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The Dwelling Place of Ligh
by Winston Churchill
1917
VOLUME 1。
CHAPTER I
In this modern industrial civilization of which we are sometimes wont to boast；
a certain glacier…like process may be observed。 The bewildered； the helpless
and there are manyare torn from the parent rock； crushed； rolled smooth； and
left stranded in strange places。 Thus was Edward Bumpus severed and rolled
from the ancestral ledge； from the firm granite of seemingly stable and lasting
things； into shifting shale； surrounded by fragments of cliffs from distant
lands he had never seen。 Thus； at five and fifty； he found himself gate…keeper
of the leviathan Chippering Mill in the city of Hampton。
That the polyglot； smoky settlement sprawling on both sides of an historic
river should be a part of his native New England seemed at times to be a
hideous dream； nor could he comprehend what had happened to him； and to the
world of order and standards and religious sanctions into which he had been
born。 His had been a life of relinquishments。 For a long time he had clung to
the institution he had been taught to believe was the rock of ages； the
Congregational Church； finally to abandon it； even that assuming a form
fantastic and unreal； as embodied in the edifice three blocks distant from
Fillmore Street which he had attended for a brief time； some ten years before；
after his arrival in Hampton。 The building； indeed； was symbolic of a decadent
and bewildered Puritanism in its pathetic attempt to keep abreast with the age；
to compromise with anarchy； merely achieving a nondescript medley of rounded；
knob…like towers covered with mulberry…stained shingles。 And the minister was
sensational and dramatic。 He looked like an actor； he aroused in Edward Bumpus
an inherent prejudice that condemned the stage。 Half a block from this
tabernacle stood a Roman Catholic Church； prosperous； brazen； serene； flaunting
an eternal permanence amidst the chaos which had succeeded permanence！
There were； to be sure； other Protestant churches where Edward Bumpus and his
wife might have gone。 One in particular； which he passed on his way to the
mill； with its terraced steeple and classic facade； preserved all the outward
semblance of the old Order that once had seemed so enduring and secure。 He
hesitated to join the decorous and dwindling congregation；the remains of a
social stratum from which he had been pried loose； andmore ironythis
street； called Warren； of arching elms and white…gabled houses； was now the
abiding place of those prosperous Irish who had moved thither from the
tenements and ruled the city。
On just such a street in the once thriving New England village of Dolton had
Edward been born。 In Dolton Bumpus was once a name of names； rooted there
since the seventeenth century； and if you had cared to listen he would have
told you； in a dialect precise but colloquial； the history of a family that by
right of priority and service should have been destined to inherit the land；
but whose descendants were preserved to see it delivered to the alien。 The God
of Cotton Mather and Jonathan Edwards had been tried in the balance and found
wanting。 Edward could never understand this； or why the Universe； so long
static and immutable； had suddenly begun to move。 He had always been prudent；
but in spite of youthful 〃advantages；〃 of an education； so called； from a
sectarian college on a hill； he had never been taught that； while prudence may
prosper in a static world； it is a futile virtue in a dynamic one。 Experience
even had been powerless to impress this upon him。 For more than twenty years
after leaving college he had clung to a clerkship in a Dolton mercantile
establishment before he felt justified in marrying Hannah； the daughter of
Elmer Wench； when the mercantile establishment amalgamated with a rivaland
Edward's services were no longer required。 During the succession of precarious
places with decreasing salaries he had subsequently held a terrified sense of
economic pressure had gradually crept over him； presently growing strong
enough； after two girls had arrived； to compel the abridgment of the family
。。。。It would be painful to record in detail the cracking…off process； the
slipping into shale； the rolling； the ending up in Hampton； where Edward had
now for some dozen years been keeper of one of the gates in the frowning brick
wall bordering the canal；a position obtained for him by a compassionate but
not too prudent childhood friend who had risen in life and knew the agent of
the Chippering Mill； Mr。 Claude Ditmar。 Thus had virtue failed to hold its
own。
One might have thought in all these years he had sat within the gates staring
at the brick row of the company's boarding houses on the opposite bank of the
canal that reflection might have brought a certain degree of enlightenment。 It
was not so。 The fog of Edward's bewilderment never cleared； and the unformed
question was ever clamouring for an answerhow had it happened？ Job's cry。
How had it happened to an honest and virtuous man； the days of whose forebears
had been long in the land which the Lord their God had given them？ Inherently
American； though lacking the saving quality of push that had been the making of
men like Ditmar； he never ceased to regard with resentment and distrust the
hordes of foreigners trooping between the pillars； though he refrained from
expressing these sentiments in public； a bent； broad shouldered； silent man of
that unmistakable physiognomy which； in the seventeenth century； almost wholly
deserted the old England for the new。 The ancestral features were there； the
lipscovered by a grizzled moustache moulded for the precise formation that
emphasizes such syllables as el； the hooked nose and sallow cheeks； the
grizzled brows and grey eyes drawn down at the corners。 But for all its
ancestral strength of feature； it was a face from which will had been
extracted； and lacked the fire and fanaticism； the indomitable hardness it
should have proclaimed； and which have been so characteristically embodied in
Mr。 St。 Gaudens's statue of the Puritan。 His clothes were slightly shabby； but
always neat。
Little as one might have guessed it； however； what may be called a certain
transmuted enthusiasm was alive in him。 He had a hobby almost amounting to an
obsession； not uncommon amongst Americans who have slipped downward in the
social scale。 It was the Bumpus Family in America。 He collected documents
about his ancestors and relations； he wrote letters with a fine； painful
penmanship on a ruled block he bought at Hartshorne's drug store to distant
Bumpuses in Kansas and Illinois and Michigan； common descendants of Ebenezer；
the original immigrant； of Dolton。 Many of these western kinsmen answered： not
so the magisterial Bumpus who lived in Boston on the water side of Beacon； whom
likewise he had ventured to address；to the indignation and disgust of his
elder daughter； Janet。
〃Why are you so proud of Ebenezer？〃 she demanded once； scornfully。
〃Why？ Aren't we descended from him？〃
〃How many generations？〃
〃Seven；〃 said Edward； promptly； emphasizing the last syllable。
Janet was quick at figures。 She made a mental calculation。
〃Well； you've got one hundred and twenty…seven other ancestors of Ebenezer's
time； haven't you？〃
Edward was a little surprised。 He had never thought of this； but his ardour
for Ebenezer remained undampened。 Genealogyhis ownhad become his religion；
and instead of going to church he spent his Sunday mornings poring over papers
of various degrees of discolouration； making careful notes on the ruled block。
This consciousness of his descent from good American stock that had somehow
been deprived of its heritage； while a grievance to him； was also a comfort。
It had a compensating side； in spite of the lack of sympathy of his daughters
and his wife。 Hannah Bumpus took the situation more grimly： she was a logical
projection in a new environment of the religious fatalism of ancestors whose
God was a God of vengeance。 She did not concern herself as to what all this
vengeance was about； life was a trap into which all mortals walked sooner or
later； and her particular trap had a treadmill；a round of household duties
she kept whirling with an energy that might have made their fortunes if she had
been the head of the family。 It is bad to be a fatalist unless one has an
incontrovertible belief in one's destiny；which Hannah had not。 But she kept
the little flat with its worn furniture；which had known so many journeysas
clean as a merchant ship of old Salem； and when it was scoured and dusted to
her satisfaction she would sally forth to Bonnaccossi's grocery and provision
store on the corner to do her bargaining in competition with the Italian
housewives of the neighborhood。 She was wont； indeed； to pause outside for a
moment； her quick eye encompassing the coloured prints of red and yellow
jellies cast in rounded moulds； decked with slices of orange； the gaudy boxes
of cereals and buckwheat flour； the 〃Brookfield〃 eggs in packages。
Significant； this modern package system； of an era of flats with little storage