Beggars on HorsebackJesse, F. Tennyson (Fryniwyd Tennyson)
General
Beggars on Horseback
Jesse, F. Tennyson (Fryniwyd Tennyson)
Fiction; Short stories, English
seen before that which he then saw, and seen it connected with something
he could not catch. Whether he ever had seen it, perhaps on that
incompletely remembered day of storm which had flashed back to him on
this afternoon; or whether, already worked up by his conscience, by the
interview with Lemaire, and, to his sensitized mind, by the words in the
Bible, the sudden effect on him of seeing that bow set in the flaming
cloud, had produced a brainstorm, he could never know. He would have
thought it blasphemy to wonder whether nothing more spiritual than the
driven blood in his skull was responsible for that queer switching off
the track; but whatever it was, the effect of it, on his awakened moral
sense, was prodigious. He did not doubt that he had received a divine
visitation, that for him the heavens had been decked with pomp, that the
workings of God, in particular and exquisite relation to himself, were
manifest in the ordered sequence of that day. His own stirrings at the
violation of his solitary code had gone deeper with him than he knew,
preparing him for further troubling, then the pact with Lemaire, driving
in all the distasteful side of the business more keenly still, the
coincidence of that word "covenant" coming on the heels of his covenant
with the mate, that word used in the Bible passage to suggest the
eternal pact between man's soul and its creator, the memory it evoked,
and, to crown all, the finding of the seal of it set in the heavens
themselves--all these things rushed together, fused, and struck into his
being.
He fell on his knees in the chart-room and praised God; praised Him in
the phraseology of his Puritan forebears, as he had heard Him praised
when a little boy, whose heedless ears had not seemed to take in the
words battering about them.
Joab Elderkin had got religion. He had been converted.
When he scrambled to his feet he came to, so to speak, on a different
sphere from any he had ever known. He seized up the Bible again, his
hands shaken by the strongest passion known to civilized man, the only
acquired attribute, besides the making of fire, and of intoxicating
liquor, which marks him off fundamentally from the other mammals. He
read again the passage that had flamed into his ken earlier, he read
the promises of the Almighty, he read of how men were called the
Sons of God. He saw himself and all his fellow humans not merely
calling God Father by a kindly sufferance towards adopted children,
but as beings created of the same substance, their souls as much made
of the essence of God as their bodies of the essence of their earthly
fathers, and the thought mounted to his head like wine. The swift
darkness of the tropics had fallen, but full of his new conception
of his fellow-creatures--"every living creature that was with him"
of the verses--he, when he opened the chart-room door, flared forth
into a night of gods.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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