The Man. A Story of To-day

“There she is,” one said to another.

I saw I was an object of some attention, but merely thought it the usual curiosity the advent of a stranger excites in a small place. I walked across through the fields to the cabin, and found The Man waiting supper for me. The neat pine table was covered with a clean linen spread, and it must be stated that The Man was a good cook as well as a good housekeeper. I mentioned these things. He smiled and replied:

“Fortunately I have not much furniture to care for, and eating but two meals a day, and those not very sumptuous, your remarks are not so very flattering after all.”

“Now,” I said, when we were seated at the table, “I want to ask you a question. That awful night I first came you spoke of your wife. Then you paused, and said you had no woman’s clothing in the house. I suppose your wife is away. Will she be here soon?”

“Friend,” was the answer, “she is here now in spirit, but for the present her body is in England. She is doing a similar work there to what I am doing here. It will be a year before I will again enfold her in these arms, and yet I ever feel her presence. We commune by thought transference. She speaks to me often; not in words of course, for as we do not think in words so in the spirit realm language, so-called, is useless. It is not necessary for you to spell the thought out to comprehend it – it comes over you like an impulse. In fact, all thought of spirit, whether the spirit be in body or not, causes a vibration on the ether which the dull souls of most mortals are unable to comprehend: just as a man in a drunken stupor requires a kick or a push to make him open his eyes.

“I told you it was through love of this woman, my wife, that my spiritual eyes were opened; and without her aid never could I have arrived at knowledge. I was forty years of age when I found her in this life, and hand in hand we walked, and together we ate of the tree of knowledge.

“In the old fable you remember the man and woman were told not to eat unworthily. Some accounts are imperfectly related, so as to include a prohibition, but this is distortion made by priests in the Sixth Century, of the real truth. To eat unworthily is to die, and you must remember that this story is true; but under right conditions the right man searching for truth, walking hand in hand with the right woman (and there is one right woman for every man, and one man for every woman) can attain perfection – that is, completeness.

“I told you something of atmosphere, and you must write this down as one of the greatest living truths, that the male and female elements are required to form a perfect spiritual atmosphere.

“This accounts for the slow progress the world has made. Men have lived alone in thought and excluded women from their councils, thus depriving themselves of the spiritual female element wherein is contained the germ of all truth. The true sex is spiritual, not physical. Sex only symbolizes the great truths which lie behind. When you imagine men rushing to the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, and stuffing themselves with the bread which represents the body of our Savior, and reeling with drunken and maudlin hilarity from the effects of the wine which represents His blood, you see an exact picture of what has been done for thousands of years in this holy matter of sex. Friend, do you wonder that Adam and Eve were turned out of the garden, and that they were ashamed when in the presence of each other?

“To give you a slight glimpse of what a man and woman can do working together in a mental and spiritual way, I will explain that for many years every day my wife wrote me a letter of from one to a dozen pages just as the spirit moved her. She wrote without special thought as to form or matter, with no foolish fear that she would repeat herself or say an inconsistent thing. She simply thought aloud, and wrote it out for no eye but that ‘of her own true lover.’ As she is a woman of lofty aspirations, with heart filled with love and a desire for righteousness, the general tenor of those letters you may guess, although you could not as yet fully appreciate the great and exalted thought. Every morning on my table (for we each had a room of our own), I found my letter, and fervently I daily pressed the message to my lips and softly broke the seal, read the letter through once, sometimes twice to get its full import; and if I did not seem to grasp it then, I laid it by until the following day. But generally at once, my soul saturated with joy – for you must never forget that the highest joys are those of thought – I took my pen, went carefully over the letter, marked out a word here and there, inserted another. By arrangement my wife wrote only on every other line, and sometimes skipped several, leaving a blank space to be filled up by me, as a hint that I should carry the thought further and give a completeness to that which she had begun, or to answer a question.

“There is only one source of knowledge – all other is second hand. At the first the truth was whispered to some man (when I say man of course I include woman, as the term always should) direct. This we call inspiration. Moses went up into the mountain – as all men must to receive truth; that is, they must withdraw for a season from the distractions, ambitions and diluting influences of lower thought currents – and there the tables of stone were delivered to him. A beautiful allegory – and true! Jesus went up into the mountain alone, and also with the disciples. You and I now are on the Mount of Transfiguration, and you will never be the same woman who made the ascent, but one transfigured – that is, changed – greater and better.

“That which was pure inspiration in her letters – and inspiration comes only when you work for love and not for hire, and for the approbation of one – I marked in parenthesis with red ink, meaning by this that it should be copied by her into a book which we called ‘Our Book.’ This book was not for publication, but for no eyes but our own. The thoughts therein recorded were neither hers nor mine, but ours; for I had corrected her thought or carried it further, and as she did the final copying, the form of the thought was changed often from its original intent. Thus neither of us could pick from this book our own thoughts, such was the perfect commingling. The great advantage at that time of writing out in language was that it gave precision and material form to that which was purely spiritual; serving as basis for a better comprehension of what at that time might in the hurry and strife of worldly affairs have eluded our grasp – ‘Thoughts that broke through fancy and escaped,’ as the prophet has spoken.

“You must remember that each bud flowers but once, and each flower has its own minute of perfect beauty; so in the garden of the soul, each feeling has its flowering instant in which it bursts forth into radiance. Now I live amid a continual blossoming of roses, and no longer do I endeavor to imprison them in words. The exquisite joys of personal relationship with the loved one were then ours, as they are now, for nothing good ever grows stale or unprofitable unless misused. In those days there was a slight impatience to grasp these exquisite joys of thought and feeling, and this impulse you see pictured in our writing out the thought in words; but now we have come to a full comprehension of the fact that we are living in eternity, not time, and there need be, must not be haste.

“So we now live apart or together, which ever seemeth best; and when we meet it is as a bridal morning – in fact, life to us is a wedding journey, for Heaven is ours. We each are self-reliant, as you see it is not necessary for us to live together continually, and yet we each depend on the other. If accident should destroy her body or mine, the spirit of the other would also withdraw and new bodies would be formed; and of course we would ever be together, for like attracts like.

“Thus you see how, walking hand in hand, heart to heart, each working for the approbation of the other, all with perfect faith and trust, though one sinned the other was only waiting to forgive; a continual friendly strife as to who should breathe the finer atmosphere, have the nobler aim, the purer thought; that the bad died from inanition, the unworthy ceased to be simply through lack of exercise, and only the good remained and its continual use gave constantly increased power and strength; each criticising, which implies both approbation and censure. Never arguing or belittling ourselves and the theme by controversy, always full of hope, good cheer and love – which, remember, encompasses in itself all the virtues – you can comprehend how life was a continual courtship; and as fast as we were able to understand truth, it came to us clear, limpid, transparent. Things which once seemed opaque, dense, complex, now were clear as noonday. Gradually the fog lifted, we breathed the pure ozone of life. Faith in each brought faith in God; so that ‘He doeth all things well,’ was not said alone in words, but it became a part of our lives. We studied truth – we lived truth, we became truth.

“Do not imagine that our interchange of thought was limited to cold written correspondence, for at times we romped through the garden and groves adjoining our dwelling like two children. Strife and reaching out, yearning for knowledge were put aside. We endeavored to live in a soul-house, clear as glass, in which the ray of light coming from the great Source of all life and light could freely penetrate to its inmost corner. We were ever alert for the coming gleam, and ever in these play spells, which came daily, we saw the ever-rising sun of truth.

“Why I have told you so distinctly about the daily writing of our best thoughts, is because there is ever a border-land between truth and error, where dwell mysticism, which is miasma to the soul. Some talk mysticism and thus move in a circle; but by writing out and subjecting the thought afterward to the keen analysis of the masculine and feminine mind, any error is detected.

“Friend, it may seem strange to you, but there was once a time years ago when I doubted the truth of the Bible; but I was brought by my loved one out of the darkness into the light. Slowly but surely the mist lifted and the sun came out brighter and brighter, and whereas I was once blind I now see. Never doubt it, friend, but tell it to the far off corners of the earth – write it in your heart in letters of gold, that men may see the Bible is true. The life of my loved one, and my life which is hers, has proved it. For love is life, and in this love of man for woman God has pictured the true fruition – which is perfect knowledge. For is it not plain that he who truly loves cannot prove inconstant? and where the woman truly loves she is bound by the law of God to constancy. They cannot fall as long as love is held inviolate; and once loving, love cannot be violated.

“But it is growing late and you had better climb up the ladder and go to bed. Though to-morrow is the day of rest, we will stroll through the woods; and by the way, I have a great and important truth to tell you. You need not write it, but I will talk as we stroll; the nature of what I will tell is so peculiar you will remember it all and can write it out at home. You are making progress I see. You can undress in the moonlight, and I will place my cot out beneath the trees and sleep. I delight to rest out under the open sky, while the stars keep vigil, some disappearing from sight and others coming up over the horizon to take their places. How quietly they come! How simple yet ever wonderful are the works of God! And so it is that man will come to perfection, for does it not say ‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God’?”

CHAPTER XX.

THE ARREST

I climbed the ladder and looked out of the open window on the great, serene and silent scene spread out before me. Great gulfs of shadows lay under the trees, a gentle breeze stirred the branches, and their upturned leaves glimmered silvery in the moonlight which covered the sleeping earth as with a garment.

I undressed and knelt beside the little bed and prayed my first prayer.

Thirty-seven years had slipped past me – my wavy-brown hair was already sprinkled with white; lines of care were on my face; girlhood gone; the marks of age had come; I was reaching out toward two score, and I had never prayed. Of course I had read the prayer-book, and in church I had mumbled certain words; but now for the first time I fell on my knees and buried my face in my hands. The hot tears came quick and fast, and trickled through my fingers; but they were tears of joy, not sorrow. At last life seemed to show a gleam of meaning! There was purpose in it all, God’s purpose! I prayed that I might do His will. The only words that came to my sobbing throat, and these I said over and over again, were: “Oh, give me a clean heart and a right spirit!”

I got into bed, which never before seemed so welcome. I seemed to relax every muscle and abandon myself to rest. I heard the far-away hooting of a whippoorwill – the gentle murmur of the winds as they sighed through the branches seemed to sing me a sweet lullaby. I imagined I was again a child; so sweet and perfect was the rest; and I remembered the gentle baritone voice of The Man as he had said, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed – ” I was asleep.

It seemed as if I had not slept ten minutes, but I found afterward five hours had passed, when I was startled by a wild yelling, and a coarse, grating, brutal voice that shouted:

“Now we have got ’em – pound in the door!”

Bang – crash it went, and the tramping of a score of feet I heard below. I jumped from bed, and without a thought as to what I would do grabbed the end of the ladder, and in a twinkling it was on the floor under my feet.

“There, boys, didn’t I tell you? They’re up-stairs. There, Bill, why in hell didn’t you ketch that ladder afore they pulled it up, or else go up it?”

“What, you think that I’d go up that ladder alone and fight the two of ’em? Not much! Why, the man alone is a terror – and the woman, God help us! she’d scratch my eyes out afore the rest and you could come up.”

“Hey, you, up thar, you old reprobate, we are on to you, don’t yer see? Now come down peaceable or it’ll go hard with you.”

They waited for an answer, but not a word did I say. I hastily had put on my dress, and stood with a little hickory-bottomed chair in my hands near the opening in the floor through which I had pulled the ladder.

“Hain’t you goin’ to answer? Well, all right, don’t then! We’ll jist make a bonfire on this yer floor and see if it singes yer manes.”

Some one of the rabble outside here fired a revolver several times, but I rightly guessed this was only to frighten. I still stood firm. Perhaps I was frightened, but if so it did not affect my strength, for I was waiting for a head to appear at the opening, and I did not have to wait long, for soon there was a whispered consultation below. I heard a hoarse whisper say, “No, you go” – “Well then, Jake, you try it,” – “Hell, who’s afraid! Here, you, give me a lift,” and a hand grasped the edge of the floor.

I stepped back, gripped the chair and swung it aloft, and through the floor by the glare of the torches I saw the face of Bilkson, the junior. That chair was well on its errand before I caught sight of the countenance; but no matter, I would not have stayed it if I could. Crash – down went the man. I heard him fall like a dead weight, just as I have seen a bale of hay tumbled out of a barn door.

“I’m shot! I’m shot! Run for a doctor, boys. I’m dying! A minister. Oh, Judas! I’m shot through the brain,” I heard him scream.

“Shet up, ye dam fool! Yer haven’t any brains to shoot. Nobody’s shot. They hit you wid a club – ’ats all. Yer haven’t been hurt. Yes, by George! yer smeller is broken, and yer had better spit out them teeth afore yer swallers ’em. Gawd help him, boys, I’se glad it ain’t me. He’s got a bad swipe. Well, it’s his bizness anyway, not ours. We jest come ter see the funf an’ lend a hand if we was needed.”

Here I heard a voice coming from a little distance. “We got him! We got him!” There was a sudden stampede below for the outside, and looking out of the window I saw by the glare of the torches (the moon had gone down and it was now quite dark), five or six of the ruffians holding The Man. He offered no resistance, but two had seized either arm, and two had hold of his collar from behind, and they were leading him toward the house.

“We’ve got him! We’ve got him!” they shouted. “Now wasn’t he sharp? Heard us a-coming, got out of the window, and carried the cot down under a tree and pretended to be asleep. Oh yer can’t fool us, old man – we’re on to you.”

“Why, Bilkson, you said he wore false whiskers and a wig – look here!” and the young wretch gave a savage pull at the snowy beard, and a man behind grabbed into his hair with a jerk that nearly threw The Man off from his feet.

“Now wot’s the use of yankin’ of him around so?” said a tall young fellow. “Look at that shoulder, will you. He kin lick any one of you if you give him a show, and as long as he is decent and ain’t tryin’ to get away, let up on him, will you now! I’ll vouch for him.”

At this they loosened their hold, but stood around; some with clubs, several carried pitchforks, and two had revolvers which they brandished and now and then fired in the air. All the while the yelling and running talk filled the air, oaths and obscene jokes were bandied about, and I saw that several carried bottles which were freely passed around.

They stood outside for a minute, all asking questions of The Man. “Who are you and where did you come from? Enticin’ foolish women out here, that is fine bizness, ain’t it? We’ll show you!” and I saw a fist held up close to that fine face.

One fellow took off his slouch hat and struck The Man with it, at the same time saying: “See, I’m the only one in the gang what respects you.” At this sally there was a big laugh. “He says he is a son of God. You heard him say that, Jake, up at the store?”

“Yes,” said Jake, “he said not only he was a son of God but we all is. Where is the gal – she hasn’t got away? The city gent says she is up-stairs fixen her toilet so as to come down and receive the callers.”

“Go up again, Bilkson, and tell her I’m dead gone on her.”

The handkerchiefs tied around the face of the junior smothered the reply, and still the rabble yelled and talked. Through a crack between the logs I saw a bottle passed to the tall young fellow I have spoken of, and I saw him take it and fling it far into the bushes, as he said in a commanding voice: “Here, you fellers, I’ve seen enough of this. We came out here with these two city gents to arrest the man and gal. Now, what the devil are you doing, just standing around getting drunk and yellin’ like fools? – You, old man, they’ve got you and air going to take you to Buffalo, and the gal too, wherever she is. There’s another city chap out in the bush. Now go ’long peaceable-like both of you, and I’ll knock the senses out of any man what lays a hand to you. I will, or my name ain’t Sam Scott.”

Up to this time The Man had not spoken, and I could not detect from the flare of the torches that the calm had left his beautiful face. As a lamb, dumb before the shearer, so opened he not his mouth. He turned and looked at Sam Scott and said, quietly,

“Friend, we will go with you.” Then in a louder voice, which I knew was for me, “Do not fear – no harm can come to you. We will go.” I hesitated not a moment, but lowered the ladder, and in an instant I stood among the rabble as they crowded about me, with faces full of wicked curiosity, brutality and hate.

CHAPTER XXI.