To him [Bangs] it was now "the hour and
power of darkness." His nervous system had suffered; his
labors and excitements had exhausted him; he was "thin and
pallid," and in a physical condition for morbid impressions.
Nor had he yet learned by experience that excessive
excitation on religious, as on any other subjects, must, by
a physiological law, be attended with reaction. After
reading the [Lackington's] Memoir he departed on horseback
for his next appointment. Though he had hitherto been able
to maintain a vivid sense of religious enjoyment, his heart
sank within him on his solitary route. Doubts, as by
preternatural agency, crowded around his mind, and enveloped
him in utter darkness. He was tempted to believe that he had
erred in the excitement which his labors had produced among
the people, though he saw that their lives were reformed. He
resolved to preach differently, and to conduct his public
meetings with more moderation. The resolution, however, soon
struck him with dismay; he sank, confounded, deeper and
deeper into the abyss of darkness, and began to fear that
his own spiritual experience had been a delusion. Stopping
for the night in a Christian family, he quite failed in the
domestic prayer with which he closed the evening. He retired
to his bed in indescribable distress. His sleep was
troubled, he says, with "awful alarms;" he dreamed that a
throng of demons stared at him. "When I saw them I
exclaimed, I will not fear you, I know where to go for help,
and began immediately to pray; but my prayers seemed like
vapor, or words without meaning. I had no access to
God. I ceased praying, and the phantoms drew closer around
me. I began again to pray, but with the like effect. When I
again ceased, the demons rushed at me with increased
violence, and I awoke with intense agony. I could no longer
rest in my bed, but instantly arose and fell on my knees,
but, alas! the heavens seemed to be brass over my head. I
sank into despair. I went down stairs. The woman of the
house, who was a most amiable Christian, asked me what was
the matter, for she perceived my agitation. Not being
willing to trouble her mind with a recital of my distress, I
evaded for some time a direct answer, but at last said, 'I
believe there is no mercy for me.' I spent the night without
sleep, sometimes laying on the floor, at others attempting
to pray, but without success or hope of deliverance from my
anguish. Such torment I am sure I could not have endured for
many days; I thought that the lost could experience no
greater misery. Frequently was I tempted to open my mouth in
blasphemy against God, and to curse the Saviour of men.
Which way to look for relief I knew not, for I thought God
had deserted me, and I now believe that he gave me up to the
buffetings of the adversary of souls for my trial, but so
far retrained his malice as not to permit him to destroy
me."