The Debatable Land Part 21

Suddenly the woods became choral, a burst of singing from the chestnut grove. Gard started, sat up, and listened.

"That's no jingle! That's music!"

He jumped to his feet and ran across the pasture, crept hurriedly through a thicket to a window brushed by leaves of the underwood. He was absorbed and eager.

"Man there with a voice like a ba.s.s viol!" he muttered.

"I wished I didn't wake an' sleep, I wished I did lay down an' weep, By Jordan, Jordan.

If I could come to that Dead Sea, I'd wade up stream to Galilee, By Jordan."

Each verse boomed up a n.o.ble crescendo and fell away in plaintive minor chords. The preacher in the pulpit, in white vest, dotted cravat, and fas.h.i.+onably cut coat, cried:

"Mou'n an' pray! Mou'n an' pray!"

"I wished I weep when Jesus weep, I wished he wash me wid he sheep In Jordan, Jordan.

I'd drown in Jordan wave and shout-- 'Lord Jesus take my white soul out Of Jordan.'"

"You wa'min, brer'n, you wa'min! Lo'd G.o.d! Jordan! Mou'n an' pray!"

"I wished the burden on my soul Would roll away. Roll, Jordan, roll!

Roll, Jordan, Jordan!

Lord Jesus disher sheep astray, Ain' You gwine show me yonder way To Jordan?"

"De tex'," began the preacher, "is 'bout er man what he Lord len' him a talent--da's a big bit of money, oom!--an' he wrap it in a napkin caze he skeered of it an' hide it, an' go 'way crackin' he knuckle-bones.

'Hiyi!' An' he Lord say, 'You s.h.i.+f'less brack rascal! Ain' you got sense to buy er cow what he feed in de pasture, an' bimeby deh's er calf, an'

de cow's good as befo', an' da's de calf, wuf eighteen dollars, Confed'ate money?' Das' what Mars Ca'leton give Miss Meely fo' de white yeahlin' what ain' any special so't of er calf. He Lord say, 'Give me dat talent! You go hoe co'n in de co'nfield. I spec you skeered to tu'n roun' when you get de end of de row. You ain' got business ent'prise,'

he say. 'You go fin' er slipper-sloppy mud turkle what know how keep he s.h.i.+rt on he back an' he fingehs an' toes inside he s.h.i.+rt, an' lay down in de slipper-sloppy mud wid him. Da's de habit an' perfession,' he say, 'ez sholy 'bout right fo' you.' Disher's de sayin' of scripcheh, caze Miss Meely read it ter me las' night, an' ef it ain' de exac' wo'ds, da's de efficaciousness. Da's de efficaciousness. Wha's de residuum?

"Ef you kotch a rabbit, an' skin him, an' clean him to he bone meat, an'

bile him till he swim in he own gravy, an' smell, oom! he smell sweeter 'n Miss Meely's flower-gyarden, da's de efficaciousness of de rabbit.

But afteh you done et de rabbit, an' he mek de suns.h.i.+ne inside, an'

de notion how soon you go kotch one mo', da's de residuum. I tell you fo' sho fac'. Wha's de residuum? Ain' I heah las' week to Leesburg how de Yankees done mek er Proclamation, an' deh pos' it on de do' of de Cyounty House up no'th, dat de niggehs gwine all be free? Ain' Brer Jacob dar skip up f'om de gyarden whar he rakin' weeds an' tell Miss Meely how he gwine be free? Ain' Miss Meely cuff he yeahs fo' pesterin'

her? Ain' he got no mo' use fo' he freedom 'n ter gallop roun' fo' he got it, an' pester Miss Meely what been shovin' co'n pone 'n bacon in he mouf since he been a pickaninny? Oom!

"What you gwine do wid er talent ef you got it? Gwine git so tickle befo' you know what it is? Gwine git ter de end of de co'n row an' hoe on out 'n in de swamp caze ain' no man tell you tu'n. Gwine lie in de roadway for er jumpy-tail wabble-yeah rabbit run down you mouf when you hungry? Gwine splash in de creek wid de mud turkle wid he fingehs an' toes wrap in he s.h.i.+rt. Hiyah! Oom! Comin' a day of-er-er-lamentation an' dry bones, when de whippo'will be cryin' he lonesome lak he lookin'

fo' some one he cyarn fin'; an' ef he lookin' fo' a niggeh wuf len'in'

a talent to, da's some one he cyarn fin'.

"He Lord len' him a talent, say de good book. Oom! De efficaciousness of de tex' am disher solemn wa'nin'. Don' go roun' ast white folks len' you money. De borrowin' money's de beginnin' of trouble. Ain' n.o.body know when deh gwine ast fo' it again. Mote ast fo' it de day afteh you put in er pocket wid de hole clean down de groun'. Mote tell you buy er cow an'

wait fo' de calf, what de sojers take it lak deh tuk Miss Meely's ho'ses 'cep de two up in de hill pasture. De efficaciousness of de tex' am disher solemn wa'nin. Wha's de residuum?"

The preacher swung his arms over his head shouting:

"Jo'dan! Jo'dan! Ain' no s.h.i.+nin', ain' no gladness, on'y 'yond Jo'dan!

Ain' gwine be no free niggeh! Ain' gwine be no slave! Gwine 'yond Jo'dan!"

The congregation swayed, moaned, shouted:

"Jordan! Jordan!"

"Ain' I hyah de whippo'will cryin' de yevenin', 'Daddy Joe, come 'yond Jo'dan, Daddy Joe.' Jo'dan Jo'dan!"

"Amen!"

"Now you shoutin'!"

From his ambush Gard could see the preacher plainly through the window and two or three of the swaying heads nearest the preacher. The service from now on seemed like an incoherent tumult, the preacher's voice now and then above it, crying, "Mou'n an' pray!" until, at last, after half an hour, it all died away, and there was silence except for the sobbing, moaning, and panting. The preacher had sat down, or was not in sight from where Gard was hidden. Some one unseen at the other end of the building began to sing softly:

"There's a little wheel am turning in my heart."

Gradually the congregation dropped into the melody, all singing softly.

"There's a little wheel am turning in my heart, In my heart, in my heart.

That little wheel am Jesus in my heart, In my heart, in my heart-- I don' want no deception in my heart."

There was a long prayer in a husky whisper. The preacher seemed exhausted. The meeting broke up. Gard counted fifty or more as they came out. They all took the path to the highway, except the preacher, who stumped away towards the pasture. Gard waited till everything was still, then stepped into the path and followed him. When he came into the pasture he saw the old man down by the bunch of saplings, examining the horse, and joined him promptly.

"Good-morning, friend."

"Mo'nin, sah; disher you ho'se, sah?"

Gard felt in the saddle-bags and found a couple of tracts left.

"You do not know how to read? These are two short sermons upon the texts, 'Whosoever calleth his brother a fool is in danger of h.e.l.l-fire,'

and 'He that loseth himself shall find himself.' You live over there, in a cabin by yourself?"

"Hey! Yes, sah."

"If you like I will go with you and read you these sermons?"

They went up the pasture, and left the horse feeding under the saplings.

The old man seemed awe-struck, as if he thought Gard might be some such spiritual stranger as visited the prophets of old and the chosen servants of the Lord. He walked on, looking up shyly at his sudden guest, who went beside him, straight, slim, and sinewy, with sun-tanned skin, shaven lips, silky black beard, singular hat, with broad, stiff brim, and did not, surely, in that garb at least, look like other men.

When they came to where the path pa.s.sed from the clearing into the thicket again the negro stepped aside. Gard motioned and said:

"After you, Daddy Joe."

"Ain' he know my name! Ain' he know my name!"

The path led down and came out on the bank of a creek, with old willows along it and a single little cabin back of the willows in a meadow.

Across the creek were cornfields, and in the distance the chimneys of a large plantation house.

Gard asked, "Have you something for me to eat?"

"Yes, sah. Yes, sah."

They sat down on a rickety bench at the cabin door, and Gard read the two tracts while Daddy Joe watched with troubled, pathetic eyes, and after it brought out corn-bread and bacon sizzling in a pan. The suns.h.i.+ne was warm. Some bird whistled shrilly in the willows over the brown, sluggish creek. The smoke of the distant chimneys hung heavily.

Gard felt as if he would like to let his business slide and watch for hours dreamily the hanging smoke, and gather the sense of contrast between the tumult of the times and spirit of the settled land brooded over by memories of generations at peace, of homes and familiar things.