The End of the World: A Love Story

  CHAPTER XLIII.

  THE MIDNIGHT ALARM.

  At last the time drew on toward midnight, the hour upon which allexpectation was concentrated. For did not the Parable of the Ten Virginsspeak of the coming of the bridegroom at midnight?

  "My friends and brethren," said Elder Hankins, his voice shaking withemotion, as he held his watch up in the moonlight, "My friends andbrethren, ef the Word is true, they is but five minutes more before thecomin' in of the new dispensation. Let us spend the last moments of timein silent devotion."

  "I wonder ef he thinks the world runs down by his pay-tent-leeverwatch?" said Jonas, who could not resist the impulse to make the remark,even with the expectation of the immediate coming of the day of judgmentin his mind.

  "I wonder for what longitude he calculates prophecy?" said Andrew. "Itcan not be midnight all round the world at the same moment."

  But Elder Hankins's flock did not take any astronomical difficulty intoconsideration. And no spectator could look upon them, bowing silently inprayer, awed by the expectation of the sudden coming of the Lord,without feeling that, however much the expectation might be illusory,the emotion was a fact absolutely awful. Events are only sublime as theymove the human soul, and the swift-coming end of time was subjectively agreat reality to these waiting people. Even Andrew was awe-stricken fromsympathy; as Coleridge, when he stood godfather for Keble's child, wasoverwhelmed with a sense of the significance of the sacrament fromKeble's stand-point. As for Cynthy Ann, she trembled with fear as sheheld fast to the arm of Jonas. And Jonas felt as much seriousness as waspossible to him, until he heard Norman Anderson's voice crying withterror and excitement, and felt Cynthy shudder on his arm.

  "For my part," said Jonas, turning to Andrew, "it don't seem like as efit was much use to holler and make a furss about the corn crap whenOctober's fairly sot in, and the frost has nipped the blades. All theplowin' and hoein' and weedin' and thinnin' out the suckers won't,better the yield then. An' when wheat's ripe, they's nothin' to be donefer it. It's got to be rep jest as it stan's. I'm rale sorry, to-night,as my life a'n't no better, but what's the use of cryin' over it? They'snothin' to do now but let it be gethered and shelled out, and measuredup in the standard half-bushel of the sanctuary. And I'm afeard they'llbe a heap of nubbins not wuth the shuckin'. But ef it don't come to sixbushels the acre, I can't help it now by takin' on."

  At twelve o'clock, even the scoffers were silent. But as the sultrynight drew on toward one o'clock, Bill Day and his party felt theirspirits revive a little. The calculation had failed in one part, and itmight in all. Bill resumed his burlesque exhortations to therough-looking "brethren" about him. He tried to lead them in singingsome ribald parody of Adventist hymns, but his terror and theirs wastoo genuine, and their voices died down into husky whispers, and theywere more alarmed than ever at discovering the extent of their owndemoralization. The bottle, one of those small-necked, big-bodiedquart-bottles that Western topers carry in yellow-cotton handkerchiefs,was passed round. But even the whisky seemed powerless to neutralizetheir terror, rather increasing the panic by fuddling their faculties.

  "Boys!" said Bob Short, trembling, and sitting down on a stump,"this--this ere thing--is a gittin' serious. Ef--well, ef it _was_ tohappen--you know--you don't s'pose--ahem--you don't think God A'mightywould be _too_ heavy on a feller. Do ye? Ef it was to come to-night, itwould be blamed short notice."

  At one o'clock the moon was just about dipping behind the hills, and thegreat sycamores, standing like giant sentinels on the river's marge,cast long unearthly shadows across the water, which grew blacker everyminute. The deepening gloom gave all objects in the river valley aweird, distorted look. This oppressed August. The landscape seemed anenchanted one, a something seen in a dream or a delirium. It was asthough the change had already come, and the real tangible world hadpassed away. He was the more susceptible from the depression caused bythe hot sultriness of the night, and his separation from Julia.

  He thought he would try to penetrate the crowd to the point where hismother was; then he would be near her, and nearer to Julia if anythinghappened. A curious infatuation had taken hold of August. He knew thatit was an infatuation, but he could not shake it off. He had resolvedthat in case the trumpet should be heard in the heavens, he would seizeJulia and claim her in the very moment of universal dissolution. Hereached his mother, and as he looked into her calm face, ready for themillennium or for anything else "the Father" should decree, he thoughtshe had never seemed more glorious than she did now, sitting with herchildren about her, almost unmoved by the excitement. For Mrs. Wehle hadcome to take everything as from the Heavenly Father. She had evenreceived honest but thick-headed Gottlieb in this spirit, when he hadfallen to her by the Moravian lot, a husband chosen for her by the Lord,whose will was not to be questioned.

  August was just about to speak to his mother, when he was forced to hanghis head in shame, for there was his father rising to exhort.

  "O mine freunde! pe shust immediadely all of de dime retty. Ton't ledyour vait vail already, and ton't let de debil git no unter holts on ye.Vatch and pe retty!"

  And August could hear the derisive shouts of Bill Day's party, who hadrecovered their courage, crying out, "Go it, ole Dutchman! I'll bet onyou!" He clenched his fist in anger, but his mother's eyes, looking athim with quiet rebuke, pacified him in a moment. Yet he could not helpwondering whether blundering kinsfolk made people blush in thenext world.

  "Holt on doo de last ent!" continued Gottlieb. "It's pout goom! Koodpye, ole moon! You koes town, you nebber gooms pack no more already."

  This exhortation might have proceeded in this strain indefinitely, tothe mortification of August and the amusement of the profane, had therenot just at that moment broken upon the sultry stillness of the nightone of those crescendo thunder-bursts, beginning in a distant rumble,and swelling out louder and still louder, until it ended with atremendous detonation. In the strange light of the setting moon, whileeverybody's attention was engrossed by the excitement, the swiftoncoming of a thunder-cloud had not been observed by any but Andrew, andit had already climbed half-way to the zenith, blotting out a third ofthe firmament. This inverted thunder-bolt produced a startling effectupon the over-strained nerves of the crowd. Some cried out with terror,some sobbed with hysterical agony, some shouted in triumph, and it wasgenerally believed that Virginia Waters, who died a maniac many yearsafterward, lost her reason at that moment. Bill Day ceased his mocking,and shook till his teeth chattered. And none of his party dared laugh athim. The moon had now gone, and the vivid lightning followed thethunder, and yet louder and more fearful thunder succeeded thelightning. The people ran about as if demented, and Julia was leftalone. August had only one thought in all this confusion, and that wasto find Julia. Having found her, they clasped hands, and stood upon thebrow of the hill calmly watching the coming tempest, believing it to bethe coming of the end. Between the claps of thunder they could hear thebroken sentences of Elder Hankins, saying something about the lightningthat shineth from one part of heaven to the other, and about thepromised coming in the clouds. But they did not much heed the words.They were looking the blinding lightning in the face, and in theircourageous trust they thought themselves ready to look into the flamingcountenance of the Almighty, if they should be called before Him. Everyfresh burst of thunder seemed to August to be the rocking of the world,trembling in the throes of dissolution. But the world might crumble ormelt; there is something more enduring than the world. August felt theeverlastingness of love; as many another man in a supreme crisishas felt it.

  But the swift cloud had already covered half the sky, and the bursts ofthunder followed one another now in quicker succession. And as suddenlyas the thunder had come, came the wind. A solitary old sycamore, leaningover the water on the Kentucky shore, a mile away, was first to fall. Inthe lurid darkness, August and Julia saw it meet its fate. Then the railfences on the nearer bank were scattered like kindling-wood, and some ofthe sturdy old apple-trees of the o
rchard in the river-bottom wereuprooted, while others were stripped of their boughs. Julia clung toAugust and said something, but he could only see her lips move; hervoice was drowned by the incessant roar of the thunder. And then thehurricane struck them, and they half-ran and were half-carried down therear slope of the hill. Now they saw for the first time that the peoplewere gone. The instinct of self-preservation had proven stronger thantheir fanaticism, and a contagious panic had carried them into ahay-barn near by.

  Not knowing where the rest had gone, August and Julia only thought ofregaining the castle. They found the path blocked by fallen trees, andit was slow and dangerous work, waiting for flashes of lightning to showthem their road. In making a long detour they lost the path. After someminutes, in a lull in the thunder, August heard a shout, which heanswered, and presently Philosopher Andrew appeared with a lantern, hisgrizzled hair and beard flying in the wind.

  "What ho, my friends!" he cried. "This is the way you go to heaventogether! You'll live through many a storm yet!"

  Guided by his thorough knowledge of the ground, they had almost reachedthe castle, when they were startled by piteous cries. Leaving Augustwith Julia, Andrew climbed a fence, and went down into a ravine to findpoor Bill Day in an agony of terror, crying out in despair, believingthat the day of doom had already come, and that he was about to be sentinto well-deserved perdition. Andrew stooped over him with his lantern,but the poor fellow, giving one look at the shaggy face, shrieked madly,and rushed away into the woods.

  "I believe," said the Philosopher, when he got back to August, "Ibelieve he took me for the devil."