Part 22 (1/2)
”That be d.a.m.ned!” roared the Captain.
”Well, well, it's fairly obvious that so far our recruiting campaign has not been an overwhelming success. Hamlin means to have a go at 'em on Sunday. I haven't a notion how he'll tackle the job, but there it is.
What is your opinion of William Saint?”
”A very s.h.i.+fty fellow, Pomfret, with a face the colour of skilly. He licks your boots. I wouldn't let him black mine. By the way, I've promised Habakkuk Mucklow half-a-sovereign for every cove he collars.”
”That we should have come to such a pa.s.s!”
”Light a fresh cigar, and we'll go to the stables. When I'm fed up with mankind, I always take a squint at my gees.”
”So do I, Davenant. But they'll have to go, too.”
”Mine are ready for 'em.”
This talk took place in mid-September, at a moment when an astrologer, doing a roaring trade not far from Piccadilly Circus, predicted confidently that the final disappearance of the All-Highest would take place upon the twenty-fifth day of October, 1914! Many believed him. And the mere sight of our splendid regulars route-marching over country roads, singing ”Tipperary” as they swung along, deepened in the hearts of those who beheld them the conviction that French's Army was quite sufficient to stem the Hun tide, and, later on, sweep it back to Berlin.
The pacifist press was widely read by men who had never looked at a newspaper before.
Unspeakable atrocities had begun in prostrate Belgium. Some refused to credit them. Others shrugged their shoulders and remarked blandly that war was not five o'clock tea. Out of the seething ma.s.s of contradictions, affirmations, exaggerations and recriminations, men in the rural districts who could hardly read and write were invited to step forward and abandon the beaten tracks. Can one blame them, to-day, that they shrank at first from a desperate plunge into the unknown?
Upon the following Sunday, Nether-Applewhite Church was crowded to the galleries.
All over the country, churches were filling up or emptying according to the virtue that emanated from the preachers of G.o.d's Word. One wonders whether ministers of the Gospel apply this numerical test to themselves.
It is certain, however, that those, like Hamlin, whether in Church or Chapel, who laid aside for the moment merely Biblical exegesis and the expounding of doctrine and dogma, and concentrated spiritual and intellectual energies upon dealing faithfully with the problem of human conduct as affected by a catastrophic war, had no reason to complain that they addressed empty pews.
Captain Davenant read the Lessons as if he were declaiming the Riot Act.
The good man believed that the young men present were s.h.i.+rking hounds to be rated and whipped up to their Master. Under the lash of his rasping voice, even Mrs. Yellam, louder in fervent response than usual, winced and frowned. The Parson, in his three-decker, wondered whether a discreet hint would serve to tone down the zeal of this militant Christian, who positively wallowed in the slaughters and comminations of the Old Testament. The Captain, as a stout upholder of Church and Crown, must be handled delicately; a dry old stick breaks so easily. Uncle sat with his wife in the Mucklow pew, half-way down the nave. He carried a high head, and thought of the half-sovereigns soon to be rattling in and out of his pocket. Jane sat beside him, sniffing audibly. Alfred Yellam and Fancy Broomfield were opposite to each other, with the aisle between them.
Hamlin ascended the pulpit.
He chose for his text a maxim of Bishop Berkeley:
”Where the heart is right, there is true patriotism.”
The shuffling of skirts and occasional coughs soon died down. Sir Geoffrey, from his coign of vantage in the chancel, perceived with some astonishment that Hamlin had a script on the cus.h.i.+on in front of him. As a rule he preached without notes. The Squire inferred rightly that the Parson deemed his theme to be of such paramount importance that he distrusted the effect of one careless, unconsidered word. Hamlin, however, possessed long sight. He could read his typewritten sheets without lifting them. Few in the congregation were aware of them.
He began with the curt statement that the actual word ”patriotism” is not to be found in the Bible. This challenged attention immediately. The Squire fidgeted. He considered that Hamlin had made a shockingly bad start. A weapon had been thrust into the hands of recalcitrants. This apprehension, however, vanished as the preacher set forth convincingly, in words that children could understand, the obsessing love of country, of the Promised Land, which informed and sustained G.o.d's Chosen People during forty weary years in the wilderness. With a swift transition, he pa.s.sed to the New Testament, dwelling, with more insistence, upon the love that had inspired simple, obscure men to forsake home, country and kindred, to fight G.o.d's battles in new and strange countries. When he paused, before touching his real theme, he had the ears of his congregation. He indulged in no gestures, his familiar tones fell quietly. So far, what he had said was preparatory, novel neither in theme nor treatment. None knew better than he how sadly his paris.h.i.+oners were lacking in imagination. His success, as a preacher, had not been gained by dealing with abstractions or by inviting ill-educated persons to transplant themselves to surroundings and conditions which the wisest of moderns find difficulty in apprehending. Hamlin believed in the personal appeal.
He leaned forward out of his pulpit, gazing keenly at the faces upturned to his.
”I am wondering,” he said slowly, ”how many of you young unmarried men will be here a few Sundays from now?”
He paused again. His voice was gentler:
”I am wondering, also, what the mothers and sisters and sweethearts of these young men are thinking to-day, and what part they mean to play--to-morrow.” Then he said austerely: ”Where the heart is right, there is true patriotism.”
Many hearts began to beat faster, as he went on, picking his way, pausing again and again, but never faltering. The Squire, upright in his comfortable chair, became conscious of the man's grip upon everybody present, gentle and simple. He could see their tense faces.
”I have never doubted one great thing. I believe in the soul and its immortality. In G.o.d's sight all souls are equal, because they are part of Him. From birth that soul is struggling to inform the body, in all its functions. It never tires; it never despairs. I dare to affirm that it is most active when body and mind are fighting against it, spurning it, denying, perhaps, its very existence or power. I affirm, further, that this quickening spirit within us may be least potent to achieve its purpose when body and mind are stagnant, steeped in apathy, content with the things of this earth, food, drink, clothes, money and--pleasure.
”Try to believe, for a moment, that your souls are omnipotently right.
In the text I have chosen, Bishop Berkeley uses the word 'heart.' I take it that he meant mind. Are your minds right? Are they working in harmony with your souls? Each of you is called upon to answer that question in relation to this world-war, and what that war may demand of each of us.