t mean nothin\' out of the way—they worked just as long \'emselves, an\' so did their boys. But they allers had somethin\' inside to keep \'em up, an\' I didn\'t. Does anybody wonder that when I harvested with some men that kep\' liquor in the field, an\' found how it helped me along, that I took it, an\' thought \'twas a reg\'lar God\'s-blessin\'? An\' when I foun\' \'twas a-hurtin\' me, how was I to go to work an\' giv\' it up, when it stood me instead of the eatables I didn\'t have, an\' never had, neither?"
"You should hev prayed," cried old Deacon Towser, springing to his feet; "prayed long an\' earnes............