John Ellery could have repeated that prayer, almost word for word, years after that night. The captain prayed for the few here gathered together: Let them be steadfast. Let them be constant in the way. The path they were treading might be narrow and beset with thorns, but it was the path leading to glory.
“Scoffers may sneer,” he declared, his voice rising; “they may make a mock of us, they may even come into Thy presence to laugh at us, but theirs is the laugh that turns to groanin'. O Lord, strengthen us to-night to speak what's in our hearts, without fear.” (“A-men!”) “To prophesy in Thy name! To bid the mockers and them that dare—dare to profane this sanctuary be careful. Hired singers and trumpets and vain shows we have not” (“Thank the Lord! Amen!”), “but the true faith and the joy of it we do have.” (“Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Glory!”)
And so on, his remarks becoming more personal and ever pointing like a compass needle to the occupant of that seat in the corner. The minister's determination to attend a Come-Outer meeting, though it had reached the sticking point only a half hour before, was the result of considerable deliberation. He had argued with himself and had made up his mind to find out for himself just what these people did. He was finding out, certainly. His motives were good and he had come with no desire to scoff, but, for the life of him, he could not help feeling like a criminal. Incidentally, it provoked him to feel that way.
“O Lord,” prayed Captain Hammond, the perspiration in beads on his forehead, “Thou hast said that the pastors become brutish and have not sought Thee and that they shan't prosper. Help us tonight to labor with this one that he may see his error and repent in sackcloth and ashes.”
They sang once more, a hymn that prophesied woe to the unbeliever. Then Ezekiel Bassett rose to “testify.” The testimony was mainly to the effect that he was happy because he had fled to the ark of safety while there was yet time.
“I found out,” he shouted, “that fancy music and—ah—and—ah—sot sermons and fine duds and suchlike wa'n't goin' to do ME no good. I needed somethin' else. I needed good times in my religion” (“Hallelujah!”) “and I've found 'em right here. Yes, sir! right here. And I say this out loud,” turning to glare at the intruder, “and I don't care who comes to poke fun at me for sayin' it.” (“Amen!”)
A sharp-nosed female followed Mr. Bassett. She spoke with evident feeling and in a voice that trembled and shook when her emotion carried it aloft. SHE'D had enough of high-toned religion. Yes, and of them that upheld it. When her brother Simeon was took bad with phthisic, “wheezin' like a busted bellerses” and 'twas “up and down, trot, trot, trot,” to fetch and carry for him day in and night out, did the folks from the Reg'lar church help her? She guessed NOT. The only one that came nigh her was Laviny Pepper, and she came only to gas and gabble and find out things that wa'n't none of her business. What help she got was from a Come-Outer, from Eben Hammond, bless his good soul! (“Amen!”) That phthisic settled her for Reg'larism. Yes, and for them that preached it, too. So there!
Captain Eben called for more testimony. But the testifiers were, to use the old minstrel joke, backward in coming forward that evening. At an ordinary meeting, by this time, the shouts and enthusiasm would have been at their height and half a dozen Come-Outers on their feet at once, relating their experiences and proclaiming their happiness. But tonight there was a damper; the presence of the leader of the opposition cast a shadow over the gathering. Only the bravest attempted speech. The others sat silent, showing their resentment and contempt by frowning glances over their shoulders and portentous nods one to the other.
“Come, brethren,” commanded the captain sharply; “we are waitin' to hear you. Are you afraid? If your faith is real, nothin' nor nobody should keep you from cryin' it out loud. Now, if ever, is the accepted time. Speak up for the spirit that's in you.”
An elderly man, grave and quiet, arose and said a few words, dignified and solemn words of prayer and thankfulness for the comfort this little society of true believers had been to him. Ellery realized that here was another sort of Come-Outer, one of the Hammond type. Evidently, they were not all like Ezekiel and the shrill-voiced woman.