“Yes, yer better, fer ef yer don’t, dar’ll be a mighty stir ’mong de brimstone down dar, dat dey will, fer yer’s bin bad nuff; I knows yer fum A to izzard,” returned the old lady.
The church was already well filled, and the minister had taken his text. As the speaker warmed up in his subject, the Sisters began to swing their heads and reel to and fro, and eventually began a shout. Soon, five or six were fairly at it, which threw the house into a buzz. Seats were soon vacated near the shouters, to give them more room, because the women did not wish to have their hats smashed in by the frenzied Sisters. As a woman sprung up in her seat, throwing up her long arms, with a loud scream, the lady on the adjoining seat quickly left, and did not stop till she got to a safe distance.
“Ah, ha!” exclaimed a woman near by, “’fraid of your new bonnet! Ain’t got much religion, I reckon. Specks you’ll have to come out of that if you want to save your soul.”
“She thinks more of that hat now, than she does of a seat in heaven,” said another.
“Never mind,” said a third, “when she gets de witness, she’ll drap dat hat an’ shout herself out of breath.”
The shouting now became general; a dozen or more entering into it most heartily. These demonstrations increased or abated, according to movements of the leaders, who were in and about the pulpit; for the minister had closed his discourse, and first one, and then another would engage in prayer. The meeting was kept up till a late hour, during which, four or five sisters becoming exhausted, had fallen upon the floor and lay there, or had been removed by their friends.
St. Paul is a fine structure, with its spire bathed in the clouds, and standing on the rising land in South Cherry Street, it is a building that the citizens may well be proud of.
In the evening I went to the First Baptist Church, in Spruce Street. This house is equal in size and finish to St. Paul. A large assembly was in attendance, and a young man from Cincinnati was introduced by the pastor as the preacher for the time being. He evidently felt that to set a congregation to shouting, was the highest point to be attained, and he was equal to the occasion. Failing to raise a good shout by a reasonable amount of exertion, he took from his pocket a letter, opened it, held it up and began, “When you reach the other world you’ll be hunting for your mother, and the angel will read from this paper. Yes, the angel will read from this paper.”
For fully ten minutes the preacher walked the pulpit, repeating in a loud, incoherent manner, “And the angel will read from this letter.” This created the wildest excitement, and not less than ten or fifteen were shouting in different parts of the house, while four or five were going from seat to seat shaking hands with the occupants of the pews. “Let dat angel come right down now an’ read dat letter,” shouted a Sister, at the top of her voice. This was the signal for loud exclamations from various parts of the house. “Yes, yes, I want’s to hear the letter.” “Come, Jesus, come, or send an angel to read the letter.” “Lord, send us the power.” And other remarks filled the house. The pastor highly complimented the effort, as one of “great power,” which the audience most cordially endorsed. At the close of the service the strange minister had hearty shakes of the hand from a large number of leading men and women of the church. And this was one of the most refined congregations in Nashville.
It will be difficult to erase from the mind of the negro of the South, the prevailing idea that outward demonstrations, such as, shouting, the loud “amen,” and the most boisterous noise in prayer, are not necessary adjuncts to piety.