CHAPTER VIII
The Conversion of Jim
There was much excitement in Methodist circles that autumn. A preacherof power had come from the east. The church was filled to overflowing onSunday, and a prayer meeting of equal interest was promised forWednesday night.
The people came from miles around and there were no vacant seats. Eventhe aisles were filled with chairs when the Rev. Obadiah Champ rose andbawled aloud in rolling paragraphs about "Hopeless, helpless,hell-damned sinners all. Come, come to-day. Come now and be saved." Awave of religious hysteria spread over the packed-in human beings. Awave that to those untouched was grotesque and incomprehensible.
"Sure, they ain't right waked up yet," said one of Jim's half-dozenunregenerate friends who had come to sit with him on the fence outside,and scoff at the worshippers. Jim was silent, but a devil of wild deedsstirred irritatingly within him. He looked about him for some supremeinspiration--some master stroke. The crowd was all in the church now,and the doors were closed tight. But muffled sounds of shouting, ofmurmurings, of halleluiahs were heard.
"They're goin' it pretty good now, Jim," said another. "But I think youcould arouse 'em," he added, with a grin.
Standing by the church was a tall elm tree; near by was a woodshed withaxe, saw, and wood pile. Jim's eye measured the distance from trunk toroof and then, acting on a wild impulse, with visions of folk in terrorfor their bodies when they professed concern for nothing but theirsouls, he got the axe, and amid the suppressed giggles and guffaws ofhis chums, commenced to fell the tree. In twenty minutes the great trunktottered, crackled, and swung down fair on the roof of the crowdedbuilding.
The congregation had reached a degree of great mental ferment with therevival, and a long, loud murmuring of prayers and groans, with thevoice of the exhorter, harsh and ringing, filled the edifice, when witha crash overhead the great arms of the tree met the roof. At first, itseemed like a heavenly response to the emotion of the congregation, butthe crackling of small timber, the showering down of broken glass andplaster gave evidence of a very earthly interposition.
Then there was a moment of silence, then another crack from the roof,and the whole congregation arose and rushed for the door. All in vainthe exhorter tried to hold them back. He shrieked even scriptural textsto prove they should stay to see the glory of the Lord. Another flake ofplaster fell, on the pulpit this time; then he himself turned and fledthrough the vestry and out by the back way.
Jim's following had deserted him, but he himself was there to see thefun; and when the congregation rushed into the moonlight it was like awasp's nest poked with a stick, or a wheat shock full of mice turnedover with a fork. The crowd soon understood the situation and mengathered around the sinner. There was menace in every pose and speech.They would have him up to court; they would thrash him now. But thejoyful way in which Jim accepted the last suggestion and offered to meetany or all "this holy minute" had a marked effect on the programme,especially as there were present those who knew him.
Then the exhorter said:
"Brethren, let me talk to this heinous sinner. Young man, do you realizethat this is the House of God, which you have so criminally destroyed?"
"The divil an' all it is," said Jim. "Sure, ye ain't got the cheek tocall a Methody shindy hall the House of God. I think ye ought to beashamed of yourself to give a lot of dacent farmers the hysterics likeyer doin'."
"Young man, the spirit of the Lord is mighty, and cometh like a strongwind on the four corners of the house."
"Then why in the divil did ye blame me for it?" was the answer.
"Oh, son of Belial! Hell fire and eternal damnation, a portion in thepit that burneth with fire, is the lot of those that desecrate thesanctuary of the Most High. I tell you it were better for you that youhad never been born----"
"But sure, I am born; and it's mesilf that's aloive yet an' goingstrong."
"Oh, unregenerate blasphemer----"
But a sudden cry and commotion interrupted the preacher.
"Here, lay her down, get some water."
A little girl had been hurt in the crush and now she had fainted. Thethreats of the men had roused Jim to his joyful, battle enthusiasm. Theonslaught of the preacher had stirred his sense of humour; but the poor,limp, and seemingly dead form of the little girl, a child whom he knewand had often petted, was an attack he was ill-prepared to meet.
"There, see what you have done. It were better that a millstone werehanged about your neck and that you were cast into the depths of the seathan that you should have harmed this little one. Her blood be on yourhead."
The mother was kneeling by the child, unwisely holding up its head. Shewas praying intently; the air was full of religious fervour. "Oh, God,spare my baby. Oh, God, be merciful."
Jim heard the words and they entered his soul like a two-edged sword.All the fun of the incident was gone, and all the cruelty, theunkindness, the wickedness, loomed large and larger. With his intensenature, subject to the most violent reactions, the effect was profound.It seemed to him, as he stood there, that a veil dissolved before hiseyes and that he saw himself and his life for the first time. There hadever been two natures struggling in his soul, the calm and wise one ofhis Ulster blood of placid Saxon stock, and that of the wild and fieryCelt from Donegal, ready to fight, ready to sing, ever ready for fun,but ever the easy prey of deep remorse in even measure with the mood ofpassion that foreran and begot it.
Smitten from within and without, utter humiliation, self-accusation, andabasement filled his soul. Jim sank to the ground by the little girl,and wept in an agony of remorse.
"Young man," said the exhorter, "if God in His mercy has sent me here tosave your soul from eternal damnation by this hellish deed of yours,then shall I rejoice and praise the Lord, that out of fire and brimstoneHe can create a golden pathway."
The little girl now opened her eyes and with a cry of relief the mothersought to lift her up, but had not the strength. Jim's mighty arms wereeager for service, and with that soft, limp little body against hisbroad chest, her head on his shoulder, his heart was filled withinexpressible emotion.
"Bring her in here," and the remnant of the congregation reassembled inthe church. In the very front was Jim, sitting by the mother with thelittle girl between them. His head was bowed on his hands, his elbows onhis knees.
Then the exhorter began again. Full of scriptural texts charged withholy fire, abounding in lurid thoughts of burning lakes, of endlesstorment; gifted with the fluency that sometimes passes for logic andmakes for convincement, he dwelt on the horrors and themight-have-beens. He shouted out his creeds of holiness, he rumbled inhis chest and made graphic mouthings. He played on all the emotionsuntil he found the most responsive, and then hammered hard on these. Thebig broad shoulders before him shook, tears fell from the half-hiddenface. Then the preacher chanced to strike on the note, "your mother,"and Jim Hartigan's breakdown was complete. He sobbed, "Oh, God, bemerciful to me, a sinner," and rising, staggered to a place on theupraised bench--the seat of those who dared to hope for salvation--andwept.
Carried away by his own vehemence, the exhorter wept, too. There was nohuman being in the hall who could stand the overwhelming surge ofemotion. The congregation wept. Then Jim arose and in broken voice said:"My mother's dying prayer was that I might join the Church and be awitness for God. As sure as she is looking down on me now I promise thatI will join His people and niver rest till I have been made fit to standamong those who bear His message. I give my word as a man."
The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country Page 9