DUMFOUNDERED.
When James Welsh sprang from the table, and held out his hand, Lord
Lamerton was in that condition of bamboozlement that he did not know
what to do, whether to mount the table and address the audience, or to
walk away; whether to accept the proffered hand, or to refuse it. He
felt as does a boy who has been blindfolded and set in the midst of a
room to be spun about, struck, and bidden catch his persecutors, but who
finds himself unable to touch one.
Whatsoever he said was caught from his lips and converted into a fresh
charge against him; every kindness he proposed was perverted into an act
of barbarity.
And then—after he had been thus treated, his persecutor bounced down
before him, and in the most cheery tone in the world, declared that no
offence was intended, asked him if he were bamboozled, and invited him
to shake hands. Lord Lamerton was no match for his assailant. He was not
a ready man. When he had been primed by his wife, or after laborious
preparation, he was able to produce the collected matter, but neither
smoothly nor naturally. His sentences came from him as liquid issues
from a barrel unprovided with a vent. They flowed for a while, then
stopped, and a gulp ensued, after that a drop or two; another gulp, and
then a rush of words forming a sentence, or, more probably, a sentence
and a half. An interruption confused Lord Lamerton, a question silenced
him. He was deficient in precisely those qualities which Mr. Welsh
possessed in perfection—ready wit, assurance, bluntness of feeling
qualities essential to the successful orator. Welsh knew exactly how to
keep in touch with his audience, he could gauge their ignorance at a
glance, and would always accommodate himself to their capacity. He had
unbounded audacity, because utterly without scruple; he had smartness,
and skill in parrying.
Lord Lamerton stood back. The night was not dark, but the trees cast
shadows about the glade where the meeting was held, and the lantern cast
but a feeble light. His movements could be seen only by those who were
close to him, and in his condition of bamboozlement, he was glad to take
advantage of the opening made in the throng by Welsh, to follow and
place himself outside the crowd. He did not leave altogether; he
remained to see what would follow, and to gather together his scattered
senses. He leaned against the bole of a Scotch pine, and looked on
unobserved. Those who had noticed that he had passed through concluded
that he had left entirely.
“What a thing it is,” muttered Lord Lamerton, “to have the gift of
assurance. That fellow was all in the wrong, and I was all in the right,
but I could not explain my right, and he was able to make all I said
seem wrong. ’Pon my soul, I don’t believe that he was in earnest, and
believed in what he said. I couldn’t do that, God bless me! I couldn’t
do that and look my lady in the face again.”
Suddenly Captain Saltren appeared on the table vacated by Welsh. He
looked more gaunt, hollow-eyed and pale than usual, but this may have
been the effect of the lantern-light falling from above on his prominent
features. The moment he appeared he was greeted with clapping of hands
and cheers.
As Lord Lamerton looked on, he thought the scene was strangely
picturesque, it was like a meeting of old Scotch Covenanters. To the
north, the sky was full of twilight, but black clouds drove over it,
flying rapidly, though little wind was perceptible below. Against the
silvery light rose the well-wooded hill with spires of pine, and larch,
and spruce, like one of those fantastic prospects of a mediæval city in
Doré’s night pictures. In front was the ruined cottage with the yellow
lantern, suspended from a projecting beam, and in its radiance the form
of the mining captain as wild as the surroundings. Between the looker-on
and the table were the figures of men, boys, and some women, partially
illumined by the pale twilight from above, partially by the yellow halo
of the lantern. Now and then a match was struck, as a man lit his pipe,
and then, there was a flare, and the heads that intervened were
distinctly seen, black against the momentary flash.
Saltren looked from side to side, and waved his arms. As he did so, the
fingers of his right hand came within the direct rays of the lantern,
and were seen quivering and in movement as though he were engaged in
playing a piece of rapid music on an unseen instrument. And in truth, he
was so doing, and doing it unconsciously. From these long, thin,
thrilling fingers, invisible threads attached themselves to the nerves
of those who stood before him, and before he spoke, before he opened his
mouth, a magic, altogether marvellous accord was established between him
and those who surrounded him. It is told of St. Anthony of Padua that he
was once asked to preach to an audience whose tongue he could not speak,
and who understood not a word of Italian. He went up into the pulpit,
looked round, and all in the church went into paroxysms of contrition
and tears, and—he had not said a word. The secret of this power is
intensity of conviction and absolute sincerity. Saltren was convinced
and sincere. The look of his face, the agitation of his limbs, the
convulsive movements of his lips all proclaimed his sincerity.
The captain, moreover, was known to all those who now looked up to him,
known as a man of probity, true in all he said and just in all he did, a
blameless man. But though his blamelessness commanded respect, there was
in him, something beyond the blamelessness that commanded respect; and
that something was his spirituality. Men felt and acknowledged that
there existed in him a mysterious link with the unseen world. All, even
the dullest were aware, when speaking with Captain Saltren, that they
were in the presence of a man who lived in two worlds, and principally
in that which was supersensual and immaterial. He impressed the people
of Orleigh—as did Patience Kite—with awe. These two belonged to the same
category of beings who lived in an atmosphere of the supernatural; the
captain talked with angels, and Patience Kite with, perhaps, devils. The
influence both exerted was not confined to the ignorant, it extended to
those who were partially educated; perhaps he influenced these latter
even more than the former. In the general flux and disintegration of
belief, those who were most aware of the _débacle_ clung most
tenaciously to the skirts of such who still remained convinced. Now Mrs.
Kite, however sceptical she might be in religious matters, had no doubt
whatever in her own powers, and Captain Saltren was profoundly rooted in
his own convictions, and this was the source of the strength of both.
As he stood on the table, his limbs trembled as though he were stricken
with the ague, his mouth quivered, sweat streamed from his face. He
could not speak, emotion overpowered him. He waved his hands, and his
fingers clutched at the air, and he looked nervously from side to side.
A woman screamed, fell on her knees, and shrieked for mercy. She thought
she was at a revivalist meeting, and the movement of Saltren’s hands had
caught every nerve in her head and had drawn together and knotted them,
so that she shrieked with the tension insupportable.
“My friends and fellow sufferers,” began Saltren. The cry of the woman
had unloosed his tongue, for it proclaimed that sympathy was established
between him and his hearers. “I have doubted”—he spoke slowly, in a low
tone, with tremor in his tones, and with diffidence—“I have doubted
whether I should address you or not. I do not desire to speak. I am held
back, and yet I am thrust on. I am like an anchored vessel with the
sails spread and the wind filling them. The anchor must part, or the
sails be torn to shreds. The anchor is in the earth, the breath of
heaven is in the sails. I know which ought to go. But there is
strain—great strain;” he paused and passed his hand over his face, and
it came away dripping with moisture. “I have no natural gift. I am
fearful of myself. I cannot speak as did James Welsh. I am no scholar. I
am an ignorant man. But so were the apostles, taken from their nets, and
so was Levi taken from the receipt of custom. So was Elisha, drawn from
the plough. I hang back. I can say with David, my heart is not haughty,
nor mine eyes lofty. Surely I have behaved and quieted myself as a child
that is weaned of his mother.”
Then the woman, kneeling, began again to scream, “Lord, have mercy! have
mercy!” and her cries assisted in thrilling and exciting the speaker and
people alike. Some of the audience began to groan and sigh. One young
bumpkin from behind called out, “We don’t want no sarmon. If you’re
going to preach, I’m off.” Then ensued a commotion; heads were turned,
exclamations of anger and disgust greeted the interruption, and the lad
was hustled away.
Saltren resumed his speech, when the interruption was over and quiet
restored.
“I am,” he said, “a quiet man. I keep to myself and to my own concerns.
So was Gideon a quiet man, keeping to himself and his farm. But the
spirit of prophecy came on him, and he was summoned to lead the people
against Midian, and to smite the enemy hip and thigh, and utterly to
destroy them.” The tones of his voice became firmer and deeper. His
hearers trembled as he trembled, and their hearts quivered with every
vibration of his voice.
Lord Lamerton listened with amazement. He and that ploughboy who had
called out in mockery were the only two in that assembly who had not
fallen under the influence of the orator, one because he was cultivated
beyond its reach, the other because he was spiritually sunk beneath it.
The clouds had now formed a black canopy overhead, and as a pause ensued
in the address of Saltren, the rush of the wind could be heard in the
tree-tops.
“There was neither sword nor spear found among the Israelites,”
continued Saltren, “and yet they overthrew their enemies, and the way
was scattered with their garments and weapons as far as Jordan. I am an
ignorant and a foolish man, and yet I am sent to you commissioned from
above. I cannot forbear, for I am driven on. Moses was in favour with
the Egyptians, and yet he threw away his advantages because of the
sighing and the groaning of his people. I have had no favour with the
Egyptians, but I have been sent to lead Israel out of captivity. I would
keep silence, but I may not. I have had a call as had Jonah, and if I
try like him to fly, I shall be brought back. I must deliver my message.
If I were sunk in the sea, the sea would throw me up. If I were covered
by the mountains falling, I should come forth to proclaim the message.
That is why I stand here before you. I have wrestled with myself. I have
shrunk from declaring what I have seen and heard, but if I were to hold
my peace, I should be broken as a rotten branch, and be consumed in the
fire. Therefore I must speak.”
He paused and drew a long breath, and again wiped his brow. All the
audience drew a long breath with him. Overhead the wind muttered and
puffed, and along the horizon at the back the dark spires bent and
righted themselves.
“I was in the spirit on the Lord’s day,” said Saltren, and at once, as
he said the words, the man was changed. His tremors ceased, his knees no
longer shook, he stood firm with head erect, and with a face as that of
a frozen man and his hands clasped before his breast.
“I was in the spirit on the Lord’s day,” he repeated. “I was here, hard
by, down by the water—no, on the water, in the old quarry, engaged in
prayer. Then, suddenly, I saw a light from heaven above the brightness
of the sun, and I was as one dazzled and in a trance; and I heard a
voice, like the voice of a trumpet calling to me, and saying, Saltren,
Saltren, Saltren! Then, before I could answer, I saw an angel flying in
the midst of heaven, having a little book in his hand, and he held it
aloft, and cried, ‘This is the Book of the Everlasting Gospel, this is
the truth hid from the earth for ten thousand years, and now at length
revealed unto men.’ Then I cried, Give me the book. And the angel cast
it down, and said, ‘This is the Everlasting Gospel, all men are equal,
all are the sons of the one Adam, and are children of one family. There
shall be no more rich and poor, noble and common; all shall be equal,
and so all shall be one.’”
Then some of those who heard, carried away by their emotions, began to
leap and hold up their hands, and cry, “Glory, Allelulia!” and the woman
on her knees was joined by others who united in cries for mercy. For a
few moments a whirlwind of groans and exclamations and general commotion
swept over the assembly, and as suddenly died away again.
“Then,” continued Saltren, “Then the angel cast down the book, and it
fell into the water, but as it fell I read thereon the title, _The
Gilded Clique_. And what, I ask, is the gilded clique, which like a
sponge, sucks in all the wealth of the country and gives nothing back?
What is the gilded clique which claims to itself nobility and gentility,
and calls us common and unclean? What is the gilded clique which sits
alone, firm on its strong foundations struck in the earth, and drives us
from place to place in search of work and food? Which denies to all but
itself sure and lasting homes, and a certain future? What is the gilded
clique which carries corruption into our families, and blights the land
with its vices? The gilded clique! Such are they. A handful of dirt!
Such are we. But where are truth and righteousness, diligence and
honesty to be found? Among them? In the gilded clique? or among us, in
the handful of dirt? The day of reckoning is approaching, already has
one seal of the seven been unclasped, and I have read what it is to be,
and what I have read, that must I proclaim. As I wrestle night and day
in prayer, more and more of the contents of the book are disclosed to
me. When it fell from heaven, I saw only the cover and what was thereon,
but since then, when I am in prayer, I am shown the book and the seals,
and one after another is unclosed, and I read further. Time will reveal
what is now hidden from your eyes. Only have confidence, and look
forward.”
As Saltren talked, he worked himself out of the constraint with which he
had begun, and he spoke easily, fluently, as one inspired, speaking with
authority; and his action as he addressed the audience was dignified,
serious and easy. His voice was full, deep and sonorous, and his eye
flashed with conscious power. Whilst he was speaking, a few drops of
rain began to fall, large and warm; and the sky overhead was black with
cloud. Behind, in the ruined cottage, strange, spectral, blue flashing
lights began to play, seen at first on the threshold, then on the
hearth, and then dancing from one end to another of the hovel. The
course of the flame could not be traced by those without, because the
walls intervened, but it was seen quivering at the broken doorway, and
then through the shattered window.
Those who stood near the cottage, shrank from it, cowering back,
pressing on those behind, and leaving a space between them and the
table, and the house where these ghostly lights moved about. Saltren
alone was unconscious of what passed in the ruin, for his back was to
it.
“We have our misery brought home to us,” he continued. “Why are we
thrown out of work? Why am I threatened with having my house taken from
me? Why is this cottage torn down, and the stones cast upon an innocent
man to crush the life out of him? The Lord has suffered all this to come
upon us at once, so as to rouse us to a knowledge of the truth revealed
to me that all are equal, and in our equality are one; and that the time
has arrived when the poor are to rise and put their feet on the necks of
their oppressors. I saw on the cover of that book which descended to me
from above the clouds, the head of a man, and the cover was red with
blood, and I saw how that that man was handed over first to destruction,
the first among many; and I know how that the heads of those predestined
to destruction will appear in order, one after another, on the cover of
the book, as the sentence goes forth against each. He who comes first is
the chief offender, he who has caused so much woe, he who has destroyed
the peace of homes, that one—”
A shout of “Name, name!”
Then, suddenly, from within the ruin flared up a vivid conflagration
golden yellow, so brilliant as to light up the faces of all present
turned to the speaker, and convert every leaf of every tree into a flake
of gold.
Women shrieked, then were instantaneously hushed, hushed as in death,
for, standing on the table behind Saltren, they saw Patience Kite, wild,
ragged, with her hair about her shoulders, and an arm extended,
pointing. Saltren, also, by the vivid glare, saw Lord Lamerton under the
Scotch fir, his face catching full the reflection, as if illumined by
the sun.
“Do you ask his name?” he shouted. “He is there.” He also pointed, and
all the while was unconscious that the wild woman near him was
indicating the same man.
Then the whole assembly turned to look, and for a moment saw Lord
Lamerton.
For a moment only, for the flame fell, and cries, piercing, thrilling
every nerve, distracted the attention of the crowd. A woman had fallen
in convulsions on the ground, declaring that she had seen the Devil.