Without exception, the Major is one of the finest men I have ever met. I like him so much that I am willing to tell a truthful story, or rather, tell a story truthfully (which is a very different thing), at my own expense.
It was this way: Benjamin had got religion. Benjamin preached a long sermon to us every single evening; he preached revival sermons, missionary sermons, and obituary ones on all the fellows who had gone through the “little door.” When he had exhausted these—and us, he would say, “Now this is what I am going to say about you, Mr. Roland, after you have gone.” What followed would depend on how I had treated him during the day.
Another reason why Ben preached. Benjamin had made me this very handsome proposition: He knew a man in Brooklyn who owned a tent. I was to hire that tent, and sing outside to attract a crowd. We agreed that I could do that successfully. Then I should enter and sing inside, and he would stand at the door and collect ten cents from all who entered (if there were any so foolish). Then he would preach, after which I should sing again while HE took up a collection. I tried to suggest other orders of events, but Ben insisted that this was the only one he could agree to; and as it seemed perfectly fair, I consented. If Ben had only lived, how rich and famous we should have become, and happy, too, for Ben enchanted me with descriptions of all the nice colored girls we should meet. Life was very tempting. On account of this arrangement with me Ben thought it necessary to rehearse his sermons every night, so as to get into practice. He addressed them to “youse poor, mean, miserable, damned sinners in here in the Death-Chamber.” His elocution consisted of main strength.
We were tired of it, so Larry swore out a warrant; Shorty indicted him; Eddy committed him to prison; and finally he was brought to trial. John was the jury. I defended my colored brother, and the Major, who was on duty that evening, prosecuted him. Why did I defend him? Because he sent me three oranges and implored my help. I asked him if these were all he had (this is a lawyer’s first duty toward himself). They were, so I accepted his retainer, and told him not to worry about his affairs—neither did I.
The case came up that evening, and I asked for a postponement, for I have observed that all expensive attorneys do this. No adjournment was allowed, however, so I explained to my client that the District Attorney’s office was trying to “railroad him,” and he must raise more funds. He tendered a paper of State tobacco and three toothpicks. I took the tobacco, but refused to consider the toothpicks as collateral—I had seen newer ones. I demanded more tobacco; he had to borrow another package. Then, knowing I had everything he possessed, I was ready to proceed.
“Judge Sparta,” of Binghamton, presided, and a more learned and impartial jurist never wore “sneaks” (felt-soled slippers). The trial proceeded under his just rulings, and with great decorum. The evidence was so conflicting, that it was agreed between counsel that whoever made the best speech in summing up should win the case. I felt sorry, indeed, for my opponent, for the Major is a silent man. I summed up with all my usual eloquence. Even the judge was affected as I pleaded and threatened. I was humorous and scornful by turns, the jury wept or laughed at my pleasure, and when I spoke of Benjamin, I made a bishop of him, dressed him in episcopal robes, and placed him at the head of a great university (the tent). I showed how his white hair would be loved and venerated at this seat of learning—if he lived. There was not a dry eye in the Death-Chamber when I finished this part of my oration. And when I closed with a scathing arraignment of the Major’s legal methods, the great crowd in the auditorium, who had remained spellbound, prisoners to my eloquence, burst into frantic cheers. During all the time I had been speaking not a single man had left the room. “That speech should be put in the fourth reader,” said the judge. I had a right to think that mine indeed had been a powerful effort—I had made a home run. I was number one. I knew I had the Major licked.
The Major’s speech! Words fail me to describe how, from lofty to still more lofty flights his oratory ascended, climax upon climax and further climaxes still! Even I was thrilled. I forgot my case, my client—everything. I may say it was a long speech—yes, I think I am justified in saying so. First came Henry Ward Beecher’s great abolition sermon, then Ingersoll’s oration at the grave of his brother, next Lincoln’s immortal speech at Gettysburg. Heavens! what a memory that man had. The very bars of our cages melted like wax as he proceeded to declaim his own speech of thanks on the occasion when the Tarrytown Fire Department presented him with a speaking trumpet. Here the enthusiasm of my constituents could be restrained no longer. They cheered the Major. They reviled me! I was told to get under the bed. Then followed the Masonic burial service, about our weary feet having come to the end of the toilsome journey before the Great White Throne. When the Major reached this point Benjamin could see, in his mind’s eye, the cemetery, the open grave amid the tombs and monuments; he could see the pall, the coffin under it, and—himself inside the coffin. Blue perspiration exuded from Benjamin’s person. I could plainly hear his teeth chatter as these awful phrases rolled from the Major’s lips as only he can roll them. They made Benjamin sick—I didn’t feel very well myself.
Of course the jury, who was another Mason, convicted Benjamin of the crime of—heresy in the last degree. But Ben maintained to the very day of his death that the Major “conjahed me with churchyard dirt,” and I believe the Major always has a rabbit’s foot concealed about him; at least I hope so, if it brings him good luck.
