The Fremont weekly journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio) 1867-1877, 1875-02-26

a rough cart is driven rapidly by, and
we hear the brutal driver sing;
"Quick, rattle his bones, rattle his bones
Over the stones,
Look into the coffin as they go by.
See the dead drunkards. Some died Of
delirium tremens, and the lines Of ter
ror are still plainly marked in their
faces. Some froze to death by the road
side, too drunk to reach their homes.
Some stumbled from the wharf and
were drowned. Some wandered into
the woods and died and rotted on the
surface Of tho earth. Some blew their
own brains out. Some were fearfully
stabbed in drunken brawls. Some were
roasted in burning buildings. Some
were crushed to shapeless masses under
the cars. They died in various ways,
but strong drink killed them all, and on
their tombstones, che died a drunkard's s
death"
Close behind them came another long
line of funeral PROFESSIONS; we know
not how many, but they are more nu-
merously attended by mourning friends.
They contain the remains of those who
have met death through the carelessness
and cruelty of drunken men. Some
died OF broken hearts. Some were
foully murdered. Some we're burned
to death in buildings set on fire by
drunkards. Some were horribly man
gled on railroads because of drunken
engineers and hagmen. Some we're blown
up on steamboats, because drunken cap
tains ran races with rival boats. But
here comes another army-the children
innocent ones, upon whom has been
visited the iniquihes of their fathers
How many are there Two hundred
thousand marching abreast, they extend
up the street thirty miles. Each one
must bear through life the stigma Of
being the drunkard's child. They are
reduced to poverty, want and beggary.
They live in ignorance and vice. Some
of the children are moaning with hun
ger, and some are shivering with cold,
for they have not enough rags to keep
them warm. Many of them are idiots,
made such before they were born, by
brutal drunken fathers, and worse than
all the rest, many of them have inher-
tied love for liquor, and growing up
to take the places and do the deeds of
their fathers They will fill up the
ranks of the awful army of drunkards,
that move in unbroken columns down to
death. 1t has taken nearly year for
the street to empty itself of its years
work,
But they cannot tell all. They give
only the outline of the terrible tragedy
that is going on around us. They can
not picture to us the wrctched squalor
of drunkard's home. They cannot
tell us how many unkind and cruel
words strong drink has caused, other
wise kind and tender hearted husbands
and fathers to utter to their dear ones.
They cannot tell us how many heavy
blows have fallen from the drunkard's
hand upon those whom it is his dnty to
love and cherish and protect. They
cannot tell us how many fond expecta-
tions and bright hopes which the fair
young bride had of the future has been
blasted and turned to bitterest gall.
They cannot number the long, weary
hours Of the night during which she has
anxiously awaited, and yet, fearfully
dreaded the heavy football at the door.
FIGURES CAN NOT TELL.
Us how many scalding tears the wives of
drunkards have shed, nor how many
prayers of bitter anguish and cries of
agony God has heard them utter. They
can not tell us how many mothers have
worn out body and soul in providing the
necessities of life for children, whom n
drunken father has left destitute. They
can not tell us how many mothers hearts
have been broken with grief as they see
a darling son becoming a drunkard.
They can not tell us how many white
hairs have gone down in sorrow to the
grave, mourning over drunken children.
They can not tell us how many hard
fought battles the drunkard in his sober
moments, has fought with his terrible
appetite; how many times he has walked
his room in despair, tempted to commit
suicide, because he could not conquer
the demon. And finally, we can not
search the records of the other world,
and tell how many souls have been shut
out from that holy place, where nc
drunkard enters, and bsnished to the
regions of eternal despair by the demon
| of drink.
What man, what woman, what child
would not vote to have the whole street,
with its awful traffic in the internal stuff,
sunk to the lowest depths of perdition,
and covered ten thousand fathoms deep
under the curses of the universol