THE WORSHIPPERS.
The camp-meeting is one leading feature in the American development of
religion, peculiarly suited to the wide extent of country, and to the
primitive habits which generally accompany a sparse population.
Undoubtedly its general effects have been salutary. Its evils have been
only those incident to any large gatherings, in which the whole
population of a country are brought promiscuously together. As in many
other large assemblies of worship, there are those who go for all sorts
of reasons; some from curiosity, some from love of excitement, some to
turn a penny in a small way of trade, some to scoff, and a few to pray.
And, so long as the heavenly way remains straight and narrow, so long
the sincere and humble worshippers will ever be the minority in all
assemblies. We can give no better idea of the difference of motive which
impelled the various worshippers, than by taking our readers from scene
to scene, on the morning when different attendants of the meeting were
making preparations to start.
Between the grounds of Mr. John Gordon and the plantation of Canema
stood a log cabin, which was the trading establishment of Abijah
Skinflint. The establishment was a nuisance in the eyes of the
neighboring planters, from the general apprehension entertained that
Abijah drove a brisk underhand trade with the negroes, and that the
various articles which he disposed for sale were many of them
surreptitiously conveyed to him in nightly instalments from off their
own plantations. But of this nothing could be proved.
Abijah was a shrewd fellow, long, dry, lean, leathery, with a sharp
nose, sharp, little, gray eyes, a sharp chin, and fingers as long as
bird's-claws. His skin was so dry that one would have expected that his
cheeks would crackle whenever he smiled, or spoke; and he rolled in them
a never-failing quid of tobacco.
Abijah was one of those over-shrewd Yankees, who leave their country
for their country's good, and who exhibit, wherever they settle, such a
caricature of the thrifty virtue of their native land as to justify the
aversion which the native-born Southerner entertains for the Yankee.
Abijah drank his own whiskey,--_prudently_, however,--or, as he said,
"never so as not to know what he was about."
He had taken a wife from the daughters of the land; who also drank
whiskey, but less prudently than her husband, so that sometimes she did
_not_ know what she was about. Sons and daughters were born unto this
promising couple, white-headed, forward, dirty, and ill-mannered. But,
amid all domestic and social trials, Abijah maintained a constant and
steady devotion to the main chance--the acquisition of money. For money
he would do anything; for money he would have sold his wife, his
children, even his own soul, if he had happened to have one. But that
article, had it ever existed, was now so small and dry, that one might
have fancied it to rattle in his lean frame like a shrivelled pea in a
last year's peascod. Abijah was going to the camp-meeting for two
reasons. One, of course, was to make money; and the other was to know
whether his favorite preacher, Elder Stringfellow, handled the doctrine
of election according to his views; for Abijah had a turn for theology,
and could number off the five points of Calvinism on his five long
fingers with unfailing accuracy.
It is stated in the Scriptures that the devils believe and tremble. The
principal difference between their belief and Abijah's was, that he
believed and did _not_ tremble. Truths awful enough to have shaken the
earth, and veiled the sun, he could finger over with as much unconcern
as a practised anatomist the dry bones of a skeleton.
"You, Sam!" said Abijah to his only negro helot, "you mind, you steady
that ar bar'l, so that it don't roll out, and pour a pailful of water in
at the bung. It won't do to give it to 'em too strong. Miss Skinflint,
you make haste! If you don't, I shan't wait for you; 'cause, whatever
the rest may do, it's important I should be on the ground early. Many a
dollar lost for not being in time, in this world. Hurry, woman!"
"I am ready, but Polly an't'," said Mrs. Skinflint. "She's busy a
plastering down her hair."
"Can't wait for her!" said Abijah, as he sallied out of the house to
get into the wagon, which stood before the door, into which he had
packed a copious supply of hams, eggs, dressed chickens, corn-meal, and
green summer vegetables, to say nothing of the barrel of whiskey
aforesaid.
"I say, Dad, you stop!" called Polly, from the window. "If you don't,
I'll make work for you 'fore you come home; you see if I don't! Durned
if I won't!"
"Come along, then, can't you? Next time we go anywhere, I'll shut you up
over night to begin to dress!"
Polly hastily squeezed her fat form into a red calico dress, and,
seizing a gay summer shawl, with her bonnet in her hand, rushed to the
wagon and mounted, the hooks of her dress successively exploding, and
flying off, as she stooped to get in.
"Durned if I knows what to do!" said she; "this yer old durned gear
coat's all off my back!"
"Gals is always fools!" said Abijah, consolingly.
"Stick in a pin, Polly," said her mother, in an easy, sing-song drawl.
"Durn you, old woman, every hook is off!" said the promising young lady.
"Stick in more pins, then," said the mamma; and the vehicle of Abijah
passed onward.
On the verge of the swamp, a little beyond Tiff's cabin, lived Ben
Dakin.
Ben was a mighty hunter; he had the best pack of dogs within thirty
miles round; and his advertisements, still to be seen standing in the
papers of his native state, detailed with great accuracy the precise
terms on which he would hunt down and capture any man, woman, or child,
escaping from service and labor in that country. Our readers must not
necessarily suppose Ben to have been a monster for all this, when they
recollect that, within a few years, both the great political parties of
our Union solemnly pledged themselves, as far as in them lay, to accept
a similar vocation; and, as many of them were in good and regular
standing in churches, and had ministers to preach sermons to the same
effect, we trust they'll entertain no unreasonable prejudice against Ben
on this account.
In fact, Ben was a tall, broad-shouldered, bluff, hearty-looking
fellow, who would do a kind turn for a neighbor with as much good-will
as anybody; and, except that he now and then took a little too much
whiskey, as he himself admitted, he considered himself quite as
promising a candidate for the kingdom as any of the company who were
going up to camp-meeting. Had any one ventured to remonstrate with Ben
against the nature of his profession, he would probably have defended it
by pretty much the same arguments by which modern theologians defend the
institution of which it is a branch.
Ben was just one of those jovial fellows who never could bear to be left
behind in anything that was going on in the community, and was always
one of the foremost in a camp-meeting. He had a big, loud voice, and
could roll out the chorus of hymns with astonishing effect. He was
generally converted at every gathering of this kind; though, through the
melancholy proclivity to whiskey, before alluded to, he usually fell
from grace before the year was out. Like many other big and hearty men,
he had a little, pale, withered moonshiny wisp of a wife, who hung on
his elbow much like an empty work-bag; and Ben, to do him justice, was
kind to the wilted little mortal, as if he almost suspected that he had
absorbed her vitality into his own exuberant growth. She was greatly
given to eating clay, cleaning her teeth with snuff, and singing
Methodist hymns, and had a very sincere concern for Ben's salvation. The
little woman sat resignedly on the morning we speak of, while a
long-limbed, broad-shouldered child, of two years, with bristly white
hair, was pulling her by her ears and hair, and otherwise maltreating
her, to make her get up to give him a piece of bread and molasses; and
she, without seeming to attend to the child, was giving earnest heed to
her husband.
"There's a despit press of business now!" said Ben. "There's James's
niggers, and Smith's Polly, and we ought to be on the trail, right
away!"
"Oh, Ben, you ought to 'tend to your salvation afore anything else!"
said his wife.
"That's true enough!" said Ben; "meetings don't come every day. But what
are we to do with dis yer'un?" pointing to the door of an inner room.
"Dis yer'un" was no other than a negro-woman, named Nance, who had been
brought in by the dogs, the day before.
"Laws!" said his wife, "we can set her something to eat, and leave the
dogs in front of the door. She can't get out."
Ben threw open the door, and displayed to view a low kind of hutch,
without any other light than that between the crevices of the logs. On
the floor, which was of hard-trodden earth, sat a sinewy, lean
negro-woman, drawing up her knees with her long arms, and resting her
chin upon them.
"Hollo, Nance, how are you?" said Ben, rather cheerily.
"Por'ly, mas'r," said the other, in a sullen tone.
"Nance, you think your old man will whale you, when he gets you?" said
Ben.
"I reckons he will," said Nance; "he allers does."
"Well, Nance, the old woman and I want to go to a camp-meeting; and I'll
just tell you what it is,--you stay here quiet, while we are gone, and
I'll make the old fellow promise not to wallop you. I wouldn't mind
taking off something of the price--that's fair, an't it?"
"Yes, mas'r!" said the woman, in the same subdued tone.
"Does your foot hurt you much?" said Ben.
"Yes, mas'r!" said the woman.
"Let me look at it," said Ben.
The woman put out one foot, which had been loosely bound up in old rags,
now saturated in blood.
"I declar, if that ar dog an't a pealer!" said Ben. "Nance, you ought
ter have stood still; then he wouldn't have hurt you so."
"Lord, he hurt me so I couldn't stand still!" said the woman. "It an't
natur to stand still with a critter's teeth in yer foot."
"Well, I don't know as it is," said Ben, good-naturedly. "Here, Miss
Dakin, you bind up this here gal's foot. Stop your noise, sir-ee!" he
added, to the young aspirant for bread and molasses, who, having
despatched one piece, was clamoring vigorously for another.
"I'll tell you what!" said Ben to his wife, "I am going to talk to that
ar old Elder Settle. I runs more niggers for him than any man in the
county, and I know there's some reason for it. Niggers don't run into
swamps when they's treated well. Folks that professes religion, I think,
oughtn't to starve their niggers, no way!"
Soon the vehicle of Ben was also on the road. He gathered up the reins
vigorously, threw back his head to get the full benefit of his lungs,
and commenced a vehement camp-meeting melody, to the tune of
"Am I a soldier of the cross,
A follower of the Lamb?"
A hymn, by the by, which was one of Ben's particular favorites.
We come next to Tiff's cottage, of which the inmates were astir, in the
coolness of the morning, bright and early. Tiff's wagon was a singular
composite article, principally of his own construction. The body of it
consisted of a long packing-box. The wheels were all odd ones, that had
been brought home at different times by Cripps. The shafts were
hickory-poles, thinned at one end, and fastened to the wagon by nails.
Some barrel-hoops bent over the top, covered by coarse white cotton
cloth, formed the curtains, and a quantity of loose straw dispersed
inside was the only seat. The lean, one-eyed horse was secured to this
vehicle by a harness made of old ropes; but no millionaire, however,
ever enjoyed his luxuriantly-cushioned coach with half the relish with
which Tiff enjoyed his equipage. It was the work of his hands, the
darling of his heart, the delight of his eyes. To be sure, like other
mortal darlings, it was to be admitted that it had its weak points and
failings. The wheels would now and then come off, the shafts get loose,
or the harness break; but Tiff was always prepared, and, on occasion of
any such mishaps, would jump out and attend to them with such cheerful
alacrity, that, if anything, he rather seemed to love it better for the
accident. There it stands now, before the inclosure of the little cabin;
and Tiff, and Fanny, and Teddy, with bustling assiduity, are packing and
arranging it. The gum-tree cradle-trough took precedence of all other
articles. Tiff, by the private advice of Aunt Rose, had just added to
this an improvement, which placed it, in his view, tip-top among
cradles. He had nailed to one end of it a long splint of elastic
hickory, which drooped just over the baby's face. From this was
suspended a morsel of salt pork, which this young scion of a noble race
sucked with a considerate relish, while his large, round eyes opened and
shut with sleepy satisfaction. This arrangement Rose had recommended, in
mysterious tones, as all powerful in making sucking babies forget their
mammies, whom otherwise they might pine for in a manner prejudicial to
their health.
Although the day was sultry, Tiff was arrayed in his long-skirted white
great-coat, as his nether garments were in too dilapidated a state to
consist with the honor of the family. His white felt hat still bore the
band of black crape.
"It's a 'mazin' good day, bless de Lord!" said Tiff. "'Pears like dese
yer birds would split der troats, praising de Lord! It's a mighty good
zample to us, any way. You see, Miss Fanny, you never see birds put out,
nor snarly like, rain or shine. Dey's allers a praising de Lord. Lord,
it seems as if critters is better dan we be!" And, as Tiff spoke, he
shouldered into the wagon a mighty bag of corn; but, failing in what he
meant to do, the bag slid over the side, and tumbled back into the road.
Being somewhat of the oldest, the fall burst it asunder, and the corn
rolled into the sand, with that provoking alacrity which things always
have when they go the wrong way. Fanny and Teddy both uttered an
exclamation of lamentation; but Tiff held on to his sides and laughed
till the tears rolled down his cheeks.
"He! he! he! ho! ho! ho! Why, dat ar is de last bag we's got, and dar's
all de corn a running out in de sand! Ho! ho! ho! Lord, it's so curus!"
"Why, what are you going to do?" said Fanny.
"Oh, bress you, Miss Fanny," said Tiff, "I's bound to do something,
anyhow. 'Clare for it, now, if I han't got a box!" And Tiff soon
returned with the article in question, which proved too large for the
wagon. The corn, however, was emptied into it _pro tem._, and Tiff,
producing his darning-needle and thimble, sat down seriously to the task
of stitching up the hole.
"De Lord's things an't never in a hurry," said Tiff. "Corn and 'tatoes
will have der time, and why shouldn't I? Dar," he said, after having
mended the bag and replaced the corn, "dat ar's better now nor 'twas
before."
Besides his own store of provisions, Tiff prudently laid into his wagon
enough of garden stuff to turn a penny for Miss Fanny and the children,
on the camp-ground. His commissariat department, in fact, might have
provoked appetite, even among the fastidious. There were dressed
chickens and rabbits, the coon aforesaid, bundles of savory herbs,
crisp, dewy lettuce, bunches of onions, radishes, and green peas.
"Tell ye what, chil'en," said Tiff, "we'll live like princes! And you
mind, order me round _well_. Let folks har ye; 'cause what's de use of
having a nigger, and nobody knowing it?"
And, everything being arranged, Tiff got in, and jogged comfortably
along. At the turn of the cross-road, Tiff, looking a little behind,
saw, on the other road, the Gordon carriage coming, driven by Old
Hundred, arrayed in his very best ruffled shirt, white gloves, and gold
hat-band.
If ever Tiff came near having a pang in his heart, it was at that
moment; but he retreated stoutly upon the idea that, however appearances
might be against them, his family was no less ancient and honorable for
that; and, therefore, putting on all his dignity, he gave his beast an
extra cut, as who should say, "I don't care."
But, as ill-luck would have it, the horse, at this instant, giving a
jerk, wrenched out the nails that fastened the shaft on one side, and it
fell, trailing dishonored on the ground. The rope harness pulled all
awry, and just at this moment the Gordon carriage swept up.
"'Fore I'd drive sich old trash!" said Old Hundred, scornfully; "pulls
all to pieces every step! If dat ar an't a poor white folksy
'stablishment, I never seed one!"
"What's the matter?" said Nina, putting her head out. "Oh, Tiff!
good-morning, my good fellow. Can we help you, there? John, get down and
help him."
"Please, Miss Nina, de hosses is so full o' tickle, dis yer mornin', I
couldn't let go, no ways!" said Old Hundred.
"Oh, laws bless you, Miss Nina," said Tiff, restored to his usual
spirits, "'tan't nothin'. Broke in a strordinary good place dis yer
time. I ken hammer it up in a minute."
And Tiff was as good as his word; for a round stone and big nail made
all straight.
"Pray," said Nina, "how are little Miss Fanny, and the children?"
Miss Fanny! If Nina had heaped Tiff with presents, she could not have
conferred the inexpressible obligation conveyed in these words. He bowed
low to the ground, with the weight of satisfaction, and answered that
"Miss Fanny and the chil'en were well."
"There," said Nina, "John, you may drive on. Do you know, friends, I've
set Tiff up for six weeks, by one word? Just saying _Miss_ Fanny has
done more for him than if I'd sent him six bushels of potatoes."...
We have yet to take our readers to one more scene before we finish the
review of those who were going to the camp-meeting. The reader must
follow us far beyond the abodes of man, into the recesses of that wild
desolation known as the "Dismal Swamp." We pass over vast tracts where
the forest seems growing out of the water. Cypress, red cedar, sweet
gum, tulip, poplar, beech, and holly, form a goodly fellowship, waving
their rustling boughs above. The trees shoot up in vast columns, fifty,
seventy-five, and a hundred feet in height; and below are clusters of
evergreen gall-bushes, with their thick and glossy foliage, mingled in
with swamp honeysuckles, grape-vines, twining brier, and laurels, and
other shrubs, forming an impenetrable thicket. The creeping plants
sometimes climb seventy or eighty feet up the largest tree, and hang in
heavy festoons from their branches. It would seem impossible that human
feet could penetrate the wild, impervious jungle; but we must take our
readers through it, to a cleared spot, where trunks of fallen trees,
long decayed, have formed an island of vegetable mould, which the art of
some human hand has extended and improved. The clearing is some sixty
yards long by thirty broad, and is surrounded with a natural rampart,
which might well bid defiance to man or beast. Huge trees have been
felled, with all their branches lying thickly one over another, in a
circuit around; and nature, seconding the efforts of the fugitives who
sought refuge here, has interlaced the frame-work thus made with thorny
cat-briers, cables of grape-vine, and thickets of Virginia creeper,
which, running wild in their exuberance, climb on to the neighboring
trees, and, swinging down, again lose themselves in the mazes from which
they spring, so as often to form a verdurous wall fifty feet in height.
In some places the laurel, with its glossy green leaves, and its masses
of pink-tipped snowy blossoms, presents to the eye, rank above rank, a
wilderness of beauty. The pendants of the yellow jessamine swing to and
fro in the air like censers, casting forth clouds of perfume. A thousand
twining vines, with flowers of untold name, perhaps unknown as yet to
the botanist, help to fill up the mosaic. The leafy ramparts sweep round
on all the sides of the clearing, for the utmost care has been taken to
make it impenetrable; and, in that region of heat and moisture, nature,
in the course of a few weeks, admirably seconds every human effort. The
only egress from it is a winding path cut through with a hatchet, which
can be entered by only one person at a time; and the water which
surrounds this island entirely cuts off the trail from the scent of
dogs. It is to be remarked that the climate, in the interior of the
swamp, is far from being unhealthy. Lumber-men, who spend great portions
of the year in it, cutting shingles and staves, testify to the general
salubrity of the air and water. The opinion prevails among them that the
quantity of pine and other resinous trees that grow there impart a
balsamic property to the water, and impregnate the air with a healthy
resinous fragrance, which causes it to be an exception to the usual rule
of the unhealthiness of swampy land. The soil also, when drained
sufficiently for purposes of culture, is profusely fertile. Two small
cabins stood around the border of the clearing, but the centre was
occupied with patches of corn and sweet potatoes, planted there to
secure as much as possible the advantage of sun and air.
At the time we take our readers there, the afternoon sun of a sultry
June day is casting its long shadows over the place, and a whole choir
of birds is echoing in the branches. On the ground, in front of one of
the cabins, lies a negro-man, covered with blood; two women, with some
little children, are grouped beside him; and a wild figure, whom we at
once recognize as Dred, is kneeling by him, busy in efforts to stanch a
desperate wound in the neck. In vain! The red blood spurts out at every
pulsation of the heart, with a fearful regularity, telling too plainly
that it is a great life-artery which has been laid open. The
negro-woman, kneeling on the other side, is anxiously holding some
bandages, which she has stripped from a portion of her raiment.
"Oh, put these on, quick--do!"
"It's no use," said Dred; "he is going!"
"Oh, do!--don't, don't let him go! _Can't_ you save him?" said the
woman, in tones of agony.
The wounded man's eyes opened, and first fixed themselves, with a
vacant stare, on the blue sky above; then, turning on the woman, he
seemed to try to speak. He had had a strong arm; he tries to raise it,
but the blood wells up with the effort, the eye glazes, the large frame
shivers for a few moments, and then all is still. The blood stops
flowing now, for the heart has stopped beating, and an immortal soul has
gone back to Him who gave it.
The man was a fugitive from a neighboring plantation--a simple-hearted,
honest fellow, who had fled, with his wife and children, to save her
from the licentious persecution of the overseer. Dred had received and
sheltered him; had built him a cabin, and protected him for months.
A provision of the Revised Statutes of North Carolina enacts that slaves
thus secreted in the swamps, not returning within a given time, shall be
considered outlawed; and that "it shall be lawful for any person or
persons whatsoever to kill and destroy such slaves, by such ways and
means as they shall think fit, without any accusation or impeachment of
crime for the same." It also provides that, when any slave shall be
killed in consequence of such outlawry, the value of such slave shall be
ascertained by a jury, and the owner entitled to receive two thirds of
the valuation from the sheriff of the county wherein the slave was
killed.
In olden times, the statute provided that the proclamation of outlawry
should be published on a Sabbath day, at the door of any church or
chapel, or place where divine service should be performed, immediately
after divine service, by the parish clerk or reader.
In the spirit of this permission, a party of negro-hunters, with dogs
and guns, had chased this man, who, on this day, had unfortunately
ventured out of his concealment.
He succeeded in outrunning all but one dog, which sprang up, and,
fastening his fangs in his throat, laid him prostrate within a few paces
of his retreat. Dred came up in time to kill the dog, but the wound, as
appeared, had proved a mortal one.
As soon as the wife perceived that her husband was really dead, she
broke into a loud wail.
"Oh, dear, he's gone! and 'twas all for me he did it! Oh, he was so
good, such a good man! Oh, do tell me, _is_ he dead, is he?"
Dred lifted the yet warm hand in his a moment, and then dropped it
heavily.
"Dead!" he said, in a deep undertone of suppressed emotion. Suddenly
kneeling down beside him, he lifted his hands, and broke forth with wild
vehemence:--
"O Lord God, to whom vengeance belongeth, show thyself! Lift up thyself,
thou Judge of the earth, render a reward to the proud! Doubtless thou
art our Father, though Abraham be ignorant of us, and Israel acknowledge
us not. Thou, O Lord, art our Father, our Redeemer; thy ways are
everlasting--where is thy zeal and thy strength, and the sounding of thy
bowels towards us? Are they restrained?" Then, tossing his hands to
heaven, with a yet wilder gesture, he almost screamed: "O Lord! O Lord!
how long? Oh, that thou wouldst rend the heavens and come down! Oh, let
the sighings of the prisoner come before thee! Our bones are scattered
at the grave's mouth, as when one cutteth and cleaveth wood! We are
given as sheep to the slaughter! We are killed all the day long! O Lord,
avenge us of our adversaries!"
These words were spoken with a vehement earnestness of gesture and
voice, that hushed the lamentation of the mourners. Rising up from his
knees, he stood a moment looking down at the lifeless form before him.
"See here," he said, "what harm had this man done? Was he not peaceable?
Did he not live here in quietness, tilling the ground in the sweat of
his brow? Why have they sent the hunters upon him? Because he wanted to
raise his corn for himself, and not for another. Because he wanted his
wife for himself, and not for another. Was not the world wide enough?
Isn't there room enough under the sky? Because this man wished to eat
the fruit of his own labor, the decree went forth against him, even the
curse of Cain, so that whosoever findeth him shall kill him. Will not
the Lord be avenged on such a people as this? To-night they will hold
their solemn assembly, and blow the trumpet in their new moon, and the
prophets will prophesy falsely, and the priests will speak wickedly
concerning oppression. The word of the Lord saith unto me, 'Go unto this
people, and break before them the staff beauty and the staff bands, and
be a sign unto this people of the terror of the Lord. Behold, saith the
Lord, therefore have I raised thee up and led thee through the
wilderness, through the desolate places of the land not sown.'"
As Dred spoke, his great black eye seemed to enlarge itself and roll
with a glassy fulness, like that of a sleep-walker in a somnambulic
dream. His wife, seeing him prepare to depart, threw herself upon him.
"Oh, don't, don't leave us! You'll be killed, some of these times, just
as they killed him!"
"Woman! the burden of the Lord is upon me. The word of the Lord is as a
fire shut up in my bones. The Lord saith unto me, 'Go show unto this
people their iniquity, and be a sign unto this evil nation!'"
Breaking away from his wife, he precipitated himself through an opening
into the thicket, and was gone.