A PIONEER BOY'S OPINION OF THE EAST.—DISAPPOINTMENT.
WHAT a familiar aspect nature wore to Tom as he journeyed frontierward!
Stonewalls, ledges, boulders, rocks, gravel, stumps, stunted corn,
swarming, suffocating cities, "east." But here, broad rolling prairies,
deep fertile soil, waving grasses, beckoning flowers. He hailed the
contrast with a bounding pulse.
It seemed to him as if he had not drawn a full breath since he left
Minnesota. He had suffered for want of air and room, and been cramped,
confined, fettered, by social artificialities.
Now he was back to pure nature—to boyhood associations. He was happy.
Expanding his chest, and thumping it with his friendly fist, he drank
in the prairie air as if it were the elixir of life, and proudly swept
the wide expanse with his admiring eye, as if to say,—
"There's nothing like my dear, magnificent prairies, after all."
With what vividness, too, did these scenes reproduce the early days of
his eventful history: the long journeys in the immigrant wagon, the too
frequent removals, the homely, smoky squatter's cabin, the murderous
scenes of the massacre at Spirit Lake, the cruel tomahawking of his
sister Sarah, Charley's romantic exploits, his father's brave, heroic
death, his widowed mother's establishment at the frontier fort with
the noble wife of the noble commander of the fortress, as governess of
their two lovely children, Willie and Alice.
Alice! With that name uprose before him a vision surpassingly good
and fair, setting his feelings into a tumult altogether too "human"
for a parson in embryo. He tried to rally his budding professional
dignity, and banish the enchanting apparition. In vain. Adown the long
stairs, through the echoing hall, warbling bird-like, bursting blithely
into the apartment, stopping in confused surprise, he saw again the
blonde-haired fairy, just as he did on his first visit at the fort.
That image had never wholly forsaken him. And ever, when it stood
freshly before his mind's eye, there was a glow at his heart of mingled
worship and gratitude, the former for the sweetness, excellence, and
beauty of the winning original; the latter that despite his plain garb
and humble circumstances, she could listen to his story that day with
such respect, and no apparent consciousness of the inequality of their
condition.
But what worldly imaginations for a candidate for the gospel ministry!
And what was Alice to Tom?
"No doubt," murmured Tom, endeavoring to shake off the spell, "she's
forgotten me long since. Her father is a military man. Of course she
has plenty of dashing young officers as admirers; she would not think
of the squatter's son!"
Tom's first visit was to L—, the village where lived the kind clergyman
and the storekeeper who had enabled him to go east to study. What a
pleasure to take these good friends by the hand!
There, too, an inmate of the missionary's family was curly-pated Bub,
the youngest of his brothers.
"I wonder," cogitated Tom, as he neared the town, "if Bub will know
me; and if he is the same prankish little pet as ever. And if he still
rehearses for the pulpit."
For Bub's highest aspiration had been to preach. And that he had not
altogether lost his taste for the sacred calling, Tom had received
evidence of in the shape of a printed note that Bub had contrived
clandestinely to slip within a letter to Tom from the missionary. It
ran thus:—
DEER tom i AM, GOING 2 B A BIG MAN LIK U. i PREATH SUMTIMS. THE MISUARY
SAYS I MAY PREATH FOR HIM, WHENN I DU. I, CEND AKIS. I STODY HARD. I
AMM A SPLENN DAD SKOLLER.
The day was warm, and Tom was not surprised, as he drove up to the
clergyman's cabin, to observe that the door was open. He thought it
somewhat singular, however, that, notwithstanding the bustle attending
their arrival and that the wagon in which he was brought was fully in
sight from the house for quite a ways as it drew near, that no one
looked out at the team. They dismounted, the horse was hitched, they
approached the cabin. Silence and solitude seemed to dwell within.
"I fear the family are away," said Tom.
Glancing in, Tom's eyes opened wide with astonishment. In a chair,
his legs stretched out before him, a man's white cravat around his
throat, its broad folds enveloping also the chin, a man's hat on his
head, glasses astride his nose, eyes fixed on a ponderous volume, sat a
fat-cheeked urchin.
"Bub, you scamp," cried Tom, rushing and, regardless of ministerial
proprieties and vestments, hugging the clerical imp, the missionary's
hat rolling one way, and the Commentary, to show how "heavy" it was,
falling with a slam to the floor.
Never were a couple of "theologues" more antic. If a Committee of
Supply on the hunt for a candidate "suited to the large, wealthy, and
fashionable congregation" at Upper-crustville, had stepped in just
then, I doubt if either of the rollicking, rough-and-tumble young
divines before them had been in demand. Why, only consider, Bub's
cravat was actually tumbled, and so was Tom's hair.
After a happy visit with the missionary and the grocer, the former
took Tom in the storekeeper's carriage next morning, and they set out
together for the fort.
A cordial, affectionate, tender greeting awaited Tom from General and
Mrs. McElroy, his brothers, and his mother. She, Tom noticed, had grown
older; but her face was rounder and fairer, bespeaking good fare and
contentment.
"I conclude," said Mrs. McElroy, "that, charmed with eastern people and
privileges, frontier life looks quite different to you from what it
once did."
"Madam," heartily replied Tom, "there is much that is admirable and
grand in the older settled portions of our country. But if they have
many things better than we, we are not without our compensations.
Here society is natural, and neighbors are sympathizing and friendly;
there caste distinctions prevail, you know not who lives next door,
and fashion tyrannizes. There everything practicable is done for the
culture of the mind; but the young are not developed physically, and
taught to be self-reliant, as among the pioneers.
"In religion, I prefer our simplicity. It seems to me little short of
sacrilege for Christians to display so much pride of dress in the house
of God as they do east. And worship is maintained at such extravagant
expense that the poor are frequently debarred from the gospel, or are
thrust into back seats, or banished to the galleries. Better our log
cabin equality than such a condition of things.
"I shall never lose the painful impression made on my mind by an
incident that happened to me in one of these aristocratic churches.
"The fame of the Rev. Dr. — led me one Sabbath to go and hear him. I
arrived at his place of worship a little late. Entering the vestibule,
I saw hanging before me two signs, on which were lettered, FREE SEATS
ABOVE, an index finger pointing up stairs. Of course I inferred that
there were no free seats below, and as I did not design hiring or
buying a seat in God's house that day, I went 'above.'
"In high, straight-backed, comfortless pews, a few of which were
furnished with tattered and soiled cushions, was a collection of
plainly-dressed people, with faces marked by care, poverty, and toil.
An elderly woman, of feeble appearance and large frame, but saintly
look, passed me her mutilated hymn book.
"I glanced below. Every pew was constructed for comfort, if not
luxury, and not more than one third of the sitting accommodations were
occupied—whole slips in succession being entirely empty.
"The Scripture Lesson was from St. James's Epistle, second chapter—'My
brethren, have not the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ with respect of
persons. For if there come into your assembly a man with a gold ring,
in goodly apparel, and there come in also a poor man in vile raiment,
and ye have respect to him that weareth the gay clothing, and say unto
him, Sit thou here in a good place, and say to the poor, Stand thou
there, or sit here under my footstool, are ye not then partial in
yourselves?'
"This withering rebuke was impressively read by the pastor, and I
scanned the countenances of the audience to see what their effect would
be. But neither minister nor hearer showed the least consciousness that
the language applied to modern assemblages. Fresh from our uninvidious
gatherings, where, though a person may be in rags,—
"'A man is a man for a' that and a' that,'
"the spectacle was—well, I cannot command terms to do justice to my
feelings. They were destined to be intensified, too, by an occurrence
at the close of the service.
"As I was descending the long, wide stone stairs leading from the
gallery, an exclamation caused me to look back. The scream was uttered
by the aged woman who passed me her book. Being old and weakly, she
had tripped and pitched head foremost. Springing to break her fall,
I caught her on my shoulder. Why the weight and the momentum did not
send me headlong, I do not comprehend. But I sustained her sufficiently
long for others to come to our assistance, and we helped her to the
sidewalk. Her ghastly face and trembling limbs showed how great the
fright and shock to her.
"Was it not singular that I, a stranger from the far-distant prairies,
chanced to be there to save the life of that aged saint?"
"There are, however, devoted souls in those very churches—are there
not?" asked his mother.
"Yes, many, dear mother. There are as earnest, unselfish, large-hearted
Christians in the eastern cities as ever blessed any age. But while
great numbers of professed disciples of the meek and lowly One attend
church befrizzled and betrinketed as if at a theatre, thousands
perish in the very shadow of Christian temples, as ignorant of Christ
as the pagans; and multitudes lack the necessaries of life. These
inconsistencies make infidels, on the one hand, who reject all that
is sacred, and fanatics, on the other, who fly into all sorts of
absurdities."
"Yes," said the missionary, "man, like the pendulum, goes to extremes.
When I was east, disorderly classes of religionists arose who plunged
into the wildest excesses. A very singular form of fanaticism obtained
at one time, called the Shaking Power. It had a queer history. Shall I
tell you about it? It will, I think, be quite entertaining."
"O, yes; do let us hear about it," said the ladies.
THE SHAKING POWER.
"Some forty miles from my home," said the missionary, "in a populous
town, a 'meeting' was sustained with fanatical furor, composed of
a motley assemblage from various sects and orders, and holding
sentiments the most discordant, if we except the, with them, essential
point—railing at 'the churches.' Here, members excluded for grave
faults from the fellowship of Christians, restless, self-exscinded
spirits inflamed by fickle isms peculiar to themselves, and those who
never belonged, or expected to belong, to an orderly organization of
any kind, met to sympathize and act in wild religious freedom, where
everybody could be teachers, and anything be taught. Of members of
Christian churches, they were accustomed to speak as those who have
the '"form" of godliness; but deny the "power" thereof;' meaning that
these had system and decorum, and lacked those noisy and eccentric
manifestations of zeal in worship which they themselves exhibited.
"Religion with these zealots was almost wholly a 'meeting' affair, and
to exhort or pray in public was preeminently 'taking up the cross;'
and to know, on such occasions, what to do, and how to do it, they
sought to 'move as they were moved upon by the Spirit.' In other words,
act out such impulse as chanced to seize them, whether it were to
perambulate the sanctuary in sight of the congregation, and then kneel
in the aisle and pray, or make remarks from the pulpit stairs.
"It mattered not how fantastic and foolish the impulse; it was to be
unhesitatingly obeyed indeed, the more senseless and erratic, the
greater proof to their minds of the Spirit's power and control. As to
preaching, it could not be known beforehand if there would be any,
or who would be the preacher—this being left for the decision of the
Spirit after the people had assembled, and one was as liable to be
called to fill that office for the time being as another. A heavy
'cross,' indiscriminately imposed, was to go into the pulpit and speak
and pray, so that in the course of an evening, a dozen or more, old and
young, male and female, would attain that conspicuous post. And if any
one, after 'ascending,' had to 'descend' without uttering a word, the
boisterous shouts of 'Praise the Lord,' 'Glory to God,' showed that it
was regarded as evidence of peculiar sanctity—the grace of humility had
been tested, and had triumphed.
"A feature of this fanaticism, which took the lead in exciting wonder
and inspiring the credulous with awe, ultimately operated as a cure
of the evil it was designed to foster. It was called 'the shaking'
or 'trembling power,' and originated with a farmer, who, though not
without natural cunning, was below his class in intelligence, and whose
life up to that time had borne meagrely, if at all, the fruits of
goodness. He would meekly say he was 'slow of speech,' and 'as he could
not speak like the rest, they must let him bear the cross the Lord had
put upon him,' which was to shake. This was the utility of his gift: he
watched the countenances of those present, and, if any one 'neglected
duty,' he professed to detect it by the involuntary tremblings that
shook his frame—their violence being in proportion to the importance
of the duty, and the length of disobedience. Sometimes he called on
the delinquent to 'do his duty,'—a call which was considered divinely
prompted, and was at once obeyed.
"One evening our enthusiasts had met in a school-house. It was dark
and drizzly without, and marvelously dull within—perchance the effects
of the weather, or a stupid reaction, the sure sequence of spurious
zeal. Silence reigned for a long time. At length a man advanced to the
teacher's desk, and, in husky, monotonous tones, helped on the general
lethargy. A protracted pause ensued, which was broken by a maiden lady
suddenly springing to her feet and commencing an exhortation. Her
faded and dirty linsey-woolsey dress, which she 'wore from principle,'
fell straight and close about her form; her coarse black hair was
unevenly cut short in the neck 'to shame pride,' while her wrinkled
skin, nut-brown complexion, stumpy gums, and eyes wildly flashing as
she paced the floor gesticulating violently, and with shrill voice
denounced 'hypocrites and formal professors,' gave her a weird and
haggish expression.
"When her message was delivered, a dumpy man in semi-Quaker garb, who
sat in a semi-recumbent posture gazing at the floor, remarked, without
looking up, that he was no singer 'naturally,' that he did not it know
one tune from another, but when the Spirit told him to sing, he must
sing; and he gruffly chanted to extemporaneous music, composed as he
went along, keeping time meanwhile with one foot,—
"'The pure testimony put forth in the "Sperit"
Cuts like a sharp two-edged sword,
And hypocrites now are sorely tormented,
Because they're condemned by the Word;
"'The pure testimony discovers the dross,
While wicked professors make light of the cross,
And Babylon trembles for fear of her loss.'
"An embarrassing silence again occurring, some one prayed the Lord to
'show them what it was that clogged the wheels of the meeting, and kept
them from moving—' a prayer which seemed to them about to be answered,
as a peculiar jarring of the floor and seats gave notice of the advent
of the shaking power.
"This curious phenomenon was of an intermittent type, affecting first
the lower extremities, imparting a tremulousness just perceptible,
extending slowly to the whole body, meanwhile increasing in strength.
Then passing off, a few moments would elapse before a recurrence in the
same manner, each fit being augmented in length and intensity.
"The 'power' brother suffered one attack without speaking. While
agitated by the second, he said oracularly, but retaining his seat,—
"'If anybody here has a duty to do, he had better do it!'
"'Amen! Amen!' fervently responded the brother-and-sisterhood, nodding
approval, and exchanging relieved glances as they looked in the
direction indicated. The candles burned dimly; but remote by himself,
among some unoccupied seats, could be discerned the figure of a man
wrapped in a cloak, his hat drawn over his eyes, his face resting on
the desk before him.
"The conclusion was, that it was some one bending under the weight of
a too heavy cross; and the shaking power brother, after ineffectually
rising and saying, 'If the brother yonder has a duty to do, I say he
had better do it,' with apparent difficulty dragged his trembling frame
across the room, and laid his hand authoritatively on the shoulder of
the delinquent, when, lo! the cloak slipped to the floor—there was no
one under it! It had chanced to be left in such a position as to look,
in the uncertain light, as if filling its wonted office to the human
form—hence the mistake.
"Fanaticism is proverbially ingenious in turning its most palpable
blunders into favoring arguments, but I never heard that this one was
so used. The effect of the scene was irresistible. It dealt the shaking
power a blow from which it did not recover, and the meeting dwindled
in interest and numbers, many of the misguided attendants returning to
their former religious indifference, and others, who had been honestly
led astray, to happier spiritual associations."
"Mother," asked Tom, when alone with her, "where are the rest of the
fort people?"
"That is a very sweeping question," she replied; "I do not understand
it."
"I have seen the general, and his wife, and Willie," explained he,
coloring, "but where is Alice?"
"Why, Tom, have you forgotten that she was lost?"
"'Lost!'" repeated the son, with strong emphasis. "Why was I not
informed of it? Lost! How? When?"
"I wrote you the distressing intelligence; the letter must have
miscarried."
She then related the circumstances connected with her disappearance.
When she had finished, Tom sat with drooping head, buried in thought.
At last, starting as if awakened from sleep, he exclaimed, "Mother, I
know what happened to Alice. She was carried off by the Indians, and I
have seen her!"
He then recited his adventure with the chief's daughter, ending by
affirming that she and Alice were the same.
"You are excited, my son," replied the mother, soothingly. "There are
no points of resemblance. Alice had light hair, the Indian girl black;
then consider how fair Alice was—too white to be mistaken for a savage.
Besides, why did she not, by word or glance, make herself known?"
These objections to his conjecture were unanswerable. Yet Tom was not
convinced that he was wrong, and replied,—
"Well, I shall hunt up Long Hair, and my visit shall be spent in
seeking to unravel this mystery."
And he left the room, pale, bowed, and resolute, as if a weight of
sorrow and of duty had suddenly fallen upon him.