Robert felt as though he were in the midst of some weird nightmare. He had had that impression all evening. Now it seemed deepened—the figures in white, the darkness, the eerie moon, the gleaming cross, the shadows. But what was happening now, or about to happen, seemed too utterly unreal. It was like one of those points in a dream where the dreamer cries out “I am only dreaming,” and strives desperately to awake. It could not be possible! Still the Tribal Head held the water bottle. Was he about to perform a baptismal rite? Robert had no particularly delicate religious scruples. Still, the burlesquing of the sacrament of baptism shocked his sensibilities. He would have been equally shocked if someone had trampled on the American flag—if someone had cruelly trampled on the flag of any other nation. It was fanatical. Robert was conscious of a quartette, somewhere far away, singing a hymn in low, yet distinct tones. Something about “Home, country and tribe.” He noticed that he was kneeling with the hundred other candidates.
The voice of the Tribal Head rose:
“I dedicate you in body, in mind, in spirit and in life to the holy service of our country and our tribe, our home, each other and humanity.”
He advanced and poured a few drops of water on each candidate’s neck.
“In body,” Hamilton heard him say as a drop fell on his back; “in mind,” a few drops fell on his head; “in spirit,” the officer sprinkled a few drops on his own hand and tossed them upward; “in life.” He moved his hand in a circle above the candidates’ heads. The baptism was ended. Officers and Tribesmen fell on their knees and prayed.
The fiery cross flickered above them. The black shadows danced faster. A cloud obscured the moon. Robert was a Tribesman.
XXV
It was the day after his initiation into the Tribe. Robert had slept late, the strange ceremony having run incessantly through his mind in a series of shadowy dreams. Words of the oaths had repeated themselves, the Tribal hymn, the threat of death to the disloyal: “Remember that to keep this oath means honor, happiness, and life; but to violate it means disgrace, dishonor and death. (Then, ironically)—May honor, happiness and life be yours.”
The ceremony had been impressive. It had impressed with an idea of primal power—the power of men, freed from all shackles, and united by a pure, strong, simple faith. Christianity. Racial purity. Patriotism. Womanhood. Ideals which it was well to raise up, to fight for if necessary. And Americanism. Through such an organization of men of common birth, religion and ideals, everything could be accomplished. Yes, he was proud of being a Tribesman!
Last night the baptism ritual had shocked him, but now the towering seriousness of the Tribe justified it. Exactly how the Tribe meant to function Robert did not know. Doubtless it would be explained to him later. He was eager to know. Griffith had given some hint at Pinkney’s office. He wished to know and to serve. Someone had said something about the Knights of Columbus trying to control politics. But that had been his mother. Yet she had overheard others, Tribesmen, talking about it. Could that be true? Could so un-American a thing be crushed by the Tribe?