MONUMENT OVER JOHN JASPER’S GRAVE
His moral and religious ideals were very lofty, and he lived up to them to a degree not true of many. Not long after his death a really magnificent monument was erected over his grave. It was quite costly, and the money for it was raised by his church people and other lovers of whom he had legions. While he lived, legislators, judges, governors, and many men of eminent distinction, went to hear him preach. Many of the most distinguished white ministers of the country made it a point to go to his church on Sunday afternoon whenever they were in the city, and he was justly ranked as one of the attractions of Richmond.
Now that he has found his grave not far from the site of his church, and this stately shaft has been placed as a sentinel over his dust, multitudes as they come and go will visit the tomb of the most original, masterful, and powerful negro preacher of the old sort that this country has ever produced.
(Text, Daniel 2:45.)
This rugged specimen of historical eloquence constituted the sermon delivered on Sunday afternoon, July 20, 1884. Jasper mounted the pulpit with the dash of an athlete and tripped around the platform during the preliminaries with the air of a racer. A sense of strength imparted to his face the triumphant glow. A smile parted his lips, and told the secret of an animated and aggressive courage.
“I stan’s befo’ you to-day on legs of iron and nun kin stay me from preachin’ de Gospil uv de Lord Gord. I know well nuff dat de ole devul is mad as a tempest ’bout my bein’ here; he knows dat my call ter preach kums frum Gord, and dat’s wat meks ’im so mad wen he sees Jasper ’scend de pulpit, fur he knows dat de people is gwine ter hear a messige straight frum heaven. I don’t git my sermuns out uv grammars an’ reterricks, but de Sperrit uv de Lord puts ’em in my mind an’ meks ’em burn in my soul.”
His manner was radiant, courageous, defiant, and was prophetic of one of his greatest discourses.
“It hev always bin one uv de ways uv Gord ter set up men as rulers uv de people. Yer know dat Gord ordains kings and rulers an’,—wat kinder bodders sum uv us,—He don’t always mek it a p’int ter put up good men. Yer know dat our Lord giv Judis a place ’mong de twelve, an’ he turn’d out ter be one uv de grandes’ raskils under de sun.
“Jes’ so Nebukidnezzur was pinted uv de Lord ter be king uv Babylon,—dat same robbur dat tuk de vessuls out uv de temple at Jerusalem an’ lugged ’em away ter his own country. Dat man had wun uv de powerfullest kingdums evur known on dis flat earth. He ruled over many countries and many smaller kingdums, an’ even had under his hands de servunts on de plantashun an’ de beasts uv de feil’. He was one uv dese unlimertid monnuks. He axed nobody no odds, an’ did jes’ wat he wanted ter do, an’ I kinnot stop ter tell yer wid wat a strong hand an’ outstretched arm he ruled de people wid an irun rod. It kum ter pass dat one time dis king dat did not fear Gord (tho’ Gord had sot him up), had a dream. Dreams iz awfully curus things. Dey used ter frighten folks out’n dere senses an’ I tell yer dey sometimes frighten folks now. I’ve had many dreams in my day dat got mity close ter me. Dey gravuled inter de very cords uv my soul, an’ made me feel lik de groun’ under my feet wuz libul ter giv way any time, an’ I don’t dout dat hundreds uv yer dat hear me now hev bin frightened an’ cud not eat nor sleep nor wuk wid any peace ’caus’ yer done hev strange dreams. Yer better watch dem dreams. In de anshient days de Lord spoke ter folks in dreams. He warned dem, an’ I don’t dout dat He duz dat way sometimes now.
“Neberkidnezzur’s dream stirred him powerful. He rolled all night an’ did not sleep a wink. So he sent out an’ got de magishuns an’ de strolgurs an’ de sorserers an’ de Kaldeuns, an’ dey wuz brought unter him. He tell ’em dat he had dreamed a dream dat had trubbled his sperrit. An’ de Kaldeuns axed him wat de dream wuz. De king say dat de dream done gone clear out’n him, an’ he can’t cotch de straight uv it ter save his soul. He tell ’em, moreovur, dat dey got ter dig up de dream an’ work up de meanin’ too, an’ dat ef dey don’t dat he gwine ter have ’em cut all ter pieces an’ turn dere houses inter a dunghill, an’ den he tell ’em dat ef dey will git de dream back fur him an’ give de explernashun he gwine ter give ’em nice gifs an’ put gret honurs on ’em. It waz too much fer de Kaldeuns. Dey cudn’t dream de king’s dream fer ’im, an’ dey kum squar out an’ tell Nebukidnezzur dat no man on de earth cud show sich a matter ter de king, an’ dat in dere erpinyun dar is no king on de earth dat wud ax fer sich a thing frum proffit or magishun.
“Den Nebukidnezzur got high. He went on a tare an’ yer know wen a king gits mad yer better git out er his way. He is got de power; an’ so he up an’ sent out a decree through all de regiuns uv de kingdom dat all de wise men everywhar shud be slain. Jes’ see wat a mad man will do wen he git furius mad. Dey got no mo’ sens dan a mad tiger or a roarin’ lion. Jes’ befo’ de slaughter uv de wise men kum on, Daniel hear ’bout it, an’ he axed de king’s captin wat it wuz all ’bout an’ why de king wuz so hasty, an’ de captin tol’ Dan’l all ’bout it. Dan’l brushed hissef up quick and struck out to see de king an’ ax him ter hol’ up de exercushun uv his bloody profesy, an’ he’d promise to splain his dream ter him. Den Dan’l goes off an’ gits all his Godly frien’s togedder an’ ax ’em ter pray ter de Gord uv heaven dat he an’ his frien’s shud not perish in de slaughter uv de tricksters uv dat country. One thing de Lord can’t do;—He can’t refuse ter answer de cries uv His people; an’ wen all dat prayin’ wuz gwine on Gord appeared to Dan’l in de nite an’ revealed ter him de secret uv de king,—an’ wat yer reckin? Wen de Lord giv Dan’l dat dream an’ de hinterpertashun dar of, Dan’l raised a gret shout an’ giv thanks to Gord for wat de Lord had done fer him. But he didn’t shout long, fer he had important bisnis ter attend ter; an’ very soon he went ter de king an’ kerried wid him de secrit dat de king had demandid at de han’s uv de erstrolgers an’ magishuns. He told de king rite ter his face de thing dat he had dreamed, an’ wat Gord meant by it. Truly Dan’l did behave hissef befo’ de king in a very pretty an’ becomin’ manner. He tel de king he did not hav no mo sens dan udder people, an’ dat he wuz not perpar’d to do things dat udder men cud do, but dat it wuz by de power uv Gord dat all dis matter had bin made known ter him. He tol’ de king dat wat he saw wuz a gret imige; dat de imige wuz brite an’ splendid an’ de form uv it wuz terrerbul; dat de hed wuz uv fine gold, his brest and arms uv silvur, his belly an’ thize uv brass, an’ his legs uv irun and his feet part uv irun an’ part uv clay. An’ he tel de king fudder dat he saw er stone dat wuz cut widout han’s out’n de mountin an’ dat de stone smote de imige erpun his feet an’ broke ’em in pieces, an’ dat de stone dat brok de imige became a gret mountin an’ filled all de wurl’. Den Dan’l,—dat brave an’ feerles bruther, dat nevur quailed befo’ de mitiest ruler uv de earth,—faced de king an’ tel ’im an orful an’ a warnin’ troof. He say ter ’im, ‘Yer is a gret king now. Yer hav er mity country an’ all power, an’ thy glory civers de groun’. Man an’ beas’ an’ foul obey yer. Yer iz de hed uv gold, but arter yer will kum anudder kingdum dat shall not be lik yourn, but still it shal be big an’ dar shall kum anudder kingdum and dar shall be a fo’th kingdum strong as irun, an’ dis kingdum shall brooz an’ smash all de udder kingdums.’
“An’ den Dan’l gits ter de big pint. He tels de king dat de Lord is gwine ter set up er kingdum an’ dat in de times ter kum dat kingdum shall crush an’ cornsume all de udder kingdums. Dat shall be de kingdum uv Gord on de earth, an’ dat kingdum shall stan’ fer evur an’ evur. You knows how yer saw de stone dat wuz cut out’n de mountin an’ how dat broke in pieces de irun, de bras, de clay, de silvur, an’ de gold, an’ my Gord hev made known ter you, O king, wat shall tek place in de gret herearter, and dis is de dream an’ de hinterpertashun dar of.
“Dat wuz a mity sermon dat Dan’l preached ter Nebukidnezzur. It ort ter hev saved ’im, but it look lik it med ’im wuss. De debbul got ’im fer dat time an’ he turn rite agin de Lord Gord an’ sot at nort His stashutes an’ countid His ways onholy.
“Yer know ’bout dat imige. It wuz med uv gold, an’ wuz threescore cubits high and six cubits wide, an’ twuz sot up in de plain uv Durer, not fer frum Bablun. Yer know er cubit is about eighteen inchis, an’ ef yer multerply dat by threescore cubits yer git 1080 inches, wich mean dat de imige wuz ninety foot high an’ nine feet broad. So yer see Nebukidnezzur got ter be a Gord-makur, an’ wen he got dis gret imige bilt he sont out ter git all de princis an’ guvnurs an’ all de res’ uv de swell folks ter kum an’ bow down an’ wurshep dat gret imige dat he had sot up. Now dis wuz de gret folly an’ shame uv de king. By dat deed he defied de Lord Gord an’ de raff uv de Lord wuz stirr’d agin ’im.
“An’ now, my brudderin, yer member Dan’l tol’ de king dat de imige dat he saw in his dream wuz ’imsef rulin’ over all de udder kingdums. He tol’ ’im also dat dat stone dat wuz cut out uv de mountin an’ kum rollin’ down de craggy sides an’ broke in pieces de irun, de brass and de clay, dat dat wuz de kingdum uv de Lord Jesus Christ. An’ he tel ’im, fuddermo, dat de kummin’ uv de stone ter be a great mountin means de growth uv de kingdum uv our Lord tel it shall fil dis wurl’ an’ shall triumf over all de udder kingdums. Dan’l tel de king dat his kingdum wuz gwine ter be taken frum him, ’caus’ he had not feared de Gord uv heaven, an’ in his folly an’ crimes he turned away frum dat Gord dat rules in de heaven an’ hols de nashuns uv de earth in de pams uv His han’s. He tol’ ’im dat de kingdum uv Satun, dat arch ennimy uv Gord, wuz gwine ter tumbul flat, ’caus’ dat stone cut out uv de mountin wud roll over Satun’s derminyuns an’ crush it in ter flinders.
“Glory ter Gord in de highis’; dat stone cut out uv de mountin is a mity roller. Nuthin kin stay its terribul progris! Dey dat fite erginst Jerhover had bettur look out,—dat stone is still rollin’ an’ de fust thing dey know it will crush down erpon ’em an’ dey will sink ter rise no mo’. Our Gord is er cornsumin’ fire, an’ He will overturn an’ overturn tel de foundashuns uv sin iz brokin’ up. Yer jes’ wait er little. De time is fas’ rollin’ on. Evun now I hear my Saviour sayin’ ter His Father, ‘Father, I kin stay here no longer; I mus’ git up dis mornin’; I am gwine out ter call My people frum de feil’; dey hav ben abused and laughed at an’ bin med a scoffin’ long nuff fer My name’s sake. I kin stay no longer. My soul cries fer My chillun. Gabrul, git down yer trumpit dis mornin’; I want yer ter do some blowin’. Blow gently an’ easy at fust, but let My people hear your goldin notes. Dey will kum wen I call.’
“Ah, my brutherin, you an’ I wil be dar wen dat trumpit soun’s. I don’ think I shall be erlarm’d, ’caus’ I shall know it iz my king marshallin’ His people home. It won’t frighten you my sisters; it will hev de sweetnis uv Jesus vois ter yer; an’, oh, how it will ring out dat happy mornin’ wen our king shall kum to gather de ransomed uv de Lord ter ’imsef. Den yer shall hev a new an’ holy body, an’ wid it your glorified sperrit shall be united, an’ on dat day we shall go in ter see de Father an’ He shall smile an’ say: ‘Dese iz My chillun; dey hav washed dere robes and made dem white in de blood uv de Lamb; dey hav kum out uv gret tribberlashun an’ dey shall be wid Me for ever an’ ever.’ I speck ter be dar.
“‘Well, Jasper,’ yer say, ‘why yer spec ter be dar. How yer know?’ Yer read de foteenth chapter uv John, will yer? ‘I go ter prepar er place fer yer,’ an’ dat word is ter rule; an’ so yer will see ole John Jasper rite dar, an’ King Jesus shall kum out ter meet us an’ tek us in an’ sho’ us de manshuns dat He hav prepared fer us.
“O Lusifer how thou hav fallin! You proud ones will find den dat your days iz over, an’ ye dat hav despised de chillun uv my Gord wil sink down inter hell, jes’ as low es it is posserbul ter git. Yer needn’t tel ’im dat yer hev preached in His name, an’ in His name done many wonderful works. Yer can’t fool Him! He’ll frown down at yer an’ say: I don’t know yer, an’ I don’t wan’ ter know yer, an’ I don’ wan’ ter see yer. Git out uv My site forever, an’ go ter your place ermong de lost.
“Ah, truly, it is a mity stone, bin rollin’ all dese senshuriz, rollin’ to-day. May it roll through the kingdum uv darknis and crush de enemis uv Gord. Dat stone done got so big dat it is higher dan heav’n, broader dan de earth, and deeper dan hell hitsef. But don’t be deceived. Don’t think dat I don’ let yer off. I got somethin’ more fer yer yit.
“Yer member Dan’l and Shadrick, Meeshick an’ Erbedniggo. Dey all stubbonly fused to bow down ter Nebukidnezzur’s golden imige. Dey stood straight up. Dey wudn’t bend a knee nor cruk a toe, an’ dem Kaldeeuns wuz waatchin’ um. Dat’s de way hit always iz; de debbul’s folks iz always er watchin’ us an’ tryin’ ter git sumthin’ on us an’ ter git us inter trubbul an’ wid too many uv us dey succeed. Dey saw dat Dan’l an’ his friens wud not git down lik dey dun, an’ up dey jumped an’ away dey cut an’ kum ter de king.
“Oh, king, liv ferevur,’ dey say. ‘Yer know, O king, wat yer sed,—dat dercree dat yer made, dat at de soun’ uv de kornit, de flute, de harp, de sackbut, de saltry an’ de dulsermur an’ orl kines uv musik, dat ev’ry body shud fall down an’ wurshep de goldin imige, an’ dat dose dat duz not fall down an’ worshep shud be put in de furnis; an’ now, oh, king, dey say dat a lot uv dose men dun refews. Dey doan regard yer. Dey hate yer Gods an’ spize de imige dat yer sot up.’
“Coarse de ole king got mad agin an’ in his fury dey brought dese three befo’ him. He axed um ef wat he had heerd ’bout um wuz so,—’bout dere not worsheppin’ de goldin imige. ‘Mayby yer med a mistake,’ de king say, ‘but we gwine ter hev it ovur agin, an’ ef wen de ban’ strikes up nex’ time yer will git down an’ worshep it’ll go eezy wid yer, an’ ef yer doant de fires in de furnis will be startid quick es litenin’ an’ inter it ev’ry one uv yer shall go.’
“Dese wuz yung men, but, ah, I tel yer, dey wuz uv de loyul stock. Dey wuz jes’ es kam es sunrise in de mornin’. Dey sed: ‘Oh, king, we ain’ keerful ter anser ’bout dis mattur. Ef yer lik ter cas’ us inter de furnis, our Gord dat we surv iz abul ter git us out. We ain’ gwine ter bow, an’ we nevur will bow ter your Gord, an’ yer jes’ es well understan’.’
“Rite den de men went ter heet up de furnis. Dey wuz tol’ ter heet it up sevun times hottur dan wuz de ginrul rule an’ dey hed sum jiunts ter tie Shedrak, Meeshik, an’ Erbedniggo, an’ dey tuk de yung men away inter de furnis. De heet wuz so terribul dat de flames shot out an’ sot fire ter de men dat had put de Hebru chillun in an’ de po’ retchiz wuz burn’d up, but not a hair uv de three yung men wuz sing’d, an’ dey kum out er smilin’ an’ not a blistur on um frum hed ter fut. Dey did not evun hev any smell uv fire ’bout dere pussuns, an’ dey luk jes’ lik dey jes’ kum out uv dressin’ rums.
“Neberkidnezzur wuz dar, an’ he say: ‘Luk in dat furnis dar. We didn’t put but three pussons in dar, did we?’ an’ dey tol’ ’im dat wuz so. Den he tun pale an’ luk skeered lik he gwine ter die an’ he say:
“‘Luk dar; I see fo’ men inside an’ walkin’ through de fire, an’ de form uv de fourth is lik de Son uv Gord,’ an’ it luk lik de king got kunvurtid dat day, fur he lif’ up his vois an’ shout de praiz uv de Gord uv Shedrak, Meeshik an’ Erbedniggo.
“Ah, gret iz dis story; dey dat trus’ in Gord shall nevur be put ter kornfushun. De righteous alwaz kums out konkerurs an’ more dan konkerurs. Kings may hate yer, frien’s spize yer, an’ cowurds bakbite yer, but Gord iz yer durlivrur.
“But I dun forgit. Dis ole time rerlijun iz not gud nuff fer sum folks in dese las’ days. Sum call dis kine uv talk foolishnis, but hif dat be troo den de Bibul, an’ hevun, an’ dese Christun’s hearts, iz ful uv dat kine uv foolishnis. Ef dis be ole fogy rerlijun, den I want my church crowdid wid ole fogiz.
“Wat did John see ober dar in Patmos? He say he saw de fo’ an’ twenty eldurs seatid roun’ de throne uv Gord an’ castin’ dere glittrin’ crowns uv gold at de feet uv King Jesus, an’ he say dat out uv de throne kum lightnin’ an’ thundurs an’ voicis an’ de sevun lamps burnin’ befo’ de throne uv Gord. An’ dar befo’ de throne wuz de sea uv glass, an’ roun’ ’bout de throne wuz de fo’ livin’ creaturs ful uv eyes befo’ an’ behine, an’ dey nevur ceas cryin’: ‘Holy, Holy, Holy, iz de Lord Gord almity dat died ter tek away de sins uv de wurl’!’
“Yer call dat ole fogy. Jes’ luk away ober yondur in de future. Duz yer see dat sea uv glass an’ de saints uv Gord dat wuz all bruised an’ mangul’d by de fi’ry darts uv de wickid. I hear um singin’! Wat iz dere song? Oh, how it rolls! an’ de korus iz: ‘Redeemed, redeemed, wash’d in de blud uv de Lam’. Call dem ole fogiz, do yer? Wel yer may, fer dey iz bin doin’ dat way frum de time dat Abel, de fust man, a saved soul told de news uv salvashun ter de anjuls.
“‘Wel, Jasper, hev yer got any rerlijun ter giv way?’
“I’se free ter say dat I ain’t got es much es I want. Fur forty-five years I bin beggin’ fur mo’, an’ I ax fur mo’ in dis tryin’ hour. But, bless Gord, I’s got rerlijun ter giv way. De Lord hev fil’d my hands wid de Gorspil, an’ I stan’ here ter offur free salvashun ter any dat wil kum. Ef in dis big crowd dar iz one lost sinnur dat hev not felt de klinsin’ tech uv my Saviur’s blud, I ax ’im ter kum terday an’ he shall nevur die.”
Let me say in frankness that when I originally began this appreciation of John Jasper it was my full purpose to omit from it all reference to his very notorious sermon on “The Sun Do Move.” That was the one thing in his life I most regretted—an episode that I was quite willing to commit to oblivion. I felt that it was a distinct discredit to him. But upon further reflection I have concluded that the omission might hurt him far more than the facts in the case possibly could. Inasmuch also as it was that very sermon which drew to him such wide-spread attention, and since there are those who never heard him, nor heard of him except in connection with that sermon, I have decided to give the public the facts in the case and the sermon itself. In this chapter I will give a history of the sermon, and in the next I will give the substance of the sermon. It is due to my old friend and brother, Jasper, to say that he really never intended to create a sensation by preaching on an exciting or unusual topic. This he most solemnly declared, and while he was several sensations himself in a single bunch, and while almost every sermon that he preached produced wild and thrilling sensations, he did not work for that. He started his chief sensations by preaching the Gospel in such a hot, pungent, and overmastering way that his people could not contain themselves. Jasper tells us how it all came about. Two of his brethren, members of his flock, fell into a friendly dispute as to whether the sun did revolve around the earth or not. As they could not decide the question, and neither would yield, they finally agreed to submit the question to their old pastor, solemnly believing, I dare say, that there was no mystery in earth, sea, or sky that he could not fathom.
When Jasper’s theme went abroad it called forth some very scornful criticisms from one of his Baptist neighbours—one of the “eddicatid preachers,” as Jasper delighted to call them, though in certain moods he often finished his sentence by branding them as eddicatid fools. When he heard of the strictures mentioned above, he let fly some shot at white heat as a response to the attacks on him. When he got a thing in his blood the amenities of controversy sometimes lost their place in his memory. He would let fly flings of satire that would be toothsome topics for street gossip for many summer Sundays. Things for zestful chat rarely ran short when Jasper was about. He expressed much regret that he had come in conflict with the “furlosofurs” of the day, freely confessing his ignorance in the matter of “book-larnin’.” His knowledge, he said, was limited to the Bible, and much of that he did not feel that he could explain. But on the question about the sun he was sure that he possessed the true light. “I knows de way uv de sun, as de Wurd of Gord tells me,” he declared in his warlike manner, “an’ ef I don’ pruv’ dat de sun moves den yer may pos’ me as er lier on ev’ry street in Richmun’.” By this time his war paint was plainly visible, and his noble defiance rang out like a battle call.
The occasion on which I heard his “astronomical sermon,” as one of his opponents deridingly dubbed it, was not at its first presentation. He had delivered it repeatedly before and knew his ground. The gleam of confidence and victory shone clear and strong on his face.
The audience looked like a small nation. Long before the solemn janitor, proud of his place, strict to the minute, swung open the front doors, the adjacent streets swarmed with the eager throngs. Instantly there was a rush, and in surged the people, each anxious to get a seat. The spacious house was utterly inadequate to the exigencies of the hour. Many crowded the aisles, disposed themselves around the pulpit, sat on pew-arms, or in friendly laps.
Jasper’s entrance was quite picturesque. He appeared in the long aisle wearing a cape overcoat, with a beaver in one hand, and his cane in the other, and with a dignity not entirely unconscious. His officers rose to welcome him, one removing his great coat, another his head piece, and yet another his cane. As he ascended the pulpit he turned and waved a happy greeting to his charge and it fairly set his emotional constituents to shouting. Many loving words were said out in a rattling chorus in token of their happiness at seeing him.
It is more than probable that some of Jasper’s young people had notions of their own as to his views of the sun; but never a word would they let slip that could mortify their beloved old pastor, or give a whisper of comfort to his critics. They were for Jasper, and the sun might go its way. They believed in their pastor, believed in his goodness, his honesty, and his greatness.
In the opening exercises there occurred several characteristic incidents. He requested his choir to open by singing, “The Heavens Declare the Glory of God.” This was at once a proof of his seriousness and of his sense of the fitting.
When he arose to read the Scriptures, he glanced around at his audience, and bowing in pleased recognition of the many white people present, he said with unaffected modesty that he hoped that the “kin’ frens who’d come ter hur me would ’scuse my urrors in readin’. My eyes is gitting weak an’ dim, and I’se slow in making out de hard wurds.” Then he proceeded with utmost reverence to read the passage selected for the service. He was not a good reader, but there was a sobriety and humility in his manner of reading the Scriptures that made one always feel a peculiar respect for him.
There may be place here for a passing word about this most original and picturesque representative of his race. Jasper had a respect for himself that was simply tremendous. Unconsciously he carried a lofty crest, and yet you knew there was no silly conceit in it. His walk along the street was not that of a little man who thought all eyes were upon him, but of a giant who would hide from himself and from others the evidences of his power. His conversation carried an assertion of seriousness—his tones were full of dignity—his bearing seemed to forbid any unseemly freedom—and in public you saw at once that he was holding himself up to a high standard. Of course, when he was in the high frenzy of public speech and towering to his finest heights he lost the sense of himself, but he was then riding the wind and cleaving the sky and no rules made by men could apply to him. But along with self-appreciation,—always one of his attractions to me,—was a noble and delicate respect for others. He loved his own people, and they lived in the pride of it, but he had a peculiarly hospitable and winsome attitude towards strangers. He was quite free in his cordiality towards men, and I delighted to see how my coming to hear him pleased him. In his off-hand way, he said to me one Sunday afternoon as he welcomed me to the pulpit: “Glad to see you; it does me good to have folks around whar got sense; it heps me ter preach better. Mighty tough to talk to folks whar ain’ got no brains in de head.”
He had a double consciousness that was always interesting to me. He was always full of solicitude about his sermon. It lay a burden on him, and it required no expert to discover it. He had so much sincerity that his heart told its secrets through his face. But think not that this made him oblivious to his surroundings. His heart was up towards the throne, and his soul was crying for strength, but his eye was open to the scene before him. The sight of the audience intoxicated him; the presence of notable people caught his gaze and gladdened him; tokens of appreciation cheered him, and he paid good price in the way of smiles and glances to those who showed that he was doing them good. It made a rare combination—his concern for his message, and his happy pride in his constituents. It gave a depth to his feeling and a height to his exultation. He swung between two great emotions and felt the enrichment of both.
The text for his sermon was a long cry from his topic. It was: “The Lord God is a man of war; The Lord is His name.” He was too good a sermon-maker to announce a text and abandon it entirely, and so he roamed the Old Testament to gather illustrations of the all-conquering power of God. This took him over a half hour to develop, and as it took even much longer to formulate his argument as to the rotation of the sun it made his sermon not only incongruous, but intolerably long—far longer than any other sermon that I ever knew him to preach. The two parts of the discourse had no special kinship, while the first part tired the people before he reached the thing they came for. It was an error in judgment, but his power to entertain an audience went far to save him from the consequences of his mistake.
The intelligent reader will readily understand the drift of his contention about the sun. What he said, of course, was based on the literal statements of the Old Testament, written many centuries ago, not as a treatise on astronomy, but in language fitted to express ideas from the standpoint of the times in which it was used. Jasper knew of no later discoveries in the natural world, and, therefore, very sincerely believed with religious sincerity, and all the dogmatism of ignorance, that the declarations of the old Scriptures were true in very jot and tittle. It is apparent enough that to the enlightened people who went to hear the address merely for amusement there was rare fun in the whole performance. To them, Jasper was an ignorant old simpleton, a buffoon of the pulpit, a weakling to be laughed at. And yet hardly that. He was so dead in earnest, and withal so shrewd in stating his case, so quick in turning a point, and brimming with such choice humour and sometimes flashing out such keen, telling strokes of sarcasm, that he compelled the admiration of his coldest critics. To the untutored people before him Jasper was the apostle of light. They believed every syllable that fell from his lips—he was the truth to them—they stood where other honest and godly people stood for ages and saw things just as they saw them. Their opinion as to the sun did not in the least affect their piety, for, as a fact, they believed just exactly as the grandfathers of Jasper’s critics believed sixty years before.
It was worth while being there. Jasper was in his most flexible, masterful mood, and he stormed the heights with his forces in full array. At times, the negroes would be sending forth peals of laughter and shouting in wildest response, “Yas, Lord; dat’s so, Brer Jasper; hit ’em ergin, bless God! Glory, glory, tell us more, ole man!” Then he would fly beyond the sun and give them a glimpse of the New Jerusalem, and they would be crying and bursting forth with snatches of song until you would think the end had come. But not so by ever so much. A word from Jasper would bring the stillness of death, and he would be the master again and ready for new flights.
When the excitement about the sermon was at its full blow, human greed, ever keen-scented, sensed money in Jasper and his sermon, and laid a scheme to trade on the old man and his message. A syndicate was formed to send him out as a lecturer, hoping that the Northern love for the negro, and the catchiness of the subject, would fill vast halls with crowds to hear the old man, and turn in rich revenues, of which they would reap the larger part.
Jasper, for reasons by no means mercenary, was tickled by this new turn in fortune. He was not wanting in the pride of successful ambition, and this new proof of his growing distinction naturally pleased him. Fame was pinning her medals fast upon him, and he liked it. Not that he was infatuated with the notion of filling his private pocket. As a fact, he never uttered in my hearing one sentence that showed his love of money, or his eagerness to get it. But he was much wedded to the idea of a new house of worship for his people, and any proper method that would aid in bringing this happy consummation was joy to his generous old soul. His heart dwelt with his flock, and to honour and cheer them was life to him.
Of course, his church fell in with the idea. Anything to please “Brother Jasper” was the song of their lives. It looked wonderfully grand to them to see glory crowning their pastor and gold pouring in to build them a temple. It was with pomp and glee they sent him away. The day of his departure was celebrated with general excitement and with cheering groups at the train.
But in some way providence did not get identified with the new enterprise. The first half of his sermon was a trial to people set on sensation. The Lord in his military character did not appeal. Some actually retired after the first part, and an eclipse to hopes uncounted fell over the scene. Jasper, as a show, proved a failure, for which the devout may well give thanks. He got as far as Philadelphia, and even that historically languid city found life too brief and brisk to spend in listening for ninety-odd minutes to two uncongenial discourses loosely bundled into one. The old man had left the sweet inspiration of his demonstrative church in Richmond, and felt a chill of desolation when he set foot on alien soil. The tides of invisible seas fought against him, empty benches grinned at him, and he got homesick. The caravan collapsed, the outfit tumbled into anarchy, the syndicate picked up the stage clothes and stole out in the night-gloom, the undaunted but chagrined Jasper made a straight shoot for Richmond; ever after the Jasper Lecture Bureau was a myth, without ancestry or posterity.
Think not that there was chill in the air when Jasper struck Richmond on his return. No word of censure awaited him. His steadfast adherents hailed him as a conqueror and his work went on. His enemies—an envious crop ever being on hand—tossed a few stones over the back fence, but Jasper had a keen relish for battle, and was finest when his foes were the fiercest. Antagonism gave zest to his dramatic career.
Permit the writer to slip in here a word as to Jasper’s devotion to his old master, Mr. Samuel Hargrove. I knew Mr. Hargrove well. He was a man with a heart. I knew him as an old man while I was young. He had a suburban home near Manchester, his business and church were in Richmond. I often saw him in my congregation at the Bainbridge Street Baptist church, Manchester, and thus often met him. Shrinking, without public gifts, full of kindliness, and high in his life, he commanded the heart of his servant who to the last delighted to honour his memory. Their relations did not prevent their mutual respect and affection. The hideous dogma of social equality never thrust itself into their life. They had good-will and esteem one for the other, and lived together in peace. Jasper was a lover and admirer of white people, and delighted to serve and honour them, and in return the white people were fond of him and glad to help him.
I rejoice that this old minister, the quaint and stern veteran, came in God’s time to a righteous fame. Public opinion is an eccentric and mysterious judge. It has an unarticulated code for fixing the rank and fate of mortals. It is a large and ill-sorted jury, and its decisions often bring surprise at the time, but they never get reversed. The jurymen may wrangle during the trial, but when it emerges from the council room and renders the verdict, no higher court ever reverses its final word.
Hard and adverse was the life of Jasper! For years many hostile forces sought to unhorse and cripple him. It would require books to hold the slanders and scandals laid to his charge. The archers used poisoned arrows, and often tore his flesh and fancied that they had him, but his bow abode in strength. Meanwhile, the public, that jury of the many, sat still and watched, weighing the evidence, listening to the prosecutors, unravelling conflicting testimony, and feeling the way to justice. In the midst of it all, the brave old chieftain died, while the trial was yet going on. The jury was long silent, but it has spoken at last, and the verdict is, that the name of this veteran of the cross shall be enrolled among the fearless, the faithful, and the immortal. He endured as seeing the invisible and now he sees.
In presenting John Jasper’s celebrated sermon on “De Sun Do Move,” I beg to introduce it with several explanatory words. As intimated in a former chapter it is of a dual character. It includes an extended discussion, after his peculiar fashion, of the text, “The Lord God is a man of war; the Lord is His name.” Much that he said in that part of his sermon is omitted, only so much being retained as indicates his view of the rotation of the sun. It was really when he came into this part of his sermon that he showed to such great advantage, even though so manifestly in error as to the position which he tried so manfully to antagonize. It was of that combative type of public speech which always put him before the people at his best. I never heard this sermon but once, but I have been amply aided in reproducing it by an elaborate and altogether friendly report of the sermon published at the time by The Richmond Dispatch. Jasper opened his discourse with a tender reminiscence and quite an ingenious exordium.
“Low me ter say,” he spoke with an outward composure which revealed an inward but mastered swell of emotion, “dat when I wuz a young man and a slave, I knowed nuthin’ wuth talkin’ ’bout consarnin’ books. Dey wuz sealed mysteries ter me, but I tell yer I longed ter break de seal. I thusted fer de bread uv learnin’. When I seen books I ached ter git in ter um, fur I knowed dat dey had de stuff fer me, an’ I wanted ter taste dere contents, but most of de time dey wuz bar’d aginst me.
“By de mursy of de Lord a thing happened. I got er room-feller—he wuz a slave, too, an’ he had learn’d ter read. In de dead uv de night he giv me lessons outen de New York Spellin’ book. It wuz hard pullin’, I tell yer; harder on him, fur he know’d jes’ a leetle, an’ it made him sweat ter try ter beat sumthin’ inter my hard haid. It wuz wuss wid me. Up de hill ev’ry step, but when I got de light uv de less’n into my noodle I farly shouted, but I kno’d I wuz not a scholur. De consequens wuz I crep ’long mighty tejus, gittin’ a crum here an’ dar untel I cud read de Bible by skippin’ de long words, tolerable well. Dat wuz de start uv my eddicashun—dat is, wat little I got. I mek menshun uv dat young man. De years hev fled erway sense den, but I ain’t furgot my teachur, an’ nevur shall. I thank mer Lord fur him, an’ I carries his mem’ry in my heart.
“’Bout seben months after my gittin’ ter readin’, Gord cunverted my soul, an’ I reckin ’bout de fust an’ main thing dat I begged de Lord ter give me wuz de power ter und’stan’ His Word. I ain’ braggin’, an’ I hates self-praise, but I boun’ ter speak de thankful word. I b’lieves in mer heart dat mer pra’r ter und’stand de Scripshur wuz heard. Sence dat time I ain’t keer’d ’bout nuthin’ ’cept ter study an’ preach de Word uv God.
“Not, my bruthrin, dat I’z de fool ter think I knows it all. Oh, mer Father, no! Fur frum it. I don’ hardly und’stan myse’f, nor ha’f uv de things roun’ me, an’ dar is milyuns uv things in de Bible too deep fur Jasper, an’ sum uv ’em too deep fur ev’rybody. I doan’t cerry de keys ter de Lord’s closet, an’ He ain’ tell me ter peep in, an’ ef I did I’m so stupid I wouldn’t know it when I see it. No, frens, I knows my place at de feet uv my Marster, an’ dar I stays.
“But I kin read de Bible and git de things whar lay on de top uv de soil. Out’n de Bible I knows nuthin’ extry ’bout de sun. I sees ’is courses as he rides up dar so gran’ an’ mighty in de sky, but dar is heaps ’bout dat flamin’ orb dat is too much fer me. I know dat de sun shines powerfly an’ po’s down its light in floods, an’ yet dat is nuthin’ compared wid de light dat flashes in my min’ frum de pages of Gord’s book. But you knows all dat. I knows dat de sun burns—oh, how it did burn in dem July days. I tell yer he cooked de skin on my back many er day when I wuz hoein’ in de corn feil’. But you knows all dat, an’ yet dat is nuthin’ der to de divine fire dat burns in der souls uv Gord’s chil’n. Can’t yer feel it, bruthrin?
“But ’bout de courses uv de sun, I have got dat. I hev dun rang’d thru de whole blessed book an’ scode down de las’ thing de Bible has ter say ’bout de movements uv de sun. I got all dat pat an’ safe. An’ lemme say dat if I doan’t giv it ter you straight, if I gits one word crooked or wrong, you jes’ holler out, ‘Hol’ on dar, Jasper, yer ain’t got dat straight,’ an’ I’ll beg pardon. If I doan’t tell de truf, march up on dese steps here an’ tell me I’z a liar, an’ I’ll take it. I fears I do lie sometimes—I’m so sinful, I find it hard ter do right; but my Gord doan’t lie an’ He ain’ put no lie in de Book uv eternal truf, an’ if I giv you wat de Bible say, den I boun’ ter tell de truf.
“I got ter take yer all dis arternoon on er skershun ter a great bat’l feil’. Mos’ folks like ter see fights—some is mighty fon’ er gittin’ inter fights, an’ some is mighty quick ter run down de back alley when dar is a bat’l goin’ on, fer de right. Dis time I’ll ’scort yer ter a scene whar you shall witness a curus bat’l. It tuk place soon arter Isrel got in de Promus Lan’. Yer ’member de people uv Gibyun mak frens wid Gord’s people when dey fust entered Canum an’ dey wuz monsus smart ter do it. But, jes’ de same, it got ’em in ter an orful fuss. De cities roun’ ’bout dar flar’d up at dat, an’ dey all jined dere forces and say dey gwine ter mop de Gibyun people orf uv de groun’, an’ dey bunched all dar armies tergedder an’ went up fer ter do it. Wen dey kum up so bol’ an’ brave de Giby’nites wuz skeer’d out’n dere senses, an’ dey saunt word ter Joshwer dat dey wuz in troubl’ an’ he mus’ run up dar an’ git ’em out. Joshwer had de heart uv a lion an’ he wuz up dar d’reckly. Dey had an orful fight, sharp an’ bitter, but yer might know dat Ginr’l Joshwer wuz not up dar ter git whip’t. He prayed an’ he fought, an’ de hours got erway too peart fer him, an’ so he ask’d de Lord ter issure a speshul ordur dat de sun hol’ up erwhile an’ dat de moon furnish plenty uv moonshine down on de lowes’ part uv de fightin’ groun’s. As a fac’, Joshwer wuz so drunk wid de bat’l, so thursty fer de blood uv de en’mies uv de Lord, an’ so wild wid de vict’ry dat he tell de sun ter stan’ still tel he cud finish his job. Wat did de sun do? Did he glar down in fi’ry wrath an’ say, ’ What you talkin’ ’bout my stoppin’ for, Joshwer; I ain’t navur startid yit. Bin here all de time, an’ it wud smash up ev’rything if I wuz ter start’? Naw, he ain’ say dat. But wat de Bible say? Dat’s wat I ax ter know. It say dat it wuz at de voice uv Joshwer dat it stopped. I don’ say it stopt; tain’t fer Jasper ter say dat, but de Bible, de Book uv Gord, say so. But I say dis; nuthin’ kin stop untel it hez fust startid. So I knows wat I’m talkin’ ’bout. De sun wuz travlin’ long dar thru de sky wen de order come. He hitched his red ponies and made quite a call on de lan’ uv Gibyun. He purch up dar in de skies jes’ as frenly as a naibur whar comes ter borrer sumthin’, an’ he stan’ up dar an’ he look lak he enjoyed de way Joshwer waxes dem wicked armies. An’ de moon, she wait down in de low groun’s dar, an’ pours out her light and look jes’ as ca’m an’ happy as if she wuz waitin’ fer her ’scort. Dey nevur budg’d, neither uv ’em, long as de Lord’s army needed er light to kerry on de bat’l.
“I doan’t read when it wuz dat Joshwer hitch up an’ drove on, but I ’spose it wuz when de Lord tol’ him ter go. Ennybody knows dat de sun didn’ stay dar all de time. It stopt fur bizniz, an’ went on when it got thru. Dis is ’bout all dat I has ter do wid dis perticl’r case. I dun show’d yer dat dis part uv de Lord’s word teaches yer dat de sun stopt, which show dat he wuz movin’ befo’ dat, an’ dat he went on art’rwuds. I toll yer dat I wud prove dis an’ I’s dun it, an’ I derfies ennybody to say dat my p’int ain’t made.
“I tol’ yer in de fust part uv dis discose dat de Lord Gord is a man uv war. I ’spec by now yer begin ter see it is so. Doan’t yer admit it? When de Lord cum ter see Joshwer in de day uv his feers an’ warfar, an’ actu’ly mek de sun stop stone still in de heavuns, so de fight kin rage on tel all de foes is slain, yer bleeged ter und’rstan’ dat de Gord uv peace is also de man uv war. He kin use bofe peace an’ war ter hep de reichus, an’ ter scattur de host uv de ailyuns. A man talked ter me las’ week ’bout de laws uv nature, an’ he say dey carn’t poss’bly be upsot, an’ I had ter laugh right in his face. As if de laws uv ennythin’ wuz greater dan my Gord who is de lawgiver fer ev’rything. My Lord is great; He rules in de heavuns, in de earth, an’ doun und’r de groun’. He is great, an’ greatly ter be praised. Let all de people bow doun an’ wurship befo’ Him!
“But let us git erlong, for dar is quite a big lot mo’ comin’ on. Let us take nex’ de case of Hezekier. He wuz one of dem kings of Juder—er mighty sorry lot I mus’ say dem kings wuz, fur de mos’ part. I inclines ter think Hezekier wuz ’bout de highes’ in de gin’ral avrig, an’ he war no mighty man hisse’f. Well, Hezekier he got sick. I dar say dat a king when he gits his crown an’ fin’ry off, an’ when he is posterated wid mortal sickness, he gits ’bout es commun lookin’ an’ grunts an’ rolls, an’ is ’bout es skeery as de res’ of us po’ mortals. We know dat Hezekier wuz in er low state uv min’; full uv fears, an’ in a tur’ble trub’le. De fac’ is, de Lord strip him uv all his glory an’ landed him in de dust. He tol’ him dat his hour had come, an’ dat he had bettur squar up his affaars, fur death wuz at de do’. Den it wuz dat de king fell low befo’ Gord; he turn his face ter de wall; he cry, he moan, he beg’d de Lord not ter take him out’n de worl’ yit. Oh, how good is our Gord! De cry uv de king moved his heart, an’ he tell him he gwine ter give him anudder show. Tain’t only de kings dat de Lord hears. De cry uv de pris’nur, de wail uv de bondsman, de tears uv de dyin’ robber, de prars uv de backslider, de sobs uv de womun dat wuz a sinner, mighty apt to tech de heart uv de Lord. It look lik it’s hard fer de sinner ter git so fur orf or so fur down in de pit dat his cry can’t reach de yere uv de mussiful Saviour.
“But de Lord do evun better den dis fur Hezekier—He tell him He gwine ter give him a sign by which he’d know dat what He sed wuz cummin’ ter pars. I ain’t erquainted wid dem sun diuls dat de Lord toll Hezekier ’bout, but ennybody dat hes got a grain uv sense knows dat dey wuz de clocks uv dem ole times an’ dey marked de travuls uv de sun by dem diuls. When, darfo’ Gord tol’ de king dat He wud mek de shadder go backwud, it mus’ hev bin jes’ lak puttin’ de han’s uv de clock back, but, mark yer, Izaer ’spressly say dat de sun return’d ten dergrees. Thar yer are! Ain’t dat de movement uv de sun? Bless my soul. Hezekier’s case beat Joshwer. Joshwer stop de sun, but heer de Lord mek de sun walk back ten dergrees; an’ yet dey say dat de sun stan’ stone still an’ nevur move er peg. It look ter me he move roun’ mighty brisk an’ is ready ter go ennyway dat de Lord ordurs him ter go. I wonder if enny uv dem furloserfers is roun’ here dis arternoon. I’d lik ter take a squar’ look at one uv dem an’ ax him to ’splain dis mattur. He carn’t do it, my bruthr’n. He knows a heap ’bout books, maps, figgers an’ long distunces, but I derfy him ter take up Hezekier’s case an’ ’splain it orf. He carn’t do it. De Word uv de Lord is my defense an’ bulwurk, an’ I fears not what men can say nor do; my Gord gives me de vict’ry.
“’Low me, my frens, ter put mysef squar’bout dis movement uv de sun. It ain’t no bizniss uv mine wedder de sun move or stan’ still, or wedder it stop or go back or rise or set. All dat is out er my han’s ’tirely, an’ I got nuthin’ ter say. I got no the-o-ry on de subjik. All I ax is dat we will take wat de Lord say ’bout it an’ let His will be dun ’bout ev’rything. Wat dat will is I karn’t know ’cept He whisper inter my soul or write it in a book. Here’s de Book. Dis is ’nough fer me, and wid it ter pilut me, I karn’t git fur erstray.
“But I ain’t dun wid yer yit. As de song says, dere’s mo’ ter foller. I envite yer ter heer de fust vers in de sev’nth chaptur uv de book uv Reverlashuns. What do John, und’r de pow’r uv de Spirit, say? He say he saw fo’ anguls standin’ on de fo’ corners uv de earth, holdin’ de fo’ win’s uv de earth, an’ so fo’th. ’Low me ter ax ef de earth is roun’, whar do it keep its corners? Er flat, squar thing has corners, but tell me where is de cornur uv er appul, ur a marbul, ur a cannun ball, ur a silver dollar. Ef dar is enny one uv dem furloserfurs whar’s been takin’ so many cracks at my ole haid ’bout here, he is korjully envited ter step for’d an’ squar up dis vexin’ bizniss. I here tell you dat yer karn’t squar a circul, but it looks lak dese great scolurs dun learn how ter circul de squar. Ef dey kin do it, let ’em step ter de front an’ do de trick. But, mer brutherin, in my po’ judgmint, dey karn’t do it; tain’t in ’em ter do it. Dey is on der wrong side of de Bible; dat’s on de outside uv de Bible, an’ dar’s whar de trubbul comes in wid ’em. Dey dun got out uv de bres’wuks uv de truf, an’ ez long ez dey stay dar de light uv de Lord will not shine on der path. I ain’t keer’n so much ’bout de sun, tho’ it’s mighty kunveenyunt ter hav it, but my trus’ is in de Word uv de Lord. Long ez my feet is flat on de solid rock, no man kin move me. I’se gittin’ my orders f’um de Gord of my salvashun.
“Tother day er man wid er hi coler and side whisk’rs cum ter my house. He was one nice North’rn gemman wat think a heap of us col’rd people in de Souf. Da ar luvly folks and I honours ’em very much. He seem from de start kinder strictly an’ cross wid me, and arter while, he brake out furi’us and frettid, an’ he say: ‘Erlow me Mister Jasper ter gib you sum plain advise. Dis nonsans ’bout de sun movin’ whar you ar gettin’ is disgracin’ yer race all ober de kuntry, an’ as a fren of yer peopul, I cum ter say it’s got ter stop.’ Ha! Ha! Ha! Mars’ Sam Hargrove nuvur hardly smash me dat way. It was equl to one ov dem ole overseurs way bac yondur. I tel him dat ef he’ll sho me I’se wrong, I giv it all up.
“My! My! Ha! Ha! He sail in on me an’ such er storm about science, nu ’scuv’ries, an’ de Lord only knos wat all, I ner hur befo’, an’ den he tel me my race is ergin me an’ po ole Jasper mus shet up ’is fule mouf.
“Wen he got thru—it look lak he nuvur wud, I tel him John Jasper ain’ set up to be no scholur, an’ doant kno de ferlosophiz, an’ ain’ tryin’ ter hurt his peopul, but is wurkin’ day an’ night ter lif ’em up, but his foot is on de rock uv eternal truff. Dar he stan’ and dar he is goin’ ter stan’ til Gabrul soun’s de judgment note. So er say to de gemman wat scol’d me up so dat I hur him mek his remarks, but I ain’ hur whar he get his Scriptu’ from, an’ dat ’tween him an’ de wurd of de Lord I tek my stan’ by de Word of Gord ebery time. Jasper ain’ mad: he ain’ fightin’ nobody; he ain’ bin ’pinted janitur to run de sun: he nothin’ but de servunt of Gord and a luver of de Everlasting Word. What I keer about de sun? De day comes on wen de sun will be called frum his race-trac, and his light squincked out foruvur; de moon shall turn ter blood, and this yearth be konsoomed wid fier. Let um go; dat wont skeer me nor trubble Gord’s erlect’d peopul, for de word uv de Lord shell aindu furivur, an’ on dat Solid Rock we stan’ an’ shall not be muved.
“Is I got yer satisfied yit? Has I prooven my p’int? Oh, ye whose hearts is full uv unberlief! Is yer still hol’in’ out? I reckun de reason yer say de sun don’ move is ’cause yer are so hard ter move yerse’f. You is a reel triul ter me, but, nevur min’; I ain’t gi’n yer up yit, an’ nevur will. Truf is mighty; it kin break de heart uv stone, an’ I mus’ fire anudder arrur uv truf out’n de quivur uv de Lord. If yer haz er copy uv God’s Word ’bout yer pussun, please tu’n ter dat miner profit, Malerki, wat writ der las’ book in der ole Bible, an’ look at chaptur de fust, vurs ’leben; what do it say? I bet’r read it, fur I got er noshun yer critics doan’t kerry enny Bible in thar pockits ev’ry day in de week. Here is wat it says: ‘Fur from de risin’ uv de sun evun unter de goin’ doun uv de same My name shall be great ’mong de Gentiles.... My name shall be great ’mong de heathun, sez de Lord uv hosts.’ How do dat suit yer? It look lak dat ort ter fix it. Dis time it is de Lord uv hosts Hisse’f dat is doin’ de talkin’, an’ He is talkin’ on er wonderful an’ glorious subjik. He is tellin’ uv de spredin’ uv His Gorspel, uv de kummin’ uv His larst vict’ry ovur de Gentiles, an’ de wurldwide glories dat at de las’ He is ter git. Oh, my bruddrin, wat er time dat will be. My soul teks wing es I erticipate wid joy dat merlenium day! De glories as dey shine befo’ my eyes blin’s me, an’ I furgits de sun an’ moon an’ stars. I jes’ ’members dat ’long ’bout dose las’ days dat de sun an’ moon will go out uv bizniss, fur dey won’ be needed no mo’. Den will King Jesus come back ter see His people, an’ He will be de suffishunt light uv de wurl’. Joshwer’s bat’ls will be ovur. Hezekier woan’t need no sun diul, an’ de sun an’ moon will fade out befo’ de glorius splendurs uv de New Jerruslem.
“But wat der mattur wid Jasper. I mos’ furgit my bizniss, an’ mos’ gon’ ter shoutin’ ovur de far away glories uv de secun’ cummin’ uv my Lord. I beg pardun, an’ will try ter git back ter my subjik. I hev ter do as de sun in Hezekier’s case—fall back er few dergrees. In dat part uv de Word dat I gin yer frum Malerki—dat de Lord Hisse’f spoke—He klars dat His glory is gwine ter spred. Spred? Whar? Frum de risin’ uv de sun ter de goin’ down uv de same. Wat? Doan’t say dat, duz it? Dat’s edzakly wat it sez. Ain’t dat cleer ’nuff fer yer? De Lord pity dese doubtin’ Tommusses. Here is ’nuff ter settul it all an’ kure de wuss cases. Walk up yere, wise folks, an’ git yer med’sin. Whar is dem high collar’d furloserfurs now? Wat dey skulkin’ roun’ in de brush fer? Why doan’t yer git out in der broad arternoon light an’ fight fer yer cullurs? Ah, I un’stans it; yer got no answer. De Bible is agin yer, an’ in yer konshunses yer are convictid.
“But I hears yer back dar. Wat yer wisprin’ ’bout? I know; yer say yer sont me sum papurs an’ I nevur answer dem. Ha, ha, ha! I got ’em. De differkulty ’bout dem papurs yer sont me is dat dey did not answer me. Dey nevur menshun de Bible one time. Yer think so much uv yoursef’s an’ so little uv de Lord Gord an’ thinks wat yer say is so smart dat yer karn’t even speak uv de Word uv de Lord. When yer ax me ter stop believin’ in de Lord’s Word an’ ter pin my faith ter yo words, I ain’t er gwine ter do it. I take my stan’ by de Bible an’ res’ my case on wat it says. I take wat de Lord says ’bout my sins, ’bout my Saviour, ’bout life, ’bout death, ’bout de wurl’ ter come, an’ I take wat de Lord say ’bout de sun an’ moon, an’ I cares little wat de haters of mer Gord chooses ter say. Think dat I will fursake de Bible? It is my only Book, my hope, de arsnel uv my soul’s surplies, an’ I wants nuthin’ else.
“But I got ernudder wurd fur yer yit. I done wuk ovur dem papurs dat yer sont me widout date an’ widout yer name. Yer deals in figgurs an’ thinks yer are biggur dan de arkanjuls. Lemme see wat yer dun say. Yer set yerse’f up ter tell me how fur it is frum here ter de sun. Yer think yer got it down ter er nice p’int. Yer say it is 3,339,002 miles frum de earth ter de sun. Dat’s wat yer say. Nudder one say dat de distuns is 12,000,000; nudder got it ter 27,000,000. I hers dat de great Isuk Nutun wuk’t it up ter 28,000,000, an’ later on de furloserfurs gin ernudder rippin’ raze to 50,000,000. De las’ one gits it bigger dan all de yuthers, up to 90,000,000. Doan’t enny uv ’em ergree edzakly an’ so dey runs a guess game, an’ de las’ guess is always de bigges’. Now, wen dese guessers kin hav a kunvenshun in Richmun’ an’ all ergree ’pun de same thing, I’d be glad ter hear frum yer ag’in, an’ I duz hope dat by dat time yer won’t be ershamed uv yer name.
“Heeps uv railroads hes bin built sense I saw de fust one wen I wuz fifteen yeers ole, but I ain’t hear tell uv er railroad built yit ter de sun. I doan’ see why ef dey kin meshur de distuns ter de sun, dey might not git up er railroad er a telurgraf an’ enabul us ter fin’ sumthin’ else ’bout it den merely how fur orf de sun is. Dey tell me dat a kannun ball cu’d mek de trep ter de sun in twelve years. Why doan’ dey send it? It might be rig’d up wid quarturs fur a few furloserfers on de inside an’ fixed up fur er kumfurterble ride. Dey wud need twelve years’ rashuns an’ a heep uv changes uv ramint—mighty thick clo’es wen dey start and mighty thin uns wen dey git dar.
“Oh, mer bruthrin, dese things mek yer laugh, an’ I doan’ blem yer fer laughin’, ’cept it’s always sad ter laugh at der follies uv fools. If we cu’d laugh ’em out’n kount’nens, we might well laugh day an’ night. Wat cuts inter my soul is, dat all dese men seem ter me dat dey is hittin’ at de Bible. Dat’s wat sturs my soul an’ fills me wid reichus wrath. Leetle keers I wat dey says ’bout de sun, purvided dey let de Word uv de Lord erlone. But nevur min’. Let de heethun rage an’ de people ’madgin er vain thing. Our King shall break ’em in pieces an’ dash ’em down. But blessed be de name uv our Gord, de Word uv de Lord indurith furivur. Stars may fall, moons may turn ter blood, an’ de sun set ter rise no mo’, but Thy kingdom, oh, Lord, is frum evurlastin’ ter evurlastin’.
“But I has er word dis arternoon fer my own brutherin. Dey is de people fer whose souls I got ter watch—fur dem I got ter stan’ an’ report at de last—dey is my sheep an’ I’se der shepherd, an’ my soul is knit ter dem forever. ’Tain fer me ter be troublin’ yer wid dese questions erbout dem heb’nly bodies. Our eyes goes far beyon’ de smaller stars; our home is clean outer sight uv dem twinklin’ orbs; de chariot dat will cum ter take us to our Father’s mansion will sweep out by dem flickerin’ lights an’ never halt till it brings us in clar view uv de throne uv de Lamb. Doan’t hitch yer hopes to no sun nor stars; yer home is got Jesus fer its light, an’ yer hopes mus’ trabel up dat way. I preach dis sermon jest fer ter settle de min’s uv my few brutherin, an’ repeats it ’cause kin’ frens wish ter hear it, an’ I hopes it will do honour ter de Lord’s Word. But nuthin’ short of de purly gates can satisfy me, an’ I charge, my people, fix yer feet on de solid Rock, yer hearts on Calv’ry, an’ yer eyes on de throne uv de Lamb. Dese strifes an’ griefs ’ll soon git ober; we shall see de King in His glory an’ be at ease. Go on, go on, ye ransom uv de Lord; shout His praises as yer go, an’ I shall meet yer in de city uv de New Jeruserlum, whar we shan’t need the light uv de sun, fer de Lam’ uv de Lord is de light uv de saints.”
The Story of a Spectator
The paper which follows is a composite, embodying many incidents and facts connected with the Jasper sensation, and designed to reflect, so far as possible, the impression made by the fiery old philosopher upon those who though out of sympathy with his astronomical notions fell as helpless victims beneath the spell of his eloquence and honesty.
For quite a while the Jasper sensation had grown acute in Richmond. Beginning as a freak, it bloomed into a fad, got in the air, and actually invaded private homes. It was a pentecost for the curious, a juicy apple for the hard-driven reporter, a festival for the scoffer, and a roaring financial bonanza for the saints of Sixth Mount Zion.
I confess that, for my part, it struck me as a ridiculous business at best, the big bubble of an hour, and that if not caught at the exact moment it would speedily disappear, and while I was a sprig of a reporter it was the sort of thing which did not come my way. Being, however, of a prying and curious turn of mind I determined to take one glimpse at the black elephant. It took time, however, to get my purpose into working order, but my day came in due course. I awoke one morning to find the Saturday papers “festering” with Jasper. He was in the advertisements, in the communications, and in the local columns, and the show was to come off the next day. They told once more of his astronomical absurdities, as I believed them to be, and informed me that the exhibition would come off at 3 P. M. on the next afternoon. At noon, I dropped into Reugers’ for my lunch, and a table of hayseed legislators were filling the room, with noisy gabble about Jasper and his planetary crochets. I found that some of them had signed a paper asking for the approaching Jasperian exhibition, and others of them were twitting and punching them for their folly; but I found that both sides of them were going.
Later in the day, I got into a West Main Street car and found a seat next to three ladies who evidently had a serious attack of Jasper, and they, too, were bargaining to go. At the supper table in my boarding-house that evening I found a sickly old Yankee minister loafing in Richmond for his health, in a swivet of excitement about Jasper and his coming oration. My landlady’s fourteen year old boy told me that his mother had promised that he should go to hear Jasper, on the hampering condition that he could get some gentleman to go with him, and his appeal for my company would have beaten Jasper in the point of passionate eloquence. To me, it all seemed a stew of folly, and yet I found myself gratified to have this earnest lad as an excuse in favour of my going.
I finally bargained with the eager youngster that I would waylay him the next morning on his early escape from the Sunday-school, and we would stroll out into the vicinity of the Sixth Mount Zion Church, and make a preliminary reconnaissance of the general situation. We did not find it quite a well-odoured stroll at all points, particularly as we got in the neighbourhood of the church, for we encountered a tangle of streets and alleys some of which were not in the best condition.
Not long after crossing Broad Street we began to run afoul of squads and groups of coloured people, and the total strain of their chat was Jasper and what was coming later on. The nearer we came to the church, the combat, as the poet said, deepened, that is, the groups multiplied and the Jasperian element grew. A huge negro woman hanging on a side-gate on Clay Street was shouting in a piping voice about Jasper and the sun, and telling to several dumb listeners that “she wuz gwine ter be dar ef de Lord ‘sparred’ her an’ it wuz de las’ thing she done on de yerth.”
I observed also several of those Virginia solons already mentioned,—those big footed, badly shaven, and consequential legislators,—prowling in the neighbourhood of the church, as if they were studying and planning for burglaries. As we meandered the crooked streets which admitted us to a sight of the great Sixth Mount Zion, we saw in every direction the sign of a prodigious expectancy. Front yards, streets, and alleys had their contingents, and you could not get within ear-shot without getting some novel and surprising hints as to John Jasper and the Solar System. We could hear singing in the church, and we assumed that something in the way of worship was in process. That, however, was not IT. That was a tame and pithless performance, and if Jasper was in it at all he was evidently resting his better forces for the bigger battle at three o’clock in the impending afternoon.
The attraction on the inside was out of gear and didn’t draw. My young companion, who was vastly my superior as to the Jasper situation, informed me with marked conviction that the thing for us to do, and to do at once and with a rush, was to go back to the house, swallow our dinner, and get back with the utmost speed. We did not get away, however, before we noted that all avenues in the vicinity of the church seemed to be filling. Some were coming and going; some were knotted into groups looking very solemn and apparently awestruck, and some were crowding in like late comers at a circus; but whenever you caught a word it had to do with Jasper. As we walked away, the son of my landlady, full of the fidgets and outraged by my slow motion remarked sagely: “Ain’t he got ’em?” I had to admit it; he had ’em,—by a grip tighter than if he had ’em by the nape of the neck. Evidently enough, he had them, and in a bunch as big as the town.
But I didn’t know it fully then. Being untutored in Jasper’s holding power, I was fresh enough to suppose that all that buzzing, swarming gang of negroes would scatter away to their frugal Sunday meal, and that the alleys and streets would empty into their usual vacancy, though the boy’s mien of hurry and eagerness was warning me to the contrary. He mentioned several times that from what other boys had told him we must go very early, and in order to gratify him we got out of the boarding-house at a quarter after one, and we needed only fifteen minutes of quiet walking to get a front seat.
Shades of the Pharaohs and shadows of the Pyramids! As we headed towards the seat of planetary conflict the streets looked like black rivers. Great lines of blacks, relieved here and there by companies of whites, thronged the sidewalks. Were Hannibal’s Carthagenian legions being turned loose in Richmond? Or had some mighty earthquake ripped open the foundations of Richmond, and were the people, caked with the soot, fleeing for life? It was more tranquil than that, thank heaven! It was however the town, upheaved and agitated, striving fiercely for Sixth Mount Zion, to hear the supreme sensation of all his race,—as I now began to realize he was. Squares before we got to the church we collided with the returning tide. “No use of going,” they said,—“house already packed; streets full, men fighting and women fainting,” and a deal more of the same sort.
But these appalling things only urged me on. If there was to be a congestion or a catastrophe, it was just to my taste as well as to my profession to attend. Besides, I had in me a desperate purpose to get into that house, and I promised the boy that we’d sink or swim together. I understood it was perfectly scriptural to rip off the roof as the last resort. The occasion had jumped the common road, and it was folly to falter now before any obstacle. The fight through that mob has left me some marks to be noticed when I am dressed for my burial. My toes were tramped into jelly. At one time I was lifted by a rush, and one of my knees aches yet in bad weather as a consequence. Several times I thought the landlady’s boy was doomed to become an unrecognizable mangle. It began to sift into me that Jasper was more than a man, and nothing short of an entire situation and a public menace. My business was more and more to see him.
The church, when first seen, looked like a tall boat borne on the heads of thousands, and yet I pushed along. Now, right here, I have to drop my honesty and become a hypocrite. How I got into that house must not be told. There is a muscular, ginger-bread fellow who stays in the office down town, and he broke all rules and I know not how many bones, and, miraculous as it was, landed me and the boy into the pulpit with blood on the boy’s nose.
Now, excuse me from describing the music and the praying, though I would like to mention that the song that the old darkey in the Amen corner with the white nape and the quivering voice started up, and which it looked to me like all the people in the world were singing, rather jerked me out of myself and took me off on its waves, and when I got back I had to use my handkerchief in an unusual way.
Jasper made a prayer also, and the way he talked to the Lord about his own meanness and his ignorance, knocked out of me about half of my notion that he was a dribbling old egotist and numbskull. He caused cold chills to pass up my back by several surprising things which he said to the Lord in a most serious way, and I have to own that by the time he said “Amen,” I was a little prejudiced in his favour.
Further, allow me to say right here that I know positively that I never saw so many people in a house of that size at one time as was in the church that afternoon. Women sat in each other’s laps, the pulpit was piled up, and all the spaces chinked, packed, and doubled up. I ought to add that the look of eagerness, expectation, and attention was oppressive. No whispering, no looking around; only silence, except when Jasper started them. Then you felt the mastery and the subduing sovereignty of the man. I saw that the white people had been favoured in getting seats, and there were hordes of them. The legislators abounded, and there were preachers, lawyers, notable men, fashionable women, and not a few strangers in Richmond, all herding together and very serious. It wasn’t, I confess, what I expected. I looked for a circus, and had hooked a funeral,—no, not a funeral; it wasn’t dismal enough for that, but far more thoughtful and wakeful than a funeral can be.
I looked Jasper over with a critical eye, and before he began to preach I had his age down for sixty-two, but when he began to career over the pulpit I knocked off ten years. He had an unattractive bulge on his face around his cheekbone, but his head looked like an alpine cliff. His eye, I noted, was an all sufficient redeemer, and its flash and laugh would cover acres of ugliness. His whiskers were decidedly undistinguished, except in their cut, and I marked his blood as unmixed. He dressed in a manner best suited to prevent people from noticing how he dressed, and his tall form and alert action made him attractive in the pulpit.
During the sermon he had something to say about himself. “I’ll be sixty-six years old on de fo’th day uv dis coming July. I set out ter seek de salvation uv my Gord in 1839. I have never been in any school, but I spent some months trying ter learn ter spell. I wuz converted in Marse Sam Hargrove’s terbakur fac’try in dis city, on de 25th day uv July, 1839, and frum dat day I have know’d dat Gord had anintid me wid de Holy Ghost ter preach de Gorspil uv His Son.”