THE RIGHTEOUS SHOUT
The meeting which Peter Cartwright was to hold had been heralded far
and wide, and it was expected that several thousand people would
attend. A great arbor had been erected at each of the four corners of
which was a high wooden altar covered with earth and sod where pine
torches burned to illuminate the darkness. A platform large enough
to hold twenty preachers had been built, with an open space in front
scattered with straw and lined with mourners' benches. Back from the
arbor a circle of tents was placed; back of the tents, wagons, buggies,
and carts of every description; and back of this rim of vehicles the
horses, and sometimes oxen, were tethered.
The gathering together of so many people from far and near for a period
of two or three weeks offered an opportunity for profit-making, and at
a previous meeting whiskey as well as cider and tobacco had been sold
in the forest beyond the camp-clearing, and wheels of chance had been
operated, all of which had had a bad effect on the meeting.
The Clary Grove boys, after a report from Lincoln, had decided to "give
Old Pete right of way," and planned neither mischief nor profit-making.
Not so, however, the Wolf Creek and Sand Town gangs; some among these
had decided to use the occasion for money-making, and the day before
the meeting was to open several barrels of whiskey were discovered in
the brush down beyond the camp-arbor.
Cartwright immediately sent out word that no whiskey-selling would be
allowed anywhere near the meeting-ground, and to the end of discovering
whom he must fight, he disguised himself and was thus able to locate
the gang of rowdies whose head-quarters he found a short distance down
a little creek running by the camp ground. Close to the arbor was a
steep bank, below which the water was quite deep. Into this pool, Peter
Cartwright learned, a plan had been made to throw him. The rowdies were
then to ride through the arbor on horses and, with screeches and yells
like those of Indians break up the meeting.
With this information in hand, Peter Cartwright prepared himself, and,
armed with a stout hickory club, he hid at the narrow passage through
which the horsemen were to come, a pathway around the high bank just
above the deep pool.
The singing service which preceded the sermon, led by the ten exhorters
up at the arbor, was swelling into an inspiring volume when Cartwright,
hiding in the gloom, heard the sound of horses, and the next moment the
leader of the Wolf Creek gang appeared, making his smiling way, with
his eye fixed on the arbor.
It was at this time the music of the pious song was pierced by an
unearthly screech, ending with the words, "In the name of the Lord, GET
BACK!" The horse was the first to heed the exhorter's summary order.
Pitching his rider off perilously close to the brink of the creek, he
snorted away into the forest.
"In the name of the Lord, get thee behind me, Satan!" Cartwright
shouted again, this time into the ear of the Wolf Creek rowdy, and,
with the words, he gave him such a resounding whack with his club as to
knock him over the bank. The next moment the leader of the gang found
himself kicking in the cold waters into which he had planned to throw
Cartwright.
Several others of the gang now came up and made an effort to pass, but
the yells of Cartwright had summoned the strong ones from the arbor and
after a general mixing up between the sheep and the goats, the more
valiant members of the Wolf Creek gang found themselves crawling out of
the water at the foot of the bank.
When the gang had been dispersed, Peter Cartwright, puffing and
blowing, returned to the arbor and sounded the great trumpet call
to preaching. The disturbed audience gathered in quickly, the women
seating themselves on one side and the men on the other.
Taking a timely text, the exhorter described with great power the
conflict he had just been having with the devil, and when he had
reached the climax of the great fight, and had described the way the
devil went splashing into the pool, he sprang from his pulpit to a
long bench across the altar, and, walking back and forth, shouted in a
mighty voice:
Then my soul mounted higher
In a chariot of fire,
And the moon it was under my feet!
From a shout, the words grew into a song, improvised scriptural texts
serving for the verses, and the chorus each time being the victorious
statement that his soul had mounted up until the moon was under his
feet. The audience soon caught the swing of the chorus and sent out
great volumes of melody on the night air.
After this song, the old favorite, "Where, O where are the Hebrew
children?" was started, and as the questions "Where, O where now is
good Elijah?"; "Where, O where now is good old Daniel?"; "Where, O
where now is my good mother?" were sung, with their answers, enthusiasm
grew until the united answers rolled away in great sound-waves on the
stillness of the black forest.
The situation was growing interesting. There was a suppressed feeling
that something was going to happen.
Among the hundreds who stood about the sides were Abe Lincoln and
Doctor Allen, who had taken the time to ride over in the hopes of
seeing for themselves an exhibit of spiritual power known as the jerks.
The perceptible and steady rise in excitement gave promise of almost
any kind of unusual demonstration. Sinners had been called to the altar
and many were falling in the dust, groaning and calling on God to save
them from sin and its terrible punishment of hell.
Cartwright by now seemed to be singing, exhorting, preaching and
praying all at the same time. The shouters had felt the power, and
added to the singing and praying. Shrill cries of "Glory," and other
ejaculations of unearthly joy were heard. Bonnets, caps, and combs
were beginning to fly. Several of the sisters gave exhibitions of what
were called running, jumping and barking exercises, and the men most
interested in them were near at hand to catch them when they fell.
Some who succumbed to this excess of joy, remained in a trance-like
condition, however, and there were at one time many unconscious men and
women lying prostrate in the straw at one place. Abe Lincoln and Dr.
Allen looked on with much interest.
In the midst of the excitement, there came to the ears of Abe Lincoln,
from the woman's side, somewhere across from him, a familiar note. His
interest was at once centred in discovering the owner of the voice.
After a very short time he saw Ann Rutledge. To-night she wore a dress
half wool, half flax, a soft material, dyed with butternut until it was
as yellow as her hair. She stood not far from one of the pine-torch
fires, and in the reflection of the orange flames she made a picture
worthy an artist's canvas.
With his eyes upon her face, shining as if touched by fire from some
heavenly altar, Abe Lincoln suddenly became oblivious of the scenes
about him, though proving of such unusual interest to Dr. Allen.
The song about the Hebrew children had given way to another and yet
more emotional expression; a hand-shaking ditty which seemed little
more than a monophonic impromptu to carry the line, "My brother, I
wish you well; when my Lord calls, I trust you will be mentioned in
the Promised Land." Before the many improvised verses of this chant,
alike rousing and pathetic, had been sung twice, the climax joy of the
safety of heavenly bliss, and the climax sorrow of the doom of eternal
punishment had been reached, and it was evident to Dr. Allen that the
strange physical expression was about to break out.
"Look!" he said to Abe Lincoln.
There was no response.
"Look!" he repeated.
Then he glanced at the man by his side. Abe Lincoln was looking, but
not as Dr. Allen had indicated, and the expression on his face was one
Dr. Allen had never seen there. For a moment his eyes rested on the
uncouth and homely youth in surprise; then, as if hesitating to break
some pleasant spell, he took him by the arm and said softly, "They're
getting the jerks."
Abe Lincoln turned suddenly, and in something of an apologetic tone
said, "It's Ann Rutledge singing. Look at her face. Doesn't she seem
happy?"
"Ann Rutledge is always happy," Dr. Allen answered, "but look up in
front."
"Hope she don't catch it," he said with a last glance at Ann as he
turned his attention to a woman who had just shaken her apron off.
"Don't fear," Dr. Allen replied smiling. "Book learning and this sort
of thing don't go together."
Dr. Allen and Abe Lincoln pushed nearer the front. According to
Cartwright the jerks were useful to call attention to the power of God
or the devil, whichever caused the peculiar demonstration. At any rate
it affected them powerfully, and soon many about the altar were in
different stages of the mysterious visitation of the supernatural. The
heads of some jerked from side to side. Others bent back and forth.
Sometimes the whole body jerked so violently it soon fell exhausted,
and many bodies that fell into the straw lay for days before returning
to consciousness.
As Dr. Allen and Abe Lincoln watched, they saw one man, who stood
near a support, beat against it until the skin was scraped from his
forehead. Dr. Allen felt moved with professional pity, but Abe Lincoln
said, "He's getting religion, let him alone."
It was four o'clock in the morning, when those who had breath enough
left sang, "Blest be the tie that binds," and repaired to their tents
to rest until the trumpet should summon them to early morning prayers.
* * * * *
The next morning, as Abe Lincoln and Dr. Allen were crossing the arbor
grounds, they saw Ann Rutledge and John McNeil laughing together as
she fried eggs over an open fire. For a moment Lincoln felt the same
sensation he experienced when once before he would have destroyed
McNeil from the face of the earth.
Dr. Allen noted the momentary expression on his face and involuntarily
compared it with what he had seen there the night before. He did not
stop now to make any deductions, but he did not forget.
A little later Abe Lincoln met Ann and the Rev. Peter Cartwright. "We
were talking about you," Ann said.
"I was wondering if the demonstration of Divine power at last night's
meeting had not shaken the scales from your eyes, my sinner friend,"
was the exhorter's greeting.
"I suppose you call me a sinner because I do not believe in hell," Abe
Lincoln said, smiling.
"No man can be religious and not fear hell."
"My sin then is in lack of fear, but I didn't make myself, and God just
forgot to put it in. Am I to blame for that?"
"Don't be a scoffer," was Cartwright's advice. "You have a soul worth
saving, young man. I shall pray for your never-dying soul. Perhaps
others are praying for you, and the effectual fervent prayer of the
righteous man availeth much."
"Thanks. I'll do as much for you if you ever get in need." Abe Lincoln
answered, and bidding Ann and the preacher good-bye he went on his way.
John McNeil had come up just as Lincoln turned away. "Poor deluded
sinner," Cartwright said kindly, looking after the tall, uncouth figure
of Abe Lincoln. "How Satan does delude the soul of man, but he's worth
praying for."
When John McNeil was alone with Ann Rutledge a few moments later, he
said: "What did I tell you, Ann? I like Abe Lincoln all right, but I
believe he is one of the worst sinners in this county. Why even those
Wolf Creek rowdies that tried to break up the meeting believe in hell."
"Folks don't see things the same way," Ann asserted thoughtfully.
"No--I suppose you'd call Abe Lincoln a saint."
Ann made no answer. She seemed just then to hear a bruised and helpless
child saying: "God come, and His name's Abe Lincoln."