 | XXVII.
THE CONSECRATION. Lucy Arlyn |  |
27. XXVII.
THE CONSECRATION.
DURING this discourse, a goodly company had
assembled, — friends and strangers, old men,
young men, women; a motley gathering of twenty
or thirty persons. There glittered the intense eyes of the
long-haired, long-bearded zealot; there fluttered the Bloomer
dress of the strong-minded woman; there flapped the broad
hat-brim of the ruddy-faced young travelling lecturer; there
glowed the broad, red, unctuous features of good Deacon Pitman;
there Doctor Biddikin smirked; there Archy Brandle
jerked; and there shone the bland features of Christina's
silent friend.
Mr. Murk now mounted the embankment, and proposed to
give a brief history of the treasure.
The first settlers in this region found a company of Spaniards
in possession of the mountain. Until within a few years,
old men had been living who remembered the foreign adventurers.
They had some huts, and a cave in the mountain-side.
There they carried on some mysterious business, which
Nothing definite was known of it, however, for a year or two;
when one of the strangers, who could speak a little English,
made the acquaintance of a wood-chopper, who had been a
sailor, and could speak a little Spanish.
“The wood-chopper's name were Mather,” interpolated
Doctor Biddikin. “He were the grandfather of Deacon Pitman.”
Murk proceeded. Through the medium of the two languages,
the two communicated; and the Spaniard related that
his friends were working a silver-mine up into the mountain
from the western side. One evening he took Mather to visit it,
and showed him by torch-light, far up in the rocks, a chamber
completely filled with shining coin, of which he gave him a
handful.
At this time, dissensions and feuds were raging among the
miners; and it was probably on account of them that the
friendly Spaniard had wished to take Mather into his confidence.
Not long after, a terrible fight occurred, which broke
up the company. Some were killed, and others were driven
away; until, out of twenty, only three remained. One of these
was Mather's friend, who related to him that they were going
to Spain to procure assistance, and that they had blocked up
the mouth of the mine with rocks. At their departure, Mather
was left to keep a watchful eye over the treasure, with
the promise of a rich reward on their return. But they never
returned; some disaster probably occurring to them on their
voyage.
After waiting several years, the wood-chopper related what
he knew to his neighbors. But, by this time, portions of the
cliff had fallen, and concealed the entrance of the cave
altogether, — “it being necessary,” Mr. Murk continued,
“that all evidence of the truth of the tradition should be destroyed,
in order that the treasure might be reserved for this
great work.”
Even Mather's testimony on the subject appears not to have
been fully credited. He had spent the coins the Spaniard
gave him, and had nothing to show for them but a red nose.
He was fond of a glass, and those who acquitted him of telling
a wilful falsehood attributed his story of the silver chamber to
a dream of intoxication.
Deacon Pitman's mother remembered hearing, when she was
a little girl, her father, the old wood-chopper, talk about
treasures in the mountain. But, even with the tradition in
his own family, the deacon had never put faith in it, until, to
his astonishment, he received a communication on the subject
from the spirit of his grandfather.
Long since, however, Doctor Biddikin had come over the
mountains from the east, had heard the tradition, had become
convinced of its truth, and had purchased for a small sum that
portion of the mountain which was considered worthless by
those who were ignorant of the riches it contained. After
expending a good deal of money in searching for the entrance
to the mine, he consulted a person skilful in the use of divining-rods;
and, under his direction, he commenced digging on this
spot, hoping to sink a shaft straight to the treasure.
“But failure was necessary,” continued Mr. Murk. “And
it was brought about rather curiously, as was recently shown
by my own investigations with the rods, but more particularly
by our illuminated Sister Christina. Standing on this bank,
she was able to discern the treasure directly beneath her feet.
It is consequently not more than three or four yards from the
shaft, which appears to have been sunk expressly for our
advantage; for you observe it will be easy, when the water
is removed, to descend into it, and, commencing operations
at the proper depth, open a door directly into the mine.
“For some time,” he continued, “the brethren have been
ready to contribute material aid towards this movement. Only
Brother Biddikin has stood a little in our way, as it was no
doubt necessary he should; but, now that all things are ripe,
our inspired Sister Christina has been employed as an instrument
to induce him to yield his claims, in consideration of
which he is to receive from the brotherhood a provision sufficient
for his maintenance, and a tenth part of the treasure. I
believe this is the correct statement, Brother Biddikin.”
“I — I have consented,” said the old man, strongly agitated.
“I have worn out my health and broken my heart
in the work; and now — I — it seems to me a hard case; but
I give up, — I give up the treasure.”
He looked around for Christina, as if dependent on her for
support in that trying moment; but she was nowhere to be
seen: and, struggling with his emotions, he shrank away, an
object of painful interest to the pitying spectators.
“It was at first advised by our spirit-guides,” resumed the
philanthropist, “that six of the brethren should subscribe a
thousand dollars each. But this plan has been modified at
the suggestion of the brethren themselves; and it is now
settled that each member of the order shall stand pledged to
render such assistance in the work as may be required of
him, — time, talents, or money, according to his circumstances
and capabilities.”
He then read a declaration of the character and designs of
the association; to which were appended the names of Moses
Murk, secretary; Cephas Snow, Amos Pitman, Ralph Biddikin
(the doctor), Sabina Smith (the governor's lady),
Robert Green, and Augustus Haddow, directors; besides
several private members.
Of the seven officers, all except the doctor and the philanthropist
were persons of ample pecuniary resources, which
were pledged in aid of the movement. A treasurer was yet
to be chosen; and the chief who had been appointed by the
spirits remained to be inaugurated.
“I now beg leave,” said Mr. Murk, “to introduce to the
brothers and sisters a very distinguished brother, — the Hon.
Cephas Snow, late member of Congress.”
Guy raised his eyebrows in mild astonishment; while Christina's
tall friend smilingly lifted his hat from his high white
forehead, and atoned for his long silence by a very neat
speech.
He told an interesting story of his conversion to spiritualism.
had long since convinced him that some such movement as
was now organizing was required to regenerate society. He
complimented the mountain very handsomely: here they
were elevated above the world; here they commanded a magnificent
outlook upon the universe; and here, he felt assured,
the earth touched heaven with a kiss of peculiar magnetic
unity. He was inclined to agree with his friend Mr. Murk
in the opinion, that this mountain was one of the spiritual poles
of the globe, and that in no other spot could invisible intelligences
communicate so directly and freely with men. It was,
in fact, the modern, moral Mt. Ararat; and here, in the midst
of the breaking-up of the great deeps of human society which
had been prophesied, the ark of human redemption was to
rest.
Enthusiastic applause followed this graceful speech. The
rocks were echoing, when Archy leaped upon the mound.
“Hear ye, hear ye the word of the Lord!” he shouted.
“Why stand ye here idle?” And he proceeded with an
energetic exhortation to commence at once the great work,
speaking with a fluency and force which surprised all who
knew him; until, in the middle of a sentence, the inspiration
suddenly left him, and he came out of his trance, staring ludicrously
a moment; then got quickly down from his elevation,
looking excessively ashamed.
The contrast between the congressman's polished manner
and the youth's involuntary outburst caused some to smile.
no distinction of persons; that all were brothers and sisters,
united by one purpose and one love. And now an old man
mounted the rocks.
“Brother Haddow, one of the directors,” Mr. Murk explained.
His hair was thin and white. His beard fell like shining
wool upon his breast. An expression of exceeding benevolence
illumined his beautiful clear eyes and almost transparent
face. The tones of his voice were tremulous and sweet
with love; and, as he spoke, benediction from the heavens
seemed to rain upon all hearts.
“I am old, my children; but I bless God that I have
lived to see this day. For threescore years I have observed
the sorrows and sins of the world, and mourned for them, and
pleaded the cause of my Master, and called to my brothers
and sisters to love one another. But only a few have heard
me; and the evil in the world seemed so great, that I was
beginning to despair, when this new light dawned wherein we
rejoice. The angels of heaven have come to our aid. The
bonds of the oppressed shall be broken. The bitter vials of
strife and envy shall be poured out no more. Wounds shall
heal. Hard hearts shall melt like wax. My children, I
know that this is to be; for the spirits of the just have proclaimed
it, and they will not deceive.
“And now,” the old patriarch continued, “who will join
us in our work? Let not the fickle or the faithless come
the drunkard, the convict, and the woman lost in sin, as his
brother and his sister. But come, all ye who love. Such
only are worthy to use the treasure which is stored in these
rocks for humanity's sake. I shall not be with you long; but
receive the counsel of one who has learned by experience how
much more blessed is charity than selfishness. Work together
in harmony. Forgive one another's faults. Be faithful to
your trust. Amen.”
These words, uttered with singular fervor and winning
sweetness, ran like fire from heart to heart. And now the
patriarch descended to a hollow of the rocks where Guy stood
bowed with thought, and took him by the hand, and led him
to the summit of the mound.
“The Holy Spirit has descended upon us!” said the old
man. “Son, be obedient!”
Guy bared his head to the October sunlight. The mountain-wind
played in his hair. With a deep sigh, and a reverential
smile, he glanced upwards; then, with thrilling earnestness
and solemnity in his slow, quivering tones, he said, —
“I should be strangely unreasonable, I should be strangely
ungrateful, if I were not obedient. I know these heavenly
influences. I am indebted to them for unspeakable blessings.
They have opened depths of thought and joy within me too
sacred to name. They have made real to me miracles, immortality,
and the fiery Pentecost. I will obey them.”
He ended, his features still flooded with the sunlight, and
love; and all who looked upon him could see written in his
countenance the history of days and nights of struggle between
him and his soul, before ever he could stand in that place;
and all hearts went out to him.
“Kneel, my son,” said the old man; and he knelt on
the stones. A book, called the Book of the Covenant, was
opened before him. A pen was put in his hand, and he
wrote his name. Then around him was formed a circle of all
such as the spirit moved, who laid their hands upon him as
he knelt with his head bowed down; and the old man pronounced
the words of the consecration, and in the name of
the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, proclaimed him
the chief of the order.
Up to this time, Christina had not been seen: but now she
glided among the mediums; and, after the hands which were
upon Guy had been withdrawn, — while all yet stood around,
and his head was still bowed, — she stooped, and laid upon
him a crown.
There was a movement, a murmur of amazement; and
Guy rose to his feet. He knew not what she had done to
him; but he saw grief and alarm in the faces around him,
and he was conscious of sharp pains piercing his temples.
Then he put up his hand, and knew the crown of thorns.
“This from you?” he said reproachfully, turning his sorrowful
eyes on Christina.
“Oh, not from me!” she answered. “God knows I
would not! And have I not suffered?”
And she showed her bleeding hands.
Then the old man lifted up his voice, and prayed.
| XXVII.
THE CONSECRATION. Lucy Arlyn | |