“Although I have recovered the use of my limbs, and look to be in
health, I am not fit for service; and I was retired on half-pay only a
few days ago. My life is not likely to be long; but released as I am,
by God’s hand, from the profession of arms, I shall devote the remnant
of my life to the service of the Lord God Almighty. His message came
to me years ago, but I was deaf to it. I was in love with the world,
and possessed by the flesh and the devil. I committed murders under
the name of war. I dishonored my Maker by my dissipations. I spent in
gambling and vice the money wrung from the poor that were bond-slaves
to labor and poverty. I blasphemed, and yet I was not counted evil by
the world.”
I listened and wondered to myself, should this be true, where stood we
all?
Overton’s face had flushed, his eyes were full of rapture; he seemed to
dwell in the glory of the Lord.
“But now I am free from the body of that death, and subject only to the
yoke of the Nazarene,--the Jesus who labored with His hands to show
that work was honorable; the Carpenter who called about Him those
as poor as Himself, and preached to them the love of God and one’s
neighbor; who received the Magdalen as a sister and the leper as a
brother.”
I was silent. I had heard many sermons from deans and dignitaries,--all
well-fed men, and every man jack of them after promotion from the
Whigs,--and these sermons had left my heart as untouched as that of the
wild Indian of North America. But this was different. After a while,
Overton continued,--
“As this Jesus called all manner of men to follow Him,--the greedy
tax-gatherer, as well as Peter the poor fisherman, and John the gentle
and studious youth,--so He called me; and, like the tax-gatherer, whose
stony heart was melted by the voice of Jesus, I say with tears, ‘My
God! I follow Thee!’”
We had now approached the corner of the field, and involuntarily
stopped. I said to him blunderingly,--
“Shall you take orders?”
“No,” he replied. “I do not aspire to open my mouth as a teacher--I am
not worthy; but a few of the humblest people about here--I have been
in this place for some time--come to me on Sundays, in the forenoon, to
ask me to speak to them. They are day-laborers, hostlers--the kind of
people I once fancied to be without souls. I speak to them, not as a
preacher and teacher, but as a brother and a friend. It is now time for
them to assemble.”
I saw, sure enough, a number of poorly-dressed rustics coming toward
the field. They came by twos and threes, the women mostly with children
in arms, or hanging to their skirts. When all had arrived, there were
about thirty men and women. They seated themselves on the grass, and
I along with them, and, in some mysterious way, I felt, for the first
time in my life, that the plowman was my brother, and the kitchen wench
my sister.
When they were all seated, Overton took from his pocket a small Bible,
and read the Sermon on the Mount. The people listened reverently. He
gave them a short discourse, suited to their understanding, and then
read to them a simple hymn, which they sang with fervor.
I listened with a strange feeling, half pain, half pleasure, half
satisfaction, half dissatisfaction. I wished for Daphne’s sweet spirit
to be near me. It came to my mind how like was this meeting of the poor
and unlearned to those held by the Carpenter of Nazareth on the shores
of the Sea of Galilee. The hymn echoed sweetly over the green fields;
it was a part of that great antiphon with which Nature replies to the
harmonics of the Most High. The quiet scene, the woods, the fields, the
kine in the pasture near by, all seemed one in this act of worship. But
presently my soul was distracted by what I saw on the highway close by
us. A handsome traveling chariot, followed by a plain post-chaise going
Londonward, stopped. Out of the chariot stepped Lady Arabella Stormont,
and, through an opening in the hedge, she entered the field. After a
considerable interval, Mrs. Whitall followed her; and, after a still
longer one, Sir Thomas Vernon.
[Illustration: “Will you speak to me?” _Page 225_]
Lady Arabella walked noiselessly over the grass, and, when she reached
the edge of the group, stopped. Her eyes were full of laughing contempt
at first, but, when Overton turned his glance full upon her, she
suddenly assumed a look of seriousness, and folded her hands as if
in silent prayer. Behind her, Mrs. Whitall’s foolish face was all
fear, while Sir Thomas Vernon grinned unpleasantly over her shoulder.
Overton, without taking the slightest notice of them, at the conclusion
of the hymn announced that he would make a prayer, and asked his
hearers to join with him in a petition that the life might be spared
of a certain young man, Giles Vernon, now under sentence of death in
York jail. We all stood up, then, the men removing their hats. I held
mine before my face to conceal my tears, while Overton made a brief but
earnest prayer for Giles, and I could not refrain from crying, “Amen!
Amen!” when he concluded.
The people then trooped off, and we, the gentlefolks, were left
together.
Overton surveyed Lady Arabella and Sir Thomas with much contempt. Lady
Arabella was the first to speak. She held up her head timidly, and
said,--
“Will you not speak to me?”
“No,” replied Overton sternly. “Giles Vernon’s life may be spared; but
upon you is blood-guiltiness.”