3stalwarts (85 page)

Little by little the people fell silent. The men stared, and the women stopped struggling at the foot of the ladder. Dan noticed one man with the red, crisp-skinned nose and dull eyes of a drunkard, standing mouth agape in a corner. He looked suddenly afraid.

Rage had brought the color back into the preacher’s face; and he cried out, hoarsely, “All right! If you want your sermon that bad, by Holy Jesus; I’ll give it to you!”

He shook the pitchfork downward.

“Set down!”

His voice thundered along the rafters.

Dan heard Mr. Wilson whispering to the Jew.

“He’s a master hand at acting a part, the old renegade.”

A thin sighing rose from the people; even the boy who had thrown the egg so accurately set down his basket. There was a gentle rustling of the hay upon the floor as the congregation settled themselves.

In the quiet, the skinny man on the mow picked up a handful of the hay and wiped his hand, back, palm, between the fingers. He did it deliberately; the gesture was a symbol.

Then he knelt, and folded his hands, and prayed: “O Lord God in Heaven, strengthen me, I pray Thee; visit my tongue with fire, I pray Thee, that I may smite these people with it, for I know there is no good in them. Amen.”

He rose slowly to his feet, a small Bible open in his hand; and in a fine, resonant voice he read them the text of his sermon:—

“Hell and destruction are before the Lord.”

He closed the book and gazed sombrely down-upon his congregation. With his white hair, pink cheeks, black moustache, and scarlet waistcoat showing through his old blue coat, he made a glowing patch of color against the brown dusk of the rafters. The sunlight picked out his white hand as it rose again and suddenly jabbed a long forefinger at the people.

At the motion, the red-nosed drunkard closed his mouth; his face went white, and he gulped.

“Hell and destruction are before the Lord,” the preacher repeated.

The little woman in the stiff black dress nodded her head.

“Hell is never full,” he reminded them grimly.

Again he paused. About Dan the breathing of the people sounded deeper. Suddenly the drunkard groaned. There was sweat on his face.

The preacher moved his left hand slightly, so that the sunlight traced gleaming spots along the tines of the pitchfork.

“Have you ever stopped to figure out what the pains of Hell were like?” he asked them in a lowered voice.

“Have you ever scalded a hog? You could rub the hair off with one wipe… .

“You know how fat stinks and starts to roar when it catches fire. There’ll be fires built on your innards down in Hell… .

“Think of the red flames gnawing at your feet… . Think of the black smoke crawling out your mouths and ears… . Think of the boiling water and the tar… .

“You’ve dropped bullheads into a fry-pan for breakfast and watched ‘em curl and hop. What’ll your poor thin naked souls do when the Devil lays them on a red-hot iron skillet? …”

The drunkard choked a cry with his hands and hid his face. Even Dan and the crew of the Xerxes stirred restlessly. Out of their own experience he was painting Hell for them until each sense leaped at the word; and then he brought it home to the villagers personally.

“Who can escape the damnation of Hell?”

He lifted a menacing hand.

“Who do you find in Hell?” His voice rose to the question. “Judas Iscariot burns in Hell.

“Iscariot sold His God for gold… .

“What man of you told the preacher he’d give him three dollars a ser-mon when you all know you’d give him by a subscription twenty-four dollars to pay the preacher who took the job? Six into twenty-four goes four times. Four times six is twenty-four. He tried to make a profit of six dollars on his own religion. I see him. I see him. But God has seen him a long time. ‘The boldness of his face shall be changed.’ Look and see!”

The man Wattles drew in his breath, and his face went red and white. But the others did not look at him; they were afraid of their own damnation. Only a grim look came into the eyes of the little woman in the stiff black dress.

The preacher’s hand shot out again.

“Who uses doctored scales in Maynar’s Corners? ‘False weights are an abomination unto the Lord!’

“Potiphar’s wife is burning down in Hell. What woman meets a man in Phileo’s sugar bush on Saturday nights, or oftener? ‘Thou hast polluted the earth with thy wickedness!’ Can ye escape the damnation of Hell?”

One by one he fastened on them the stigma of village gossip, until they huddled under the gleam of his eyes.

Through the shadow, through the drowsy smell of summer’s hay, the gold-moted shaft of light searched out the preacher’s vibrant body, so that in the duskiness he alone showed clear. His white hair glanced as he spoke, and his words, coming down on their heads, were truly the words of God.

He talked of evil, and the methods of evil, and its reward among men, and he talked as if he knew. He spoke of Judgment Day, and he brought them lame and afoot to the Throne… . But no mercy lay there for them. “Which of you can claim blessing in the sight of God?” he cried. With a sure dramatic sense he opened the Book again and read, in stirring, measured tones, the Beatitudes.

” ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.’ You are all set up in envy. You needn’t make a claim. God knows your spirit; He has searched them out.

” ‘Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.’ No mourners here. When you do, it’ll be too late. ‘And they mourn at the last, when thy flesh and body shall be consumed.’

” ‘Blessed are the meek; for they shall inherit the earth.’ Woe to the crown of pride! You women folk who gossip— ‘Thy damnation slumbereth not!’

“‘Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.’ It’s your bellies you take care to fill, and I ain’t seen any man here’s thirst taking him to righteousness. Two kegs of rum drunk up last week in Hoofman’s store. Who lay on the sidewalk yesterday? ‘Strong drink shall be bitter.’ O God, how true!

” ‘Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.’ Who threw stones? Who threw eggs? Who reviled with foul language? What woman wanted to set her hands on me— the preacher?”

His hand rose over his head, and clenched.

” ‘Blessed are the pure in heart… .’ “

His voice tolled on solemnly, irrevocably, truthfully. The evidence was his.

Men and women bowed above their knees. A faint moaning rose with their uneven breathing. The power of the preacher’s voice brought their sins upon them; and they saw them all clearly, and knew that they stood clearly before their neighbors, and the women cried, and a weakness came upon them all, as if they had been purged.

The preacher’s voice fell silent; the fingers that grasped the Book loosened their hold and let it fall. He stood quite still with his arms at his sides. His face was raised to the bar of sunlight; his Adam’s apple worked up and down in his scrawny neck. Even Dan, squatting behind the rest with the crew of the Xerxes at his side, could see the trembling of his lips.

“O God,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “We are all sinners here, and there is no health in us. Humble our hearts, O God, and let us pray: ‘Our Father, Who art in Heaven, Hallowed by Thy name …’ “

Whisperingly, at first, other voices, one by one, fell in with his.

” ‘Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us …’”

And the barn was filled to the roof with the slow sentences.

” ‘… Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory, for ever and ever. Amen.’ “

He knelt a moment in silence, the people kneeling with him. Then he rose and stretched his hands out over them, and his voice was husky.

“Let us repent and go.”

He held his pose until the people began to file slowly through the doors. They went haltingly, and the sunlight outside brought water to their eyes. After the long siege in the barn, some of them stumbled.

The preacher put his Bible back in the small satchel, wiped his hand again with hay, sniffed at it covertly. Then he put on his hat and began to come down the ladder, his narrow quarters thrusting out between the tails of his coat. Wattles and one or two of the others waited for him to reach the floor. They shook his hand solemnly.

“That was as fine a sermon as I ever heard,” said Wattles.

“I am glad to hear you say so,” replied the preacher. “It encourages me.”

His black eyes smiled at them out of a maze of tiny wrinkles.

“Now don’t you think you’d better get home? It does a man good to meditate once in a while. And after this,”— the resonance returned to his voice,— “when you repeat what I’ve said about your neighbors, remember there was a word said also about yourself. All our hope is in the Lord.”

He took off his hat as he said it, and the men as solemnly removed theirs, and then filed out. The barn was empty but for the crew of the Xerxes and the drunkard, who had fallen asleep in the corner.

Wilson came up to the preacher and shook him energetically by the hand.

“By grab, that was a show! That was a sermon! If P. T. Barnum could have heard you, he’d have signed you on for his museum and your fortune would be made. Yes, sir!” He raised his right knee and thumped it down. “Thousands of dollars!”

The preacher looked at him slyly.

“Is that a fact?”

“Granpap’s gospel— every word. I mean it.”

The preacher considered it for a moment. Then he shook his head.

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t last. That’s the first original one I ever preached. Oh, I’ve learned sermons. I’ve got five in this,” lifting his satchel, “but I bit off more’n I could chaw here. The contract called for six.”

“Well, I’d never’ve guessed it,” said Mr. Wilson.

“I wouldn’t ‘ve myself. That’s why I was cutting away. There’s just four things’ll make a man preach hard. A lot of money; being religion-crazy; believing just the opposite of what he’s preaching; or being gosh-a’mighty blue scared, like I was.”

He chuckled, a sudden musical gurgle in his throat.

“There’s a lot in that fact,” observed the Jew. “The most powerful evangel I ever listened to started drinking Monday and got the sights by Saturday and woke up Sunday with preachings in his head of the most convincing agony I ever listened to. I danged near changed my faith hearing that man rinse his soul.”

He grinned at the preacher and held out his enormous hand.

“My name’s Benjamin Rae.”

“I’m Julius Wilson. This here’s young Harrow. And there’s William Wampy.”

The preacher smiled round at them as though he felt relieved to be among them.

“My name’s Fortune Friendly,” he said. “Which way are you folks hauling?”

“Utica.”

“Could I go along with you that far?”

“Proud to have you,” said Wilson. “Come along.”

They walked out of the barn. The mules had found some grass to their liking and were cropping it peacefully. Wampy sighed and went over to them and kicked them in the belly. “Go on,” he said.

The others went aboard the boat. The Jew resumed his washing. Mr. Wilson steered. Dan and Fortune Friendly sat down on the cabin roof.

“You look troubled, lad,” said Friendly, laying his hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Don’t let what I say bother you.”

Dan stared at him as if he did not understand.

“Don’t believe a word of it. I just gave them people what they was looking for. You go along and have a good time. Eat, drink. As long as you ain’t dishonest, it don’t matter. That’s my weakness— but it ain’t no robbery from folk like them.” He pointed his thumb at Maynar’s Corners. “There’s a lot of catch-talk in the Bible. But there’s one or two things that’re mortal true. Here’s one for you to get a-hold of: ‘And also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of God.’ “

He lay down on his back and folded his hands behind his head, and crossed one skinny leg over the other. He turned his head to grin at Dan, and suddenly Dan grinned back. There was something likable about the gnomelike black eyes in the man’s pink face, and the unexplainable white hair and maze of fine lines about his eyes and the wrinkles in his scrawny neck.

“Got a good cigar on to you, brother?” he asked Mr. Wilson.

Wilson grinned.

“Sure. Catch it.”

He tossed it to Friendly, who caught it, bit off the end, and lit up almost in the same motion.

“I reckon I’ve heard tell about you,” said Wilson. “You’re sort of a renegade, ain’t you?”

Friendly winked.

“Sure. I was trained for an Episcopal minister. Yale College, by holy. I learned all the confabulations there is in books. But I didn’t find it fit.”

Wilson’s eyes lighted.

“Come here, Dan. You might as well steer. How about a game of pinochle? You’re about through, ain’t you, Ben?”

“Surely.”

“Say,” grinned Friendly, “I’m seventy years old, but my luck at cards is good, always good. I figured that was one of the reasons I wasn’t cut out to be a minister.”

He jumped to his feet and clicked his heels together.

“Don’t come no religion on us if you lose,” said the Jew.

“Religion is a compound of the passions,” said the old man seriously; “that’s why it puzzles people like you.”

Dan took hold of the rudder.

It was straight steering for the most part, and after swinging wide on the first two turns he began to get the knack of the boat. He leaned against the sweep with just enough weight to keep the bows headed straight. And the Xerxes crept ahead.

Down in the cabin he could hear exclamations of disgust from the two boaters, and Friendly’s musical chuckles.

Sunday Afternoon in Chancellor Square

Fortune Friendly shook hands with them all.

“Any time you want to make up a hand of pinochle,” he said, “you just send out for me.”

Rae and Wilson laughed good-naturedly.

“All right, we’ll do that.”

The old fellow slapped on his hat and picked up his satchel. When his white hair was covered, he looked but little over thirty.