of Oxford Cross Roads, in one of the lower counties of Virginia, was
presided over by an elderly individual, known to the community in
general as Uncle Pete; but on Sundays the members of his congregation
addressed him as Brudder Pete. He was an earnest and energetic man, and,
although he could neither read nor write, he had for many years
expounded the Scriptures to the satisfaction of his hearers. His memory
was good, and those portions of the Bible, which from time to time he
had heard read, were used by him, and frequently with powerful effect,
in his sermons. His interpretations of the Scriptures were generally
entirely original, and were made to suit the needs, or what he supposed
to be the needs, of his congregation.
Whether as "Uncle Pete" in the garden and corn-field, or "Brudder Pete"
in the church, he enjoyed the good opinion of everybody excepting one
person, and that was his wife. She was a high-tempered and somewhat
dissatisfied person, who had conceived the idea that her husband was in
the habit of giving too much time to the church, and too little to the
acquisition of corn-bread and pork. On a certain Saturday she gave him a
most tremendous scolding, which so affected the spirits of the good man
that it influenced his decision in regard to the selection of the
subject for his sermon the next day.
His congregation was accustomed to being astonished, and rather liked
it, but never before had their minds received such a shock as when the
preacher announced the subject of his discourse. He did not take any
particular text, for this was not his custom, but he boldly stated that
the Bible declared that every woman in this world was possessed by seven
devils; and the evils which this state of things had brought upon the
world he showed forth with much warmth and feeling. Subject-matter,
principally from his own experience, crowded in upon his mind, and he
served it out to his audience hot and strong. If his deductions could
have been proved to be correct, all women were creatures who, by reason
of their seven-fold diabolic possession, were not capable of independent
thought or action, and who should in tears and humility place themselves
absolutely under the direction and authority of the other sex.
When he approached the conclusion of his sermon, Brother Peter closed
with a bang the Bible, which, although he could not read a word of it,
always lay open before him while he preached, and delivered the
concluding exhortation of his sermon.
"Now, my dear brev'ren ob dis congregation," he said, "I want you to
understan' dat dar's nuffin in dis yer sarmon wot you've jus' heerd ter
make you think yousefs angels. By no means, brev'ren; you was all brung
up by women, an' you've got ter lib wid' em, an ef anythin' in dis yer
worl' is ketchin', my dear brev'ren, it's habin debbils, an' from wot
I've seen ob some ob de men ob dis worl' I 'spect dey is persest ob
'bout all de debbils dey got room fur. But de Bible don' say nuffin
p'intedly on de subjec' ob de number ob debbils in man, an' I 'spec'
dose dat's got 'em--an' we ought ter feel pow'ful thankful, my dear
brev'ren, dat de Bible don' say we all's got 'em--has 'em 'cordin to
sarcumstances. But wid de women it's dif'rent; dey's got jus' sebin, an'
bless my soul, brev'ren, I think dat's 'nuff.
"While I was a-turnin' ober in my min' de subjec' ob dis sarmon, dere
come ter me a bit ob Scripter wot I heerd at a big preachin' an'
baptizin' at Kyarter's Mills, 'bout ten year' ago. One ob de preachers
was a-tellin' about ole mudder Ebe a-eatin' de apple, and says he: De
sarpint fus' come along wid a red apple, an' says he: You gib dis yer to
your husban', an' he think it so mighty good dat when he done eat it he
gib you anything you ax him fur, ef you tell him whar de tree is. Ebe,
she took one bite, an' den she frew dat apple away. 'Wot you mean, you
triflin' sarpint,' says she, 'a fotchin' me dat apple wot ain't good fur
nuffin but ter make cider wid.' Den de sarpint he go fotch her a yaller
apple, an' she took one bite an' den says she: 'Go 'long wid ye, you
fool sarpint, wot you fotch me dat June apple wot ain't got no taste to
it?' Den de sarpint he think she like sumpin' sharp, an' he fotch her a
green apple. She takes one bite ob it, an' den she frows it at his head,
an' sings out: 'Is you 'spectin' me to gib dat apple to yer Uncle Adam
an' gib him de colic?' Den de debbil he fotch her a lady-apple, but she
say she won't take no sich triflin' nubbins as dat to her husban', an'
she took one bite ob it, an' frew it away. Den he go fotch her two udder
kin' ob apples, one yaller wid red stripes, an' de udder one red on one
side an' green on de udder,--mighty good lookin' apples, too--de kin'
you git two dollars a bar'l fur at the store. But Ebe, she wouldn't hab
neider ob 'em, an' when she done took one bite out ob each one, she frew
it away. Den de ole debbil-sarpint, he scratch he head, an' he say to
hese'f: 'Dis yer Ebe, she pow'ful 'ticklar 'bout her apples. Reckin I'll
have ter wait till after fros', an' fotch her a real good one.' An' he
done wait till after fros', and then he fotch her a' Albemarle pippin,
an' when she took one bite ob dat, she jus' go 'long an' eat it all up,
core, seeds, an' all. 'Look h'yar, sarpint,' says she, 'hab you got
anudder ob dem apples in your pocket?' An' den he tuk one out, an' gib
it to her. ''Cuse me,' says she, 'I's gwine ter look up Adam, an' ef he
don' want ter know war de tree is wot dese apples grow on, you can hab
him fur a corn-field han'.'
"An' now, my dear brev'ren," said Brother Peter, "while I was a-turnin'
dis subjec' ober in my min', an' wonderin' how de women come ter hab
jus' seben debbils apiece, I done reckerleck dat bit ob Scripter wot I
heerd at Kyarter's Mills, an' I reckin dat 'splains how de debbils got
inter woman. De sarpint he done fotch mudder Ebe seben apples, an' ebery
one she take a bite out of gib her a debbil."
As might have been expected, this sermon produced a great sensation,
and made a deep impression on the congregation. As a rule the men were
tolerably well satisfied with it; and when the services were over many
of them made it the occasion of shy but very plainly pointed remarks to
their female friends and relatives.
But the women did not like it at all. Some of them became angry, and
talked very forcibly, and feelings of indignation soon spread among all
the sisters of the church. If their minister had seen fit to stay at
home and preach a sermon like this to his own wife (who, it may be
remarked, was not present on this occasion), it would have been well
enough, provided he had made no allusions to outsiders; but to come
there and preach such things to them was entirely too much for their
endurance. Each one of the women knew she had not seven devils, and only
a few of them would admit of the possibility of any of the others being
possessed by quite so many.
Their preacher's explanation of the manner in which every woman came to
be possessed of just so many devils appeared to them of little
importance. What they objected to was the fundamental doctrine of his
sermon, which was based on his assertion that the Bible declared every
woman had seven devils. They were not willing to believe that the Bible
said any such thing. Some of them went so far as to state it was their
opinion that Uncle Pete had got this fool notion from some of the
lawyers at the court-house when he was on a jury a month or so before.
It was quite noticeable that, although Sunday afternoon had scarcely
begun, the majority of the women of the congregation called their
minister Uncle Pete. This was very strong evidence of a sudden decline
in his popularity.
Some of the more vigorous-minded women, not seeing their minister among
the other people in the clearing in front of the log church, went to
look for him, but he was not to be found. His wife had ordered him to be
home early, and soon after the congregation had been dismissed he
departed by a short cut through the woods. That afternoon an irate
committee, composed principally of women, but including also a few men
who had expressed disbelief in the new doctrine, arrived at the cabin of
their preacher, but found there only his wife, cross-grained old Aunt
Rebecca. She informed them that her husband was not at home.
"He's done 'gaged hisse'f," she said, "ter cut an' haul wood fur Kunnel
Martin ober on Little Mount'n fur de whole ob nex' week. It's fourteen
or thirteen mile' from h'yar, an' ef he'd started ter-morrer mawnin',
he'd los' a'mos' a whole day, 'Sides dat, I done tole him dat ef he git
dar ter-night he'd have his supper frowed in. Wot you all want wid him?
Gwine to pay him fur preachin'?"
Any such intention as this was instantaneously denied, and Aunt Rebecca
was informed of the subject upon which her visitors had come to have a
very plain talk with her husband.
Strange to say, the announcement of the new and startling dogma had
apparently no disturbing effect upon Aunt Rebecca. On the contrary, the
old woman seemed rather to enjoy the news.
"Reckin he oughter know all 'bout dat," she said. "He's done had three
wives, an' he ain't got rid o' dis one yit."
Judging from her chuckles and waggings of the head when she made this
remark, it might be imagined that Aunt Rebecca was rather proud of the
fact that her husband thought her capable of exhibiting a different kind
of diabolism every day in the week.
The leader of the indignant church members was Susan Henry, a mulatto
woman of a very independent turn of mind. She prided herself that she
never worked in anybody's house but her own, and this immunity from
outside service gave her a certain pre-eminence among her sisters. Not
only did Susan share the general resentment with which the startling
statement of old Peter had been received, but she felt that its
promulgation had affected her position in the community. If every woman
was possessed by seven devils, then, in this respect, she was no better
nor worse than any of the others; and at this her proud heart rebelled.
If the preacher had said some women had eight devils and others six, it
would have been better. She might then have made a mental arrangement in
regard to her relative position which would have somewhat consoled her.
But now there was no chance for that. The words of the preacher had
equally debased all women.
A meeting of the disaffected church members was held the next night at
Susan Henry's cabin, or rather in the little yard about it, for the
house was not large enough to hold the people who attended it. The
meeting was not regularly organized, but everybody said what he or she
had to say, and the result was a great deal of clamor, and a general
increase of indignation against Uncle Pete.
"Look h'yar!" cried Susan, at the end of some energetic remarks, "is dar
enny pusson h'yar who kin count up figgers?"
Inquiries on the subject ran through the crowd, and in a few moments a
black boy, about fourteen, was pushed forward as an expert in
arithmetic.
"Now, you Jim," said Susan, "you's been to school, an' you kin count up
figgers. 'Cordin' ter de chu'ch books dar's forty-seben women b'longin'
to our meetin', an' ef each one ob dem dar has got seben debbils in her,
I jus' wants you ter tell me how many debbils come to chu'ch ebery clear
Sunday ter hear dat ole Uncle Pete preach."
This view of the case created a sensation, and much interest was shown
in the result of Jim's calculations, which were made by the aid of a
back of an old letter and a piece of pencil furnished by Susan. The
result was at last announced as three hundred and nineteen, which,
although not precisely correct, was near enough to satisfy the company.
"Now, you jus' turn dat ober in you all's minds," said Susan. "More'n
free hunderd debbils in chu'ch ebery Sunday, an' we women fotchin 'em.
Does anybody s'pose I'se gwine ter b'lieve dat fool talk?"
A middle-aged man now lifted up his voice and said: "Ise been thinkin'
ober dis h'yar matter and Ise 'cluded dat p'r'aps de words ob de
preacher was used in a figgeratous form o' sense. P'r'aps de seben
debbils meant chillun."
These remarks were received with no favor by the assemblage.
"Oh, you git out!" cried Susan. "Your ole woman's got seben chillun,
shore 'nuf, an' I s'pec' dey's all debbils. But dem sent'ments don't
apply ter all de udder women h'yar, 'tic'larly ter dem dar young uns wot
ain't married yit."
This was good logic, but the feeling on the subject proved to be even
stronger, for the mothers in the company became so angry at their
children being considered devils that for a time there seemed to be
danger of an Amazonian attack on the unfortunate speaker. This was
averted, but a great deal of uproar now ensued, and it was the general
feeling that something ought to be done to show the deep-seated
resentment with which the horrible charge against the mothers and
sisters of the congregation had been met. Many violent propositions were
made, some of the younger men going so far as to offer to burn down the
church. It was finally agreed, quite unanimously, that old Peter should
be unceremoniously ousted from his place in the pulpit which he had
filled so many years.
As the week passed on, some of the older men of the congregation who had
friendly feelings toward their old companion and preacher talked the
matter over among themselves, and afterward, with many of their
fellow-members, succeeded at last in gaining the general consent that
Uncle Pete should be allowed a chance to explain himself, and give his
grounds and reasons for his astounding statement in regard to womankind.
If he could show biblical authority for this, of course nothing more
could be said. But if he could not, then he must get down from the
pulpit, and sit for the rest of his life on a back seat of the church.
This proposition met with the more favor, because even those who were
most indignant had an earnest curiosity to know what the old man would
say for himself.
During all this time of angry discussion, good old Peter was quietly and
calmly cutting and hauling wood on the Little Mountain. His mind was in
a condition of great comfort and peace, for not only had he been able to
rid himself, in his last sermon, of many of the hard thoughts concerning
women that had been gathering themselves together for years, but his
absence from home had given him a holiday from the harassments of Aunt
Rebecca's tongue, so that no new notions of woman's culpability had
risen within him. He had dismissed the subject altogether, and had been
thinking over a sermon regarding baptism, which he thought he could make
convincing to certain of the younger members of his congregation.
He arrived at home very late on Saturday night, and retired to his
simple couch without knowing anything of the terrible storm which had
been gathering through the week, and which was to burst upon him on the
morrow. But the next morning, long before church time, he received
warning enough of what was going to happen. Individuals and deputations
gathered in and about his cabin--some to tell him all that had been said
and done; some to inform him what was expected of him; some to stand
about and look at him; some to scold; some to denounce; but, alas! not
one to encourage; nor one to call him "Brudder Pete," that Sunday
appellation dear to his ears. But the old man possessed a stubborn soul,
not easily to be frightened.
"Wot I says in de pulpit," he remarked, "I'll 'splain in de pulpit, an'
you all ud better git 'long to de chu'ch, an' when de time fur de
sarvice come, I'll be dar."
This advice was not promptly acted upon, but in the course of half an
hour nearly all the villagers and loungers had gone off to the church in
the woods; and when Uncle Peter had put on his high black hat, somewhat
battered, but still sufficiently clerical looking for that congregation,
and had given something of a polish to his cowhide shoes, he betook
himself by the accustomed path to the log building where he had so often
held forth to his people. As soon as he entered the church he was
formally instructed by a committee of the leading members that before he
began to open the services, he must make it plain to the congregation
that what he had said on the preceding Sunday about every woman being
possessed by seven devils was Scripture truth, and not mere wicked
nonsense out of his own brain. If he could not do that, they wanted no
more praying or preaching from him.
Uncle Peter made no answer, but, ascending the little pulpit, he put his
hat on the bench behind him where it was used to repose, took out his
red cotton handkerchief and blew his nose in his accustomed way, and
looked about him. The house was crowded. Even Aunt Rebecca was there.
After a deliberate survey of his audience the preacher spoke: "Brev'eren
an' sisters, I see afore me Brudder Bill Hines, who kin read de Bible,
an' has got one. Ain't dat so, Brudder?"
Bill Hines having nodded and modestly grunted assent, the preacher
continued. "An' dars' Aun' Priscilla's boy, Jake, who ain't a brudder
yit, though he's plenty old 'nuf, min', I tell ye; an' he kin read de
Bible, fus' rate, an' has read it ter me ober an' ober ag'in. Ain't dat
so, Jake?"
Jake grinned, nodded, and hung his head, very uncomfortable at being
thus publicly pointed out.
"An' dar's good ole Aun' Patty, who knows more Scripter' dan ennybuddy
h'yar, havin' been teached by de little gals from Kunnel Jasper's an' by
dere mudders afore 'em. I reckin she know' de hull Bible straight froo,
from de Garden of Eden to de New Jerus'lum. An' dar are udders h'yar who
knows de Scripters, some one part an' some anudder. Now I axes ebery one
ob you all wot know de Scripters ef he don' 'member how de Bible tells
how our Lor' when he was on dis yearth cas' seben debbils out o' Mary
Magdalum?"
A murmur of assent came from the congregation. Most of them remembered
that.
"But did enny ob you ebber read, or hab read to you, dat he ebber cas'
'em out o'enny udder woman?"
Negative grunts and shakes of the head signified that nobody had ever
heard of this.
"Well, den," said the preacher, gazing blandly around, "all de udder
women got 'em yit."
A deep silence fell upon the assembly, and in a few moments an elderly
member arose. "Brudder Pete," he said, "I reckin you mought as well gib
out de hyme."
SECOND EXPOSITION: GRANDISON'S QUANDARY.
Grandison Pratt was a colored man of about thirty, who, with his wife
and two or three children, lived in a neat log cabin in one of the
Southern States. He was a man of an independent turn of mind, and he
much desired to own the house in which he lived and the small
garden-patch around it. This valuable piece of property belonged to Mr.
Morris, and as it was an outlying corner of his large farm he had no
objection to sell it to Grandison, provided the latter could pay for it;
but of this he had great doubts. The man was industrious enough, but he
often seemed to have a great deal of difficulty about paying the very
small rental charged for his place, and Mr. Morris, consequently, had
well-grounded doubts about his ability to purchase it.
"But, sah," said Grandison one day when these objections had been placed
before him, "I's been turnin' dis thing ober in my min' ober an' ober. I
know jes' how much I kin make an' how much I's got to spend an' how I
kin save ter buy the house, an' if I agree to pay you so much money on
such a day an' so much on such anudder day I's gwine ter do it. You kin
jes' put that down, sah, for sartin shuh."
"Well, Grandison," said Mr. Morris, "I'll give you a trial. If, at the
end of six months, you can pay me the first instalment, I'll have the
necessary papers made out, and you can go on and buy the place, but if
you are not up to time on the first payment, I want to hear no more
about the purchase."
"All right, Mahs'r Morris," said Grandison. "If I gibs you my word ter
pay de money on de fus' day ob October, I's gwine to do it. Dat's sartin
shuh."
Months passed on, and, although Grandison worked as steadily as usual,
he found toward the end of September that, in the ordinary course of
things, he would not be able to make up the sum necessary for the first
payment. Other methods out of the ordinary course came into his mind,
but he had doubts about availing himself of them. He was extremely
anxious to make up the amount due, for he knew very well that if he did
not pay it on the day appointed he might bid farewell to his hope of
becoming a freeholder. In his perplexity he resolved to consult Brother
'Bijah, the minister of the little church in the pine-woods to which
Grandison belonged.
"Now, look-a-heah, Brudder 'Bijah," said he, "wot's I gwine to do 'bout
dis bizness? I done promised ter pay dis money on de fus' day ob de
comin' month, an' dar's six dollars ob it dat I ain't got yit."
"An' aint dar any way ter git it?" asked 'Bijah.
"Yaas, dar's one way," said Grandison, "I's been turnin' dis matter ober
an' ober in my min', an' dar's only one way. I mought sell apples.
Apples is mighty skarse dis fall, an' I kin git two dollars a bar'l for
'em in town. Now, if I was ter sell three bar'ls of apples I'd hab dat
dar six dollars, sartin shuh. Don' you see dat, Brudder 'Bijah?"
"Dat's all clar 'nuf," said the minister, "but whar you gwine ter git
three bar'ls o' apples? You don' mean ter tell me dat you's got 'nuf
apple-trees in your little gyardin fur ter shake down three bar'ls o'
apples."
"Now look a-heah, Brudder 'Bijah," said Grandison, his eyes sparkling
with righteous indignation, "dat's too much 'to 'spec' ob a man who's
got ter work all day to s'port his wife an' chillun. I digs, an' I
plows, an' I plants, an' I hoes. But all dem things ain't 'nuf ter make
apple-trees grow in my gyardin like as dey was corn-field peas."
"Dat's so," said 'Bijah, reflectively. "Dat's too much to spec' ob any
man. But how's you gwine ter sell de apples if you ain't got 'em?"
"I's got ter git em," said Grandison. "Dar's apples 'nuf growin' roun'
an' not so fur away dat I can't tote 'em ter my house in a bahsket. It's
pow'ful hard on a man wot's worked all day ter have ter tote apples
ahfter night, but dar ain' no other way ob gittin' dat dar money."
"I spec' de orchard whar you's thinkin' o' gwine is Mahs'r Morrises,"
said the minister.
"You don' 'spose Ise gwine ter any ob dose low down orchards on de udder
side de creek, does ye? Mahs'r Morris has got the bes' apples in dis
county. Dat's de kin' wot fetch two dollars a bar'l."
"Brudder Gran'son," said 'Bijah, solemnly, "is you min' runnin on takin'
Mahs'r Morrises apples inter town an' sellin' em?"
"Well, he gits de money, don't he?" answered the other, "and if I don't
sell his apples 'taint no use sellin' none. Dem udder little nubbins
roun' heah won't fetch no two dollars a bar'l."
"Dem ain't justifyin' deeds wot's runnin' in your mind," said 'Bijah.
"Dey ain't justifyin'."
"Ob course," said Grandison, "dey wouldn't be justifyin' if I had de six
dollars. But I ain't got 'em, an' Ise promised to pay 'em. Now, is I ter
stick to de truf, or isn't I?"
"Truf is mighty," said the preacher, "an' ought not to be hendered from
prevailin'."
"Dat's so! dat's so!" exclaimed Grandison. "You can't go agin de
Scripters. Truf _is_ mighty, an' 'tain't fur pore human critters like us
to try to upsot her. Wot we're got ter do is ter stick to her through
thick an' thin."
"Ob course, dat's wot we oughter do," said 'Bijah, "but I can't see my
way clar to you sellin' dem apples."
"But dar ain't nuffin else ter do!" exclaimed Grandison, "an' ef I don't
do dat, away goes de truf, clar out o' sight. An' wot sort o' 'ligion
you call dat, Brudder 'Bijah?"
"'Tain't no kind at all," said 'Bijah, "fur we's bound ter stick to de
truf, which is de bottom corner-stone ob piousness. But dem apples don't
seem ter git demselves straightened out in my mind, Brudder Gran'son."
"It 'pears ter me, Brudder 'Bijah, dat you doan' look at dem apples in
de right light. If I was gwine ter sell 'em to git money ter buy a lot
o' spotted calliker ter make frocks for de chillen, or eben to buy two
pars o' shoes fur me an' Judy ter go to church in, dat would be a sin,
sartin shuh. But you done furgit dat I's gwine ter take de money ter
Mahs'r Morris. If apples is riz an' I gits two dollars an' a quarter a
bar'l, ob course I keeps de extry quarter, which don' pay anyhow fur de
trouble ob pickin' 'em. But de six dollars I gibs, cash down, ter
Mahs'r Morris. Don' you call dat puffectly fa'r an' squar, Brudder
'Bijah?"
'Bijah shook his head. "Dis is a mighty dubersome question, Brudder
Gran'son, a mighty dubersome question."