THE BAPTISM OF DOBSHO
by Ambrose Bierce
It was a wicked thing to do, certainly. I have
often regretted it since, and if the opportunity
of doing so again were presented I should hesitate
a long time before embracing it. But I was young
then, and cherished a species of humor which I
have since abjured. Still, when I remember the
character of the people who were burlesquing
and bringing into disrepute the letter and spirit
of our holy religion I feel a certain satisfaction
in having contributed one feeble effort toward
making them ridiculous. In consideration of the
little good I may have done in that way, I beg
the reader to judge my conceded error as leniently
as possible. This is the story.
Some years ago the town of Harding, in Illinois,
experienced "a revival of religion," as the people
called it. It would have been more accurate and
less profane to term it a revival of Rampageanism,
for the craze originated in, and was disseminated
by, the sect which I will call the Rampagean
communion; and most of the leaping and howling was
done in that interest. Amongst those who yielded
to the influence was my friend Thomas Dobsho. Tom
had been a pretty bad sinner in a small way, but
he went into this new thing heart and soul. At one
of the meetings he made a public confession of more
sins than he ever was, or ever could have been
guilty of; stopping just short of statutory crimes,
and even hinting, significantly, that he could tell
a good deal more if he were pressed. He wanted to
join the absurd communion the very evening of his
conversion. He wanted to join two or three communions.
In fact, he was so carried away with his zeal that
some of the brethren gave me a hint to take him
home; he and I occupied adjoining apartments in
the Elephant Hotel.
Tom's fervor, as it happened, came near defeating
its own purpose; instead of taking him at once into
the fold without reference or "character," which
was their usual way, the brethren remembered against
him his awful confessions and put him on probation.
But after a few weeks, during which he conducted
himself like a decent lunatic, it was decided to
baptise him along with a dozen other pretty hard
cases who had been converted more recently. This
sacrilegious ceremony I persuaded myself it was
my duty to prevent, though I think now I erred as
to the means adopted. It was to take place on a
Sunday, and on the preceding Saturday I called on
the head revivalist, the Rev. Mr. Swin, and craved
an interview.
"I come," said I, with simulated reluctance and
embarrassment, "in behalf of my friend, Brother
Dobsho, to make a very delicate and unusual
request. You are, I think, going to baptise him
to-morrow, and I trust it will be to him the
beginning of a new and better life. But I don't
know if you are aware that his family are all
Plungers, and that he is himself tainted with
the wicked heresy of that sect. So it is. He is,
as one might say in secular metaphor, 'on the
fence' between their grievous error and the pure
faith of your church. It would be most melancholy
if he should get down on the wrong side. Although
I confess with shame I have not myself embraced
the truth, I hope I am not too blind to see where
it lies."
"The calamity that you apprehend," said the
reverend lout, after solemn reflection, "would
indeed seriously affect our friend's interest and
endanger his soul. I had not expected Brother
Dobsho so soon to give up the good fight."
"I think sir," I replied reflectively, "there is
no fear of that if the matter is skilfully managed.
He is heartily with you--might I venture to say
with us?--on every point but one. He favors
immersion! He has been so vile a sinner that he
foolishly fears the more simple rite of your church
will not make him wet enough. Would you believe
it? his uninstructed scruples on the point are
so gross and materialistic that he actually
suggested soaping himself as a preparatory ceremony!
I believe, however, if instead of sprinkling my
friend, you would pour a generous basinful of
water on his head--but now that I think of it
in your enlightening presence I see that such a
proceeding is quite out of the question. I fear
we must let matters take the usual course, trusting
to our later efforts to prevent the backsliding
which may result."
The parson rose and paced the floor a moment,
then suggested that he'd better see Brother
Dobsho, and labor to remove his error. I told
him I thought not; I was sure it would not be
best. Argument would only confirm him in his
prejudices. So it was settled that the subject
should not be broached in that quarter. It
would have been bad for me if it had been.
When I reflect now upon the guile of that
conversation, the falsehood of my representations
and the wickedness of my motive I am almost
ashamed to proceed with my narrative. Had the
minister been other than an arrant humbug, I
hope I should never have suffered myself to
make him the dupe of a scheme so sacrilegious
in itself, and prosecuted with so sinful a
disregard of honor.
The memorable Sabbath dawned bright and beautiful.
About nine o'clock the cracked old bell, rigged
up on struts before the "meeting-house," began
to clamor its call to service, and nearly the
whole population of Harding took its way to the
performance. I had taken the precaution to set
my watch fifteen minutes fast. Tom was nervously
preparing himself for the ordeal. He fidgeted
himself into his best suit an hour before the
time, carried his hat about the room in the most
aimless and demented way and consulted his watch
a hundred times. I was to accompany him to church,
and I spent the time fussing about the room, doing
the most extraordinary things in the most exasperating
manner--in short, keeping up Tom's feverish
excitement by every wicked device I could think
of. Within a half hour of the real time for service
I suddenly yelled out--
"O, I say, Tom; pardon me, but that head of yours
is just frightful! Please do let me brush it up
a bit!"
Seizing him by the shoulders I thrust him into a
chair with his face to the wall, laid hold of his
comb and brush, got behind him and went to work.
He was trembling like a child, and knew no more
what I was doing than if he had been brained. Now,
Tom's head was a curiosity. His hair, which was
remarkably thick, was like wire. Being cut rather
short it stood out all over his scalp like the
spines on a porcupine. It had been a favorite
complaint of Tom's that he never could do anything
to that head. I found no difficulty--I did something
to it, though I blush to think what it was. I did
something which I feared he might discover if he
looked in the mirror, so I carelessly pulled out
my watch, sprung it open, gave a start and shouted--
"By Jove! Thomas--pardon the oath--but we're late.
Your watch is all wrong; look at mine! Here's your
hat, old fellow; come along. There's not a moment
to lose!"
Clapping his hat on his head, I pulled him out of
the house, with actual violence. In five minutes
more we were in the meeting-house with ever so
much time to spare.
The services that day, I am told, were specially
interesting and impressive, but I had a good deal
else on my mind--was preoccupied, absent, inattentive.
They might have varied from the usual profane
exhibition in any respect and to any extent, and
I should not have observed it. The first thing I
clearly perceived was a rank of "converts" kneeling
before the "altar," Tom at the left of the line.
Then the Rev. Mr. Swin approached him, thoughtfully
dipping his fingers into a small earthern bowl of
water as if he had just finished dining. I was
much affected: I could see nothing distinctly for
my tears. My handkerchief was at my face--most of
it inside. I was observed to sob spasmodically,
and I am abashed to think how many sincere persons
mistakenly followed my example.
With some solemn words, the purport of which I
did not quite make out, except that they sounded
like swearing, the minister stood before Thomas,
gave me a glance of intelligence and then with an
innocent expression of face, the recollection of
which to this day fills me with remorse, spilled,
as if by accident, the entire contents of the bowl
on the head of my poor friend--that head into the
hair of which I had sifted a prodigal profusion
of Seidlitz-powders!
I confess it, the effect was magical--anyone
who was present would tell you that. Tom's pow
simmered--it seethed--it foamed yeastily, and
slavered like a mad dog! It steamed and hissed,
with angry spurts and flashes! In a second it
had grown bigger than a small snowbank, and
whiter. It surged, and boiled, and walloped,
and overflowed, and sputtered--sent off feathery
flakes like down from a shot swan! The froth
poured creaming over his face, and got into his
eyes. It was the most sinful shampooing of the
season!
I cannot relate the commotion this produced, nor
would I if I could. As to Tom, he sprang to his
feet and staggered out of the house, groping
his way between the pews, sputtering strangled
profanity and gasping like a stranded fish. The
other candidates for baptism rose also, shaking
their pates as if to say, "No you don't, my hearty,"
and left the house in a body. Amidst unbroken
silence the minister reascended the pulpit with
the empty bowl in his hand, and was first to speak:
"Brethren and sisters," said he with calm,
deliberate evenness of tone, "I have held forth
in this tabernacle for many more years than I
have got fingers and toes, and during that time
I have known not guile, nor anger, nor any
uncharitableness. As to Henry Barber, who put
up this job on me, I judge him not lest I be
judged. Let him take that and sin no
more!"--and he flung the earthern bowl with so
true an aim that it was shattered against my
skull. The rebuke was not undeserved, I confess,
and I trust I have profited by it.
~~~~~~~ THE END ~~~~~~~
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