Chapter XI

A PIONEER BOY'S OPINION OF THE EAST.—DISAPPOINTMENT.

WHAT a familiar aspect nature wore to Tom as he journeyed frontierward! Stonewalls, ledges, boulders, rocks, gravel, stumps, stunted corn, swarming, suffocating cities, "east." But here, broad rolling prairies, deep fertile soil, waving grasses, beckoning flowers. He hailed the contrast with a bounding pulse.

It seemed to him as if he had not drawn a full breath since he left Minnesota. He had suffered for want of air and room, and been cramped, confined, fettered, by social artificialities.

Now he was back to pure nature—to boyhood associations. He was happy. Expanding his chest, and thumping it with his friendly fist, he drank in the prairie air as if it were the elixir of life, and proudly swept the wide expanse with his admiring eye, as if to say,—

"There's nothing like my dear, magnificent prairies, after all."

With what vividness, too, did these scenes reproduce the early days of his eventful history: the long journeys in the immigrant wagon, the too frequent removals, the homely, smoky squatter's cabin, the murderous scenes of the massacre at Spirit Lake, the cruel tomahawking of his sister Sarah, Charley's romantic exploits, his father's brave, heroic death, his widowed mother's establishment at the frontier fort with the noble wife of the noble commander of the fortress, as governess of their two lovely children, Willie and Alice.

Alice! With that name uprose before him a vision surpassingly good and fair, setting his feelings into a tumult altogether too "human" for a parson in embryo. He tried to rally his budding professional dignity, and banish the enchanting apparition. In vain. Adown the long stairs, through the echoing hall, warbling bird-like, bursting blithely into the apartment, stopping in confused surprise, he saw again the blonde-haired fairy, just as he did on his first visit at the fort.

That image had never wholly forsaken him. And ever, when it stood freshly before his mind's eye, there was a glow at his heart of mingled worship and gratitude, the former for the sweetness, excellence, and beauty of the winning original; the latter that despite his plain garb and humble circumstances, she could listen to his story that day with such respect, and no apparent consciousness of the inequality of their condition.

But what worldly imaginations for a candidate for the gospel ministry! And what was Alice to Tom?

"No doubt," murmured Tom, endeavoring to shake off the spell, "she's forgotten me long since. Her father is a military man. Of course she has plenty of dashing young officers as admirers; she would not think of the squatter's son!"

Tom's first visit was to L—, the village where lived the kind clergyman and the storekeeper who had enabled him to go east to study. What a pleasure to take these good friends by the hand!

There, too, an inmate of the missionary's family was curly-pated Bub, the youngest of his brothers.

"I wonder," cogitated Tom, as he neared the town, "if Bub will know me; and if he is the same prankish little pet as ever. And if he still rehearses for the pulpit."

For Bub's highest aspiration had been to preach. And that he had not altogether lost his taste for the sacred calling, Tom had received evidence of in the shape of a printed note that Bub had contrived clandestinely to slip within a letter to Tom from the missionary. It ran thus:—

DEER tom i AM, GOING 2 B A BIG MAN LIK U. i PREATH SUMTIMS. THE MISUARY SAYS I MAY PREATH FOR HIM, WHENN I DU. I, CEND AKIS. I STODY HARD. I AMM A SPLENN DAD SKOLLER.

The day was warm, and Tom was not surprised, as he drove up to the clergyman's cabin, to observe that the door was open. He thought it somewhat singular, however, that, notwithstanding the bustle attending their arrival and that the wagon in which he was brought was fully in sight from the house for quite a ways as it drew near, that no one looked out at the team. They dismounted, the horse was hitched, they approached the cabin. Silence and solitude seemed to dwell within.

"I fear the family are away," said Tom.

Glancing in, Tom's eyes opened wide with astonishment. In a chair, his legs stretched out before him, a man's white cravat around his throat, its broad folds enveloping also the chin, a man's hat on his head, glasses astride his nose, eyes fixed on a ponderous volume, sat a fat-cheeked urchin.

"Bub, you scamp," cried Tom, rushing and, regardless of ministerial proprieties and vestments, hugging the clerical imp, the missionary's hat rolling one way, and the Commentary, to show how "heavy" it was, falling with a slam to the floor.

Never were a couple of "theologues" more antic. If a Committee of Supply on the hunt for a candidate "suited to the large, wealthy, and fashionable congregation" at Upper-crustville, had stepped in just then, I doubt if either of the rollicking, rough-and-tumble young divines before them had been in demand. Why, only consider, Bub's cravat was actually tumbled, and so was Tom's hair.

After a happy visit with the missionary and the grocer, the former took Tom in the storekeeper's carriage next morning, and they set out together for the fort.

A cordial, affectionate, tender greeting awaited Tom from General and Mrs. McElroy, his brothers, and his mother. She, Tom noticed, had grown older; but her face was rounder and fairer, bespeaking good fare and contentment.

"I conclude," said Mrs. McElroy, "that, charmed with eastern people and privileges, frontier life looks quite different to you from what it once did."

"Madam," heartily replied Tom, "there is much that is admirable and grand in the older settled portions of our country. But if they have many things better than we, we are not without our compensations. Here society is natural, and neighbors are sympathizing and friendly; there caste distinctions prevail, you know not who lives next door, and fashion tyrannizes. There everything practicable is done for the culture of the mind; but the young are not developed physically, and taught to be self-reliant, as among the pioneers.

"In religion, I prefer our simplicity. It seems to me little short of sacrilege for Christians to display so much pride of dress in the house of God as they do east. And worship is maintained at such extravagant expense that the poor are frequently debarred from the gospel, or are thrust into back seats, or banished to the galleries. Better our log cabin equality than such a condition of things.

"I shall never lose the painful impression made on my mind by an incident that happened to me in one of these aristocratic churches.

"The fame of the Rev. Dr. — led me one Sabbath to go and hear him. I arrived at his place of worship a little late. Entering the vestibule, I saw hanging before me two signs, on which were lettered, FREE SEATS ABOVE, an index finger pointing up stairs. Of course I inferred that there were no free seats below, and as I did not design hiring or buying a seat in God's house that day, I went 'above.'

"In high, straight-backed, comfortless pews, a few of which were furnished with tattered and soiled cushions, was a collection of plainly-dressed people, with faces marked by care, poverty, and toil. An elderly woman, of feeble appearance and large frame, but saintly look, passed me her mutilated hymn book.

"I glanced below. Every pew was constructed for comfort, if not luxury, and not more than one third of the sitting accommodations were occupied—whole slips in succession being entirely empty.

"The Scripture Lesson was from St. James's Epistle, second chapter—'My brethren, have not the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ with respect of persons. For if there come into your assembly a man with a gold ring, in goodly apparel, and there come in also a poor man in vile raiment, and ye have respect to him that weareth the gay clothing, and say unto him, Sit thou here in a good place, and say to the poor, Stand thou there, or sit here under my footstool, are ye not then partial in yourselves?'

"This withering rebuke was impressively read by the pastor, and I scanned the countenances of the audience to see what their effect would be. But neither minister nor hearer showed the least consciousness that the language applied to modern assemblages. Fresh from our uninvidious gatherings, where, though a person may be in rags,—

"'A man is a man for a' that and a' that,'

"the spectacle was—well, I cannot command terms to do justice to my feelings. They were destined to be intensified, too, by an occurrence at the close of the service.

"As I was descending the long, wide stone stairs leading from the gallery, an exclamation caused me to look back. The scream was uttered by the aged woman who passed me her book. Being old and weakly, she had tripped and pitched head foremost. Springing to break her fall, I caught her on my shoulder. Why the weight and the momentum did not send me headlong, I do not comprehend. But I sustained her sufficiently long for others to come to our assistance, and we helped her to the sidewalk. Her ghastly face and trembling limbs showed how great the fright and shock to her.

"Was it not singular that I, a stranger from the far-distant prairies, chanced to be there to save the life of that aged saint?"

"There are, however, devoted souls in those very churches—are there not?" asked his mother.

"Yes, many, dear mother. There are as earnest, unselfish, large-hearted Christians in the eastern cities as ever blessed any age. But while great numbers of professed disciples of the meek and lowly One attend church befrizzled and betrinketed as if at a theatre, thousands perish in the very shadow of Christian temples, as ignorant of Christ as the pagans; and multitudes lack the necessaries of life. These inconsistencies make infidels, on the one hand, who reject all that is sacred, and fanatics, on the other, who fly into all sorts of absurdities."

"Yes," said the missionary, "man, like the pendulum, goes to extremes. When I was east, disorderly classes of religionists arose who plunged into the wildest excesses. A very singular form of fanaticism obtained at one time, called the Shaking Power. It had a queer history. Shall I tell you about it? It will, I think, be quite entertaining."

"O, yes; do let us hear about it," said the ladies.

THE SHAKING POWER.

"Some forty miles from my home," said the missionary, "in a populous town, a 'meeting' was sustained with fanatical furor, composed of a motley assemblage from various sects and orders, and holding sentiments the most discordant, if we except the, with them, essential point—railing at 'the churches.' Here, members excluded for grave faults from the fellowship of Christians, restless, self-exscinded spirits inflamed by fickle isms peculiar to themselves, and those who never belonged, or expected to belong, to an orderly organization of any kind, met to sympathize and act in wild religious freedom, where everybody could be teachers, and anything be taught. Of members of Christian churches, they were accustomed to speak as those who have the '"form" of godliness; but deny the "power" thereof;' meaning that these had system and decorum, and lacked those noisy and eccentric manifestations of zeal in worship which they themselves exhibited.

"Religion with these zealots was almost wholly a 'meeting' affair, and to exhort or pray in public was preeminently 'taking up the cross;' and to know, on such occasions, what to do, and how to do it, they sought to 'move as they were moved upon by the Spirit.' In other words, act out such impulse as chanced to seize them, whether it were to perambulate the sanctuary in sight of the congregation, and then kneel in the aisle and pray, or make remarks from the pulpit stairs.

"It mattered not how fantastic and foolish the impulse; it was to be unhesitatingly obeyed indeed, the more senseless and erratic, the greater proof to their minds of the Spirit's power and control. As to preaching, it could not be known beforehand if there would be any, or who would be the preacher—this being left for the decision of the Spirit after the people had assembled, and one was as liable to be called to fill that office for the time being as another. A heavy 'cross,' indiscriminately imposed, was to go into the pulpit and speak and pray, so that in the course of an evening, a dozen or more, old and young, male and female, would attain that conspicuous post. And if any one, after 'ascending,' had to 'descend' without uttering a word, the boisterous shouts of 'Praise the Lord,' 'Glory to God,' showed that it was regarded as evidence of peculiar sanctity—the grace of humility had been tested, and had triumphed.

"A feature of this fanaticism, which took the lead in exciting wonder and inspiring the credulous with awe, ultimately operated as a cure of the evil it was designed to foster. It was called 'the shaking' or 'trembling power,' and originated with a farmer, who, though not without natural cunning, was below his class in intelligence, and whose life up to that time had borne meagrely, if at all, the fruits of goodness. He would meekly say he was 'slow of speech,' and 'as he could not speak like the rest, they must let him bear the cross the Lord had put upon him,' which was to shake. This was the utility of his gift: he watched the countenances of those present, and, if any one 'neglected duty,' he professed to detect it by the involuntary tremblings that shook his frame—their violence being in proportion to the importance of the duty, and the length of disobedience. Sometimes he called on the delinquent to 'do his duty,'—a call which was considered divinely prompted, and was at once obeyed.

"One evening our enthusiasts had met in a school-house. It was dark and drizzly without, and marvelously dull within—perchance the effects of the weather, or a stupid reaction, the sure sequence of spurious zeal. Silence reigned for a long time. At length a man advanced to the teacher's desk, and, in husky, monotonous tones, helped on the general lethargy. A protracted pause ensued, which was broken by a maiden lady suddenly springing to her feet and commencing an exhortation. Her faded and dirty linsey-woolsey dress, which she 'wore from principle,' fell straight and close about her form; her coarse black hair was unevenly cut short in the neck 'to shame pride,' while her wrinkled skin, nut-brown complexion, stumpy gums, and eyes wildly flashing as she paced the floor gesticulating violently, and with shrill voice denounced 'hypocrites and formal professors,' gave her a weird and haggish expression.

"When her message was delivered, a dumpy man in semi-Quaker garb, who sat in a semi-recumbent posture gazing at the floor, remarked, without looking up, that he was no singer 'naturally,' that he did not it know one tune from another, but when the Spirit told him to sing, he must sing; and he gruffly chanted to extemporaneous music, composed as he went along, keeping time meanwhile with one foot,—

"'The pure testimony put forth in the "Sperit"
Cuts like a sharp two-edged sword,
And hypocrites now are sorely tormented,
Because they're condemned by the Word;

"'The pure testimony discovers the dross,
While wicked professors make light of the cross,
And Babylon trembles for fear of her loss.'

"An embarrassing silence again occurring, some one prayed the Lord to 'show them what it was that clogged the wheels of the meeting, and kept them from moving—' a prayer which seemed to them about to be answered, as a peculiar jarring of the floor and seats gave notice of the advent of the shaking power.

"This curious phenomenon was of an intermittent type, affecting first the lower extremities, imparting a tremulousness just perceptible, extending slowly to the whole body, meanwhile increasing in strength. Then passing off, a few moments would elapse before a recurrence in the same manner, each fit being augmented in length and intensity.

"The 'power' brother suffered one attack without speaking. While agitated by the second, he said oracularly, but retaining his seat,—

"'If anybody here has a duty to do, he had better do it!'

"'Amen! Amen!' fervently responded the brother-and-sisterhood, nodding approval, and exchanging relieved glances as they looked in the direction indicated. The candles burned dimly; but remote by himself, among some unoccupied seats, could be discerned the figure of a man wrapped in a cloak, his hat drawn over his eyes, his face resting on the desk before him.

"The conclusion was, that it was some one bending under the weight of a too heavy cross; and the shaking power brother, after ineffectually rising and saying, 'If the brother yonder has a duty to do, I say he had better do it,' with apparent difficulty dragged his trembling frame across the room, and laid his hand authoritatively on the shoulder of the delinquent, when, lo! the cloak slipped to the floor—there was no one under it! It had chanced to be left in such a position as to look, in the uncertain light, as if filling its wonted office to the human form—hence the mistake.

"Fanaticism is proverbially ingenious in turning its most palpable blunders into favoring arguments, but I never heard that this one was so used. The effect of the scene was irresistible. It dealt the shaking power a blow from which it did not recover, and the meeting dwindled in interest and numbers, many of the misguided attendants returning to their former religious indifference, and others, who had been honestly led astray, to happier spiritual associations."

"Mother," asked Tom, when alone with her, "where are the rest of the fort people?"

"That is a very sweeping question," she replied; "I do not understand it."

"I have seen the general, and his wife, and Willie," explained he, coloring, "but where is Alice?"

"Why, Tom, have you forgotten that she was lost?"

"'Lost!'" repeated the son, with strong emphasis. "Why was I not informed of it? Lost! How? When?"

"I wrote you the distressing intelligence; the letter must have miscarried."

She then related the circumstances connected with her disappearance. When she had finished, Tom sat with drooping head, buried in thought.

At last, starting as if awakened from sleep, he exclaimed, "Mother, I know what happened to Alice. She was carried off by the Indians, and I have seen her!"

He then recited his adventure with the chief's daughter, ending by affirming that she and Alice were the same.

"You are excited, my son," replied the mother, soothingly. "There are no points of resemblance. Alice had light hair, the Indian girl black; then consider how fair Alice was—too white to be mistaken for a savage. Besides, why did she not, by word or glance, make herself known?"

These objections to his conjecture were unanswerable. Yet Tom was not convinced that he was wrong, and replied,—

"Well, I shall hunt up Long Hair, and my visit shall be spent in seeking to unravel this mystery."

And he left the room, pale, bowed, and resolute, as if a weight of sorrow and of duty had suddenly fallen upon him.