THE STRENGTH OF GIDEON

Old Mam’ Henry, and her word may be taken, said that it was “De powerfulles’ sehmont she ever had hyeahd in all huh bo’n days.”  That was saying a good deal, for the old woman had lived many years on the Stone place and had heard many sermons from preachers, white and black.  She was a judge, too.

It really must have been a powerful sermon that Brother Lucius preached, for Aunt Doshy Scott had fallen in a trance in the middle of the aisle, while “Merlatter Mag,” who was famed all over the place for having white folk’s religion and never “waking up,” had broken through her reserve and shouted all over the camp ground.

Several times Cassie had shown signs of giving way, but because she was frail some of the solicitous sisters held her with self-congratulatory care, relieving each other now and then, that each might have a turn in the rejoicings.  But as the preacher waded out deeper and deeper into the spiritual stream, Cassie’s efforts to make her feelings known became more and more decided.  He told them how the spears of the Midianites had “clashed upon de shiels of de Gideonites, an’ aftah while, wid de powah of de Lawd behin’ him, de man Gideon triumphed mightily,” and swaying then and wailing in the dark woods, with grim branches waving in the breath of their own excitement, they could hear above the tumult the clamor of the fight, the clashing of the spears, and the ringing of the shields.  They could see the conqueror coming home in triumph.  Then when he cried, “A-who, I say, a-who is in Gideon’s ahmy to-day?” and the wailing chorus took up the note, “A-who!” it was too much even for frail Cassie, and, deserted by the solicitous sisters, in the words of Mam’ Henry, “she broke a-loose, and faihly tuk de place.”

Gideon had certainly triumphed, and when a little boy baby came to Cassie two or three days later, she named him Gideon in honor of the great Hebrew warrior whose story had so wrought upon her.  All the plantation knew the spiritual significance of the name, and from the day of his birth the child was as one set apart to a holy mission on earth.

Say what you will of the influences which the circumstances surrounding birth have upon a child, upon this one at least the effect was unmistakable.  Even as a baby he seemed to realize the weight of responsibility which had been laid upon his little black shoulders, and there was a complacent dignity in the very way in which he drew upon the sweets of his dirty sugar-teat when the maternal breast was far off bending over the sheaves of the field.

He was a child early destined to sacrifice and self-effacement, and as he grew older and other youngsters came to fill Cassie’s cabin, he took up his lot with the meekness of an infantile Moses.  Like a Moses he was, too, leading his little flock to the promised land, when he grew to the age at which, barefooted and one-shifted, he led or carried his little brothers and sisters about the quarters.  But the “promised land” never took him into the direction of the stables, where the other pickaninnies worried the horses, or into the region of the hen-coops, where egg-sucking was a common crime.