Part 18 (1/2)
Then Madeline or Rebecca, or (very rarely) I propelled a strain of doubtful melody from Madeline's little melodeon, while the singers--boys and girls together--chimed in, joyfully rendering with a perfect fearlessness of utterance and deep intensity of expression such songs as ”Go, bury thy sorrow, the world hath its share,” and ”Jesus, keep me near the cross,” and ”Whiter than snow, yes, whiter than snow; now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”
They knew no other songs. They would sing through a large proportion of the Moody and Sankey Hymnal in a single evening.
At first I listened half amused or thoroughly wearied. But, as the strains grew more familiar and I sang occasionally with the others, I felt each day more tired and more conscious of my own incompetency. And still the Words rang in my ears; ”I hear the Saviour say, thy strength indeed is small;” with much about trusting in Him, and his willingness to bear it all. As the wind beat against the Ark on wild nights, so that we could hardly tell which was the wind and which was the roar of the maddened sea, and still those voices chanted hopefully of the ”stormless home beyond the river,” etc., the words began to strike on something deeper than my physical or intellectual sense, and that not rudely.
I smiled to catch myself humming them over often, and in the school-room, when I felt that my patience was fast oozing, and I experienced a wild desire to loose the reins and let all go, unconsciously I took refuge in repeating those same simple words, going over with them, again and again, beneath my breath, holding on to them as though they possessed some unknown charm to keep me still and strong.
I went to the evening meetings. They were held in the school-house, and were very popular in Wallencamp.
By some provision of the government on behalf of the Indians, a small meeting-house had been built for those in the vicinity of Wallencamp, and they were also provided with a minister for several months during the year. On this account the Indians rather set themselves up above the benighted Wallencampers, whom government had not endowed with the privileges of the sanctuary, while they, in turn, made derisive allusions to the ”n.i.g.g.e.r-camp” minister, and regarded with contempt its prescribed means of grace.
The Indians enjoyed, for part of the time that I was in Wallencamp, the ministrations of a Baptist clergyman, a truly earnest and intelligent man, gifted with a most forceful manner of utterance, but so lean as to present a phenomenal appearance. This good man feared nothing but that he should fail in some part of the performance of his duty. He believed that it was his duty to come over and preach to the Wallencampers also, in their school-house, and he did so.
I think that the Wallencampers regarded this, on the whole, as a doubtful though entertaining move.
I do not think that they took any particular pains to hara.s.s or annoy the Rev. Mr. Rivers. But they certainly did not restrict themselves in that natural freedom which they always enjoyed on the occasions of their spiritual feasts.
They attended, as usual--the old and the young, the good, the bad, the indifferent, with a lively sprinkling of babies.
Though not a cold night, they kept the stove gorged with fuel. It roared furiously. They were restless. They made signs audibly expressive of the fact that the air of the room was insufferably close, and very audibly slammed up the windows. They whispered and giggled; they went out and came in, as they pleased. They drank a great deal of water. I remember particularly, how at the most earnest and affecting part of the Rev. Mr.
Rivers' discourse, the immortal Estella, _alias_ the ”Modoc,” arose in gawky innocence and all good faith from her seat immediately in front of the speaker, and walked to the back part of the room to regale herself with a draught.
The Baptist minister discharged a withering and conscientious reproof at them through his nose.
Now, for, the Wallencampers to be reproved, however scathingly, by some zealous and inspired individual of their own number, was considered, on the whole, as an apt and appropriate thing, but to be reproved by the ”n.i.g.g.e.r-camp” minister! When, after the meeting he walked with the Keeler family back to the Ark, where he had been hospitably entertained, the Wallencamp boys saw us depart in silent wrath, and I feared that Treachery lay in wait for the Rev. Mr. Rivers.
He sat and talked with us at the Ark for an hour or more, perhaps, before bidding us good-night, and during that time I caught glimpses of faces that appeared at the window, and then vanished again instantly--familiar faces, expressive of much scornful merriment. Now and then I heard a smothered giggle outside, and a scrambling among the bushes. It was a dark night. When the Rev. Mr. Rivers finally rose to depart, and had got as far as the gate, he became helplessly entangled in a perfect network of small ropes. He could neither advance nor recede. In a pitiable and ignominious condition, he called to us for help.
”Those devilish boys!” said Grandpa, with religious fervor of tone, at the same time glancing at me with a delighted twinkle in his eye. ”I knew they was up to something. I heered 'em out there;” and he patiently lit his lantern, and went out to cut the minister free; but the Rev. Mr.
Rivers did not come to the Wallencamp school-house to preach again.
Among those who looked on with quiet approval at this childish and barbarous performance of the Wallencamp youth, I learned afterwards, were staid Lovell Barlow and little Bachelor Lot.
Left to their own spiritual devices, the Wallencampers carried on their evening meetings after methods formerly approved. They rose and talked--or prayed--or diverted themselves socially--or sang. Everything they were moved to do, they did.
The lame giant, G.o.dfrey Cradlebow, at seasons when the tide came in, would pour forth the utterances of his soul with the most earnest eloquence. At other times, he was morbid and silent, or made skeptical and sneering remarks aside.
Lovell Barlow, though generally regarded as a believer, had never so far overcome his natural modesty and reserve as to address the Wallencamp meeting. But one night, spurred to make the attempt by some of his malicious and fun-loving compatriots, he surprised us all by rising with a violent motion from his seat, and making a sudden plunge forward as though his audience were a cold bath, and he had determined to wade in.
”Boys!” he began, with a most unnatural ferociousness. Then I felt Lovell's eyes fixed on my face. ”And girls, too,” he added, more gently; ”and girls, too, certainly, _I_ think so;” he continued; ”_I_ think so.”
His tone became very feeble. He glanced about with a wild eye for his hat, grasped it, and went out, and I saw him afterwards, through the window, standing like a statue, in the moonlight, with his arms folded, and with a perfectly cold and emotionless cast of countenance.
Among the professors, G.o.dfrey Cradlebow's mother, Aunt Sibylla, with quite as much fire and less delicacy of expression than characterized the speech of the strange lame man, was always ready to warn, threaten, and exhort.
Grandpa Keeler, too, though not subjected to the renovating and rejuvenating processes of the Sabbath, but just touched up a little here and there, enough to give him a slight ”odor of sanct.i.ty,” and a saving sense of personal discomfort, was always led to the meeting, and kept close by Grandma Keeler's side on the most prominent bench.
When there was one of those frightful pauses which sometimes occurred even in the cheerful concourse of the Wallencampers, casting a depressing influence over all hearts, Grandma Keeler by a series of covert pokes and nudges, would signify to Grandpa that now was the appointed moment for him to arise and let his light s.h.i.+ne.
And Grandpa Keeler was not a timid man, but since the event of his clarification, he had shown a stronger dislike than ever to being pestered, and was abnormally quick to detect and resist any advances of that kind. So his movements on these occasions were marked by an angry deliberation, though the old sea-captain never failed in the end, to arise and ”hand in his testimony.”
His remarks were (originally) clear cut and terse.