[The Damnation of Theron Ware.] Illumination

Front matter

BY THE SAME AUTHOR In the Valley By HAROLD FREDERIC In One Volume, crown Svo, price 3s. 6d. Tlic \llir 11.1 11111. — " Both graphic and exciting, not merely in the central picture itself, but also in its weird surroundings. This is a novel deserving to be read." The Academy. — "Of thrilling interest ... the story is admirably told, and the characters are extremely well drawn." Tlic National Observer. — "Such a story as 'In the Valley' is almost enough to make one hope that America may yet have a literature. . . . Only a man who, to full and accurate knowledge of the past adds keen insight into men and things, and dramatic capacity of a high order, could have written such a book." The Guardian. — " So curiously clever a mixture of history and romance." The Standard. — " The book is an able and promising one, and those who take it up are certain to follow it with growing interest to the end, and learn a good deal of history in the process."

The Morning Post. — " A welcome addition to romance." The Dally Chronicle. — " A really good novel, sharp and crisp in its char acter drawing, interesting in its plot." St. Janies' Gazette. — " An uncommonly clever novel." The Observer. — " The story is well told, the local colouring is correct, and the characters have a very distinct individuality, while there are plenty of adventures, hair-breadth escapes, and gallant fights." The Scotsman. — " Besides the interest of tbe story, the novel has merit as a picture of manners, and as a stage on which a striking group of characters is very successfully displayed. It is, in short, a work of real ability . . . stands apart from the common crowd of three-volume novels." The Manchester Guardian. — " Into his historical narrative Mr. Frederic has woven a simple and tender love-story so skilfully that it seems a natural part of the fabric."

The Birmingham Post. — "We can strongly recommend the story. . . . We feel that Mr. Frederic has lived intensely in and among his characters, knows every thread in the woof and warp of their lives, every thought and phase that makes the changeful colour of their existence." The Liverpool Post. — " The sketches of the quaint old settlement, half- English, half-Dutch, are life-like and interesting, and the perils and anxieties of the time are ably utilised in heightening the events of the narrative. A very readable book." The Queen. — " A very interesting and remarkable novel." The Lady. — " This admirable novel . . . enjoys surroundings that have been left singularly unhackneyed by modern fiction." LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 BEDFORD ST., W.C. BY THE SAME AUTHOR The Return of the O'Mahony By HAROLD FREDERIC In One Volume, crown Svo, price 3s. 6d. The Spectator. — " At last we get an Irish story which it is possible to enjoy in something of the same fashion as that in which we enjoyed the Irish stories of our youth."

Part I Chapter

I No such throng had ever before been seen in the building during all its eight years of existence. People were wedged together most uncomfortably upon the seats ; they stood packed in the aisles and overflowed the galleries ; at the back, in the shadows underneath these galleries, they formed broad, dense masses about the doors, through which it would be hopeless to attempt a passage. The light, given out from numerous tin-lined circles of flaring gas jets arranged on the ceiling, fell full upon a thousand uplifted faces — some framed in bonnets or juvenile curls, others bearded or crowned with shining baldness, but all alike under the spell of a dominant emotion which held features in abstracted suspense and focussed every eye upon a common objective point. The excitement of expectancy reigned upon each row of countenances, was visible in every attitude — nay, seemed a part of the close, overheated atmosphere itself.

An observer, looking over these compact lines of faces and A ILLUMINATION 2 noting the uniform concentration of eagerness they exhibited, might have guessed that they were watching for either the jury's verdict in some peculiarly absorbing criminal trial or the announcement of the lucky numbers in a great lottery. These two expressions seemed to alternate, and even to mingle vaguely, upon the upturned lineaments of the waiting throng — the hope of some unnamed stroke of fortune and the dread of some adverse decree. But a glance forward at the object of this universal gaze would have sufficed to shatter both hypotheses. Here was neither a court of justice nor a tombola. It was instead the closing session of the annual Nedahma Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and the Bishop was about to read out the list of ministerial appointments for the coming year.

This list was evidently written in a hand strange to him, and the slow, near-sighted old gentleman, having at last sufficiently rubbed the glasses of his spectacles, and then adjusted them over his nose with annoying deliberation, was now silently rehearsing his task to himself, the while the clergy men round about ground their teeth and restlessly shuffled their feet in impatience. Upon a closer inspection of the assemblage, there were a great many of these clergymen. A dozen or more dignified, and for the most part elderly, brethren sat grouped about the Bishop in the pulpit. As many others, not quite so staid in mien, and indeed with here and there almost a suggestion of frivolity in their postures, were seated on the steps leading down from this platform. A score of their fellows sat facing the audience on chairs tightly wedged into the space railed off round the pulpit ; and then came five or six rows of pews, stretching across the whole breadth of the church, and almost solidly filled with preachers of the Word.

There were very old men among these— bent and decrepit veterans who had known Lorenzo Dow, and had been ordained by elders who remembered Francis Asbury and even White- ILLUMINATION 3 field. They sat now in front places, leaning forward with trembling and misshapen hands behind their hairy ears, waiting to hear their names read out on the superannuated list, it might be for the last time. The sight of these venerable fathers in Israel was good to the eyes, conjuring up as it did pictures of a time when a plain and homely people had been served by a fervent and devoted clergy — by preachers who lacked in learning and polish, no doubt, but who gave their lives, without dream of earthly reward, to poverty and to the danger and wearing toil of itinerant missions through the rude frontier settlements.

These pictures had for their primitive accessories log-huts, rough household implements, coarse clothes, and patched old saddles which told of weary years of journeying ; but to even the least sym pathetic vision there shone upon them the glorified light of the Cross and Crown. Reverend survivors of the heroic times, their very presence there — sitting meekly at the altar rail to hear again the published record of their uselessness and of their dependence upon church charity — was in the nature of a benediction. The large majority of those surrounding these patriarchs were middle-aged men, generally of a robust type, with burly shoulders and bushy beards framing shaven upper lips, and who looked for the most part like honest and prosperous farmers attired in their Sunday clothes. As exceptions to this rule there were scattered stray specimens of a more urban class, worthies with neatly trimmed whiskers, white neckcloths, and even indications of hair-oil — all eloquent of citified charges ; and now and again the eye singled out a striking and scholarly face, at once strong and simple, and instinctively referred it to the faculty of one of the several theological seminaries belong ing to the Conference.

The effect of these faces as a whole was toward goodness, candour, and imperturbable self-complacency rather than learn ing or mental astuteness, and curiously enough it wore its ILLUMINATION 4 pleasantest aspect on the countenances of the older men. The impress of zeal and moral worth seemed to diminish by regular gradations as one passed to younger faces, and among the very beginners, who had been ordained only within the past day or two, this decline was peculiarly marked. It was almost a relief to note the relative smallness of their number, so plainly was it to be seen that they were not the men their forebears had been. And if those aged, worn-out preachers facing the pulpit had gazed instead backward over the congregation, it may be that here too their old eyes would have detected a difference — what at least they would have deemed a decline.

But nothing was farther from the minds of the members of the First M. E. Church of Tecumseh than the suggestion that they were not an improvement on those who had gone before them. They were undoubtedly the smartest and most important congregation within the limits of the Nedahma Conference, and this new church edifice of theirs represented alike a scale of outlay and a standard of progressive taste in devotional architecture unique in the Methodism of that whole section of the State. They had a right to be proud of themselves, too. They belonged to the substantial order of the community, with perhaps not so many very rich men as the Presbyterians had, but, on the other hand, with far fewer extremely poor folk than the Baptists were encumbered with. The pews in the first four rows of their church rented for $100 apiece — quite up to the Presbyterian high-water mark, and they now had almost abolished free pews altogether.

The oyster suppers given by their Ladies' Aid Society, in the basement of the church, during the winter took established rank among the fashionable events in Tecumseh's social calendar. A comprehensive and satisfied perception of these advantages was uppermost in the minds of this local audience as they waited for the Bishop to begin his reading. They had entertained this Bishop, and his Presiding Elders, and the rank ILLUMINATION 5 and file of common preachers, in a style which could not have been remotely approached by any other congregation in the Conference. Where else, one would like to know, could the Bishop have been domiciled in a Methodist house where he might have a sitting-room all to himself, with his bedroom lead ing out of it ? Every clergyman present had been provided for in a private residence — even down to the Licensed Exhorters, who were not really ministers at all when you came to think of it, and who might well thank their stars that the Confer ence had assembled among such open-handed people.

There existed a dim feeling that these Licensed Exhorters — an uncouth crew, with country storekeepers and lumber-men, and even a horse-doctor, among their number — had taken rather too much for granted, and were not exhibiting quite the proper degree of gratitude over their reception. But a more important issue hung now imminent in the balance — Was Tecumseh to be fairly and honourably re warded for her hospitality, by being given the pastor of her choice? All were agreed — at least among those who paid pew-rents — upon the great importance of a change in the pulpit of the First M. E. Church. A change in persons must of course take place, for their present pastor had exhausted the three-year maximum of the itinerant system ; but there was needed much more than that. For a handsome and expensive church building like this, and with such a modern and go-ahead congrega tion, it was simply a vital necessity to secure an attractive and fashionable preacher.

They had held their own against the Presbyterians these past few years only by the most strenuous efforts, and under the depressing disadvantage of a minister who preached dreary out-of-date sermons, and who lacked even the most rudimentary sense of social distinctions. The Pres byterians had captured the new cashier of the Adams County Bank, who had always gone to the Methodist church in the town he came from, but now was lost solely because of this ILLUMINATION 6 tiresome old fossil of theirs ; and there were numerous other instances of the same sort, scarcely less grievous. That this state of things must be altered was clear. The unusually large local attendance upon the sessions of the Conference had given some of the more guileless of visiting brethren a high notion of Tecumseh's piety ; and perhaps even the most sophisticated stranger never quite realised how strictly it was to be explained by the anxiety to pick out a suitable champion for the fierce Presbyterian competition.

Big gatherings assembled evening after evening to hear the ser mons of those selected to preach, and the church had been almost impossibly crowded at each of the three Sunday services. Opinions had naturally differed a good deal during the earlier stages of this scrutiny, but after last night's sermon there could be but one feeling. The man for Tecumseh was the Reverend Theron Ware. The choice was an admirable one, from points of view much more exalted than those of the local congregation. You could see Mr. Ware sitting there at the end of the row inside the altar-rail — the tall, slender young man with the broad white brow, thoughtful eyes, and features moulded into that regularity of strength which used to characterise the American Senatorial type, in those far-away days of clean shaven faces and moderate incomes, before the War.

The bright-faced, comely and vivacious young woman in the second side pew was his wife ; and Tecumseh noted with approbation that she knew how to dress. There were really no two better or worthier people in the building than this young couple, who sat waiting along with the rest to hear their fate. But unhappily they had come to know of the effort being made to bring them to Tecumseh, and their simple pride in the triumph of the husband's fine sermon had become swallowed up in a terribly anxious conflict of hope and fear. Neither of them could maintain a satisfactory show of composure as the decisive moment approached. The vision of translation from poverty ILLUMINATION 7 and obscurity to such a splendid post as this — truly it was too dazzling for tranquil nerves. The tedious Bishop had at last begun to call his roll of names, and the good people of Tecumseh mentally ticked them off, one by one, as the list expanded.

They felt that it was like this Bishop — an unimportant and commonplace figure in Methodism, not to be mentioned in the same breath with Simpson and Janes and Kingsley — that he should begin with the backwoods counties, and thrust all these remote and piti fully rustic stations ahead of their own metropolitan charge. To these they attended but listlessly — indifferent alike to the joy and to the dismay which he was scattering among the divines before him. The announcements were being doled out with stumbling hesitation. After each one a little half-rustling movement through the crowded rows of clergymen passed mute judgment upon the cruel blow this brother had received, the reward justly given to this other, the favouritism by which a third had profited. The presiding elders, whose work all this was, stared with gloomy and impersonal abstraction down upon the rows of black-coated humanity spread before them.

The ministers returned this fixed and perfunctory gaze with pale, set faces, only feebly masking the emotions which each new name stirred somewhere among them. The Bishop droned on laboriously, mispronouncing words and repeating himself as if he were reading a catalogue of unfamiliar seeds. " First Church of Tecumseh — Brother Abram G. Tisdale ! " There was no doubt about it ! These were actually the words that had been uttered. After all this outlay, all this lavish hospitality, all this sacrifice of time and patience in sitting through those sermons, to draw from the grab-bag nothing better than — a Tisdale ! A hum of outraged astonishment — half groan, half-wrathful snort — bounded along from pew to pew throughout the body of the church. An echo of it reached the Bishop, and so con- ILLUMINATION fused him that he haltingly repeated the obnoxious line.

Every local eye turned as by intuition to where the calamitous Tis dale sat, and fastened malignantly upon him. Could anything be worse ! This Brother Tisdale was past fifty— a spindling, rickety, gaunt old man, with a long, horse like head and vacantly solemn face, who kept one or the other of his hands continually fumbling his bony jaw. He had been withdrawn from routine service for a number of years, doing a little insurance canvassing on his own account, and also tra velling for the Book Concern. Now that he wished to return to parochial work, the richest prize in the whole list — Tecum seh — was given to him — to him, who had never been asked to preach at a Conference, and whose archaic nasal singing of " Greenland's Icy Mountains " had made even the Licensed Exhorters grin ! It was too intolerably dreadful to think of!

An embittered whisper to the effect that Tisdale was the Bishop's cousin ran round from pew to pew. This did not happen to be true, but indignant Tecumseh gave it entire credence. The throngs about the doors dwindled as by magic, and the aisles cleared. Local interest was dead, and even some of the pewholders rose and made their way out. One of these murmured audibly to his neighbours as he departed that his pew could be had now for sixty dollars. So it happened that when, a little later on, the appointment of Theron Ware to Octavius was read out, none of the people of Tecumseh either noted or cared. They had been deeply interested in him so long as it seemed likely that he was to come to them— before their clearly expressed desire for him had been so monstrously ignored. But now what became of him was no earthly concern of theirs.

After the Doxology had been sung and the Conference for mally declared ended, the Wares would fain have escaped from the flood of handshakings and boisterous farewells which spread over the front part of the church. But the clergymen were unusually insistent upon demonstrations of cordiality among ILLUMINATION 9 themselves — the more, perhaps, because it was evident that the friendliness of their local hosts had suddenly evaporated — and of all men in the world the present incumbent of the Octavius pulpit now bore down upon them with noisy effusive ness and defied evasion. " Brother Ware — we have never been interduced — but let me clasp your hand ! And — Sister Ware, I presume — yours too ! " He was a portly man, who held his head back so that his face seemed all jowl and mouth and sandy chin-whisker.

He smiled broadly upon them, with half-closed eyes, and shook hands again. " I said to 'em," he went on, with loud pretence of hearti ness, " the minute I heerd your name called out for our dear Octavius, ' I must go over an' interduce myself.' It will be a heavy cross to part with those dear people, Brother Ware, but if anything could wean me to the notion, so to speak, it would be the knowledge that you are to take up my labours in their midst. Perhaps — ah ! — perhaps they are jest a trifle close in money matters, but they come out strong on revivals. They'll need a good deal o' stirrin' up about parsonage ex penses ; but oh ! such seasons of grace as we've experienced there together ! " He shook his head and closed his eyes altogether, as if transported by his memories. Brother Ware smiled faintly in decorous response, and bowed in silence, but his wife resented the unctuous beaming of con tent on the other's wide countenance, and could not restrain her tongue.

" You seem to bear up tolerably well under this heavy cross, as you call it," she said sharply. "The will o' the Lord, Sister Ware— the will o' the Lord," he responded, disposed for the instant to put on his pompous manner with her, and then deciding to smile again as he moved off. The circumstance that he was to get an additional $300 yearly in his new place was not mentioned between them. ILLUMINATION 10 By a mutual impulse the young couple, when they had at last gained the cool open air, crossed the street to the side where overhanging trees shaded the infrequent lamps and they might be comparatively alone. The wife had taken her husband's arm, and pressed closely upon it as they walked. For a time no word passed, but finally he said, in a grave voice — " It is hard upon you, poor girl."

Then she stopped short, buried her face against his shoulder, and fell to sobbing. He strove with gentle whispered remonstrance to win her from this mood, and after a few moments she lifted her head and they resumed their walk, she wiping her eyes as they went. " I couldn't keep it in a minute longer," she said, catching her breath between phrases. " Oh ! ivhy do they behave so badly to us, Theron ? " He smiled down momentarily upon her as they moved along, and patted her hand. " Somebody must have the poor places, Alice," he said con solingly. " I am a young man yet, remember. We must take our turn, and be patient. For ' we know that all things work together for good.' " " And your sermon was so head-and-shoulders above all the others ! " she went on breathlessly. " Everybody said so. And Mrs. Parshall heard it so direct that you were to be sent here, and I know she told everybody how much I was lotting on it.

I wish we could go right off to-night without going to her house ; I shall be ashamed to look her in the face. And of course she knows we're poked off to that miserable Octavius. Why, Theron, they tell me it's a worse place even than we've got now." "Oh, not at all," he put in reassuringly. " It has grown to be a large town — oh, quite twice the size of Tyre. It's a great Irish place, I've heard. Our own church seems to be a good deal run down there. We must build it up again ; and the salary is better — a little." ILLUMINATION 11 But he too was depressed, and they walked on toward their temporary lodging in a silence full of mutual grief. It was not until they had come within sight of this goal that he prefaced by a little sigh of resignation these further words : " Come — let us make the best of it, my girl !

After all, we are in the hands of the Lord." " Oh, don't, Theron ! " she said hastily. " Don't talk to me about the Lord to-night ; I can't bear it ! "

Chapter II

" Therox ! come out here ! This is the funniest thing we have heard yet ! " Mrs. Ware stood on the platform of her new kitchen stoop. The bright flood of May-morning sunshine completely en veloped her girlish form, clad in a simple, fresh-starched calico gown, and shone in golden patches upon her light-brown hair. She had a smile on her face as she looked down at the milk boy standing on the bottom step — a smile of a doubtful sort, stormily mirthful. " Come out a minute, Theron ! " she called again, and in obedience to the summons the tall, lank figure of her husband appeared in the open doorway behind her. A long, loose, open dressing-gown dangled to his knees, and his sallow, clean-shaven, thoughtful face wore a morning undress expression of youthful good nature. He leaned against the door-sill, crossed his large carpet-slippers, and looked up into the sky, drawing a long satisfied breath.

"What a beautiful morning!" he exclaimed. "The elms over there are full of robins. We must get up earlier these mornings and take some walks." His wife indicated the boy with the milk-pail on his arm by a wave of her hand. " Guess what he tells me ! " she said. " It wasn't a mis take at all, our getting no milk yesterday or the Sunday before. It seems that that's the custom here, at least so far as the parsonage is concerned." "What's the matter, boy?" asked the young minister, drawling his words a little, and putting a sense of placid ILLUMINATION 13 irony into them. " Don't the cows give milk on Sunday, then ? " The boy was not going to be chaffed. "Oh, I'll bring you milk fast enough on Sundays if you give me the word," he said with nonchalance. " Only it won't last long." "How do you mean — 'won't last long'?" asked Mrs. Ware briskly.

The boy liked her, both for herself and for the doughnuts fried with her own hands which she gave him on his morning round. He dropped his half-defiant tone. " The thing of it's this," he explained. " Every new minister starts in saying we can deliver to this house on Sundays, an' then gives us notice to stop before the month's out. It's the trustees that does it." The Rev. Theron Ware uncrossed his feet and moved out on to the stoop beside his wife. "What's that you say?" he interjected. " Don't they take milk on Sundays ? " " Nope," answered the boy. The young couple looked each other in the face for a puzzled moment, then broke into a laugh. " Well, we'll try it, any way," said the preacher. " You can go on bringing it Sundays till — till " " Till you cave in an' tell me to stop," put in the boy.

" All right," and he was off on the instant, the dipper jangling loud incredulity in his pail as he went. The Wares exchanged another glance as he disappeared round the corner of the house, and another mutual laugh seemed imminent. Then the wife's face clouded over, and she thrust her under lip a trifle forward out of its place in the straight and gently firm profile. " It's just what Wendell Phillips said," she declared. " The Puritan's idea of hell is a place where everybody has to mind his own business." The young minister stroked his chin thoughtfully, and let his gaze wander over the backyard in silence. The garden ILLUMINATION parts had not been spaded up, but lay a useless stretch of muddy earth, broken only by last year's cabbage-stumps and the general litter of dead roots and vegetation.

The door of the tenantless chicken-coop hung wide open. Before it was a great heap of ashes and cinders, soaked into grimy hardness by the recent spring rains ; and nearer still an ancient chopping-block, round which were scattered old weather-beaten hardwood knots which had defied the axe, parts of broken barrels and packing-boxes, and a nameless debris of tin cans, clam-shells, and general rubbish. It was pleasanter to lift the eyes and look across the neighbours' fences to the green, waving tops of the elms on the street beyond. How lofty and beautiful they were in the morning sunlight, and with what matchless charm came the song of the robins, freshly installed in their haunts among the new pale green leaves ! Above them, in the fresh, scented air, glowed the great blue dome, radiant with light and the purification of spring.

Theron lifted his thin, long-fingered hand, and passed it in a slow arch of movement to comprehend this glorious upper picture. " What matter any one's idea of hell," he said in soft, grave tones, " when we have that to look at, and listen to, and fill our lungs with? It seems to me that we never feel quite so sure of God's goodness at other times as we do in these wonderful new mornings of spring." The wife followed his gesture, and her eyes rested for a brief moment, with pleased interest, upon the trees and the sky. Then they reverted, with a harsher scrutiny, to the immediate foreground. "Those Van Sizers ought to be downright ashamed of themselves," she said, "to leave everything in such a muss as this. You must see about getting a man to clean up the yard, Theron. It's no use your thinking of doing it your self.

In the first place, it wouldn't look quite the thin^ ■ ILLUMINATION 15 and, second, you'd never get at it in all your born days. Or, if a man would cost too much, we might get a boy. I dare say Harvey would come around, after he'd finished with his milk-route in the forenoon. We could give him his dinner, you know, and I'd bake him some cookies. He's got the greatest sweet-tooth you ever heard of. And then perhaps if we gave him a quarter, or say half a dollar, he'd be quite satisfied. I'll speak to him in the morning. We can save a dollar or so that way." " I suppose every little does help," commented Mr. Ware, with a doleful lack of conviction. Then his face brightened. " I'll tell you what let's do ! " he exclaimed. " Get on your street dress, and we'll take a long walk, way out into the country.