The Camp Meeting
This excerpt is from my novel "Stough Beers has No Father"
© Jack Ragsdale
Celeste had a particular talent for prayer and was the habitual practitioner of that religious ritual in the Beers household at meals. Her precocious genius at this extraordinary art was a source of pride and amusement for her doting father. She grew up indulged by him to an extreme degree.
Called upon occasionally to lead at prayer in church, she would rise with palms outward held high above her head. In solemn tones amid the echoing agreement of the multitude in the rough pews, she would address the congregation:
“The mighty power of God is within us if we fall down in grace before Him in honor of His love and might. Our faith is in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ who gives us strength to overcome all evil. Let us celebrate the love and power of God and his son. Say no to Satan! SAY NO TO SATAN! Amen!”
In 1845 when Celeste was sixteen years old, announcement of a Hard Shell Baptist Camp Meeting to be held at nearby Camp Ground, stirred the whole region to excitement. Having only recently replaced the Cherokee in Georgia, these frontier people—with little education, no entertainments and few opportunities for intellectual adventure—embraced the prospect of the gathering in huge numbers with much enthusiasm. In late September after serious preparation, privileged neighbors would provide living accommodations for the visiting preachers. Others would bring tents to house themselves or live in their wagons.
Once the crops were in, hundreds from nearby counties converged on the Camp Ground community to spend four or five days at Camp Meeting. More than a thousand people came prepared for spiritual revival. They met old friends, ate lots of good country food cooked in the open air, and restored themselves emotionally in prayer, hymn-singing and zealous response to the exhortations of their leaders.
Every class attended this greatest of all country social events—even blacks, whose uncertain inclusion placed them on the outer edges of the assemblage. Old friendships were renewed and new ones among the young were sealed. Not all who attended came for religious experience. Prostitutes plied their trade, hucksters peddled horses, guns and the sure-fire medical marvels of the era. Rowdies came to drink and fight.
Unfortunately, some young girls, in the emotionally reckless excitement of the hour, were spirited away to the hymeneal altar. There was a saying current in Down East Maine in that era, which succinctly told the story:
"More souls are made at Camp Meetings than are saved."
The gathering was literally a “courting ground” since all young people turned out ready—even anxious to make friends. Acquiring suitors was easy as pie. One girl boasted that she had “reaped in” many boyfriends. She was particularly impressed by one who told her “love is just like a canal boat” since both are forms of “internal transport.”
Salvation did not come easily to these people. It was accompanied by barks, tears and cries for mercy at the sudden realization of the mighty power of God. Some danced for joy, others fell prostrate upon the earth, shivering in the ecstasy of their rebirth in Jesus. The St. Vitus Dance jerking of one convert might be transmitted to the entire congregation while the minister exhorted all to remove themselves from the ground and stop their twitching in order to return to prayer.
Someone in the congregation who had received a personal call from on high, might, in great eloquence, exhort all to confess and take leave of their evil ways. The goal was the saving of souls.
Scoffers were by no means unknown at these gatherings, their impiety being of little influence—more likely than not merely reinforcing the religious spirit of the believers.
***
Celeste was a girl of great beauty. Her sensuousness was enhanced by her habit of carelessly tossing her straying tresses. When she smiled—which was often—her opulent mouth showed perfectly formed teeth through ruby lips. Her beauty was of an arrogant sort, haughty, and disarmingly bold. With budding breasts she presented a profile of comeliness that turned the head of every youth. Since she was assertive, it was thought, “she could handle boys”. The handsomest boys rushed her. Their blandishments were powerful, their arguments convincing, the touch of their muscular bodies disquieting.
One was a handsome, broad-shouldered brute whose lustful gaze turned again and again to beautiful Celeste. He looked at her at every opportunity, but when she returned his glance, he dropped his eyes in a cowardly manner and occupied himself with guilt-ridden, ineffectual titubations. She resisted them, but ended giving herself to this hayseed whose piercing glances so fascinated her.
***
When Celeste’s body began to swell she hid herself in terror from her doting father in the realization he was unlikely to be pleased with events soon to transpire. Finally the day arrived when she could no longer hide her condition. Her father, whose health was then failing, became sullen. He suffered mortification at the shame she had brought down on his house. He wept and refused to see his daughter. Celeste grew pale at the disgrace and might have injured herself except for the soothing care of the black women who attended her.
In her seventeenth year when she had her baby, she herself became a child.
As her father’s condition worsened and the specter of death hovered over the Beers’ household, Celeste—now its mistress—was unable to fulfill that role. Her father refused to see her, his care devolving entirely upon the black women whose sympathies lay with Celeste. They were powerless to affect the bitter force that was wreaking its oppressive will upon that grieving household. Still Major George Stough Beers refused to die. Numbness, denial of the reality of actual events kept Celeste in an emotional whirl of disbelief. Water failed to wash away her sin. Prayers aggravated and reinforced her feelings of guilt.
As death approached, only his son, Major Randolph Beers and the old man’s favorite slaves gathered around the bedside, for it was certain that several were of the old major’s own blood.
Eerie indeed were the tremulous sounds of mourning emanating from this inharmonious levee at the bedside of Major Beers as life slowly departed that venerable being.
The pity of this ill-conceived self-punishment imposed upon Celeste—in reality nothing more than cultivated unhappiness—was its undesirable and artificial creation.
***
The male child who was the everlasting proof of Celeste’s sin was beautiful and responsive to the affections of the three women—black and white—who doted on him. The heavens called up this question: “How can this child be thought to be a part of the devil’s work”?
©Jack Ragsdale June 17, 2005
© Jack Ragsdale
Celeste had a particular talent for prayer and was the habitual practitioner of that religious ritual in the Beers household at meals. Her precocious genius at this extraordinary art was a source of pride and amusement for her doting father. She grew up indulged by him to an extreme degree.
Called upon occasionally to lead at prayer in church, she would rise with palms outward held high above her head. In solemn tones amid the echoing agreement of the multitude in the rough pews, she would address the congregation:
“The mighty power of God is within us if we fall down in grace before Him in honor of His love and might. Our faith is in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ who gives us strength to overcome all evil. Let us celebrate the love and power of God and his son. Say no to Satan! SAY NO TO SATAN! Amen!”
In 1845 when Celeste was sixteen years old, announcement of a Hard Shell Baptist Camp Meeting to be held at nearby Camp Ground, stirred the whole region to excitement. Having only recently replaced the Cherokee in Georgia, these frontier people—with little education, no entertainments and few opportunities for intellectual adventure—embraced the prospect of the gathering in huge numbers with much enthusiasm. In late September after serious preparation, privileged neighbors would provide living accommodations for the visiting preachers. Others would bring tents to house themselves or live in their wagons.
Once the crops were in, hundreds from nearby counties converged on the Camp Ground community to spend four or five days at Camp Meeting. More than a thousand people came prepared for spiritual revival. They met old friends, ate lots of good country food cooked in the open air, and restored themselves emotionally in prayer, hymn-singing and zealous response to the exhortations of their leaders.
Every class attended this greatest of all country social events—even blacks, whose uncertain inclusion placed them on the outer edges of the assemblage. Old friendships were renewed and new ones among the young were sealed. Not all who attended came for religious experience. Prostitutes plied their trade, hucksters peddled horses, guns and the sure-fire medical marvels of the era. Rowdies came to drink and fight.
Unfortunately, some young girls, in the emotionally reckless excitement of the hour, were spirited away to the hymeneal altar. There was a saying current in Down East Maine in that era, which succinctly told the story:
"More souls are made at Camp Meetings than are saved."
The gathering was literally a “courting ground” since all young people turned out ready—even anxious to make friends. Acquiring suitors was easy as pie. One girl boasted that she had “reaped in” many boyfriends. She was particularly impressed by one who told her “love is just like a canal boat” since both are forms of “internal transport.”
Salvation did not come easily to these people. It was accompanied by barks, tears and cries for mercy at the sudden realization of the mighty power of God. Some danced for joy, others fell prostrate upon the earth, shivering in the ecstasy of their rebirth in Jesus. The St. Vitus Dance jerking of one convert might be transmitted to the entire congregation while the minister exhorted all to remove themselves from the ground and stop their twitching in order to return to prayer.
Someone in the congregation who had received a personal call from on high, might, in great eloquence, exhort all to confess and take leave of their evil ways. The goal was the saving of souls.
Scoffers were by no means unknown at these gatherings, their impiety being of little influence—more likely than not merely reinforcing the religious spirit of the believers.
***
Celeste was a girl of great beauty. Her sensuousness was enhanced by her habit of carelessly tossing her straying tresses. When she smiled—which was often—her opulent mouth showed perfectly formed teeth through ruby lips. Her beauty was of an arrogant sort, haughty, and disarmingly bold. With budding breasts she presented a profile of comeliness that turned the head of every youth. Since she was assertive, it was thought, “she could handle boys”. The handsomest boys rushed her. Their blandishments were powerful, their arguments convincing, the touch of their muscular bodies disquieting.
One was a handsome, broad-shouldered brute whose lustful gaze turned again and again to beautiful Celeste. He looked at her at every opportunity, but when she returned his glance, he dropped his eyes in a cowardly manner and occupied himself with guilt-ridden, ineffectual titubations. She resisted them, but ended giving herself to this hayseed whose piercing glances so fascinated her.
***
When Celeste’s body began to swell she hid herself in terror from her doting father in the realization he was unlikely to be pleased with events soon to transpire. Finally the day arrived when she could no longer hide her condition. Her father, whose health was then failing, became sullen. He suffered mortification at the shame she had brought down on his house. He wept and refused to see his daughter. Celeste grew pale at the disgrace and might have injured herself except for the soothing care of the black women who attended her.
In her seventeenth year when she had her baby, she herself became a child.
As her father’s condition worsened and the specter of death hovered over the Beers’ household, Celeste—now its mistress—was unable to fulfill that role. Her father refused to see her, his care devolving entirely upon the black women whose sympathies lay with Celeste. They were powerless to affect the bitter force that was wreaking its oppressive will upon that grieving household. Still Major George Stough Beers refused to die. Numbness, denial of the reality of actual events kept Celeste in an emotional whirl of disbelief. Water failed to wash away her sin. Prayers aggravated and reinforced her feelings of guilt.
As death approached, only his son, Major Randolph Beers and the old man’s favorite slaves gathered around the bedside, for it was certain that several were of the old major’s own blood.
Eerie indeed were the tremulous sounds of mourning emanating from this inharmonious levee at the bedside of Major Beers as life slowly departed that venerable being.
The pity of this ill-conceived self-punishment imposed upon Celeste—in reality nothing more than cultivated unhappiness—was its undesirable and artificial creation.
***
The male child who was the everlasting proof of Celeste’s sin was beautiful and responsive to the affections of the three women—black and white—who doted on him. The heavens called up this question: “How can this child be thought to be a part of the devil’s work”?
©Jack Ragsdale June 17, 2005
posted by Jack Ragsdale @ 6:52 PM
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