Chapter Twenty-Four: The Serpents and the Two Seed Church

On the next night at the same time, the men met again in the captain's quarters, and they had the usual supper of bread, apples, beef, and cheese. They also had oranges for dessert and a digestif to round out the meal. As he did the night before, Doctor Turner replenished the steins with beer while Captain Trotter packed his meerschaum. Chief Mate Baxter was flipping a coin with his forefinger and catching it as it spun. They had been at sea only five days, and Mack had already been disillusioned of the notion that an ocean voyage was the stuff of romance. The mild winter days on board were as empty as the horizon, and the ocean rocked with meaningless monotony. There were no pretty girls serving drinks on silver trays or high-hatted chefs preparing sauces or magicians entertaining guests in the Great Hall. The Indrani trembled and churned, and her wake wallowed out into ripples in the vast expanse of the black Atlantic.

It was Mack's turn to tell a story, so he cleared his throat and said, "Mister Baxter, I don't know if I've told you about my quest, but I hail from the Ozarks in southwest Missouri. I'm traveling the world for the hand of . . . "

"God bless us, McQuary! Yes, I know your story. We all know your story."

"Oh. Well. I'll tell you another one then."

"Yes. Anything except that."

So, Mack said, "This is a true story; I know because I saw the whole thing. It happened several years after the War of the Rebellion, in 1890, to be precise. My father is a preacher in the Christian Church in Neosho, Missouri—that's my hometown—and he was invited to hold a brush arbor revival at a little Two Seeds church outside of town. Now, the Christian Church is pretty normal so far as churches go, but Two Seeds churches are something else again. In fact, they're downright bizarre. They believe Eve did the deed with Adam and the Serpent, if you can imagine such a thing. Adam's son was Abel, and the Serpent's son was Cain. All the descendants of Abel—the seed of Adam—are good and going to heaven; all the descendants of Cain—the seed of the Serpent—are bad and going to hell, and there ain't a thing anybody can do about it. You're either born saved or damned. It's like Calvinism but worse, if something can be worse than Calvinism.

"One peculiar thing about Two Seeds' worship services is the folks get so excited about being the 'seed of Adam' that they start hollering and dancing and squawking in unknown tongues. One time they got so wrought they shucked their clothes and went parading into Neosho butt naked. According to the paper, the preacher proclaimed that baptism had washed them cleaner than Adam and Eve before the Fall, and consequently, they were free to go about naked. The sheriff said, 'You may think so, but you ain't in Eden, people, you're in my town, and for the time being, you're going to my jail.'

"Anyhow, the Two Seeds church had a wild reputation, and even as a boy, I couldn't figure out why they would ask my father to preach at their revival since he didn't hold with any of their beliefs. I also couldn't figure why Dad accepted their invitation. Maybe he thought he could talk some sense into 'em. Or that the invitation was God's will. Or maybe they paid him. Whatever the case, we hitched up the wagon, and off we went through the woods to the banks of Shoal Creek for the revival.

"It took us until late afternoon to get there, but we finally saw the brush arbor by the creek. What they did was cut saplings and lash them to bigger trees about six feet off the ground. Then they cut more limbs to cover the frame and put branches with leaves on top of those. To tell the truth, it made me happy to see the arbor covered with branches of orange and yellow leaves. This particular arbor was huge and looked like it could hold about a hundred people. My dad was just reining up our mule when a skinny little fellow came out from behind a cedar, adjusting his privates and smiling like a chimpanzee. He said to Dad, 'Well, y'uns must be our revival Brother! Glad ya made it! M'name's Turk, short for Turkey Feathers, which is what my mama called me. She was full-blooded Cherokee, God rest her soul. Pa, he didn't much like m'name, but what could he do? Ma would've scalped the old son of a bitch as soon as look at him. Ha!'

"Dad was somewhat taken aback by this introduction, but he told Turk that, yes, he was the preacher, and we were his family. Turk went on, 'That arbor is whar you'll be a-preachin! Nice ain't it? We even split some logs for settin on.' Then to Mother, 'So yer his old lady? Does you sing or whistle or play the fiddle? A preacher's wife oughter be able to add somethin' to the worship, y'know!' Now it was Mother's turn to be taken aback, but she politely said that, no, she didn't sing, whistle, fiddle, or even dance. Turk said, 'I jig when the Spirit seizes me, but that only happens when the preachin' heats me up. Tell me, Brother, is you a heater upper or a cooler downer?'

"Not wanting to prejudice his first congregant, Dad said, 'I reckon we'll find that out together, Turk.'"

And then Turk asked something odd. 'Did they tell y'uns to wear heavy boots?'

"Dad said, 'No. No one mentioned anything about boots. Why would we need boots?'"

"'No one said nothin' about boots, huh? Well, that ain't good.' He made a 'tsk' sound from the corner of his mouth and shook his head. 'Well, you'll just have to pay p'ticular mind is all.'"

"'And why is that?' Dad asked.

"No matter. It's too late now anyhow. You'll see for yerself soon enough. I'll lead ye to the hitchin rail,' which is what he proceeded to do.

"He had no sooner tied us up than we saw folks coming through the woods. At the head of the procession rode a massive woman atop a jet-black mule. She wore a pitch-black, tent-looking dress, and her raven-black hair hung around her head and shoulders like a canopy. On top of her copious bosom rode a black cat with its paws curled underneath and its eyes closed. Behind the woman came a scrawny little fella—I supposed he was her husband—and then followed a crowd of menfolk and their women. Bringing up the rear was a passel of children who looked as somber as the woman and her cat. It was the unhappiest looking group of people I've ever seen. Most of the men carried rifles and shotguns into the arbor.

"Mother and us kids sat down on the bench closest to the front, and Dad went up to the pulpit, which had been sawn out of a tree trunk, and opened his Bible. He was about to lead us in a prayer when a tall fellow with oily hair and a blue shirt walked up, and they engaged in conversation for a short time before Dad relinquished the pulpit and sat back down. He whispered to us, 'That's Brother Jay McGehee. He's the preacher. They'll sing a few songs, and then he'll call me up to preach.' By this time, the brush arbor had pretty much filled up, and the only open seats were on our bench.

"Brother McGehee said, 'We'uns are so blessed that Reverend A. L. McQuary is a-gonna preach at us for the next few days. We looked high'n'low for the right feller and prayed a lot, and the good Lord showed us it was him who oughta do it. I don't know that we ever had whatcha call a 'reverend' before. But there he is with his woman and chilluns,' whereupon Brother McGehee nodded toward us. Dad whispered, 'Stand up and wave or something!' So Mother stood up and waved, and my sister, brother, and I took a bow, which made the folks chuckle. I thought then, Maybe they're not so crazy after all. I was soon to be proven mistaken on that score.

"Then, the preacher says, 'It's time to bless the Lord with some Gospel singin'. Has ever'body got their powder dry?' More chuckling and a couple of 'amens,' and the men got up and stood around the edge of the arbor looking toward the creek and into the woods. The black-haired lady and an old graybeard with a zither went up to the front and started singing 'Shall We Gather at the River?' That cat was still sitting on the shelf of her bosom, but it was awake now and twitching its tail.

"They hadn't finished the first verse, when a big old boy in overalls pointed and yelled, 'Here they come, people! Y'uns keep singin', and we'll start shootin'!'

"Well, that's what the lady and the graybeard did. Louder and louder they kept singing, and God Almighty, it sounded like a war was starting. All those guns were blasting at the same time, and the smoke from the gunpowder filled the arbor. I looked out and couldn't believe what I saw: Snakes of every size and color, hundreds of them, were coming out of the woods and up from the creek towards the arbor: copperheads and rattlesnakes and harlequins and water moccasins, but also king snakes and green snakes and the little ring-necks. The menfolk kept on firing, and the younger boys reloaded the guns.

"Of course, the racket of the guns made the folks in the arbor sing louder still, and the louder they sang, the more snakes slithered out. Some of them managed to avoid the hail of bullets, and they crawled right into the arbor. One went under our legs, and Mother shrieked and hopped up on the log. She hollered, 'Goddamn it! Get up here, kids!' Of course, that's what we did, but Mother kept yelling, 'Allen, get us out of here! Jesus God Almighty! Allen!'

"When the big lady heard that, she thought Mother was praising the Lord, so she hollered, 'Hallelujah!!'

"Then Brother McGehee joined the singers, and he began chanting, 'The Seed of Serpent is among us! Oh, chosen seed of Adam: Destroy the seed of Canaan! As it was in the days of Noah! Destroy them all! Destruction and wrath!'

"Of course, the folks took that as a sure sign the Spirit was moving, and that set Mr. Turk dancing a 'holy jig.' Pretty soon, the whole group was waving their hands in the air and dancing, and between the snakes and the zanies and the zither, poor Mother was beside herself: 'Allen! Allen! For Christ's sake, do something!'

I heard Mother swear more those in few minutes than I had in my whole life.

"The black-haired lady and the graybeard were about to start another song when Dad strode up to the pulpit, shouldered Brother McGehee to the side, and said, 'I think that's enough music for tonight.' A general 'Aww' went up from the crowd, but by this time, Dad was more concerned about saving Mother than he was about saving souls.

"'Please, everyone,' he said, 'let's bow our heads in prayer and beseech the favor of Almighty God.'

"What Dad didn't know was that another part of the ritual was yet to come.

"Now, remember, gentlemen, I swear that what I tell you is true. Instead of bowing their heads, the men put down their rifles and went out and picked up dead snakes by the handful. They came back in and held them over their heads for all to see, whereupon it was Brother McGehee's turn to shoulder Dad out of the way. He hollered, 'Our prayers are already answered! Behold the victory of the seed of Adam! As it says in Scripture, 'You shall tread down serpents and scorpions, and we done did it! Hallelujah! We done did it like we done did it before!' Then—and I'll never forget this if I live to be a hundred—Brother McGehee reached down and grabbed a six-foot long water moccasin by the tail and started swinging it around his head. Father ducked and ran back to the bench where Mother and us children were sitting with our feet up and our heads down. Brother McGehee started yelling, 'Woo-haa! Death to the seed of Cain! Do you hear me? Woo-haa! Kill 'em all, and let the Good Lord sort 'em out!'

"A roar followed, so he yelled again, 'I say to thee—Do you hear me, seed of Adam?—kill 'em all. Kill 'em in the tent, kill 'em in the marketplace, kill 'em where they hide and where they dare to show their faces. And when the seed of Canaan is dead one and all, the Kingdom of God will descend like a city of gold, and the Son of Man will be revealed, and justice and righteousness will prevail!' There were 'Amens,' and 'Hallelujahs,' and shouts of 'Glory!' For our part, we kept our heads down and our arms wrapped around our knees while Brother McGehee went about the arbor swinging that snake and shouting down glory.

"Dad said, 'That's it! We're getting out of here,' and we were about to dash for the wagon when Brother McGehee dropped the water moccasin and shouted, 'Peace, be still!' The people fell suddenly silent. Then the preacher turned to Dad and said, 'Now, Reverend McQuary'—and he said 'reverend' with a sneer—'do you believe now in the Two Seeds doctrine? How can you deny the witness of your own eyes? How can you deny the miracle of the serpents, seed of Cain? Lo, you are like Pilate on his Roman throne with the holy Christ standing before you. Do not like Pilate ask, 'What is truth?' when the truth is manifest! Fellow believers, seed of Adam, let us pray for Mr. McQuary and his family that they might join us for the salvation of their souls.' The congregation began mumbling and jabbering, and Mother said, 'We'll join you over my dead body, you crazy bunch of bastards! I'd rather be damned to hell than join you!'

So, we ran from the arbor to our wagon, and Dad loaded us kids in the wagon bed, untied the mule, and hopped onto the bench beside Mother. He popped the reins and soon enough we were trundling back down the same road we had come in on, except that by now it was twilight. Fortunately, the moon had risen above the trees, and the forest opened, and we were able to keep going. It was a chilly night, but my brother, sister, and I slept in the wagon all huddled together. Dad kept driving and about the time the moon set, we were back in Neosho. And that, gentlemen, is my story of the serpents and the Two Seed Church."

Captain Trotter said, "I don't believe you. You made that up."

Mack said, "I swear I did not. And if my saintly father were here with us, he would assure you that every word is true."

Doctor Turner said, "I believe you, McQuary. I've seen stranger things than that. But my story'll have to wait for tomorrow night."

And so passed the fifth night at sea.