JOSIAH ENDS THE ARGUMENT.
“You won’t save me?” says I, lookin’ keen at him, as he stood there before me, with his red bloated face, a face that had that low, disipated, animal expression lookin’ out so plain under the sanctimonious, hypocritical look he had tried to cover it with. “You won’t save me! Won’t take me into the heavenly kingdom! Wall, I rather think you won’t.”
I was so engaged and bound up in my indignant emotions and principles and everything that I didn’t see what was goin’ on behind me. But there was a fearful scene ensuin’ and goin’ on there. A awful scene of vengeance and just retribution. For my faithful pardner, maddened by the terrible insult to his Samantha, jest lifted himself up on one elbo, his righteous anger liftin’ him up for the moment above stitches and all other earthly infirmities, and he threw that broom-handle at Elder Judas Wart with terrific force, and aimed it so perfect that it hit him right on the nap of the neck. It was a fearful blow. I s’pose it come jest as near breakin’ his neck as anything ever did and miss.
And it skairt him fearfully, too; for Josiah had been so still for a spell that he thought he was asleep. And it had come onto him as swift and severe as a judgment right out of the heavens. (Not that I would wish to be understood that broom-handles are judgments, and should be handled as such; not as a general thing. I am speakin’ in a poetical way, and would wish to be took poetically.)
But oh! how fearful Elder Judas Wart looked. It squshed him right down for a minute where he ort to be squshed—right onto his knees. He couldn’t get up for a number of minutes, bein’ stunted and wild with the blow and the fearful horrow of his skare. And oh! how Josiah Allen did converse with him, as he knelt there helpless before him; hollered! it wasn’t conversation, it was hollerin’; loud, wild holler! almost a beller!
He ordered him out of the house, and threatened him with instant and immediate execution on the galluses. Though he knew we hadn’t no gallus built, and no timber suitable to build one; and he disabled with a stitch, and nobody but me to do anything. But he vowed, in that loud, skareful axent, that he would hang him in five minutes’ time; and chop his head off with a broad-axe; and gulotine him; and saw his neck off with our old cross-cut saw; and shoot him down like a dog; and burn him to the stake; and scalp him.
Why, Josiah ort to have known that one of these punishments was enough for any man to bear, and more than any man could stand up under. And he knew we hadn’t the conveniences by us for half of these punishments. But he didn’t think of that. He didn’t think of nothin’, nor nobody, only jest anger and vengeance. He was more delerious and wild in his conversation and mean than I had ever known him to be during our entire aquaintenship. It was a fearful scene. It was harrowin’ to me to see it go on. And Elder Judas Wart, as quick as he could get up,—started off on a quick run, almost a canter. I s’pose, I have heerd sense, and then I could see from his looks and actions, that a skairter man never lived. And well he might be. I don’t blame him for it a mite. I blame him for lots of things, but not for that; for the words and mean of Josiah was enough to apaul a iron man, or a mule.
DEPARTURE OF THE ELDER.
But as I told Josiah afterwards, after the crazy delerium begun to disperse off of his mean, says I, “Why is it any more of a insult to me than it is to them other poor wimmen who have to endure it?” Says I, “You feel awfully to have that doctrine jest throwed at your pardner, as you may say. And look at the thousands of wimmen that have to submit to the humiliation and degredation of this belief, live in it, and die in it.”