Slugg and the musicians could not forbear a look of very carnal mortification at the hauteur with which the holy man declined their assistance, but Montmorency covered his face with his handkercheif to hide the uncontrollable risibilty which shook his ribs, as his experienced eyes saw the resolute determination on the part of his beloved friend to carry out the present farce with all the earnestness of his wayward and intractable character. Mr Percy, who if his wrapt and inspired eyes told [the] truth, had really seized the spirit of the hour, advanced to the front of the platform — waved his hand to still the troubled sea of groans and continued —
“Let us miserable worms send up our cry as if from Tophet in the following words and adapted to the tune of “Widdops th.”
Before Our mighty Makers throne
Let us submissive kneel in prayer,
And strive for scarlet sins to atone
For we must pray that He may hear.
Deep — Mighty Lord — be our despair —
Distinct our consciousness of sin —
Lest from thine eyes our outside fan —
Should strive to hide our crimes within.
We know that we are formed for crime,
That through our lifetime crimes we form,
Believing, madly, all the time
That mercy sheilds us from the storm;
Or, as long since, in Shinars plain,
Rebellious men their Tower of pride
Raised up, in hopes, by labour vain
That thus thy power might be defied,
So we, by impious moral code
Or ever changing creeds of faith,
Think we may climb the narrow road,
Elude thy arm, and cheat our death.
But, Oh when we have gained Heaven’s gate,
The eternal crown intent to win,
Long must we knock and, lingering, wait
Ere watching angels let us in!
“Hast thou repented of thy sin?”
What Soul — my God can answer then?
“Go back — Thy path again begin,
And weep and watch and wait again!”
But if returning be denied
By Deaths grim gateway, closed behind,
Where flies our heaven, our hope, our pride?
They fly like chaff before the wind!
Lord, let us know our treacherous mind
Even though that knowledge bring despair;
For, wandering thus, accursed and blind,
We dare not hope that Thou wilt hear!“
As I have already alluded to Mr Percy’s musical powers I need hardly add now that when after giving out the hymn he took his seat at the Organ he soon sent the solemn harmony rolling through the chapel and ascending as if to heaven. Whatever the discomfited gut scrapers felt they were obliged to stare at [the] powers of the ‘rich converted squire’ and even the Rev S Slugg gave a groan of astonishment when the last deep chord had died away.
Mr Percy again advanced to the front of the platform and continued in what the soul saved declared were heavenly tones,
“My brethren God hath opened out a path through this worlds wilderness, and as to those who ask, much will be given, so to you who seek much will be found. We are nothing ourselves and by ourselves we can do nothing but guided by that Star which shone over Bethlehem more than eighteen hundred years ago and which now, if our dimmed eyes could see it, shines over Ardmore we may pursue a soldiers path and ere morning win a new victory over the hitherto unvanquished Man of Sin. I appear before you now as the advocate — the counsel in fact for a wide world brought before Gods bar for crime, and, and unless I successfully plead their cause condemned to a far worse punishment than any which human ingenuity can inflict — I plead for that wide land whose burning Sun blazes on bodies whose blackened hue is as snow compared with the midnight darkness of their Souls — I plead my brethren for Africa — I am counsel also in Gods court of justice for another land still wider — still older — still fuller of all associations which can rouse our hearts to the trumpet sound of human triumphs the funeral wail of human sorrows born — A land wherein our mortal nature found its cradle — wherein a young world met a watery grave — From which a world now called old had its dawning — out of one of whose lonely villages rose the star that has never sunk and whose bright beam from Bethlehem I will trust shines upon our meeting here. I plead for the earth that gave our first father existence and our Saviour a sepulchre — I plead my Christian friends for Asia. Another land also, with which from shorter aquaintance we have less sympathy demands your own and my attention — A land whose mighty rivers roll unknown and incalculable wealth to Ocean but which in itself is — save the United States — a wild and howling waste — nearly Four thousand miles of water draining a surface more than that of all Europe send hourly wasted wealth to the Atlantic and sorrowful sighs to heaven — The Amazons river preaches a sermon in every gush of its stream — The bones that whiten peruvian mountains cry aloud for vengeance — My Brethren I plead for America.
Another clime which God has favoured — which he has blessed with small gratitude recieved in return — a clime that has seized the reins and will direct the progress of earthly improvement — That clime too I must plead for — I plead for wealth changed to pride — power changed to tyranny — Religion changed to hypocrisy — Truth changed to falsehood — population changed to corruption — knowledge obtained only to work the deeds of darkness — I plead for EUROPE. And now my brethren must I not plead for the Island which gave me birth? For the land wherein lies all I have most loved on earth — among whose hills and vales my sorrowing body walks; beneath whose soil my weary head must rest — Must I not plead for our England — for our father land?”
Here Percy with eyes glistning and voice faltering under me influence of real though capricious emotions advanced to the very front of the platform and in still more earnest tones continued —
“The flesh that to my carnal mind was once worth all the world to me is now but an atom of thyself O world! The joy of my life is the sport of a worm! The anchor of my mortal back is torn away And now from rocks and quicksands who can save me — O Father! Only Thou! “For in thy hands is power and might, and Thou rulest and reignest over all!” Yet England — my country demands a warmer expression of feeling than any I can give to far off lands, for that place which all we love most fills our arms or their graves we must think of oftenest — love the most, and with the most agony deplore — Forgive me, my Christian bretheren — I wander from an important text — “Go ye forth and preach the gospel in my name.” Yes let us go from the north and the south, to the uttermost Isles of the sea — Let His word mingle with the sound of waters that heralds Lena and Obi and Eniseei to their cold Siberian Sea — Let it return in “iron knell” from the mighty peaks that separate dreary Thibet from fertile India — Let it wake the slumber of America with a voice louder than the thunders of her Andes — Let it tell unhappy Africa that the wide waves of her Nile or her Niger can never fertilize her thirsty sands till their waters unite with the sacred stream of Jordan.
Upon the banks of that river our souls will all in Gods due time have to stand, with the Ægypt of this worlds happiness and the wilderness of this worlds sorrow left like Israels forty years of wandering behind us — With the deep and treacherous flood beneath us — With the unclouded blaze of Heaven before us! —
That,
“When we tread the verge of Jordan”
we may have no need to fear that its waters will hurry us toward the sea of Sodom, but that guardian angels with white wings waving over a sunlit shore will give us a helping hand to place our feet on for ever flowering meadows. Is the earnest soul felt prayer of one who has wandered long in an inward Arabia and who now humbly prays that Yourselves and himself may reach a happy Canaan.
My Brethren excuse further speech from me at present; Brother Montmorency will introduce the speakers and open the real business of the meeting much more ably than mys
elf — I feel I am nothing and have said nothing.
May HE have pity on us all!”
The Rev A Percy with a general bow to the enraptured audience took his seat amid a flourish of five hundred white handkercheifs. The Male portion of the assembly groaned deeply but the female portion felt deeply, and if a keen observer had noticed the odd half smile on Percys mobile lips as he looked round after taking his seat he would have known at once that the Orator had known to whose feelings he ought to address himself and to whom he meant to feel indifference.
When the tempest of groans, sobs, sighs, and screamings had somewhat subsided the Revd Hector. M.M. Montmorency rose and with his blacksmith arms folded across a breast as broad as Ben Caunt’s and his wild Irish eyes glinting like black diamonds in a coal mine he burst forth in tones like the bass of La blache
“Well my fellow warriors Brother Percy has just given you a screed of sound doctrine but it’s too fine my lads — Its too fine — We poor sinners want a good scouring out ere we are clean — A point lace towel won’t do for us — rough horse hair and brooms instead of brushes are the real remedy for our accumulated monstrosities upon case hardened consciences. Now I have here two real horse combs made of cast iron and ready as cheese maggots to jump where Jesus calls them (You perhaps have never yet seen maggots spang off a knife into your mouth but I have) Well these two have been the biggest scamps that ever donned a shirt, and they now are the holiest saints that ever gave orders for a pair of wings — They are sure to have them my brethren — when they leave this misguided world — They are ready for them in heaven’s warehouse — full feathered, and every quill tipped with gold. Think of the difference between their hopes and yours if you do not alter — pinions like Archangel Michael’s for them — Hoofs like Archangel Lucifer’s for you — Alter then my lads — make no gingerbread matter of it — Never did worse devils live than the two brothers who will now address you, and if they have passed the verge of Jordan why may not you?
Look to the lord my lads — fight the great enemy, though he had as many lives as a cat, and let me introduce to you — Captain Arthur O’ Connor — once too worthless to have a coal wasted in roasting him and now galloping toward heaven as fast as Baalam’s ass can carry him”
At the conclusion of this eloquent speech the Barrister took a pinch of snuff — hid his face to conceal indecent laugher which was working within him like beer in a barrel, and motioned O’ Connor to rise.
With a very reluctant movement and a very irreligious curse the wild eyed, red haired sea officer obeyed the signal — the more quickly from seeing Percy squint — He stood irresolute with perspiring cheeks for a minute and then as if his mind were made up he struck both fists on the front rail of the platform and dashed at once “in medias res” —
Its no use my friends — I am a man unlearned in Godliness, and I have known the old one better than ever I knew my own father or Mother — I have never been worthy of conversion but I have been tumbled into Salvation — Neck and heels you percieve my friends — Glory be to God! Well I suppose I must tell you a bit of my experience — I came from a rich Irish family living at the rate of not more than £ per ann above their income but being an elder son I saddled the estate privately with some few debts to be paid off — interest meanwhile to accumulate — when the old Governor should die. Glory be to God, he lived to see me cut my creditors and take to the high seas — Oh had I but taken to salvation!” (Here tremendous groans for some time interrupted the orator) “Well thats a hit any how! Now then my lads — I mean my Christian brethren — I landed on the Gold Coast with a soul blacker than the body of any devil incarnate that ever bartered mans flesh for a fifteen shilling musket! I did by (“stop stop’ said Montmorency sotto voce.) Well, never mind — I’ll let you into the secrets of life before that clock strikes eight — I spent all my first capital in buying slaves, and as King Boy of old Calabar — You knew King Boy Quashia?”
“Aye that I did Arthur! The old De — I mean brute would have diddled me out of as fine a lot of real Bambarra niggers as ever were thrust under hatches merely because no more than two out of thirty of my best s Birmingham muskets would go off at the first fire. I told him it was the climate, to which they were not yet seasoned, but the Old boy was not to be done.”
A dreadful squint from the Revd. A. Percy placed a padlock on the Moor’s tongue, and the Revd. A. O’ Connor continued —
“Well — my lads — that is — my dearest bretheren — this King Boy said that if I would “dash him” he would trust me for a ton or so of elephants teeth I consented to visit his majesty — Now, mind you, ‘dashing’ means oiling the palm — and the best dash is an anker of brandy or a keg of new rum — Well I dashed his majesty with two big calabashes of as fine red raw rum as ever scalded a mans entrails — It was beautiful to see his white eyes rolling, and his black paws patting his pursy paunch (there’s alliteration for you Hector!) as he gradually stowed his hold with the leeward-Island stuff till he had got as good a cargo on board as a man need wish to leave port with. “Golly massa” he sputtered “Me no hab done dis while — Me spew, and den see what me do!” Well the old fellow being sick at the stomach essayed to leave the hut — beg pardon — I mean palace — and as his vessel lurched, and tacked as if against a head wind I thought it my duty to take him in tow as a steam tug would a dismasted tub of a collier. Hang me but when I touched him the graceless unrepentant sinner gave me a right handed lunge which would have sent me sharply over the streams of Jordan had not a New Testament which I had in my waistcoat pocket saved me — Yes my blessed Bretheren — My Testament saved me! May it save you too!”
The tumultous groans of joy which broke from the hitherto bewildered congregation made Percy aware that one other word from his eloquent colleague would only spoil the good hit he had made, so hastily stepping forward he said loudly —
“My Christian friends, the hour waxes late, me day is far spent — perhaps to some among us the night may be at hand — My brother O’ Connor is exhausted with previous labour — I introduce to relieve him — my dear brother Quashia Quamina.”
The copper-coloured gentleman advanced to the front of the platform with precisely the same aspect as would have been assumed by him if taking a last look on this weary world from the elevation of Newgate scaffold.
“Blasted bitches and brothers — confound you Hector, don’t kick my shins so — I mean Ladies and Gentlemen — now that’s too bad Hector — well, Christian friends, then — Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, and I’ll be most cruelly expliflicated if I ever stood on any platform save the deck, before, I will try to enlighten the gentiles and give them some insight into the goings on in our business; I mean — d’ye mind me — what was our business once — Well — where was I — Percy, you unhanged villain I won’t be trailed by you any longer!”
Furiously turning to the Revd A Percy, the irascible Moor muttered an oath and resumed his seat, but the cheif actor in the evening’s farce, without noticing his colleague’s eccentricity, stepped forward and addressed the audience with a forehead like an Indian ocean in a summer calm.
“My dear friends and fellow Christians the zeal of my fellow labourers has eaten them up, and I much fear that the affecting disclosures which their experience would compell them to make would be painful to their tender feelings as well as to your own: I shall therefore adjourn this meeting till a future evening, and may He protect you all from the burning hill that was ready to fall upon Christian — from the stones that struck the vital breath out of holy Stephen — from the gridiron that fried St. Lawrence — from the crucifixion, head downwards, that gave apoplexy to St Peter — from the roasting of Polycarp — from the impetuous pride of Tertullian — from the vanity of Athanasius — from the laughing atheism of Lucian — from the humbugs of Plato, the treachery of Judas, the plagiarisms of Virgil, the repetitions of Homer,”
“Halt,” cried Montmorency “What on this earth are you driving at?” But Percy noth
ing heeding ‘drifted on his path’ and certainly ‘with silence deep as death’
“Yes, from the fate of Alcibiades’ dog’s tail from the fate of Prynne’s ears, from the fate of Charles the first’s head and of Oliver Cromwell’s nose from the falsehood of Psalmanazer and Jacob, from the impudence of Colonel Blood, and Joab, from the vanity of Absalom and the young Pretender, the go and come virginity of my Ancestress Queen Elizabeth, the death of my pretty Queen Mary, the hard heartedness of Brutus, the clemency of Titus that crucified fifty Jews round the walls of their city, the charity of Inquisitors general — Malay pirates, Slave drivers — I do not allude to my two regenerated fellow labourers present — From the tender mercies of Henry VIIIth and George IVth, of Henry VIIth and old Elwes, of Prince Rupert and the Marquis of Waterford, of Chateaubriand and Robert Montgomery — of Prince Marshal Blucher and Bernard Barton, from all these terrors, Good Lord deliver us!”
As the Revd Alexander Percy concluded with a look of which canvass could give no transcript — Mr Montmorency took his hand gave out a hymn, led the dismayed congregation through the last round of their dance of enthusiasm and all left the chapel impressed with the idea that the Revd. A. Percy was a very odd but very apostolic saint.
Percy departed without another word for his mind did not happen to be under the roof which sheltered his body. O’ Connor and Quamina sat stroking their hair from their foreheads, and Mr H.M.M. Montmorency enjoyed the happiness which a warhorse may have while galloping over the dying and the dead.
In a while O’ Connor wiping the perspiration from his face sighed forth —
“Well, Quashia, what the deuce are we to do now? That accursed Daguerreotype of Lucifer has got his Barometer up to ° in the shade, and you know how little we liked that pitch when we had scarce a hand left to handle a rope off that pompous peice of Portuguese humbug. Fort Elmina, and that regular mantrap ‘Cabo Corso’ castle.”
“I’de rather hang out the red flag within range of Cape Coast Castle guns than sit where I am doing Arthur.”
Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Page 371