Rensselaer Union, Volume 11, Number 51, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 September 1879 — SAVED FROM SUICIDE. [ARTICLE]

SAVED FROM SUICIDE.

A Thrilling Sketch of California Life Twenty-Five k'cara Ago. As I was coming out of the San. Francisco Postoifice one morning in the year 185-, a tall, dark-skinned man placed himself in front of me, and, fixing his intensely-glittering eyes upon me, said, in an excited tone: “ Sir, can you give me a half hour oEyour time this morning. ”»4“Yes,”l replied, “if I can be of any service'to you by so doing.’* “Not,here, but in your office, privately,” he continued. “I must speak to somebody, and, having heard you preach in the church' on Pine street, I felt that I could approach you. 1 am in great trouble and danger, and must speak tp some one.” Hfs manner was excited, his hand trembled, and his eye had an insane gleam as he spoke. We walked on in silence until we reached my office on Montgomery street. After entering I laid dowrrmy letters and papers, and was about to offer him a chair, when he hurriedly locked the door oq the inside, saying as he did so: “ This conversation is to be private, a'pd I do not intend to be interrupted.” As he turned toward me I saw that he Im iwpfbto'l in his hand, which he Ipiddn a desk, and then sat down. I i ’waiied for him 1 to speak, eyeing him and the.' pistol closely, and feeling a little uncomfortable, locked in thus ,vtitb an ,'armed madman of almost giant-like size and strength. The pistol had a sinister look that I had never before recognized in that popular weapon. It seemed to grow bigger and bigger. “Have you ever been haunted by the idea of suicide?” he asked, abruptly, his eyes glaring upon me as he spoke. “No, not particularly,” I answered; but why do you ask?” Because the idea is haunting me," he said, in an agitated tone? rising from his chair as he spoke. “1 have, lain, for two nights with a cocked pistol in my hand, calculating the value of my life. 1 bought this pistol to shoot inylelf with, and I wonder that I have not done it; but something has heiKima-back.” “Wimt' has put the idea of suicide irttb.your.mmdP” I inquired. y*) life’s a failure, sir; and there is itofliing else left for such a fool as I have been,” he said, bitterly. .“ When a’ man has no hope left, he should die.” , - ' T was making some reply, when he broke in: “ Hear my history, and then tell me if death is not the only thing left for me,” laying his hand upon the pistol ns -he spoke. When he told me his name I recognized it as that of a man of genius, whose contributions to a certain popular periodical had given him a wide fame in the world of letters. . He was the son of a venerable ‘New England bishop, and a graduate of Harvard University. I will give his story in his own words, as nearly as I can: “In 1850 I started to California with honorable’ purpose and high ambition. My father being a clergyman, and'>oor, and greatly advanced in years, I felt that it was my duty to make provision for hint and for the family circle to which I belonged, and of which I was the idol. Animated by this purpose, 1 was full of hope and energy. On the ship 1 hat took me to California I made the acquaintance and fell into the snares of a beauQpl but unprincipled woman, for whom 1 toiled and sacrificed everything fob eight years of weakness and folly, never remitting a dollar to those I had intfefliled tOf provide for-at home,-e&w>y~ ing all the while an uneasy conscience and despising myself. I made immense sums of money, but it all .went for nothing but to feed the extravagance and recklessness of my-' evil genius. ' Tortured by remorse, I made many struggles to free myself from the evil connection that blighted my life, but in vain. I had almost ceased to struggle against my fate, when death lifted the shadow from my path. The unhappy woman died, and I was free. I was astonishea io find how rapid and bow complete was the reaction from my despair. I felt like a new man. The glowing hopes that had been smothered revived, and I felt something of the buoyancy, and energy with which I bad left my New England hills. I worked hard and prospered. I made money and saved it, making occasional remittances to: the family at home, who were o.vqpjoyed jo hear from me after so long? and/ guilty siieuce. I hadn't the. heart t<<writ«-to ,them while .pur--BUing’>yleVil’iiff^r ‘ ~ JdJUpm .learned Wgamble, of course, but now I resolved to quit it. For two ,years I kent this resolution, and had in the over $6,000. Do you believe that'the devil tempts men? -T t«ll .you, sir, it is true! I began to feel a strange desire to visit some of my old haunts. This feeling became intense, overmastering. My judgment ■ and. conscience protested, but I felt like one under a spell. I yielded, and found my way to a well-known gam-bling-hell, where I lost every dollar cf my hard-earned money. It ’was like a dream-Al seemed to'be drawn onto my ruin by qome Invisible but resistless evil power. When I had lost all, a strange calm name over me, which I had never understood. It may have been the faction,* after. A night of feverish excitement, or possibly it. was

i he unnatural calm that follows the death of hope., My self-contempt wfis complete. No language could have expressed the intensity of my selfscorn. I sneaked to my lodgings, feeling that I had somehow parted with my manhood as well as my money. “ The very next day I was surprised by thd offer of a lucrative subordinate fositlon in a Federal office in San rancisoo. This was not the first coincidence of the sort in my life, where an unexpected influence had been brought to bear upon me, giving my plans and prospects a new direction. Has God anything to do with these things, or is it accident? I took the place which was offered to me. and went to work with renewed hope and energy. I made a vow against gambling, and determined to recover all I had thrown away. I saved every dollar possible, pinching myself in my living, and supplementing my liberal salary by literary labors. My savings had again run high up in the thousands, and my gains were steady. The Frazer River mining excitement broke out. An old friend of mine came to me and asked the loan of a hundred dollars to help him off to the new mines. I told hip he should have the money, and that 1 would have it ready for him that afternoon. After he left the thought occurred to me that one hundred dollars was a very poor outfit for such an enterprise, and that he ought to have more. Then the thought was, sugfested— yes, sir, it was suggested— that might take the hundred dollars to a faro-bank and win another hundred to place in the hands of my friend. I was fully resolved to risk not a cent beyond this. The idea took possession of my mind, and when he came for the money 1 told him my plan, and proposed that he accompany me to the gamblinghell. He was a free-and-easy sort of fellow, and readily assented. Wcwent together, and after alternate successes and losses at the faro-bank, it ended in the usual way: I lost the hundred dollars. I went home in a frenzy of anger and self-reproach. The old passion was roused again. A wild determination to break the faro-bank took hold upon me. I went night after night, betting recklessly until not a dollar was left. This happened last week. Can you wonder that I have concluded there is no hope for as weak a fool as I am?” He paused a moment Jji his rapid recital, pacing the floor, with his hand on the hammer of the pistol, which he had taken np. “ Now, sir, candidly, don’tyou think that the best thing I can do is to blow out my brains?” said he, cocking the pistol as he spoke. The thought occurred to me that it was no uncommon thing for suicidal to give way tp the homicidal mania. The man was evidently half mad, and ready for a tragedy. The pistol seemed almost instinct with conscious evil intention. If a suicide or homicide was to end the scene, I preferred the former.

“ How old are you?” aiming to create a diversion. “ 1 am forty-five,” he answered, apparently brought to a little more recollection of himself by the question. “I should think,” I continued, having arrested his attention, “that whatever may have been your follies, and however dark the future you have to face, you have too much manhood to sneak out of life by the backdoor of suicide.” The shot struck. An instantaneous change passed over his countenance. Suicide appeared to him in a new light—as a cowardly, not an heroic act. He had been fascinated with the notion of having the curtain fall upon his career amid the blaze of blue light and the glamour of romance and the dignity of tragedy, amid the wonder of the crowd and the tears of the sentimental. That was all gone—the suicide was but a poor creature, weak as well as wicked. He was saved. He sank into a chair as he handed me the pistol, which I was very glad indeed to get into my hands.' “ You should be ashamed of yourself , sir.” I continued. “ You are only forty-live years old; you are in perfect health, with almost a giant’s strength, a classical education, extensive business experience, and with a knowledge of the world gained by your very mistakes that should be a guarantee against the possibility of their repetition. A brave man should never give up the battle—the bravest men never give up.” “ Give me the pistol,” he said, quietly;, “you need not be afraid to trust me with it. The devil has left me. I will not act the part of a coward. You will hear from mo again. , Permit me to thank you. Good-morning.” I did near from him again. The devil seemed indeed to have left him. He went to British Columbia, where he prospered in business and got rich, became a pillar in the church of which his father was 1 one of the great lights, and committed not suicide, but matrimony, marrying a sweet and cultured English girl, who thinks her tall Yankee husband the handsomest and noblest of men.— Rev. Dr. O. P.. f'itzgerald, in “ California Sketches."