The Minister's Wooing
CHAPTER IX.
WHICH TREATS OF THINGS SEEN.
AS, for example, the breakfast. It is six o’clock,—the hired men andoxen are gone,—the breakfast-table stands before the open kitchen-door,snowy with its fresh cloth, the old silver coffee-pot steaming up arefreshing perfume,—and the Doctor sits on one side, sipping his coffeeand looking across the table at Mary, who is innocently pleased atthe kindly beaming in his placid blue eyes,—and Aunt Katy Scudderdiscourses of housekeeping, and fancies something must have disturbedthe rising of the cream, as it is not so thick and yellow as wont.
Now the Doctor, it is to be confessed, was apt to fall into a wayof looking at people such as pertains to philosophers and scholarsgenerally, that is, as if he were looking through them into theinfinite,—in which case, his gaze became so earnest and intent that itwould quite embarrass an uninitiated person; but Mary, being used tothis style of contemplation, was only quietly amused, and waited tillsome great thought should loom up before his mental vision,—in whichcase, she hoped to hear from him.
The good man swallowed his first cup of coffee and spoke:—
‘In the Millennium, I suppose, there will be such a fulness and plentyof all the necessaries and conveniences of life, that it will not benecessary for men and women to spend the greater part of their lives inlabour in order to procure a living. It will not be necessary for eachone to labour more than two or three hours a day,—not more than willconduce to health of body and vigour of mind; and the rest of theirtime they will spend in reading and conversation, and such exercises asare necessary and proper to improve their minds and make progress inknowledge.’
New England presents probably the only example of a successfulcommonwealth founded on a theory, as a distinct experiment in theproblem of society. It was for this reason that the minds of its greatthinkers dwelt so much on the final solution of that problem in thisworld. The fact of a future Millennium was a favourite doctrine of thegreat leading theologians of New England, and Dr. H. dwelt upon itwith a peculiar partiality. Indeed, it was the solace and refuge ofhis soul, when oppressed with the discouragements which always attendthings actual, to dwell upon and draw out in detail the splendours ofthis perfect future which was destined to glorify the world.
Nobody, therefore, at the cottage was in the least surprised when theredropped into the flow of their daily life these sparkling bits of ore,which their friend had dug in his explorations of a future Canaan,—infact, they served to raise the hackneyed present out of the level ofmere commonplace.
‘But how will it be possible,’ inquired Mrs. Scudder, ‘that so muchless work will suffice in those days to do all that is to be done?’
‘Because of the great advance of arts and sciences which will takeplace before those days,’ said the Doctor, ‘whereby everything shallbe performed with so much greater ease,—also the great increase ofdisinterested love, whereby the skill and talents of those who havemuch shall make up for the weakness of those who have less.
‘Yes,’—he continued, after a pause,—‘all the careful Marthas in thosedays will have no excuse for not sitting at the feet of Jesus; therewill be no cumbering with much serving; the church will have onlyMaries in those days.’
This remark, made without the slightest personal intention, calleda curious smile into Mrs. Scudder’s face, which was reflected in aslight blush from Mary’s, when the crack of a whip and the rattling ofwaggon-wheels disturbed the conversation and drew all eyes to the door.
There appeared the vision of Mr. Zebedee Marvyn’s farm-waggon, storedwith barrels, boxes, and baskets, over which Candace sat thronedtriumphant, her black face and yellow-striped turban glowing in thefresh morning with a hearty, joyous light, as she pulled up the reins,and shouted to the horse to stop with a voice that might have donecredit to any man living.
‘Dear me, if there isn’t Candace!’ said Mary.
‘Queen of Ethiopia,’ said the Doctor, who sometimes adventured a veryplacid joke.
The Doctor was universally known in all the neighbourhood as a sort offriend and patron-saint of the negro race; he had devoted himself totheir interests with a zeal unusual in those days. His church numberedmore of them than any in Newport; and his hours of leisure from studywere often spent in lowliest visitations among them, hearing theirstories, consoling their sorrows, advising and directing their plans,teaching them reading and writing, and he often drew hard on hisslender salary to assist them in their emergencies and distresses.
This unusual condescension on his part was repaid on theirs with allthe warmth of their race; and Candace, in particular, devoted herselfto the Doctor with all the force of her being.
There was a legend current in the neighbourhood, that the firstefforts to catechize Candace were not eminently successful, her modesof contemplating theological tenets being so peculiarly from her ownindividual point of view that it was hard to get her subscriptionto a received opinion. On the venerable clause in the Catechism, inparticular, which declares that all men sinned in Adam and fell withhim, Candace made a dead halt:—
‘I didn’t do dat ar’, for one, I knows. I’s got good mem’ry,—allersknows what I does,—nebber did eat dat ar’ apple,—nebber eat a bit obhim. Don’t tell me!’
It was of no use, of course, to tell Candace of all the explanationsof this redoubtable passage,—of potential presence, and representativepresence, and representative identity, and federal headship. She metall with the dogged,—
‘Nebber did it, I knows; should ’ave ’membered, if I had. Don’t tellme!’
And even in the catechizing class of the Doctor himself, if this answercame to her, she sat black and frowning in stony silence even in hisreverend presence.
Candace was often reminded that the Doctor believed the Catechism, andthat she was differing from a great and good man; but the argumentmade no manner of impression on her, till, one day, a far-off cousinof hers, whose condition under a hard master had often moved hercompassion, came in overjoyed to recount to her how, owing to Dr. H.’sexertions, he had gained his freedom. The Doctor himself had in persongone from house to house, raising the sum for his redemption; and whenmore yet was wanting, supplied it by paying half his last quarter’slimited salary.
‘He do dat ar’?’ said Candace, dropping the fork wherewith she wasspearing doughnuts. ‘Den I’m gwine to b’liebe ebery word _he_ does!’
And accordingly, at the next catechizing, the Doctor’s astonishment wasgreat when Candace pressed up to him, exclaiming,—
‘De Lord bress you, Doctor, for opening de prison for dem dat is bound!I b’liebes in you now, Doctor. I’s gwine to b’liebe ebery word you say.I’ll say de Catechize now,—fix it any way you like. I _did_ eat dat ar’apple,—I eat de whole tree, an’ swallowed ebery bit ob it, if you sayso.’
And this very thorough profession of faith was followed, on the part ofCandace, by years of the most strenuous orthodoxy. Her general mode ofexpressing her mind on the subject was short and definitive.
‘Law me! what’s de use? I’s set out to b’liebe de Catechize, an’ I’mgwine to b’liebe it,—so!’
While we have been telling you all this about her, she has fastenedher horse, and is swinging leisurely up to the house with a basket oneither arm.
‘Good morning, Candace,’ said Mrs. Scudder. ‘What brings you so early?’
‘Come down ’fore light to sell my chickens an’ eggs,—got a lot o’ moneyfor ’em, too. Missy Marvyn she sent Miss Scudder some turkey-eggs, an’I brought down some o’ my doughnuts for de Doctor. Good folks must lib,you know, as well as wicked ones,’—and Candace gave a hearty, unctuouslaugh. ‘No reason why Doctors shouldn’t hab good tings as well assinners, is dere?’—and she shook in great billows, and showed her whiteteeth in the _abandon_ of her laugh. ‘Lor’ bress ye, honey, chile!’ shesaid, turning to Mary, ‘why, ye looks like a new rose, ebery bit! Don’twonder _somebody_ was allers pryin’ an’ spyin’ about here!’
‘How is your mistress, Canda
ce?’ said Mrs. Scudder, by way of changingthe subject.
‘Well, porly,—rader porly. When Massa Jim goes, ’pears like takin’ delight right out her eyes. Dat ar’ boy trains roun’ arter his mudderlike a cosset, he does. Lor’, de house seems so still widout him!—can’ta fly scratch his ear but it starts a body. Missy Marvyn she sentdown, an’ says, would you and de Doctor an’ Miss Mary please come totea dis arternoon?’
‘Thank your mistress, Candace,’ said Mrs. Scudder; ‘Mary and I willcome,—and the Doctor, perhaps,’ looking at the good man, who hadrelapsed into meditation, and was eating his breakfast without takingnote of anything going on. ‘It will be time enough to tell him of it,’she said to Mary, ‘when we have to wake him up to dress; so we won’tdisturb him now.’
To Mary the prospect of the visit was a pleasant one, for reasonswhich she scarce gave a definite form to. Of course, like a good girl,she had come to a fixed and settled resolution to think of James aslittle as possible; but when the path of duty lay directly along scenesand among people fitted to recall him, it was more agreeable than ifit had lain in another direction. Added to this, a very tender andsilent friendship subsisted between Mrs. Marvyn and Mary; in which,besides similarity of mind and intellectual pursuits, there was a deep,unspoken element of sympathy.
Candace watched the light in Mary’s eyes with the instinctiveshrewdness by which her race seem to divine the thoughts and feelingsof their superiors, and chuckled to herself internally. Without everhaving been made a _confidante_ by any party, or having a word saidto or before her, still the whole position of affairs was as clear toher as if she had seen it on a map. She had appreciated at once Mrs.Scudder’s coolness, James’s devotion, and Mary’s perplexity,—and inlyresolved, that, if the little maiden did not think of James in hisabsence, it should not be her fault.
‘Laws, Miss Scudder,’ she said, ‘I’s right glad you’s comin’, ’causeyou hasn’t seen how we’s kind o’ splendified since Massa Jim comehome. You wouldn’t know it. Why, he’s got mats from Mogadore on allde entries, and a great big ’un on de parlour; and ye ought to see deshawl he brought Missus, an’ all de cur’us kind o’ tings to de Squire.’Tell ye, dat ar’ boy honours his fader and mudder, ef he don’t donuffin else,—an’ dat’s de fus’ commandment wid promise, ma’am; and tosee him a-settin’ up ebery day in prayer-time, so handsome, holdin’Missus’s han’, an’ lookin’ right into her eyes all de time! Why, datar’ boy is one o’ de ’lect,—it’s jest as clare to me; and de ’lect hasgot to come in,—dat’s what I say. My faith’s strong,—real clare, ’tellye,’ she added, with the triumphant laugh which usually chorused herconversation, and turning to the Doctor, who, aroused by her loud andvigorous strain, was attending with interest to her.
‘Well, Candace,’ he said, ‘we all hope you are right.’
‘_Hope_, Doctor!—I don’t hope,—I _knows_. ’Tell ye, when I pray forhim, don’t I feel enlarged? ’Tell ye, it goes wid a rush. I can feel itgwine up like a rushin’, mighty wind. I feels strong, I do.’
‘That’s right, Candace,’ said the Doctor, ‘keep on; your prayers standas much chance with God as if you were a crowned queen. The Lord is norespecter of persons.’
‘Dat’s what he a’n’t, Doctor,—an’ dere’s where I ’gree wid him,’ saidCandace, as she gathered her baskets vigorously together, and, aftera sweeping curtsy, went sailing down to her waggon, full laden withcontent, shouting a hearty ‘Good mornin’, Missus,’ with the full powerof her cheerful lungs, as she rode off.
As the Doctor looked after her, the simple, pleased expression withwhich he had watched her, gradually faded, and there passed over hisbroad, good face, a shadow, as of a cloud on a mountain-side.
‘What a shame it is,’ he said; ‘what a scandal and disgrace to theProtestant religion, that Christians of America should openly practiseand countenance this enslaving of the Africans! I have for a long timeholden my peace—may the Lord forgive me!—but I believe the time iscoming when I must utter my voice. I cannot go down to the wharves, oramong the shipping, without these poor dumb creatures look at me sothat I am ashamed; as if they asked me what I, a Christian minister,was doing, that I did not come to their help. I must testify.’
Mrs. Scudder looked grave at this earnest announcement; she hadheard many like it before, and they always filled her with alarm,because——Shall we tell you why?
Well, then, it was not because she was not a thoroughly indoctrinatedanti-slavery woman. Her husband, who did all her thinking for her, hadbeen a man of ideas beyond his day, and never for a moment countenancedthe right of slavery so far as to buy or own a servant or attendantof any kind: and Mrs. Scudder had always followed decidedly along thepath of his opinions and practice, and never hesitated to declare thereasons for the faith that was in her. But if any of us could imaginean angel dropped down out of heaven, with wings, ideas, notions,manners, and customs all fresh from that very different country, wemight easily suppose that the most pious and orthodox family mightfind the task of presenting him in general society, and piloting himalong the courses of this world, a very delicate and embarrassing one.However much they might reverence him on their own private account,their hearts would probably sink within them at the idea of allowinghim to expand himself according to his previous nature and habits inthe great world without. In like manner, men of high, unworldly naturesare often reverenced by those who are somewhat puzzled what to do withthem practically.
Mrs. Scudder considered the Doctor as a superior being, possessed by aholy helplessness in all things material and temporal, which imposedon her the necessity of thinking and caring for him, and prevising theearthly and material aspects of his affairs.
There was not in Newport a more thriving and reputable business at thattime than the slave-trade. Large fortunes were constantly being turnedout in it, and what better Providential witness of its justice couldmost people require?
Beside this, in their own little church, she reflected with alarm, thatSimeon Brown, the richest and most liberal supporter of the society,had been, and was then, drawing all his wealth from this source; andrapidly there flashed before her mind a picture of one and another,influential persons, who were holders of slaves. Therefore, when theDoctor announced, ‘I must testify,’ she rattled her tea-spoon uneasily,and answered,—
‘In what way, Doctor, do you think of bearing testimony? The subject, Ithink, is a very difficult one.’
‘Difficult? I think no subject can be clearer. If we were right in ourwar for liberty, we are wrong in making slaves or keeping them.’
‘Oh, I did not mean,’ said Mrs. Scudder, ‘that it was difficult tounderstand the subject; the _right_ of the matter is clear, but what to_do_ is the thing.’
‘I shall preach about it,’ said the Doctor; ‘my mind has run upon itsome time. I shall show to the house of Judah their sin in this matter.’
‘I fear there will be great offence given,’ said Mrs. Scudder. ‘There’sSimeon Brown, one of our largest supporters,—he is in the trade.’
‘Ah, yes,—but he will come out of it,—of course he will,—he is allright, all clear. I was delighted with the clearness of his viewsthe other night, and thought then of bringing them to bear on thispoint,—only, as others were present, I deferred it. But I can show himthat it follows logically from his principles; I am confident of that.’
‘I think you’ll be disappointed in him, Doctor;—I think he’ll be angry,and get up a commotion, and leave the church.’
‘Madam,’ said the Doctor, ‘do you suppose that a man who would bewilling even to give up his eternal salvation for the greatest good ofthe universe could hesitate about a few paltry thousands that perish inthe using?’
‘He may feel willing to give up his soul,’ said Mrs. Scudder, naïvely,‘but I don’t think he’ll give up his ships,—that’s quite anothermatter,—he won’t see it to be his duty.’
‘Then, ma’am, he’ll be a hypocrite, a gross hypocrite, if he won’t,’said the Doctor.
‘It is not Christian charity to think it of him. Ishall call upon him this morning and tell him my intentions.’
‘But, Doctor,’ exclaimed Mrs. Scudder, with a start, ‘pray, think alittle more of it. You know a great many things depend on him. Why! hehas subscribed for twenty copies of your “System of Theology.” I hopeyou’ll remember that.’
‘And why should I remember that?’ said the Doctor,—hastily turninground, suddenly enkindled, his blue eyes flashing out of their usualmisty calm,—‘what has my “System of Theology” to do with the matter?’
_The Minister is moved._
_Page 90._
Sampson Low, Son & Co. March, 25th, 1859]
‘Why,’ said Mrs. Scudder, ‘it’s of more importance to get right viewsof the gospel before the world than anything else, is it not?—andif, by any imprudence in treating influential people, this should beprevented, more harm than good would be done.’
‘Madam,’ said the Doctor, ‘I’d sooner my system should be sunk in thesea than it should be a millstone round my neck to keep me from myduty. Let God take care of my theology; I must do my duty.’
And as the Doctor spoke, he straightened himself to the full dignityof his height, his face kindling with an unconscious majesty, and, ashe turned, his eye fell on Mary, who was standing with her slenderfigure dilated, her large blue eye wide and bright, in a sort oftrance of solemn feeling, half-smiles, half-tears,—and the strong,heroic man started, to see this answer to his higher soul in thesweet, tremulous mirror of womanhood. One of those lightning glancespassed between his eyes and hers which are the freemasonry of noblespirits,—and, by a sudden impulse, they approached each other. He tookboth her outstretched hands, looked down into her face with a look fullof admiration, and a sort of naïve wonder,—then, as if her inspiredsilence had been a voice to him, he laid his hand on her head, andsaid,—
‘God bless you, child! “Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hastthou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mighteststill the enemy and the avenger.”’
In a moment he was gone.
‘Mary,’ said Mrs. Scudder, laying her hand on her daughter’s arm, ‘theDoctor loves you!’
‘I know he does, mother,’ said Mary, innocently; ‘and I lovehim,—dearly!—he is a noble, grand man!’
Mrs. Scudder looked keenly at her daughter. Mary’s eye was as calm as aJune sky, and she began, composedly, gathering up the teacups.
‘She did not understand me,’ thought the mother.