Moontrap - Don Berry (29 page)

Somebody started to applaud as Thurston reached the
platform, but he frowned, and the applauder stopped suddenly. There
was a nervous scraping of the chairs as the dignitaries took their
seats. Then silence. They were all dressed in black, very dignified.
They sat with their hands folded in their laps with an attempt at
calm and succeeded only in looking very ill at ease.

There was a long wait. Thurston peered off to the
right frowning very slightly. Someone in the audience cleared his
throat noisily. Meek tried to engage one of the Methodist preachers
from down in the valley in a staring contest, but the other looked
down, embarrassed, at his folded hands.

At last the Reverend Andrews entered from the side
and walked across the platform, his face set, looking neither at the
seated dignitaries nor at the crowd in the tiny church. He strode to
the pulpit with a few sheets of paper in his hand. His long, dour
face showed no expression. He was clean-shaven, and the heavy bones
of his face were like planes hacked out of a stone.

Meek leaned over to Monday and whispered, "
Wagh!
Bringin' up the heavy artillery."

Monday nodded. Andrews was a hard man, one of
Thurston's, more political than religious. Though with the mission
settlement it was often difficult to tell where one left off and the
other began. Monday had a moment of uneasiness. Andrews, with his
rigid Scot Puritanism, was one of the American Party's most
implacable enemies, and the dedicated adversary of anything that
smacked of frivolity.

Andrews leaned forward, bracing both hands against
the edge of the pulpit, his head lowered, looking at his notes.
Gradually the murmur of conversation quieted, until there was only a
low buzz.

Suddenly his head came up, and his savage black eyes
scanned the room. Instantly the last remaining sound was arrested. He
held the crowd immobile for a long moment, as if debating whether to
speak to them or not. Then he relaxed, pushing himself away from the
pulpit, and began to speak in a slow, strong voice.

2

"Friends," he said quietly. "Fellow
Oregonians." He paused, and there was no sound. Satisfied with
his control, he continued, beginning in an almost conversational
tone.

"Seventy-four years ago today, and three
thousand miles from this place, the Continental Congress created a
sovereign nation under God, The United States of America."

He paused, looking down at the floor. When he looked
up again there was a trace of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

"That sounds simple enough, does it not? In less
than five seconds I have said it: 'created a sovereign nation under
God.' Is that what we are gathered to celebrate this Independence
Day?"

He paused for a moment. "No," he went on.
"It is not. The celebration of the Fourth of July is a symbol,
as the Cross of His Crucifixion is the symbol of Our Lord Jesus
Christ. The Declaration of Independence itself is merely a scrap of
paper, gentlemen, a scrap of paper. And further, I spoke in irony
when I said the Continental Congress created this nation. They did
not. This nation—this continental nation—is built, not on a scrap
of paper, but on a foundation of blood and agony. The Founding
Fathers, to whom we pay our respects, signed a brave document, yes.
But it remained for the common man to give flesh and life to that
document; to make a living reality of what that declaration
described.

"It was our fathers and our grandfathers who
wrenched this continent from the tyrannical grasp of King George. and
they did so, many of them, at the highest price of all. Let us,
indeed. give credit to the men of vision and genius who conceived
this free nation. But let us not ignore those men of
strength—ordinary men like yourselves—who fought the war that
made it real! The soldiers of the Revolution!"

There was applause, as was inevitable at the mention
of the Revolution. When it had subsided Andrews leaned forward on the
pulpit and stared out across the rows of pews.

"Yes, applaud," he said. "Our
ancestors suffered and died that you might be here to applaud. Here,
in the Territory of Oregon, by the great Pacific Ocean. The men of
Bunker Hill and Lexington and Concord had never heard the word
Oregon, and yet they fought for it and died for it. Many of them did
not understand why they had to die in the cold and mud of Valley
Forge; but they fought and died because they had faith in the vision
of their leaders.

"Is it their sacrifice that we celebrate today?
Their faith in the continental destiny of that borning nation
seventy-four years ago? Or is there yet more, on this day of days?"

Monday glanced at Meek, and the marshal shrugged. He
couldn't see what Andrews was getting at either.

"
We would like to believe that the soldiers of
the Revolution were all men of high ideals, fighting for the
principles of the Declaration of Independence. But we know it was not
so. Vision—one vision—is given to some few men by the grace of
God. And to the rest is given—faith.

Faith to follow the vision of their leaders, and, if
necessaryg to die for that vision. And this, gentlemen, is the true
greatness of the Revolution. "Again and again the Book refers to
Our Lord in the image of the Shepherd; He who guides, He who keeps
his flock safe from harm, and sees to their well-being. 'The Lord is
my shepherd, I shall not want.' And the Lord has led us to the green
pastures of Oregon, and He has led this nation to grow and fulfill
its destiny from ocean to ocean.

"I pose a question, and it is not merely
rhetorical. Through following the shepherd, the flock remains safe.
And what happens—I ask you to contemplate seriously—what happens
if, in their confidence, the flock ceases to hear the shepherds call?
Begins to wander over the green pastures, without leadership? They
are decimated by the ravaging hordes of wolves that skulk just over
each ridge.

"For make no mistake—the wolves are there. At
this moment even they are licking their chops, wanting no more than
the opportunity to descend in ravenous hunger and devour us! At this
moment even there are agents of foreign tyrannies living amongst us,
hiding their time until they can strike the death blow to this
colony!

"
And worse, gentlemen! Claiming
rights
to this land. Land that was bought by the blood and sacrifice of our
ancestors. Our forefathers died that we might possess this continent
and make it fruitful. And I say continent because it is not simply a
matter of one more nation in the world, but a continent-nation, the
greatest single achievement of mankind, the greatest nation that has
ever been seen on the face of the earth!"

There was a great wave of applause, and some
shouting. Meek leaned over again to Monday. "McLoughlin just
lost another five acres," he whispered. Monday grimaced.

"
Very well," Andrews continued, when the
uproar had quieted. "But, when it comes to translating your
noble sentiments into action—that is perhaps a different question.
For I will tell you plainly, you have ceased to hear the voices of
your shepherds. You tolerate what is intolerable, you clasp the viper
to your bosom. And you gather here today to celebrate a historical
occasion. But hear me! I tell you that Independence Day is not a 
ommemoration—it is a reminder! For the battle is not yet won, the
Revolution is not yet over. The sacred trust our ancestors bequeathed
to us has not been kept.

"
We are all soldiers in this great Revolutionary
Army, and our task will not be completed while there remains one
single jesuitical king's man in the whole of the Oregon Territory!"

"Run the bastards out!" someone shouted.
and there was a roar of agreement. Monday glanced toward the back,
where Webb and Devaux stood near the door. Catching his eye, Devaux
shrugged and pursed his lips. He brought his right hand casually up
to his mouth and made the mountain sign for "talking at great
length."

Andrews paused, leaning forward on the pulpit again
when the cheering and acclamation subsided.

"
This danger, then, is clear. But there are
others. Dangers surround the flock, and because they have ceased to
hear the voices of the shepherds, they risk destruction. This colony
exists as an island of Good, surrounded by a turbulent ocean of Evil
and Decay. The savages of the hills threaten us with their primitive
brutality, yes. But there is more. The moral decay of these barbaric
children of Satan threatens us even more than their bloody tomahawks.

"It was President Madison himself who pointed
out the evil tendency for a tiller of the soil to revert to herdsman,
for herdsman to revert to hunter. The downward chute to Hell is easy,
there is no question of that. Mankind, unclean at birth, must
struggle perpetually against the forces of Evil that would drag him
back to the primitive, to a life of irresponsibility, wandering over
the face of the earth, godless and soulless.

"This is why the grinning wolves of the
mountains must be rooted out and destroyed. They are the living
representatives of Satan, with their nomadic existence, their worship
of Satanic gods. It is not the physical harm they do, but the
terrifying moral danger they represent.

"It has been said the eternal vigilance is the
price of liberty. And so it is—but, do you conceive, can you
understand what eternal vigilance means? It does not mean posting
guards on a fortification. Eternal vigilance means not merely
physical protection, but watchfulness, watchfulness, The shepherd
must ruthlessly eliminate the dangers to his flock, and so must the
shepherds of civilization. Eternal watchfulness for sin, for
weakness, for those elements of decay and disintegration that
threaten the very security of the civilization for which our
forefathers died.

"
Let me tell you exactly how the necessary
eternal vigilance operates; I need go back no farther than six years,
to the year eighteen forty-four, here in the Oregon Country. In that
year, you will remember, the Provisional Government passed
resolutions interdicting both liquor and Negroes from the country.

"The interdiction of liquor is, of course,
obvious. The terrible degradation wreaked by spiritous liquors is,
unhappily, well known. But observe for a moment the second
interdiction, against men of color. In keeping with the spirit of the
colony, this law was passed to prevent the insidious entry of that
devil's institution, slavery. But, did the lawgivers content
themselves with prohibiting slavery? No! They struck far deeper, at
the very core of the problem, making it a criminal offense for any
man of color, free or slave, to be found in Oregon! One so discovered
was to be sold to the lowest bidder and conveyed back to the slave
states, after the price of passage had been repaid by work here.

"
I cannot communicate my admiration for the men
who drafted this resolution, for they were men of foresight. Rather
than attacking a mere symptom—slavery—they clear-sightedly struck
at the very foundation of the disease, and that foundation is the
simple existence of the black man.
 
"Where
the black exists, the possibility of slavery exists, and even that
possibility was avoided by those men, devoted to making this land
free.

"It is not, in short, the Negro himself,
but
the way of life he represents
, that is a
threat. Equally, it is not the savage with his tomahawk that
jeopardizes the well-being of this civilization—b
ut
the way of life he represents
.

"
Thus, we can see that the danger is not always
apparent, except to those who see clearly; that is to say the
shepherds. And for the shepherds of this colony to succeed in what
may justly be described as a God-given task, they must have the
obedience and the cooperation of the flock. As those brave men of the
Revolution had faith in their leaders, so  must the people of
this territory have faith in theirs, endless faith, faith to do what
must be done, faith to sustain them through the years of eternal
vigilance that are our lot.

"But this community has not, I am sorry to
observe, always manifested that singleness of purpose that has
characterized the growth of this nation. Their vigilance has been
halfhearted, ineffective.

"
I speak now of a taint, a stain, a corrosion
that rots from within, which has been permitted to exist. I speak of
the fabled wolves in sheep's clothing, the elements and agents of
Satan, slinking silently amongst the flock. The elements of savagery,
skulking unperceived in our midst, which pose as great a threat to
the security of the community as the more obvious deviltry of the
Jesuits.

"
In short, I speak of certain individuals of
this community whose actions more closely resemble those of the
savage than those of civilized men. Conscienceless individuals, men
without moral strength, unwilling to listen to the voice of the
shepherd.

"Men whose manner of dress, manner of speech,
manner of thought, reflect not the millennia of civilization since
Our Lord Jesus Christ, but the primitive savagery of Satan's
children.

"The blood shed on the battlefields of freedom,
Bunker Hill, Concord and Lexington, has been hallowed by history. And
yet these men dare—daree, I say—to mingle this sacred blood with
the taint of savagery! To satisfy their unnatural lusts they stop at
nothing, sending forth upon this green land of Oregon the unclean
spawn of animal couplings, neither red nor white, the taint and decay
and ineradicable blot of mixed—blood children, fouling the—"