11. CHAPTER XI.
THE COON-DOG ARGUMENT.
THE reader must understand that all this time Elder
Hankins continued to bombard Clark township
with the thunders and lightnings of the Apocalypse,
continued to whirl before the dazed imaginations of
his rustic hearers the wheels within wheels and the
faces of the living creatures of 'Zek'el, continued to cipher the
world out of existence according to formulas in Dan'el, marched
out the he-goat, made the seven heads and ten horns of the
beast do service over and over again. And all the sweet mysteries
of Oriental imagery, the mystic figures which unexpounded
give so noble a depth to the perspective of Scripture,
were cut to pieces, pulled apart, and explained as though they
were tricks of legerdemain. Julia was powerfully impressed,
not by the declamations of Hankins, for she had sensibility
enough to recoil from his vivisection of Scripture, though she had
been all her life accustomed to hear it from other than Millerites,
but she was profoundly affected by the excitement about
her. Her father, attracted in part by the promise that there
should be no marrying there, had embraced Millerism with
all his heart, and was in such a state of excitement that he
could not attend to his business. Mrs. Anderson was in continual
trepidation about it, though she tried not to believe it.
She was on the point of rebelling and declaring that the world
should not come to an end. But on the whole she felt that the
government of the universe was one affair in which she would
have to give up all hope of having her own way. Meantime
there was no increase of religion. Some were frightened out of
their vices for a time, but a passionate terror of that sort is the
worst enemy of true piety.
“Fer my part,” said Cynthy Ann, as she walked home with
Jonas, “fer my part, I don't believe none of his nonsense. John
Wesley” (Jonas was a New-Light, and Cynthy always talked
to him about Wesley) “knowed a heap more about Scripter
than all the Hankinses and Millerses that ever was born, and
he knowed how to cipher, too, I 'low. Why didn't he say
the world was goin' to wind up? An' our persidin' elder is a
heap better instructed than Hankins, and he says God don't
tell nobody when the world's goin' to wind up.”
“Goin' to run down, you mean, Cynthy Ann. 'Kordin' to
Hankins it's a old clock gin out in the springs, I 'low. How
does Hankins know that 'Zek'el's livin' creeters means one
thing more'n another? He talks about them wheels as nateral
as ef he was a wagon-maker fixin' a ole buggy. He says the
thing's a gone tater; no more craps of corn offen the bottom
land, no more electin' presidents of this free and glorious Columby,
no more Fourths, no more shootin' crackers nor spangled
banners, no more nothin'. He ciphers and ciphers, and
then spits on his slate and wipes us all out. Whenever Gabr'el
blows I'll b'lieve it, but I won't take none o' Hankins's tootin'
in place of it. I shan't git skeered at no tin-horns, and as for
papaw whistles, why, I say Jericho wouldn't a-tumbled for no
sech music, and they won't fetch down no stars that air way.”
Here old Gottlieb Wehle, who had just joined the Millerites,
came up. “Yonas, you mags shport of de Piple. Ef dem
vaces in der veels, and dem awvool veels in der veels, and dem
figures vot always says aideen huntert vordy dree, ef dem tond
mean sompin awvool, vot does dey mean? Hey?”
“My venerated friend and feller-citizen of ferren birth,”
said Jonas, “you hit the nail on the crown of the head squar,
with the biggest sort ov a sledge-hammer. You gripped a-holt
of the truth that air time like the American bird a-grippin' the
arries on the shield. What do they mean? That's jest the
question, and you Millerites allers argies like the man who
warranted his dog to be a good coon-dog, bekase he warn't
good fer nothin' else under the amber blue. Now, my time-honored
friend and beloved German voter, jest let me tell you
that on the coon-dog principle you could a-wound up the trade
and traffic of this airth any time. Fer ef they don't mean
1843, what do they mean? Why, 1842 or 1844, of course.
You don't come no coon-dog argyments over me, not while I
remain sound in wind and limb.”
“Goon-tog! Who zed goon-tog? Ich tidn't, Hankins tidn't,
Ze'kel's wision tidn't zay nodin pout no goon-tog. What's
goon-togs cot do too mit de end of de vorld? Yonas, you pe
a vool, maype.”
“The same to yerself, my beloved friend and free and enlightened
feller-citizen. Long may you wave, like a green bay
hoss, and a jimson-weed on the sunny side of a board-fence!”
Gottlieb hurried on, finding Jonas much harder to understand
than the prophecies.
“I hear the singing-master is goin' to jine,” said Cynthy Ann.
“Wonder ef they'll take him with all his seals and straps, and
hair on his upper lip, with the plain words of the Bible agin
gold and costly apparel? Wonder ef he's tuck in, too?”
“Tuck in? He an't one of that kind. He don't never git
tuck in—he tucks in. He knows which side of his bread's got
quince presarves onto it. I used to run second mate on the
Dook of Orleans, and I know his kind. He'll soar around like
a turkey-buzzard fer a while. Presently he'll 'light. He's
rusticatin' tell some scrape blows over. An' he'll make somethin'
outen it. Business afore pleasure is his motto. He don't
hang that seducin' grin under them hawky eyes fer nothin'.
Wait till the pious and disinterested example 'lights somewheres.
Then look out for the feathers, won't ye! He won't
leave nary bone. But here we air. I declare, Cynthy, this
walk seems the shortest, when I'm in superfine, number-one
comp'ny!”
Cynthy was so pleased with this remark, that she did penance
in her mind for a week afterwards. It was so wicked
to enjoy one's self out of class-meeting!
