Captain Sears, whose exertions had already made him apoplectic, turned a darker purple. ``What's that?'' he shouted. ``What d'ye mean?''
``I mean,'' I replied, ``that I do not intend to allow you or anybody else to interfere with my meetings. You are a sea-captain. What would you do to me if I came on board your ship and started a mutiny in your crew, or tried to give you orders?''
Captain Sears did not reply. He stood still, with his legs far apart and braced, as he always stood when talking, but his eyes shifted a little. I answered my own question.
``You would put me ashore or in irons,'' I re- m inded him. ``Now, Captain Sears, I intend to put you ashore. I am the master of this ship. I h ave set my course, and I mean to follow it. If you rebel, either you will get out or I will. But until the board asks for my resignation, I am in command.''
As it happened, I had put my ultimatum in the one form the old man could understand. He sat down without a word and stared at me. We sang the Doxology, and I dismissed the meeting. Again we had omitted prayers. The next day Captain Sears sent me a letter recalling his subscription tow- a rd the support of the church; and for weeks he remained away from our services, returning under conditions I will mention later. Even at the time, however, his attack helped rather than hurt me.
At the regular meeting the following Thursday night no personal criticisms were included in the prayers, and eventually we had peace. But many battles were lost and won before that happy day arrived.
Captain Sears's vacant place among us was promptly taken by another captain in East Dennis, whose name was also Sears. A few days after my encounter with the first captain I met the second on the street. He had never come to church, and I s topped and invited him to do so. He replied with simple candor.
``I ain't comin','' he told me. ``There ain't no gal that can teach me nothin'.''
``Perhaps you are wrong, Captain Sears,'' I re- p lied. ``I might teach you something.''
``What?'' demanded the captain, with chilling distrust.
``Oh,'' I said, cheerfully, ``let us say tolerance, for one thing.''
``Humph!'' muttered the old man. ``The Lord don't want none of your tolerance, and neither do I.''
I laughed. ``He doesn't object to tolerance,'' I s aid. ``Come to church. You can talk, too; and the Lord will listen to us both.''
To my surprise, the captain came the following Sunday, and during the seven years I remained in the church he was one of my strongest supporters and friends. I needed friends, for my second battle was not slow in following my first. There was, in- d eed, barely time between in which to care for the wounded.
We had in East Dennis what was known as the ``Free Religious Group,'' and when some of the members of my congregation were not wrangling among themselves, they were usually locking horns with this group. For years, I was told, one of the prime diversions of the ``Free Religious'' faction was to have a dance in our town hall on the night when we were using it for our annual church fair.
The rules of the church positively prohibited danc- i ng, so the worldly group took peculiar pleasure in attending the fair, and during the evening in getting up a dance and whirling about among us, to the horror of our members. Then they spent the re- m ainder of the year boasting of the achievement.
It came to my ears that they had decided to follow this pleasing programme at our Christmas church celebration, so I called the church trustees together and put the situation to them.
``We must either enforce our discipline,'' I said, ``or give it up. Personally I do not object to danc- i ng, but, as the church has ruled against it, I intend to uphold the church. To allow these people to make us ridiculous year after year is impossible.
Let us either tell them that they may dance or that they may not dance; but whatever we tell them, let us make them obey our ruling.''
The trustees were shocked at the mere suggestion of letting them dance.
``Very well,'' I ended. ``Then they shall not dance. That is understood.''
Captain Crowell, the father of my dead friend Mrs. Addy, and himself my best man friend, was a strong supporter of the Free Religious Group.
When its members raced to him with the news that I had said they could not dance at the church's Christmas party, Captain Crowell laughed good- h umoredly and told them to dance as much as they pleased, cheerfully adding that he would get them out of any trouble they got into. Knowing my friendship for him, and that I even owed my church appointment to him, the Free Religious people were certain that I would never take issue with him on dancing or on any other point. They made all their preparations for the dance, therefore, with entire confidence, and boasted that the affair would be the gayest they had ever arranged. My people began to look at me with sympathy, and for a time I felt very sorry for myself. It seemed sufficiently clear that ``the gal'' was to have more trouble.
On the night of the party things went badly from the first. There was an evident intention among the worst of the Free Religious Group to embarrass us at every turn. We opened the exercises with the Lord's Prayer, which this element loudly applauded.
A live kitten was hung high on the Christmas tree, where it squalled mournfully beyond reach of rescue, and the young men of the outside group threw cake at one another across the hall. Finally tiring of these innocent diversions, they began to prepare for their dance, and I protested. The spokesman of the group waved me to one side.
``Captain Crowell said we could,'' he remarked, airily.
``Captain Crowell,'' I replied, ``has no authority whatever in this matter. The church trustees have decided that you cannot dance here, and I intend to enforce their ruling.''
It was interesting to observe how rapidly the men of my congregation disappeared from that hall.
