CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 14
Election week followed this Sunday meeting. President Marsh, true to his promise, tore himself out of the scholarly seclusion of years with a pain and anguish that cost him more than anything he had ever done as a follower of Christ. With him were a few of the college professors who had made the pledge in the First Church. Henry Maxwell also plunged into the horror of this fight against whiskey and its allies with a sickening dread of each day’s new encounter with it. He staggered under it, and in the brief intervals when he came in from the work and sought the quiet of his study for rest, the sweat broke out on his forehead, and he felt the actual terror of one who marches into unseen, unknown horrors. When Saturday, the election day, came, the excitement rose to its height. An attempt to close all the saloons was only partly successful. The Rectangle boiled and heaved and cursed and turned its worst side out to the gaze of the city.
Gray continued his meetings during the week, and the results had been even greater than he had dared to hope. When Saturday came, it seemed to him that the crisis in his work had been reached. The Holy Spirit and the Satan of rum rose up in a desperate conflict. The saloon men no longer concealed their feelings, making open threats of violence. Once during the week, Gray and his little company of helpers were assailed with missiles of various kinds as they left the tent late at night. Rachel’s power in song had not diminished. Rather, with each night, it seemed to add to the intensity and reality of the Spirit’s presence.
Gray had at first hesitated about having a meeting that Saturday night. But the Spirit seemed to lead him to continue the meeting, and so Saturday night he went on as usual.
The excitement all over the city reached its climax when the polls closed at six o’clock. Never before had there been such a contest in Raymond. Never before had such elements in the city been arrayed against each other. It was an unheard-of thing that the president of Lincoln College, the pastor of the First Church, the dean of the Cathedral, the professional men living in fine houses on the boulevard, should come personally into the wards and by their presence and their example represent the Christian conscience of the place. The fight grew hotter every hour, and when six o’clock came neither side could have guessed at the result with any certainty. Both sides awaited the announcement of the result with the greatest interest.
It was after ten o’clock when the meeting at the tent closed. Maxwell had come down again at Gray’s request. He was completely worn-out by the day’s work, but the appeal from Gray came to him in such a form that he did not feel able to resist it. President Marsh was also present. He had never been to the Rectangle, and his curiosity was aroused. Dr. West and Rollin had come with Rachel and Virginia; and Loreen, who still stayed with Virginia, was present near the organ, in her right mind, sober, with a humility and dread of herself that kept her as close to Virginia as a faithful dog. The returns from the election were beginning to come in, and the Rectangle had emptied every lodging house, den, and hovel into the streets. Once in a while a shout from the large crowd swept into the tent.
In spite of these distractions, Rachel’s singing kept the crowd in the tent from dissolving. There were a dozen or more conversions. Finally, the people became restless and Gray closed the service, remaining a little while with the converts.
Rachel, Virginia, Loreen, Rollin, President Marsh, Mr. Maxwell, and Dr. West went out together, intending to go down to the usual waiting place for their car. Outside the tent, they were at once aware that the Rectangle trembled on the verge of a drunken riot, and as they pushed through the gathering mobs in the narrow streets, they realized that they themselves were objects of great attention.
“There he is—the bloke in the tall hat! He’s the leader!” shouted a rough voice. President Marsh, with his erect, commanding figure, was conspicuous in the little company.
“How has the election gone? It is too early to know the result yet, isn’t it?” He asked the question aloud, and a man answered.
“They say second and third wards have gone almost solid for no-license. If that is so, the whiskey men have been beaten.”
“Thank God! I hope it is true!” exclaimed Maxwell. “Marsh, we are in danger here. We ought to get the ladies to a place of safety.”
At that moment a shower of stone and other missiles fell over them. The narrow street and sidewalk in front of them was completely choked with the worst elements of the Rectangle.
“This looks serious,” said Maxwell. With Marsh and Rollin and Dr. West, he started to go forward through a small opening. Virginia, Rachel, and Loreen followed closely sheltered by the men. “Down with the aristocrats!” shouted a shrill voice, more like a woman’s than a man’s. A shower of mud and stones followed. Rachel remembered afterward that Rollin jumped directly in front of her and received on his head and chest a number of blows that probably would have struck her if he had not shielded her from them.
Then Loreen darted forward in front of Virginia and pushed her aside, looking up and screaming. It was so sudden that no one had time to catch the face of the one who did it. But out of the upper window of a room, over the very saloon where Loreen had come out a week before, someone threw a heavy bottle. It struck Loreen on the head, and she fell to the ground. Virginia turned and instantly knelt down by her. President Marsh raised his arm and shouted over the howl that was beginning to rise from the wild beast in the mob.
“Stop! You’ve killed a woman!” The announcement partly sobered the crowd.
“Is it true?” Maxwell asked as Dr. West knelt on the other side of Loreen, supporting her.
“She’s dying!” said Dr. West briefly.
Loreen opened her eyes and smiled at Virginia, who wiped the blood from her face and then bent over and kissed her. Loreen smiled again, and the next minute her soul was in paradise.