"O for a thousand tongues to singMy great Redeemer's praise,The glories of my God and King,The triumphs of his grace."
"O for a thousand tongues to singMy great Redeemer's praise,The glories of my God and King,The triumphs of his grace."
"O for a thousand tongues to sing
My great Redeemer's praise,
The glories of my God and King,
The triumphs of his grace."
The persons here were advanced agents in bringing civilization to Kentucky. They had the heroic spirit. These preachers had endured hardness as good soldiers of Jesus Christ. They had climbed mountains, crossed valleys, forded streams, slept in the open, encountered wild beasts and base and desperate men. Songs to cheer, encourage, and strengthen their faith and zeal were needed and provided. Naturally they desired to sing on this occasion. So the company sang with zest Luther's great battle hymn:
"A mighty fortress is our God,A bulwark never failing:Our helper he, amid the floodOf mortal ills prevailing."
"A mighty fortress is our God,A bulwark never failing:Our helper he, amid the floodOf mortal ills prevailing."
"A mighty fortress is our God,
A bulwark never failing:
Our helper he, amid the flood
Of mortal ills prevailing."
Then was sung that hymn of triumphant trust, beginning:
"Though troubles assail, and dangers affright,Though friends should all fail, and foes all unite,Yet one thing secures us, whatever betide,The promise assures us, The Lord will provide."
"Though troubles assail, and dangers affright,Though friends should all fail, and foes all unite,Yet one thing secures us, whatever betide,The promise assures us, The Lord will provide."
"Though troubles assail, and dangers affright,
Though friends should all fail, and foes all unite,
Yet one thing secures us, whatever betide,
The promise assures us, The Lord will provide."
The pioneers of that day had an exultant experience of the religion they professed and taught. Viola next turned to hymns expressing this state. She and those gathered around her sang them with joyous, even ecstatic, acclamation:
"O happy day, that fixed my choiceOn thee, my Savior and my God!Well may this glowing heart rejoice,And tell its rapture all abroad."
"O happy day, that fixed my choiceOn thee, my Savior and my God!Well may this glowing heart rejoice,And tell its rapture all abroad."
"O happy day, that fixed my choice
On thee, my Savior and my God!
Well may this glowing heart rejoice,
And tell its rapture all abroad."
And:
"Love divine, all love excelling,Joy of heaven, to earth come down;Fix in us thy humble dwelling,All thy faithful mercies crown."
"Love divine, all love excelling,Joy of heaven, to earth come down;Fix in us thy humble dwelling,All thy faithful mercies crown."
"Love divine, all love excelling,
Joy of heaven, to earth come down;
Fix in us thy humble dwelling,
All thy faithful mercies crown."
After they had sung a number of other hymns, Jasper Very said to Viola LeMonde: "I have heard, Miss LeMonde, that you have composed the music to a new paraphrase of the Ninety-First Psalm. I am sure we should all be delighted to hear you sing your music to the words. Will you kindly favor us by so doing?"
Viola LeMonde replied: "I am not an adept at composing music, but the words of this poem impressed me, and I joined them to an air which came to me almost spontaneously. I shall take pleasure in singing this melody, if you will be charitable in criticism." Thus speaking she sang the following words simply but with much feeling:
The Saint's Refuge.Dwelling in God's secret place,Safe doth his beloved lie,Shaded by his sovereign graceFrom the tempests fierce and high.Love Divine will hear his prayer,Be his refuge and defense;Save him from the fowler's snare,And the noisome pestilence.Sheltered 'neath the Father's wings,Covered with his pinions wide,Truth the ransomed homeward brings,Shielding him on every side.Fear recedes from terror's night,Harmless flies the dart by day;In the darkness or the lightWasting death shall flee away.Sees he, falling in their pride,Twice five thousand wicked men;But destruction's wrathful tideShall not touch his garments then.Angels, ministrant, shall flyFrom their dazzling upper zones,Charged by heaven's MajestyHim to keep from crushing stones.On the lion, bold and dread,Seeking ever to devour,And the hissing serpent's head,He shall tread with victor's pow'r.God will wipe away his tears;Grant him honor and release;Crown his life with length of years;Save, and keep in perfect peace.
The Saint's Refuge.
The Saint's Refuge.
Dwelling in God's secret place,Safe doth his beloved lie,Shaded by his sovereign graceFrom the tempests fierce and high.Love Divine will hear his prayer,Be his refuge and defense;Save him from the fowler's snare,And the noisome pestilence.Sheltered 'neath the Father's wings,Covered with his pinions wide,Truth the ransomed homeward brings,Shielding him on every side.
Dwelling in God's secret place,
Safe doth his beloved lie,
Shaded by his sovereign grace
From the tempests fierce and high.
Love Divine will hear his prayer,
Be his refuge and defense;
Save him from the fowler's snare,
And the noisome pestilence.
Sheltered 'neath the Father's wings,
Covered with his pinions wide,
Truth the ransomed homeward brings,
Shielding him on every side.
Fear recedes from terror's night,Harmless flies the dart by day;In the darkness or the lightWasting death shall flee away.Sees he, falling in their pride,Twice five thousand wicked men;But destruction's wrathful tideShall not touch his garments then.Angels, ministrant, shall flyFrom their dazzling upper zones,Charged by heaven's MajestyHim to keep from crushing stones.On the lion, bold and dread,Seeking ever to devour,And the hissing serpent's head,He shall tread with victor's pow'r.God will wipe away his tears;Grant him honor and release;Crown his life with length of years;Save, and keep in perfect peace.
Fear recedes from terror's night,
Harmless flies the dart by day;
In the darkness or the light
Wasting death shall flee away.
Sees he, falling in their pride,
Twice five thousand wicked men;
But destruction's wrathful tide
Shall not touch his garments then.
Angels, ministrant, shall fly
From their dazzling upper zones,
Charged by heaven's Majesty
Him to keep from crushing stones.
On the lion, bold and dread,
Seeking ever to devour,
And the hissing serpent's head,
He shall tread with victor's pow'r.
God will wipe away his tears;
Grant him honor and release;
Crown his life with length of years;
Save, and keep in perfect peace.
CHAPTER VII.
The Horse Race.
We left Sam Wiles, Zibe Turner and other disturbers of the peace in the county jail. In due time they were brought before Judge LeMonde for trial. They were found guilty and sentenced to prison for one month.
A few days after their liberation the following conversation took place:
Turner: "Most all de folks on de hills and in de valleys air goin' to de races tomorrer, and I look for a gay o' time."Wiles: "Yes, and all de niggers that can get off'n work will be there too."Turner: "Dat feller from Lexington has a right smart of a hoss. You know he wants me to ride him in de last race, and I'm bound to beat George LeMonde, if beat is in de critter. His hoss stands seventeen hands high, is rangy in de legs, has a deep chest, and has a will to go. He can easily bear my weight, and you know dat dey count me de best jockey in de whul county. If I can't win by far (fair) means, I will by foul."Wiles: "I hearn dat Jack Ketcham's sorrel goes like de wind, and Jack's hoss is goin' to be in de big race."Turner: "George LeMonde has been speeding his bay over de track for days, and he will get every bit of go out of him. His mother and sister are dead set agin hoss-racin' and dey are begging him not to ride; but George likes de sport too well to please dem."Wiles: "Mr. Rawlins, of Lexington, swears by his black, and will put up a great deal of money. George will try to match it, and ol' farmer Ketcham won't be slow with his cash."Turner: "It will be an excitin' time, and I low, as many will see de races as went to de big camp meetin'."Wiles: "Well, Zibe, you must stick to your hoss like a monkey, and do your best to win de money and down that upstart, George LeMonde."
Turner: "Most all de folks on de hills and in de valleys air goin' to de races tomorrer, and I look for a gay o' time."
Wiles: "Yes, and all de niggers that can get off'n work will be there too."
Turner: "Dat feller from Lexington has a right smart of a hoss. You know he wants me to ride him in de last race, and I'm bound to beat George LeMonde, if beat is in de critter. His hoss stands seventeen hands high, is rangy in de legs, has a deep chest, and has a will to go. He can easily bear my weight, and you know dat dey count me de best jockey in de whul county. If I can't win by far (fair) means, I will by foul."
Wiles: "I hearn dat Jack Ketcham's sorrel goes like de wind, and Jack's hoss is goin' to be in de big race."
Turner: "George LeMonde has been speeding his bay over de track for days, and he will get every bit of go out of him. His mother and sister are dead set agin hoss-racin' and dey are begging him not to ride; but George likes de sport too well to please dem."
Wiles: "Mr. Rawlins, of Lexington, swears by his black, and will put up a great deal of money. George will try to match it, and ol' farmer Ketcham won't be slow with his cash."
Turner: "It will be an excitin' time, and I low, as many will see de races as went to de big camp meetin'."
Wiles: "Well, Zibe, you must stick to your hoss like a monkey, and do your best to win de money and down that upstart, George LeMonde."
With this remark the two men separated.
George LeMonde was a youth about seventeen years of age, well-built, good-looking, full of life and vigor, and at this time engaged in that serious occupation, common to many young men, sowing his wild oats. He was boisterous and rather reckless, but not vicious. His moral nature was touched by evil, but not yet corrupted. However, he had begun to walk in the broad way of youthful folly, and was in great danger of going its full length. He was restrained from drinking the full cup of unlawful indulgence more by the prayers, example, and love of his mother and sister than by the correct moral life of his father.
The greatest danger to that priceless thing, character, which confronted him was his association with the hillside young men. They never felt that he was one in desire and purpose with them; but sometimes he would meet them on the big road by Franklin Schoolhouse or occasionally go to their cabins on the hills. Then he would sip lightly their moonshine whiskey, join in their coarse talk, and share in their few pastimes.
George LeMonde probably inherited his love for horses. His father, Judge LeMonde, for many years had raised his own colts from the best stock he could procure. On his broad acres they had every chance to develop their physical powers. His fields produced an abundance of the best corn and hay. Skirting the hill which bounded his farm on the north were extensive meadows rich with grass. Here his blooded stock browsed, ran and grew. It was under similar conditions that many Kentucky horses were raised early in the nineteenth century, becoming sires of the greatest racing stock in the world.
At the time of which we write Judge LeMonde owned a bay, of his own raising, which was his pride and joy. The horse, Velox by name, was far and away better than any other he had ever possessed. He was known throughout the entire county as a splendid specimen of horseflesh, and for beauty and utility had won the blue ribbon at a number of surrounding fairs.
When George LeMonde reached his sixteenth birthday his father gave him this fine animal. The son was delighted with the gift, and took the best care of Velox, often feeding him with his own hand. George rode his horse so much that he learned all the traits and peculiarities of his steed; for horses, like men, have their own individual make-up and notions. On the other hand, Velox got to know, trust, love and obey his master. He would come at his call, and could be guided when on a journey nearly as well by the motions of his owner's body as by the rein.
George LeMonde decided to enter Velox for the race which was soon to take place, and many times did he ride his willing steed over the race course to prepare for the great event.
Horse racing then, as now, was one of the most popular diversions of multitudes in Kentucky, but the preparations then were quite primitive. The track was laid in a level piece of ground some miles from Judge LeMonde's farm. It was in the form of a circle, and was one mile in circumference. The inclosure was protected by a rough fence, hewn out of logs. Within the course, near the starting place, and on the inside of the track, was a stand upon which the judges of the races sat. Some rough seats were provided for a part of the spectators, but most of the people stood during the races.
Saturday dawned clear and beautiful. It was a perfect day to bring out the speed of the racers. The time selected was near the last of August, and a crispness in the air gave a faint indication of coming autumn. People from far and wide had come to enjoy the sport. They made the occasion a holiday. Many came on horseback and by team, and families brought well-filled baskets of fried chicken, corn pone, blackberry pie, and other good things to refresh the inner man.
A number of minor races were run by horses in harness and under the saddle, which only increased the people's appetite for the grand event of the day. At four in the afternoon the three horses were called for the two-mile race. Their riders soon brought them from their stalls to a position in front of the grand stand and judges. The steeds were all in perfect condition, their glossy coats shining with bright luster in the afternoon sun. The horses seemed to feel the meaning of the occasion. They champed their bits and moved about restlessly as though impatient to be off. Their riders, however, had them under good control, and now the judges tossed the coin for choice of position on the track. Zibe Turner secured the inside place, George LeMonde came next, and Hiram Ketcham, Farmer Ketcham's son of eighteen, was on the outer rim of the circle, next to the fence.
The grand stand, composed of rough boards, was filled with the best dressed citizens of the county: while far down the track, and separated from it by a frail line of fence, stood a great company of tall Kentucky pioneers with their wives and children. Many negroes were also in the crowd, interested spectators, and the small boy was much in evidence.
A silence fell upon the waiting throng as the three horses, bearing their riders, proceeded up the track a few rods to make a dash for the line. The signal was given, and they came like three thunderbolts to the starting place; but reaching this they were not abreast, and another start must be made. They tried four times before they got away in line, when some one shouted: "Now they are off!" For a few paces they were neck and neck; but then Hiram Ketcham's sorrel, though on the outer circle forged ahead. When the half-mile point was reached, the sorrel was several lengths in the lead, and Zibe Turner's black was leading George LeMonde's bay by a dozen feet. They came in this position down the home stretch, and as they crossed the line a great cheering rose from the crowd. Turner's friends from the hills were there in large numbers, and were the loudest in their shouts. "Go it, Zibe; you'll beat, old boy!" "Hurrah for de black! push him along!" "I'll bet my money on de Lexington hoss!" were some of the words that were shouted at Turner as he dashed past the starting point for the second mile. Hiram Ketcham did not lack for admirers, who encouraged him with cheers and waving of hats and handkerchiefs. Many of the farmers living in the rich river bottom seemed to be partial to the sorrel horse. George LeMonde's friends were plentiful in the grand stand and, in fact, throughout the crowd. They were somewhat disappointed to behold him the last in the race; but they saw that Velox was going well, and they had hopes for his winning during the next mile.
As for young LeMonde, he saw nothing and gave heed to nothing except the business in hand. Only once did he raise his eyes from looking straight ahead between the ears of his noble horse, and that was when he was passing the grandstand. Then he gave a swift look in that direction, and was repaid by seeing a young girl of some sixteen years of age, Stella Nebeker by name, dressed in a pure white muslin gown with short sleeves, waving a delicate handkerchief toward him. For an instant their eyes met, then he looked along the race course as before.
LeMonde had a method in his racing which he was now working. He knew the reserved powers which were in his horse, and he purposely held him back from putting forth his greatest speed at the beginning. Turner, the monster dwarf, was also using all his skill in horse racing. His monkeyish face was lighted up with a look of more intelligence than usual, which made his ugly features more forbidding and repulsive. His eyes shone with excitement, determination, and reckless courage. His teeth were clenched, and the muscles of his lips drawn over them gave him an expression half laughing, half demoniac. On the first round his cap had fallen off, and the shaggy hair of his head and face streamed in the wind, adding greatly to the fierceness of his looks. He had perfect control of himself and horse, and rode like a centaur, ready to take any advantage which circumstances or guile threw in his way. He also had held in his horse with bit and bridle, reserving his best efforts for the closing part of the race.
During the first half of the second mile Turner knew that it was necessary for him to lessen the distance between himself and Hiram Ketcham, and LeMonde realized that he must soon close the gap separating Turner and himself. Almost at the same time they gave their horses more rein, and they sprang to their work with increased speed. Ketcham had taken advantage of his lead by crossing the track and taking the narrow arc of the circle. The three horses were trotting in a line, all hugging the inside track. Very soon the distance between the sorrel and the black was diminished, and before the half mile point was reached the monster dwarf turned his horse toward the center of the track to pass Ketcham. Just beyond the half-mile point Turner's black passed Ketcham's sorrel, and LeMonde's bay was neck and neck with the black. A few rods more, and it was plain to be seen that the bay was forging ahead of the black.
The monster dwarf saw at once the advantage of his rival, and hissing through his teeth in a low voice the words: "Dat's my holt," brought his short cowhide whip down with force upon the withers of Velox. It was the act of a jockey utterly without principle, an act execrated by every true Kentucky sportsman.
The splendid animal never before had felt the lash of a whip. The blow had the effect desired by the dwarf. It broke the gait of the bay horse. The stroke was so unexpected and painful that the horse gave a bound forward and upward that almost unseated the rider. Then he plunged along the track with irregular strides, sometimes rushing to the sides and then to the center.
Though taken by surprise George LeMonde acted with decision and judgment. He held his mount with a firm hand, and added to the strength of his arm the soothing effect of his voice: "Steady, steady, Velox! Your master did not strike you. He loves you. Steady, steady, good horse! Velox! Velox! Velox!" By these means young LeMonde renewed the race, though the other horses were a considerable distance in advance.
In the meantime a large number of the spectators had seen the despicable act and roared their disapproval. Some shook their fists at the monster dwarf, and cried for speedy punishment for his vile trick. This outburst of indignation made him fear again to molest the bay horse.
Now George knew that the time had come for Velox to use his utmost powers. He knew that the horse had great reserved fountains of strength in him, and believed he could still win the race. As for the horse, he seemed alive to the situation. Perhaps he felt a proud resentment at the insult and injury put upon him. His eyes flashed fire. His nostrils were dilated until the red blood showed through his veins. Man and horse gave to each other courage and confidence; they appeared no longer to be two creatures, but had been merged into a single unit of astonishing force and capacity. LeMonde's whole soul was absorbed with one thought—to pass the other horses and to cross the line first. He leaned farther front in the saddle, lowering his head to reduce the resistance of the air. His face almost touched the flying mane of his horse.
Again he spoke to his mount: "Steady, my Velox boy; we are nearing the end. It will soon be over; but you must pass these horses, and win the race." With this remark LeMonde gave free rein to his horse, pressed his knees a little tighter against the animal's sides, and gave him a light touch with the whip. The noble horse instantly responded to his master's urge. He released fold after fold of knotted muscle, his stride increased, and when his hoofs descended, they seemed to spurn the ground. Now as steady as a Corliss engine this ultimate unit of the animal and mechanical world rushed on, and was seen to be gaining on the other horses.
At a quarter of a mile from the home stake the sorrel horse was passed, but still the result seemed uncertain. Then young LeMonde appeared as a Jehu incarnate. He pressed the horse's flanks with his heels and shouted into the very ears of his mount: "Velox, we must win, we will win, we are going to win." With this remark, for the first time in his life he brought the whip down hard upon the glossy hide of his steed. The animal increased his speed, and went thundering down the home stretch after the black. It is a case of blood against time and space. The bay gains! He has closed the distance between them! His head is on a line with the other's shoulder! They are only one hundred yards from the goal! The grand stand is wild with shouting! Those standing near the track, unconscious of what they do, are throwing hats, handkerchiefs and umbrellas into the air, and yelling like mad men! The judges are sighting the line! They see a horse's brown head and shoulders pass the line, then a black head appears, and Velox has won by a neck's length.
CHAPTER VIII.
Prayer In a Dance Hall.
When the three horses crossed the finishing line, covered with sweat and foam, LeMonde and Ketcham soon brought their mounts to a stop. Not so the monster dwarf. Fearing that the crowd might do him personal injury he rode the black horse directly to the stable. He was almost beside himself with rage and disappointment. He ground his teeth together, and froth showed upon his lips. His face was hideous in expression. He shook his fist in the direction of the race course, and cursed the victorious horse and rider with terrible oaths.
To Sam Wiles, who had come up, he said: "Anudder chance will come. I'll git even wid dat proud aristocrat yit. I'm goin' to git back all de money I lost today, and mo' too."
A different scene was taking place near the grand stand. When George LeMonde, with flushed face and bright eyes, dismounted from his horse, he was at once surrounded by an admiring crowd who showered him with congratulations. They praised his skill as a horseman, his coolness in a time of danger and emergency, and his good nature under great provocation. Many were the admirers of Velox. They patted his shoulders, stroked his head and commented on his beauty of color and form. The horse took it in good part, and seemed to consider it a proper tribute to the steed who won the race.
Among the rest who shook George heartily by the hand was a stout, broad-featured man of about forty, who was dressed in a good suit of blue jeans and wore what was uncommon in those days, a large diamond pin in his shirt front. His name was Costello Nebeker, and he was a tavern keeper on a country road not many miles away. The girl with a white dress and shapely arm whom George saw as he flashed past the grand stand was Stella Nebeker, the sixteen-year-old daughter of this tavern keeper. She came forward, and in a happy way congratulated him upon his success. They had known each other for some time; for we are sorry to say, George on various occasions, having been at the tavern with some of his young friend, had indulged in the liquors which Nebeker kept for sale. While at this tavern George had become acquainted with Stella Nebeker, and she soon found a place in his affections. She was comely, vivacious and sensible, fond of society, a natural leader among her set, having most of the accomplishments furnished by the schools and social gatherings of their neighborhood.
Nebeker said to George in his loud and hearty way: "LeMonde, today you have covered yourself and horse with glory, and incidentally have put a good many dollars into my jeans pocket. Now you and your friends must celebrate this victory by a layout (feast) and dance at my house. Next Saturday will be moonlight, and Stella and I will invite our friends and you must ask yours to come, and we will have a jolly supper, and wash it down with some first-class Kentucky whisky, and wind up the meeting with a party dance."
George agreed to this proposal; and after bidding the tavern keeper and his lovely daughter a kind adieu, he departed to the stable, whither his faithful servant, Mose, had led his horse.
Costello Nebeker lived about ten miles from Mr. LeMonde's plantation in rather a rough and hilly country. For a number of years he had kept a public house; and as his place was the only one of this kind for many miles around, and as it fronted on a much-traveled county road, he had many customers at his bar and guests in his tavern. His house was a large frame structure, the lower part of which was used for a bar and lounging place and the rear for a dance hall. On the second floor were several sleeping rooms, some of which were occupied by the keeper and his family, and the rest were prepared for travelers.
The sky was clear and the woods beautiful on the following Saturday evening. As the sun began to hide his brilliant rays behind the noble hills covered with regal forests, and the moon, nearing its full, was already throwing a silvery light over the scene, those invited to the supper and dance were making their way, some in buggies along the main road, but most on horseback, coming down hills and across valleys, all moving to a central point, the tavern house.
It is not our design to dwell upon that feast, which consisted of most of the good things then in season in Kentucky, but to come at once to the dance and to a striking incident which occurred there.
Rather late in the evening, after dancing had been going on for some time, Jasper Very rode up to the tavern. He had been on a long preaching tour, and was tired and hungry. When he had dismounted, he asked the proprietor if he could lodge there for the night. Mr. Nebeker politely told him he could stay, but he was afraid he would not enjoy himself very well, as a dance was in progress. Jasper then inquired how far it was to a suitable house where he could put up for the night, and was told seven miles. He felt in his present condition that this was too far, and said that if the tavern keeper would treat him civilly and feed his horse well by his leave he would stay. This was promised him, and Very dismounted and went in. He quietly took a seat in one corner of the room, and the dancing continued. While musing upon many things and wishing in his heart he could do those people good, and having finally made up his mind to ask the privilege of preaching there the next day, he was surprised to see a beautiful and ruddy young lady, who was no other than Stella Nebeker, walk gracefully up to him, drop a handsome courtesy, and pleasantly, with a winning smile, invite him to dance with her. Jasper Very in his life had been in many strange situations, but this was an experience unlike any he had hitherto passed through. He could hardly understand his thoughts or feelings, but in a moment he resolved on a desperate experiment. He arose as gracefully as he could, with many emotions crowding upon his mind. Stella with much grace moved to his right side. Jasper grasped her right hand with his left hand, while she leaned her left arm on his right arm. In this position they walked on the floor.
The whole company seemed pleased at this act of politeness in a young lady shown to a stranger. The colored musician began to put his fiddle in the best order. Jasper here asked the fiddler to hold a minute, and, addressing the company, said: "Friends, for several years I have not undertaken any matter of importance without first asking the blessing of God upon it, and I desire now to ask God's blessing upon this beautiful young lady, who has shown such an act of politeness to a total stranger, and upon the whole company."
Here he grasped the young lady's hand tightly and said: "Let us all kneel down and pray." With this he dropped upon his knees, and began praying with all the power he possessed. Stella tried to get loose from him, but he held her tightly.
This unexpected act threw the whole company into excitement and disorder. Stella seized by an emotion which she could not control, fell upon her knees. Some of the dancers kneeled, some stood, some sat still with curious looks upon their faces, while others fled as in terror. The fiddler ran off into the kitchen saying: "Lord a marcy, what de matter. What's dat mean? Prayin' in a dance hall! Dis beats anyting dis niggar ever saw."
Jasper Very continued to pray with loud voice and great unction. Some soon began weeping softly, others cried out aloud in their deep feeling, and some asked God for mercy. After a while Jasper arose from his knees and commenced an exhortation, after which he sang a hymn.
Stella Nebeker was so affected by the service and by the deep convictions of her heart that she remained for a long time prostrate on the floor, crying earnestly for pardon. This strange meeting continued nearly all night; and when it was ended, fifteen of those dancers had obtained pardon for their sins. Stella was one of them, George LeMonde was another and the tavern keeper was a third. From this dance room a great revival spread throughout that part of the country.
CHAPTER IX.
Wanted, a Mission School.
Let us follow Miss Viola LeMonde and Miss Henrietta Harvey in their effort to organize a Sunday School among the "Poor Whites."
It was a beautiful day in September when the two young ladies seated in the phaeton drawn by Velox and Dolly and driven by faithful Mose made their way into the hill country. Their object was to visit as many families in a remote section as possible, and try to get their consent to join the proposed school.
After riding a number of miles they came to the family of Mart Spink. The two-room cabin in which they lived had the distinction of being built of hewn logs. It also had a "lean-to," or low ell, attached to the larger part.
Fortunately they found the "old man," Mart Spink, at home. He seemed surprised to behold such a fine turnout stop at his door, but showed a native gallantry as he came to the carriage.
"Howdy, ladies, I'se glad to see you. Won't you 'light, and walk into de house?"
"Thank you," replied Viola. "My name is Viola LeMonde, and this is my friend, Miss Henrietta Harvey. We have come to consult you on some important business, and shall be glad to step into your cottage."
With this remark they both dismounted from the phaeton, and passed into the house.
Here they found the whole family, and Mr. Spink introduced them in order to the ladies—his wife, Lucinda, his oldest daughter, Susanna, then Elmira, Robert and Jonathan.
Mart Spink invited the ladies to be seated, and they sat down on splint-bottom chairs.
Viola LeMonde opened the business in hand: "Mr. Spink, some of us living in the bottoms, knowing that you dwell so far away from any church that you and your neighbors cannot well attend public religious services, have decided to start a Sunday School in this locality, if we can find a suitable place, and if the people are willing to come to it.
"Not long ago Rev. John Larkin, whom perhaps you have seen, suggested your house as the best place in these hills in which to begin a school. What do you say to the proposition?"
Mart Spink replied: "Well, I was born in Nashville, Tennessee, and lived thar with my parents till I was eight years old. I went to school thar and learned how to read and write a little. I also went to church and Sunday School some.
"Then they took up land here in de backwoods, and since that time I have had mighty little chance to larn out of books and to go to meetin'.
"Yes, I would be rale glad to have you start a school in my house, if Lucinda is willin'. What do you say, wife?"
Lucinda: "Let us have de school by all means; de sooner de better. I want it for your sake, Mart, and mine, but specially for our boys and girls."
So the consent was given and the matter settled.
Susanna Spink, the oldest child, sat opposite Viola LeMonde during the conversation. She was fourteen years old, and was of such striking beauty that both the visitors were impressed by it. Her chief attraction was her eyes. Once seen they could never be forgotten. The eyebrows were dark and of medium size. The lashes were black and long. Her eyes were large, clear, deep blue in color. One could look down into their wondrous depths and imagine one could see the very soul of the child.
Susanna was all attention during the talk about the school. She spoke no word, but the look of her eyes spoke volumes to Viola. She knew that the child was intensely interested in the project. That hour by an invisible and mysterious power the souls of the woman and child were welded together into a union of friendship and devotion which death itself could not part. Neither suspected at this time what a test of this devotion was to appear in the future.
Highly pleased with the success of their first visit the ladies entered the carriage, and Viola directed Mose to drive to the home of the Wiles family. Arriving there they were greeted by the furious barking of a pack of dogs and by the staring looks of some of the children. Mrs. Wiles was in the front yard hanging out some faded and frayed clothing on the line.
We must give the names of this interesting family. Those at home were Mrs. Deborah Wiles and her children Ephraim, Priscilla, Martha, and Ruth. The father, Simon, was absent, and also his precious son, Sam, whose acquaintance we have already made. The remaining son, Reuben, was visiting a near neighbor about three miles distant. However much of original depravity existed in this family the parents were determined that they should be fortified with biblical names.
Mrs. Wiles showed small courtesy to the strangers, for she did not call off the dogs or speak to the visitors till she had hung out to dry the last remaining piece of washing.
Then she turned to the carriage, and inquired of the ladies what they wanted. Viola and Henrietta without any invitation stepped down from the vehicle, and made known their mission.
Mrs. Wiles expressed herself unfavorable to the idea. She said they were gittin' along well enough without any church meetin's, and they did not want any of de high-toned people from de bottoms to come up there, putting on airs, treating them as ignorant, and no 'count white trash, and making fun of their farms and houses.
But different words sprang from the lips of Ephraim and Priscilla.
Ephraim, the boy who a few years before had discovered Wind Cave, now grown to a good sized youth, said: "You are wrong, ma. Most of us around here are a low down set without books or religion. If these ladies are willin' to spend their time to come all this way and teach us larnin' and de Bible, I say we ought to thank them, and help them to start de school."
Priscilla said she agreed with her brother and thought it was time they "were gittin' out of their pore way of livin'," and she would be glad "to jine de school" if her mother would let her.
Mrs. Wiles gave a cold consent, and the carriage drove away, the ladies thankful that they had secured at least two more advocates of their scheme.
Mose spoke to his mettled steeds and soon they were drawing the carriage over an unfrequented road through a deep forest to the cabin of Harrop Sneath. He and his house were typical of the poorest of the "poor whites." His cabin consisted of one room, about fourteen feet square, with one door and no windows. It was made of unhewn logs plastered with clay. The only daylight which entered the cabin came through the door when open and down the chimney. On the inside stood a bedstead made of poles stuck between the logs of the angle, the outside corner supported by a crotched stick. The table was a huge hewn log, standing on four pegs. A log bench or two took the place of chairs. The cooking utensils consisted of an iron pot, which hung in the big chimney, a kettle and skillet and a few pewter and tin dishes. The loft was the sleeping place of most of the children. It was reached by a ladder of wooden pins driven into the logs.
Harrop Sneath was too lazy and shiftless to work much. He cultivated in a careless way a small piece of cleared ground around his cabin on which he raised a little Indian corn. The meat for his family was provided by his rifle, for the woods abounded in game—deer, wild turkeys, etc.
It was in such a cabin that Abraham Lincoln was born in another part of Kentucky about this time.
When Viola and Henrietta entered the clearing Sneath was sitting in the sun on a log bench in front of his cabin. He was a man in middle life and like most of the hillside settlers was the father of several children.
The young ladies addressed him pleasantly, and asked after his family and his crops.
He replied, that "de old woman and de kids war right peart; that de crops were most a dead failure because of de dry spell." He "'lowed a dry spell war mighty bad for crops on hillside farms." In this he was quite right.
By this time the "old woman" and some of the kids had come into the yard. Among them was Jemima Sneath, the oldest daughter. She was apparently about twenty years of age, and was a large, healthy young woman.
Henrietta Harvey was the speaker this time, and in a clear and emphatic manner made their mission known. She told them about the school, what a blessing it would be to the community, the families and each one. It would improve their minds, help to remove the evils which all knew existed in the hills, help to put the farmers on their feet by showing them how to raise better crops.
Trying to awaken a greater interest in the father she said: "Mr. Sneath, when you are not working on your place or hunting, how do you pass the time?"
He answered with a slow drawl: "Well, most ginerally I sot on de bench in shade in summer and in de sun in winter. Sometimes I sot and think, and sometimes I jest sot."
Such a man they felt it difficult to arouse, but when Viola added her invitations and arguments to those of her friend, poor Sneath awoke enough to the situation to hold his head up higher and widen his shoulders a trifle.
The one most interested was Jemima, the oldest daughter. She promised to attend the first meeting and to become a member of the school.
Viola now directed Mose to drive them still farther through the woods to the home of Zibe Turner, the monster dwarf. They would not have dared to beard this lion in his den, but knowing he had left the county for the time being, they wished, if possible, to interest his mother and sister in the school.
As they drew up to the house the dwarf's mother stood in the doorway, her daughter looking over her shoulder. The mother might have been a twin sister of Sycorax, the dam of Caliban. She was tall and slim, dressed in a coarse, hand-woven dress. Her long, scant hair fell down over her shoulders. Her face was that of a hag. Her few teeth were stained yellow with tobacco.
As soon as Viola spoke of the school, this vixen, raising her right arm to its greatest height and clenching her hand, broke out in wild vituperation:
"What do de like of ye, comin' into our hills in yer fine carriage to see how pore we air and to look down on us? Woud you uns larn us to be good in yer school? We uns air as good as you uns even if we don't live in big houses and drive fast hosses. Away with you! Me and mine will have nuthin' to do with yer mission."
In a similar vein she continued to pour out a volley of loud and abusive words, interlarding them with such oaths and curses as would have surprised a Billinsgate fishwoman.
Viola tried for a brief time to reason with her, and present their plea for the mission school, but, finding it was useless to remain longer, told Mose to drive away. When they had reached the shelter of the woods the slave said: "Ah neber hurd a deck han' on de ribber cuss and swear lak dat po' white woman."
Still these noble ladies, inspired with a high resolve to help the lowly, undismayed continued their work. In the course of two or three days a sufficient number of persons had agreed to attend the school to warrant its being opened with much promise.
CHAPTER X.
The Mission School Established.
The time set for beginning the mission school was the first Sunday in October. The place, Mart Spink's sitting-room.
Mr. Spink had added to the seating capacity of his cabin by taking some long slabs and with an auger drilling holes in their round sides. Into these holes he drove wooden pegs, and thus provided serviceable benches without backs. These together with his other benches and his chairs gave sufficient seating accommodation for those who came.
It was a motley but interesting crowd that assembled in the sitting-room at two o'clock that Sunday afternoon. Of course the Spinks were there, and some members of the Wiles and Sneath families were present, and others from different homes in that section. Fourteen girls, ten boys and a few adults had come to the meeting. Besides these there were the preacher, John Larkin, Viola and George LeMonde, Henrietta Harvey, and Stella Nebeker in attendance. Jasper Very wished much to be present, but a preaching engagement kept him away.
The children were dressed somewhat better than on week days but at that their clothing was nothing to boast of. The girls were shy and ill at ease, the boys half shy and half bold.
John Larkin called the school to order, and made a few remarks.
"Dear friends, we are met here today to worship God and to study his Holy Word. I am sure you want me in your behalf to thank the ladies who visited your homes and invited you to help in starting this school, and to thank Mr. Spink and family who have so kindly opened their house for our meetings. Miss Viola LeMonde has had some hymn books placed on the benches, and she will lead us in song."
Viola knew that most of those present were not acquainted with a single religious hymn, but she thought the older ones might be able to sing some of the old favorites of the church. So she led them in singing:
"Rock of Ages, cleft for me," and "All hail the power of Jesus' name."
Those who had come to help in the school carried the tunes along very well, and Viola was surprised and pleased to hear some of the farmers and their wives join in singing these sweet songs of Zion.
Then Viola sang as a solo a beautiful and appropriate "Children's Hymn," containing these words.
"Hosanna! be the children's song,To Christ, the children's King;His praise, to whom our souls belong,Let all the children sing.Hosanna! sound from hill to hill,And spread from plain to plain,While louder, sweeter, clearer still,Woods echo to the strain."
"Hosanna! be the children's song,To Christ, the children's King;His praise, to whom our souls belong,Let all the children sing.Hosanna! sound from hill to hill,And spread from plain to plain,While louder, sweeter, clearer still,Woods echo to the strain."
"Hosanna! be the children's song,
To Christ, the children's King;
His praise, to whom our souls belong,
Let all the children sing.
Hosanna! sound from hill to hill,
And spread from plain to plain,
While louder, sweeter, clearer still,
Woods echo to the strain."
Then John Larkin said: "Let us pray." He closed his eyes, and began an earnest supplication at the throne of grace. But it might have been better for him and the school, if he had kept his eyes open while he offered his petition, and thus obeyed the Bible command: "Watch and pray." When he closed his eyes the little imps in divers parts of the room saw their chance for mischief, and were quick to embrace it.
A Sneath boy put his straw hat on the head of a boy next him, and then knocked it off with no gentle blow. This angered the other youngster and he hit back with his clenched fist. So they had it back and forth, to the amusement of all the chaps around them. Another boy got possession of a pin—a rather scarce article in that neighborhood—and at one of the most fervent parts of the preacher's prayer stuck it into the lad sitting in front of him. The punctured youth gave a yell which could not be construed into an Amen on account of the petition. It raised the lad off his seat, and made him jump forward with an impetus which was both amusing and pathetic. The hurt of the pin seemed to swallow up every feeling save that of distress, and he "boo-hooed" aloud.
Such proceedings made Brother Larkin bring his prayer to an abrupt conclusion, and Viola LeMonde hurried to the sobbing child, and tried to comfort him.
After the devotions the school was divided into classes. John Larkin took the adults of both sexes; Viola LeMonde, the larger girls; Henrietta Harvey, the smaller; George LeMonde, the older boys; and Stella Nebeker, the younger.
These teachers that day occupied places of responsibility which taxed every particle of their skill, ingenuity, tact, patience and forbearance. Many of those sitting around them could not read or write a word. So first they had to be taught words and sentences. Their knowledge of the Bible was pitifully small. Yet they possessed the redeeming feature of wanting to learn, and most of them showed an eager desire to improve their minds.
Let us, as unbidden guests, in spirit sit down in Viola LeMonde's class and listen to what is said. These girls' minds were bright but undeveloped. It was their teacher's object to educate—lead out—her pupils' intellects into the broad fields of Scriptural knowledge.
"Girls," said Viola, "we are going to study the book, copies of which we are holding in our hands. It is called the Bible. Let me ask some questions about it, and you try to answer them."
"Have you seen the Bible before today?"
Susanna Spink replied: "I seed one onct, when I went to a camp meetin' near Honey Crick. A man read out of a book he called de Bible, and then he talked and talked a long, long time."
"The Bible tells us a lot about many good men and women. Perhaps you have heard of some of these. Who was Moses?"
"Was he nigger Mose's dad?" asked one of the girls.
"No, he lived many years ago, and was a great leader of the Hebrew people. Did you ever hear of David?"
Profound silence.
"He was a mighty king of the Jews, and also a man who wrote many beautiful songs. One of his songs millions of children know. It begins: 'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.' Have any of you ever heard it?"
One or two raised their hands indicating they had heard it.
"Let us turn to it, the twenty-third psalm, and we shall read it together."
This they did, and Viola said: "I want you children to learn this psalm by heart and each one say it to me next Sunday. Will you do it?"
Every hand was raised in consent.
"The Bible is divided into two parts. Can any one tell me what they are?"
"Yes'm, de front an' de back."
"They are called the Old Testament and the New Testament. The Old Testament tells of God's dealings with his chosen people the Hebrews (or Jews). It also points to the coming of God's Son into the world."
"The New Testament tells how God's Son Jesus Christ came upon earth to be the Friend of little children and all people; how he lived a good life, always helping those around him; how wicked men at last put him to death, and his friends buried him. But the grave could not hold him, and on the third day he arose from it, and soon went up to heaven. The day of his birth is called Christmas. Have you heard of it?"
"Yes, teacher, we have all heard something about Christmas."
"Well, well learn more about it, for it is a sweet story, and next Christmas the mission school will have a fine time, with songs, and pieces to speak, and giving of presents. I hope my girls will take part in this glad time."
Thus the minutes sped by while in simple words Viola tried to impart some Bible truths to her willing scholars.
After closing exercises the school was dismissed.
The teachers remained a while to compare notes. George LeMonde reported having had an interesting time with his boys. He said he spoke to them about the sin of making moonshine whisky, and tried to set them against the practice. He was surprised at the answer that was made to one of his questions: "If any one were to ask you to take a drink of moonshine whisky, what would you say?"
"Thank you," piped up a small boy.
The first session of the Mission Sunday School was considered a success and those responsible for it were encouraged to continue the work.
Some change in the teaching force was necessary, for John Larkin's duties as preacher would not permit him to serve as a permanent teacher.
It is a pleasure to say that this school increased in numbers and influence, and not only in its Sunday meeting, but also in its social and educational work in the community, became a strong agent to uplift the surrounding hill people in every way.
CHAPTER XI.
A Kentucky Feud.
Costello Nebeker after his conversion in his dance hall under the ministry of Jasper Very continued to keep his tavern, but discarded the sale and use of whisky upon his premises. He became known as the one hotel keeper in all that region who did not furnish his customers strong liquors. However, this action did not ruin his business; for, while some of his patrons left him, others took their places, and he was able still to supply all proper needs of the traveling public.
The winter had set in, and a great change was visible in the landscape. The splendid forest trees had lost their leaves, and their giant limbs were bare in the winter sunshine. A light snow covered the ground, and in it could be seen the tracks of rabbit, squirrel, coon, opossum, and occasionally a wild cat. In the distance the loud baying of hounds told that some creatures of the wild were being pursued by their relentless enemies.
Nature was at rest, and also the pioneer. His crops of corn, hay, wheat, tobacco, and vegetables were all gathered and safely placed in barns and storehouses. Little was to be done during the short winter day but to attend to the stock, to do the "chores" about the house, and perhaps to haul wood—backlogs and foresticks—to replenish the ravenous fire in the great fireplace.
But what was a time of rest to the Kentucky farmer was a season of special activity to the pioneer preacher. It was usually in winter that "protracted meetings" were held. Next to camp meetings, they were the great religious events of the year. The old saints anticipated with keen relish the sermons, songs, prayers, exhortations, and altar services. The young people were scarcely less interested, but from mixed motives—partly religious and partly social. Ever since Adam courted Eve under Eden's trees God's woods have been places for lovers to woo in, and one of the best things connected with the "protracted meeting" was the occasion it made of bringing young people into one another's society and starting friendships which ripened into love and matrimony.
Through the influence of Costello Nebeker a small church was built some distance from his house in the noble forest. It was composed of logs cut smooth with axes on two opposite sides. These logs were placed one above the other, and the chinks between were closed up with mortar made of clay and water. The roof was of heavy beams upon which were nailed coarse clapboards. The building could boast of two small windows and a single door. The inside arrangements were as simple as the outside. A common wooden desk answered as a pulpit, and instead of pews wooden benches were placed in front of the stand. A large cast-iron stove, placed near the center of the room, gave heat when the weather was cold. The building was called the "Bethlehem Church."
The "protracted meeting" was appointed to begin early in January. The preachers who were to conduct it were Jasper Very, John Larkin, and Ezra Thompson, an old minister, grizzled and toughened by time and exposure.
This history has to do with the Sunday evening service which Jasper Very was to conduct. It was a beautiful winter evening. The orb of day had scarcely descended behind the unbroken line of forest trees in the west ere the full moon appeared in the east, rising in majesty through the trees. The silvery globe stretched from the base almost to the tops of the trees. Slowly and serenely she climbed on her upward way, the tree tops now marking the line of her diameter; then in a few minutes she was free from their obstruction and hung above the earth a great, shining ball, sending upon river, forest, plain, and plantation a light so full and soft that one standing in it would become charmed by her magical rays.
In the falling darkness it was easy to walk or ride to the evening appointment. Because of the distance most of the people rode on horseback. When they had all assembled, the sight was one to remember. Horses were hitched everywhere to racks which had been placed near the church, to branches of trees, and to small saplings.
Before the services began many of the people had gathered inside the church, which was illuminated with a half dozen tallow candles that tried their best to burn, but seemed discouraged by the attempt. Outside men collected in groups and talked in low, earnest tones. Do you ask what was the subject of their conversation? It was about the sermon to be preached that night by Jasper Very.
A few days before a family feud in this neighborhood had broken out afresh. It was the noted feud between the Wiles and Barker families. This estrangement had occurred a quarter of a century before. It began by some cattle of a former Wiles getting into the field of a settler named Barker. Barker told Wiles to keep his live stock out of his land, and Wiles replied by demanding that Barker should repair his rail fences and mind his gates. Wiles was careless about his cattle and Barker about his fences. So one night a lot of Wiles' cattle got into a fine field of growing corn belonging to Barker, and ate as long as they could chew the juicy food and trampled down the green stalks with perfect indifference as to ownership. Early the next morning Barker saw the devastation and the causes thereof. He walked over to Wiles' plantation, and the two men quarreled, fought, and almost killed each other.
This was the beginning of that celebrated Wiles-Barker feud which has soiled the annals of that part of Kentucky. Its course was marked by murders, assassinations, wounds, burning of buildings, and every injury which cunning could devise and hate execute.
For a full year before this winter, by an unspoken agreement, the two factions had ceased to quarrel. Violence had exhausted itself, for the worst of men cannot give loose rein to their passions all the time. But, though the wild beast of hatred and revenge was quiet, he was neither dead nor changed into a lamb; he was really nursing and strengthening his powers for more savage attacks. The occasion which made him crouch, show his teeth, and leap forward with sudden and terrible fury was a barn-raising on a settler's farm not far from Costello's tavern. The Wiles and Barker families were both well represented by young and middle-aged men. According to the custom of the time, whisky was freely tendered to the workers and as freely received.
All went well until late in the afternoon when the framework of the barn had been put in place. The settlers had drunk unusual quantities of their favorite beverage, and were ready for frolic or fight. Just then Alan Barker, a scion of the noted family, belonging to that branch living in Pigeon Creek, began expatiating on the charms, graces and virtues of a fair lassie bearing the euphonious and patriotic name of America Virginia Stubbins, and closed his eulogy by saying she was "de sweetest, prettiest, best and likeliest gal in all Kentuck," and he could "whip any man in de crowd who dared to deny it." Young "Buck" Wiles took up the dare, partly because he despised the whole Barker crew, partly because he had a tender feeling toward the same lass, and was therefore jealous of Alan Barker, but mostly because whisky had fired his brain. So he discounted Alan Barker's fervid descriptions, and averred that the same America Virginia Stubbins possessed a homely face and little sense.
This was the spark which exploded the magazine. Alan Barker, stung to anger and madness, sprang upon "Buck" Wiles, and the two men clenched in a desperate struggle. However, it was not the way of the times to confine the settling of disputes to the "manly art" of bare fists. There was a quicker method, and sooner than we can write it the men having become separated in their wrestling, Alan Barker whipped out a pistol and shot Wiles down. Then ensued an encounter horrible to relate. The members of each family entered at once into the fight. Many shots were exchanged; and after a few minutes, when the fighting was over, either from lack of ammunition, or because, Indian fashion, those who were not wounded had hidden behind the great trees to fight from under cover, the sad results were apparent. Three of the Barker tribe and two of the Wiles lay dead upon the ground, while five of the latter and four of the former were lying in different positions, some slightly, others desperately, wounded.
Thus the old feud was renewed, the old score opened, and the waters of malice, revenge and hate which had been accumulating for months broke forth afresh with devastating effect. Soon the news was heard in all the surrounding hills and valleys. It stirred the dull and untrained minds in many a mountain cabin; it was discussed between drinks in rough taverns. Somehow the story sounded through the green Kentucky woods until its echoes appeared in the daily papers of Cincinnati, Philadelphia and New York.
Jasper Very declared he would make this battle between families the subject of his sermon on Sunday evening, and it was this announcement which threw the neighborhood into such a high state of excitement and caused a crowd to attend the meeting which packed the small meeting-house to suffocation and, despite the cold weather, caused it to overflow into the surrounding yard.
Sam Wiles was there, and his impish shadow, Zibe Turner, and Long Tom, and the rest of his cronies. Sam Wiles' family was a part of that large Wiles faction which warred with the Barkers, but Sam was not present at the barn-raising. He was only fourth cousin to the Wiles men who were killed, but felt himself bound with the rest of his kin to avenge their death. Hence he was intensely interested to know how the preacher would treat his subject. On account of the crowd he sat a little within the doorway, while the monster dwarf contented himself with a position just outside, where his ghoulish and malignant face was lighted up by candle rays and moonbeams combined.
Jasper Very took for his text, "Am I my brother's keeper?" Thus he began: "Hearers and friends, it is a sad fact that the first man born into the world, Cain, was a murderer, and the second man born of woman was murdered. Cain killed his brother Abel. Ever since that day this earth has been reddened with human blood. It has defiled every mountain and stained every plain, it has polluted the waters of every lake and river, and has reddened the very ocean. Murder's bloody hand, nerved by all the worst passions of man, has struck down, not only the guilty, but also the innocent, the weak and helpless. It is a perversion of the Creator's intention regarding mankind. He made men to dwell in peace and happiness. He put the solitary in families that each member might contribute to the well-being of the whole. Every man is his brother's keeper. He is expected to do him good and not harm. If my brother is weak, I must try to be his strength. If he is in sorrow, I must comfort him; if needy, help him with my substance; if sick, I must minister unto him. By so doing I shall receive both the approval of my conscience, and the Master's reward: 'Well done, good and faithful servant.'
"Back of the act of murder is its motive. It is formed in the mind before it is committed by the hand. It invariably springs from the baser passions of man—hate, malice, jealousy, revenge. Our Bible traces it to its seat. It declares: 'Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer: and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him.' It was this bad feeling of hate which made Cain kill his brother Abel."
The preacher then passed on to say: "You all know that different parts of our beautiful State of Kentucky have been disgraced by family feuds which have resulted in many crimes against God and man, including murder. In our own neighborhood at this time of the year when we should be making fresh resolutions of love to God and our fellows, young men have shot one another down in a useless quarrel, a number of families are mourning the loss of sons and brothers, and other men are made cripples for life by ugly wounds."
Then, raising his voice until it could be heard by the remotest lounger at the horserails he thundered: "What was the cause of this recent killing, and of the broils, fights, and contentions in our midst? Whisky. This is the curse of Kentucky. It is the demon which fires the blood and pulls the trigger. In days when the red men roamed these forests and hunted abundant game so many battles were fought among themselves that this fair land received that dreadful name, 'The Dark and Bloody Ground,' and now you are doing all in your power to perpetuate this name. You in this audience who make or sell liquor, either legally or illegally, 'have made a covenant with death, and with hell are at agreement.' How can you escape the wrath of God? The voice of these slain men's blood cries unto heaven from the ground. The gray hairs of their parents will go down in sorrow to the grave for them."
His mood and voice then changed, and in softer tones he pleaded with them to turn from the evil of their ways and live. He assured them that no drunkard nor drunkard-maker could inherit the kingdom of God, that a sure woe would rest upon him who putteth the bottle to his neighbor's lips, and that no good could finally come out of this bad business. He told them that they could not turn from their evil ways in their own strength; but God had laid strength upon One who was mighty to save and strong to deliver from every weakness and temptation, even his only begotten Son, Jesus Christ.
His eyes filled with tears and his voice shook with emotion as he gave an invitation to all to forsake their sins and return unto God in that sweetest welcome to repent that human ears have heard: "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
Almost overcome by his feelings, Jasper Very sat down, but instantly John Larkin arose and gave out that comforting invitation hymn: