Temperance by Rev. Wm. M. Blackburn

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Mar 6, 1884

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 10, No. 10.

Temperance.

By Rev. Wm. M. Blackburn

The Man in the Well.

It was one of those dark, murky days of February, which follow the breaking up of a cold spell of weather. The snow, which had fallen at intervals to a considerable depth, had been washed by a three days' rain. It was cold; as chilly, cold, wet, and disagreeable as one can possibly conceive a day to be. Those who had to go out, buttoned up close, and hurried through the shower as best they might.

There was a man building a foundry in our village; and to supply his engine with water he was having a well dug beside his furnace, which was a heavy pile of stone-work. This well was nearly completed, and the men engaged in digging it held a consultation whether they should continue their work.

The elder and wiser of the two said, "No, the earth is too full of water, the ground is too soft, and the pressure of the stone too great; it will cave in." And he refused to enter.

But the other laughed at his fears, descended in spite of all remonstrance, and began his work. In vain his brother entreated him to desist. His reply was, "No danger; I know what I'm about."

But he did not know. The burdened earth gave way, and he was buried many feet beneath an avalanche of sand and gravel.

Wild went the cry over the village, "Fisher's well has caved in, and buried Custard beneath!" The storm, the wind, the rain, the mud, were all forgotten. The merchant dropped his yardstick; the farmer left his market-wagon in the street; the lawyer threw down his book, the mechanic his tools, the minister his pen.

All rushed with throbbing hearts to the rescue. Women caught up their infants, and ran amid the storm to sympathize with the frantic wife; and all looked into each other's faces, and asked, in gasping whispers, "What can we do?"

Ropes, ladders, spades, and shovels were wanted. No one stopped to ask, "Whose is this?" no one said, "That is mine!" but the cry was, "Take it! take it! hurry—he will die."

Down they leaped into the dark abyss. None said, "'Tis not my business—do it thou;" but all were so eager that the police had to form a circle to keep off the crowd, lest they should shake down the surrounding earth, and bury the workers.

Then there was the stone-work; it was pressing heavily. "Tear it away," cried Fisher, "save him!" And with giant strength he hurled the huge rocks from their places.

"It will cost him a great deal," said one, more prudent than the rest.

"Don't talk of cost; we'll all give him something and help to rebuild. Save the man! save him!—don't let him die for a few pounds' expense."

They worked like giants, till the big sweat-drops rolled from manly brows, and strong hands trembled with fatigue; then others took their places, and thus the work went on.

A tin tube was forced down, through which they shouted, and asked the prisoner, if alive, to answer; and his voice came back to them from his grave: "Alive, but make haste; it is fearful here."

He was alive; and with a wild, joyous shout, they redoubled their zeal to save him. No one said, "He went in himself,—let him die!" no one bade the pleading, weeping wife "mind her own business; they had nothing to do with her perishing fool of a husband; let him die!" No one urged the matter as to the legal liability of taking this man's spade, that man's ladder, and the other man's boards; or the penalty attached to destroying the masonry and despoiling the works.

No, no; there was a man to be saved. All else was forgotten, and in the full tide of human sympathy they risked themselves to save him. And he was saved!

"He is saved! he is saved!" went up with a shout of joy that shook the very heavens above them. "He is saved!" was echoed from every street and alley. "He is saved!" cried the young wife, as with streaming eyes she clasped her infant to her breast, and thought of his relieved wife and little ones. "He is saved—bless God!" murmured the aged mother, and the image of her own son flitted before her. "He is saved!" burst forth as from one voice from the whole village.

And yet, this was but one man, a day-laborer, famed for no extra virtue. Had he died, his would have been but a short agony. His wife would have shed tears of sorrow, but not of shame. His children would have been fatherless, but no dark stain would have sullied their lives; no withering memory would have blighted their young hearts.

O men! O women! how strangely inconsistent you are. There are hundreds dying this very day in our Christian land; tens of thousands are being crushed between a weight more terrible than the ground in the well; dying a lingering death, that will as surely come to them, if no hand is raised to save them, as it would have come to the man in the well.

Dig away the temptations that have covered them up. Hurl the stones of selfishness from their places. Take this man's rope, that one's ladder; but help, help, in mercy help, ere those thousands die!—die in torments awful, terrible—die in misery, shame, and sin!

Help, help! they were once the wise, the good, the great; the artisan, the mechanic, the merchant, the farmer, and the student. Save them, oh! save them from the drunkard's tomb. Let them not be buried alive in passion and temptation. Up through the dark aisles of life, with the hollow voices of despair, they are calling you to save them or they perish! Oh! lift that load that is crushing them, and that they have no power to resist. Stand no longer idly watching, while yon victims perish day by day.

What if the jeopardy is self-imposed? So was that of the man in the well; but did you withhold your hands? What if property will be destroyed, and the rights of others interfered with? So was it with the property that covered the man in the well; but HUMAN LIFE demanded the sacrifice, and it was cheerfully made.

Up, then, men and women! WORK to redeem the drunkard as you would your neighbor from other danger. Save him by force. Take him from the mire of intemperance. Drag him from the horrible pit, and place his feet upon firm ground, where there is no trembling and quaking. Remove temptation! Compel him to live. And prayers of thanksgiving, tears of joy, and the shouts of the redeemed shall ascend to Heaven, and the very angels shall echo back a long and loud hallelujah!—Rev. Wm. M. Blackburn.