It wasn't that Cousin Charley was mean, or even irreligious. He just had a hard time figuring out where fun left off and devilment started. Charley was a natural-born hell raiser in a time and part of the country where dissent was tolerated -- if not admired -- if it was imaginative and daring. My cousin filled the bill admirably. I wasn't allowed to associate too freely with him because I was six years old and gullible -- while Charley was 15 and "full of the old Nick." He once convinced me that "only soft wood will burn, but hard wood, like this here by the back door, will only scorch if ya put a fire to it. "If'in ya don't believe it, just try it. Here's a match." Eager to test this Great Law of Nature just revealed by my grown-up cousin, I stacked up a dozen lengths of stove wood, stuffed in a tow sack of corn shucks and set fire to the lot. It made a dandy blaze -- much to my chagrin. The girls screamed, and the men folk dashed out of the house to throw a couple of buckets of pump water on the fire. My father dusted my britches and confined me indoors for the rest of the day, "where the women can keep an eye on you." Charley had sauntered off into the woods immediately after setting me adrift on the sea of misadventure, though he undoubtedly watched the excitement from the safety of some convenient tree top. Later that day he gave me a jack knife with a one-inch stub of blade as a peace offering. "You musta got some soft wood mixed in there," he said sternly. I promised to be more careful next time. * * * Charley hated going to church because he had to put on his stiff, Sunday shoes and button his shirt collar. He would submit to the morning service with considerable grumbling. Thereafter, however, he considered he had enough grace for another week and evaded the afternoon and evening services with a skill born of much practice. Aunt Minnie must have known, therefore, that she was courting disaster when she undertook to wash the whole family in the Blood of the Lamb during a three-day revival meeting. An itinerant evangelist had gotten lost in the "boot heel of Missouri" and was trying to work his way back into the main stream of civilization by preaching the gospel wherever an offering plate would be passed on his behalf. In those days, a revival was an endurance contest between the minister and the congregation. The objective was to whip up enthusiasm for the Lord that lagged under the vicissitudes of a hard life. Moss-back sinners, who seemed to abound in southeast Missouri, needed a powerful lot of persuasion. Three days of concentration on the project was considered only once-over-lightly. A two-week revival with an all night "gospel sing" and baptizing with white robes in the river of the final Sunday was the preferred procedure. Nevertheless, poor people had to make do with whatever salvation was at hand. A bob-tailed revival meeting would have to suffice for Aunt Minnie's brood -- including Uncle Virgil and Charley. Cousin Charley, under extreme duress, suffered through Friday night, Saturday night and Sunday morning - - an all-time record. Uncle Virgil was "saved" on Sunday morning after some stiff nudging in the ribs from Aunt Minnie. He had taken the trip to the front row on several other occasions, but Aunt Minnie was never sure the conversions had taken firm root. She saw to it that salvation was administered at every opportunity as a sort of heavenly insurance., Charley calculated his turn was coming up either Sunday afternoon or evening. The prospect was too unnerving. Shortly after mid-day dinner, he stuffed some cold biscuits in his pocket, eased his single-shot 22 rifle off the top of the kitchen cupboard and quietly slipped away for a bit of hunting. It was certain that his outing would extend past the revival's last "hallelujah." Hunting licenses and game seasons were unheard of. You shot whatever wild animals or birds that jumped up in your gun sights. That day, a razorback hog come within range of Charley's rifle. Razorbacks are swine that have wandered away from farms and gone wild. Their descendants are long legged, muscular and agile. Without the easy living of captivity, the wild hog has no fat, hence the backbone shows prominently and gives the animal it colloquial name. Charley squeezed off a shot and dropped the razorback in its tracks. However, the bullet had only creased the skull of the wild hog and temporally stunned it. What to do with an agitated razorback? An inspired scheme took shape in Charley's fertile mind. Muzzling the animal and tying its legs, he hoisted it to his shoulders and set off for the church. It was turning dusk, and the final session of the revival was well underway, when Cousin Charley slipped up to the rear of the little country church. The razorback had regained all it faculties and was squirming to free itself from its restraints. Charley was willing to oblige. Charley eased the animal to an open window, snatched off the ropes and shoved the frantic animal into the church. Women screamed, children hollered and the men cursed -- thus undoing three days of dedicated evangelism. The minister ordered the choir to sing "Onward Christian Soldiers" in hope of calming the congregation, but this only added to the noise and confusion. The wild pig scurried frantically under the pews, popping up at the least expected places and inspiring renewed screams with each sally. Men wallowed on the floor trying to corner the intruder, bumping shins and heads with each lunge. "Hell fire and damnation!" shouted Uncle Virgil angrily -- along with a few other choice epithets from his justly famous vocabulary -- as he sustained a sharp bite from the razorback. It was an hour or so before the meeting could be resumed under some semblance of normalcy. But the spell was broken. There were no more souls saved that night, although the collection was as good as could be expected under the circumstances. * * * Uncle Virgil finally caught the pig and took it home for butchering. "I wonder who poked that critter into the church," he mused to Aunt Minnie. It was obvious to Aunt Minnie as to who was responsible. Everybody's whereabouts that night could be accounted for except Charley's. "It's blasphemy, Charles, she declared. "You'll burn for eternity in the fires of Hell if you keep this up!" Cousin Charley hung his head, but was unrepentant. "I jest wanted to see if the preacher could tell any difference between the wild pig and all those screeching sinners." Uncle Bill clinched his jaw to keep from laughing out loud. He bit off the end of his pipe stem, but kept a straight face. "Now, Minnie, that's something to ponder, you've go to admit," he said. "Besides, 40 pounds of sausage isn't a bad trade for 40 miserable souls." |
