Theron was supposed to preside over what followed, and he did sit on the central chair in the pulpit, between the Presiding Elder and Brother Soulsby, and on the several needful occasions did rise and perfunctorily make the formal remarks required of him.The Elder preached a short, but vigorously phrased sermon.The Soulsbys sang three or four times--on each occasion with familiar hymnal words set to novel, concerted music--and then separately exhorted the assemblage.The husband's part seemed well done.
If his speech lacked some of the fire of the divine girdings which older Methodists recalled, it still led straight, and with kindling fervency, up to a season of power.
The wife took up the word as he sat down.She had risen from one of the side-seats; and, speaking as she walked, she moved forward till she stood within the altar-rail, immediately under the pulpit, and from this place, facing the listening throng, she delivered her harangue.
Those who watched her words most intently got the least sense of meaning from them.The phrases were all familiar enough--"Jesus a very present help," "Sprinkled by the Blood,""Comforted by the Word," "Sanctified by the Spirit,""Born into the Kingdom," and a hundred others--but it was as in the case of her singing: the words were old;the music was new.
What Sister Soulsby said did not matter.The way she said it--the splendid, searching sweep of her great eyes;the vibrating roll of her voice, now full of tears, now scornful, now boldly, jubilantly triumphant; the sympathetic swaying of her willowy figure under the stress of her eloquence--was all wonderful.When she had finished, and stood, flushed and panting, beneath the shadow of the pulpit, she held up a hand deprecatingly as the resounding "Amens!"and "Bless the Lords!" began to well up about her.
"You have heard us sing," she said, smiling to apologize for her shortness of breath."Now we want to hear you sing!"Her husband had risen as she spoke, and on the instant, with a far greater volume of voice than they had hitherto disclosed, the two began "From Greenland's Icy Mountains,"in the old, familiar tune.It did not need Sister Soulsby's urgent and dramatic gesture to lift people to their feet.
The whole assemblage sprang up, and, under the guidance of these two powerful leading voices, thundered the hymn out as Octavius had never heard it before.
While its echoes were still alive, the woman began speaking again."Don't sit down!" she cried.
"You would stand up if the President of the United States was going by, even if he was only going fishing.
How much more should you stand up in honor of living souls passing forward to find their Saviour!"The psychological moment was upon them.Groans and cries arose, and a palpable ferment stirred the throng.
The exhortation to sinners to declare themselves, to come to the altar, was not only on the revivalist's lips:
it seemed to quiver in the very air, to be borne on every inarticulate exclamation in the clamor of the brethren.
A young woman, with a dazed and startled look in her eyes, rose in the body of the church tremblingly hesitated for a moment, and then, with bowed head and blushing cheeks, pressed her way out from the end of a crowded pew and down the aisle to the rail.A triumphant outburst of welcoming ejaculations swelled to the roof as she knelt there, and under its impetus others followed her example.
With interspersed snatches of song and shouted encouragements the excitement reached its height only when twoscore people, mostly young, were tightly clustered upon their knees about the rail, and in the space opening upon the aisle.
Above the confusion of penitential sobs and moans, and the hysterical murmurings of members whose conviction of entire sanctity kept them in their seats, could be heard the voices of the Presiding Elder, the Soulsbys, and the elderly deacons of the church, who moved about among the kneeling mourners, bending over them and patting their shoulders, and calling out to them: "Fasten your thoughts on Jesus!""Oh, the Precious Blood!" "Blessed be His Name!""Seek Him, and you shall find Him!" "Cling to Jesus, and Him Crucified!"The Rev.Theron Ware did not, with the others, descend from the pulpit.Seated where he could not see Sister Soulsby, he had failed utterly to be moved by the wave of enthusiasm she had evoked.What he heard her say disappointed him.
He had expected from her more originality, more spice of her own idiomatic, individual sort.He viewed with a cold sense of aloofness the evidences of her success when they began to come forward and abase themselves at the altar.
