University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

Nimrod made his annual visit to his father's. Where he
had been, or what he did, none asked, none knew. His appearance
would indicate the sailor and the horse-jockery; he
wore a tarpaulin and blue jacket, a pair of high-top boots with
spurs and leather trousers; he flourished a riding stick, commonly
known as a cow-hide, a pair of large gold rings dangled
in his ears. He rode a horse, a cast-iron looking animal, thin
and bony, of a deep grey color, called Streaker. He seemed
also to have money in his pocket, as he evidently had brandy
in his saddle-bags and humor in his soul. He brought one or
two books for Margaret, to whom he showed great attachment,
and whose general management seemed surrendered to him,
while he was at home. These books were Mother Goose's
Melodies, National Songs and Bewick's Birds with plates.
He gave her, in addition, a white muslin tunic with pink silk
skirt. Nimrod was tall in person; he had bluish, lively eyes,
light hair and a playful expression of face. All the family
seemed delighted with his return; Pluck, because his son's
temper was congenial with his own; his mother, for some presents;
Hash, because of the brandy; Chilion was happy to see
his brother; and Margaret for obvious reasons. He leaped
from his horse, as he rode up to the door, and ran to Margaret
whom he saw working on her flower-bed; raised her in his
arms, kissed her, set her down, took her up again, made her
leap on his horse, caught her off and kissed her a second time.
“Can you spell Streaker?” said he, which she did. “Ah,
you little rogue!” he added, “you are spruce as a blue-jay.”

“Has the Indian come yet?”

“Yes, he was here last week.”

“An't you afraid of him?”

“No. The little girl that was with him gave me some
apples.”

“That's you, for a broad joe! Never be afraid of any body,
or anything, two-legged or four-legged, black, white, blue or

grey, streaked or speckled, on the earth or in the air. I have
learned that lesson. How is our other Margaret, the Peach
tree?”

“Don't you see what beautiful red peaches there are on it?”

“Yea, verily,” as the Master says, “this is like a woodchuck
in clover. These are sweet and luscious as your cheek,
Margaret.”

Nimrod ran into the house, and out to the cistern, and
towards the Pond, and up the Head. He shook his father's
hand heartily; to his mother he made a low bow; Hash
chuckled and grinned at sight of him, and Nimrod laughed
harder in response. Chilion greeted him cordially, but said
little. Bull he held up by his paws, made sundry bows
and grimaces to the dog, and talked to him like an old friend,
so that Margaret declared the animal laughed.

If Nimrod were enjoying a furlough or vacation, or anything
of the kind, it seemed to be his purpose to make the most of it.
He talked of the meeting in the woods, a turkey-hunt the
next moon, a husking bee, thanksgiving ball, racing and a
variety of things. In whatever he undertook Margaret was made his constant attendant; and at some risk even, he carried
her into all scenes of wildness, exposure and novelty; nor
can it be said she was loth to go with her brother.

The meeting in the woods was the first in order of time.
This practice, imported from England, began to flourish incipiently
in our country. From the suburbs of old cities, from
church-yards, court-yards, gardens, the scene was transferred
to pine forests, shady mountains and a maiden green-sward.
Heptenstall Bank was revived in Snake Hill. The scoffing
Kentishmen appeared in the “Injins,” No. 4's and Breaknecks.
What lived in Europe must needs luxuriate in America. The
jumpers of Wales were outdone by the jerkers of Kentucky.

The meeting was to be held in the district we have before
spoken of as Snake Hill, lying four or five miles north of the
Pond. Nimrod started off horseback, with Margaret behind
him on a pillion. Hash and Bull went afoot. At the Widow
Wright's, they found that lady with her son mounting their
horse,—a small black animal resembling the Canada breed,
called Tim,—and just ready to proceed on the same excursion.
The Widow was solemn and collected, and she greeted Nimrod,
for whom she had no strong affection, with a smile that a susceptible
eye might have construed into coldness. Tim, the
horse, had a propensity for dropping his ears, biting and kicking,
when a stranger approached. He began some demonstrations

of this sort as Nimrod came up. Whether Nimrod
regarded this an insult on Streaker, or was nettled at the
manner of the woman, or to gratify his own evil taste, he
dealt the horse a smart blow with his cowhide. Tim darted
off at a full jump; insomuch that Obed and his mother, with
all their use to his back and manners, had much ado to keep
their seats. Nimrod ambled forward, about a mile, crossed
the intersecting west road from the village, and came to a
house known as Sibyl Radney's, where he overtook the Widow
and her son, breathing their horse. Sibyl lived alone with her
mother in the woods, cultivated a small farm, kept a horse and
cow, mowed, cut wood, and did all her work without aid.
Her face and neck were deeply browned, her arm was like
that of a blacksmith. She was also getting ready for Snake
Hill. Nimrod contrived to stimulate the three horses into a
race, which was executed in a manner a fox-hunter might
have envied, through brambles, over stumps, across ditches.

The spot to which these riders directed their way was in a
forest on the crown of a hill. A circular opening had been
cut among the trees for the purposes of the meeting. At one
end of this amphitheatre was the pulpit, constructed of rough
boards; about the sides were arranged the tents or camps,
made for the most part of hemlock boughs. Seats of slabs,
logs and stumps were strown in front of the pulpit. In the
centre of the whole was a huge pile of wood to be kindled in
the evening for warmth, if need be, or for light. There were
also booths on the outside for the sale of cider, rum, gingerbread,
and the practice of various games. Here were assembled
people from twenty different towns. Nimrod fastened
his horse to the trees amongst scores of others. The Widow
reminded Nimrod of the circumstances of the place, admonished
him of his recklessness. “I kalkilate God is here,”
said she, “and you had better not be pokin your fun about.”
Compassionating the dangerous situation of Margaret, she
requested that she might be delivered to her care. Nimrod,
who thought he should find entertainment in a manner that
might not possibly be agreeable to the child, consented to
yield her to the woman. He and Sibyl went towards the
booths, and Mistress Wright, leaning on the arm of her son,
leading Margaret, entered the encampment. Three men in
black occupied the pulpit, their heads powdered, with white
stocks and bands, and straight square-cut collars. One of them,
a tall bronze-complexioned man, was addressing the people,
hundreds of whom filled the seats. The Preacher was proceeding

in the way of narration. “The sacred flame,” said
he, “has spread in Virginia. Brother Enfield, the assistant
in the Brunswick Circuit, conjectures that from eighteen hundred
to two thousand souls have been converted since the
middle of May. Twelve hundred experienced the work of
grace in Sussex; in Amelia half as many more. Many christians
had severe exercises of mind respecting the great noise
that attended this work of God. Some thought it was not
divine; yet from its effects they dare not ascribe it to Satan;
but when the Lord broke in upon their own families, they saw
it at once, and began to bemoan their own hardness of heart.
Many gospel-hardened, old, orthodox sinners, have, as mighty
oaks, been felled; and many high-towering sinners, as the
tall cedars of Lebanon, bowed down to the dust. As many
as fifteen or twenty commonly gave up in a day under
Brother Staffin's preaching, who is indeed a Samson among
the Philistines. It is no strange thing now for children
down to seven years of age to give in.”

The Preacher then digressed in a strain of exhortation
designed to reproduce effects similar to those he had recounted.
A thunder cloud gathered in the sky, and buried
the woods in darkness. “That,” said he, “is the shadow of
hell. It is the smoke of torments that ascendeth up forever
and ever.” The thunder burst upon the camp, its hollow
roar reverberated among the hills. “Behold!” he exclaimed,
“God proclaims his law in fire and smoke!” It began to
rain, “What!” continued he, “can you not endure a little
wetting, when you will so soon call for a drop of water to
cool your parched tongues?” The lightning flashed upon
them, it blazed through the trees. “The great day of the
Lord is coming,” he went on, “when the elements shall
melt with fervent heat; the heavens also shall pass away with
a great noise, the earth also shall be burned up.” There was
a movement in the congregation; some shrieked out, some fell
upon their faces, some flung their arms wildly in the air.
“Oh my soul!” “Lord have mercy!” “Jesus save!”
“Glory! glory!” rang from seat to seat. “It is the Lord's
doings and marvellous in our eyes,” exclaimed one of the men
in the pulpit. Nimrod and his confreres from the booths ran
in to see what had befallen. There sat Obed waving to and
fro on his seat, groaning, and calling upon his mother. “Yes,
my son,” exclaimed the latter convulsively, “its an orful
time. God has come, we are great sinners. I han't done my
duty by ye. Parson Welles would let us all go teu hell together.”

“What a mercy,” exclaimed another, “we can
come where the gospel is preached!” “O Lord, forgive me,”
cried a third, “for going to the Universalist up to Dunwich;
I do believe there is a hell, I do believe there is a hell.”
“I have been down among the Socinians,” echoed a fourth.
“God be praised I have found where there is some religion
at last. Glory, glory!”

The Preacher, the storm and the effect increased. Some
fell away, some foamed at the mouth, some lay on the ground
in spasms, the faces of several grew white, others purple and
black, one appeared to be strangling and gasping for life,
another became stiff, rigid, and sat up like a dead man on his
seat; there were groans, sobs, shrieks, prayers and ejaculations.
There came a terrific crash of thunder, as if the heavens
had split and the earth would give way. There was a
stifled groan, a retreating shudder among the people; the
Preacher himself seemed for a moment stunned. Margaret
shrieked and cried to the top of her voice, which sounded for
the instant like a clarion over an earthquake. Nimrod impulsively
rushed among the people, dashed Obed from his seat,
seized Margaret and drew her out. The Preacher recovering
himself as he observed this movement. “Son of Belial!” he
broke forth, “thinkest thou to stop the mighty power of God?
Will he deliver that child into thy hand as he did the children
of Israel into the hand of Chushan-rishathaim? Stop, on thy
soul, and repent, lest ye die.”

“I guess I shan't die before my time,” retorted Nimrod,
“nor any sooner for your croaking, old Canorum. The child
is gittin wet, and she is sca't. I han't lived in the woods to
be skeered at owls, I snore.”

“A scoffer!” “A scoffer!” one or another exclaimed.
The people began to look up, and about them. The tide of
feeling was somewhat diverted. “Oh! there will be mourning,
mourning, mourning,” &c., was pealed forth from the
pulpit, and a full chorus of voices chimed in. The Preacher
renewed his exhortations, and the attention of the assembly
was restored to the subjects that had occupied them.
The groans and sobs were renewed. “This beats the
Great Earthquake all hollow,” exclaimed one of the congregation.
“Yes,” echoed the Preacher, “what a rattling
among the dry bones.” “Oh Lord!” cried one of his assistants,
“send an earthquake, shake these sinners, send it quick,
send it now. There were near four hundred converted at
the last earthquake in Boston.” “Oh! what a harvest of

souls we should have, brother!” rejoined the Preacher.
“Help me with your prayers brethren, as Aaron and Hur did
Moses.”

In due time these exercises closed. After supper, in the
evening, the pile of wood was kindled, pine knots were lighted
at the corners of the pulpit; the horn blew and the people
reassembled. Margaret ran off into the woods with Bull and
laid down under a tree, her head resting on the flanks of the
dog, and her feet nestling in the soft moss. Nimrod was
drinking and roistering at the booths. Hash was beyond the
reach of influences spiritual or temporal. After the evening
service was over the people dispersed to their tents. A
middle aged man, Mr. Palmer, from the Ledge, happening in
the woods, saw Margaret asleep under the trees, took her in
his arms, carried her into one of the tents, and gave her in
charge of his wife. The good woman with one hand patted
Margaret on her head, while with the other she tended her
own with a pinch of snuff, and asked her if she didn't want to
be saved. Margaret replied that she didn't know.

“The spirit is here mightily,” said the woman, taking a
fresh pinch, “won't you come in for a share?”

“It won't let me,” replied Margaret.

“You may lose your soul.”

“I havn't got any.”

“Mercy on me!” exclaimed the woman, “Don't you know
the devil will git you if you don't come in?”

“No it won't,” replied Margaret, “Bull won't let it.”

“What will you do when all the little boys and gals goes up
a singing?”

“I'll stay at home and hear Chilion play on the fiddle, and
read my new books.”

“Luddy mussy! can you read? Where do you live?”

“Down to the Pond.”

“Han't they got any of the religin at your house?”

“No, Marm, they drink pupelo and rum.”

“A born fool!” ejaculated the woman with herself.—“But
she can read, she must be knowing. Wonder if the power
an't in her? She will certainly die, and she an't no more
ready than our Rufus.”

The people began to crowd into the tent, among whom was
Mistress Wright and her son Obed. The Widow made immediately
for Margaret, who with Mistress Palmer, was sitting on
the straw in a corner apart. She heard the latter lady's soliloquy,
and added, “Oh no, I'm afeered she an't.”

“What's the matter of the child?” asked Mistress Palmer.

“Don't know, Marm,” replied the Widow. “I wish sutthin
could be done for her, she's bred in orful wicked ways.
Any sick up your way, Miss Palmer? I've brought a few
yarbs with me. If we could only keep the poor sinners alive
long enough for um teu save their souls it would be a great
marcy.”

The speakers were interrupted by noises in the tent into
which a large number of people had found their way, who
began to sing, exhort and pray. They had Obed down flat on
his back. His mouth was open, his eyes shut; he shook
spasmodically, he groaned with a deep guttural guffaw. Men
and women were over and about him; some looking on, some
praying, some uttering “Glory!” The Preacher came in,
a bland smile on his face, rubbing his hands; “Good!” he
ejaculated with a short, quick snap of the voice. “The Lord
is here, Miss Palmer,” said he.

“Yes in truth, you told us we should have a great time,”
rejoined the woman. “But see this gal, I wonder if anything
can be done with her.”

“Ah my little lamb,” said the Preacher, taking Margaret's
hand and drawing her gently towards him. “Hope you have
found the Saviour, you are old enough to recent.” Margaret
wrested herself from him. “Why what's the matter, dear?”
enquired the man. “You are not one of the wicked children
that reviled the prophet, and the bears came out of the woods
and tare them in pieces?”

“I an't afraid of the bears,” replied Margaret, pettishly.

“A mazed child! a mazed child!” exclaimed Mistress
Palmer.

“Don't you want to be converted?” asked the Preacher.

“I don't like you, I don't like you,” replied Margaret.
“You hollered so and scared Obed, he's scared now. They
are hurting him,” she said, pointing where the youth lay.
Darting from her company, she penetrated the crowd and
knelt down by the side of Obed. “Poor Obed!” she said,
“don't make such a noise, Molly is here.”

“I am going to hell,” hoarsely and mournfully replied the
boy.

“The arrows of the Almighty are thick upon him,” ejaculated
the Preacher, approaching the scene.

“If the Lord would only grant him deliverance!” said his
mother, looking through the crowd.

“Pray, brother, pray, sister,” said the Preacher, addressing

one and another. “Jacob wrestled all night in prayer with
God. The Ark is now going by. Three have already closed
with the offers of mercy in Dunwich tent.”

“Don't cry so, Obed,” said Margaret. “They shan't hurt
you.”

“The devil is in that child, take her away,” said the
Preacher.

Some one endeavored to pull her off. “Let me alone,” she
exclaimed, “I can't go, I won't go,” and she adhered to the
boy, whose arm had become closed about her neck as a man
in a fit.

There was a jarring hubbub of voices; men and women
reeking with excitement, and vieing one with another who
should pray the most importunately.

“What the devil are ye doing here?” shouted a still louder
voice over the heads of the crowd. It was Nimrod, who
half-intoxicated thrust himself among them. “Bite um Bull,
bite um,” he rubbed the dog's ears and holding him between
his legs, teazed him into a piercing yelp and howl that startled
the people.

“Bull! Bull!” shrieked Obed. “He's comin, he'll bite
me.” The lad sprang to his feet and stared wildly about.

“Satan has come in great wrath,” cried the Preacher.

“Yes, and I guess you know as much about him as anybody,
old cackletub!” rejoined Nimrod. “You set them all
a going, and then snap them up like a hawk.”

“Hoora!” shouted another of the scoffers from the other
side of the tent. “I hearn him comin down from a tree jest
now; look out or he'll be in your hair, white-top.”

“I've cotched him by the tail,” said another of the fry,
twitching the dog, who thereupon renewed his roar.

“Pray, brethren, pray!” said the Preacher, and the people
began to pray more lustily. “As with the sound of rams'
horns the walls of Jericho fell down, so shall these sinners
tremble before God.”

“Where's Sibyl Radney?” cried one of the opposers.
“She's got the bellows pipe for ye, and will let ye have some
of the broomstick too, if you want.”

“Oh! oh!” screamed Margaret, “you hurt me. They
are treading on my toes. Nimrod! Nimrod! I can't get
out.”

“Margaret, are you in there, like a mouse among cats?”
hallooed her brother.

“Yes, and Obed is here too.”

“Let Obed go to Ballyhack. Come along out.”

“Cast him out of the synagogue,” cried the Preacher.

“Back with ye,” said a man making up to Nimrod. “The
Lord is here.”

“Guess you will find somebody else is here too. Take
yourself back,” replied Nimrod, at the same time rendering
the man a blow that nearly levelled him with the ground.

“I can't stay here,” said Mistress Palmer.

“Hope the Lord won't leave us yet,” responded a woman
at her side.

“I fear the spirit will be grieved to depart,” said another of
the company.

“How many souls will perish for this man's wickedness!”
sighed the Preacher.

Sibyl Radney rushing forward, seized Margaret, whom
she held like a pup, under one arm, and with the other
cleaved her way through the people. The lights were
smothered; there was a surging to and fro; the props of the
tent broke asunder; some ran one way, some another; others
were trodden under foot. Margaret found herself in the
woods supported by Sibyl. Nimrod presently appearing, said
they must go home. Sibyl helped him mount his horse, and
Margaret contriving to keep her brother in equipoise, they
returned to the Pond.