The Bamberg herald. [volume] (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, 1909-08-12
Some Whiskey Figures.

Some Whiskey Figures.
Editor The Bamberg Herald:
Here are some figures which were
taken before the prohibition wave
which is sweeping over the South. 1t
is said the saloon is going now at
rate of over twenty a day. There
are in the United States one hundred
and forty thousand licensed saloons
and dispensaries. If formed into a
street with saloons on each side. al
lowing twenty feet to each saloon,
they would make a street two hun
dred and sixty miles long. Let US i'm
agine them brought together into
such a street and let us suppose that
the moderate drinker and their fam
lilies are marching into it at the up
per end and let us see what that
street turns out in one year.
What army is that which comes
marching down the street in solid
column five abreast, extending SO
miles, It is the army of four mil
lion men and women who daily go to
saloons for Intoxicating drinks as a
beverage. Marching twenty miles a
day it will take them more than %
days to go by. Now they are gone
and close behind comes another
army marching four abreast and go
miles in length. In it there are $780,
900 confirmed drunkards. They
are men who have lost control Of
their appetites, who are in the regu-
lar habit of getting drunk and max
ing beasts Of themselves.
Marching two abreast the army is
$50 miles long. Scan them closely,
if you please. There are gray-haired
men and fair headed boys. It takes
them seven days to go by. 1t is
sad and sickening sight, but do not
turn away yet, for here comes anoth-
er army-100,000 criminals whose
hands are besmeared with human
blood. Some are on the way to the
gallows, others are going to prison
for life.
Every crime known to our laws
has been committed by those persons
while under the influence of whis-
key.
But what gloom is this that per-
vades the air and what is that long
line of black coming slowly down
the street. 1t is line of funeral
professions. One hundred thousand
who have died the drunkard's death
are being carried to their graves.
Drunkards do not have many friends
to mourn their loss and we can put
thirty of the funeral professions into
a mile. We have thus a procession
of 1888 miles in length. 1t will
take a good share of the year for
them to go by. Look into the cof-
fins as they go by. See the dead
drunkard. Some died of delirium
tremens, and the lines of terror are
still plainly marked on their faces.
Some froze to death by the road
side, too drunk to reach their homes.
They died in various ways, but
strong drink killed them all. But
here comes another army. The chill
dren, innocent ones, on whom have
been visited the iniquities of their
fathers. How many are there?
Two hundred thousand marching
two abreast. They extend up the
street thirty miles. Each one must
bear through life the stigma of be-
ing a drunkard's child. They are
reduced to poverty and want; they
live in ignorance and vice, and,
worse than all the rest, many of
them inherited love for whiskey
and are growing up to take the
places and do the deeds of their
fathers. They will fill the ranks Of
that 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, and close in the rear
comes the vanguards of the next
years supply, and if that is what
whiskey does in one year, what must
be the result in all the world,
through the long centuries?
Now, you have the figures that
you have heard so much about, but
they give only the outlines of the
terrible tragedy that is going on
around US. They cannot picture to
as the wretched squalor of a
home. Figures can
not tell how many heavy blows have
fallen from the husbands hand up
on those whom it is his duty to love
and cherish and protect. Figures
cannot tell how many mothers
hearts have broken with grief as
they saw darling son becoming a
and finally we cannot
search the records of the other world
and tell how many souls have been
shut out from that holy place where;
no drunkards enter and banished
to the region of eternal despair by
the demon of drink. Then what
man, what woman, what child would
not vote to have that whole street,
with it's awful ira c in the Internal
stuff, sunk to the lowest depths of
perdition and covered ten thousand
fathoms deep under the curses of
the universe. P.
Branchville, S. c., Route No. 2.