that in the inprepossessing congregation before me there were many boys
who had run away from home, and men who had left home because of family
troubles. I talked to the young men first, to those who had forgotten
their mothers and thought their mothers had forgotten them, and I told
of my experiences with waiting, heavy-hearted mothers who had sons at
sea. Some heads went down at that, and here and there I saw a boy gulp,
but the old fellow I was particularly anxious to move still grinned up
at me like a malicious monkey. Then I talked of the sailor's wife, and
of her double burden of homemaking and anxiety, and soon I could pick
out some of the husbands by their softened faces. But still my old
man grinned and squinted. Last of all I described the whalers who were
absent from home for years, and who came back to find their children and
their grandchildren waiting for them. I told how I had seen them, in our
New England coast towns, covered, as a ship is covered with barnacles,
by grandchildren who rode on their shoulders and sat astride of their
necks as they walked down the village streets. And now at last the sneer
left my old man's loose lips. He had grandchildren somewhere. He
twisted uneasily in his seat, coughed, and finally took out a big red
handkerchief and wiped his eyes. The episode encouraged me.
"When I came here," I added, "I intended to preach a sermon on 'The
Heavenly Vision.' Now I want to give you a glimpse of that in addition
to the vision we have had of home."
I ended with a bit of the sermon and a prayer, and when I raised my head
the old man of the sardonic grin was standing before me.
"Missus," he said in a husky whisper, "I'd like to shake your hand."
I took his hard old fist, and then, seeing that many of the other
sailors were beginning to move hospitably but shyly toward me, I said:
"I would like to shake hands with every man here."
At the words they surged forward, and the affair became a reception,
during which I shook hands with every sailor of my congregation. The
next day my hand was swollen out of shape, for the sailors had gripped
it as if they were hauling on a hawser; but the experience was worth
the discomfort. The best moment of the morning came, however, when the
pastor of the ship faced me, goggle-eyed and marveling.
"I wouldn't have believed it," was all he could say. "I thought the men
would mob you."
"Why should they mob me?" I wanted to know.
"Why," he stammered, "because the thing is so--so--unnatural."
"Well," I said, "if it is unnatural for women to talk to men, we have
been living in an unnatural world for a long time. Moreover, if it is
unnatural, why did Jesus send a woman out as the first preacher?"
He waived a discussion of that question by inviting us all to his cabin
to drink wine with him--and as we were "total abstainers," it seemed
as unnatural to us to have him offer us wine as a woman's preaching had
seemed to him.
The next European incident on which memory throws a high-light was
our audience with Pope Leo XIII. As there were several distinguished
Americans in our party, a private audience was arranged for us, and for
days before the time appointed we nervously rehearsed the etiquette of
the occasion. When we reached the Vatican we were marched between rows
of Swiss Guards to the Throne Room, only to learn there that we were
to be received in the Tapestry Room. Here we found a very impressive
assemblage of cardinals and Vatican officials, and while we were still
lost in the beauty of the picture they made against the room's
superb background, the approach of the Pope was announced. Every
one immediately knelt, except a few persons who tried to show their
democracy by standing; but I am sure that even these individuals felt a
thrill when the slight, exquisite figure appeared at the door and gave
us a general benediction. Then the Pope passed slowly down the line,
offering his hand to each of us, and radiating a charm so gracious
and so human that few failed to respond to the appeal of his engaging
personality. There was nothing fleshly about Leo XIII. His body was so
frail, so wraithlike, that one almost expected to see through it the
magnificent tapestries on the walls. But from the moment he appeared
every eye clung to him, every thought was concentrated upon him. This
effect I think he would have produced even if he had come among us
unrecognized, for through the thin shell that housed it shone the steady
flame of a wonderful spirit.
I had previously remarked to my friends that kissing the Pope's
ring after so many other lips had touched it did not appeal to me
as hygienic, and that I intended to kiss his hand instead. When my
opportunity came I kept my word; but after I had kissed the venerable
hand I remained kneeling for an instant with bowed head, a little aghast
at my daring. The gentle Father thought, however, that I was waiting
for a special blessing. He gave it to me gravely and passed on, and I
devoted the next few hours to ungodly crowing over the associates who
had received no such individual attention.
In Venice we attended the great fete celebrating the first visit of
King Humbert and Queen Margherita. It was also the first time Venice had
entertained a queen since the Italian union, and the sea-queen of
the Adriatic outdid herself in the gorgeousness and the beauty of her
preparations. The Grand Canal was like a flowing rainbow, reflecting
the brilliant decorations on every side, and at night the moonlight, the
music, the chiming church-bells, the colored lanterns, the gay voices,
the lapping waters against the sides of countless gondolas made the
experience seem like a dream of a new and unbelievably beautiful world.
Forty thousand persons were gathered in the Square of St. Mark and
in front of the Palace, and I recall a pretty incident in which the
gracious Queen and a little street urchin figured. The small, ragged
boy had crept as close to the royal balcony as he dared, and then,
unobserved, had climbed up one of its pillars. At the moment when a
sudden hush had fallen on the crowd this infant, overcome by patriotism
and a glimpse of the royal lady on the balcony above him, suddenly piped
up shrilly in the silence. "Long live the Queen!" he cried. "Long live
the Queen!"
The gracious Margherita heard the childish voice, and, amused and
interested, leaned over the balcony to see where it came from. What she
saw doubtless touched the mother-heart in her. She caught the eye of
the tattered urchin clinging to the pillar, and radiantly smiled on him.
Then, probably thinking that the King was absorbing the attention of
the great assemblage, she indulged in a little diversion. Leaning
far forward, she kissed the tip of her lace handkerchief and swept
it caressingly across the boy's brown cheek, smiling down at him as
unconsciously as if she and the enraptured youngster were alone together
in the world. The next instant she had straightened up and flushed, for
the watchful crowd had seen the episode and was wild with enthusiasm.
For ten minutes the people cheered the Queen without ceasing, and for
the next few days they talked of little but the spontaneous, girlish
action which had delighted them all.
One more sentimental record, and I shall have reached another
mile-stone. As I have said, my friend Mrs. Addy left me in her will
fifteen hundred dollars for my visit to Europe, and before I sailed
her father, who was one of the best friends I have ever had, made a
characteristically kind proposition in connection with the little fund.
Instead of giving me the money, he gave me two railroad bonds, one
for one thousand dollars, the other for five hundred dollars, and each
drawing seven per cent. interest. He suggested that I deposit these
bonds in the bank of which he was president, and borrow from the bank
the money to go abroad. Then, when I returned and went into my new
parish, I could use some of my salary every month toward repaying the
loan. These monthly payments, he explained, could be as small as I
wished, but each month the interest on the amount I paid would cease.
I gladly took his advice and borrowed seven hundred dollars. After
I returned from Europe I repaid the loan in monthly instalments, and
eventually got my bonds, which I still own. They will mature in 1916.
I have had one hundred and five dollars a year from them, in interest,
ever since I received them in 1878--more than twice as much interest
as their face value--and every time I have gone abroad I have used this
interest toward paying my passage. Thus my friend has had a share in
each of the many visits I have made to Europe, and in all of them her
memory has been vividly with me.
With my return from Europe my real career as a minister began. The year
in the pulpit at Hingham had been merely tentative, and though I had
succeeded in building up the church membership to four times what it had
been when I took charge, I was not reappointed. I had paid off a small
church debt, and had had the building repaired, painted, and carpeted.
Now that it was out of its difficulties it offered some advantages to
the occupant of its pulpit, and of these my successor, a man, received
the benefit. I, however, had small ground for complaint, for I was at
once offered and accepted the pastorate of a church at East Dennis, Cape
Cod. Here I went in October, 1878, and here I spent seven of the most
interesting years of my life.
V. SHEPHERD OF A DIVIDED FLOCK
On my return from Europe, as I have said, I took up immediately and most
buoyantly the work of my new parish. My previous occupation of various
pulpits, whether long or short, had always been in the role of a
substitute. Now, for the first time, I had a church of my own, and was
to stand or fall by the record made in it. The ink was barely dry on
my diploma from the Boston Theological School, and, as it happened,
the little church to which I was called was in the hands of two warring
factions, whose battles furnished the most fervid interest of the Cape
Cod community. But my inexperience disturbed me not at all, and I was
blissfully ignorant of the division in the congregation. So I entered my
new field as trustfully as a child enters a garden; and though I was
in trouble from the beginning, and resigned three times in startling
succession, I ended by remaining seven years.
My appointment did not cause even a lull in the warfare among my
parishioners. Before I had crossed the threshold of my church I was
made to realize that I was shepherd of a divided flock. Exactly what
had caused the original breach I never learned; but it had widened with
time, until it seemed that no peacemaker could build a bridge large
enough to span it. As soon as I arrived in East Dennis each faction
tried to pour into my ears its bitter criticisms of the other, but I
made and consistently followed the safe rule of refusing to listen to
either side, I announced publicly that I would hear no verbal charges
whatever, but that if my two flocks would state their troubles in
writing I would call a board meeting to discuss and pass upon them. This
they both resolutely refused to do (it was apparently the first time
they had ever agreed on any point); and as I steadily declined to listen
to complaints, they devised an original method of putting them before
me.
During the regular Thursday-night prayer-meeting, held about two weeks
after my arrival, and at which, of course, I presided, they voiced their
difficulties in public prayer, loudly and urgently calling upon the Lord
to pardon such and such a liar, mentioning the gentleman by name, and
such and such a slanderer, whose name was also submitted. By the time
the prayers were ended there were few untarnished reputations in the
congregation, and I knew, perforce, what both sides had to say.
The following Thursday night they did the same thing, filling their
prayers with intimate and surprising details of one another's history,
and I endured the situation solely because I did not know how to meet
it. I was still young, and my theological course had set no guide-posts
on roads as new as these. To interfere with souls in their communion
with God seemed impossible; to let them continue to utter personal
attacks in church, under cover of prayer, was equally impossible. Any
course I could follow seemed to lead away from my new parish, yet both
duty and pride made prompt action necessary. By the time we gathered
for the third prayermeeting I had decided what to do, and before the
services began I rose and addressed my erring children. I explained that
the character of the prayers at our recent meetings was making us the
laughingstock of the community, that unbelievers were ridiculing our
religion, and that the discipline of the church was being wrecked; and I
ended with these words, each of which I had carefully weighed:
"Now one of two things must happen. Either you will stop this kind
of praying, or you will remain away from our meetings. We will hold
prayermeetings on another night, and I shall refuse admission to any
among you who bring personal criticisms into your public prayers."
As I had expected it to do, the announcement created an immediate
uproar. Both factions sprang to their feet, trying to talk at once. The
storm raged until I dismissed the congregation, telling the members that
their conduct was an insult to the Lord, and that I would not listen to
either their protests or their prayers. They went unwillingly, but they
went; and the excitement the next day raised the sick from their beds to
talk of it, and swept the length and breadth of Cape Cod. The following
Sunday the little church held the largest attendance in its history.
Seemingly, every man and woman in town had come to hear what more I
would say about the trouble, but I ignored the whole matter. I preached
the sermon I had prepared, the subject of which was as remote from
church quarrels as our atmosphere was remote from peace, and my
congregation dispersed with expressions of such artless disappointment
that it was all I could do to preserve a dignified gravity.
That night, however, the war was brought into my camp. At the evening
meeting the leader of one of the factions rose to his feet with the
obvious purpose of starting trouble. He was a retired sea-captain, of
the ruthless type that knocks a man down with a belaying-pin, and
he made his attack on me in a characteristically "straight from the
shoulder" fashion. He began with the proposition that my morning sermon
had been "entirely contrary to the Scriptures," and for ten minutes
he quoted and misquoted me, hammering in his points. I let him go on
without interruption. Then he added:
"And this gal comes to this church and undertakes to tell us how we
shall pray. That's a highhanded measure, and I, for one, ain't goin' to
stand it. I want to say right here that I shall pray as I like, when
I like, and where I like. I have prayed in this heavenly way for fifty
years before that gal was born, and she can't dictate to me now!"
By this time the whole congregation was aroused, and cries of "Sit
down!" "Sit down!" came from every side of the church. It was a hard
moment, but I was able to rise with some show of dignity. I was hurt
through and through, but my fighting blood was stirring.
"No," I said, "Captain Sears has the floor. Let him say now all he
wishes to say, for it is the last time he will ever speak at one of our
meetings."
Captain Sears, whose exertions had already made him apoplectic, turned a
darker purple. "What's that?" he shouted. "What d'ye mean?"
"I mean," I replied, "that I do not intend to allow you or anybody else
to interfere with my meetings. You are a sea-captain. What would you do
to me if I came on board your ship and started a mutiny in your crew, or
tried to give you orders?"
Captain Sears did not reply. He stood still, with his legs far apart and
braced, as he always stood when talking, but his eyes shifted a little.
I answered my own question.
"You would put me ashore or in irons," I reminded him. "Now, Captain
Sears, I intend to put you ashore. I am the master of this ship. I have
set my course, and I mean to follow it. If you rebel, either you will
get out or I will. But until the board asks for my resignation, I am in
command."
As it happened, I had put my ultimatum in the one form the old man could
understand. He sat down without a word and stared at me. We sang the
Doxology, and I dismissed the meeting. Again we had omitted prayers.
The next day Captain Sears sent me a letter recalling his subscription
toward the support of the church; and for weeks he remained away from
our services, returning under conditions I will mention later. Even at
the time, however, his attack helped rather than hurt me. At the
regular meeting the following Thursday night no personal criticisms were
included in the prayers, and eventually we had peace. But many battles
were lost and won before that happy day arrived.
Captain Sears's vacant place among us was promptly taken by another
captain in East Dennis, whose name was also Sears. A few days after my
encounter with the first captain I met the second on the street. He had
never come to church, and I stopped and invited him to do so. He replied
with simple candor.
"I ain't comin'," he told me. "There ain't no gal that can teach me
nothin'."
"Perhaps you are wrong, Captain Sears," I replied. "I might teach you
something."
"What?" demanded the captain, with chilling distrust.
"Oh," I said, cheerfully, "let us say tolerance, for one thing."
"Humph!" muttered the old man. "The Lord don't want none of your
tolerance, and neither do I."
I laughed. "He doesn't object to tolerance," I said. "Come to church.
You can talk, too; and the Lord will listen to us both."
To my surprise, the captain came the following Sunday, and during
the seven years I remained in the church he was one of my strongest
supporters and friends. I needed friends, for my second battle was not
slow in following my first. There was, indeed, barely time between in
which to care for the wounded.
We had in East Dennis what was known as the "Free Religious Group," and
when some of the members of my congregation were not wrangling among
themselves, they were usually locking horns with this group. For years,
I was told, one of the prime diversions of the "Free Religious" faction
was to have a dance in our town hall on the night when we were using
it for our annual church fair. The rules of the church positively
prohibited dancing, so the worldly group took peculiar pleasure in
attending the fair, and during the evening in getting up a dance and
whirling about among us, to the horror of our members. Then they spent
the remainder of the year boasting of the achievement. It came to my
ears that they had decided to follow this pleasing programme at our
Christmas church celebration, so I called the church trustees together
and put the situation to them.
"We must either enforce our discipline," I said, "or give it up.
Personally I do not object to dancing, but, as the church has ruled
against it, I intend to uphold the church. To allow these people to make
us ridiculous year after year is impossible. Let us either tell them
that they may dance or that they may not dance; but whatever we tell
them, let us make them obey our ruling."
The trustees were shocked at the mere suggestion of letting them dance.
"Very well," I ended. "Then they shall not dance. That is understood."
Captain Crowell, the father of my dead friend Mrs. Addy, and himself
my best man friend, was a strong supporter of the Free Religious Group.
When its members raced to him with the news that I had said they could
not dance at the church's Christmas party, Captain Crowell laughed
goodhumoredly and told them to dance as much as they pleased, cheerfully
adding that he would get them out of any trouble they got into. Knowing
my friendship for him, and that I even owed my church appointment to
him, the Free Religious people were certain that I would never take
issue with him on dancing or on any other point. They made all their
preparations for the dance, therefore, with entire confidence, and
boasted that the affair would be the gayest they had ever arranged. My
people began to look at me with sympathy, and for a time I felt very
sorry for myself. It seemed sufficiently clear that "the gal" was to
have more trouble.
On the night of the party things went badly from the first. There was
an evident intention among the worst of the Free Religious Group to
embarrass us at every turn. We opened the exercises with the Lord's
Prayer, which this element loudly applauded. A live kitten was hung
high on the Christmas tree, where it squalled mournfully beyond reach of
rescue, and the young men of the outside group threw cake at one another
across the hall. Finally tiring of these innocent diversions, they began
to prepare for their dance, and I protested. The spokesman of the group
waved me to one side.
"Captain Crowell said we could," he remarked, airily.
"Captain Crowell," I replied, "has no authority whatever in this matter.
The church trustees have decided that you cannot dance here, and I
intend to enforce their ruling."
It was interesting to observe how rapidly the men of my congregation
disappeared from that hall. Like shadows they crept along the walls
and vanished through the doors. But the preparations for the dance went
merrily on. I walked to the middle of the room and raised my voice.
I was always listened to, for my hearers always had the hope, usually
realized, that I was about to get into more trouble.
"You are determined to dance," I began. "I cannot keep you from doing
so. But I can and will make you regret that you have done so. The law
of the State of Massachusetts is very definite in regard to religious
meetings and religious gatherings. This hall was engaged and paid for
by the Wesleyan Methodist Church, of which I am pastor, and we have full
control of it to-night. Every man and woman who interrupts our exercises
by attempting to dance, or by creating a disturbance of any kind, will
be arrested to-morrow morning."
Surprise at first, then consternation, swept through the ranks of the
Free Religious Group. They denied the existence of such a law as I had
mentioned, and I promptly read it aloud to them. The leaders went off
into a corner and consulted. By this time not one man in my parish
was left in the hall. As a result of the consultation in the corner, a
committee of the would-be dancers came to me and suggested a compromise.
"Will you agree to arrest the men only?" they wanted to know.
"No," I declared. "On the contrary, I shall have the women arrested
first! For the women ought to be standing with me now in the support
of law and order, instead of siding with the hoodlum element you
represent."
That settled it. No girl or woman dared to go on the dancing-floor,
and no man cared to revolve merrily by himself. A whisper went round,
however, that the dance would begin when I had left. When the clock
struck twelve, at which hour, according to the town rule, the hall had
to be closed, I was the last person to leave it. Then I locked the
door myself, and carried the key away with me. There had been no Free
Religious dance that night.
On the following Sunday morning the attendance at my church broke all
previous records. Every seat was occupied and every aisle was filled.
Men and women came from surrounding towns, and strange horses were
tied to all the fences in East Dennis. Every person in that church
was looking for excitement, and this time my congregation got what it
expected. Before I began my sermon I read my resignation, to take effect
at the discretion of the trustees. Then, as it was presumably my last
chance to tell the people and the place what I thought of them, I spent
an hour and a half in fervidly doing so. In my study of English I
had acquired a fairly large vocabulary. I think I used it all that
morning--certainly I tried to. If ever an erring congregation and
community saw themselves as they really were, mine did on that occasion.
I was heartsick, discouraged, and full of resentment and indignation,
which until then had been pent up. Under the arraignment my people
writhed and squirmed. I ended:
"What I am saying hurts you, but in your hearts you know you deserve
every word of it. It is high time you saw yourselves as you are--a
disgrace to the religion you profess and to the community you live in."
I was not sure the congregation would let me finish, but it did. My
hearers seemed torn by conflicting sentiments, in which anger and
curiosity led opposing sides. Many of them left the church in a white
fury, but others--more than I had expected--remained to speak to me
and assure me of their sympathy. Once on the streets, different groups
formed and mingled, and all day the little town rocked with arguments
for and against "the gal."