A STORY OF SEVEN DEVILS by Frank R.
Stockton
The negro church which stood in the pine
woods near the little village of Oxford Cross Roads, in one of the lower
counties of Virginia, was presided over by an elderly individual, known to the
community in general as Uncle Pete; but on Sundays the members of his
congregation addressed him as Brudder Pete. He was an earnest and energetic
man, and, although he could neither read nor write, he had for many years
expounded the Scriptures to the satisfaction of his hearers. His memory was
good, and those portions of the Bible, which from time to time he had heard
read, were used by him, and frequently with powerful effect, in his sermons.
His interpretations of the Scriptures were generally entirely original, and
were made to suit the needs, or what he supposed to be the needs, of his
congregation.
Whether as "Uncle Pete" in the
garden and corn-field, or "Brudder Pete" in the church, he enjoyed
the good opinion of everybody excepting one person, and that was his wife. She
was a high-tempered and somewhat dissatisfied person, who had conceived the
idea that her husband was in the habit of giving too much time to the church,
and too little to the acquisition of corn-bread and pork. On a certain Saturday
she gave him a most tremendous scolding, which so affected the spirits of the
good man that it influenced his decision in regard to the selection of the
subject for his sermon the next day.
His congregation was accustomed to being
astonished, and rather liked it, but never before had their minds received such
a shock as when the preacher announced the subject of his discourse. He did not
take any particular text, for this was not his custom, but he boldly stated that
the Bible declared that every woman in this world was possessed by seven
devils; and the evils which this state of things had brought upon the world, he
showed forth with much warmth and feeling. Subject-matter, principally from his
own experience, crowded in upon his mind, and he served it out to his audience
hot and strong. If his deductions could have been proved to be correct, all
women were creatures who, by reason of their sevenfold diabolic possession,
were not capable of independent thought or action, and who should in tears and
humility place themselves absolutely under the direction and authority of the
other sex.
When he approached the conclusion of his
sermon, Brother Peter closed with a bang the Bible, which, although he could
not read a word of it, always lay open before him while he preached, and
delivered the concluding exhortation of his sermon.
"Now, my dear brev'ren ob dis
congregation," he said, "I want you to understan' dat dar's nuffin in
dis yer sarmon wot you've jus' heerd ter make you think yousefs angels. By no
means, brev'ren; you was all brung up by women, an' you've got ter lib wid' em,
an ef anythin' in dis yer worl' is ketchin', my dear brev'ren, it's habin
debbils, an' from wot I've seen ob some ob de men ob dis worl' I 'spect dey is
persest ob 'bout all de debbils dey got room fur. But de Bible don' say nuffin
p'intedly on de subjec' ob de number ob debbils in man, an' I 'spec' dose dat's
got 'em—an' we ought ter feel pow'ful thankful, my dear brev'ren, dat de Bible
don' say we all's got 'em—has 'em 'cordin to sarcumstances. But wid de women
it's dif'rent; dey's got jus' sebin, an' bless my soul, brev'ren, I think dat's
'nuff.
"While I was a-turnin' ober in my min'
de subjec' ob dis sarmon, dere come ter me a bit ob Scripter wot I heerd at a
big preachin' an' baptizin' at Kyarter's Mills, 'bout ten year' ago. One ob de
preachers was a-tellin' about ole mudder Ebe a-eatin' de apple, and says he: De
sarpint fus' come along wid a red apple, an' says he: 'You gib dis yer to your
husban', an' he think it so mighty good dat when he done eat it he gib you
anything you ax him fur, ef you tell him whar de tree is.' Ebe, she took one
bite, an' den she frew dat apple away. 'Wot you mean, you triflin' sarpint,'
says she, 'a fotchin' me dat apple wot ain't good fur nuffin but ter make cider
wid?' Den de sarpint he go fotch her a yaller apple, an' she took one bite, an'
den says she: 'Go 'long wid ye, you fool sarpint, wot you fotch me dat June
apple wot ain't got no taste to it?' Den de sarpint he think she like sumpin'
sharp, an' he fotch her a green apple. She takes one bite ob it, an' den she
frows it at his head, an' sings out: 'Is you 'spectin' me to gib dat apple to
yer Uncle Adam an' gib him de colic?' Den de debbil he fotch her a lady-apple,
but she say she won't take no sich triflin' nubbins as dat to her husban', an'
she took one bite ob it, an' frew it away. Den he go fotch her two udder kin'
ob apples, one yaller wid red stripes, an' de udder one red on one side an'
green on de udder—mighty good-lookin' apples, too—de kin' you git two dollars a
bar'l fur at the store. But Ebe, she wouldn't hab neider ob 'em, an' when she
done took one bite out ob each one, she frew it away. Den de ole
debbil-sarpint, he scratch he head, an' he say to hese'f: 'Dis yer Ebe, she
pow'ful 'ticklar 'bout her apples. Reckin I'll have ter wait till after fros',
an' fotch her a real good one,' An' he done wait till after fros', and then he
fotch her a' Albemarle pippin, an' when she took one bite ob dat, she jus' go
'long an' eat it all up, core, seeds, an' all. 'Look h'yar, sarpint,' says she,
'hab you got anudder ob dem apples in your pocket?' An' den he tuk one out, an'
gib it to her. ''Cuse me,' says she, 'I's gwine ter look up Adam, an' ef he
don' want ter know war de tree is wot dese apples grow on, you can hab him fur
a corn-field han'.'
"An' now, my dear brev'ren," said
Brother Peter, "while I was a-turnin' dis subjec' ober in my min', an'
wonderin' how de women come ter hab jus' seben debbils apiece, I done
reckerleck dat bit ob Scripter wot I heerd at Kyarter's Mills, an' I reckon dat
'splains how de debbils got inter woman. De sarpint he done fotch mudder Ebe
seben apples, an' ebery one she take a bite out of gib her a debbil."
As might have been expected, this sermon
produced a great sensation, and made a deep impression on the congregation. As
a rule, the men were tolerably well satisfied with it; and when the services
were over many of them made it the occasion of shy but very plainly pointed
remarks to their female friends and relatives.
But the women did not like it at all. Some
of them became angry, and talked very forcibly, and feelings of indignation
soon spread among all the sisters of the church. If their minister had seen fit
to stay at home and preach a sermon like this to his own wife (who, it may be
remarked, was not present on this occasion), it would have been well enough,
provided he had made no allusions to outsiders; but to come there and preach
such things to them was entirely too much for their endurance. Each one of the women
knew she had not seven devils, and only a few of them would admit of the
possibility of any of the others being possessed by quite so many.
Their preacher's explanation of the manner
in which every woman came to be possessed of just so many devils appeared to
them of little importance. What they objected to was the fundamental doctrine
of his sermon, which was based on his assertion that the Bible declared every
woman had seven devils. They were not willing to believe that the Bible said
any such thing. Some of them went so far as to state it was their opinion that
Uncle Pete had got this fool notion from some of the lawyers at the court-house
when he was on a jury a month or so before. It was quite noticeable that,
although Sunday afternoon had scarcely begun, the majority of the women of the
congregation called their minister Uncle Pete. This was very strong evidence of
a sudden decline in his popularity.
Some of the more vigorous-minded women, not
seeing their minister among the other people in the clearing in front of the
log church, went to look for him, but he was not to be found. His wife had
ordered him to be home early, and soon after the congregation had been
dismissed he departed by a short cut through the woods. That afternoon an irate
committee, composed principally of women, but including also a few men who had
expressed disbelief in the new doctrine, arrived at the cabin of their
preacher, but found there only his wife, cross-grained old Aunt Rebecca. She
informed them that her husband was not at home.
"He's done 'gaged hisse'f," she
said, "ter cut an' haul wood fur Kunnel Martin ober on Little Mount'n fur
de whole ob nex' week. It's fourteen or thirteen mile' from h'yar, an' ef he'd
started ter-morrer mawnm', he'd los' a'mos' a whole day. 'Sides dat, I done
tole him dat ef he git dar ter-night he'd have his supper frowed in. Wot you
all want wid him? Gwine to pay him fur preachin'?"
Any such intention as this was
instantaneously denied, and Aunt Rebecca was informed of the subject upon which
her visitors had come to have a very plain talk with her husband.
Strange to say, the announcement of the new
and startling dogma had apparently no disturbing effect upon Aunt Rebecca. On
the contrary, the old woman seemed rather to enjoy the news.
"Reckin he oughter know all 'bout
dat," she said. "He's done had three wives, an' he ain't got rid o'
dis one yit."
Judging from her chuckles and waggings of
the head when she made this remark, it might be imagined that Aunt Rebecca was
rather proud of the fact that her husband thought her capable of exhibiting a
different kind of diabolism every day in the week.
The leader of the indignant church-members
was Susan Henry; a mulatto woman of a very independent turn of mind. She prided
herself that she never worked in anybody's house but her own, and this immunity
from outside service gave her a certain pre-eminence among her sisters. Not
only did Susan share the general resentment with which the startling statement
of old Peter had been received, but she felt that its promulgation had affected
her position in the community. If every woman was possessed by seven devils,
then, in this respect, she was no better nor worse than any of the others; and
at this her proud heart rebelled. If the preacher had said some women had eight
devils and others six, it would have been better. She might then have made a
mental arrangement in regard to her relative position which would have somewhat
consoled her. But now there was no chance for that. The words of the preacher
had equally debased all women.
A meeting of the disaffected church-members
was held the next night at Susan Henry's cabin, or rather in the little yard
about it, for the house was not large enough to hold the people who attended
it. The meeting was not regularly organized, but everybody said what he or she
had to say, and the result was a great deal of clamor, and a general increase
of indignation against Uncle Pete.
"Look h'yar!" cried Susan, at the
end of some energetic remarks, "is dar enny pusson h'yar who kin count up
figgers?"
Inquiries on the subject ran through the
crowd, and in a few moments a black boy, about fourteen, was pushed forward as
an expert in arithmetic.
"Now, you Jim," said Susan,
"you's been, to school, an' you kin count up figgers. 'Cordin' ter de
chu'ch books dar's forty-seben women b'longin' to our meetin', an' ef each one
ob dem dar has got seben debbils in her, I jus' wants you ter tell me how many
debbils come to chu'ch ebery clear Sunday ter hear dat ole Uncle Pete
preach."
This view of the case created a sensation,
and much interest was shown in the result of Jim's calculations, which were
made by the aid of a back of an old letter and a piece of pencil furnished by
Susan. The result was at last announced as three hundred and nineteen, which,
although not precisely correct, was near enough to satisfy the company.
"Now, you jus' turn dat ober in you
all's minds," said Susan. "More'n free hundred debbils in chu'ch
ebery Sunday, an' we women fotchin 'em. Does anybody s'pose I's gwine ter
b'lieve dat fool talk?"
A middle-aged man now lifted up his voice
and said: "I's been thinkin' ober dis h'yar matter and I's 'cluded dat
p'r'aps de words ob de preacher was used in a figgeratous form o' sense.
P'r'aps de seben debbils meant chillun."
These remarks were received with no favor
by the assemblage.
"Oh, you git out!" cried Susan.
"Your ole woman's got seben chillun, shore 'nuf, an' I s'pec' dey's all
debbils. But dem sent'ments don't apply ter all de udder women h'yar,
'tic'larly ter dem dar young uns wot ain't married yit."
This was good logic, but the feeling on the
subject proved to be even stronger, for the mothers in the company became so
angry at their children being considered devils that for a time there seemed to
be danger of an Amazonian attack on the unfortunate speaker. This was averted,
but a great deal of uproar now ensued, and it was the general feeling that
something ought to be done to show the deep-seated resentment with which the
horrible charge against the mothers and sisters of the congregation had been
met. Many violent propositions were made, some of the younger men going so far
as to offer to burn down the church. It was finally agreed, quite unanimously,
that old Peter should be unceremoniously ousted from his place in the pulpit which
he had filled so many years.
As the week passed on, some of the older
men of the congregation who had friendly feelings toward their old companion
and preacher talked the matter over among themselves, and afterward, with many
of their fellow-members, succeeded at last in gaining the general consent that
Uncle Pete should be allowed a chance to explain himself, and give his grounds
and reasons for his astounding statement in regard to womankind. If he could
show biblical authority for this, of course nothing more could be said. But if
he could not, then he must get down from the pulpit, and sit for the rest of
his life on a back seat of the church. This proposition met with the more
favor, because even those who were most indignant had an earnest curiosity to
know what the old man would say for himself.
During all this time of angry discussion,
good old Peter was quietly and calmly cutting and hauling wood on the Little
Mountain. His mind was in a condition of great comfort and peace, for not only
had he been able to rid himself, in his last sermon, of many of the hard
thoughts concerning women that had been gathering themselves together for
years, but his absence from home had given him a holiday from the harassments
of Aunt Rebecca's tongue, so that no new notions of woman's culpability had
risen within him. He had dismissed the subject altogether, and had been
thinking over a sermon regarding baptism, which he thought he could make
convincing to certain of the younger members of his congregation.
He arrived at home very late on Saturday
night, and retired to his simple couch without knowing anything of the terrible
storm which had been gathering through the week, and which was to burst upon
him on the morrow. But the next morning, long before church time, he received
warning enough of what was going to happen. Individuals and deputations
gathered in and about his cabin—some to tell him all that had been said and
done; some to inform him what was expected of him; some to stand about and look
at him; some to scold; some to denounce; but, alas! not one to encourage; nor
one to call him "Brudder Pete," that Sunday appellation dear to his
ears. But the old man possessed a stubborn soul, not easily to be frightened.
"Wot I says in de pulpit," he
remarked, "I'll 'splain in de pulpit, an' you all ud better git 'long to
de chu'ch, an' when de time fur de sarvice come, I'll be dar."
This advice was not promptly acted upon,
but in the course of half an hour nearly all the villagers and loungers had
gone off to the church in the woods; and when Uncle Peter had put on his high
black hat, somewhat battered, but still sufficiently clerical looking for that
congregation, and had given something of a polish to his cowhide shoes, he
betook himself by the accustomed path to the log building where he had so often
held forth to his people. As soon as he entered the church he was formally
instructed by a committee of the leading members that before he began to open
the services, he must make it plain to the congregation that what he had said
on the preceding Sunday about every woman being possessed by seven devils was
Scripture truth, and not mere wicked nonsense out of his own brain. If he could
not do that, they wanted no more praying or preaching from him.
Uncle Peter made no answer, but, ascending
the little pulpit, he put his hat on the bench behind him where it was used to
repose, took out his red cotton handkerchief and blew his nose in his
accustomed way, and looked about him. The house was crowded. Even Aunt Rebecca
was there.
After a deliberate survey of his audience,
the preacher spoke: "Brev'eren an' sisters, I see afore me Brudder Bill
Hines, who kin read de Bible, an' has got one. Ain't dat so, Brudder?"
Bill Hines having nodded and modestly
grunted assent, the preacher continued. "An' dars' Ann' Priscilla's boy,
Jake, who ain't a brudder yit, though he's plenty old 'nuf, min', I tell ye;
an' he kin read de Bible, fus' rate, an' has read it ter me ober an' ober
ag'in. Ain't dat so, Jake?"
Jake grinned, nodded, and hung his head,
very uncomfortable at being thus publicly pointed out.
"An' dar's good ole Aun' Patty, who
knows more Scripter dan ennybuddy h'yar, havin' been teached by de little gals
from Kunnel Jasper's an' by dere mudders afore 'em. I reckin she know' de hull
Bible straight froo, from de Garden of Eden to de New Jerus'lum. An' dar are
udders h'yar who knows de Scripters, some one part an' some anudder. Now I axes
ebery one ob you all wot know de Scripters ef he don' 'member how de Bible
tells how our Lor' when he was on dis yearth cas' seben debbils out o' Mary
Magdalum?"
A murmur of assent came from the
congregation, Most of them remembered that.
"But did enny ob you ebber read, or
hab read to you, dat he ebber cas' 'em out o' enny udder woman?"
Negative grunts and shakes of the head
signified that nobody had ever heard of this.
"Well, den," said the preacher,
gazing blandly around, "all de udder women got 'em yit."
A deep silence fell upon the assembly, and
in a few moments an elderly member arose. "Brudder Pete," he said,
"I reckin you mought as well gib out de hyme."
Grateful thanks to Project Gutenberg.
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