Historical fiction; King Philip's War, 1675-1676 -- Fiction; War stories
The divine had gone through the short opening prayer, had read the passage
of holy writ, had given out the verses of the psalm, and had joined in the
strange nasal melody with which his flock endeavored to render it doubly
acceptable, and had ended his long and fervent wrestling of the spirit in
a colloquial petition of some forty minutes' duration; in which direct
allusion had been made not only to the subject of his recent examination,
but to divers other familiar interests of his parishioners; and all
without any departure from the usual zeal on his own part, or of the
customary attention and grave decorum on that of his people. But when, for
the second time, he arose to read another song of worship and
thanksgiving, a form was seen in the centre or principal aisle, that, as
well by its attire and aspect, as by the unusual and irreverent tardiness
of its appearance, attracted general observation. Interruptions of this
nature were unfrequent, and even the long practised and abstracted
minister paused, for an instant, ere he proceeded with the hymn, though
there was a suspicion current among the more instructed of his
parishioners, that the sonorous version was an effusion of his own muse.
The intruder was Whittal Ring. The witless young man had strayed from the
abode of his sister, and found his way into that general receptacle, where
most of the village was congregated. During his former residence in the
valley, there had been no temple: and the edifice, its interior
arrangements, the faces of those it contained, and the business on which
they had assembled, appeared alike strangers to him. It was only when the
people lifted up their voices in the song of praise, that some glimmerings
of his ancient recollections were discoverable in his inactive
countenance. Then, indeed, he betrayed a portion of the delight which
powerful sounds can quicken, even in beings of his unhappy mental
construction. As he was satisfied, however, to remain in a retired part of
the aisle, listening with dull admiration, even the grave Ensign Dudley,
whose eye had once or twice seemed ominous of displeasure, saw no
necessity for interference.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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